#call your art awful and i will punch you right in the back of your knees /lh

[rosedom]

ok ok so, kazuha who always denied it everytime reader calls him a pretty boy. so reader fuck him rough and won't let him cum before kazuha tell that he's a pretty boy

there's just something about pretty boys that has me weak . . . o(*￣︶￣*)o thirst format !

hoooolyyyy moly. god, okay ! you got me, you got me.

kazuha is so, so sweet. he waxes poetic with every breath he takes. each whisper of affection curls around you, warm and tender and so, so loving. but it wouldn't take long for you to notice how quiet he is regarding himself.

you wonder, then, how he can create such beauty from the setting sun, yet he can never compare his own eyes to them. his eyes, so wide and round and gorgeous, tinted like the ocean water when the sun kisses it in retreat. he, too, never dares to speak of the way his body, so small yet so strong, can wield the type of power that can put gods at his feet. no—instead, he writes about how beautiful the shogun looked; he sees through an artist's eyes the way her eyes widened in fear, the way her pupils shrunk and pretty purple showed just how human a god could be.

you simply cannot understand how a man can see the world through such a rose petal'd lens, yet when he looks at himself, he sees nothing of note. he sees a vessel, sure; he can understand the innate beauty of soul's vessel. but beyond that? nothing.

it makes your heart break, knowing that kazuha—the man capable of so much art, making the world brighter and changing the way you see everything—does not see himself in any positive light. to him, he simply exists.

really, he walks the earth the same as you do—yet while he marvels that you are here with him, he cannot grasp that you, too, marvel at him.

he could grasp, however, at your cheeks—at you yourself, when you've got him pressed into the bed with your foreheads touching. he holds onto you tightly with trembling hands, soft little sounds punched from his throat which each thrust.

"you're so—mm—!" he'd try: try to praise you, to say something pretty while you're balls deep. he can't really manage, though, when your cock presses into all his sweet spots.

each incessant thrust into him makes him cry out, cute, soft sounds that you just want to eat up ! you'll have to pardon me for thinking about how you'd have to kiss up his moans, licking into his mouth as it hangs open in his pleasure.

kazuha'd keep his shakey hold on your face, forcing you up and away from his lips to beg, "please, please. you're so perfect, like—mm—like the—the—mm!" silence his attempts at poetry, won't you?

"baby, baby," you'd have to soothe him with, punctuating each sweet name with a deep thrust, pressing into all the spots that make him writhe. "my pretty boy."

of course, he'd deny it; i wouldn't expect anything different. but quiet him more: shake your head at him and frown, gentle and not at all unkind, and kiss away his "no, no."

"but kaz," you'll say. "you're so, so pretty. so perfect f'r me." his hands, fallen from your cheeks, would claw at your back as he'd be left to squirm and cry in the arms of yours that trap him against the bed.

simply put: there is nowhere for him to go, to get away from your sweet, sweet words.

i guess you'll have to up the stakes. how awful, truly.

"c'mon, pretty," you'll coo, instead, slowing your thrusts to a torturous drag. "tell me something, will you?"

"w-what?"

with a mischievous grin, you'll have to murmur, "tell me you're pretty." then, "until you do, you're not gunna cum." 

i wish i could see the way his eyes would widen at that—betrayed, as if you had told him he wouldn't cum at all. but you'll hardly give him the time to reflect on your words—to deny them, to say anything different—, because you'd be thrusting in hard and deep and brushing against all the right places. he'll writhe and cry beneath you, and, god.

kazuha is so, so pretty: why can't he see that?

"i—mm, please, i'm so close . . ."

"you can't cum, though," you'd have to say, reaching a hand down against your words to hurry him along. his body'll jerk in your arms, torn between succumbing to the pleasure yet wanting to be good for you, to not cum just yet.

"i can't," he'll cry, shaking his head side to side and jerking on the pillow. "i can't."

when he gets too close, do something for me: reach down and pinch at his pelvis, so close yet so far to where he wants it. "yes, you can;" you'll have to soothe him with sweet words, hard n' deep thrusts. "you're my pretty boy, kaz, tell me you're pretty."

"i—i—"

"c'mon." he'd be so close, by then, twitching everywhere and left to dig into your shoulder blades. the marks he leaves across your upper back will be gorgeous, later. "you can do it, honey. c'mon."

relenting is not easy for kazuha: this you know.

but you'll also know that it's harder to stave off an orgasm for him. and so—when his hole begins to squeeze and throb around you—, he would finally cry out, "'m pretty—!" and tumble headfirst into orgasm.

just—pretty boy kazuha (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠) <33

11 FEB. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#ㅤ✦【 ASKS 】 #pretty boys ought to know they're pretty #god !! #sub kazuha #kazuha x reader #dom reader #top reader #amab reader #u have a working cck . #sub genshin #genshin smut

[lazycats-stuff]

Congrats on 500 followers 🥳 ! I know that the weapon!reader fic came out today but I so badly want a fic about how he got adopted into it, like Ik you told us but could do you do write it out, if you get what I mean? Sorry I suck at explaining lol

I’m so sorry to request so soon, so take your time ❤️

Thanks, it's time for the origin story it seems. Also, I'm closing request for a while, I got 9 of them in my inbox and I would like to catch up with them, so just watch my blog description to see when they open. Also, I wrote 2.9k words... What the hell?

Summary: How (Y/N) got adopted.

Warnings: violence, murder, (C/S)= call sign, (F/N)=fake name, (F/L/N) = fake last name, a random target for (Y/N) to kill.

A weapon. A thing. Not even a human being. That was the motto he was told over and over again. He doesn't remember the life he had before all of this training. Or maybe he was just training from when he was born? Who really knows.

He was always on a strict schedule. Wake up at 6 am, have breakfast at 6:30, then it was time to do training. Whether it's martial arts or just being at a shooting range, his days were often filled with training or missions.

He was always a shadow. A person who just melted with people, who blended in with the crowd and who could disappear easily. More appropriate name would be ghost.

He met the best assassins in their world and he earned their respect for his skills and undying devotion and motivation for the mission.

Even Ra's al Ghoul respected (Y/N) and that was something that is not easy to achieve. Even more so, he was shocked when Ra's wanted to meet with him. It was something about a mission that he was going to get.

It was in Gotham city.

And by meeting Ra's al Ghoul, that meant going to his own base. He closed his eyes as he was driving in the helicopter. The vibrations were slightly comforting as he watched the base materialize in front of his eyes.

He was always in awe of Ra's al Ghouls base. The man was untraceable and the fact that he popped up somewhere in the middle of nowhere and the fact that he led (Y/N) to his base was incredible.

When the helicopter landed, (Y/N) took of his headset and stepped out. He squinted due to the sun shining in his face. He bowed his head when he saw Ubu, Ra's al Ghoul's second in command.

" Welcome to our base (C/S). Please follow me. " Ubu said, turning on his heel and walking back to the base. On both sides there was a row of assassins, just ready to strike at moments notice.

It was eerie. He walked right behind Ubu, looking up at the big base. And that man is untraceable too. This base is massive and although in the middle of nowhere, it's easy to find something massive.

They stepped inside into the shade and (Y/N) was relieved to be shielded from the sun. He saw Talia al Ghoul as she walked by, always gorgeous, but fatal. Femme fatal and black widow mixed in one really.

He remembers one altercation that he had with Talia a few years back. Turns out that they were on the same mission and Ra's and (Y/N)'s handler didn't bother to let each of them know before they tried to kill each other.

(Y/N) still remembered the fight and how brutal it was. Talia might not seem to be physically strong, but she most definitely is strong. She could really punch and the entire room was completely trashed. It wasn't until the room was trashed, faces were bloody and (Y/N) broke Talia's nose and Talia broke his wrist.

Ra's and his handler were shocked when they saw the state of them. Talia and (Y/N) were glaring at each other and if not for their handlers, they would have gotten at it again.

But now, they had mutual respect.

Where was that mission anyway? Metropolis? It could be. He remembers hearing about Superman in the news and he also read the newspaper, seeing that Superman was on the front page.

Talia and (Y/N) nodded towards each other, a sign of saying hello and respect for each other. She walked off down the corridor and (Y/N) turned his head back to look forward.

They stopped in front of the big doors and the two guards opened it. (Y/N) stepped into a lavish room. My God, does Ra's have money to burn. Marble, gold... On the left there was a big bookcase with first editions of the biggest literature works. The said man was sitting down at the balcony, seemingly drinking bourbon.

Who even drinks bourbon this early in the morning?

" (Y/N), please, do sit. " Ra's said, pointing to a chair opposite of him.

(Y/N) sat down and Ra's poured him a glass. (Y/N) sat, hand grazing the gun in his holster. It was still there, loaded and ready to go.

" Now, you must wonder why I summoned you here. " Ra's started, turning his entire body to look at (Y/N).

" I can only assume that it has something to do with my upcoming mission in Gotham. " (Y/N) said, leaning slightly back, putting his arm around the back of the chair, but still keeping his other hand near his gun.

" That is true. I know you are no stranger to Gotham, but you are a stranger to Batman's modus operandi. "Ra's started, picking up his glass, before twirling the liquid around.

" I'm familiar to how Batman works. I'm afraid you are wasting your time if you called me because of that. " (Y/N) said, watching as Ra's smirked.

" I have no doubt you know how Batman works, but that was all in theory. Your handler never fought with Batman. I have. " Ra's replied, taking a sip of his bourbon.

" Not a drinker I see. Well, I know your mission is not about Batman, you have assassinate a prominent politician, but Batman will be all over it. That man can tell when somebody very well trained does it. He can recognize assassins and he can tell if somebody of your caliber entered the city. " Ra's stated, turning to look at his people training.

" Batman is like a dog with a bone, I believe that's the term that Americans use. And it's a good term for Batman. Once he has something, he won't let go of it, no matter what. I just want to warn you, once you do this, Batman will look high and low for you. " Ra's explained, turning his head to look at the young man, who looked back at him with confidence in his eyes.

" I'm pretty sure that I will be pretty quick with my mission and will be gone by the time I'm done. I will be in the city for just a few hours. " (Y/N) said, now taking the glass.

" And those few hours might change your life. " Ra's said, taking his glass too. He raised it and (Y/N) followed. " A little toast to your mission. May all go well. " They clinked their glasses and (Y/N) murmured hear hear.

A few days later, he was landing in the Archie Goodwin airport. He has a small sports bag with him, containing his suit, some extra clothes and a burner phone. He walked out of the airport, seeing the car already waiting for him.

He got in, already having the keys in on him. He turned the car on and he drove to a small, shabby motel in Gotham. He turned on the radio, listening to news.

" Welcome back from our brake. Tonight, at the city hall, Richard Peterson will be starting as a mayor. In the attendance are a lot of prominent Gotham citizens, including Bruce Wayne himself. Mister Wayne hasn't been so present in these types of events, but since it's a charity party, mister Wayne is always ready to show up. But don't get me wrong, that man did more for our city then anybody in the mayor's office and the government combined. Thank you for listening to our news and we are going to be back with our regular program. "

(Y/N) turned the volume down a bit, not really interested in music. It was a rock song, but (Y/N) didn't really listen. He watched the road in front of him. The said road was empty, expect for a few cars. He was never a fan of Gotham. It was a dirty city, both with actual garbage and by metaphorical garbage.

Corruption, drugs, murders, muggings... Crime all around. There wasn't a single sign of changing until Batman showed up. His handler told him that. he also told him that Batman coming onto the scene in Gotham has changed the world.

And Batman also changed it by creating the Justice League. Many were happy, and by many, he meant civilians. Villains were not so happy and they created their own league, the League of Light. He took a turn and he drove into the motel parking lot. He turned of the ignition and stepped out. He frowned a bit at the smell.

Ew. He took his sports bag and went to the reception. There was this old lady, probably old enough to retire. She was smoking and it seemed like he was her first guest of the day.

" Hello ma'am. " (Y/N) said politely, leaning on the front desk

" Hello sugar. I assume you need a room. "

" Yes ma'am. "

" Give me your name. "

" (F/N) (F/L/N). " (Y/N) said, taking the key from the lady. " Is it possible to pay up front? " (Y/N) asked, feeling a stack of cash in his pocket.

" Of course. I presume cash. "

" Of course ma'am. " (Y/N) said with a fake smile.

" I still got it. " She said, giving (Y/N) his key and (Y/N) gave a hundred dollar bill.

" You can keep the rest ma'am. " (Y/N) said, making her smile.

" Thanks sugar. "

(Y/N) nodded, taking his sports bag and he went to his room. He saw a pool, but there was no way in hell that he would go in there and swim. And besides, he has way to important things to do rather than to take a swim in the pool.

He dropped the sports bag on the bed. Now he had to go check out the city hall and the surrounding buildings. And he also needed to pick up his weapon from his contact here.

This was going to be a fun evening.

(Y/N) huffed as he set him self down onto a roof. He prepared his rifle to stand on the edge. He was in all black, with a black mask covering the bottom half of his face. He also had a black beanie, covering his hair.

He had his gloves on too. He can't have any fingerprints linking him to this. That is the most armature thing ever to be caught over. He sat down on the roof, waiting for the ceremony to start.

