#and most importantly he is absurdly hot

[averagestrayrat]

I just watched the first episode of Soviet Holmes and oh my god, Vitaly Solomin is the Watsonest Watson to ever Watson

#and most importantly he is absurdly hot #look at him are you kidding me #I already have the biggest crush on #ACD Watson #and now this??? #god help me #soviet holmes #vasily livanov #vitaly solomin #Sherlock Holmes

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 | sub!robert fischer x dominatrix!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you're a professional dominatrix, he's a restless heir in desperate need of being put in his place; you both know what this is. it's just your job, it's just his fetish. no reason to make it more complicated than that, right?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7.2k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut (18+ only), bdsm dynamics, reward/punishment, orgasm denial, overstimulation, oral f and m receiving, cnc (meaning he says no but it's not literal, there's a safeword in place for that), angst and fluff at the end, presumably inaccurate depictions of sex work and dominatrix-ing, robert cries. a lot.

You weren’t expecting much when you met him, just another rich boy with daddy issues and an Italian suit. 

And… yeah, you were pretty much exactly on the money.  The very literal money— Robert was already paying almost double what anybody else was, in order to have a monopoly on your time.  But, that said, he still managed to surprise you.

First of all, you were surprised how little experience he really had with this.  People tend to ease into paying thousands of dollars for an on-call professional dominatrix; but Robert had the money and impulsive personality necessary to start at the top.  It’s like getting a Lambo for your first car… which, to be fair, he had also done.  He admitted to you that he’d only had one or two experiences with dominant women and the lifestyle in general: he credited it partially to a need for discretion, that he couldn’t just go to a club with the risk of the wrong people recognizing him and his business being affected.  Though that was a fair reason, you knew he was leaving out his own anxiety as a significant factor as well.

Secondly, he surprised you with how well he understood his own needs and limits for someone with such little experience.  He explained to you, in rather shameless detail, that he was looking for someone to relinquish emotional control to— that he didn’t need to be really physically tortured, just to be psychologically tormented.  In that way, he was less ‘hardcore’ than many of your clients, who had physical damage to show for their time with you by the end of the session, but he was absolutely no wimp.  A crybaby, yes, but not a wimp; big difference.

And, perhaps least importantly, he surprised you by being young, and hot.  Not, you know, too young, and still older than you, but closer to your age than any of your other clients.  As for him being hot, well… yes, he was probably the best-looking of your clients.  ‘Probably’ being a polite word for ‘definitely’.  Ironically, for being so submissive, he had a somewhat intimidating visage: sharp features, bright and icy eyes, quite tall as well.  That was probably what most people saw first, but you were lucky to be able to appreciate completely how delicate he really was: with that pleading wet gaze, his thick bottom lip between his teeth, an unexpected softness to his masculine features.

You were surprised he needed to pay someone for this, looking like that, but then again, his kinks were a bit specific and his need for privacy was understandable.  Maybe what all that money really was, was just hush money.  After all, truth be told, you probably wouldn't mind doing the rest of it for free.

A friend of yours in the business warned you that that was a sign you needed to stop working for this guy.  If you’re catching feelings, get out now, she warned.  You tried to assure her it wasn’t feelings— just an acknowledgement that he was absurdly beautiful— but she didn’t seem to buy it; you yourself were starting to doubt that excuse.

But, here you were: usual place, usual time.  A lot of your clients preferred hotels, but Robert Fischer found the most discreet method was just to have you come to his penthouse; he had a few properties, but apparently this one was the most secluded.  The private elevator certainly gave off that impression.

He’d given you your own key to use, to take you to his place whenever you wanted.  Obviously, you only went there when you had an appointment… but you did get a little giddy every time you used it.  You got the impression that some small part of him hoped you’d use that key on your own time one day, but that could’ve been you projecting: you tried to remind yourself that he, like all the other clients, probably didn’t think of you much when you were gone.

It was hard to hold up that narrative just a few minutes later, though, as you stood in his bedroom with him on his knees in front of you.

“Missed you so much, Mistress,” he mumbled against your skin as he pressed his face to your thigh.  “I swear, I haven’t thought about anything else since last time— can we move up to four times a week?  Three isn’t enough anymore.”

He was a little more desperate than usual because, even with three sessions a week, this one had been delayed by two days because of his work.  Still, he couldn’t quite justify being this worked up when you’d seen him four days ago…  “Do you want to talk business, or do you want to play?” you asked him quickly.  “Scheduling is best done before or after—”

“Sorry, sorry,” he sighed, looking up at you through his lashes.  “Sorry, I just— we can talk about that later.  I need you so fucking bad— and you look so pretty…”

You dressed a bit differently for him.  Most of your clients wanted latex, leather, chains, studs— you know, the usual.  Robert told you from the start he preferred soft things, pretty things.  He’d asked if he could buy you things to wear but you insisted on simply billing him for whatever you picked out: anything else was giving him too much power over you.  Thankfully, he’d never had an issue with your tastes.  

He liked seeing you in relatively ‘normal’ clothes.  Little black dresses with lacy pantyhose, silk robes— he actually went a little feral seeing you in a pinstriped three-piece suit once, but that’s another story.  Today, you were keeping it classic with a black skirt and blazer, plus stockings with garter belts (his favorite) and your tallest, sharpest heels.  Clearly it had the intended effect, since you hadn’t even told him to get on his knees when you walked in…

“Get up,” you told him, and he scrambled onto his feet and gave you a look that barely hid how impatient he was feeling inside.  “Actually, I have some business to discuss with you.  Take a seat on the bed, why don’t you?”

He tilted his head a bit but did as he was told.  He hadn’t even seemed to notice the briefcase you brought— maybe his life was just so full of briefcases he’d learned to ignore them.  But you certainly had his attention when you set it down between you and opened the clasps— though you didn’t lift it to reveal its contents yet.

“I’m very disappointed in you,” you informed him flatly.  He seemed thrown off— like he couldn’t tell if this was part of the scene or not.  

“I-I’m sorry,” he said first, then adding, “what did I do wrong?  I’ve been so good…”

“I saw you in the papers.”

Reaching inside, you pulled out the newspaper picture of him, walking along the Manhattan streets with a young woman by his side.  She was taller than him with her heels on, overwhelmingly blonde, annoyingly pretty.  His eyes went wide at the sight.  “Oh—” he began,  but you cut him off.

“It’s not right for you to be seeing me when you have a girlfriend,” you explained, pausing before you set down a magazine snapshot of him with a different model, “or two.”

“N-no, wait, I can explain that,” he rushed, but you shoved the pictures aside and leaned forward, sneering at him.

“Is that what you are, huh?  Just a slut?” you snapped.  “Am I not enough for you?”

“No!  God, no— you’re everything,” he whined, “of course. Those are just—”

“Just what?  They seem like lovely young women, Mr. Fischer, you don’t need to insult them for my benefit.”

“Oh, don’t call me that,” he pouted, looking down— already his cheeks were getting redder.  “You’re really mad at me?  For being seen with them?”

You knew he was upset you weren’t calling him a pet name, the last thing he wanted to be when you were here was Mr. Fischer— he wanted to be your good boy, your baby, your puppy, your pet.  “I’m more concerned about what you did that nobody else saw, Robert,” you admitted.

The last thing you wanted to do was appear jealous— that was never what you would do, or at least, not your character.  But one of your rules for Robert was that he was required to be celibate outside of your sessions with him.  It was always about control— and he loved the humiliation of being reminded that you worked with other men and slept with whoever you wanted, but that he was doomed to only be yours.  He asked you to remind him all the time, whispering in his ear about how he belonged to you, that nobody but you could touch him, that he was just Mistress’ good boy.

“It’s not like that, I swear,” he whined, “they— it was just publicity.  For both of us— I mean, for the girls and for me.  It’s business!”

“Right,” you returned, not acting especially convinced.  One of those photos in the magazine was pretty deliberate— his arm around her waist, whispering something in her ear with a smirk.  It certainly didn’t seem like business.

“Please, Mistress, you know I’d never—”

“Do I?” you interrupted sharply.  “I mean, after you were so naughty last time—”

“I didn’t mean to come so fast, I was just—”

“How dare you speak over me?” you hissed, and he clamped his mouth shut as his shoulders slumped.

“I’m sorry, ma’am…” he whispered with defeat.

“I’m starting to wonder, what’s stopping you from breaking any of the rules?  How do I know you’re really behaving?”

“Y-you know, because…!” he trailed off, eyes darting wildly as he looked for a response.  “Because you know how bad I need you.  How important you are to me.”

When your heart beat a little faster, you told yourself that he really meant how important these sessions are to me.  

Going back to what seemed like his default state, Robert dropped to the floor again, kneeling in front of where you had your legs crossed tensely.  Twice now he’d done that without you asking, but you weren’t going to correct him this time because, well… some men were just meant to be on their knees.  “I swear, I swear it wasn’t real, was all just for the pictures… I’d never break your rules, Mistress, I wanna be good for you.”

“Want to, yes,” you smirked, “but it takes a lot of willpower, when you could afford as many little playthings as your heart desires.”

You leaned back on your hands as he got more and more desperate, and you fought the urge to smile proudly seeing him panic a bit.  He knew that with your hands holding your weight, you wouldn’t be running your fingers through his hair or stroking his cheek… he was getting antsy, still not having been touched by you ten minutes into the session.  “Let me show you,” he pleaded, “I promise, I only want you— I-I’ve been waiting for this, for you to touch me again…”

Now, truthfully, you’d believed him when he said those girls were for show— for publicity, as he said.  But only now that he said it like that did you really believe how desperate he was.  Unfortunately for him, it just made you want to tease him more.  “Touch you?” you repeated, egging on his begging.

"Please, touch me," he whined, "please, I'll be so good… I need you, Mistress."

"I know you do, baby, but I don't think you've earned me yet."

“Yes, ma’am— I don’t deserve you,” he breathed.  “I know I don’t.”

He looked so sweet, so broken, looking up at you like that.  “Why should I touch you at all tonight, baby boy?” you asked sweetly; he rested his forehead on your knee, looking exhausted from his own desperation.

“I… I don’t know if you should,” he admitted, surprising you a bit.  “I just know that if you don’t, I’ll lose my fucking mind.”

You said nothing, though you couldn’t fight your smile, and he continued softly under his breath.

“I swear, I only want you,” he whispered.  “I only ever wanted you.”

“Alright,” you shrugged, “show me how bad you want me.”

Uncrossing your legs, you let him see that your little outfit today didn’t include any panties; as he caught a glimpse up your skirt, his shoulders and chest sunk with a sigh.  “Mistress,” he breathed, but a second later he grabbed a tight hold of your legs and yanked you closer to the edge of the bed so he could push up your skirt and dive right in.

He was always ravenous when he did this.  It didn’t matter how long it had been since you saw him last, how long you teased him, or if you just walked right in and ordered him to his knees: he always, always ate you out like his life depended on it.  He was obsessed with serving you this way, moaning and whimpering against your skin, grabbing weakly at your hips or thighs and sometimes struggling to control his own arousal as his cock throbbed in his trousers.

You were already trying to temper your reactions; if you showed how much you liked it, you’d be surrendering a bit of your dominance, and that couldn’t be allowed.  Instead of gasping or moaning his name, you simply hummed and reached down to card your fingers through his hair; he whined against you, even louder when you tugged on it.

“Good boy,” you praised softly, making him shut his eyes tight as he sucked and licked at everything his mouth could reach.  He flicked his tongue over your clit and you fought not to let your hips buck against his face.  “Very good boy— how much do you like tasting Mistress’ cunt?”

“More than anything,” he answered, taking a break from the main task to kiss and bite hungrily all over your inner thighs.  “Fuck, I could taste you forever— you’re so perfect— should I keep going?”

“Of course, baby, just keep looking up at me.”

God, those eyes; sometimes you thought he could look right through you with those.  Could he see how hard you were fighting not to lose it right there, not to lay back and order him to fuck you?  You wondered if he would— it had never gone that far with him, he was obsessed with the denial, the inequity, the deprivation.  To be fair, you didn’t have sex with any of your clients… but you also never thought about sex with any of your clients, other than him.

“Alright, that’s enough,” you decided after a few moments, causing him to look up at you with concern like he’d done something wrong.

“I’m not allowed to make you come?” he pouted.

“Not yet,” you said simply.  “Get up.”

He popped right up, ready to serve— as always.

“Why don’t you take off your shoes for me?” you encouraged, and he certainly wasted no time; but as he toed his shoes off, he shirked off his jacket, loosening his tie and getting a few buttons of his shirt undone.  You raised your eyebrows, frowning at his eagerness.  “Stop.  I didn’t say all that.”

He slowed to a stop.  “S-sorry,” he mumbled, looking away.

“Lay on the bed.”

You watched patiently as he did, sitting up beside him but not getting too close.  He looked nice mostly-dressed, his suit half-removed and a bit disheveled.  You’d made him strip completely before, adding to his vulnerability, but you thought there were benefits to this too: by wearing his work clothes, you were reminding him of the man he was supposed to be while treating him like the needy boy he really was.  Whether or not he noticed that irony, he shuddered when you gently brushed your hand over his bulge, which flexed as if trying to ask for more itself.

“Look how hard you got for me, just from eating me out,” you noticed proudly.

“Tastes so good,” he whimpered his excuse, biting his lip when you started to open his belt and trousers.  “Y-you’re sure I deserve it?”

“No,” you admitted, “but I think it might be fun to touch you a little.  You want me to, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, of course,” he rushed, just as emphatic as ever.

He keened and bucked up into your hand when you just barely touched his cock; you pulled away, giving him a stern look as a reminder not to move too much.  When he settled down, you gently reached into his boxers again and freed his aching cock.  There was a little precum at the tip already, and he was looking at you with fascination as you delicately touched him, but never properly gripped or stroked it just to keep him on edge a little more.

“How long has it been since anyone but me touched you like this, baby boy?” you wondered.

“Y-years,” he choked, “years— I don’t even touch myself anymore, I swear.”

You gently ran your fingers over the ridge of the head, making him shudder and writhe on the bed.  “Are you sure?  You didn't even jerk off after feeling up that lovely young lady in the magazine?"

"No— and I didn't— c'mon, Mistress, don't you believe me?" he choked.  "I'm your good boy, you know I am— love being yours…"

“So you really don’t touch yourself?”

“No!” he snapped, correcting his tone a moment later.  “No, I… I stopped when you told me to.”

"Well, how about you show me how you used to do it?" you encouraged with a grin, taking your hand away from him.  "Stroke your cock for me, puppy."

"No, please," he gasped, "I want you to— please, I'm sorry—"

"Stop fucking whining and do what I tell you," you sneered.  "Not such a good boy after all, are you?"

He suddenly scrambled to get his hand around his cock when you put it like that, groaning and biting his lip as he gripped himself tightly.  "Like this, Mistress?" he panted proudly.

"Mm, something like that," you cooed.  "But go a little slower, baby boy, we've got plenty of time."

His eyes got wide with fear— fear that you would really make him edge himself the whole time.  You had much bigger plans, though.

He found a rhythm: not horribly slow, but careful and precise.  His cheeks kept getting pinker as you watched him, and he once reached out to touch your thigh with his free hand, but you moved away.

“C’mon,” he begged quickly, “can I just… can I at least see…?”

“See what?”

“Y-your tits, maybe,” he asked shyly, stroking his cock faster already at just the thought.

“I don’t think you need to see my tits,” you accused, noticing that his cock was already flexing in his grip.  He really had been worked up, if he was this sensitive to just his own hand.  “You’re doing just fine, baby.”

He grunted but went on, shifting around on the bed slightly.

“A little faster now,” you told him.  “When you used to jerk off like this, before you met me, did you imagine while you did it?  Did you watch porn?”

“Yes— I mean, imagine, always; porn sometimes,” he answered.

“What kind of porn?”

“Uh… this kind,” he admitted with a small laugh.  When you heard that laugh, saw the self-effacing smile on his face, you suddenly thought again about what your friend said: if you’re catching feelings, get out now.  But you shook the thought from your mind.

“Do you miss it?  Being able to get yourself off?” you pressed.

“Fuck no,” he grunted, and you caught the way his cock bobbed in his hand— he was getting even closer, poor thing.  “Don’t even— don’t want to now, but… but I’m trying so hard to be good for you…”

“I know,” you offered with a sympathetic, yet condescending, pout as you leaned in and caressed his face for a second.  Just that seemed to push him even closer, and he struggled to keep his hips down again.  

“I— fuck, I’m close,” he finally admitted.  “I’ll come…”

“Okay,” you shrugged.

"Oh, please, please don't make me come," he whimpered.  "I— I don't wanna come like this…"

You tilted your head.  "Like what, puppy?" 

"I want… I want you to touch me…" he pouted, eyes welling up a bit.

"We agreed you don't deserve that, Robert," you said sternly.

"Fuck! I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he sobbed— and there were real tears, he was obviously devastated that he had let you down so much.  "I'll do anything, I swear— let me be your good boy, your puppy— Mistress, I just wanna be yours again…"

You slapped him hard on the thigh when you saw his hand start to falter.  "Don't slow down," you snapped.  "I want you to keep going— keep stroking your poor cock, don't fucking stop until I tell you."

"But I— I'm so close," he choked.

"That's not my fault," you chuckled.  "You're a pathetic whiny baby who comes too quick, that's not really my problem."

He bit his shaking lip and blinked through his tears, hips beginning to buck up into his own hand.  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said over and over, "I didn't mean to be bad, I promise… only ever wanted t-to be your good boy…"

Feeling just a little sympathetic, you leaned in closer to speak beside his ear.  "Is my good boy gonna come if I tell him to?"

Though he hesitated, he nodded.

"But you don't want to?"

He shook his head.

"Because you want me to touch you when you come, right?" you pressed, your voice just as soft as your touch while you gently ran your hand up his leg.  He whimpered and squirmed, his eyes getting a bit wide.  "You want me to make you come?"

"Yes! Please, fuck, please, Mistress…" he gasped.  

You rubbed his inner thigh as he stroked himself faster; you could see his cock flexing, and you knew he was trying so hard not to come right then.  Deciding to test him further, you let your fingers run over his swollen balls, and he choked on his own throat.  "Bet these are so full of come for me," you purred.

"Yes, Mistress," he hissed.

"Stop moving your hand," you ordered suddenly, and for a man who'd been begging you to let him stop, he took a second to do it— his hand faltered a little as he slowed down, and he ended up holding his cock much too tight… surely trying to hold himself back from coming still.  "You wanted me to touch you, didn't you?"

"Yes," he gasped, eyes getting wide with hope.  "Yes! Please, Mistress!  I swear I'll be good…"

"Then let go of your cock and let me take care of you, baby," you cooed.  Again, he took a second to do it— still trying to make sure he wouldn't come when he wasn't choking the life out of it.  Hissing as he let go, he dropped his head back with the sweetest moan as you gave him one slow stroke from the base to the tip.  "Good job, baby," you whispered to him, "you're my good boy, aren't you?"

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his exposed neck, and nodded hastily.

When his cock twitched in your hand, you figured it was just because he was so sensitive— but then, halfway into your second stroke, he gasped and suddenly began to come.  You noticed it in his face first, the way he scrunched his nose and let out a low groan; then there was hot, sticky come shooting over his chest and stomach— and ruining that nice white shirt.

You pulled your hand away instantly, giving his face the hardest slap you could; he cried out in pain, but he just kept coming and bucking his hips into nothing.  

"You pathetic, stupid boy!" you scolded, and he groaned.  "I gave you one stroke, and you came?!”

You said it in past tense, but he was still coming, whining through his teeth and blinking quickly with those long lashes of his.  He looked so sweet— but you knew that he knew he was utterly fucked.  “I-I’m sorry,” he breathed, groaning one more time and going limp onto the bed beneath him as his cock gave one more weak flex.  “I’m sorry, Mistress, I’m sorry…”

You watched him pant for a moment, almost losing your train of thought when you saw just how pretty he was.

Unfortunately for him, it gave you an interesting idea.

Loosening his tie, you slipped it off around his head; he blinked his eyes open and scrunched up his brows with confusion.  “What are you…?” he asked, though he seemed to figure it out when you gave him a certain look: he instantly held out his wrists for you, and you smiled proudly.

You didn’t just tie them together, though— you tied them to the headboard, keeping his hands bound above his head as you grinned and leaned down over him.  “What am I gonna do with you, puppy?” you cooed in a sweet-but-concerning way.

Chuckling nervously, he answered, “that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

You ran one finger over his cock, following the line a final drop of come had left down the shaft, and he hissed in a breath through his teeth.  “So sensitive,” you noticed; he tensed up, like he was catching on.

When you licked a stripe up his shaft with the tip of your tongue, his gaze darkened and his mouth went slack.  “I— I don’t—” he stammered, clearly conflicted with his desire for you and his fleeting logic telling him this was going to hurt.  “I don’t think I can… take it…”

You’d never done this to him before, but you couldn’t stop yourself: looking up at his flushed face to see his reaction, you enveloped his head with your lips.

He let out a high, desperate moan as you suckled his swollen tip; “M-Mistress, fuck, I— oh my god—”

You looked up at him, but his head was tilted back too far to see you.  You slid your mouth down further, stroking his base with your hand, until you were gagging on him and he was writhing beneath you wildly.

“Oh my god, fuck!  Fuck, fuck— I… god your mouth is warm…” 

You pulled off of him, partially to give him a bit of a break and partially so you could keep talking to him.  Then again, it wasn’t much of a break since you kept stroking him, letting your spit and his come smooth your movements, sure to focus on that poor overstimulated tip.  “It’s not too much for you, is it?  My good boy can take it, right?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” he promised, though he didn’t sound that confident.  It sounded like what he really meant was I’m gonna try my best to take it.