He watched the politicians rolling in their expensive cars and wives or husbands under their arm, used as trophies. He never saw the appeal of it, but he himself in a way was a trophy to his handler. Although, not because of his looks like in this case, rather for his skill set.

Also, why do you pay so much for clothes? (Y/N) could see without his binoculars that the dresses were expensive and he never saw the appeal of it.

He took out a small protein bar, munching on it as he waited for his target to arrive. One tip he learnt is to never shot from a rifle when you are hungry. So, it's better to eat something.

He put the wrapper into his pocket and he got down. His target just got out of the building and stood in front of the podium. (Y/N) looked through the scope, setting his sights on the politician.

When everyone settled down, (Y/N) took a breath and pulled the trigger. (Y/N) shot him through his forehead directly. Screams started and the police started scrambling to secure the area. (Y/N) took his rifle and separated it into parts, to fit into his backpack.

And then he ran from the rooftop, sinking into the shadows. The plan for this was to get to a bridge and throw this backpack into the river. And then get to on a plane get out of here.

Batman knew that this assassination had something to do with somebody of high caliber. It was dead on in the center and the fact that whoever did this didn't leave any traces on the roof where he stood.

However, there was a security camera.

" Tim, I need you to hack into a security camera on the building across from the City hall. Look who was there at the time of the murder. "

" Will do B. Alfred is looking into this politician, trying to figure out why he was killed. " Tim said, already hacking into it.

" I will show you the footage now B. " Tim said.

Bruce tapped a few buttons on his gauntlet and the video feed was shown. Bruce just looked at the eyes, saw the munching on the protein bar. And it seems that when he was escaping that the wrapper fell out.

Maybe the wrapper had something on it. " Tim, look for other footage of him. We need to get a face for the recognition. "

" Already on it. "

Bruce hanged up and scanned the wrapper. It had some DNA on it and he could probably have a DNA sample from this. He scanned it now and put it into every database known to man, even through the Justice League database.

Oh my. It got a hit. It was by the name (C/S), aka (Y/N) (L/N). He started making waves in the assassin community. But what ticked Batman off was the fact that he is a teen.

Whoever trained him... Whoever trained was going to be maimed.

" Everyone, I have a name and a face. Track him Tim. I want to know when he got into Gotham. Look at the airport, stations, everything. "

" Okay, but I put his face to find him through the city. Right now, he is on his way to... The airport. Robin and Red Hood could intercept him."

" I will. Let me know where he is and the car he is driving. " Batman said, calling the Batmobile. Time to find (Y/N).

(Y/N) was driving peacefully, just ready to get out of this city. Batman and the others, however, had other plans. (Y/N) never saw them coming. Batman rammed the Batmobile into the right side of (Y/N)'s car, making it turn a sharp left. (Y/N) braced for impact and more importantly, he got his seatbelt on.

He was a bit shocked, but that quickly wore off as he saw what hit him. He wasn't staying long enough to fight Batman. Nobody in their right mind would.

(Y/N) got out, gripping his gun. He saw a fire escape and ran for it. He can't fight him, he needs to get out of this city and far away from Batman and his sidekicks as humanely possible. He looked down and he saw Robin. He knew who Robin was, he saw a photo of him once though.

He climbed even faster, getting onto a roof. Nope. He stopped in front of Batman, who didn't look impressed.

" Hello (Y/N). You need to come with me. "

" I'm afraid not. I have to go back so... " (Y/N) said, ducking to the side to run. He jumped to the next roof, but somehow Red Hood jumped him from the right putting them trough a window on the roof. They both fell down and (Y/N) hit his head against a beam.

The world got dizzy and he heard voiced mixing. He closed his eyes, hoping to die instead.

(Y/N) wasn't so lucky as to die. He woke up with a big headache and he knew that he didn't escape. He opened his eyes and was met with a glass ceiling. He turned his head and was met with the sight of Batman and the others.

" Morning (Y/N). " Batman said, moving closer to the glass.

(Y/N) sighed, sitting up at the small bed here. " Yeah, sure. How can I help you? "

" You can start with telling me who your handler is. " Batman said calmly.

" I'm afraid not. Besides, I only know him as the handler so... "

" Where is the base then? "

" Aren't you supposed to be the detective? " (Y/N) retorted.

" And you are supposed to be a normal teenager. Enjoying life. Going to high school. And not be an assassin for someone. " Batman retorted back.

" Either way, I can't tell you anything. And you are going to keep me here? "

" Yes. And I don't care about the fact you are not telling me who your handler is, I will find him either way. I won't allow you to go back to him. "

" So what are you going to do? Adopt me? " (Y/N) asked sarcastically.

" Yes. " However he didn't expect such serious response.

" No. "

" I mean, I need to keep you here. " Batman said, making (Y/N) go eye wide.

" Now I wish that Red Hood killed me. " (Y/N) said laying back down, making Jason smirk a bit.

" Likewise. " Jason said, making Bruce give him a quick glare.

" You will be better here (Y/N). You will have a chance at a free live. Your own life. No control, not anything you don't like. " Bruce said, trying to appeal to him.

" Hmm. No. " (Y/N) said, closing his eyes.

" Well, I can't send you back to that hell. " Batman said, finality in his voice.

" Well, I still don't like this. "

#dc comics #dc x male reader #batfamily #x male reader #batman x male reader #batkids #platonic relationships

[heretyc]

Horror [Trager, Eddie Gluskin, Val]

Horror: A collection of small fics, consisting of Outlast's most iconic antagonists [in my opinion].

The poll I started isn't over, but "canonically" is winning and I love it. Dark shit here we come lol. I will be writing for my beloved Terror-iffic Trio [aka my favourite antagonists from each game]. A party with these 3 would be lit.

Drabble ideas here.

Content Warnings: Uhhh...Outlast Antagonists lol. That is your warning.

Trager: Gore, awful jokes, his bare ass.

Eddie: Gore, murder, injury, mentions of his...lovely little display, sexual assault [minor, just a slight touch, no penetration]. [Please lord don't let him teach an art class.]

Val: Sexual assault [slight penetration w/ fingers], gore, murder, mud, Val's bare ass, mud breasts and mudgina.

I mean it, this is pretty heavy shit. It isn't too graphic, but if SA triggers you...either look away or read with caution. Trager's section is safe. Unless you're afraid of his ass...cause me too, man.

MINORS GTFO. Miners can stay as long as they're not minor miners.

Read with caution, I condone none of this. Fics underneath the cut.

You/MC take the place of the protagonist. So...you are Miles/Waylon/Blake. Yayyyyy....? Or nay? Depends on how you feel. MC is gender neutral, but is referred to with fem pronouns in Eddie's section for obvious reasons. You do not talk in Trager or Eddie's sections as Miles and Waylon were "mute". You speak in Val's section, though. You are described as having breasts in Val's section as both sexes/all genders have breasts. Tiddies for everybody!!

Enjoy.

Drabble idea: "See, this place isn't haunted!"

Sometimes, a saving grace can be your one way ticket to hell. And this had been an excellent example of that. The angelic voice over the dumbwaiter was a dream come true; after running and hiding for so long, it was like you were granted a break.

Only for your face to fall as the scarred face of a man greeted you. The air around him reeked of danger.

This was not the haven you were lead to believe was waiting for you.

"You made the right choice here, buddy," he declared before punching you in the jaw, a pained yell leaving your throat, and he was quick to take advantage of your shocked state to haul you into a wheelchair.

He must have done this a dozen times, as he was quick to lock your wrists into the cuffs attached to the chair. They were tight, and he merely chuckled at seeing your attempts of getting out of them.

He looked fucked up.

He stood in front of you, hands behind his back, and his eyes were scanning you like a wolf scans its prey before it mauls it to bits, "You're not a variant...huh. Well, buddy...you can call me...Trager. Everyone else does, anyway."

As Trager made noises looking you up and down, you looked at his face. Coated by some half-assed attempt at a mask and some strange glasses upon his face, you come to the conclusion that he was some doctor here.

He clicks his tongue and smacks you on the back, "You've got a lot of things to learn here, buddy. I am honoured to be your teacher."

Teach you about what, exactly? You didn't want to know. But he started to push you forward, and you only questioned where your hell would be.

This place was already hell, but...at the hands of some crazed madman, it was different.

Trager hummed to himself, making jokes here and there, and he once grumbled when you didn't laugh at a stupid impression, before he finally made it to an elevator. It was...somewhat cleaner up here, for some reason.

However...

You could feel a breeze upon your skin, and upon hearing the howl of wind and torrential rain, you saw an exit. Pitch black and windy, yet so much more welcoming than in here. You questioned if there would be a tornado warning or something by how violent the wind seemed to be.

The rain out there was intense, torrential, heavy and oh so divine, and Trager only chuckled.

"You want to take a quick walk, bud?" He leaned down next to you, eyes looking into yours like he was an old friend, despite also looking feral. "Run free, like Forrest Gump? Unfortunately, we're running out of time." He clicked his tongue once more, pulling you into the elevator.

This was a cruel joke. Even the Elvis impression - awful impression, mind you - wasn't as bad as this.

Standing beside you, Trager pressed a simple button on the control pad before clasping his hands together behind his back. After a moment of movement, he looked back toward you, his voice a tone that suggested jest, "Did you know they call elevators a "shaft" in other places of the world?" He chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

Looking at him, you realized his skin looked...awful. Like he was a draugr from that video game you used to play.

His scalp was scarred, and after spending an hour in this place, you realize you're lucky your scalp was untouched.

Wires upon wires were wrapped along his arm, and upon closer inspection, you were horrified to notice that they weren't wires, they were tubes.

Of his own blood.

How did he not feel that?

A man like him probably enjoys that, to be honest.

His nails were quite long as well, albeit you couldn't blame him...hygiene in a place like this was laughable. He probably had to exert his inner wildcat to defend himself in this shit hole.

You nearly sobbed when the elevator came to its destination, and he took hold of the handles once more.

It smelled of death and lost hope up here.

Choruses of screams reached your ears and you flinched. He seemed to notice, as he violently shushed the poor bastards trying to break free of their confines, "Sh. Shshshsh...you weren't putting your tongue to good use anyway!"

Tongue...??

The man shrieking had a bloodied mouth, and he soon quieted after choking on, what you assume to be, his own blood. Trager only sighed, muttering to himself, "Really, I just needed something to lick my stamps."

This...was a cruel joke. Taking someone's tongue for stamps?? You were deep in thought, only for Trager to notice and grin evilly, "You should see what I do with the balls."

...Dear god.

"Yeah, this weird...cannibalistic guy downstairs begs for them...the guy knows what he wants, I gotta give him that. He reminds me of somebody...eh, buddy?"

He poked you in the shoulder as he pushed, and it appears he was referring to you.

"I saw your camcorder. You're some sort of journalist, here to...what, expose one of the biggest experiments in history?" He laughed at the notion, shaking his head. "I admire the bravery, really. Braving through disturbed masses...I have to admit, I'm impressed."

You only gulped.

"People love to say this place is...haunted." Trager noted, pushing you into a bathroom of some sort. Bloodied, smelled of decay and looked like a paradise for bugs and bacteria.

What had scared you the most was the array of torture devices he had laid out on a tray. This man was deranged, one way or another.

He continued his one-sided conversation, focusing on the aforementioned tray as he walked over to it, "I mean, who wouldn't? People love to paint asylums as haunted. They hear a ghastly noise or a terrified scream and immediately tell the papers that a house of human suffering is haunted."

Trager's hand hovered over each instrument of torture, trying to pick which one, but he hadn't stopped talking.

"And I am more than sure that's your entire...reason for coming here. Trying to prove it was haunted. But guess what, buddy?"

He finally picked up a blade, long and serrated, and he pressed it against a finger of yours, the edges sharp against your thin flesh. He leaned in close, his dry lips forming into a smile, "This place isn't haunted."

He moved away, the blade removed from your finger, and you breathed a sigh of relief as he placed it back down onto the tray.

"No, no. It's worse."

He finally picks up a gigantic pair of scissors, much like something you'd see picking away at a shrub, and he was more than eager to shut them and open them, metallic hisses invading your senses, much like the feeling of doom.

You will die here.

"This place is an example of human cruelty, my friend," he announced, voice loud and cheerful as if he wasn't about to maim you, and he placed the blades around some of your fingers. He cared not for your horrified shrieks and begs, he only leaned in once more and whispered,

"And you will be nothing but an example of what happened here."

Slice.

...

"Oh, come on, buddy...it's not like you needed your middle finger anyway. Now open up...I have some stamps to lick."

Drabble idea: "Oh my god, are you okay?!"

"Darling, please! You act as if I've done something rancid! What have I done to you to make you so afraid of me?!"

The bloodied behemoth on your tail was quick and hurried as he chased after you, his feet slamming against the rotting floorboards. You almost couldn't hear the music that played alongside the horrific display he handmade. The smell was awful, but the sight of it was enough to make you vomit.

You would not be the victim to the Groom. Not now. Not ever.

You would not have your pelvis slit, or your chest stuffed like you were a sex doll [ironically, that's all you would be to him], and you would not let him confess his undying love for you. It was fake and corrupt like this entire asylum.

Despite the smell of mildew and death, adrenaline filled your blood and you could tolerate the disgusting scents as you breathed in, your legs not yet faltering.

You've heard what he's done. The man who so giddily chased you rambled about it as you snuck around, and you were not pleased.

This was the only way out. Sometimes you have to take risks...right?

This wasn't worth it, though.

And sometimes, luck runs out. Like right now, as you are stuck in a dead end.

There was only an elevator. And it was not on your current floor.

Shit.

You could jump and risk a broken leg...or...

The emergency ladder. Broken and rusted, but it's tetanus over death.

You could explain all of this to the news with lockjaw.

"Wait, what are you doing?! Don't, don't-!"

You had leaped, gripping onto the ladder as your bottom half slammed against it. With a hiss you tried to pull yourself up, only for the ladder to break underneath you.

The top had snapped, and you tried to grab onto what remained on the wall, only to fall, your heart stopping.

Of all things to die from, it was a rusted ladder.

Oh well.

As your body slammed onto the top of the elevator, a sharp pang began to blossom from your ankle, and you look to see shards of glass sticking out of your flesh. Now coated in blood, you cried out and ripped the shards out, piece by piece. Blood pooled around your foot as you cradled it.

"Oh my god, are you okay?!"

The behemoth above looked down at you with a horrified expression, his hands out and wanting to hold you.

"I hate to see you suffering without me! Why would you do something like that to yourself?!"

His voice was full of panic and concern, and for a moment it seemed wholesome, until the panicked silence became one of anger. There was...tension.

"You would...rather die...than be with me...?"

His tone had shifted so quickly. He was unpredictable, and that's what had made him so...scary. In general, he had looked like he crawled from a 1940s horror series. Sweeney Todd had come to mind, actually...

"You're just another whore, aren't you?" He growled out, only to sigh, like this was a normal occurrence. "It's quite alright, darling. A good man can turn a whore into a house wife...and I have faith in us. Let me just..."

The elevator roared to life, and you panicked even more, now. Your poor heart would likely kill you before he had the chance to. But as you rose, he merely hummed to himself, waiting for the elevator to rise to his floor.

You had no chance at moving or escaping, as when you reached the proper floor, he was quick to grab you before you became sandwiched between the top of the elevator and the ceiling.

He dwarfed you. Instantly. He carried you bridal style, an eerie smile on his face, "Come, now. I must make sure you look perfect for our wedding."

You had no chance, now.

He clicked his tongue, footsteps hard against the rotting boards, and his voice was quieter as he spoke, "And I need to wrap up your foot...you are a silly one, darling."

It didn't feel silly. It felt like your ankle and foot were on fire, stinging like mad.

You had accepted your death already, but if there was also one thing you could accept, it's that he wasn't actually half bad.

Minus the...anger fits and the "whore" bit, he would have been wonderful. Looking up at him, you see a man soiled by corruption.

His eyes would have been a beautiful, shiny blue if not for the pools of hemorrhage. They had looked...empty. Dead. But whenever he looked at you, they shone like his soul had been revived.

Is this what he had wanted? Love?

Everyone in this hell hole had been deprived of it.

It was sad. Really fucking sad.

But you had read about what Eddie had done, and seen it too. And he was past the point of no return. He had done too much to be redeemed.

Dread made itself a home in your stomach as you were laid upon something cold and wet, and you were strapped in. Arms and legs spread, and your clothes were ripped off.

You were now nude, and being touched by the Groom himself.

His hands were gentle as he caressed a calf, "You have such soft skin...you will look absolutely beautiful," he cooed, hand gliding itself upwards toward your knee, then your thigh, and then...

You only flinched when you felt his hand begin to caress your genitals, as gentle as could be, as if he wasn't violating you. T'was the touch of a lover.

But he was no lover, no.

His fingertips merely grazed along your private flesh, rubbing it as if he had wanted to stimulate you, and you wanted to scream.

Eddie sighed dreamily, like he was a married man and his life would be filled with nothing but happiness, and he, luckily, let his hand glide up to your navel. "You look divine already, but when I'm finished with you? Oh, darling..."

He removed his hand, thankfully, but he was quick to turn on the saw, and all you could feel was cold air from its rapid movements and doom.

He gripped the sides of the table you were on, and he was smiling like this wasn't totally fucked up, "I know this will be hard..."

You felt the table move, slowly but surely, and you began to wriggle, but he continued, "You will have to deal with this...and then the conception, which I promise, will be wonderful," he winked as the saw came closer, "Then the pregnancy...and oh, I can just imagine the birthing. You will look so beautiful, darling...like a goddess. Mothers are goddesses in their own right."

And all you could feel was the sting of the saw, and your soul fading from your body.

...

"You're just like the rest. Filthy whore."

You're lucky you weren't alive to see your mangled body, tossed with the rest.

Ready to rot.

Drabble idea: "I want to go home..."

Val, in a sense, had been an angel to you.

They did not have a halo, made of purity and gold, or have pristine, white wings to wrap you and hold you close, no. They did not bear robes of white or play a golden harp or sing a divine chorus.

But they had wanted you all to themselves. And they would not let Knoth's guard dog, or his sickly bastards he called "friends", ruin you before they had a chance to.

Because unlike Knoth, or Marta, or Laird or Nick or whoever the fuck, Val would put you back together.

They are a loving mother, dedicated to spreading love.

It had been painted in blood on your way to the mines, 'LOVE SET US FREE'. Bottles encasing candles, bodies strewn up like Christmas decorations...

What were they trying to do, exactly? Make their cause look homey? Elegant? Acceptable?

You had felt oddly welcomed. Every single enemy in your way was slain, journals and notes left in your path to urge you to come to them.

"Come to me," the red ink beckoned you on the dirtied paper, "and I will show you my love."

They had been so kind as to leave batteries and bandages. Before you had taken the small, makeshift raft, a final note had been placed in one of the small shacks, the bed made and smelling of firewood,

"I am waiting for you."

You did not want this. But you needed to find a way out.

The mines were not welcoming. You were not alone. And you had been chased into the underground, where you are now; held down by Heretics as they muttered, "mother, burn..."

Like the fallen angel ready to relieve the sinners of their pain, their martyrdom, Val had approached, coated in mud and looking like the demon of the mountains.

In their hand was a torch, raging with fire, and it made their white eyes so much more intense.

They had hummed eagerly, the hum evolving into a laugh as the torch was placed down and the Heretics were shooed away. You were too afraid to move or notice their cold, dirtied hands leaving your flesh.

Their eyes were wide, pupils tiny, and they smiled as they strutted to you, "We are creatures of appetite..."

They moaned, feeling up their body and their fake breasts, like they were a porn star and giving you a show.

"I want to feel your hunger," their voice became quiet, something only you could hear, and they leaned close, your eyes staring frantically into theirs, searching for any fragment of humanity.

There was none. And you felt saddened, knowing that the Val in those journals was not this Val.

This was something different.

"I want to know your desires...and show you what true pleasure feels like," they rasped, pushing you down and straddling your hips, grinding against your clothed stomach. Your fear had aroused them.

"I want to go home..." you whispered, tears rushing from your eyes, and they only laughed, leaning close to your face and whispering, "This is your home, my love," a muddy hand came up to caress your cheek and wipe the tears away, "and I...will be doting."

You had no chance to respond or even acknowledge the powder blown into your senses, or the tongue forcing your mouth open, and immediately, they sought dominance over your own muscle, wrestling with it. It had ventured to each nook and cranny of your mouth, like they wanted to taste everything about you, and they eventually pulled away with a moan, saliva connecting you two.

They licked their lips, humming in delight as their hands rushed to push up your shirt and reveal your chest. "Your body...is delightful," they breathed out, squeezing your breasts and rubbing your nipples with precision.

That powder did something to you. You had hated the feeling of their hands, but now you were overheating; desperate and quiet moans leaving your throat and making the cultist above you grin.

"I don't..." You couldn't even finish your sentence, as they pinched a nipple and made you shriek. It made them chuckle, and their hands moved south, ripping your zipper and breaking it. They got off for a second to completely rip your pants and undergarments off, and their naked thighs wrapped around your bare hips.

"Did you enjoy my gifts?" They questioned, hands now massaging your thighs, "You needed those batteries so badly...to document the lies of Sullivan, didn't you?" They purred, their hands tight and knowing just where to touch to get you to cry out in pleasure.

"That's why you came here. Fell from the sky, wrapped in flame..." they bit their lip, feeling aroused at the notion, "To record his bullshit."

You had even forgot about your camera, and you questioned where it was, until Val snorted, "It's gone, my love," their hands moved upwards to your genitals, "taken away...by my children. You won't need it anymore."

There was no pain when you felt their finger enter you. It was more pleasurable than anything you had ever felt, and it made you moan the loudest, and Val had revelled in this.

With precision their fingers located your pleasure spot, and sped up.

Your pleasure was their pleasure.

"God doesn't love you...not like I do."

And in time...you would know it to be true.

#outlast #outlast 2 #outlast 2 val #eddie gluskin #outlast eddie gluskin #outlast fanfiction #eddie gluskin x reader #outlast x reader #richard trager #trager #val #outlast val #val x reader #this was a doozy lmfao #enjoy!!! #richard trager x reader #trager x reader

[byebyassociation]

To Be Wanted

Art by @laugtherhyena

Behold! A fic (unfinished) about two women falling in love during the end of the world. It won’t end well but they spend time together while they still can.

Mid-canon crack pairing

No update schedule, this one I write when I feel like it. (Snippet and link below the cutoff)

“ The men were fighting outside. Training, they called it. But it looked like they were fighting the air. The boxer and the salaryman, throwing punches at nothing to strengthen their form.

As usual she’d tucked herself away in the train, the furthest back car was her safe haven. She could observe and read people if she felt like it, or she could just rest. Either way, this was for the best.

Marina didn’t stay long on the train anymore. Her thoughts weren’t happy either.

“Stupid. You idiot.” She curled up into a ball in her favorite dark corner.

It was a mistake. A big mistake. The kind of fuck up you can’t just blot out of your memory. The way he tensed, the way he screamed, and then— She just felt sick with herself.

She didn’t want to think about his face but it was burned into her memory. He was a shitty father, a real piece of work… but… was she right to do it? He said so many awful things and she just…

She crouched low, moving so that her eyes were barely peering over through the glass. She held her position and looked out the window, hands on the sill. She didn’t want to think anymore, she wanted to embrace the fog and just… watch life pass her by. She pried open the window and popped her head out. She listened to the silence. There was running water a little ways away… and people talking in the frontmost car. But mostly there was just the sounds of the wind. Blowing grass, a misty heavy fog cloaking over everything. Rher’s power was emanating from it all. She couldn’t say she wholly liked it. But it was better than just sitting in the dark. ”

#rarepair #fear and hunger #f&h #olivia #samarie

[rockkandii]

Pokemon/overwatch crossover

Venture meets an interesting trainer from their past

Not my art

Warnings: none

Just traveling around, ventures come to meet all kinds of people and pokemon, even being so lucky as to cross paths with some more than once. This proved true as one day, venture came face to face with an old friend.

Venture: "No. Way.. y/n, is that you?!" An audible gasp is heard from venture as they spot a familiar face inside a pokecenter in a town they're just passing through.

Y/n: jumps at the sudden loud voice calling their name, but upon finding said person a grin forms. "Oh my, it's been a while!" Jogging up to the excited trainer you find they've matured quite a bit physically since the last time you'd seen them. "How've you been? It's been what, two years now!?"

Excited chatter is swapped between the old friends for quite a while, before curiosity gets the better of you.

Y/n: "so, you still traveling with the same partners you had back when?" The question seemed innocent but to Sloane, they knew better. This was your sly way of wanting to battle, seeing as it had always been a swap for who won between the two of you.

Venture: "you betcha! They're tough as tungsten!" They grin, but you don't miss the mischievous look in their eyes when they reach for a pokeball off their hip. "wanna battle, like old times? I can promise you this, you won't win so easily this time."

That's right, the last battle you both shared before going separate ways two years ago, you had won.

Y/n: a smirk adorned your face as you pulled a pokeball of your own out. "Why id be honored, and just so we're on the same page.. I don't intend to lose, my teams as tough as topaz so don't underestimate them or they'll bury you beneath rubble."

Both trainers grinned at each other with adrenaline filled blushes as they headed towards the back courtyard of the pokecenter where a battle field stood.

Y/n: "so, just like old times? Three on three, no substitutions and winner is decided when all three pokemon on either side can no longer battle. Plus the winner gets whatever they want from the loser?"

Venture: "thems the rules n/n! Let's see if you can hold your own! Alright, Torterra come on out!"

-------

The battle was pretty long, and even gained the attention of quite a few passerby trainers. As the battle follows, here's the play by play.

Torterra(V) vs Archeops(y)

Winner: Archeops

Archeops(y) vs Excadrill(v)

Winner: Excadrill

Excadrill(v) vs Swampert(y)

Winner: Swampert

Swampert(y) vs Toedscruel(v)

Winner: Toedscruel

Toedscruel(v) vs Flygon(y)

Winner: double K.O.

The battle ended in a draw, causing mixed cheers and praise from the onlookers before it was just the two standing next to each other.