“And aren’t you so thankful that Mistress is so nice to you, sucking your cock even though you don’t deserve it?”

“Fuck, of course,” he panted, “thank yo—oh fuck, fuck—”

You threw him off by taking him down as far as you could in the middle of his sentence, but he still had his manners.

“Thank you!” he yelped, starting to shudder more violently.  “Th-thank you, so much, fuck, you’re perfect—”

When you pulled off again, he sighed with relief yet followed your mouth with a buck of his hips.  “Does it hurt, or does it feel good?” you wondered.

“I— it’s— both,” he choked.

“I bet you wished I would suck your cock someday, didn’t you?” you pressed, and he instantly nodded and whined through his teeth as you licked all over the tip with a wide tongue.  He gasped as you licked right over the slit.

“Fuck, I did— god, I— oh…”

Poor thing couldn’t get many words out in a row, he kept losing it every time you hollowed out your cheeks and swirled your tongue.  And then you gave his balls a firm squeeze, and he made a sound you thought you might’ve never heard him make before.

“Mistress, please, please,” he begged breathlessly, moaning louder as you bobbed your head up and down.  You couldn’t tell if he was begging for more or for relief, and honestly, you expected he didn’t know either.

You kept going for a few more minutes of that before his cries of pain got a little too intense— then you pulled away, and replaced your mouth with a hand stroking him as fast as you could.  He still sobbed, of course, and dropped his head back again between his restrained arms.

“Fuck, s’too much,” he breathed, “just slow down…”

“I can’t, sweet boy— I need you to come again for me,” you encouraged. 

“I— fuck, Mistress— I—” he stammered, and you could tell he was trying to stop himself from saying I can’t.  He couldn’t bear to disappoint you twice.

“Can you do that for me, baby?” you cooed, making him look at you with the widest, wettest eyes.  “Can you show me you’re still my good boy?”

“F-fuck, yes, okay,” he panted, “I’ll… I’ll come for you, just don’t stop, please…”

“I won’t stop, puppy, not until we’ve got every drop of come out of you,” you promised.

He should’ve known you took ‘every drop’ very seriously.  Though he came after just another minute of stroking him like this, you still didn’t stop.  When he cried out and tugged on his own tie holding him down, you didn’t stop.  “Fuck!” he yelped.  “Please, I can’t— I can’t!”

“Shh, yes you can,” you encouraged, though your free hand holding him down by the neck did more to keep him in place.  “C’mon, be my good boy, gimme one more.”

He kept trying to squirm away, though, and his wrists were pulling hard on that necktie— he was probably going to ruin it.

“Stop fighting so much,” you warned him firmly.  “Just be my good boy and fucking take it, come on— the fuck are you good for if you can’t do what I tell you to?”

“S-sorry,” he barely managed to get out, you almost didn’t hear it over the sound of his feet kicking all over the satin sheets.

“You don’t wanna get in trouble, do you?  Don’t you wanna show me you know how to do what you’re told?” you kept taunting him, glancing down and seeing how red and weepy his cock was getting— you knew he wasn’t much further off from coming again.

“Yes, yes, fuck, I’m sorry,” he spoke hoarsely through the pressure you were putting on his neck.

“The sooner you come, the sooner it stops, puppy,” you informed him, gripping his cock even tighter as he hissed in breaths through his teeth.  “Just come for me one more time…”

All he could do was lick his lips and nod; you let go of his neck, wanting to hear every broken moan he made.  With his eyes shut tight and his nose scrunched up, he finally came with a long and wavering grunt— that was what you were waiting for, the sound of total relief.  You slowed your movements down to a stop, smiling as you watched his cock give just two small pumps of come that dripped onto the ends of his shirt… it flexed weakly a few more times after that, but clearly he was beyond spent.

“Good job,” you praised softly, “you did so good for me… look what a mess you made…”

If you were feeling really mean you’d make him clean that all up, but something told you it was best to stop now… that ‘something’ being your watch.  You’d stayed twenty minutes late and you were probably going to piss off your next client by being significantly tardy, especially considering you had to change first; you hoped you could chalk it up to some mindfuck dominance thing, walk in and say Mistress is never late, I always get here when I want to, if you were sitting around waiting for me that just shows how pathetic you are or something.

As you thought about that, you reached up and released the tie around Robert’s hands; he didn’t jump to rub his wrists, or flex his fingers into fists to bring some feeling back.  He just let them fall limply at either side of him.

Though it was a small difference, it worried you— as did his silence.  Normally he was all over you with praises by now, thanking you for everything, telling you he couldn’t wait to see you again.  

“Was it a good session?” you asked him gently, letting him know it was over— he didn’t need to ‘perform’ anymore.  You still felt like you needed to, though.

He worried you with the continued silence, though, just catching his breath and keeping his eyes shut; just when you thought you might check again that he was okay, he nodded quickly and hoarsely insisted, “Yeah, m’fine.”

“Not too much for you?” you asked nervously, watching him shake his head— but his lip was shaking, too.  He was still crying, and you could tell it wasn’t like the whiny tears from before: he was holding back from bursting into sobs.  You interrupted the silence with a whispered Robert? and he collapsed; folding in on himself, he curled into a ball on the bed and shook as he cried.  Your eyes went wide as you realized you were absolutely in over your head.

Aftercare was generally not part of the deal.  Most of your clients didn’t want it— they preferred to process whatever they needed to alone, after you left— and the rest just had to suck it up, though they never made much of a fuss.  This felt like a real situation, and you felt guilty leaving now, but worried you’d only make it worse or break your own rules if you intervened somehow.

“I’m gonna give you some time,” you offered as you sat up— like ditching him now was a courtesy.  Of course, as you expected (from him, specifically), he reached out for you.

“Please stay,” he begged— still heavily in his submissive mindset, it seemed, and sniffling pathetically.  “Please, please—”

“Your time’s up,” you informed him flatly.

“Anything,” he whimpered, “name your price.”

“It’s— it’s not about the money, Robert,” you sighed.  “It’s just unprofessional.”

“But I need you,” he breathed, and your heart twisted.  “You can’t leave me like this, I just— I just need you to—”

Relenting, you sat back down on the bed; he instantly wrapped his arms around you, buried his face in your chest, and pulled you down with him.

Though it took you a moment, you went ahead and wrapped your arms around him in return, hoping to soothe him.  “I’m sorry,” he said, though you struggled to make it out at first until he kept repeating it.

“It’s okay,” you replied softly, rubbing his back and looking down at the mess of brown hair shaking with each sob.  “It’s okay, baby, you did really good… I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to go very hard on you, I mean, I’ve made you come a lot more than that before.”

“Not that,” he choked, finally pulling his face up to let you see and hear him better.  Your heart broke seeing how overwhelmed he really was.  “I just… I really don’t wanna disappoint you…”

In retrospect, maybe you should’ve known it would be too much for him— or maybe it was something about today, it just hit the wrong way, you couldn’t be sure.  It didn’t really matter, in the end.  

You sat up a bit, and he followed you, as you sighed and held his face.

“Robert, I was just— that wasn’t real,” you promised.  “I needed something, you know, to work with.  I just wanted you to prove your loyalty— I was never angry with you.”

“I know,” he croaked, though he was calming a bit already, “I know that, but I— it felt like it.  Nobody else tells me what I’m supposed to do, you know— only you do that.  I need that.  Then I can know I’m doing what I’m supposed to… you’re the only person I can’t let down.”

Biting your lip for a second, you reached out to touch his chest through the half-unbuttoned shirt, but he pulled away suddenly.

“I know what this is,” he said, suddenly sounding a bit more normal again— almost clinical, actually.  “I know this is your job.”

“Well… yeah,” you mumbled; obviously he knew that.  You tried to understand what he was really saying to you.

“I know… none of it’s real,” he added, looking away.  

Gently, you turned his face back to yours, wiping a tear from his cheek with your thumb.  “I really am proud of you,” you whispered, moving closer to him on the bed.

He held your face, then, too; and he put his other hand on your waist, moving even closer to you.  “Please…” he began, and though the word was overwhelmingly familiar, you were sure you’d never heard him say it like that before.  “Please, let me kiss you.”

You kissed him first, feeling one more tear roll down his face as he pulled you closer and pressed your body to his.

The kiss was soft at first, still a little teary; the way he held you was incredibly tender but with a lightly-suppressed neediness behind it… his fingers would tighten at your waist sometimes and you could tell he wanted to just force you against him.  You’d let him, if he wanted to, but he was probably too weak after all that.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, reaching to hold onto his shoulders and squeeze them.  “I’m so sorry, baby—”

“No,” he breathed against your lips, barely stopping the kiss to speak, “no— no, you’re perfect—”

“Stop it,” you mumbled, pushing him away slightly.  “I’m not.  I fucked up.  I went too hard on you.”

“I— I could’ve safeworded, I just didn’t… I don’t know,” he shook his head before leaning it onto your shoulder.  “You must think I’m pathetic.”

You laughed a little as you combed your fingers through his hair, letting your nails gently scratch his scalp.  “No, I just get paid to call you pathetic.  You’re so strong…”

“No, I’m not,” he promised, his voice oddly firm and stable for how weepy the words could’ve come off.  “I’m not— not even strong enough to… to end this.”

You froze up, looking at him with wide eyes as he pulled his face up close to yours.

“It’s not right anymore,” he whispered to you, cradling your cheek in his palm; god, his hands were warm.  “You know it, don’t you?  You can tell.  You can tell I broke the fucking rules.”

“Don’t tell me, after all this bullshit,” you managed to laugh bitterly, “you really are dating one of those fucking models— or both—”

“Not that rule, fuck,” he coughed, “no— I fucking fell for you.”

You blinked quickly, forcing yourself to believe you misheard him.  “You—?”

“I fell in love with you.”

“No— Robert, you don’t even know me,” you insisted, looking away.

“I want to!  God, I want to,” he groaned, “it’s all I think about: what you must be like when you’re not, you know, on the clock.  What turns you on, what ticks you off, what… fuck, what you eat for breakfast!  Anything.”

“Then you don’t love me,” you informed him, “you love the idea.  You love the… mystery.  You don’t really want to know me, I promise.”

“You don’t love a mystery because you want it to stay that way,” he laughed, rubbing your shoulders— only then did you notice your own eyes were getting teary.  You really didn’t want him to see you that way, but you didn’t have much choice now.  “You love a mystery because you can’t wait to get to the ending and figure it all out!  I just wanna know you— you’re a page-turner.”

“Okay, the metaphor is a little tired now,” you rolled your eyes, but you sniffled and tried to hide your face.

“Hey,” he whispered, petting your head, toying with your hair for a moment with his fingers.  “I know you can’t keep going on with me, now that I said that.  I know this is gonna have to be goodbye.  But I… I think goodbye is still less painful than having to be this close to you but so far away.  I’m sorry… I thought I was strong enough for this.”

Get out now.  Get out now.  The advice echoed in your head.  If you’re catching feelings, get out now and definitely do not tell him you’re falling for him too— no don’t you fucking dare bitch— “It’s not goodbye,” you blurted out.  “I’m not strong enough for that.”

When you dared to look at him, his eyes were full of hope.

“God, you look fucked up,” you noticed with a laugh, your eyes scanning his ruined suit.  “C’mon, let’s get you in the bath.”

~

There was plenty of room in this bathtub, more than any one person could need— plenty for you to have your own space.  But, of course, Robert kept you close to him, your chest against his back as he ran his hands over your skin under the water.

“For breakfast?  I don’t know, I guess I have toast a lot, if I remember it,” you chuckled.  “My mornings are pretty busy.”

“Any pet peeves?” he asked.

“Uh, people who don’t use earbuds on public transport,” you decided.

“Ah,” he nodded.  “That sounds irritating.  I, um, haven’t been on public transport…”

You rolled your eyes, but you giggled, too.

“If you could only wear one color for the rest of your life, what would it be?” he prompted.

You turned over, splashing the water a bit, so you could look up at him.  “Is this interrogation ever gonna end?  The water’s getting cold.”

“Well, so far, the more I know, the more I wanna know, so…” he trailed off.  “Guess we’re gonna be in here ‘til I solve the mystery, hm?”

You laughed, but he pulled you into another kiss— more energetic than before, but still sweet, still a little hungry.  When you pulled back, he leaned in and kissed your neck instead.  “I think we could be here all night and still have a lot left to cover,” you warned him.

“I can afford all night,” he shrugged.

As tempted as you were to take him up on that, you had to accept that that element of the arrangement was over now.  “I’m not gonna charge you,” you admitted, making him break away from your skin to look up at you.  “You wanted to learn what I’m like off the clock, right?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, pulling you a little closer until you straddled his lap in the water.  “I wanna learn whatever I can.”

“Well, here’s something you should’ve figured out a lot sooner,” you offered, running your fingers over his jaw until you gently held his chin, making him look up at you with this sweet, pouty, needy look on his face.  “I fell for you, too.”

#whoops how did feelings get in there? #not sure how that happened #robert fischer x reader #robert fischer smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut

[t-r99]

Entangled

Oliver Aiku x reader

fuck him and his absurdly long lashes okay

Not too explicit, but meh kinda. I write smut whenever I'm bored just for shits and giggles but I've never uploaded it on tumblr. This one's pretty tame.

(embarrassing fact about me, I used to be one of the cringy teenage smut writers on wattpad back in 2014. DON'T DENY IT! Y'ALL WERE THE SAME)

warnings: smut obviously

(does it get sliiiightly angsty towards the end? idfk)

wc: 1k

There's something special about him that's just impossible to put into words. Maybe it's the two toned hair or the mismatched eyes that stick out, or maybe how handsome he looks when he smiles, or it could be his way with words that has girls swooning, but you still struggle to figure it out.

Unfortunately, you share the same friends. You accepted that the guy would occasionally be in your presence long ago.

The first thing you think when you see his face or hear his name is slut. The second thing you think is manwhore. Oliver Aiku really is one, but he truly does look good. It really is a shame. If the term eye candy is looked up it will probably include a picture of Aiku.

He looks otherworldly when his face is flushed and those mismatched eyes appear a shade darker under the dim light of the room.

You hate him, don't forget that. You hate him, but how could you ever hate those big hands that grope and caress every inch of you? How could you hate the way he groans and pants right by your ear?

Most importantly, how could you ever hate his cock?

Really, it's perfect.

Is this the first time this is happening? Nope. Are you ever going to admit that you love it? Also no.

To be fair, there's no need to. Your body is doing all the talking since your mouth is too busy at the moment.

He's fucking you like his life depends on it. Maybe it's all the alcohol he had earlier, but why do you care? He's good. Really good.

Aiku slows and leans down, muscular body caging you in. He's smirking down at you like the smug bastard he is, enjoying fucking you stupid barely an hour after you ignored his existence and told your shared friends that you would prefer not to talk to him.

He brushes the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip, mismatched eyes staring down your mouth for a few seconds, then he tugs gently and urges you to part your lips.

Aiku chuckles, low and deep. He's loves seeing you like this. "Y'want me to kiss ya, huh?"

You're warm, hot. You're melting.

Still, you will never admit it outloud. The words will never leave your lips. Instead, you force a look of disgust on your face and scoff, breathless. "I'd rather die." You pant out, turning your head to the side.

Oliver is so deep inside you, damn it. It feels amazing . . .

"Stubborn, ain'tcha, doll?" He leans closer until his lips brush against your cheek instead, his breath hot against the flushed skin. "You drive me fuck'n crazy."

He starts moving again, giving slow thrusts that almost have you whining. It's too slow. It's not enough.

He's still so deep inside you can hardly think. If only he would move and show off that brutish strength of his.

"A- Aiku . . ."

"Oh?" Aiku stops moving. He leans fully down and now his entire weight in on top of you and you welcome it by locking your legs around his waist. "What was that?"

He's being an asshole.

"I didn't catch that." Oliver smirks. The glare you're currently shooting up at him means nothing because your eyes are glossy with unshed tears and your face is flushed. "You're adorable, y'know."

His face is so close to yours, your head goes blank.

Screw it.

Your lips meet his.

Oliver rests his arms on either side of your head and pushes back just as hard, giving deep and slow thrusts. He kisses you back eagerly and swallows up your moans.

"Oliver . . ."

Finally hearing his given name roll off your tongue in a breathy whisper, Oliver finally picks up the speed.

He loves it when you whisper his name like that, your own little way of begging him to fuck you. It makes Aiku want to wrap his arms around you and never let go.

At least he can do it for a single night every now and then.

"You feel so good, doll." Oliver mumbles against your lips, head feeling light. You're squeezing him like you never want him to leave, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, holding his face gently in your hands as he kisses you hungrily.

Your hands are soft, much more delicate than his. Everything about you is. Oliver loves how smooth and soft your skin is, your lips, your touch, your voice, everything. Your warm walls feels soft around his cock that's now throbbing with need, almost aching.

"So good f'me." He breathes.

"'m close . . ." You whisper. "Oli, 'm close . . ."

"Yeah?" He bites his bottom lip. You look so fucking sexy like this, eyes teary and lips swollen from his rough kiss. "G'na cum f'me, baby?" Aiku pants desperately.

He's desperate to feel you fall apart on his cock. He just can't get enough of making you cum. Oliver gets to feel your tight little hole clamp down on and milk his cock for all he's worth, he gets to hear you cry his name for the high heavens to hear, and you always let him fill you up.

"D- Don't stop . . ." You beg him. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop."

Oliver buries his face in the crook if your neck where he leaves open mouthed kisses all over your smooth skin. You're tugging on his fluffy hair as he brings you ever closer, pushing at his head in a silent plea for him to get even closer, if it's possible.

It just feels so good.

Who cares that you claim to hate Oliver Aiku? He doesn't believe you, and honestly, you don't even know if you believe that anymore.

"I'm- F- Fuck," Oliver's voice falters. "'m g'na cum."

Oliver swears that he's in heaven right now.

He moans into your neck and you finally cum with a broken cry of his name, spasming around his cock and milking him dry.

"Oli . . ."

He only whines against your neck in response and shifts a bit so he can slide his arms under your back so he can hold onto you tightly.

You sigh. Maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has you relaxing and almost melting into the mattress, or maybe it's how Aiku clings to you and presses soft, lazy kisses all over your neck.

It just feels so good . . .

Sure, you hate him, but you don't hate the way he holds you like this, and tangled up together.

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock oliver aiku #oliver aiku #oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku x you #oliver aiku smut #aiku smut

[incarnadinedreams]

What do you like about jc?

Oh my goodness what don't I love about him!

Well, first and most importantly, he has a purple lightning whip.

Secondly, you know how the elements of a tasty dish are salt, fat, acid, heat? Well he's salty, he's acidic, he's a spicy Yunmeng boy, and some sources of mixed repute claim he's got a nice fat ass. All the elements for a delicious snack are right there!!! He has the range, the depth, the complexity!

Jokes aside, a lot of it really is just based on vibes. I just... liked him pretty much immediately. My heart was won at "I'm his uncle. Any last words?" and it only got better from there. He's got most of my favorite lines in the book - whether funny or completely heart-wrenching, both directly in his dialog or about him. His sarcastic comments are always hilarious, and he's often enough actually a voice of reason and responsibility (promptly ignored). The vast majority of the time when he's not in some absurdly extreme and traumatic situation he's being pretty normal and seems perfectly likeable to me.

I enjoy that from the start he's mostly pretty practical. One of the first times we see him, he desperately wants to smack Lan Wangji but he's run the cost-benefit analysis in his mind and it's not worth it, so (grumpily) he does not. Some people point out his 'definitely don't start a petty fight unless you know you can win' reasoning as some sort of point of cowardice, but my reaction to that scene was thank god, finally someone in a fantasy novel has some common fucking sense!

Except, of course, on one very specific topic: Wei Wuxian. And then there's like a 50/50 chance all that consideration goes out the window instantly. A little pinch of unhinged obsession adds so much extra flavor! With the amount of overtime he's pulling in sect conferences he deserves a little derangement from time to time, as a treat. And that intensity goes both ways.

That fervent certainty that Wei Wuxian would be back some day, that not even death could hold him - a conviction bordering on madness, except in the end he was right? Hot.

On the other end, he's willing to sacrifice himself for Wei Wuxian and other people who loves over and over and over again throughout the story (even if he's mad about it), until he can't do that without throwing other people he's responsible for under the bus.

To the point that when we get to the big reveal after Guanyin Temple about how he was captured by the Wens... once the shock fades, you step back and think 'wait, why was that even a surprise to me at all?' The guy just took a sword through the chest for Wei Wuxian like an hour earlier (even if it was unnecessary and therefore mostly embarrassing), and was about to run back into that cave at the Second Siege with no spiritual power and a sword he couldn't even lift three days before that, and yet we're surprised he gave himself up back then?

And of course, the same goes for his nephew and I just love them so much. He doesn't hesitate for a moment to offer himself as a hostage instead of Jin Ling at the temple. He may sometimes struggle to express his love in a way that's more palatable than the prickly sharp thing it can sometimes be, but it's undeniably there. When Jin Ling is crying after the Second Siege, it's Jiang Cheng he goes to without hesitation - and that "Who did this to you?!" line, the way he doesn't hesitate to pull him away somewhere private and stick by his side.

Even things that are meant to cast him in a bad light, like his 400 spirit nets fiasco, show him also anxiously helicopter-uncling his way through baby's first "solo" night hunt, complete with undercover agents just in case, is proof that he at least cares very deeply. I think if you look beyond the surface, it's also pretty obvious why he'd spare no expense and use any method to give his bullied nephew the best debut night hunt possible in a society where talent and prestige are incredibly important to his future ability to consolidate power as the Jin heir. He wants to shield him from the same insecurities and pain he felt, especially where being overshadowed was used against him in ways that had specific negative impacts on his ability to protect people he cared about.