Y/n: "well you were right, your team is definitely tough! Too bad it ended in a draw, looks like we'll just have to battle again someday to break this tie." Giving a small punch to their shoulder with a grin you both head back into the pokecenter to heal up.

Venture: "I wouldn't have it any other way! Though, too bad there wasn't a clear winner, guess no one gets something from the other huh?" They stretch their arms behind their head, a thoughtless smile on their face.

Y/n: "hmm.. well, the rules say the winner gets whatever. And technically neither of us lost, so it's kinda like we both won.. we could always, both get something this time?"

Venture: tilts their head at you but a grin pulls on their lips as they let out a chipper laugh. "You've got a point! Alrighty, well, what'd you want from me?"

Y/n: "how bout we go out, on a date?" A sly smile slowly slips onto your face as your companions face lights up pink.

Venture: "Aw man, you totally stole my idea!" They laugh again, but quickly grab your hand and lightly swing them between yourselves as you walk back inside. "But I'd love to, looks like I really did win huh?" They grin towards you, you looking away with a small blush of your own.

Y/n: "I think we still both won, n/n"

#overwatch x pokemon #overwatch 2 #ow2 x reader #overwatch venture #pokemon #overwatch/pokemon crossover #x reader #venture x reader

[chawarin-panich]

About BostonRay : calling it now ! They fucked and Ray said Mew's name instead of Boston's and that's what started the whole thing with Boston meddling with the whole RayMew thing (cause nobody fucks with Boston and dare call another man's name during it!)

I'm screaming anon you can't send me these things I have no self control. Anyway here you go (even though you very much did NOT ask for it)

title: what's in a name pairing: bostonray rating: explicit summary: Boston shows Ray his new darkroom. ~~

“So? Cool setup, right?”

“Shit man, it’s really cool. Can’t believe you set up an entire dark room for your weird kink.”

Boston quirks up one eyebrow, “It’s not my fault if you’re not sophisticated enough to find the art in human bodies”

Ray plants a swift punch onto Boston’s shoulder, “I’m sure you’re in it for the art.”

Boston moves a little closer, voice dropping lower as he says, “I am.” He leans in so his lips hover by Ray’s ear, “The dick sucking is a happy bonus.” When Ray turns to look at Boston, the intent is clear in his eyes, matched by the playful smile on his lips.

Ray slides his hand up Boston’s shoulder, tangles his fingers in Boston’s hair, enjoying the flirting, “Practicing your dark room pick up lines.” Boston crowds him against the table, he looks predatory almost with his pupils dilated, lascivious grin tinted in red, “Not just practice.”

Boston leans down to kiss him, deceptively soft. Ray’s hands go up to circle Boston’s neck as Boston brings their hips together. Ray breaks apart to whisper, “Is this why you were taking photos of me earlier? Starting a collection?”

Boston hums, leans down to suck kisses down the column of Ray’s neck, drawing out a lazy moan from Ray’s lips, “What does it feel like to be Specimen 0.” Boston whispers against his collarbones as he grinds against Ray in earnest, “The standard everyone else has to live up to.”

“Sure you wanna set the standards so high?” Ray is fast losing track of their flirtation, babbling whatever comes to mind as Boston makes quick work of the buttons on his shirt, thumbs at his nipples.

“Fuck Ray,” Boston pants as Ray pulls at the button of his jeans so he can slide a hand inside his underwear and take a hold of his cock, “You’re so hot like this, you have to let me take pictures of you nude.

Ray’s hand on Boston’s dick squeezes tight in warning, “Don’t even think about it. You can’t afford my nudes. Now–” Ray retracts his hand from Boston’s pants and plants both of them firmly on his shoulders, applies downward pressure, “What was it you were saying about dick sucking.”

Boston is a sight dropping down to his knees, and the way he follows Ray’s orders, with just a hint of defiance makes Ray’s toes curl in pleasure. He doesn’t waste any time, sliding Ray’s pants down past his knees so that it pools around his ankles, grabs a hold of Ray’s thighs and sucks down his cock. Ray’s whole body jerks with it, the pleasure that Boston gives him, velvety smooth and wet around his cock, an expert true to his reputation.

It doesn’t take long for Ray to get close, teetering on the edge, breath coming out in gasps. But then Boston lets his cock slide out of his mouth and moves down to suck wet kisses into his inner thighs.

“I want to fuck your thighs Ray, have wanted to since we’ve met. Please.” And the way Boston sounds so broken already, stripped of all his cockiness, left with just awe for Ray’s body, in the slide of his hands spreading his saliva to wet Ray’s thighs. 

Ray feels defenseless against that plea, suddenly gripped by the need to feel Boston’s cock sliding against his tender skin. He nods, even though Boston has already turned him around so he can lean against the table, the metal is shockingly cool against his palm contrasted with the searing heat of Boston’s chest against his back that feels like is burning him even through the layers of their clothes.

Ray steps out of his pants, flicks them to the side with his legs while Boston lubes up his dick. They both groan, low and satisfied when Boston finally slides home between the tight press of Ray’s thighs. Boston sets a quick pace, done with their teasing, grips Ray’s hips almost possessively, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks,

“Fuck.” Boston growls, “Is it this good inside you too, Ray?” Boston’s hands come up to Ray’s neck, pressing down the sides with his thumb experimentally. Ray gasps in surprise and then melts against him and Boston finally does it in earnest, choking him while he fucks between his thighs at a brutal pace. 

Ray’s head feels light from the lack of oxygen and he’s already so close, even without a hand on his dick, just from the feeling of Boston holding him tight, holding him close. Boston bites at his lobes, loosens his fingers so Ray can take a deep gulp of air before squeezing again and it’s too much already, his skin feels fucked raw and something inside him feels like it’s cracking open. “M-ew” He gasps and immediately it all stops. Boston retracts and Ray feels like he’s been splashed with cold water, gasping for breath even though it’s already filling his lungs, bringing him back down.

“Seriously Ray, still?” Boston clicks his tongue as he pulls his pants back up to his hips. Ray grabs his pants, the shame turning his ears red and he can’t make himself turn around to look at Boston, can’t bring himself to say anything at all.

Boston lets out a long sigh, tired of waiting for a response, “You’re pathetic, Ray.” He finally says and Ray hears the click of the door as Boston leaves.

#ofts fanfic #bostonray #bostonray fanfic #nani writes #nani answers

[weasleywinchester]

Counting Stars

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2

Saul Silva x Curvy Female Reader

Eyyy we’re back, mainly because a really want to watch season 2 but I don’t want what happens in that story to change what I’ve written in my head so far. Thank you to all who’ve recently found chapter 1 and showed chapter 2 some love! I hope you enjoy chapter 3

P.S. I HAVE ALMOST 300 FOLLOWERS?!! Muchas Gracias! 🤩🤩🤩

Summary: over the least few years you had more adventure outside the barriers of fairy kind then most have in their life time. You spend months exploring places thought to be lost, finding treasure and making new friends. But between the excitement you always kept one foot firmly in Alfea, for your friends, for yourself. But when Saul disappears from your life for longer then you like, you take the first job that puts you back where everything started.

Alfea hasn’t changed in the few years you’ve been gone. The fighting fields are still lush and green, the forest shrouded in magic. You didn’t think you would be back so soon but when duty calls-

“Can’t stay away can you?” You turn to see your best friend Diana as she jogs toward you.

“Not for long anyway.” You laugh, giving her a hug.

“And what are you doing back? You just came to visit about three months back! Thought you were off on grand adventures!” She throws one arm in the air, and the other around your shoulders as you both walk down the path.

“I was, they just happened to lead back here.”

“To Alfea? What kind of art needs to be found here?”

“Oh, there’s lots of old abandoned land, buildings, cellars… and a very outdated catalog for the school.” You giggle.

“You’ve been keeping up on those exercises we tried last time?”

You look over at her, your eyes lighting up like an inferno and then back to your normal eye color.

“Glad you’ve kept those skills sharp.” You two walk for a bit, the crunch of the gravel soothing as the sun burns off the morning fog.

“So how is everyone?” You look down at your feet.

“He's as handsome as ever.” Di smiles at you. “And he's single.” She sing songs, dodging your playfully punch and running away.

“BYE!” You yell after her.

“His class is about to start!” She yells back.

_______

You’re surprised at the lack of grunts and weapon noises as you round the hedge borders of the training grounds. And then you see why: Saul is giving his newest group of specialists one of his world class speeches.

“You can’t afford to doubt yourself in battle.” He sternly explains. He’s met with silence and blank faces. He takes a deep breath in, trying to wake himself up. He’s gone through many sleepless nights, but the ones as of late are different.

“What he actually means is if you’re going to think like a dumbass, don’t wimp out at the last second.” You loudly announce to the class. Saul whips around as the class giggles.

“Phoenix?” He says, surprise clear on his face.

“Mr. Silva.” You smile before turning your attention to the class. “But seriously. You have to commit to your actions. If you don’t then your life isn’t the only one in danger. You, as a specialist, are tasked with keeping each other and fairies safe. Mr. Silva’s lessons, no matter how hard they may be, will keep you alive. He is one of the reasons I can stand before you.”

The class whispers, a few in awe that a teacher did something besides teach.

“Yours words are too kind. And I am humble enough to say that Miss Kin has saved me on more than one occasion.” He gives you a small smile, the class erupting in another wave of whispers.

“Alright, everyone take a lap.” He barks. The group of young specialists take off, some grumbling. “Thompson, Rodgers, extra lap for grumbling.” He yells after them.

“How’s the potential looking?” You come to stand next to him. Di was right, he’s as handsome as ever.

“They’ll be fine warriors.” He looks over at the group, “probably a good batch of support members. What are you doing here?” He keeps his eyes trained forward. If he looks at you, you’ll be able to tell something is weighing on him; and you won’t let it go until you’ve fixed it.

“Working. Where were you when I came to visit?” You shoot back.

“Things have become more complicated lately.” He sighs. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see you, it was just ill timing with a new responsibility on his plate. When you don’t answer right away he turns to look at you. Your eyes are shimmering copper, one eyebrow arched to the heavens. You change so much every time he sees you; stronger, more confident. And more beautiful than all the stars in the sky.

“I’ll let that suffice, for now.” You wink. “Anyways, I will be here for the next few months. I thought maybe we could train together again? Someone needs to keep you on your toes.”

He takes a deep breath in, averting your gaze once more. He’s missed training with you. The small stint where you both got to be out in the field fighting burned ones was the best few months of his life. Fighting alongside you was different than fighting alongside his friends; it was far more peaceful for starters. Gave the two of you plenty of time to know each other as friends rather than just student to teacher.

“If it’s too much-“

“No! No.” He claps his hands behind his back, his mind activity trying to figure out how, if, he could squeeze that in. “Would Thursday mornings work?”

“Sounds perfect.” You wiggle your arms around his middle, his chuckle vibrating your whole body as he squeezes you back.

“Maybe we could have dinner once I get settled in?” You begrudgingly let go of him as the students round the corner to come back toward you.

“I would like that.” He gives you a small smile before turning to the group of students. “Great job everyone. How about we ask our guest for a demonstration?” He smirks at you as the crowd gives a cheer.

_______

An hour. It’s been one hour since your lesson was supposed to start. You’ve trained with Saul for years, and he’s never ever been late. You were once 3 minutes early, instead of 5, and he chewed your head off.

Something must be wrong. Di did mention he’s been putting in a lot of hours… You pace the field once more before walking towards the teacher’s cottages. Saul had told you once which one was his, in case of an emergency (although Di teased for a whole month that it was so you would crawl into his bed!)

You step onto the porch, putting your fist up to knock, but you can’t quite get your knuckles to make contact. What if he’s at the field now? Or maybe he meant to start next week?

You knock gently. Listening for any sound. Eventually the door cracks open and you can see one bright blue eye.

“Hi… I’m Phoenix. I’m looking for Mr. Silva?” You cock your head to one side. I didn’t know Saul had a son…

“Ok.” The boy whispers, pattering back down the hall, leaving the door open. You take a tentative step in, there’s toys and clothes draped over a couch, but otherwise the place is very orderly.

“Sky! Back to bed!” Saul commands, his heavier footsteps coming from the hall.

The little boy races past you, leaping over the arm of the couch and taking cover under a blanket.

“Phee?”

You turn to Sauls deep voice, giving him a small smile. He looks like he needs at least three years of sleep and a whole pot of coffee.

He frowns at you. Why is she here? What day is it? Your eyes haven’t moved from his, and he’s not sure why you look so uncomfortable.

You silently will yourself to break the staring contest; but if you do that your eyes will go to his very shirtless upper half. And that will only make things even more awkward than it already is.

“It’s Thursday morning. Our lessons…” you bite your lip. Oh maker, he did mean next week. You shouldn’t have assumed…

Saul blinks slowly a few times, his head slowly putting together lessons and Thursdays. Lessons! Your training was supposed to start this morning you idiot!

“Phee, I’m so sorry… I didn’t… I don’t…” Saul stutters as he gently puts his hand your shoulder.

“It’s alright… I didn’t mean to intrude. I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” You stammer, the gentle touch of his hand red hot through your shirt.

“Give me a minute while I handle him, and.. ugh.. shirt.” Saul quickly picks up the blanket wrapped child and jogs down the hall.