Another of the reasons I love him so much is because his grief is so intense that it's palpable. Those scenes post-fall of Lotus Pier where he's oscillating between numbed shock and fury, just... feel so real, and relatable, and resonate in way that's just horribly accurate. It's like his grief jumps off the page, you can feel the hurricane of horror and loss crashing into him. The scene at Nightless City, that moment where he says "Didn't you say that you could control it, that it would be fine?", where the last of his faith in Wei Wuxian shatters and the fracture is complete, like two halves of a whole have finally snapped apart and there's nothing left... I just love the intensity and desperation.

But even more, he keeps going after. He's stubbornly alive, despite it all, and I don't think he gets nearly enough credit for the fact that he's actually able to handle things pretty well, considering the situations involved. He has a breakdown about it and then he picks himself up and gets back to work. He's remarkably resilient, in ways that aren't necessarily flashy or obvious at first. Too much is made out of the ways he's broken or bitter when for the most part he's actually remarkably functional in the face of horrible traumas!

I have been trying very hard not to just spam my favorite quotes in here but this is really my favoritest favorite (from chapter 61) because it just sums him up so beautifully:

... the most laughable one was the YunmengJiang Sect, the people of which either had been killed or had scattered, leaving only Jiang Cheng, who was younger than even Lan XiChen and was still a child born yesterday, who had nobody in his hands but still dared call himself sect leader, holding up the banner of rebellion as he recruited new disciples.

Because he does the hard work, day in and day out. The boring, tedious, constant work - the endless late nights dealing with the constant problems. But he does it, and he mostly accomplishes what he sets out to do.

It's so sad that all the things he does very well get overshadowed by his insecurities, because in the end, hasn't he done incredible things? Hasn't he survived? Hasn't he gone from the youngest sect leader with nothing and nobody that Wen Ruohan could only laugh at, to "No matter which clan you choose to offend, you shouldn't offend the Jiang clan, and no matter which person you choose to offend, you shouldn't offend Jiang Cheng"?

He might be a little scarred, but isn't he succeeding all the same?

(He should probably hire a PR firm to handle the rumors his resting bitch face causes though.)

#thinking too much about jiang cheng yet again #I will never turn down a chance to talk about him #he's just so him! #late stage jiang cheng derangement syndrome on full display here

[nickywhoisi]

SO IT HAS BEEN A GODFORSAKENLY LONG TIME

WOW I KNOW and sadly there has just been too much to regale. A lot that would be very uncomfortable, but thank the whole entire cosmos that now I can say that, for the past few days, things have finally become steady and even a little good again. I got some motel stays to get out of this absurd heat AND IT HAS BEEN SO GOOD TO BE ABLE TO COOK AND HAVE A FRIDGE AND MILK AGAIN

I can watch some good TV, and I have finally gotten the energy back to come to terms with such slimebucket populus' mental ideas about homeless people, and how it really does not apply to me and no matter how much I can get accosted by it, I should try my best to not...automatically hate people. I mean, I still do, but I am working towards getting all my trust back. It will be a very long road there. But I also have enough energy to rekindle my love for my interests and catch up on my shows and videogames and art. I have been slowly creating and doing more, and it feels good.

I am really hoping a certain pet store does not get kicked out in place of a fucking shitty pot store. That just means to me all of the mall its in will be literally smoked out of all business, and it will all go to be destroyed. I don't want that, and I am so tired of these things like this. I will be sent to an early death by dementia if this world keeps changing too much around me exactly into what I don't want it to be.

I did get to visit it for a couple final days though. So now I will always have the memories of the tetra fish, the bubbling sounds of the fishtank filters, the sights of the colorful dioramas, the bird cages and the gerbils. The slightly checkered floor. It's all there in my mind now. I even got a pet, so I fulfilled a wish of mine from way back when; to get a pet of my own from there. Sadly, the bird is a little shit at the moment, but I'm slowly learning how best to take care of it, and hope that it will finally learn to appreciate my efforts for it. It was not an easy decision to make as a homeless person and was a great expense, and the bird is also still a baby so it has a lot to learn. Far too many errors and badness between us happened so far, but just last night and today seems different from these rocky beginnings.

And most importantly, I got the correct help from Options, and UCRC got me not only one but two referrals for their mental help and homeless prevention teams! I have to figure out where I'll be on Tuesday so I can make it, and I really wish I could get started on getting help from the other team, but tomorrow, I can at least call the second team to get psychiatry help. I think this will be really good for me, like this journaling has been. But it's so incredible to me! I set out to get a referral, and I got TWO when I was beginning to dread that they didn't have/do these services and I would have been so afraid that options would be just another organization who cornered me with incorrect information and I would have had no reason left to trust anyone trying to "help". My social connections I think would have been fully over, dead in the water. That would not be okay. So as impatient as I am with one team not being available while I very much am ready, I will try to get some more time here at the motel, because it still seems like the weather is absurdly hot, and I need to keep me and the bird out of that heat.

Additionally, I have FINALLY AFTER EONS OF WAITING FOR THE RIGHT TIME gotten back into watching One Piece. I'm on the Nanone G-8 island, the series' best filler arc. It is still super good, just like I remember 8D Jonathan is such a great guy and amazing captain. He's the only one in the whole show with a galaxy brain and he has actually good strategic thinking. The Straw Hats get a really different kind of battle here; purely of wits and creative problem solving, and I think that's why in a shounen show famed for spectacularly wild battles and pure combat, this arc sticks out so well even today. I can only hope there are more moments or characters like what we get here later on in the episodes.

My art I am still working on slowly, with limited art supplies too. But I did get some good inks, so I'm gonna upload. And I finally extracted the files I needed for the book finishing posts. Unless my mind is really going and I've already done? Might need to check. Disregard if I have.

#gypsy diary #yeah so this is the whole big update so far #I really did not want to be away for so long...I missed all of you #I wanted to be with my friends here but so much occured #I will use this period of respite wisely though! #time to upload lots #nick is back babies at least for a little while

[levanterhaze]

some people say luck can knock on your door... but that's not the case.

you find yourself having the biggest crush on jung hoseok but he doesn't even know that you exist. after a fraternity party and some alcohol in your system, you find yourself with some dumb ideas with someone you didn't even know since yesterday, which is jeon jungkook. then you find yourself trapped in a stupid deal, which is — make hoseok fall in love with you.

pairing: jungkook x reader

rating: 18+

content: smut, angst, strangers to friends to lovers, college au, fluff

warnings: swearing, alcohol, mature themes and sexual content.

counting: 4.5k

[THE CHAPTERS MASTERLIST]

chapter one playlist: slow down — chase atlantic | die for you — the weeknd | little white lies — one direction

"for the last time, i swear." your best friend turned around, showing the baby blue dress that arranged perfectly on her body. you stand up and quickly take your eyes off the image of henry cavill in that white wig, printed on tv, only to see your friend and that worried look on her face.

it makes you roll your eyes.

“yeji, i swear to god. you look gorgeous. like, absurdly beautiful, so don't worry. jimin won't take his eyes off you.”

a hopeful smile spreads across her face. yeji bites her lip, confident that the dress was the right choice for her third date with jimin, one of the popular guys on campus who was totally obsessed with her.

you sometimes found it ironic how guys just almost slipped on their own drool when it came to yeji. no wonder she had caught the eye of park jimin, one of the prettiest boys on campus. they matched more than any other couple together, it physically hurts looking at both of them, it was like looking at two models at vogue at the same time.

"don't worry. he adores you.” you laugh to yourself. “you could be dressed in a bag of potatoes and yet he would say you are the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. you know how him."

yeji stared at herself in the mirror, straightening her eyeliner for the third time in less than ten minutes. you were glad she was going to this date, partly because the day had been totally stressful and all you wanted was to idolize henry cavill’s figure as you watched the latest episodes of the witcher.

"okay, so… i’m leaving." she turns once more only to pick up her coat and her bag. “don't wait for me. don't sleep too late and eat something, okay?”

"okay." you smile wryly. "mom."

yeji rolls her eyes as she leaves the room with a sigh.

"bye, have fun and use protection!" you scream only to hear yeji's exasperated grunt and then the door slams shut.

great, now the apartment was entirely yours.

you were relieved because you needed some alone time, so you dropped the show and decided to take a long shower after ordering a large pizza with extra cheese. your body was begging for a hot bath and delicious food and most importantly, a good night's sleep.

after showering, you went back to the television in order to finish the episode, when the doorbell rang.

your stomach growled just imagining the aroma of pizza and… not the delivery man, but a boy. a boy without any pizza.

you look at him confused, eyebrows arched. he opens a sympathetic smile.

"hi. is hana there?"

"who?"

"hana." he curls his lips, looking anxious.

"i don't know any hana." you squint, looking right into the slightly doe-eyed guy in front of you, wondering why he looks so familiar.

"what? no. i’m sure she lives here.” he takes his phone out of his pocket and seems to be looking again for the right address. "where’s it? fuck." he mutters.

"sorry to disappoint you, but we don't have any hana here." you shrug.

he rolls his eyes and sighs.

“what a bitch. she gave me the wrong address?”

you scowl, a little indignant at what you've just heard.

“sorry, but… you shouldn't call her a bitch. you might as well have the wrong address. there are dozens of identical buildings in this block.”

"i’m not that dumb."

it’s not what it looks like…

"whatever, it's still a little jerk of you to talk about her like that." you fold your arms down and stare at him grimly. he opens his lips, ready to confess something, but ends up sighing again.

he digs his fingers into the hairline and pulls them back. "sorry. but she made a fool out of me. we met through this app and she said she wanted to meet me, fuck, she even sent me—” he glares at you when he realizes he was talking too much. "nevermind."

you just agreed nonchalantly, afterall, you didn't know him and he was standing in front of your door with that pitying look of a puppy that has just been abandoned.

so that was the first time that jungkook looked at you. in the heat of the deadly silence that lingered between you, he took a minute, totally forgetting about hana as he laid eyes on you. he took a while to shape your lips and how sexy you looked with that oversized shirt and little sleep shorts.

you fake a cough only to have him look at your face again. "so, is that all?"

“hm, i—”

jungkook was silenced when the pizza delivery boy appeared. the satisfying smile on your lips gave away just how hungry you were, just waiting to devour that pizza box. after contacting the delivery man, he left and you closed the door behind you, but jungkook stepped forward, making your way impossible.

"what do you want?" you rolled your eyes.

"is there any chance of you wanting to go to a party?"

you squint your eyes at him.

"nope." again you try to close the door, but jungkook insists. "do it again and i’ll call the police."

"sorry." he pulls away and a small smile materializes on his lips. “but it's a nice one. at the bangtan fraternity.”

so that's where you knew him from.

"you’re one of them?"

"you don’t know me?" he sounds a little offended.

"should i?" you arch your brow, amused by the incredulous expression on jungkook’s face. it was extraordinary how easy it was to hurt a man's ego.

“jungkook. soccer team?"

you widen your eyes, getting into character. you snap your fingers and point at him, surprised. “of course, yes. now i recognized you.”

because when you thought of bangtan, you also thought of jung hoseok. which was an almost illegal subject inside your mind.

the thing is, you could have a small — massive — crush on hoseok. which might be plausible and cute if he wasn't the most amazing guy you've ever met. being in his presence made you breathless, your words barely came out coherently and you looked more like a teenager trying to maintain your posture in front of him.

it all got worse because he was two years older and nearly a senior in college. that made it difficult for some things, like for example, him just noticing you. hoseok is an extremely smart and popular guy. he's always hanging out with jimin and the bangtan boys, who together make up the best-known fraternity on campus.

this was a great chance to be close to him, maybe try to talk to him or even something more. jungkook pouted as he waited for an answer. you looked at him one more time, only then noticing the glittering metal at the corner of his lips and the side of his eyebrow.

that’s totally insane, you thought. give up your plans to binge-watch the witcher and stuff yourself with pizza to go to a bangtan fraternity party.

"give me ten minutes."

fifteen minutes after having the door closed in his face, jungkook jumped at the noise of the door opening. it was like he was seeing another version of you, only sexier. he didn't want to look too hard, as it might even be a little awkward given the situation you were in, but he couldn't help but think about how great you looked in your long-sleeved cropped, jeans and boots. the eyeliner in your eyes made you fierce, sensual.

jungkook for a second thanked that hana had bailed out on him.

"can we go?" you expect after tucking your phone into your jacket.

"o–of course." jungkook clears his throat after realizing he was staring again. "what's your name?"

you were already heading down to campus street, where the wind lay hard and made him reach inside his sweatshirt.

"it's ____," you answer it with a grin on your face. so you decide to bring it up, not trying to sound too obvious. "hmm, will your friends be there?"

"i think so." he looks at you for a moment, eyes naturally wide, watching the small frown on your forehead. "why? they're really cool.”

"oh, yeah, sure." your comment sounds a bit sarcastic, but he doesn't notice. "by the way, sorry that this hana had bailed on you."

jungkook snorted between a laugh, his eyes squinting as his lips expanded into a crooked smile.

"it's fine."

"are you going to talk to her?"

"probably." he sighs and the air condenses in front of him from the cold. "why?" he looks at you.

"just curious." you shrug, after all, you were just trying to bring up some subject with jungkook until you guys got to the frat.

the house wasn't that far away, so after a few minutes of walking, you could hear the music and the shouts of some boozer people.

the interior was chaotic, but right away you saw taehyung, jimin’s best friend, and namjoon talking. jimin wasn't there, so it was a little odd being where he lived without him being here.

taehyung turned around the moment he saw jungkook coming in, pushing a dozen people before he managed to get close to his friends. you followed, trying not to get pushed around by drunk freshmen.

"jungkook and ___?" taehyung looks at you confused but in a good way. "this is new."

"wait, do you know each other?" jungkook announces as if he already knows you, which is not quite true.

you just shrug and smile sympathetically.

"mi casa, su casa. we have beer in the kitchen.” you just notice that there's a soju bottle entwined in taehyung's fingers when he beckons to the kitchen path.

"okay. thanks.”

jungkook still stares at the two of you a little uncertain, but then something catches his attention and he widens his eyes, lips parted in shock.

"you gotta be fucking kidding me."

you try to follow up to the point where he's staring, but all you see is a red-haired girl with her back turned. her silky hair runs down her back so gracefully you feel a little envious.

"whats going on?"

"it's her." he locks his jaw. "that's hana."

oh.

you look at him perplexed, but deep down you have an enormous urge to laugh. poor jungkook. you barely have time to react as he disappears among the people and soon you realize that taehyung is gone too and you're standing in the middle of a living room surrounded by people you don't know.

you snort, thinking that maybe this was a mistake and that yeji will be disappointed to hear you're not asleep at this time.

you make your way to a corner of the house where there are few people, near the stairs. from there you can see almost everyone and the air smells less of alcohol and vomit.

"you look like you need this." a voice unexpectedly rises. you turn around, slightly startled and your heart erupts inside your chest.

hoseok.

"oh hi. yes, thank you.” you shake your head slightly, taking the can from his hands.

you're genuinely surprised that he noticed you. for him to come to talk to you so suddenly.

“sorry, but did we know each other? i’m sure i’d remember you,” he says in such an alluring way that makes your heart melt.

"it's ___." you smile shyly when you meet his eyes. "but i don't think we know each other."

that was one of the details you most adored about him, besides the heart-shaped smile that always took your breath away. hoseok had an intense gleam in his eyes, it made anyone fall in love with him in a matter of seconds, he had that kind of power. it was impressive how he could change the entire mood just by his presence. tireless times you witnessed him cracking up with his group of friends and the way they all seemed to idolize him, it seemed that he was midas.

so you had your reasons for being a little anxious.

“i saw you with jungkook. are you guys friends?"

"not exactly. but i know jimin and taehyung.” you contemplate his eyes traveling over your lips as you speak. it could be that simple, he'd pull you and devour your lips, the way you always dreamed of.

"and what course are you in?" he takes a quick sip of beer and when you're ready to respond, a vibration takes all your attention.

not now.

“‘i’m sorry…” you pull your phone out of your pocket and snort impatiently when you see yeji’s name on the screen. “i need to take this."

hoseok nods quietly as you climb a few steps and cover your ear to keep the noise from getting in your way.

"i’m freaking out!" yeji screams louder than the music.

"what happened yeji?"

"it just so happened that jimin and i are going to… you know."

wow you are going to get laid. congrats yeji, for telling me your big secret while i try to do the same — not really successfully — with hoseok.

“that’s great, isn't it? wasn't that what you wanted?”

yeji sighs. “of course, but i’m nervous! it's jimin!”

"jimin’s a gentleman, maybe the kindest and most loving guy i know, so everything will be fine." you laugh and yeji seems to calm down a little bit.

"thanks ____. he's coming now. need to go.”

"okay…be safe?"

"see you tomorrow," she growls in annoyance.

and so, she hangs up.

you chuckle to yourself because only yeji would call you in the middle of a fit just to tell that she's going to have sex with her boyfriend. which is kind of funny since you always share everything, every useless detail of your life.

“so what were you saying—” the phrase dies halfway on your lips because hoseok is no longer there.

you look around, but it seems to have disappeared. with that, your head falls back and a long growl of discontentment escapes your lips.

almost an hour later, you're miserably draining your second bottle of beer and your thoughts start to get hazy.

hoseok has disappeared for the past hour, so have jungkook and his friends. the music still goes on and people never seem to get tired of shrieking or drinking alcohol.

after the second bottle, you decide you prefer to leave. with your phone in hand, you cross the fraternity and look for an uber through the app. although it's not too late, there's some trepidation about walking alone for ten minutes to the buildings around campus.

your eyes then overtake an ironic scene. the redhead, the girl who had so devilishly fooled jungkook, was kissing someone near the entrance. first, a frown of disgust took over your face, then fury. because it wasn't just any guy, it was hoseok.

he had his hands on her face, on her neck, on every place of that girl's body, and you felt everything tremble and succumb to hatred. first, because it was ridiculous, he’d never look at you when people like hana are walking around like that.

the feeling of nausea hits you like a bump and everything seems a little dazed, but still, your mind traces an outrageous thought. taking a deep breath, eyes brimming with wrath, you turn and turn off your phone. just across the room, you see jungkook talking to a couple of friends you've never seen before.

without anticipation, you pull his arm and lead him towards the stairs.

"are you okay?" he looks at you, totally confused.

"if i ask you something, would you be honest?"

jungkook stops to think for a moment and nods his head.

"okay?" he hesitates, frowning a little bit.

your chest rises and falls, adrenaline coursing through your veins, the taste of beer intoxicates your palate, but all you can focus on are jungkook’s sparkling-wide eyes.

"do you think i’m hot?"

jungkook almost chokes with his own saliva but blinks a couple of times before answering.

“is that even a question?"

something twirls in your stomach.

"do you wanna fuck?" your words escape as if you are barely saying ‘good morning’ to someone.

jungkook freezes for a moment, but then a lopsided smile arises on his face.

"is this some kind of joke?"

“jungkook! yes or no?"

"oh." he pouts, feeling everything stop for a moment. for that moment he knew you're deadly serious. jungkook lets his eyes travel through your hair, then your red lips and how you somehow look hot in this haze of lust. "sure." he replies casually.

a smile on his face is all you need to know.

jungkook closed the door while you noticed some details of the now lit room. it was simple, nothing too fancy for a frat house. there were some medals and trophies, but you expected that from his performance in football games.

"so...?" jungkook’s voice haunts you a bit. now, a little soberer than a few minutes ago, it all seems to start to make more sense.

were you even suggesting having sex with jungkook because you were mad at hoseok? what nonsense. would it be too late to give up?

but the most contradictory part was that you didn't want to. jungkook’s confused and yet predatory gaze falls on you.

in a quick movement he removes his sweatshirt and you are surprised to see dozens of tattoos on his arm. several random drawings extend into his hand. and somehow, it seemed to make you flush even more with anger and desire.

"why are you looking at me like that?" your voice comes out between a laugh.

"i’m still a little confused." he scratches the side of his head. “not that i don't want to do this. like, i want one hundred percent. but why are we doing this anyway?” he slurs over his own words and you roll your eyes as you walk over to him.

suddenly the anger seems to turn into something else and you just need to relieve that tension with something and jungkook is there, looking like the best person to do it for you.

you hold his face in both hands, eyes still clouded by all that adrenaline. he stares directly at your full lips and his heart seems to flutter faster as you approach, your alcohol-streaked breath musky with its sweet scent. "please, just shut up and fuck me."

your body’s propelled back when jungkook's lips meet yours. his hands are lengthy and tough when they grip your waist precisely. your kiss turns into something sloppy and slippery, full of frustration and desire on both sides.

jungkook leans against the wall, creating a small space between his body and you. without further ado, your jacket is tossed to another corner of the room as he removes his pants and shoes, without even unlocking his lips from yours. eventually, this ends up happening when you remove your pants and the cropped covering your breasts — no bra — a detail that makes jungkook gasp in delight. your bodies are hot and a mixture of confusion and lust. you help him remove his black shirt that was still hanging from his body, and when he wrapped you in his arms, he turned you so that you have your back to him.

your body burns with pure fever, jungkook's firm hands grip your flesh, and you feel the touch of his lips with his deviant tongue snaking down your neck. your head automatically drops to the side, giving his reckless and rosy lips free access.

it's only a matter of time before jungkook's erection makes its presence, rubbing it against your ass, which quickly rears up for more contact with his hardened cock.

you moan weakly as jungkook descends in a trail of kisses down your back, hot tongue still crawling, teeth scraping your skin, making you burn with craving. his lips only stop when they reach your ass, where he bites your skin and slowly lowers the sides of your panties. it's almost painful for you to feel his fingers brush your skin so deliciously. it just makes you want him more and more.

in an unexpected movement, jungkook turns your body, eyes searching yours, and he's fascinated by the view below. your breasts fill his hand so perfectly it startles him. you gasp when he squeezes one of them as he draws one more line of kisses between your navel and then, he moves down.