You slowly exhale, slapping your hands over your eyes. What the hell just happened? All those dirty thoughts have been neatly tucked away in the corner of your brain! And what was with the nickname?! He only ever calls you Phoenix, not Phee! And no shirt? Is that how he always sleeps? Oh maker, did he have a partner here? Of course you would walk into something like that! But he would have mentioned that he had a child with someone… right? You two were close enough.

“Phoenix?” Saul tilts his head to one side. You’re facing the window, hands kneading your arms like dough. He steps closer saying your name again, but you still don’t answer. He tries once more, gently touching your bare arm. You “hmm” in response and bump right into his chest; your arms reach for him to keep yourself from bouncing back too far. His hands automatically catch you by the waist in an attempt to keep you steady.

You both freeze. You look up at his grey eyes, so many emotions rolling through them like storm clouds. His stubble looks like it hasn’t been shaved since you saw him earlier this week; you long to gently scratch your fingers against his jaw, silently telling him to shave and get some rest.

Saul could count all the stars in the universe and it wouldn’t compare to the flecks of gold I your eyes. They’re warm and inviting, they feel more like home than his cottage does. And for the first time he yearns to run his fingers along your cheek, to feel the heat of your skin against his.

“Maybe we could just have breakfast and talk.” You whisper. He slowly nods, letting go of your waist and walking into the kitchen.

“Saul, what happened?” You watch as he opens the fridge and grab the carton of eggs and the open packet of bacon.

He doesn’t answer right away. What could he say? Where does he even start? He puts the eggs in his hand on the counter, his mind slowly slipping into a headspace he can’t afford to be in. He has Sky to think about, his students.

Your hand gently touches his arm and it all comes flooding back. He wraps himself around you, a sob breaking free from somewhere deep in his chest.

You quickly wrap your arms around him, one hand gently rubbing his back as the other cradles the back of his head. You can feel his tears against your neck, tears he probably held in for far too long.

You’re not sure how long you stand there, but when you feel his grip loosen you pull his face to look at you.

“I’ll call the Headmistress. You need the day off.” You tell him. He gives a small nod and wraps his arms around you once more.

_______

“Hello Headmistress Dowling.” You sigh into the phone as you start cleaning up Sky’s toys that are strewn about the room.

“I’m surprised to get a call so early from you. And please, call me Ferrah. You are a friend of friend after all.”

“Ok, well… I’m calling on behalf of Saul, he won’t be able to make it in today.”

“Did something happen?” You can hear her chair scrape along the floor and papers shuffling.

“I don’t know the whole story but he needs rest.”

“The school should be there to pick up Sky in about an hour. And I’ll arrange for the other instructors to cover today's training.” She assures you. There’s a few moments where neither of you say anything, the weight of whatever is happening coming down on you both.

“Ferrah, what happened?” You ask quietly.

“I think that might be better explained in person.” She tells you, hanging up. You look down at your phone, unsure of what you could possibly do.

“Phee.” A small voice comes from the hall and you look over to see Sky’s little blonde head poking out.

“Let’s get dressed for school.” You smile at him and follow him to his room. You help him pick out clothes and put on his shoes, managing to shuffle to the door as someone knocks.

You open it to find Ferrah standing on the porch.

“Good Morning.” She gives you a small nod before turning to Sky. “Ready for school?”

He gives her a nod as the school bus rounds the corner. You and Ferrah walk him to the bus, waiving as it pulls away.

“Andreas was killed.” She whispers to you. She can feel the backs of her eyes prickle, it’s been easier to ignore it then let herself feel anything.

“When?”

“About six months back.”

You nod, it explains why Saul hadn’t spoken to you for several months; not because he didn’t want to, he was just dealing with a whole new life.

“He immediately took Sky in. A big adjustment for him, but you know how he is; doesn’t think he needs help.” A smile flashes across her face but there’s only sadness behind it.

You don’t know what to say, it’s hard enough losing someone you love, but to take on the responsibility of a child?

“Would you like to come in?” Your voice is shaky in your throat, every emotion threatening to come to the surface.

“I trust you to take care of him. We’ve each dealt with this in our own way, but this is the first chance he’s had.” She puts a hand on your shoulder, giving you a sad smile and starts off toward Alfae.

_______

Saul cracks open his eyes, the familiar pattern of the ceiling greeting him like any other morning. Phoenix. He slowly sits up, planting his feet firmly on the floor before pushing himself up. He listens for a moment, the sound of someone singing gently passing through the cracks around the door.

He gently tugs the door open, now hearing the music and getting smacked in the face with the smell of breakfast.

His feet lazily slap against the wooden floor as he walks into the kitchen. You’re stood at the stove, head gently bopping along to the song coming from the stereo as you finish cooking what looks to be breakfast burritos.

“Fucks sake Saul!” You gasp when you catch sight of him. The corner of his mouth tugs up a little as he leans against the doorway. You throw a tinfoil wrapped burrito at him, which he expertly catches with a chuckle.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, love.” His eyes move from the burrito to you, the storm within him seems to have calmed a little.

“Did you get some rest?” You walk over to him, leaning against the wall beside him.

“More than I have in the last few months.” He confesses.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I couldn’t disrupt your life like that. You were doing what you were meant to do. You didn't need all this.” He waves his hand carelessly in the air.

“All this,” you mimic the gesture,” is your life Saul. It’s not a burden on mine. You are never a burden to me.” You lay your hands on his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist. “You’re not my instructor anymore. We fought alongside each other, learned from one another, and became friends. Let me return the support you've always given me.”

He sighs. She’s always right isn’t she? He gently moves a piece of hair out of your face, indulging in the feeling of your skin beneath his fingertips, your copper eyes closing for longer than a quick blink. He wraps you in a hug, your arms surrounding him in your warmth.

“Did you clean my house?” He playfully shouts.

“I had to stay busy.” You laugh into his chest. “If you need someone to watch Sky after school, I would be more than happy to.” You set your chin on his chest, big dazzling copper eyes staring up at him.

“You don’t have too… I can mange” He shrugs.

“I know I don’t have to, but let me help you.”

“As you wish.”

Tag List 💙

@mochminnie

#saul silva x reader #fate the winx saga #saul silva x female reader #saul silva #winx sky #Saul Silva x fairy reader #fire fairy #specialist

[hwauroras]

THROUGH THE INFINITE CANVASES OF YOU. (제2장)

pic sources in order left -> right: pinterest, pinterest, pinterest

wc ≈2.6k. unedited. painter!seonghwa x artstudent!reader (ft. musician!san, artstudent!wooyoung and artstudent!rockstar!hongjoong). written in two different perspectives - third person for seonghwa and second person for the reader. no massive genre yet - but the story does develop a little more. hongjoong is introduced as wooyoung's friend. hongjoong jokingly flirts with the reader. hongjoong calls the reader "sweetheart". hongjoong and the reader mildly curse.

“hyung.. this is beautiful.”

“you think?”

“absolutely!”

seonghwa and san stood side by side in the art studio, their eyes fixed on the finished piece that would become the cover art for san’s new album. the canvas displayed an absolutely breathtaking combination of colors, and the raw emotions from the soul seemed to leap off the surface. to say it was capturing and alluring would be a total understatement. it was the perfect combination of paint, love, passion and longing - a true window into both artists’ souls.

san’s eyes glimmered with awe as he took in and absorbed every detail. the painting depicted seonghwa’s elusive muse with hauntingly expressive eyes, ones full of love and fear and yearning, painted with a delicate and carefully crafted mix of blues, purples, and hints of gold. behind them was a whirlwind of vibrant, dramatic and contrasting hues, capturing both the intensity of emotions that san poured into his music, and the conflict of emotions seonghwa fought within.

they both continued to stand in silence, letting the artwork speak for itself. the whole room seemed to hold its breath, even the dust particles seemed to stop in time - as if in complete deference for the deep, profound connection between music and its visual counterpart.

san finally broke the silence, and time seemed to flow again.

“i mean - seriously, seonghwa. this is more than i could have ever imagined. i would be lying if i said i was surprised though - only you could pull this off.”

seonghwa smiled humbly, a soft pink blush creeping back onto his cheeks.

“you’re too kind, san. and i want you to know that - it has been an honor collaborating with you. my only regret is not doing it sooner.”

with a chuckle, san lightly punched seonghwa on the shoulder.

“then may this be the first of many.”

“... hey san?”

“mm?”

seonghwa took a deep breath.

“i listened to a bit of the title track. you know, just so i knew how to put your own voice, your own words, your own emotions, into visual form. and i’m just curious…what inspired you?”

san’s smile softened as he averted his gaze, eventually opting to close his eyes and take a moment to relive the melody before answering seonghwa’s question.

“what inspired me? well… it's a mix of things, really."

“you don’t have to tell me.”

"no, it’s okay. honestly, the entire album, is a reflection of my whole life journey. it's about the highs and the lows, the love and the heartbreaks, the gains and the losses, and the constant search of meaning and purpose. each song represents a different chapter of my life. except for one.”

“that’s beautiful, sa- sorry, except for one?”

san meekly looked back at the painting, his eyes tracing the careful, delicate strokes and vivid colors that bounced back at him.

“yeah. the title track you mentioned. i wrote and sang it for you. well, more so how i think you feel about the person you keep painting.”

seonghwa’s eyes widened in surprise, his head snapping to look at the other with complete awe. his heart began to race, and his hand quickly flew to his chest. the room returned to its original silence - one that seemed to go even deeper as san’s words sank in. the humble painter was completely taken aback as he struggling to find the right words to such a jarring reply.

"f-for me?" seonghwa finally managed to splutter, something san smiled warmly at.

“yeah. for you. and that person. i mean... even though i said i wasn’t able to understand you, anyone can still see the true love and longing you have etched into your features. you’re not able to see the way you look at them whenever you bring them to life through your passion of art. and that's what inspired the song. it’s my own personal perception of your own personal emotions."

seonghwa stood there, still stunned by what he had just heard. the thoughts and emotions that had been buried deep within him, the ones he thought he had concealed and hidden away from the rest of the world, had just escaped san’s lips in word form.

"i… never expected you to see it," seonghwa murmured, his face now tinted pink. "you know me. i’m not an emotional person. i thought i was good at hiding my feelings."

san laughed and shook his head.

“hey, hyung, listen. i do know you, and you’re right - but also incredibly wrong. while you may be good at hiding your emotions from others, you can’t hide them from me. and when it comes down to your art, your mystery person, you can’t hide them from anyone. the vibe is beautiful, at times bittersweet - so in a sense, hyung, you and your muse have become my muses.”

the revelation that san’s title track was inspired by seonghwa and his emotions left the studio enveloped in yet another silence - this time one of profoundness and comfort. it simply became a moment between two artists and an enthralling muse.

"san," seonghwa finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “thank you for understanding me in a way that no one else ever has. and… thank you for giving my thoughts and my muse a voice."

“hey, you don't have to thank me. i couldn’t have done it without you.”

“and through the pages of time, i’ll still search every space, and through the darkness of shadows, i’ll still chase every trace, and though you maybe may be a love undefined, i’ll give to you this promise, ‘til our destinies can entwine…

~

“through the realms of dreams, i’ll journey far, for the love that's written in every star, with every heartbeat, i’ll stay true, until the day, the day i finally find you.”

“oh my god, wooyoung…”

you gawked at your best friend, who grinned at your reaction.

“so? what do you think?”

“i think it’s amazing. you really wrote that?”

“yeah.”

you shook your head at him, the rest of your body paralyzed in its place.

“dude, you have to take that to a recording studio or something.”

“hah, you really think so?" wooyoung replied with a playful smirk, trying to hide the genuine feelings of relief he felt at your positive response.

they were inspired by your love for your muse, after all.

but of course, he could never tell you that. not when you were already deeply troubled by the unfulfilled feelings of love and longing you had for him. he figured if you were to know, you would figure it out in your own.

“maybe i should consider it - though, i don’t want to put an end to everyone else’s careers.”

you nudged him lightly with your elbow, poking your tongue out at him playfully before letting out a laugh.

"okay, mr humble. if you’re going to be like that, i’ll take it all back. the fame’s already getting to your head and you haven’t even left the room yet.”

feigning the utmost shock and betrayal, wooyoung gasped dramatically and draped an arm over his eyes - which in turn, resulted in probably your biggest eye roll to date.

“oh y/n, you wound me once more! you’re so willing to retract your compliments - were your words merely superficial?”

you couldn't help but laugh loudly, drawing a few curious glances from your classmates. which of course, only resulted in wooyoung laughing loudly at you too.

“okay, okay. come on, wooyoung, you know i’m just kidding," you teased, nudging him again. "but seriously, i think you should at least try and contact a few studios. even if you don’t hear back, it’s worth the effort. you have a true gift for art. it’s beautiful, just like your photography."

as he absorbed your words, wooyoung’s playful demeanor shifted to a warm, gentle one. he looked at you softly, a small smile etched into his features.

“thank you, y/n. all jokes aside, your support means a lot to me. i’ll consider it, i promise.”

returning his smile, you took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. but before either of you could even have the chance to speak again, a scoff caught your attention.

peering over the shoulder of the purple headed boy in front of you, your eyes landed on another student, who you immediately recognized as one of the more recent transfers into the fashion department. you guessed he would roughly be around wooyoung’s height if it weren’t for his shoes, he sported a rather colorful mullet and he was dressed head to toe in a messy array of clothes and accessories.

you arched an eyebrow at him, noticing a glint of amusement in his intense gaze. he looked like he was holding back a laugh, as if he found something amusing about the conversation you were having with your best friend.

"what?" you questioned, eyes narrowing at the unique man.

rather than replying, he shot you a wink before making his way over, seemingly unaffected by your scrutiny.

“nothing," he replied casually, his chunky platforms causing him to tower over wooyoung - something you had to hold back on joking about. “i just couldn't help but overhear the two of you talking about music. and then some sappy shit."

a playful grin tugged at wooyoung’s lips as he sized up the new arrival.

“oh, so you were eavesdropping, huh? you’ve got quite the sharp ear. but i suppose that’s to be expected by such an esteemed musician like yourself.”

you glanced between the two, a puzzled look taking over your once suspicious expression. you were aware of this guy - he was hard to miss - but they seemed to share a camaraderie that you weren't aware of.

“wait, you two know each other?" you blinked, still trying to figure out the dynamic between them.

the vibrant multicolored haired man extended a heavily ringed hand, swiping his pierced tongue along his bottom lip and shooting you another wink.

“pleasure to make your acquaintance, sweetheart. the name’s hongjoong. but you could call me yours for tonight, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

you quickly pulled your hand away from his rather tight grasp, a slight blush creeping onto your face.

“uh… nice to meet you too, i guess. but i think i’ll stick to calling you hongjoong."

“yeah,” wooyoung snickered, clearly amused by the interaction. “unfortunately for you, ‘sweetheart’ isn’t really the one for cheesy pickup lines, hyung.”

“oh, i see how it is,” hongjoong chuckled, visibly unfazed by both of your responses. “well, the offer still stands.”

you couldn’t help but find yourself intrigued by this newcomer you now knew was named hongjoong. he certainly had a magnetic personality that demanded everyone’s full attention, but despite his playful demeanor and rather straightforward flirting, there was still an underlying feeling of genuine warmth radiating off of him. wooyoung looked comfortable - and you laughed when hongjoong flicked his forehead.

“you know, i appreciate it, but i’m still gonna pass,” you replied to him. “so how do you guys, you know, know each other?”

“wooyoung and i met when the fashion department and the photography department collaborated on a project last semester. we made the pieces, they took the pictures. then they served as our professional photographers when we had a showcase modelling our creations.”

wooyoung chimed in, his eyes glinting with fondness as he recalled the encounter.

"we were assigned together. honestly, i thought it would be a disaster at first. hongjoong has such a wild and bold sense of style and i’m all about subtle elegance. but somehow, our creative differences ended up complementing each other perfectly - i really got to gain some experience with experimental looks and got to expand my portfolio. it could really help me if i wanna apply for something surrounding haute couture.”

as you listened to wooyoung speak about his collaboration with the uniquely dressed man with a belt made of chained up teddy bears, you couldn't help but admire a rare instance where fire and ice were actually compatible. never in a million years had you thought someone as poised, sophisticated and traditional as wooyoung could come close to being friends with someone as bright, daring and unconventional as hongjoong. but alas - here it was in front of you, a strong friendship between two polar opposites (besides their humor).

“that’s amazing," you said, nodding your head in approval. "i think it’s amazing how two ‘contradicting’ art styles can create one extraordinary art form.”

hongjoong smirked at your words and took a little bow.

“thank you, sweetheart. you bet it was extraordinary. our work had people talking for weeks. did you read the local paper? we got an article and everything. it’s all about pushing boundaries, you know? not just in art, but every aspect of life is more exciting when you dare to step out of your comfort zone and take that risk."

you nodded again in agreement, finding yourself captivated by hongjoong's outlook on life.

“besides,” hongjoong continued matter-of-factly, “the exposure really helped with my music career.”

you tilted your head, eyes darting to wooyoung.

“wait. music career?”

“yep,” wooyoung reaffirmed. “hongjoong’s in an indie rock band.”

you were taken aback, pleasantly surprised by the sudden turn in conversation. though the subject of hongjoong being a musician came up earlier, you weren’t sure how serious wooyoung was being.

"an indie rock band? that’s incredible! why didn’t you say so when you scoffed at us?”

hongjoong shrugged with a nonchalant grin.

“you judged a book by its cover sweetheart. but yeah, now the cat’s out of the bag, we started playing gigs at local venues and have been slowly building our presence in the music scene. now we play at festivals, and shit. you and wooyoung should come along next time. i’d like to see some familiar faces that don’t belong to the groupies trying to get into my pants.”

the more you learned about hongjoong, the more fascinated you became. he was a true artist in every sense of the word, an epitome even, excelling in multiple creative avenues. suddenly it all made sense why his and wooyoung’s friendship worked so well – despite their differences, they were both passionate and unafraid to explore their own personal boundaries.

“you know, that sounds great, i’d love to come to one of your gigs one day. hey, i was just talking to wooyoung about the possibility of him making music. what do you think? genuinely this time, don’t be a smartass.”

“well,” hongjoong’s eyes shifted back to wooyoung as he considered your question. “i didn’t know wooyoung was interested in making his own music, but from what i know about his ethic and from what i heard just before, i don’t doubt he would excel in the industry. tell you what - i’ll speak to the others, maybe we could collaborate on something.”

as soon as hongjoong’s preposition left his lips, a spark of excitement danced in both your and wooyoung’s eyes. the idea of combining their talents seemed like an incredible opportunity to create something special - and your mind began filling with possibilities.

it was apparent that wooyoung thought the same, as he barely managed to get out a faint “are you serious?" - something hongjoong chuckled at.

“of course! i think our styles could create something powerful. i trust your artistic abilities, so let’s give it a shot. but just know, i hold a high standard and i’m going to be tough. i may believe in freedom of expression but i’m still a perfectionist.”

“understood, hyung. i won’t let you down."

~

TAGLIST: @hwalysm, @downbadreading

#kpop imagines #kpop fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez oneshots #ateez fluff oneshot #ateez fluff imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #park seonghwa oneshot #park seonghwa imagines #park seonghwa fluff #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x y/n #ateez series #ateez angst

[maplegh0st]

A Pirate Wedding

I was inspired by my discord friends and this lovely art by @secreterces5charlie! If you're confused, blame The Pit! :)

Raphael wasn’t sure what he expected his twenties to look like, but he really shouldn’t be surprised that it’s full of fighting the Foot and the Purple Dragons. This particular battle rages like nothing he’s seen in years. More goons than he thought either group still had were here, but so were many friends that he and his brothers had made over the years. Together they stood a chance.

“Raphael!” 

The cry came to him through the sounds of fighting. It wasn’t the sound of someone that needed help, so he wasn’t too worried. He couldn’t risk looking away from his current opponent, though. The dragon in front of him was big—not as big as Hun, but still. But, size didn’t mean much when it came up against years of training. The pipe the dragon swung was easily parried and twisted out of their grasp.

“Raphael!” The cry came again just as Raph brought the dragon down, unconscious. And suddenly Usagi was next to him, hand falling on his arm. “Raphael, will you marry me?”

Raph stared, eyes surely bugging out of his mask, at his boyfriend of four years, and friend for much longer. His mouth opened and closed without any sound coming out. Surely he had heard wrong?

A battle cry shook him out of his daze and Raph turned to face the enemy. “I don’t think now’s really the best time, ‘Sagi!”

Usagi parried a blow from his own attacker. “Now may be the only time, my love!

Raph whirled around to bash the opponent he sensed behind him, but Usagi was already there. Always watching his back. 

Usagi caught Raph's wrist in his hand. "Raphael! I've made my choice." He lowered their hands and leaned closer. His voice was soft and gentle, completely at odds with the battle raging around them. "What's yours?"

So many feelings swirled within Raph's chest: adrenaline, the thrill of the fight, bewilderment, awe. And love, love, love for this insanely incredible rabbit that he was just so damn lucky to have in his life. 

All of these feelings came rushing out in one great burst in the form of a shout Raph threw behind him. "Yo Casey! Marry us!"

"Uh I'm a bit busy at the moment, bro!" Casey called back from where he was pushing the head of a foot goon into a car window with one hand and using the other to knock two more back with his hockey stick. "Besides, why me?!"

"Didn't you become an officiant or whatever it is?" Raph punched another goon so hard they fell back into their buddies. "Y'know! So you could make sure your cousin could get married when he found someone nice!"

Realization dawned on Casey's face. "Oh yeah. I did do that!" He grabbed the back of the foot ninja's shirt and hauled them out of the car before throwing them into the group surrounding him. Then he leapt up on top of the car. He stood proudly as he made his declaration, "Dear esteemed guests! We're gathered here today-"

A ninja crept up behind Casey, a knife ready to stab him in the back. But no one needed to warn him, he swung his hockey stick right into their jaw. "-to bash your teeth in, bitch!" 

Raph can't help but chuckle at Casey as he and Usagi fight in tandem. He decides to help the poor guy out. 

He grabs Usagi's hand as they dance around each other. "Miyamoto Usagi. Do you take me to be your husband?"

His samurai gives him that warm smile he only ever gives Raph, even as he cuts down a foot soldier. "I do!" 

And Raph laughs again, unable to fight the joy. "Great!"

Usagi pulls Raph in to parry the blade of another ninja. “Raphael Splinterson. Do you take me to be your husband?” They fight off the swordsman together, sword and sai working in sync. “In sickness and in health, through battle and peace?”

Raph knows he’s got a dopey grin on his face even as he reaches past Usagi to catch the blade coming down behind the rabbit with his sai. His other hand barely leaves Usagi’s. Even when they do let go to parry this attack or land that blow, they never leave the other’s side and soon they’re right back together with their hands clasped. “I do!”

Casey, still on the roof of the car, kicks the head of a dragon punk like he would a soccer ball. “As Raph’s best bud and by the state of New York --ha!-- I now pronounce you husbands! You may now-” Two more try to jump onto the car with him, but he hits them out of the air before they have a chance. “You may–fore!” Another tries to rush at him, but he uses his hockey stick to smack the side of their head.

Raph and Usgai fight with their backs to each other, defending their love while they wait for those final words from their friend that will seal the deal.

“Oh just kiss already!”

Sword meets sai above their heads as they spin, ready to meet the next opponent. They realize who they’re looking at and just as quickly their weapons fall to their sides as Usagi grabs Raph’s shoulder with his free hand to pull him in for a kiss.

A few moments stretch into a brief eternity. The battle continues around them, friends and brothers alike fighting their enemies so that one day, they can live in peace. But for these moments there is peace. A few blissful moments where it feels like the world is empty of everything but each other. They embrace as they kiss, and Raphael marvels at the softness of his samurai’s fur. His husband Raph remembers. They’re husbands.

The sounds of fighting filter back in, and they can’t stay still for long. They jump back into the fray with hearts full and grins they can’t shake, never leaving each other’s side for the rest of the fight. They won’t leave each other’s side for the rest of their lives.

#pitdwellers #tmnt 2003 #my writing #tmnt raph #tmnt usagi #uphael

[marchtomydrums]

The Witch Bitch From New York.

Cordelia Goode x Mina Venable x Reader

At the age of 13, you knew that Mina was different than most. You always knew she needed the cane to walk but didn’t exactly know why until one night your mothers explained it to you.

Mina was worried that you would see her as a monster like most people do but you couldn’t. You could never look at her that way. She was your mother after all. Not many of the other girls at the academy knew about Mina’s condition and while some did they didn’t dare speak about it.

Walking into your next class you sit down waiting for Myrtle to begin. Zoe sits to your right while Madison is on your left. While you and Madison didn’t always get along she always had your back and vice versa. The three of you grew up together in the academy and your bond was strong.

Behind you was a group of newer witches. They were a couple of years older than you and arrived a couple of months ago. Maci was a redhead from North Carolina she was all bark but no bite. Emily was from Ohio and she had long brown hair and was dumber than rocks. They were Heather’s lapdogs as Madison called them. Heather was from New York City and she made sure everyone knew it. She had long blonde hair and sea blue eyes your typical mean girl. She was very popular at her old school and her parents had more money than god. Heather was just a bitch plain and simple. You tried to stay away from them as much as possible because your mother would never forgive you if you set one of them on fire.

As you waited for class to begin you could hear them gossiping behind you.

“Did y’all hear apparently our dear supreme is a dyke.” Maci says.

The other two girls gasp in fake surprise.

“Yeah, I heard her type in women was Halloween,” Maci adds with a chuckle.

You griped your notebook tight as you tried to ignore them.

Zoe is quick to grab your hand offering you a smile.

“They aren’t worth it.” She whispered.

“Ohh y/n..” Heather calls out. You turn in your seat facing her.

“Is it true Mina is a freak of nature?” She asked.

“Hey!” Madison yells turning in her seat.

“Back off bitch.” She yells in Heather’s direction.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll beat your ass you trophy wife in training,” Madison smirks.

Heather chuckles as she returns her gaze to you.

“I heard Mina is like Frankenstein and she has a few pieces sewed together like an art project. Is that true?”

“Fuck you, Heather!” You yelled at the blonde.