"leg up, babe." his voice sounds sensual and erotic at the same time, a combination that makes you almost erupt.

then you obey, putting one of your legs around his shoulder and you swear you can hear him saying something like ‘you’re so fucking wet’. in the first instance, he just stares at you in wonder, admiring your body and your panting breath each time he moves an inch closer to where you needed him the most. it's cruel how he moves, his hot breath against your skin makes you boil even more as if it were possible.

there's a devilish smile on jungkook's lips, which makes you confused for a few seconds, but that smile fades when he brings his lips closer to your cunt. the first contact makes you tremble because he does it well, too well.

“holy sh—” the sentence dies on your lips, turning into a noiseless moan. jungkook uses his tongue wonderfully, circling your clit and sucking your folds in precise motions. you roll your eyes, feeling pleasure intoxicate your body, and swivel all your organs at once. as if it were possible, jungkook comes even closer when you hold onto his brown hair, trying to maintain that luscious connection that keeps you on edge. he mumbles something, moaning as he eats you out. “just like that…” you don’t even recognize your own words at this point.

out of the blue, he slides a finger inside you. the sensation is maddening, feeling filled up as he eats up your pussy. it's almost vicious to look at jungkook, you almost can't, because he keeps his eyes glued to you every second as he explores every part of your body.

“jungkook...” your moans come out incoherent and louder as he speeds up his movements, adding one more, moving them quickly. “fuck, fuck, this is so—” you can barely finish. you feel an orgasm coming too soon, rippling through your body from inside out.

"will you come for me?" his voice pops into your mind like the devil himself. you never thought you'd be adept at being more vocal in sex, but jungkook's erotic voice saying so many dirty things felt right somehow. "or are you gonna be a good girl and come when i fill you up with my cock, hm?"

it was too much for you. the dirty talk, lips circling your most sensitive spot, and the nimble fingers working like your personal hell. your body then convulses, jungkook doesn't remove his lips right away, preferring to watch the way your body snakes deliciously under his touch.

“oh fuck...” you pull your hair back, trying to get back into focus, trying to figure out how an orgasm could have come so hard and fast this time. then jungkook gets up, out of the blue, sinking his lips into yours and somehow you have your own taste in your mouth.

without breaking the kiss, you aggressively make him sit on the bed, then position yourself on his lap. jungkook lets you stay on top, moving your hips slowly while he continues in his boxer, which is now damp with pre-cum. when lying down, you lean over to kiss him and jungkook seems to search for something on the dresser beside the bed until he finds the condom. it doesn't take long for him to get rid of the one piece of clothing that keeps him from bringing the two of you together at once.

when you slide over it, everything feels right. his eyes roll back and he lets out a high-pitched moan. it was painful for him, feeling your walls squeeze him so tightly as you moved so slowly. "faster, babe." he sucks in air through his teeth as you go up and down once more, sliding over his cock. "holy fu—"

his reckless hands try to reach your body, but you move faster and grab his wrists, pinning him to the side of his head. from above, you can see his lips parted aslittle moans escaped each time you moved faster. jungkook didn't object to that, but he wanted to have a piece of you right there, squeeze your waist and guide the pace, maybe grab your tits and clit just to see you squirm on his cock.

the movements were quick and agile, the sound of clashing bodies filled the entire room and for a second you closed your eyes, feeling that heated sensation invade your body for the thousandth time in th night.

"let me touch you," jungkook asked under unsteady breathing. you were still leaning over his body, letting him have a view of your tits bouncing as your body was riding him.

"no." your fingers tightened around his wrist.

jungkook seemed almost to whine, begging to touch your skin once more. his hips moved in sync with yours and quickly your most sensitive spot was hit.

“babe, babe…please. fuck. let me—” jungkook rolled his eyes tightly, feeling a strong numbness wash over his body. within moments you released him long enough for him to use his hands to rub your clit as you reached your apex. he rose, sat up, and took your neck, kissing your slippery, swollen lips once more.

your sweaty, slippery bodies tumbled onto the soccer player bed. you could barely control your frantic heartbeat. a lump formed in the center of your throat, and still trying to control your breathing, you turned to jungkook, who lay beside you.

"that was so fucking wild." he chuckled as he looked up at the ceiling still in that afterglow feeling.

then he turned to you.

"yeah." you gulped, trying to adjust your thoughts.

then suddenly you get up and start collecting your clothes scattered on the floor. jungkook doesn't say anything at first but he's confused when he sees you putting on the wrinkled clothes and then smoothing your chaotic hair in front of the mirror.

"where are you going?"

“home. it's late." the nonchalant tone in your voice takes him by surprise. of all things, this was not what he was expecting.

“uh, is everything alright? i did–"

"no, seriously. it's okay, i just need to go home.” you grab your jacket last and turn to him. the sight of jungkook's strong and bare chest covered only by a thin sheet makes you feel a ton of things once again. “thanks for the nighy tho, see you around."

and with that, you leave his dorm and go downstairs promptly. you even forget to call an uber, because a walk in the windy night seemed like the right thing to do. as you squeezed your own body and headed towards the small building where you shared with yeji, you could only think: what the fuck did i just do?

notes: SO???? what do you guys think? idk i’m begging for feedbacks!

if anyone wants to be tagged, just tell me.

#jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook #jung hoseok #jung hoseok imagine #waste the night #jungkook fanfic #bts #bts fanficbts imagines

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

Loyalty

A/N: I got inspiration for this piece from the Tumblr account @xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx​ (I got their permission to tag them!) however I think they’re a wonderful writer and always one of the top ones with a huge amount of Gerard x Reader fics that I keep on crawling back to. They have a work called “Gotham City Rivals” (with two parts) that I fell in love with and decided to do my own spinoff of with their idea. I also don’t know that much about any DC comics, most of Gerard’s character in this is based off of Bruce Wayne, but I didn’t do a bunch of research so I apologize for any inaccuracies. Hope you guys enjoy! Pairing: Batman!Gerard x Catwoman!Reader Word count: 2,781 Warnings: Angst, minor fighting, swear words, injury, mentions of blood.

You slipped off your skin tight suit with a harsh gasp, your teeth grinding together at the rough cuts that the latex and leather of your suit now brushed against. Yet the sounds of a hot shower and the steam that you could already see promised some element of relief to the pain. “You alright?” You heard your boyfriend walk in the room, armor still on in it’s completion besides his mask and gloves that he was currently carelessly throwing on the marble counter.

“Yeah, I think so.” You responded, examining the damage of your wounds in the mirror. “Not the worse I’ve taken.” Reflecting back on the various gun shots and stabs you’ve received over the years.

He came over, standing behind you. His metal armor always looked so good on him, solid black with small decals that you felt lucky enough you only got to see. He gave small kisses on the cuts and bruises along your shoulder and collarbones. It wasn’t in a sexual way, more in a caring one.

He finally decided to take off his suit as well, revealing his soft muscles but well built frame. You always found it funny how comic and cartoon artists portrayed real life heroes. They ignore your hip dips, made your waist the size of a pencil, and even overemphasized your boobs. And with Gerard, well, he was actually a lot like what artists portrayed him as, maybe just a little less triangle shaped.

“Next time,” You sighed as you look at him in the mirror that was now fogging with steam, his eyes on yours through the reflection, “You’re taking more hits.” He lightly laughed.

“Fine.” He agreed with a kind smile, “If you insist.”

“I’ve told you a million times, Gerard, I don’t know anything about those two!” You paced around his marble office trying to explain to him, “They are batshit crazy. They hold no patterns, no compunction, it’s part of their game and it makes it fun for them.” Your feet hastily moved back and forth on the gray tiled floor, the only light source was the sun creeping through the gray clouds outside and small desk-lamps around the large room.

“You’ve worked with her a few times,” He argued back from across his desk where he sat, “You have to know something.” “Those ‘two times’ happened probably five years ago, and it was exchanging files for some cash that’s it.” You sighed, “They don’t have a plan, ever, that’s what I’m telling you. Gerard, I know you’re incredibly smart and think with a plan. And the Joker’s really fucking smart too, but he’s also mentally insane and has no grip on himself other than to kill. He’s like a wild fucking animal.” Your boyfriend leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh, his finger holding his temple together as he collected himself. “If I could help you on this, you know I would in a heartbeat.”

“Would you though?” His anger was growing, both he and you knew it. In fact, the entire room and all its objects were now drowning in the tension.

“What?” You asked barely above a whisper and through teeth clenched together, eyebrows furrowing as your vision grew red. There was no response. “If you’re questioning the integrity of my current work then fuck off. You’re too scared to kill the man, and now you’re gonna put some of this one me?” You snapped, he remained emotionless. Damn he was good at his job. “Go fuck yourself Gerard.” And with that, you stormed out of the room and up to your shared bedroom.

This stupid mansion he lived in was still a maze to you, and stomping through it in your utter fit of rage didn’t help, the sound of your feet bouncing off the large halls. It made your head want to explode.

You had never once blown up on him in your two years of dating and partnership. But never had he ever questioned your morals, or more importantly your loyalty. And you were expecting some form of an apology in the least.

Sure, you felt a little bad about bringing up his own methods of working. He had his extremely valid reasons, but it was a button to push in response to him pushing yours. You knew you would apologize eventually, but you needed him to come to you first.

After all, he was the one acting like a child. It was almost like an interrogation of you, despite the fact you had told him countless times that you knew nothing about the Joker or Harley. Other than the two deals you made with them in your early days for some extra money, those two were wild cards.

So you sat in the absurdly big California king with decorated in a gray and black and decided to do some breathing exercises so you didn’t use the wall as a knife throwing target.

It was hours, no, more than hours before you saw your lover again. And if it wasn’t for your stomach grumbling in hunger you would’ve stayed cooped up in the room. You wandered your way into the grand kitchen, beginning to look for whatever you could.

Grabbing a cookie from a batch you had baked just the day before, you began brewing some coffee for yourself. Of course you didn’t hear Gerard walk in, since you two had begun this whole partner/dating thing he had begun picking up on some of your specialties, such as being extremely quiet. On missions and such you were thankful for it, considering his armor was quite clunky, but now you regretted it.

The two of you didn’t even acknowledge each other’s presence, despite the fact that you were only a few feet a way. It was like a silent game, but just completely ignoring each other. It was like the other person didn’t even exist.

But the tension was a whole other level. You literally felt suffocated by how tense it was. And you knew your lover felt the same. With the extremely small glances you took you were able to piece together how he was definitely a form of uncomfortable, his emotions starting to break through, which you knew they would eventually.

You decided once your drink was done to leave the room, leaving Gerard and the extreme conflict behind. Well, some of it at least. And back in your room you grew bored, fast.

You didn’t want to show your weak side, determination to not be the first to apologize flowed through your veins. So, you decided to relieve your stress the way you always did.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You heard Gerard’s voice echo through the hallway next to you. Your skintight suit hugged your body, kitten heels hitting the ground in rhythm.

“Going out.” You replied.

“In your suit?” He questioned, this time grabbing your arm tightly with his hand. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh?” You questioned, turning to him and eyeing him through your mask, “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Don’t test me.” He warned, his voice growing deep. This time, you pulled your arm harshly from his grip, which he didn’t fight back.

“That’s what I thought.” You spat, walking off.

Patrols were not the most enjoyable thing, the only time they were was when you were stressed and needed something to take your mind off of all your problems. A relationship limiting argument between you and your boyfriend was a perfect example.

Very rarely, if ever, did big stuff happen in Gotham. Small crimes like robberies, domestic cases, so on and so forth could be dealt with by the excuse of a police department the city had to offer. You were wondering when the federal government would finally come and kick a shoe up their ass.

It was funny, Gerard with all his power, I mean being the Gerard Way (despite the fact absolutely no one knew he was Batman) still couldn’t convince major officials to bring in more backup despite his numerous requests hidden in comments within conversations. The excuse was always that Gotham didn’t need help: they had Batman.

And let’s not forget his stealthy partner who did a lot of the work as well, the wonderful Catwoman who always got overlooked by the patriarchal influences that still flushed their way into society today. You scoffed at it.

On your earpiece you heard an incoming for an “escalating situation” at one of the prisons, which was just icing on the already destroyed caked for “a bunch of dangerous prisoners just got out.” Great.

It took you less than five minutes to be at the scene, strutting in and flashing your badge. It wasn’t that you actually needed one, it was just for good measure.

You got led through the dozens of police cars lining the outside of the prison all with flashing lights and a few sirens still going, escorted by one of the main detective inside where you were met with another officer talking to the one and only man himself.

Those hazels eyes hidden well under the mask looked up and met yours, softening just a bit from the black optics of Batman’s as you approached him. “Catwoman.” He said in a stern tone.

“Batman.” You responded the same, arms crossed over your chest.

You were briefed on the situation: A bunch of highly dangerous criminals did escape and were on the loose. The police felt that they needed help because some may or may not have ties to the Joker, therefore it made it a case for you and Gerard to deal with.

“Be careful,” Gerard told you, the two of you walking side by side in the street on patrol and looking out, “I don’t want you getting hurt again.” “Please,” You scoffed, “These guys probably have guns and a destructed god complex. I don’t see a problem.” “Some of these are former Arkham patients.” He warned, “They could be dangerous. And crazy.” “Like we haven’t dealt with that before.” You reminded him, “Or more specifically me, because I could have connections, ya know?” A verbal stab for sure. He looked over and glared.

“We’re not having this conversation right now.” “So when we get home are you finally going to grow up and have one after the entirety of today?”

“I told you-” Before he could even finish the two of you were surrounded by men with guns and various other forms of highly illegal weaponry. “Shit.” He muttered.

“Yeah shit.” You responded as bullets began shooting towards you. A few of them managed to ricochet off of nearby metal beams hitting your attackers, while other nearly missed you as you managed to jump behind them. With a few solid kicks and swings you were able to disarm and knock out four or five of them, Gerard getting the other 10 of them or so considering his suit and physical ability was greater than yours.

“How many were there again?” You asked him.

“15.” He responded. You looked around, mentally counting the bodies.

“Perfect, 15.” You responded with a sigh. “Do they not know how to scatter?” He shook his head.

A deafening silence filled the car on your way home, the only thing being heard was the soft engine rumbling of the mobile. You were still going to be strong about this whole thing, despite the fact that you wanted it to be over with.

You looked around out of boredom, and down at your suit to see if there was any damage. And, well, there was more than damage. “Well, would you look at that,” You lightly laughed, looking at the left side of your torso where a big slash and blood was seeping through. You hadn’t noticed any pain or anything until you looked down.

“What the fuck?” He asked, looking down to from the road.

“Gee, pay attention to the road.” He reluctantly huffed and put his gaze back there.

“You have a huge fucking slash on your side.” “I know,” You commented, “Oh well, we’ll fix it when we get home.”

You hadn’t noticed his increase in speed or the extra few minutes he cut off as you pulled into the large and modern mansion. Before you could even step out of the car in the garage Gerard had already opened your car door and picked you up, carrying you bridal style.

“You know I can walk.” You lightly laughed, holding on to his arms, “I think it was just a bullet graze.”

“I don’t want you hurting yourself.” He placed you down on the couch, “Let me grab the first aid kit.”

He was gone for only a few moments, coming back with the kit in handy, no mask and gloves this time, with no time to remove his armor. It wasn’t a life threatening wound, that’s for sure. “May I?” He asked, motioning to the zipper on the back of your suit. It was so cute to you how he always asked, despite your years of being together. You nodded, moving your hair out of the way.

He took your suit off with ease, helping you step out despite the harsh feeling you got from the slash. Carefully he sat you back down, dabbing your wound with a bit of alcohol and making sure not to directly touch the affected area. There was a certain spot where he had to touch the wound with the cottonball. You couldn’t help but cringe and gasp at the painful feeling, shutting your eyes as it felt like your flesh was burning. “I’m sorry baby.” He commented, squeezing your thigh for support. “You’re doing so great.”

It took him only a few more minutes, and the two of you deciding stitches may be stretching it too far, for you to finally be all bandaged up. You slowly got up, Gerard coming right to you and helping to hold your hips up. “I would suggest a bath but-” “Not a good idea.” You lightly laughed, placing your head on his shoulder. “Thank you.” You mumbled.

“No problem.” He responded, kissing the top of your head. “You alright?” You nodded as he picked you up again, taking you to the bedroom to rest.

He placed you lightly on the bed while removing the covers on the side you always slept. You crawled into the open area he had created, placing your wounded body onto the sheets and covering it up. “Do you want some pajamas?” He asked, now removing some of his suit, his unbrushed and tangled black hair fell just below his eyes.

“Yeah, actually,” You lightly smiled, “If you wouldn’t mind. This sports bra is kinda tight.” He nodded, walking into your closet and grabbing some sweatpants, while walking into his own to grab an old t-shirt, knowing those were your favorite things to wear.

He gave them to you, and stood there watching to which you rolled your eyes, “C’mon now, turn around.” You instructed, his eyes went wide with a form of embarrassment, “You don’t get to see my tits, yet.” He sighed, complying with you as you slipped your bra off and shirt on in a few seconds.

You decided against pants, considering that would take a lot of extra effort. So you just pulled the covers over you, sinking back in. “You can turn around now.” And Gerard did, looking at you with the shirt on and residing to his own side of the bed next to you.

You chose a petty play next, completely ignoring him, waiting for an apology. “I’m sorry.” He said, leaning back on the frame of the bed and looking at you. You looked back at him signaling him to do more explaining, “I’m sorry for questioning your loyalty and moral of your work. I know those two things matter to you very much, and I had no right to question either of those.” You took a moment to let the words settle in.

“Thank you,” You responded, “I’m sorry for bringing up the way you work. I know why you do it and I, too, didn’t have the right to do that either.” “Thank you.” He responded, both of you taking sighs of relief as most of the tension alleviated. “I love you.” He told you next. It had taken him a full year to speak those wonderful three words to you, and whenever he said them you always cherished the way they sounded.

“I love you too.” You responded with a small smile, placing your head on his shoulder which he happily complied with.

#gerard way #gerard way x reader #gerard way x you #gerard way x y/n #gerard way fanfiction #mcr gerard #my chemical gerard #my chemical romance #My Chem #my chemical gee #my chemical romance x reader

[queer-and-dear-books]

Title: The Doctor’s Orders

Author: Heidi Cullinan

Genre: Adult Fiction | Romance | Drama | Medical | LGBTQ+

Content Warnings: Homophobia | Racism | Explicit Sex Scenes

Overall Rating: 9.7/10

Personal Opinion: The end of a steamy trilogy and what a ride it was. We get to our final coupling, Nick Beckert (the CEO) and Jared Kumpel (the pediatrician) in a finale worthy of this series as they love in secret but yearn to be open. There’s really not much I can say about this book aside from the fact that I appreciate the diversity and I’ve enjoyed Copper Point Medical’s queer family for all that it’s worth.

Couple Classification: Jared Kumpel X Nick Beckert = Prep X Prep

Do I Own This Book? Again, if I were to get the previous books in the series, then I’d probably get this one too.

Spoilers Below For My Likes & Dislikes:

Likes:

- Jared and Nick had a lot of buildup over the course of the previous two books so at this point, I was  invested in their relationship and finding out just how they were going to end up together. Basically, the entire story, I was giddy over every single scene where they were together because it was just so absurdly adorable. From those moments where they were just holding one another inside of the elevator and worrying that the other got hurt, my heart was in a perpetual state of swelling. When they could just privately be themselves and those rare moments when they showed their affections openly, I was just with them 100%. So much more so than Owen and Erin, no offense to them. But I just couldn’t help rooting for their happiness. And they’re also a verse couple and that’s just really fucking hot. 

- Something that this book had a lot more emphasis on than the other two was the found family of Jared, Owen, and Simon. I mean, they’ve been together since grade school. They all chose to live in Copper Point because Simon wanted to. It’s just so beautiful how much the three of them care about one another. And when Jared left Matt’s car to cry alone, Owen and Simon came to him and let him break down with them. No need for explanation. They had his back no matter what. And then we got Hong-Wei’s and Simon’s wedding too! It was so adorable but more importantly, we got to see Owen give Nick a piece of his mind. While also being respectful of the fact that not every gay person’s coming out situation is the same. He was there because Jared was hurting and I have respect for that. I love the found family that all these gay men built and I love that they have “family dinners” together. I’m also glad Nick never got mad at Jared because Simon, Owen, and Hong-Wei all knew about their relationship already. Although, to be fair, he exposed himself to Hong-Wei when he said, “I love him” before passing out.

- Uzma Amin and Rebecca Lambert-Diaz are queens. The former because she operated on the mayor and used that chance to get the city council’s backing for the hospital. Fuck Peterson! The latter because she is a badass lawyer who everyone can rely on and she’s truly head bitch in charge.

- Jared going off on his racist parents in front of the entire hospital staff and God himself was iconic. “From now on, you do not have a son and I don’t have parents.” Fuck them! Oh, it was so satisfying to see him fully break ties with them because he has a much more superior family anyway.