“Awe poor y/n it’s got to suck being the daughter of Frankenstein and a dyke. Do you have to help her oil her parts or is that Cordelia’s job?” She asked with a chuckle.

The next thing you knew you were across the table knocking her to the ground as you land punch after punch to her face. The class gasped as they watched.

“Yess! Beat her ass!” Madison cheers.

“Girls! Girls!” Myrtle screams as she pulls you off of Heather.

“That’s enough! Both of you go to Cordelia’s office. Now!” She screams pointing down the hallway.

You growled as Heather walks by holding her bloody nose.

“Looks like daddy’s going to have to buy you a new nose.” Madison chuckled giving her a small pout.

“Madison!” Myrtle warns.

———————————————————————————

You’ve been waiting outside Cordelia’s office for the last hour. She’s spoken to Heather, Myrtle, and all of the other girls in the class. Heather insisted on calling her parents so Cordelia had to speak with them as well. Finally, the door opens as she allows Heather to exit the office.

The girl smirks as she walks past you. You glared in her direction.

“Y/n!” Your mother calls out to you. You sighed making your way into the office seeing Mina sitting in the chair across from Cordelia’s desk.

Cordelia sits in her chair shaking her head as she looks at you.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“She deserved it.” You grumbled.

“Y/n,” Mina warns.

“Well, she did! She is a grade A bitch and she’s always saying nasty things about both of you! She and her lap dogs called you both dykes and called momma Frankenstein! I tried I really did but that was the last straw so yeah I beat her ass. If you want to punish me do it! I don’t care but if she does it again I will beat her ass again. Hell, she’s lucky all I did was hit her because I could have dropped a house on that bitch!” You yelled as you dramatically threw yourself down in the chair next to Mina.

Mina couldn’t help the chuckle that escapes while Cordelia ducks her head so you can’t see her smile.

“Nonetheless you can’t be violent towards the other girls.” Cordelia finally says once she’s collected herself.

“If it means protecting the two of you I will do whatever is necessary. Ask Madison and Zoe she had it coming.”

“That may be my love but the fact of the matter is you broke her nose and bruised both her eyes. I can’t allow that type of behavior even if you are my daughter. So because of that you and Heather will both be punished.”

“Fine.” You mumbled.

“Now as your supreme I am very disappointed but as your mother, I am extremely proud of you.” She says with a smile.

You looked up at her in shock.

“You are?”

She nods.

“Little one,” Mina calls out to you.

“Thank you for being so protective of me. I know it’s hard when the girls talk about things they don’t understand. And while I appreciate your protectiveness can we not go around punching people or dropping houses on them.” She adds with a smile.

You chuckled. “Yes ma’am. I’m sorry. She just made me so angry.”

“I understand. But you don’t always have to protect me little one. I can do it myself.”

“But you're my mom. I want to protect you…both of you. You two are the best mothers I could possibly ask for and it upsets me when others talk badly about you. And I know how you feel about your back and I don’t want anyone to make you feel less than what you are.”

Mina chuckles as tears roll down her cheeks. “Come here, baby.” She says softly as you sit in her lap.

“There will always be people who say mean things, especially about me. However, their opinions don’t matter. The only people I worry about are you and your mother. Okay? You don’t have to protect me all the time. While I am thankful you love me so fiercely I can’t allow you to put yourself in harm's way because of it. So no more. If something is said you come and talk to us. Do you understand me?”

“Yes ma’am.” You sighed. She smiles hugging you tightly.

“I love You.” She says as she kisses your forehead.

“I love you too Momma. And I’m sorry.” You whispered. She nods her head.

Cordelia clears her throat gaining your attention. You smiled as she sends you a wink. Getting up from Mina’s lap you walk around the desk to sit on Cordelia’s.

“My sweet, protective girl I love you so much. And believe me, I know how hard it is to listen to people talk about your Momma. But we must learn to compose ourselves. And because of that you and Heather both will have extra chores for a month and you’re to help Misty with the littles as well.”

“Yes ma’am.” You whispered.

She smiles kissing your cheek softly.

“I love you, sweet girl.”

“I love you too.”

#cordelia goode x reader #ahs coven #ahs apocalypse #lgbtq #wlw #writing #mother/daughter relationship #madison montgomery #zoe benson #myrtle snow #wilhemina venable

[ladywartooth42]

Sure can! :D Here it is: Oh no! One of your OCs is injured! Pick one and tell me what happened -- and then: Who is tending to them? Is this going to affect them in the long-term?

Wow, this got so much longer than I intended! Thank you for the ask and I'm sorry it got so long 😭

Syng was on a date with Toki when a Dethklok fan recognizes him and calls out his name. A crowd of people rush to him and try to throw Syng to the side to get closer to Toki, though he keeps a tight hold on her.

During dates, the Klokateer bodyguards are told to keep a reasonable distance for privacy, so they are unable to pull the fans away before a fan manages to yank Syng's right arm so hard that he causes her arm to dislocate. Toki punches the fan in the face and breaks his nose. The Klokateers get Syng and Toki back into the car and take them back to Mordhaus to get Syng treatment at St. Necrophagist.

Toki feels awful and blames himself, though Syng assures him it's not his fault, even joking that he avenged her by breaking the fan's nose. While Toki feels better that she doesn't blame him, he vows to tend to her until she's healed and he moves into her house to care for her.

Toki is true to his word and, for the next four weeks, only leaves her side for job related things. Syng had stopped wearing a sling after the third week, but Toki still insists on staying at her house, just in case she needs to "opens a jars" or "throws a frisbees back whiles on a walk". He eventually has to return to Mordhaus as a new album is going to be made and Syng also has to return to work, having to catch up now that her arm is better.

No physical long term effects as the care at St. Necrophagist is the best in the world.

Emotional long term effects though... While working on the album and not being able to see Syng as often as he wants, Toki thinks very seriously about their relationship. Their cohabitation had been full of fun, love, deep talks and peace. He never had nightmares while sleeping next to her and waking up to her in his arms every morning made him start his day with a peaceful heart and clear mind. Every time Toki came back from a different room, Syng's face lit up like they hadn't seen each other in days and Toki noticed. He wanted more of that and as often as possible.

By the time Dethklok's break before their tour for the album begins, Toki is set on asking Syng to move into Mordhaus with him. He takes her to a rural cabin on Svalbard for a week to get away from everyone and everything before the chaotic tour begins. Their first night there, he brings her outside and shows her the Northern Lights, something that he's seen before but that is new and exciting with her.

Underneath the Northern Lights, he asks her to move in with him after he comes home from the tour. Assurances are given that she doesn't have to sell her house and that permission and approval has been given by Charles and the other members of the band. He will have an art studio built and a kiln installed so she can continue working as he understands that her financial independence is important to her. Toki tells her all the things he had been thinking of while recording the album and some things that only occur to him in this moment, but that he knows are deep truths. Syng hugs him and cries. She says yes, she'll move in when he gets home.

They spend the rest of the week in bed, talking and making love and pretending they are the only two people in the world.

#toki wartooth #thanks for the ask! #metalocalypse oc

[aristocratic-otter]

Hi folks! Well, first of all, I'm out of my mind. Just sayin. I decided to sign up for NaNoWriMo with only ten days left...and I'm going to try to finish it. Why? Because I've got too many WIPs and I just signed up for the Discord Secret Snowflake exchange, so I'm about to get another. I need to wrap these up, and I've got a week off, so what better time?

Second of all, y'all have got to see the lovely art my husband commissioned from my friend @frjsti for my birthday. See below.

Isn't he brilliant? And isn't my husband the absolute best?

Ok, on to business. First, thank yous. Then snips under the cut. Thank you to @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @erzbethluna, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @confused-bi-queer, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe and @hushed-chorus. I'm always astonished at how creative and diverse you all are and I'm thrilled to know you!

Six sentences from:

Playing With Fire, Treading Thin Ice

When I emerge from the ensuite, I’m a little unsettled to find Simon still nude. How am I supposed to question him about his magic when there’s so much gorgeous skin on display? But before I can ask him if he’d like to get dressed so we can talk with a little more dignity, he blurts, “What fucking right do you have to judge me, Baz?”

I just stare at him. 

His eyes are flashing and his hands are drawn into fists like he’d like to punch me. It’s disturbingly attractive.

From: Raising Dragons

I move to the door, and, out of long habit (Simon’s always had a few dark creatures hunting him), I glance out through the peephole. What I see makes me go stiff.

“Simon!” I hiss through my teeth, which have once again sprouted fangs. “Go lock yourself in the room with the children!”

“What? Why?” he asks, craning his neck as if he could see through the peephole from where he’s at. 

“It’s the goblin king!”

From: Xanadu AU (Unnamed right now)

Simon is staring around himself, open mouthed. “What is this place?” he asks in an awed tone. 

When Fiona showed me around, she told me, “it’s a settings room. We try out different backgrounds, lighting patterns and sound blends before we send our artists out on tour.”

My mother had a different answer, the one I give Simon today. “Music is magic, little puff,” she’d tell me. “And like all magic, it sometimes needs a little bit of inspiration to get going. This place exists to give our musicians their magic back.”

From House AU (gift fic for @yellobb-old)

The Universe must really be mocking me for me to find myself in Baz’s hospital. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Child of high birth and privilege. My former roommate. A brilliant scholar and a bullying arsehole. What gods did I piss off to land me here?

From Saving Simon Snow:

“Show me how I can trust you,” I say, my voice softer than it has been during the duration of this call. 

“Meet with me? Somewhere public, your choice,” he says. “I’ll let you cast whatever truth spell you want on me.”

My eyes widen. That is a dangerous offer, and Basilton must know it. 

“Meet me at the McDonalds in Hounslow in one hour,” I say. 

And finally, from Westward Son:

I start back, my hand over my mouth. Did the demon take over Simon? Is my best friend…gone?

Baz is feverishly casting healing spells over Simon, and, as a precaution, I take up the demon exorcism chant again. I hope that if Simon’s body is hosting the creature, it will vacate as soon as the chant finishes, even if I don’t have the power of the full circle behind me. 

I’ve just started naming off the demons again when Simon’s eyes flick open.

It's actually not too late to post for Sunday, so I'm just gonna tag some west coast peeps (and a few friends from farther away just to say hi) in case they want to share what they're working on.

@fatalfangirl, @palimpsessed, @annabellelux, @basiltonbutliketheherb, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @facewithoutheart, @giishu, @frjsti, @krisrix, @larkral

#cotta 2023? #cotta 2021 #raising dragons #dragon baby fic #house au #xanadu au #canon divergent fic #alternate universe fic #co/ws/awtwb #six sentence sunday

[ever-darling]

The Dangers of Business - Ch. 1

Silco x Fem!reader| Explicit NSFW | 18+

Romance (?) | Smut | Immediate Attraction | Ballsy Tattoo Artist Reader

Read on Ao3

100% thought I already posted this on here but apparently I didn't, so here ya go.

Without much thought about it, you call out to him as he reaches for the door. “Silco.” He drops his hand and glances at you with his good eye. “Thank you,” you say softly. You can tell it catches him off guard even though he has no visible reaction. He puzzles over the sentiment before he asks, “For what, exactly?” You hadn’t thought that far ahead, so you cover up your own carelessness with a huff. “For not killing me, I guess.” “Killing you isn’t off the table should you disobey the terms of our agreement.”

Or, in which you put your foot in your mouth and still somehow get laid.

Chapter 1

You really should have known not to indulge the whims of an impetuous teenaged girl you’ve never met, but almost as soon as she plops herself down across from you and leans over the table with a wide smile and electric, blue eyes filled with awe, she pretty much has you wrapped around her little finger. There’s something about this kid that flashes “DANGER” in big, red letters across your brain. You really should have listened to them. Only problem is, she’s so studiously engrossed in the menagerie of tattoos that adorn your arms and neck that a deep-seated amusement pushes away any ill omens that might have saved you.

“See something you like?” you ask, a wry smile pulling at your lips.

She scrunches up her freckled nose. “Not really into older women.”

Your bark of laughter seems to surprise her - almost like she's not used to anyone laughing with (or at?) her. She eyes you, unsure.

“I meant the ink, kid,” you manage.

“Oh.” She snorts and clasps her hands together. “In that case, I think I need a closer look.”

Nevermind the fact that you’re in the middle of a late lunch, apparently. If it wasn’t your day off, you’d shoo her away, but what would be the harm in letting her get a closer look at your art? She’s just admiring what’s meant to be admired, after all. So, with one arm held out to the girl, you attempt to finish your sandwich without losing all of the contents in your lap.

The girl gasps and jumps up on the table with the nimble reflexes of a cat to tug your offered arm close in an astonishingly firm grip. As she studies your many years of work, you take the opportunity to study her as well.

She can’t be older than fourteen or fifteen - still in that awkward stage on the way from puberty to adulthood. Her blue, braided hair looks like it would hang right around her knees. It didn’t seem to get in the way as she leapt onto the table, though. Impressive.

You eye a couple of guns holstered to her belt with steadily increasing interest. The guns aren’t surprising in and of themselves, but what is surprising is the quality of them, considering her age. You didn’t get your hands on gear like that until you were halfway through your twenties. And, well, you weren’t exactly content to scrape by with the shit pay in the mines back then.