- The scenes where Nick got jealous over Matt and that one mystery fireman were so funny and also made me so giddy. Mostly because it’s what Jared deserved after being alone for so long. For someone to want him, to hold onto him, to make sure everyone knows that he belongs to him only. The scene where they were shopping for bow ties and Nick made it a point to cling onto Jared was just adorable. And they really decided to replace the k-pop performances for the kids for magic acts together, please, it made my heart swell as much!

- Jared with children was the most adorable thing. He’s just so good with them. Whether it was with Uzma’s children or with that toddler with fat feet that he loved hearing coo. He’s quite possibly the cutest man in the whole town and all those nosy people were right when they said they had never seen a man more suited to be a dad. Ugh, the fact that he wants to have four biological kids is just so sweet too. That shit is so expensive too, damn. It’s good that his future husband is a hospital CEO then.

- The fact that Jared got that many cancellations after his relationship with Nick became public hurt. I underestimated just how stupid and petty that bigots could be. But the fact that Jared’s co-workers, even the Evangelical ones, were so determined to show support to him that they told reception not to send child patients to them because they had someone else with an open schedule and perfectly capable of doing those jobs available was just so sweet. I appreciate the staff so much for their kindness and solidarity.

- I lost count of the number of gays but I love them all. We have the surgeon, a nurse, the gynecologists, the HR director, the CEO, the pediatrician, the janitor, the music teacher, the lawyer, and so much more!

- The sexy parts were hot, the parts with Emmanuela were hilarious, and the parts with the Amins were adorable. Not much else to say because I just really enjoyed the end of this trilogy so much in the end. And I do hope Kathrynn was serious when she said they should start a club for queer folks of color. Hong-Wei (Taiwanese), Nick (Black), Ram (Indian), Rebecca (Latina), and herself (also Black) deserve that space to themselves.

Dislikes:

- Grandma Emerson and Aniyah are good people but I hate that they made Nick so miserable by refusing to accept him. I do love how well he handled himself after coming out though. He told them how much he was suffering while in the closet and they refused to come around immediately but I guess that’s just how the heteros are. They don’t get it. They don’t get how painful it is to hide that part of yourself. But damn, they seemed to switch so easily when Jared accidentally blurted out that he wanted to have kids and for two of them to be fathered by Nick. Were the matriarchs of the family seriously that put off by the idea that Nick wouldn’t have kids when surrogacy is a possibility? Nah, their children are not tools to continue the family name, fuck that. I do get that they didn’t want life to be harder for Nick as he’s a black man in a predominantly white town but they do realize that they’re contributing to the very difficulties that Nick would face by perpetuating the bigoted sermons that their church did. At the very beginning of the book, we had people at the wedding whispering about “those people” and talking about Hong-Wei and Simon’s wedding date like it was a sin. Fuck that. As much as I do respect Emerson and Aniyah for everything they did for Erin, I just find it hard to reconcile what they did to Nick. They really wanted him to hide for the rest of his life and didn’t care about him being happy huh. They cared more for Erin’s happiness than their own son’s.

- I underestimated how bad this town was. Apparently people just walked up to Simon to call his husband an anti-Asian slur, the fuck? And people were somehow more homophobic because they were in loving relationships. Like, damn, okay, fuck you. 

- The final chapter, just before the epilogue, felt rushed to me. Like all the problems were solved just because Kevin the janitor came forward and exposed those two security guards? That’s all it took for the big issues to be solved? I do sort of get the lesson though. Kevin being gay and not trusting local police makes sense. He’s seen shit. So when Nick came out, Kevin realized that this was a like-minded person. Someone he could trust. Still, I think he should have gone to Jared. After all, he knew everyone in the staff as the town gossip and he knew Kevin by name AND he was out too so Kevin should’ve trusted him at least. Oh well.

- I feel like I should be annoyed with how Matt confronted Jared about his relationship and the unfairness of it like he knew what was going on in Nick’s life. Like, shut up white boy, you don’t know shit. It’s complicated, okay? But I don’t know, it felt important for Jared to speak on these things out loud and for him to realize to himself how he felt about Nick. How Nick, to him, was so much more important to him than even his dreams.

#Booklr #Booksbooksbooks #Book Blog #Book Review #Book Recs #The Doctor's Orders #Copper Point Medical #Heidi Cullinan #LGBTQ #Queer Books #Queer Lit #Queer Representation

[incorrect-missionimpossible]

So Benji is younger than Ethan right, could you do one where Ethan trains Benjion the basics of being a field agent?

hi anon! thank you for the prompt <3. so, i have no idea what this is. i wrote it in a fit of benthan feelings and love for knife fights. it is also very filled with sexual tension. literally. so much. 

---

Ethan can’t keep his eyes off his new cadet. His name is Benjamin Dunn, Benji for short, and Ethan called him Benj the first time they were introduced, and Benji had blushed, and even the tips of his ears turned a bright red and Ethan was practically in love.

And now he has to spend 6 days a week locked in a small room with a sweaty, very, very cute Benji who has slim muscles and a 5 o’clock shadow and who is absurdly easy to talk to. He’s also smart, and so, so helpful. Ethan watched him pick up an injured bird, for god’s sake, and he knows for a fact that Benji personally nursed the bird back to health. Ethan got regular updates on the state of the bird during their lessons, and when Benji had to release Elliot, Ethan took him out for dinner and ice cream instead of their usual lesson.

Ethan fell a little bit more in love during that dinner.  

Today, Ethan’s teaching Benji how to shoot a gun, which requires Ethan to stand very close to him, chest to back, and it also requires light touches to adjust Benji’s grip and posture.

Okay, so maybe Ethan doesn’t have to stand as close as he is, but. He wants to help Benji as much as he can, and standing close to him is just an advantage. Besides, he’s been getting some pretty strong signals from Benji, and he wants to see where it goes.

“So,” Ethan says softly. His mouth is right by Benji’s ear. “The most important thing is your abdomen and diaphragm, here.” He places a light finger on Benji’s stomach. “Keep your core strong. Arms, strong, but relax your shoulders and neck. Stay on the balls of your feet. Be prepared to move.”

Benji relaxes his shoulders, but his neck is still tense. Ethan presses a light finger to the spot in question.

“Relax,” he says.

“I can’t,” Benji hisses. “Not when you’re-“

His ears turn red, and Ethan grins, because he knows Benji is blushing. He steps away and winks at Benji, who turns redder. “Better?”

Benji scowls. “You’re supposed to be teaching me, Ethan.”

Ethan shrugs. “I am. Aim, and shoot. Keep your arms steady, and be prepared for the kickback. Remember, core strong.”

Benji shoots, and the bullet goes straight through the dummy’s heart.

“See?” Ethan says, beaming. “I am teaching you.”

Benji tips his head back, exposing the long line of his neck (Ethan wants to bite it), and groans.

~~~

Knife fighting isn’t supposed to be intimate, Ethan reminds himself. Benji holding a knife isn’t supposed to be hot, he adds.

But Benji holding a knife is hot, and knife fighting with Benji is intimate.

Dammit.

Benji and Ethan are sparring with wooden knives, stopping the knife before it hits the mark. Ethan stops the match every thirty seconds, points out problems with Benji’s grip, and advising him on posture.

“It’s like a dance,” Ethan explains. “Except one wrong movement and you’re dead.”

“Ok, ok,” Ethan says, when they’re both panting heavily and the knives are slipping from their grasps, slick with sweat. “You’re doing good, Benj. You move fast, and you have control. Use that to win your fights. And remember, don’t be afraid to fight dirty. Your opponent won’t play fair, and neither should you.”

Benji nods.

“Now, the fun part. I’m going to teach you where to stab. Right now, you’ve learned the techniques, how to hold the knife, how to change your grip, how to adjust your posture, and where and when to put the power behind your strike. Can you name three places where, if you stab, your opponent will be weakened?”

“The heart,” Benji answers easily. “Lungs. And throat.”

Ethan hums. “All important parts. Hit them there, they’ll either die-“ Benji’s eyes flicker with an emotion Ethan can’t quite place- “or they’ll be considerably weakened. Other important parts.”

Ethan moves to behind Benji and taps the back of his neck. “Here. You’re going to need force, and power, most importantly, if you’re going to stab someone here.” Moving back to Benji’s front, Ethan taps his neck. “Like you said, throat. Only attempt this if you have a sharp knife. Liver” Ethan taps the space between Benji’s ribs. “Aim here. It should get you a direct hit to the liver, which will incapacitate the person you’re stabbing. And last, but not least, the back of the knee.” Ethan kneels swiftly and taps the back of Benji’s knee, looking up at him through his lashes. “Cut someone here, they won’t be able to move. It’s your best option if you’re trying to make a quick getaway.”

Standing, he’s a little shorter than Benji, but he maintains eye contact as he says, carefully, “You protect these areas at all costs, okay? If you get stabbed there, you die. You can’t die. Understand?”

Benji’s brows furrow, a little, and he blinks at Ethan. “Okay,” he says finally, and Ethan sags with relief.

~~~

It’s the day on Benji’s field exam and Ethan is pacing his office, biting his nails nervously. He doesn’t know what he would do if Benji doesn’t pass, and he doesn’t know what he’d do if Benji passes. Because the only thing keeping him from kissing Benji senseless is the fact that Benji is his subordinate, putting him in a position of power, and he doesn’t want Benji to feel obligated to do anything he doesn’t want to. And if Benji passes, it means they’re officially on the same level.

Which means Ethan can kiss him, if he wants.

There are sudden footsteps outside his office, and Ethan jumps, wrenched from his thoughts as Benji storms in.

Hi,” Benji says, after a pause. “Um.” He holds up a knife, brand new, and a gun. “I passed.”

Ethan stands up. “You passed,” he repeats.

Benji nods. “Yeah.”

“You passed,” Ethan says, again, awe colouring his voice. “Benj, you passed.” Ethan suddenly feels stupid for doubting what he’d do if Benji passed, because it’s so blatantly obvious.

Ethan takes one, two, three steps forward, but before he can kiss Benji senseless, Benji is kissing him senseless, and Ethan presses into it and lets everything but Benji wash away.

~~~

you: leo, are the knife things accurate?

me: nope! i know nothing about knife fights all my knowledge comes from action movies and books. :D

 also, i wrote another fic using this prompt as inspiration; it’s a little different tho. lemme know if u guys wanna see it! 

#mission impossible #benthan #my post #benji dunn #ethan hunt #not an incorrect quote #prompt answers #send me prompts!!! #asks

[bipabrena]

Beneath x the x Ice (AO3 HisoIllu fic) Chapter 9

A fic where there’s more to Illumi than meets the eye. Hisoka goes to great lengths to help him realise he deserves better than the Zoldycks and being a puppet to his parents.

Read the whole thing here.

X

Amane, Gotoh and three more butlers stood guard around the massive dining room while the Zoldycks sat to dine.

Zeno and Silva strictly discussed business, while Kalluto and Kikyo spoke.

As usual, Milluki was allowed to use his phone to watch anime while he ate.

No one noticed the lonely Illumi.

Everyone alternated between eating and speaking, but Illumi did not. Illumi never moved. He merely stared at his plate with an impassive expression, the same impassive expression he’d always had.

Those huge, large voids for eyes merely stared at the plate of food.

Mouthwatering and delicious, and his stomach ached for it, but his body did not respond to fulfil its wishes. It remained hungry, as it had been for the last week that Illumi had not been eating, and as it would remain for the rest of the day.

Eventually, Silva attracted everyone’s attention so he could explain the job of epic proportions they had next. The one Illumi would take in, the assassination for the Queen.

They all listened intently, but Illumi remained in his bubble of nothingness.

“You have no dignity or a will of your own.”

“You let others make decisions for you, and all you do is nod. How pathetic.”

“You’re not even worth fighting.”

It seemed this is all Illumi could hear inside his head. It had been for the last three weeks, ever since the event with Hisoka transpired.

The family’s attentions was directed to Illumi once Silva addressed him.

But Illumi said nothing.

He hadn’t heard a single word.

It was then they finally noticed his plate was full, his cutlery had been untouched, and the glass was dripping wet as the cold from the beverage condensed from being unheeded.

“Illumi!” Silva yelled. Surprisingly loud, surprisingly firm.

They were all taken aback.

But all Illumi did was slowly look up at him. Aloofly. With zero emotion, with such impassiveness that even put his own family at unease.

It felt different from usual.

“Yes, father?” asked Illumi with a hollow tone that surprised them further.

“I’m speaking to you, son. Did you not hear a word I said?”

“Forgive me,” he said. “I did not.”

“Is something the matter, dear?” Kikyo asked. “You haven’t touched your food.”

“You’re so strong, so absurdly strong, yet so pathetically weak.”

“You have no mind or ambitions of your own.”

“You are pathetic, Illumi Zoldyck.”

“You’re not even worth fighting.”

He blinked impassively at them.

Pathetic… weak… not even worth fighting… he thought. A manipulated manipulator, a puppeteered puppeteer. That’s what he implied.  

“Do you really love your family, or is it only a robotic, forced loyalty?”

Illumi sighed so subtly it was almost imperceptible to those watching him.

… I can’t help but wonder, he told himself.

“Son, your mother is talking to you,” Silva said in a cautioning tone.

Kalluto frowned as concern overwhelmed him.

What was happening?

Illumi seemed absentminded lately during training, but now during dinner, too?

They all expectantly awaited his response.

“I’m fine,” is what he elected to say. “What were you saying, father?”

“The contract for the Royal Family of Kanem will be in forty five days, starting today. We already have everything prepared, it is only a matter of waiting. In the meantime, you will continue responding to other contracts we may get.”

“Yes, father.”

He and Silva exchanged a look. The others couldn’t help stiffening because of the sudden tension that overwhelmed the room. Silva seemed stern and belligerent, while Illumi remained utterly indifferent.

Not defiantly. Not because he didn’t respect Silva or care for his words.

Simply because he felt he had nothing to care about in general.

“You’re an irreplaceable commodity for our family.”

He recalled those words told to him by Silva the day he sat him in his office. The eyes, the tone.

Their relationship had always been so give-and-take.

Nothing more, nothing less.

He’d never experienced the warmth or familial love Killua had been deluged with by his parents and grandfather.

The closest thing to it was Milluki’s fear and respect, and Kalluto’s fondness.

But nothing from his parents or grandfather.

A commodity. A commodity is not even sentient. It’s just a thing, he thought nonchalantly. A thing that benefits you. That’s my role.

Yes, that’s who I am.

I can’t escape the position I was born into.

I’m a servant of my own family. I was born to work for them. To be their puppet. To not have ambitions or goals of my own. Just like I told Killua of himself that day.

Except that those rules do not apply to him.

Yes… a commodity. That’s all I am.

Suddenly, Illumi looked at the ceiling inquisitively. He seemed utterly indifferent to the tension in the room, to Silva’s stern expression on him.

He was simply so absentminded.

It was incredibly concerning to all of them.

“Would you like to eat in your room, dear?” Kikyo asked, and that surprised them.

“No, but if you do permit, I’d like to excuse myself. I have a meeting with a potential client in a few hours.”

“Granted,” is what Silva said immediately.

Illumi stood and left.

His stride was robotic. Lifeless.

Despite being indifferent and emotionless, Illumi always walked with an admirable grace. His body was strong and lithe, he stood tall amongst everyone around him, with pride and with his head held high. He always moved with an intrinsic gracefulness and firm aura that clearly denoted he was strong and could win any encounter.

But right now, he walked with indifference, without purpose, without meaning.

And then, even Silva found it in himself to worry.

X

Illumi stirred his hot chocolate. The shape that had been drawn on it by the skilful barista faded into a foamy spiral.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Illumi,” said Chrollo. “I understand you usually do business through calls, so this does mean a lot to me.”

“It’s no problem. What do you need?” Illumi asked curtly.

“I’m sure you’re aware of this already, but the underground auction will be held soon. I have my own plans for it, but I may need to use your services.”

Illumi’s unblinking, onyx eyes bore into him.

What a strange thing, Chrollo thought.

Illumi’s eyes had always been cold.

They penetrated anyone whose gaze met his. His stare was piercing enough that it’d make anyone feel exposed, and even the strongest man would shiver, however slightly.

He just looked through you.

Like he were navigating every trench of your soul, of your mind; finding weaknesses and creating schemes to exploit them. A penetrating gaze that exposed everything about those submitted to it, but nothing about the one who owned it.

It was a hair-raising thought that everyone who’d ever met Illumi had thought to themselves.

Chrollo himself had thought it when he first met him.

But right now…

Illumi did not carry that presence. He seemed so impassive, so indifferent, so dead. Like there was absolutely nothing inside him. Like he were a shell, a ghost that happened to have a host.

And, somehow, that was even more unsettling. More hair-raising.

“When the time is right, I would like you to kill the ten dons.”

“Okay.”

Chrollo blinked.

“Is there anything else?”

Well… no. But Chrollo didn’t invite Illumi for coffee and snacks only for business. He’d like to get to know him better.

Frankly, he’d love to make Illumi the fourteenth Phantom Troupe member. At the very least, he’d like for Illumi to be an honorary member.

The Troupe rarely got together, there simply weren’t that many heists in Padokea. But with the rising gangs all across the world, he wanted the Phantom Troupe to be at the top as it once was.

Having Illumi around would change everything.

He had the connections to find whatever he wanted. The Phantom Troupe was never about glory, but about a bunch of comrades who did whatever they wanted simply because they could.

But Chrollo would like for the Troupe to be together more often. A couple of heists would be a nice way to stay together.

And with Illumi, he could find anything.

More importantly, it’d be a great excuse to spend time with him. To get to know him better. Even if he didn’t end up joining the Troupe, at least there would be something more between them aside from provider and client.

Illumi stirred his hot chocolate as he watched Chrollo, and Chrollo thought he was cute.

Chrollo listed the facts in his head.

The mafia was a huge deal, but their protection was limited and borderline useless against Nen users. Ultimately, they’ll end up contracting someone who could truly challenge the Troupe once they strike.

Assassins. And the most proficient assassins in the world happened to be in a nearby region.

The Zoldycks.

By having the ten dons killed, it’d leave the Zoldycks with no real targets assigned by a client, and so the Troupe would be scot free.

From the thirteen members in the Troupe, Chrollo knew that only five would pose a threat to the eldest son sitting across him, and the two heads of the family.

Uvogin, Phinks, Feitan, Hisoka and himself.

They were the true threats. The rest wouldn’t stand a chance.

So, if they happened to hire the Zoldycks, eight members would be at great risk of dying. Even Chrollo’s own life could be in danger. However, if he contracted Illumi right here, right now, he’d become his client, and so Illumi wouldn’t be able to kill him.

That’d be at least one less threat.

Chrollo manipulated the truth a little. He explained to Illumi the reason he was hiring him, and what the Troupe’s job entailed.

Illumi nodded.

Then, he decided to bring something else up, something that would bring him closer to Illumi.

“I wanted to know what other services you offer.”

“Elaborate,” is what Illumi said.

“Do you only assassinate? I understand how it may be a futile question with an obvious answer considering your profession, but I was wondering whether you offer other services such as Intel gathering or reconnaissance.”

Illumi’s hollow, nearly hypnotising eyes blinked at him impassively.

“I’m listening,” said Illumi.

“I’m sure you’re already beyond familiar with what the Troupe does. We’re thieves. We like something, we take it. However, there aren’t many heists here in this continent, and the underground auction is all we’ve had in a very long time. If I asked you to gather Intel for me, to find a job for me, would you be able to do it? It goes without saying the pay would be hefty. You’re the one that will put the price, and I will pay whatever it takes, so long as it doesn’t leave me squeaky clean,” he smiled. “But even then, I may still consider it.”

“As it is not a decision I can make on my own, I cannot give you an answer right now. I would have to further discuss it, then get back to you. Is that acceptable?”

“Absolutely, Illumi.”

He could hear it. Illumi could hear it so clearly in his head.

Silva’s voice.

“The pay isn’t worth it. Don’t mess with the Phantom Troupe.”

Well, he wouldn’t be messing with them. He’d be doing a job for them.

“Then, if that will be all, I believe we’re done here. I will be contacting you as soon as possible.”

“Wait, Illumi!” Chrollo called when Illumi stood up after leaving the money for his drink on the table.

Illumi looked at him.

“Won’t you sit and finish your hot chocolate?”

“I wasn’t here for it, I was here to discuss business with you. I don’t need to finish it.”

“Is there anywhere you need to be right now?”

Illumi was silent, and Chrollo took this as dissent.

“If you don’t, why don’t you stay here a little longer? We can chat for a while.”

Illumi said nothing.

It was hard to get him to talk. But that was okay, Chrollo thought. He liked a challenge. And if that challenge happened to be quite pretty, he would be more than okay with accepting it.

“If it’s your job policy to not relax a moment and sit down to talk to someone, I completely understand. If it’s not, however, I don’t see the harm in sharing a hot beverage with a friendly neighbour.”

… Ah, shit.

This wasn’t good. This brought back memories.

This place… the hot beverage…

“You’ve helped me keep an eye on Killu by your own volition.” He leaned back. “There will be a lot of people in that warehouse, possible Nen users too, that you can kill. I wanted to return the favour.”

“So,” Hisoka licked his lips, “as a token of your gratitude, you want to take me out on a date? ♠” he pestered.

Illumi blinked. “It’s not a date.”

“Is it not? ♥” he chuckled, hoping to annoy the eldest Zoldyck. “Because it sounds like one. You and me together, at night…”

Illumi blinked impassively.

… Why am I remembering that right now?

Goddammit.

… Hisoka… he thought to himself with the slightest sense of mourning.

“I suppose it won’t kill me,” said Illumi as he sat back down.

Chrollo smiled. He wasn’t sure whether that was a joke, but in the off chance that it was, he chuckled gracefully.

He brought forth his charms, the charms he used whenever he wanted to steal someone’s ability, whenever he decided to gather information, whenever he wanted to manipulate someone or gradually bend them to his will without them ever noticing.

Except that, for this one time, today was different.

Truly, he wished not to get something out of Illumi.

In fact, the main reason he wanted that new heist was merely to have an excuse to work alongside him. He was willing to pay whatever price Illumi placed. The auction would be soon and the treasure would be hefty, so money was not an issue in the slightest.

He wasn’t sure why the eldest Zoldyck son drew his attention so much.

He just knew that he did.

Read the rest of the chapter here.

#hisoillu #hisoka x illumi #hisoka morow #illumi zoldyck #Hisoka #illumi #Hunter X Hunter #hxh

[inactiive-shit]

#15 logince hurt/comfort? with roman the one injured please ^_^

Thank you so much for the prompt! I had a blast writing this, not gonna lie. I relish in hurting my boys, what can I say.

Title: Knight And Mage

Words: 1,492

Warnings: battle, stab wound, blood

I hope you like it!

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

There was…a…battle? Was that right? Was he remembering correctly or was it just another dream? Why can’t Roman remember? Where is he…lying? Is he lying? This didn’t feel like a bed. Why doesn’t it feel like a bed? He wouldn’t have gone to sleep on the ground, would he? That doesn’t make any sense. He’s a knight, not a barbarian.

Roman shifts, trying to sit up, and a slicing pain shrieks through his abdomen. He falls back, gasping. He tries to move a hand to where the pain is stemming from but his arm won’t move. Is it stuck? Immobilized? What is happening?

Roman slowly becomes aware of the sounds of metal clashing around him. It sounds like metal. A practice ring? Why would Roman have gone to sleep there?

A flash of blue light streaks over Roman, sparkling like dragon scales. Oh. This is a battle. This is a battle, and Roman was fighting in it until he…until…

Until he got hurt. Roman is hurt! Well, that makes much more sense than sleeping on the ground. (It was going to absolutely ruin his armor. Mud in between the plates, coating the leather joints? He’d never get it clean.)

He tries to sit up again and this time a short groan comes out of his mouth of its own volition. Right. Hurt. He’s been stabbed. In the abdomen. That must be why he can’t sit up. Roman takes a deep breath (it burns, expanding his lungs and chest, that can’t be good) and focuses on his body. Why can’t he move his arms? That’s important, the most important. He can’t deal with the stab wound until he can move his arms.

The first thing he realizes is that his arms are freezing. The next is that his stomach is covered in a warm liquid. The last is that there is nothing sitting on him, prohibiting his movement. It is as simple as his body refusing to work with him on any level.

That is, admittedly, not what he had been hoping for.

“-oman! Please, just look at me, gods damnit!” Roman smiles despite himself at that voice. Frantic with worry or low and soothing or sharp and analyzing, he would know that voice anywhere.

“Lllhmmm?” he says. He can’t quite make his mouth work, either, stupid body. But he can force his eyes open, looking up into the deep blue eyes of Logan. His eyes are squinched behind his glasses, mouth tight with worry, but a relieved look crosses his face.

“Thank the gods,” Logan mutters, making a quick sign of gratitude for his patron deity, The Goddex of Knowledge, and then gently runs his fingers all over Roman.

“Hey, Ro. Hey.” There are tears in Logan’s eyes as he assesses the damage. “You are-shit-” He sends out a short blast of magic, sparkly blue dragon scales again. “Keep them away!” he orders. It takes every ounce of Roman’s attention to tilt his head around and see that they are surrounded by enemies, but more importantly that there are four familiar figures standing in a circle around them, keeping the dangers at bay.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Focus on me, nothing else. Alright? Look at me. That’s it.” Logan forces a smile at him. Rather absurdly for the situation, Roman thinks to himself, That’s my mage. Then again, things can’t get much more off course than they already are, with Roman lying on the ground like some helpless townie getting thrown into a conflict that has nothing to do with him.

“I’m going to heal you,” Logan says. He presses a hand gently into Roman’s cheek, so tender in the middle of a battle, and Roman suddenly realizes that things must be much more dire than he thought. Logan has only ever diverted from his no-nonsense, serious battle-self when he truly thought the person he was speaking with would not make it. Is Roman going to die? “You have lost a lot of blood,” Logan continues, voice shaking, “and you have a serious wound on your torso, but it is nothing I cannot handle.”

He takes the hand on Roman’s face back and lifts it, a blue glow encasing it. Like magic, Roman thinks before laughing. The laughs turn into coughs immediately. A warm, thick substance splatters onto his own face, and normally Roman would say that it was nasty and make a face, but all he can do now is keep coughing, hacking up everything in him. Lungs, stomach, bladder. He’s going to cough all of it out. Whoever said lungs were supposed to be on the inside obviously had no idea what they were talking about, considering Roman’s are about to make an appearance.

“Shh, shh,” Logan says desperately, pressing his hand into Roman’s chest. It’s cold and it burns, but Roman stops coughing. He whines, pitifully, trying to scoot away with limbs that aren’t working. It hurts so much and he doesn’t want it.

“I’m sorry,” Logan says, retracting his hand. There are tears streaming down his face and Roman hates that, hates how Logan is hurting so badly he’s crying where everyone can see. “I know it hurts. I know. But you have to trust me, okay? I am going to heal you.”

With his free hand, Logan grabs Roman’s hand. He can remember once, when he got hurt years ago, Logan had held his hand and said, squeeze when it hurts. It makes it better. Roman tries to curl his fingers around Logan’s, assure him that he is hurting, but he’s still alive and he has complete faith in Logan (he cannot remember Logan ever failing when someone’s life was on the line) but he still can’t feel his fingers or his hand, can barely even tell that Logan is holding it like a vice.

“You will live to see tomorrow,” Logan says, and then he lowers his glowing hand to Roman’s wound. There is a burning, searing coldness and his muscles contract. A sound like air rushing out of an over-hot tea kettle comes out of Roman’s mouth. His back arches off the ground slightly and finally, even in the midst of all this pain, he is aware when he returns Logan’s grip with a squeeze of his own.

Then the world goes black.

~~~~~

There was a battle. Roman can remember it clearly-more clearly than he wants to. He is still on bed rest, even after three full days, and he despises that the others won’t even let him walk (stagger) to the bathroom by himself.

Still, it’s not all bad. In the bed beside his own (pushed together so that they could be near each other), underneath a thick white blanket, Logan resides. His skin is sallow from the energy it took to heal Roman, and every hour another bowl of soup is brought to him to help him replenish his strength. Roman has not let go of his hand for longer than a minute since he woke up.

“If they bring me one more bowl of soup that has beets in it, I will scream,” Logan grumbles, turning his face into his pillow. Roman chuckles, running a finger over the back of Logan’s hand.

“Have you told them you don’t like beets?” Roman suggests, knowing full-well that he has.

“Yes,” Logan says, “and they insist that they are too helpful in restoring energy and magic that I should just suck it up and eat them anyway.”

“They could be right,” Roman says, and smiles when Logan blows up.

“Beets are an abomination to man and I hate them.” He struggles to roll over in the bed, blanket heavy enough to impede his progress, and then scoots closer to Roman. He stares deep into Roman’s eyes, like he’s going to say something deeply meaningful. “Roman, will you eat my beets?”

Roman loses it laughing, so hard that his newly-scarred stomach aches with exhaustion. Logan sighs, but he doesn’t sound all that put-out about it, really.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to make it,” he admits minutes later, after Roman has stopped intermittently giggling about beets. “You lost so much blood, and-”

“I know,” Roman says quietly. “I know, Specs. But I never doubted you. I knew you’d heal me up, right as rain.”

“You have too much faith in uncertainties.”

“Nothing about you is an uncertainty,” Roman says. “You’re my mage, and I love you. Nothing’s changing that.”

“I love you, too,” Logan says, burying his face in Roman’s shoulder. “And there is not a force in this world or the next capable of changing that, either.”

Roman kisses the top of his head and Logan sighs, content. Roman smiles. The battle may have been rough, but at least they all made it through. That is just as important to Roman as winning ever could be.

He falls into his nap smiling, Logan a gentle, perfect weight on his shoulder.

#ask #anon #fanfic #sanders sides #ts roman sanders #ts logan sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #ts roman #ts logan #ts creativity #ts logic #logince #knight and mage

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight Prologue (part 2)

Questions of morality and how to handle traps, with your hosts Graendal and Galad.

Well hello there, Graendal, fancy seeing you alive.

The goblet had been crafted with drops of blood caught in a ring pattern within the crystal.

I have a need.

I mean, I’d be drinking tea or maybe even hot chocolate out of that goblet rather than wine but that does nothing to change the fact that I need it. Villains, man. You can always rely on them for the aesthetics.

“We should be doing something” Aran’gar said

I’m not sure precisely why this is so absurdly funny to me, but it’s some combination of a) the real world being in quarantine right now, b) villains lounging in a villainous lair like ‘should we be… fucking shit up or something? Or can we really just take a moment to be All About the Aesthetic?’ and c) an oddly self-aware statement from a fictional character who realises that something is amiss if they’re not contributing to the plot.

Oh we’re still in Natrin’s Barrow, so this is before the er. Utter collapse of Rand’s moral scruples and near-destruction of the Pattern and associated fireworks.

Also, Aran’gar, when you fled the rebels, what the fuck gave you the idea that coming to Graendal as a refugee – alliance or no alliance – was a good plan? She will eat you for breakfast, and whether that’s literal or euphemistic probably makes no difference to the fact that ultimately, you will suffer for it.

Life was about feeling. Touches on your skin, both passionate and icy. Anything other than the normal, the average, the lukewarm.

I like this for the way it is both opposite to and yet weirdly the same as Semirhage’s perspective. The difference is mostly whether it is directed outwards or inwards.

And I also like it for the way it plays on how Graendal deals with subtlety versus ostentation. The way she so completely performs that ostentation and lack of subtlety and plays to the extremes, and it’s not entirely performative but it also serves the purpose of masking her capacity for great subtlety and control.

Listen. There’s a lot to dislike about Graendal, yes, but at the end of the day she fascinates me. She’s just such an intricate villain, for all that on the surface she could be played as scenery-chewing and flat. Because there’s something beneath that, and it all serves a purpose. She makes ‘all about the aesthetic’ into a legitimate strategy, without actually detracting from the aesthetic, and it’s just very… disturbingly cool.

Aran’gar is still trying to have a conversation as if she thinks she and Graendal are on the same level. How adorable.

“Excitement is best viewed from a distance,” Graendal said.

And yet life is about feeling, but somehow those are not mutually exclusive, and have I mentioned Graendal is fascinating to me?

I think… I know, I’m just rambling my way into this, but I think one of the things I enjoy most about her is that, for all that she has these different layers and apparent opposites and allows herself to be viewed one way when in reality there’s far more to it, none of it feels like pretence. It’s not like she’s putting on a false front, pretending to be totally absorbed in aesthetics and pleasure, because I think that part of her is genuine. But so is the scheming, and the love of order, and the subtlety. None of it is her pretending, but together it’s a more complex picture than most manage to grasp, and so they just see the surface level of it, and she’s happy to let them. But it’s different to crafting a mask – she’s not really hiding her true motives or her true self; people just may not be able to piece together exactly what that is. Because she’s a rather complicated person, for all that she seems simplistic in her over-the-top presentation.

Is it terrible that I would quite like her to survive this scene?

Wait what she can use the True Power? She’s using the True Power? Just beware the lifestyle inflation that goes with a promotion, Graendal.

And there were some weaves that could only be crafted by the True Power.

So speaking of the True Power… here’s the thing. Rand’s use of it was spectacular, and played such a perfectly exquisite role in his descent last book, but it doesn’t feel like that’s the end of it. That’s not the sort of bomb you drop just once for effect; those are the sorts of plot elements that come back. So… I’m curious. I have theories. Which I’ve gone into elsewhere so I’ll leave that for now.

My other immediate thought here is that Compulsion woven from the True Power and wielded by Graendal is a terrifying concept and I sort of want to see it because I’m a terrible human.

But seriously, it’s like the Domination Band in the hands of Semirhage. Sometimes you just want to give a villain their perfect tool and set them loose to wreak beautiful havoc.

(What can I say? I appreciate competence in all its forms).

Whatever the Creator could build, the Dark One could destroy.

Except the whole idea is balance, so that goes…both ways somehow. Not quite sure where I’m going with this but it’s certainly somewhere.

Meanwhile Graendal’s just using the True Power to taunt Aran’gar by almost literally poking her and saying ‘neener neener neener’ and honestly, fair.

Aran’gar and Delana began to exchange affections on the chaise.

Why is this so fucking hilarious to me?

Like okay, sit on the sofa, and one… two… three… go!

I don’t even know, but every time I look at that sentence I start laughing. Maybe it’s just that it’s such an obvious… ‘this is painfully awkward and I can’t write anything more detailed but also it’s happening on-screen so I can’t just pan to the fireplace please send help immediately, yours sincerely, Brandon Sanderson’.

Like. ‘And then sex happened but let’s just avert our eyes, shall we?’

Aran’gar continued her pleasures

I’m DYING. The awkward of writing this just bleeds through the page and it’s. Just. Kind of perfect. And honestly I sympathise. Like this genuinely captures the mood I feel whenever sex scenes turn up in movies or TV or whatever. Not awkwardness, precisely, but just a sense of like ‘okay… we’re doing this now… and we’re still doing this… um… *starts looking around the room for anything interesting*… still exchanging affections I see… ah okay good and now the scene resumes’.

Is that TMI? I feel like it’s almost the opposite of TMI but whatever, moving on.

More importantly, an alarm is going off, and Graendal sees no reason to let that interrupt Aran’gar getting off, so she just leaves.

Ah. Ramshalan. So we are indeed doing this scene from the other side. This ought to be… fun. I did wonder what it would look like from Graendal’s side, especially with Rand desperately trying to do his how-do-you-defeat-someone-smarter-than-you thing. And I’m very curious as to the outcome. Because there would be a certain beautiful awfulness in all that power and destruction, that force of light, not even achieving its aim, in the futility of catastrophe.

Wow, Ramshalan really is… a complete idiot.

But Graendal is not.

Best to be careful. Best to flee. And yet…

She hesitated. He must know pain… he must know frustration… he must know anguish. Bring these to him. You will be rewarded.

Oh, he has known those. He has known precious little else in the last two years, honestly. Though Semirhage played a more recent and telling role in that.

And Graendal’s hesitation, because for all her capacity, she is controlled, as are the rest of the Chosen and Friends of the Dark, by a selfishness none of them can quite overcome.

“Does that Aes Sedai of yours know Compulsion?”

Aran’gar shrugged. “She’s been trained in it. She’s passably skilled.” “Fetch her.”

Wow, for half a second there I thought they were talking about Egwene and was like ‘okay wow there’s one I definitely did not see coming’ but obviously it’s Delana.

Which means that the Compulsion Rand had Nynaeve detect… the Compulsion he used like a canary in a coal mine, the Compulsion whose vanishing he took as evidence of Graendal’s death, was never Graendal’s to begin with.

What an elegant move. Simple and yet perfect.

Also she can apparently see through the eyes of a dove. That’s… a new one. And don’t think I missed you using a dove, symbol of peace, for this.

The world as she saw it and a shadowed version of what the bird saw.

And I see what you did there, too.

But she’s using a dove to serve as her eyes. Not a raven or a rat but a dove, the symbol of light and peace, being used as a servant of the Shadow. Just as Rand, standing on that ridge and wielding a great force of Light, Rand, the champion of the Light, serving the Shadow’s aims even as he never turns from the side of the Light. I love it.

And yeah, she’s using Delana to craft the Compulsion. Graendal may not know exactly what Rand is planning, but she knows he’s planning something, and so she takes precautions. Which Rand knew she would, but for all his care to not underestimate her…

Would he attack? No, he wouldn’t harm women. That particular failing was an important one.

Yet at the same time she’s underestimating him.

Or rather, neither is precisely underestimating the other; they’re both just… thinking along the lines of what they perceive the other to be, and those lines are close but not quite accurate. I love watching these kinds of games play out, where it’s about thinking several moves ahead, move and countermove, trying to know what the opponent will do and ultimately it comes down to a… layering, almost, and the victor is the one who just happens to have laid the last layer. Or annihilated the gameboard; whichever comes first.

Bring him agony. Graendal could do that.

I… yeah.

Because at this point, Rand believes (believed, but relative to the timeline of this scene it’s present tense and argh this is why messy timelines frustrate me; do you know how annoying the grammar gets?) he is beyond agony, beyond feeling of any kind. He has made himself into ice and steel and cuendillar (heartstone, heart of the stone, pray that the heart of stone remembers tears…) and so he believes himself unfettered, capable of any atrocity because he has walled away the agony that would hold him back.

But for all that, what he does at Natrin’s Barrow… for all that he doesn’t let himself feel any of it, on some level it does cause him agony, and drives him further on that path that leads eventually to Tam and Ebou Dar and Dragonmount.

So really, you could say that Moridin’s statement, that ‘he must know anguish, he must know pain of heart’ is true from the perspective of the Light as much as it is from the perspective of the Shadow.

Because it is that anguish that drives him to serve the Shadow even while acting in the name of the Light… but it is also that anguish that leads him, ultimately, to the epiphany that brings him back truly to the Light he serves.

And it is letting himself feel that anguish, along with everything else he tried to push away, that allows him to do that. He must know anguish, yes, because he must learn no longer to push it aside, to allow himself to feel again, and in doing so he can be the champion of the Light as he is meant to be.

It's just a fun double meaning. Or manifold meaning, even. And I sort of wonder if Moridin knew that. It’s the kind of irony he might appreciate, to the extent that he appreciates anything.

“Something convoluted. I want al’Thor and his Aes Sedai to find the touch of a man on the mind.” That would confuse them further.

In this case she’s actually overestimating Rand (&co), but in its own way that’s just as dangerous as underestimating, in this game of each trying to outthink and outmanoeuvre one another before making their moves.

This whole seeing through a dove’s eyes is lovely on a symbolic level but does sort of strain my understanding of how magic works in this world. Ah well, we can handwave it as ‘True Power shenanigans’.

I suppose it’s not really any weirder than balefire or wolf-telepathy or Compulsion or being able to wander through someone else’s dream. Weird, where we draw our suspension of disbelief lines, and how it varies from series to series or system to system. Like, seeing through an animal’s eyes isn’t exactly uncommon in the genre; I just didn’t quite expect it in WoT specifically. No idea why.

The dove flapped out of the window. The sun was lowering behind the mountains

A symbol of peace flying into a darkening sky, a fading of the Light! (Oh, you thought I would let up on the atmospheric imagery when Sanderson took over? How naïve).

There was light up ahead. It was faint, but the dove’s eyes could easily pick out light and shadow

I MEAN. I see what you did there and I appreciate it.

I still sort of can’t believe Graendal was actually watching that whole time. It feels almost like cheating. Then again Rand obliterating half the Pattern also could be considered cheating, depending on which game we’re playing so there’s that.

I think for me it doesn’t quite cross the line into unbelievability, but some foreshadowing would have been nice for the whole seeing-through-the-eyes-of-a-dove thing. And I suppose there is some, in that we know that ravens and rats are ‘spies for the Dark One’, so maybe it’s on me for not realising that was an actual tool that the Dark One’s other servants may be able to use. But it just didn’t really seem set up that way, so I’m a bit on the fence.

The part that does work about this is that it’s Graendal being very, very good at the games she plays, just as Rand was afraid of. He knew she was clever, knew she would very likely see through any plan or strategy he created, and in a way she kind of… has. Or rather, she’s made use of something he didn’t account for, for all that his plan was also clever.

Al’Thor’s tame Aiel

There’s an excellent sort of irony in that phrasing, from one who lived in a time when the Aiel truly were nonviolent servants of the Aes Sedai.

[Nynaeve] would have to die; al’Thor relied upon her; her death would bring him pain.

Don’t you dare. It’s fine, her defeat of Moghedien was a perfect warm-up.

And after her, al’Thor’s dark-haired lover.

You’re forgetting his red-haired lover… and his sun-haired lover… but sure, let’s take Rand’s love life one at a time. That’s…fair.

He acted the same now as he had during her Age; he liked to plan, to spend time building to a crescendo of an assault.

Well, I mean, in this case, you are not wrong.

He’d brought that with him? It was nearly as bad as balefire.

About that.

Ah. And now she sees what his plan was. Hey, when Graendal thinks you’re clever, you should definitely take it as a compliment.

But it also means Graendal’s off for an impromptu holiday – but not before leaving Aran’gar and Delana shielded so that Rand’s plan will appear to succeed. Clever and ruthless and listen, I love her. I know, I know. I don’t know why I’m like this either.

She struggled to dismiss the gateway, and caught one glimpse of the horrified Aran’gar before everything behind was consumed in beautiful, pure whiteness.

The gateway vanished, leaving Graendal in darkness.

I just love the way light and dark (and gateways, actually) are played with in both iterations of this scene. Rand leaving the warm light of the gateway behind, crossing that threshold into a darkening sky. The way he is shadowed, his face in shadow, his eyes in shadow, just before he becomes a blinding, searing, awful-in-its-beauty form of pure Light with the potential to destroy the world. An enemy of the Shadow, yet surrounded by it even as he becomes light.

And now we almost bookend that, with Graendal leaving behind that white light of destruction, crossing back over a threshold and away from that scene, but she is of the Shadow and so while Rand’s gateway led him away from a warm light, this one takes her into the protection of darkness.

Balescream? That’s… a word.

A moment when creation itself howled in pain.

At the actions of the Light’s champion. The Creator’s champion. He must know anguish, and he has. And the Dragon is one with the Land, and the Land is one with the Dragon, and so it is only fitting that the Land knows that anguish as well. The entirety of creation sharing in the pain of near-undoing, brought on by but also embodied by Rand, the Dragon, its Champion, even as he embodies that Light by becoming it in that scene where he appeared more light than man.

This was a disaster.

No, she thought. I live.

And so we come to the question: do the ends justify the means, if they fail to achieve them?

It’s something WoT has played with before: Perrin torturing the Shaido and ultimately not getting any information from them comes to mind. This is just… on an even larger scale. Is the annihilation of a fortress and everyone in it, and almost the world around it, justified if it allows him to kill one of the Forsaken? If so, is it justified even if that is merely the intent, regardless of whether it succeeds or fails? What determines that justification, or lack thereof? Or is it unwarranted no matter the outcome, because the cost is too high?

(I am reminded, suddenly, of Rand in TFoH thinking that Moiraine’s apparent death and Lan’s departure was ‘a high price to pay for Lanfear’).

I just love these questions of morality and of where lines are drawn or should be drawn, precisely because they are so open-ended. And Rand’s… well, in a way it’s not even complete failure; he does kill Aran’gar if not Graendal, but that almost plays into it as well because it’s an unintended consequence. It’s not what he set out to do.

So then we add ‘if he did this to kill a specific one of the Forsaken, and she escapes but he happens by accident to kill another, does that end justify those means?’ But his failure to kill Graendal leaves that question so much more ambiguous: as if the narrative itself hesitates to fully justify or fully condemn his actions. Instead, it lets you ask yourself that question. Whereas if he had succeeded in killing her… the question can certainly still be asked, and that would still be very much part of the point, but it helps weight the scales a bit if you can say ‘well, it worked’. Whereas this… it’s entirely up to you. Was it worth it?

*

From Graendal to Galad? That’s a pivot.

Oh, but I love this image of Galad, the purest of the white knights, untarnished and untouchable, literally mired in a swamp.

Bitemes buzzed in the muggy air. The stench of mud and stagnant water threatened to gag him with each breath

Sometimes, you use atmosphere to highlight aspects of a character. Rand stepping out of a gateway into shadow and darkness. Every word that’s ever been written about Dragonmount. And then sometimes you place a character in an environment that is their precise opposite, and in that juxtaposition highlight those defining traits but also…push against them, I suppose. It’s a great way of showing a conflict of some kind. Galad is now the Lord Captain Commander of the Children of the Light, who are themselves corrupted. And he is fighting that corruption because it is his antithesis, but it’s so present and oppressive around him, and it makes for such an excellent contrast.

Miserable though this as, this route was the best way.

Yeah, see, I know you mean that literally, Galad, but it sort of illustrates my point. His task – redeeming the Whitecloaks, unless I massively miss my guess – is not going to be an easy one. Leading them right now can’t be pleasant. But it’s the best way to see them through this, to do the right thing. And we all know that’s what Galad is all about.

Oh, he’s going to take on Asunawa? First Valda and then Asunawa and damn it I never wanted to like Galadedrid Damodred.

Here and there the sickly greys and greens were relieved by a bright burst of tiny pink or violet flowers clustering around trickling streams. Their sudden colour was unexpected, as if someone had sprinkled drops of paint on the ground.

It was strange to find beauty in this place.

Beauty, yes, but subtlety? Hell no. But – I know I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again – I don’t care that this isn’t subtle. I love the way atmosphere and imagery can be used to this effect. Mired in a swamp with an unpleasant task to do and leading a corrupted force, but there are surprising moments of beauty and colour and promise.

His horse is called Stout and for some reason that amuses me.

This place, with its stench and biting insects, would try the best of men.

You don’t say.

And where Valda – the Lord Captain Commander before Galad – had turned out to be a murderer and a rapist.

So I mean, at least the bar is set pretty low for you there, Galad.

‘Damodred,’ Dain said softly, their boots squishing in mud, ‘perhaps we should turn back.’

NO BACK ONLY FORWARD.

CAN’T REMAKE THE PAST MUST CREATE A FUTURE.

Which Galad pretty much echoes only, you know, more eloquently.

‘But this swamp,’ Bornhald said, glancing to the side as a large serpent slid through the underbrush. ‘Our maps say we should have been out of it by now.’

‘Then surely we are near the edge.’

‘Perhaps,’ Dain said […] ‘Unless the map is in error.’

SYMBOLISM THICKER THAN THE SWAMP. I love this, I really do. I’m just laughing through this entire set of descriptions but this is just so perfectly ‘I Don’t Think You’re Only Talking About The Swamp There, Boys’ and neither of them quite realise it and it’s excellent.

Galad stepped off to the side, climbing a small hill.

While his half-brother is climbing an enormous mountain. Step it up, Galad.

Oh he’s giving an Inspiring Speech.

‘But it is on the deepest nights when light is most glorious.’

Unless it’s Choedan Kal balefire in which case… well okay, in fairness, that was also glorious, for a certain definition of the word.

‘We are hunted by those who should love us, and other pathways lead to our graves.’

Then maybe you should be worthy of their love. As for pathways leading to your graves, you know what they say about the paths of glory, right?

‘We will face this test with heads held high.’

That’s the core of it, really. It’s about choosing to fight, and knowing why you fight. It’s Rand’s epiphany in miniature. That this is going to fucking suck, but they’ll face it not because they have to but because they’re fighting for something, and because they choose to face this.

Byar wants to take a detour via the White Tower for a bit of petty destruction on their way to the Last Battle and Galad’s like nah we kind of need magic on our side. Credit where it’s due, I suppose.

‘but the Children of the Light will be leaders at the Last Battle.’

I mean, you might have to queue for that particular role, but I suppose it’s good to have ambitions.

Oh, he’s not planning to take on Asunawa, because sometimes retreat really is the better part of valour, especially when ‘retreat’ in this case is ‘turn towards a much larger battlefront for the future of the entire world’. Again, fair. And hey, look at that, Galad’s learning to prioritise.

A dead forest with sickly moss and a river full of corpses? Which battle was this? It sounds almost like the Blight, but they’re in approximately the entirely wrong place for that. Perrin’s attack on Malden, maybe? Or Tylee’s force being ambushed by Trollocs?

Galad set his jaw. ‘Can this be forded?’

‘It’s shallow, my Lord Captain Commander,’ Child Barlett said. ‘But we’ll have to watch for hidden depths.’

Not to mention hidden MEANINGS. *Finger guns*

I’m so sorry.

He hiked up his trousers as far as he could

How scandalous.

Likely a village upstream had been attacked for its food.

I think perhaps a village upstream was attacked for its Faile, but I could be wrong.

The ground is uneven! Footing is uncertain! A misstep could mean death! No additional meanings to be found here, none at all…

‘Burn those clouds. I can never tell what time it is.’

‘Four hours past midday,’ Galad said.

In which Galad has taken the Keen Mind feat. (And in which yes, I am a total fucking nerd).

Trom’s like are you sure Andor’s a good idea and Galad’s like it’s fine I have a summer home there.

Light send that Elayne held the Lion Throne. Light send that she had escaped the tangles of the Aes Sedai, though he feared the worst. There were many who would use her as a pawn, al’Thor not the least of them. She was headstrong, and that could make her easy to manipulate.

Galad, when this is all over, you and your sister need to have a talk. And you and Gawyn both need to stop underestimating her.

‘To abandon the Children now, after killing their leader, would be wrong.’

Trom smiled. ‘It’s as simple as that to you, isn’t it?’

‘It should be as simple as that to anyone.’

Galadedrid ‘what do you mean, morality is complicated’ Damodred, everyone. And this is why he continues to by turns bore and infuriate me, despite all his damn then he did dance and his fucking all his grace, turned in an instant to fluid death and fighting Valda in efforts to make me like him. I will NOT.

‘Even if we have to make alliances with the Dragon Reborn himself, we will fight.’

Yeah about that. Also I desperately want to see what happens when he learns about their, uh, relationship. Then again, having grown up in the mess that is the Damodred-Trakand family, maybe it wouldn’t even be a surprise. ‘Oh, another somewhat dysfunctional familial relationship? Yeah, sure, add it to the pile.’

Okay seriously what is with the trees here? We are way too far south for the Blight but the fact that they’re dead and fuzzed with something malignant has been brought up three times now and we all know the rule of threes in foreshadowing.

No, even his memorisation of maps will not endear me to Galad. Nor his ‘pain can be dealt with’. I refuse.

Oh look at that, it’s an ambush.

So about that whole not wanting to face Asunawa…

This march through the swamp had been suggested by his scouts. Galad could see it now; it had been a delaying tactic

And also, you know, symbolic. The traitorous scouts, loyal to the Whitecloaks under Asunawa – the corrupted Whitecloaks, those who ostensibly stand for the Light but whose deeds represent anything but – trying to drag Galad, the white knight and redeemer, through the swamp even as he tries to bring them to somewhere better, to what they should be.

Oh he’s going to try to talk to Asunawa. That’ll end well.

Asunawa was not smiling. He rarely did.

Sorry Asunawa, but Demandred’s pretty much got the market cornered on that one, and he carries it far better than you.

Oh hey, two leaders of rebel factions facing each other down? A parallel drawn between two entities – Whitecloaks and Aes Sedai – who believe themselves enemies.

‘Surely you would not ignore the rules of formal engagement?’ Galad said.

Because surely everyone is as lawful-good as you, Galad. There’s a belief that will cause you nothing but pain. But please, proceed.

And now Asunawa’s calling him Darkfriend, and this really is playing out as a parallel, of sorts, to Elaida against Egwene.

Asunawa hesitated. Naming seven thousand of the Children as Darkfriends would be ridiculous

First (semantic) blow to Galad.

‘I am no Darkfriend.’ Galad met Asunawa’s eyes.

‘Submit to my questioning and prove it.’

Oh.

That uh… is a… not entirely unappealing option, from my own perspective as a reader who enjoys far too much seeing characters put through hell, especially if they do so defiantly or as a sacrifice and anyway my point is I would not be opposed to this.

It's just that Galad, for all that he is Not My Type, is the type of character who could carry torture well. I’m just saying.

‘Tell me, do the Children of the Light surrender?’

Golever shook his head. ‘We do not. The Light will prove us victorious.’

I have to appreciate Galad’s approach here: taking the very principles of the Whitecloaks – as they are meant to be – and using them as weapons against Asunawa. Because it is, in a way, the very epitome of fighting fair. He doesn’t strike, doesn’t threaten, doesn’t even really argue. He lets Asunawa’s men, and the Whitecloaks’ own doctrine, make his arguments for him.

‘You see that I am in a predicament. To fight is to let you name us Darkfriends, but to surrender is to deny our oaths. By my honour as the Lord Captain Commander, I can accept neither option.’

In which Galad fucking Damodred catches everyone else in his moral dilemma of two things that are right, yet opposite. It is, for his character, almost annoyingly perfect.

‘Do you deny that you yourself watched me face Valda in fair combat, as prescribed by law?’

Okay okay okay you know what I love? I love that he’s fighting Asunawa, the leader of the Questioners, with questions.

Because Asunawa isn’t asking any. He’s making accusations and threats, and Galad is parrying them with questions. To Asunawa, to those who stand by him. He arms himself with questions and lets the answers make his point and that? Is brilliant.

‘But I would not call that fight fair. You drew on powers of the Shadow; I saw you standing in darkness despite the daylight, and I saw the Dragon’s Fang sprout on your forehead.’

I feel like there’s a missed opportunity in Galad’s entire character: what if he could channel? That would be so full of interesting potential. Both as an internal conflict, because how would he reconcile being a man who could channel with his utter certainty about doing what is right, but also for his entire role. The leader of the Children of the Light, who hate the ‘witches’ perhaps more than the Shadow itself…

Ah well.

‘Tell me. Is the Shadow stronger than the Light?’

Powers of the Shadow? No. Galad fights with powers of rhetoric.

But again, he’s just asking questions. Perfectly crafted questions to illustrate his point, but he’s still just asking questions of a Questioner and letting the Whitecloaks’ beliefs show him to be the one who truly holds to them. What a play.

‘You have no rights as a Darkfriend! I will parley no more with you, murderer.’ Asunawa waved a hand, and several of his Questioners drew swords.

Because they cannot face Galad’s questions. Galad asks, and they reply with swords. Because Asunawa cannot continue to hear them. He represents everything they should be, and they cannot face it, cannot let themselves recognise it, and so the draw swords and everything about this is excellent.

Asunawa would win a battle, but if Galad’s men stood their ground, it would be a costly victory. Both sides would lose thousands.

‘I will submit to you,’ Galad said. ‘On certain terms.’

You know who he reminds me of here? Loath as I am to admit it? Egwene. Facing an enemy who should be an ally, and fighting not for victory against them but for the entity they both should represent. Fighting for the cause, rather than fighting against the person. Willing even to submit, if it will bring unity and spare bloodshed. ‘I wish the Tower had a great Amyrlin in you’, Egwene said to Elaida. Neither fought for pride or for ego or for leadership – or at least, none of those things were the sole aim. Instead, they are fighting to make an organisation that should stand for the Light but has fallen into corruption and division into what it should be, what it always should have been.

And I do sort of wonder – I can’t even believe I’m saying this but HERE WE ARE – why Egwene ends up with Gawyn and not Galad after all.

‘You swear – before the Light and the Lords Captain here with you – that you will not harm, question, or otherwise condemn the men who followed me.’

There is one very glaring exception in that protection, Galad. I… assume this is intentional and I’m way more here for it than I should be. Carry on.

‘You cannot hinder the Hand of the Light in such a way! This would give them free rein to seek the Shadow!’

‘And is it only fear of Questioning that keeps us in the Light, Asunawa?’

QUESTIONING THE QUESTIONER. I’m still just not entirely over this as a rhetorical strategy – asking questions as a form of attack, sure, but it has that extra layer of being a tactic against the Questioners that just. Really hits me right in my appreciation for narrative symmetry.

‘The Dragon Reborn walks the land.’

‘Heresy!’ Asunawa said.

‘Yes,’ Galad said. ‘And truth as well.’

Oh man, that is a line. He will deny the accusations that he is a Darkfriend, but he does not deny this. Does not deny that it is heresy. But that does not make it a lie.

And Galad can accept that: can accept that even heresy must be faced, if it is the right thing to do. Heresy must be faced and accepted, if it is true. What cannot be changed must be endured, and Galad is… oddly, perhaps, not one for denial. He doesn’t try to turn from that truth, no matter what he may feel about it.

‘If we fight, we will kill good men, Child Bornhald,’ Galad said, without turning. ‘Each stroke of our swords will be a blow for the Dark One. The Children are the only true foundation that this world has left. We are needed. If my life is what is demanded to bring unity, then so be it.’

It is so very like Egwene. So very like what she said to the Aes Sedai who supported her and opposed her alike. They are not fighting for power; they are fighting because they see what is needed – and if their death rather than their ascendance can bring that, they will face that just as willingly as the responsibility of leadership.

I also had to smile a bit at the statement that the Children are the only true foundation – because that, too, echoes the Aes Sedai. If the White Tower dies, hope dies. Neither is strictly true because neither is the only force for the Light out there… but in a way that kind of conviction is needed. They just also need to maybe accept that they have some allies. Or should, at least.

WAIT WHAT ASUNAWA IS ACCEPTING THIS OFFER? OH. OKAY.

‘Take him,’ Asunawa snapped.

Yeah I’m here for it.

‘Inform them that I have taken the false Lord Captain Commander into custody, and will Question him to determine the extent of his crimes.’

Look, Galad’s far from a favourite character but there is something about him that suggests he would suffer rather beautifully and I am so sorry.

‘Return to our men; tell them what happened here, and do not let them fight or try to rescue me. That is an order.’

So very, very like Egwene here. Which almost irritates me because Egwene is one of my favourites and Galad is Not, but I have to give Galad some credit: he has made a truly valiant effort in the last few books.

Oh and just…straight to the torture. Cool. This is fine.

One forced Galad to the ground, a boot on his back, and Galad heard the metallic rasp of a knife being unsheathed.

Turns out there are two situations in which I like Galad Damodred. The first: then he did dance, all his grace turned in an instant to fluid death. The second: …this.

Also now he and Rand can have some quality fraternal bonding over their shared experiences with torture. It’ll be fun!

‘I am not a Darkfriend,’ Galad said, face pressed to the grassy earth. ‘I will never speak that lie. I walk in the Light.’

That earned him a kick to the side, then another, and another. He curled up, grunting. But the blows continued to fall.

Finally, the darkness took him.

How fitting, and awful, to follow his utter defiance here – the one thing he does deny, the one thing he does not turn into a question and the one thing he will not surrender: he is not a Darkfriend – with darkness taking him.

It’s also – again, my deepest but not entirely sincere apologies here – very much a good look on him.

Alright, I’ll see myself out.

Next (ToM prologue pt. 3) Previous (ToM prologue pt.1)

#galad keeps finding ways to push very specific buttons of mine #and i'm mad about it #Wheel of Time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #Towers of Midnight

[batteryrose]

Tagged by @kasu-gay-ama

Rules: Choose fav characters from 10 different fandoms

Ten fandoms!? Do I even have that many? I’ll try tough

1) Napoleon Bonaparte (ikevamp) IF IT ISN’T OBVIOUS ALREADY. I honestly don’t know how I came to love him this much. He’s the ‘generic guy’ in the game but way more complex if you know more of his irl self(which is… Mostly the source of my interest.) Also I’m just a sucker for the chill dudes. Not heavy in any otome archetypes (oresama where)  just a nice charming guy, a bit rude to spice things up, and a good amount of Sad. Honestly would date him irl. Am I basic? Hell yeah I am

2) Oda Nobunaga (ikesen) I’m sure cybird intended the main guy to be the most appealing to a general audience and unfortunately I’M EXACTLY THAT TARGET AUDIENCE. He’s an arrogant bastard that has a cute side and his character development is *cheffs kiss.* His irl self is also incredibly interesting but my brain can’t hold both japan and euro history, can it.

3) Bruno Bucciarati (jjba vento aureo) Baddass and I’d trust my life to him ngl.

4) Dio (jjba) Bc I love ham and absurdly chaotic villains. what can I say

5) Revolver Ocelot (metal gear) A chaotic gay. sneaky ass double reverse quadruple agent. Best reoccurring villain in any game ever. also would do more than die for his crush and i respect that

6) Steven Stone (Pokemon) My ten year old self got a crush on him when he’s just literal pixels. It’s bc he talks really nicely and helps the player. I’m so easy.

7) Tony Stark (mcu) More proof that I’m basic. I love any guilt-ridden, self-sacrificing character out there. The guilt is the relatable part

8) Raven (rune factory) Another childhood love. She’s just the sweetest, sweetest soft 'tsundere’ out there (she’s more shy/aloof than tsun) and I’d marry and hold her close forever. 

9) Theodorus van Gogh (ikevamp again bc cant think of other fandom rn) He’s just..........a very entertaining character. I’d watch him be rude all day. His route is also very well written out of the others ive played (though i havent played all of them tbh) and most importantly, he hot.

10) Duke of Wellington (napoleonic era--- does this even count as as fandom.) You’d think he’s just a normal dude in contrast to the eccentric Napoleon. but NO. He’s just as weird, and its not at all obvious at first. and hes just. a fun bastard to read about in general. also quite handsome isn’t he

So that’s it i need to play more games and watch more stuff tbh

tagging @storja-historja bc im genuinely curious. only if you wanna ofc

[franeridart]

Anon said: Um so hello, I’m just here to say keep up the awesome work, I love your kiribaku art and it’s adorable and I go on binges through your blog (omg I sound so creepy I’m sorry I just love ur art so much) and it makes my day so yeah please keep drawing!

Ahhhhh you don’t sound creepy at all, don’t worry!!!!! Thank you so much for liking my stuff that much!!!!!!! <3<3

Anon said: May ask what kiri///mina would look like in your style? You don't have to draw it if you don't like the ship.

Gosh sorry but I really really don’t ship it!

Anon said: you know how I miss?? your OCs!!! they're the cutest!!

AWE thank you so much!!!!!!! I have a few comics planned for them, hope I’ll manage getting to them soon enough!!! (oT^T)9<3

Anon said: This is so sappy but some of your kiribaku posts really make me really appreciate long relationships! I’ve always found pining and crushes the cutest bc it’s full of intense feelings, but you portray being in love and accepting each other so well!! it’s amazing how you show characters interacting with each other and being so comfortable instead of worrying about hiding part of themselves and long story short I love your art and ideas so much

This ask!!!!!!!!! means the universe!!!!!!!!!! to me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m so glad I can manage portraying love in such a way, I’m so in love with the idea of open, accepting love, andI try seriously hard to make it look healthy in my comics so!!!!!!! thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!! I have no clue how many times I’ve reread this ask I’m not even exaggerating TT^TT <3

Anon said: I just want to start off by saying you’re my favourite blog on tumblr, your art is incredibly adorable and always makes my day!! I was just wondering how you were able to create your own unique art style? It’s something I’ve been struggling with a lot lately with my own art. Any advice is appreciated, thanks for everything you do!!

I think it’s about finding the right spot between what feels comfortable for you and the end you’re using your art for? In my case what’s comfortable is something fun and smooth, and the main end has always been to be able to draw comics - I’ve always liked comics because I like writing and I like drawing, but my attention span was too short to manage finishing them, and the way I had of drawing was too stiff to properly convey emotions the way I wanted to, which made drawing comics sound like an impossible dream haha I fixed it by simplifying my style, by taking away or reducing to the bare minimum everything that took me ages to work out/draw and pushing my expressions and body language to extremes to make up for the lack of details. 

That’s just my experience with it, though! The best advice I can give you is to sit back and look at your current way of drawing from an objective perspective - do you enjoy it? Is the process of drawing something you’re comfortable with? What’s uncomfortable in it for you, and in which ways could you change it to make it comfortable and fun? Does your current art style allow you to do what you want to do with your art? If you want to paint, does it allow you to paint in an easy and fun way? If you want to make comics, does it allow you the range to properly portray a character moving and living without making you wish you’d never started drawing halfway through it? 

Imho the first step to find a style that’s your own and feels right is to find a style that’s fun to use and doesn’t stress you to hell and back every time you pick up your pencil. This is easier to do the more things you attempt, so for a bit being inconsistent in style is a good and normal thing - try things out! The best one for you will definitely stick in the end. And if you already feel comfortable with the way you have of drawing, then hell! You already have a style that works for you! Just because to you it doesn’t look unique and special it doesn’t mean that it isn’t - if you asked me to point out what makes my style unique I wouldn’t be able to tell you either, the way I see it my style is the most uninteresting and common-looking style out there. To be honest with you that’s probably just how it is for every artist out there hahaha

Anon said: Hi!! I love your art and just want you to know I always get a big, stupid smile on my face whenever I see you cross my feed, whether it’s something new or a reblog of an old post. Everything you do is just amazing and I love it

AHHHHHHH Thank you so so much!!!!!!!!! (TT^TT)<3<3<3

Anon said: Hey Fran! First off, thank you for the Fire Force art. I remembered to actually check it out, after seeing it lol. Second, I still can't find your Fatgum 😭😭 the link didn't give any, and searching on your page didn't help either. I WILL FIND IT ONE DAY

I think it’s a problem of the app orz I can see him just find from desktop but the app can’t find him either T-T stupid app!

Anon said: Do you have a mini Bakugou and Kirishima living in your head? Are they just living their lives up in your brain and that causes your hand to to write and draw the most perfect and accurate things? Of course mini Kaminari, Sero, Mina, Jirou, etc. also come to visit your head hole from time to time and just chill with mini Baku and Kiri. That’s the only logical explanation on how all your Bakushima content is so inconceivably spot on

That’s such a kind thing of you to say, anon!!!!!! I’m glad you find them that IC!!!!!! I try my best, but sometimes I admit I just have them do and say stuff I’ve done and said myself, the only difference is that I word things in a way that feels right for their usual way of talking hahaha

Anon said: I personally would love to read your essay on why bakugo is the best character ever because I really really really want to love him that much but i feel like there's something that I'm just not getting about him- there's something I'm missing about his personality (keeping in mind that i kinda left the manga after the whole mirio/8 precepts arc). I've always found bakugo compelling and would love love love to read your take on him! Hope you have a great day!

Bakugou has had some amazing character development scenes after the overhaul arc!!!!! He’s outright shown he understands where he was lacking and where he was wrong, that he’s perfectly capable of working in a team and letting people help him and helping them in return, that he cares about his class and how the rest of the world sees them! (and that he worries/cares about how the world sees him too, actually, that broke my heart a bit ;; ) We haven’t seen him in a hot minute by now, but most of anything before the current arc has had him improve and develop and become even better than he already was -  I’ve always thought him a good guy with just a lot of troubles relating to the world around him due the way he has been brought up as special and different (it creates a drift between yourself and the rest of the world when everyone around you keeps treating you as if you were other - when you tell a kid he’s different and better for his whole life he’s bound to grow up believing it, after all), but if the problem you have with him is that he isn’t showing the good in himself plainly and obviously enough, then the arcs after the overhaul one are gonna help you like him better, definitely

Well, the thing about Bakugou is that he’s not a plain/obvious character, so you need to think about his actions and his words a bit more, and can’t just take him at face value - it’s what I like about him, actually! How much you need to think about him to figure him out on a deeper level than just the surface one. Since I dunno why you like him and why you feel something’s missing, I can’t tell you specifically what it is in the way I see him that completes him for me, but as I said I try to keep him as IC as I can so probably reading my comics about him might help you understand the way I see him. To me Bakugou’s honest, and kind, and loving, but he’s also arrogant, and angry, and used to taking some things for granted, and I like how all those things work with and against each other in his character. He’s at the same time incredibly proud and absurdly insecure, and I like that about him too - where each comes from and where and how they clash, I like the complexity it gives him. I like that he’s a people person in the sense that he likes having people around himself, and I like that at the same time UA is the first time he’s had actual, honest to god best friends, and how that means that he’s gonna be awkward when usually he’s so sure and proud simply because he isn’t used to having people he actually specifically cares for, I very much like that about him. I like that he overthinks everything he doesn’t immediately gets, I like that he still acts on instincts more often than not, I like that somehow with him those two aren’t mutually exclusive. I like that he’s smart and still so damn dumb, I like that he’s just as simple-minded as he is an actually labyrinth in thought process, I like how one-track minded he is even on the most silly things - how once he sets his eyes on a goal he goes for it like his life depends on it. I like that he’s barsh and rude and impulsive in what he says and does, but when he fucks up he knows he fucked up, and he backstracks, and he does his best to make amends. I like that he sits in stupid ways and has the worst posture in the class and then he wears his hero costume and suddenly he’s a model on the catwalk, that’s so damn endearing to me. I like how ridiculously hyperbolic he is and how he just assumes people will get it, get what he actually means, like there’s a point between his brain and his mouth were things get blown out of proportion and he doesn’t even realize it. There’s just so many things to love about him, for me!! 

But most importantly I like that he started as low as he could get and that because of it his plot is a one way towards the summit. I like it. I like watching a character grow and every new chapter become a better version of themselves, I love it. Ultimately that’s probably why he’s my favorite, after all haha

Anon said: Hi, this isn’t a question but I just wanted to say how much I love your art and the way you clearly appreciate Bakugou as a character. So many of my friends hate him, but I think he has a lot of depth and so much potential. Your art always makes me smile! Thanks for doing what you do. :)

THANK YOU and thank you for liking the boy too!!!!!!! He deserves it, he absolutely does deserve it!!!!!!! <3<3<3

Anon said: I just went digging in the archives of my blog (which is.. a mess) and found some old art of yours (like... I'm talking bokuto and kuroo level old) and g o s h. I already loved your art so much then and I still do n hhhhhhhh u go. U great.

Gosh you’ve been around a long time then!!!!! Thank you so much for sticking with me all this time!!!! ✨o(TT0TT)o✨

#fran answers #long post #sorry for disappearing on all of you btw!! #some of you might know already but i've spent most of the last week consuming stuff more than producing it haha #sometimes i need that too

[danddfan-madeconcepts]

The Last Resort (REVAMPED Shop idea)

REVAMPED Version:

Here's one for you DM's that need a place for your players to rest, on their way to hell

Shop: This shop is a medium sized ski resort looking resort, that is in the middle of a long & traitorous dungeon that leads into the hells. The shop offers rooms, spa service, mud bath, hot spring, & a gift shop that has bobble heads of all the rulers of the 9 hells (Debunked or currently ruling.) The prices here are quite larger than usual... but given it's location, you'd be able to see why.

Staff: The staff includes a wide verity of species, on the staff. However the majority of the staff consist of tielfing, or tielfing esc folk. The owner of the resort, an old, tall & swole elf lady who looks like they could choke slam you through two walls then a desk.

Wears: Provides rooms to stay in, a spa room, a mud bath, a hot spring, & a gift shop. The gift shop includes regular gift shop ideas, along with he bobble heads of all the ruler of the 9 hells. Theirs also a picture you can buy in the gift shop, that is a large portrait painting of all the staff standing together in front of the shop. The paintings price is ABSURDLY EXPENCEE (& only up their as a dare from one staff member to another)

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Original Version: 

Here’s one for you DM’s that want your players to rest in a dungeon.

This Lovely resort inn is located in the inside of (traitorous dungeon name) has been the go to stop for all adventures spelunking in the (dungeon name). The Inn has lovely food, good beds, possible risk of invasion by the dungeon monsters, & most importantly decretive soaps. 

#dnd #d&d #dnd idea #d&d idea #d&d ideas #dnd ideas #Dungeons and Dragons #dungeons & dragons #fanmade #fan made #idea #ideas #shop #shop idea #REVAMP #revamped #staff #wears #orginal version #species #ski resort #bobble heads #9 hells #fantasy #entertainment #homebrew #tabletop #gift shop #gifts #rpg

[xxxsunnybabes]

Gold Pt. 2

You were trapped. His onyx eyes seeped into yours like water seeped into cracks. He was a snake or a mind reader. You didn't really know. He knew you but you didn't know him. You didn't know any of them. But you felt safe.

Rating: T/M

Warnings: slight B x B (oral (m receiving), mentions of torture, my weird sandwich cravings, slight pinning, Hoseok being a possessive, manipulative little shit, Y/N moan!ng like crazy because, food. Do I really need to explain food?, Jet lag being too real

Word Count: 3k

A/N: I'm sorry it took so long! And I couldn't even write a long chapter for you guys. 😔

@kelly96q @the-spanishinquisition @dreamingmavis @superheros-and-others @xsmilebitesx @mariacorbi @leftflowerprunedonut @givemeletea @bangtanlove16

Pt. 0 | Pt. 1

The morning light was painful as you woke. The midnight blue sheets on you were too heavy and not warm enough. You used your forearm to sit upright and looked around the room in search of something. Or was it someone? There were things you were forgetting. Like, how did you get here? What happened last night? Why don't you remember anything besides getting in a taxi?

You breathed in slowly, hoping to stop your imagination before it started. You decided to retrace your steps with your memories. There was only a slight itch in your throat so it couldn't have been more than two days. You pulled the ivory colored sheets off you and slid to the foot of the bed. You dipped a toe down, like testing a pool's temperature, praying that the tile wasn't too cold. "I don't have shoes on and my clothes are gone," You noted as you played with the midnight blue slip you were wearing. The tile was actually warm so you put both of your bare feet on it. Once you were standing a knock sliced through the room.

Your head snapped to the door it had originated from. You pulled at the two door handles that were closest to you to try and find a way to escape. The french door led to a garden that was more twigs and weeds than flowers but maybe that would be safer than whoever was behind that door. You gave the handles one final yank even though it was clear that they were locked.There were no windows and only two other doors; the one the mystery person knocked on was in front of you and the other was to your left. What if the door to the left held something worse? It was completely 50/50 so you went with your gut

Each step you took to your chosen door made you feel more and more like a pig going for slaughter.

The person didn't waste a second and slid into the room like a snake going in for the kill. But when his light brown eyes with dark specks that looked like red met yours, you felt a calm sense of deja Vu. You took a second to take him in. You couldn't quite tell if the thick black lines shaped like scales around hs eyes were eyeliner or bags, maybe both. He was built like a rock and there was something almost supernatural about him. You watched the muscles in his arm twitch as he closed the door behind him.

"You're prettier then they said," he muttered as he looked at you and then gave you a breathtaking smirk, "I'll let you check me out." He sounds so- friendly? But his gaze was searing. You gave him a small smile, "Sounds like you're the one checking me out." He held his hands up in defeat, "Caught red-handed." You should be scared, you know you should be. But something about his playful attitude puts you at ease. He ran a hand through his velvety chocolate hair, "Aren't you hungry? I bet you have questions too," You nodded and he sat on the edge of the bed, "Shoot."

"One, where am I? Two, what happened last night? Three, who are you? And most importantly," You played with the silk slip again (you're pretty sure cost more than your college tuition), "Who dressed me, and where can I change?"

"Some of those questions are not mine to answer. I can tell you this though: I, pretty lady, am Park Jimin and I'm the one dressed you." He walked to the door and opened it before pointing to something in the back corner, "You see that bureau? There are clothes there. I'll wait outside and then we'll head to the kitchen."

You're disturbed that a stranger changed you but- "It's so pretty." You noticed there were little silver sparkles on the dress, making it look like stars at night. "You'll have to thank Taehyung then." You gave him a questioning look but he stopped you, "You'll see, princess."

He then walked out so you could change. It was pointless though, seeing as he had clothed you. You walked to the bureau and froze, it was identical to the one you had back home. You pulled at the top right drawer and sure enough, it had underthings, just like back home. You pulled at the most comfortable looking ones and laid them on the bed. You then grabbed a pair of navy blue jeans (middle drawer) and a tan sweatshirt (bottom right drawer).

You carefully lay the slip on the bed and walked out of the door Jimin had also gone out of. He was standing to your left in a 'cool guy pose' like you see in cheesy romcom movies. Before you could say anything, he took your hand and led you to a room adjacent to yours. You tugged quickly on his hand, causing him to stumble back a little, "Wait, I forgot to ask you something. What about my grandmother?" He turned slowly to you and you swear his eyes flashed a deep violet and then you forgot what you just said, no memory of why you came to Korean in the first place left.

He pushed against the dark granite door and it creaked open eerily. The room was a dark red and it reminded you of crusted blood. There were Royal Blue couches lining the corners of the room and glass table of the same color in the center of it all. There were probably about twenty people on the couches and almost all surrounded one person, a man with sea green hair. There a male around twenty that was so pretty you almost mistook him for a girl that was slowly sucking off the green haired man. Jimin clapped twice, singlaning some to leave. The pretty boy gave him one last bob of his head before the turquoise haired boy slipped his hands through the pretty boy’s silky black locks and released deep into his throat. The raven haired raised from his knees and smiled at the slightly red and angry cock standing proudly beneath him. The sea boy licked his lips while pushing some of the release that had leaked from the boy’s lips and allowing him to suck on his thumb a little. The sight was incredibly hot but some part of you was jealous at the attention the black haired, grey eyed pretty boy was getting.

Everyone filtered out except six people that were still sitting on the couches, one in particular that you recognized. “You!” you yelled as you grabbed his collar, “Explain to me how and why i’m here, right now. And don’t tell me you don’t recognize me, Jung Hoseok!” He growled slightly and the bridge of his nose wrinkled slightly like a wolf’s; but instead of scaring you and causing you to let go of his shirt like he planned, you held his shirt tighter. “What happened last night? Where in hell’s lair am I?” But instead of answering your questions he flipped you onto the couch, held you there, and then addressed the others with a power hungry smile, “Introductions first?” They all nodded and sat even closer to you. You had noticed from the second you yelled at hoseok that some of the six had moved closer, like they were drawn to you.

What looked to be the youngest stood in the center of the room and yelled nervously like he was auditioning for the first time, “Hi! I’m Jungkook. It’s- um- nice to meet you, Y/N!” He smiled nervously before half hopping to sit next to Jimin, who nudged the blue haired boy to speak next. You blushed profusely when he leaned over and made direct, inescapable eye contact with you, “The name’s Taehyung, Kim Taehyung. Welcome to the house of weirdos, I hope you survive.” He then gave you a boyish smile that did not go at all with the noises that he had been making just ten minutes ago. You looked over at the right side of the couch, which still had three people you had yet to meet. Before they could introduce themselves, your stomach growled absurdly loudly. You looked pleadingly at Jimin with a slight pout in your lips he gave you a slow smile that caused his eyes to scrunch before talking to one of the guys from the right couch, “Are you going to show her the kitchen, Jin-Hyung or will I?”

Said male took your hand from Hoseok, who you hadn’t realized was holding it. Before leading you out the door you had entered from and turning to the left. After about a minute of walking in what was, surprisingly, not awkward silence, he pivoted on his heal and smirked as he took you into a steel door, “So you’re Y/N?” You smiled slightly at him, “The one and only.” Ew, why did your voice sound like a prepubescent boy? “Are you going to answer my questions or are you going to fatten me up so you can eat me?” you joked. You had expected his eyes to darken like the others had before but, his didn’t. You didn’t realize it until you were in a room alone with him, but he felt the most normal. The room you had been in previously had felt stuffy with supernatural and restless energy.

He pulled out a skillet and started the burner, “What would you like? I can make almost anything.” You thought for a second but nothing came to mind so you said, “Surprise me.” The happy flicker in his eyes seemed to say ‘ I hoped you’d say that.’ You mapped out the room as he got everything out and in order for what he was making. There were white marble tiles covering the floor and halfway up the wall and the rest of the wall and ceiling were painted except the wall that had the oven, dishwasher, refrigerator,and cabinet space, which was painted a plain black. About 3 feet to the right of the door was a island that had a built in hibachi table and could also double as a dining table. The stools were black with silver accents and wrapped around the island. Seokjin had laid out cauliflower, persuto, olive bread, and provolone.

He began frying the persuto and olive bread in a cast iron pan and while they fried he cut up the cauliflower. He turned the presuto and olive bread over with tongs so they would get toasted evenly before placing the bread on a plate, placing provolone, persuto, and the cauliflower on one slice, and then cutting the sandwich in half and sliding it to your seat. You licked hungrily, “Thank you, Jin,” and then dug in happily, groaning from the first bite. You continued to eat and pulled some of the grilled cheese off the sandwich and swallowed it, moaning eagerly. One of the two boys you still had to be introduced to walked in during your moan fest.

This one has bleach blonde hair and was probably the tallest out of all of them, "Wow, hyung. You only made her a sandwich? We both know you can do better than that." You raised your hand childishly before Seokjin could respond, "This, is the tastiest sandwich I have ever had. I need to know where you get this stuff and if it can be shipped to my home."

"Home?" The blonde's eyes had turned a milky white, "This is your home now." Seokjin grabbed the male's shoulder, "Namjoon, you're scaring her." You hadn't realized it, but you had moved to the furthest seat from Namjoon. His eyes bordered on transparent and you could see all the blood vessels in them. He seemed to grow taller and from your angle you couldn't see that his feet had actually came off the ground and he was hovering. Just then, the last person you had to meet pushed open the door and pressed what looked like a cross to Namjoon's chest.

Namjoon returned to his normal height and black-grey eye color. He rubbed his breast where the older male had pressed the cross, "Thanks, Yoongi-hyung." It was all too much, the eye colors constantly changing, the suffocating energy, the halls that were all the same black stone… everything was too much to take in at once. So your body did what it always did when you were overwhelmed, it gave out and you fell onto the cool white tile.

///Hoseok's POV///

As soon as you left with Jin we all sighed. Your presence was so strong and even though it might take a while to get use to, we were already craving more of it. Your energy enhanced ours and the new power pushed at our most powerful body parts. I felt it most in my legs and I couldn't stop stretching them. I looked around and noticed Taehyung scratching his shoulder blades, Jungkook chewing uncomfortably at his gums, Jimin's eyes were watering and his nails had grown significantly, and Namjoon was slightly hovering. Of course, Yoongi wasn't affected.

Namjoon was the first to give in, "I'm fallowing them." I grabbed his wrist and pulled him close enough to my face that he couldn't look away, "Don't lose control. She doesn't know the affect she has on us." He nodded tightly and speed walked to the kitchen. I sighed and leaned back into the couches. I could hear Jimin shuffling from the other side of the room and could smell the fear radiating off him. "What is it, Jimin?"

"I know I got to know her the least out of all of us, but I remember her being extremely clever and sharp, especially when it came to us." I turned to him, "And your point is?" He played with his fingers a little, "Even if we don't tell her, she'll figure it out." I growled slightly, I knew he was right. "Then how do you suggest we tell her, Jimin?"

"I, um-" we all felt it at the same time but Yoongi was the first to react. He was off the couch in seconds and speeding down to the kitchen. I was next and the rest followed me. By the time we reached the kitchen, Yoongi had calmed down Namjoon and Y/N had fainted.

I picked you of the floor and held you close, I had missed holding you so much. I kissed your forehead and turned to Namjoon, "I'm going to lay her in my room and then I'm going to deal with you."

He looked terrified and I knew it was more out of worry for you then worry for himself. I took you to my room, which was connected to yours, and laid you down in my fur sheets. Hopefully you would find these was warmer than the others. Once I was satisfied that you were warm and comfy I went to the room in the basement that we had for torture. Namjoon was already there and was sitting in his knees in the center.

I grabbed the closest tool to me and turned to him, "Are you ready?"

///2nd Person (Y/N's POV)///

You woke about an hour after Hoseok had laid you down. There was a slight knock on the door and you said I tired 'Come in'. It was Taehyung, "Did I wake you?" You shook your head with a smile and tried to tame your hair, "What is it?" He looked almost shy and mumbled sightly, "Did you like the slip?" You laughed a little a little in your head, 'Cute'. You grabbed both of his hands and he blushed with one of his boxy smiles, "I thought it was beautiful, Taehyung."

His eyes lit up, "Can I make you another one?" You smiled again because it was hard not to, he was a puppy, "Sure!" He let go of your hands and walked to the door, "Hoseok-hyung will come for you soon." You nodded and waved as he left. You layed back down and slept for about another thirty minutes. Jet lag is no joke, people.

You woke to Hoseok playing with your hoodie's strings. "Where is Namjoon?" He growled, he seemed to do that a lot, "He won't be able to walk for a little." You gapsed, "What did you do to him?" He ignored your question like he always did and pushed your shoulder slightly so you would lay down. "I'll answer all your questions if you sleep for a little longer." Almost like a spell, you fell asleep at soon as your head hit the pillow.

///Hoseok's POV///

I heard Jimin open the door, "Will you really answer her questions?" I turned to him with a possessive smile, "Maybe. It might be fun to watch her squirm and try and find out the truth though."

#gold #gold pt 2 #ot7 x reader #bts ot7 #ot7 #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #kim teahyung #kim taehyung x reader #park jimin #jimin x reader #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #jung hoeseok #hoseok x reader #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #kim seokjin #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #supernatural au #original work #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #gold xsunnyx