“Where’d you get this one?” the girl asks, pointing to one of your favorites on your forearm. You smile as you remember the painstaking hours you’d spent designing it. 

Your inspiration was an old, Ionian painting of a mystical fox that you’d found on one of your raids Topside. You’d lost it some years ago in a fire that was started by Enforcers, but you still have its memory every time you look at the black fox on your arm running through sunset-colored clouds.

“I did that one myself,” you say.

The girl turns her wide eyes to you. “You did? Just this one?”

“Nope, I did almost all of them.”

She gasps and tugs you closer, the brunt of the force punching your gut straight into the edge of the table. You try not to wheeze.

“You’re the artist? Perfect!” She turns your arm over to look at the rest of the tattoo. “Oh, he’ll be so surprised. And it’ll look so pretty.” She looks up. “How much?”

Given that you’re only just managing to breathe again, you followed exactly none of that. “How much what?”

She jabs a finger at the clouds. “How much for this? On me?”

“Oh, uh…” you glance down at the detailing on the clouds. You may be proud of that one, but you can sure as hell do better now. “Depends on how big you want it and the detailing and color.”

The girl releases your arm and you sink back on the bench with a wince. She flops back, crosses her legs, and scrunches up her face again. Only a moment passes before she leans forward, gesturing wildly with her hands.

“I want them in different sizes. ALL over.”

You tilt your head. “I’m gonna need some more than that or you won’t be happy with it.”

“Ugh,” the girl rolls her eyes and her entire body follows the motion. “So much work.”

“That does tend to be how tattoos go.”

She pouts. “Got any paper?”

You’re about to say no when you spot your unused napkin. With a grin, you hold it up to her.

You don’t really expect her to take it, but she snatches it from you and pulls out two crayons: one blue and one pink. Definitely a theme of colors on this one. She uses the pink to sketch a crude drawing that only vaguely resembles a person, but she clarifies that it’s her with long, blue braids. You quickly finish your lunch and wipe your hands on your pants, watching as the kid adds blue sort-of clouds on various parts of the figure’s upper body and arms.

When she’s finished, she holds it up with a wide grin. “Like that!”

You raise your brows as you take the napkin. “Do you have any tattoos now?”

“Nope!”

You huff, another amused smile pulling at your lips. “That’s a lot of ink for your first time, kid. Maybe you should think on it a while.”

“I want that,” she points at the napkin with a spark of impatience in her eyes. “Can you do it or not?”

“Yeah, kid, I can do it. It’ll take a while to design, though, and probably multiple sessions.”

“Blah, blah, whatever. You’ve got until Wednesday.”

You blink up at her, caught somewhere between scorn and disbelief. “I’ve already got clients coming in on Wednesday, I can’t just-”

The girl grabs a pouch and plops it in front of you. It jingles enticingly when it lands.

“That enough to get you to shut up and do it?”

Well. You shouldn’t be surprised the girl is packing, given her gear, but you are. A big chunk of coins is a very good argument, but all the same…

You prop your elbow up on the table. “That’s not gonna cover the ink. Just the design and-”

“Holy hell,” the girl groans and flops to her back with an arm draping dramatically over her forehead. “How can I get you to stop talking?”

“Alright, fine.” You cross your arms. “Come in after hours on Wednesday. But if you want these, you’re going to have to sit through at least three sessions spread out over multiple weeks.”

The girl peeks at you from under her arm, scowling. “Why?”

“Because if you get it all at once, you’re gonna fuck up the healing process - and you’ll have to be wrapped in plastic for a long time, which is going to interfere with firing those pretty guns of yours. That means no target practice and no antagonizing Enforcers.”

She sits up. “What if I do all of that anyway?”

“If you want to waste your money, be my guest. I ain’t your mum. But if you want them to turn out well, you’re gonna have to be patient.”

She holds your no-nonsense stare with a petulant pout for so long that you wonder if she’ll pick someplace else to get her ink. There must be something about you she likes, though, because she can’t hold back a bright, child-like laugh.

“Alright,” she says and holds her hand out. “You win.”

You return her smile and take her hand. Something devilishly mischievous flashes in her eyes and you second-guess your decision to even acknowledge the girl, but in a blink, she’s up and saluting you as she walks away.

“See ya Wednesday, Ink Lady!”

“Hold up, kid,” you call. “You don’t even know where my studio is!”

“The name’s Jinx - and yes, I do!”

Then she disappears into the crowd.

You sit there for a while, contemplating the entire interaction with a strange mix of confusion, amusement, and maybe a touch of nervousness, but not before you tuck the pouch of hexes into your pocket. Can’t have anyone getting any ideas.

The plans you made for the night fade into unimportance as you stare at the napkin, mind whirling with the possibilities. Even though Jinx only wants clouds, you have to make sure they work together with her… energy.

So, instead of meeting your old pals for a wild night of drinking and poker, you go home, napkin in hand, and start brainstorming.

---

When Wednesday rolls around, you find yourself dreading the day before you even get out of bed. Not because you aren’t excited to see Jinx - quite the opposite, really. 

The clients you have ahead of you are much more, well, boring. And grumpy. They don’t pay as well, either.

You had expected Jinx’s bribe to be bronze and copper hexes - maybe a silver or two in there somewhere - but instead, every single one of the hexes were gold. It was a miracle you didn’t pass out when you saw it. She gave you enough for two sessions at least… No need to tell her that, though. If she’s comfortable enough to throw that kinda coin around, who are you to argue?

The day drags on slowly and terribly with clients that are, at best, apathetic. You start to worry that you won’t have the energy for Jinx, but as soon as you finish your last client of the day, you get a blessed second wind. You’re ready for Jinx when she comes in.

“Hellooooo Ink Lady!” she shouts as she bursts through the door with a dazzling grin.

“Hey, Jinx,” you smile back and hold up your notebook with the final designs. “What do you think?”

Jinx bounds over, grabs the notebook, and gasps. She spins around, her braids narrowly missing a couple slaps to your face.

“They’re perfect!” She holds the notebook up beside her face and points at one of the clouds. “I want this one,” she turns around and points over her shoulder to her shoulder blade. “Right here.”

She’s wearing a slightly more concealing top than when you first met her, you realize. It’s still cropped, but it’ll cover the tattoo, if that’s what she wants. You wonder for a moment if she’s hiding it from anyone in particular, but in this job - hell, in this city - you’ve learned that the less you know, the better.

“Take a seat over there, then,” you motion toward a padded, adjustable bench that’s configured as a chair. She does so with an excited skip, plopping down backwards and propping herself on her arms like she’s a regular. Once you’re sure you have the shade of blue that she wants, you get to work.

Jinx is calm the whole time; she doesn’t so much as flinch. The first tattoo only takes you an hour. She’s so happy with that one that she requests another one on the opposite side - smaller and a little lower.

By the time you’re done, you’re both grinning from ear-to-ear. Her, because she’s so happy with the result. You, because she won’t stop gushing about it (and okay, maybe also because she pays you twice the amount you would normally charge without even asking how much you want).

“You’re the best, Ink Lady,” she says on her way out.

Over the next couple of months, you repeat the routine with the same results. Every time Jinx comes in, she’s added another piece of clothing to cover the part of her skin she wants tattooed. It’s a little disappointing not to see your work out on display, but you figure she’ll get around to it eventually. When you ask her about it at the start of your third session, she just says, “I wanna surprise him!”

Usually that’s code for ‘I’m not allowed to get these but I’m doing it anyway,’ so you opt not to press the matter and hope that whoever receives this surprise doesn’t come for your head. Dangers of business, you suppose.

---

You think you’re in the clear once you approach your last session with her, but a few days before the appointment, an unexpected visitor drops by. The bell at the front of your shop jingles as you’re working on an intricate design on a client’s lower back.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” you say, not wanting to stop in the middle of your current stroke.

The voice that responds is positively dripping with power and quiet, self-assured confidence. “I’m afraid I’m not accustomed to being kept waiting.”

Your client jerks backwards, destroying the line you were working on. You curse as he tries to get out of the chair only to fall over his own feet and take some of your tools with him to the ground. 

Fists ready to deck the idiot who caused this, you face the door - but as soon as you do, the words die on your tongue. You’ve never actually seen him in person but there is no mistaking who he is.

His eyes are just as striking in their dichotomy as the rumors say. His features, just as sharp. His aura - that magnetic pull that inexplicably surrounds him - just as intimidating. Everything about him is almost exactly as you’ve heard, save one. The rumors grossly underestimate how attractive this man is. How positively saturated in sex appeal he is. You might just be content to frame his image and stare at it until you waste away to nothing.

King of the Lanes. Eye of Zaun. Leader of the chem-barons. Liberator of the Undercity.

Silco.

Your client scrambles to his feet and tries to make a run for it, snapping you back to attention. You latch onto your client’s wrist with your nails digging into his skin just shy of drawing blood.

“I finished half your tattoo,” you say coldly. “You’re not leaving until you pay for it.”

Your words seem to surprise everyone there - even you. After all, why should you be concerned with money when you’re probably about to die?

Rather than argue or count the proper amount, the man shoves his hand into his pocket, grabs a handful of coins, and throws it onto the ground. Then he wrenches his arm free and books it, probably never to return. The irritation of a lost client overrides your sense of self-preservation and you turn fiery eyes to your unexpected guest.

“Is there something I can help you with, Silco?”

His gaze remains unreadable aside from an underlying anger toward you that can’t possibly be justified.

You haven’t done anything to interfere with him or the barons - you pay your dues on time and without complaint. In fact, it’s no secret that you support Silco’s endeavors. You just don’t have the influence or resources that could help the cause directly and your fighting days are long behind you. Can’t make a living off of art with broken fingers.

Silco makes a gesture over his shoulder and two goons that you hadn’t noticed at the door take up posts outside, leaving you and the kingpin alone. That is probably a very bad sign, especially with the way he’s glaring at you and your heartbeat is picking up pace with more than just fear, but you distract yourself by picking up your tools and let the familiar motions of disinfecting them soothe you. Silco watches you for a long, heavy moment before he speaks again with that sinful voice.

“Are you always so flippant when confronted with a situation that overtly spells out the possibility of your death?”

You look up from taking apart your tattoo gun. “Perhaps if you tell me what I’ve done to put myself in this deadly situation, I’d be less inclined to be so flippant.”

Oh, he doesn’t like that. His good eye narrows and his mouth pinches at the corners and you know it should scare you but it doesn’t. And the fact that it doesn’t is what actually scares you. Because if you’re not scared of him and his temper, then you’re a fucking fool.

Silco prowls forward and grabs your wrist to hold it up. “Perhaps this jogs your memory?”

You resist the urge to free yourself and instead glance at your arm. Does he mean your fox tattoo? Surely he couldn’t have tracked you down because of an old painting…

Then it dawns on you. The endless amounts of coin, the tiptoeing around who she was hiding the tattoos from. Your lips part and you look up at the kingpin in a new light. Throughout everything he’s done, all of the sacrifices he’s made… he’s also a father. You breathe out her name as though saying it too loud would disturb the quiet that often settles over the hour just before dawn.

“Jinx.”

His tone turns patronizing as he tightens his grip - not painfully, but in a warning. “Clever girl. Perhaps you’d like to explain to me why you let a child waltz in off the street to get tattooed without supervision?”

“Child?” you frown. Even despite you calling her a kid all the time, child seems far too juvenile a word for her. “Jinx is practically a grown woman. Plenty old enough to get a tattoo if she wants.”

“That isn’t for you to decide.”

“Last I checked, there are no age restrictions on tattoos in Zaun.”

“You went behind my back for months,” he snarls and tightens his hold even further. “Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?”

You place your free hand on your hip, thoroughly unimpressed with his rather unoriginal display of fatherly protectiveness, or whatever. It’s neither the first nor last time you’ve seen it.

“Are you saying you came all the way here to yell at me because you’re brassed that Jinx has been hiding this from you? How the fuck is that my fault?”

“You should have known-”

“I can’t read minds, Silco!”

He snaps his mouth shut and glares down at you with barely-contained fury. Both at you for your interruption and, you think, at himself for losing even just a shred of his control. Now his grip is painful, but you hardly notice.

You continue evenly, “She didn’t mention that she wasn’t allowed to get tattoos - or even that she had a father. Not that it would have made a difference.”

Silco pulls you forward so that only an inch of space is left between you, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact.

“So you admit it.”

“Admit what?” You try to pull your arm from his hold, but he doesn’t budge. “That I’ll give anyone a tattoo so long as they’re in their right mind and have the coin? Yeah. I've had kids in here younger than Jinx - the only difference is that she’s your daughter.”

As soon as it’s out of your mouth you wish you can take it back. Not because it isn’t true, but because it’s an accusation you’ve just spit at the most dangerous and powerful man in Zaun - and he isn’t well-known for being merciful. Far from your finest moment. Unfortunately, you’re too stubborn to take it back, and Silco is probably too stubborn to let you try. His anger becomes dark and cold - and that much more arousing terrifying.

“You really haven’t a care for your own life, have you?” he asks, voice sickly sweet. “I would suggest you refrain from any further insolence and take a seat.”

A small part of you wants to ignore the order, but you recognize this as the last strand of Silco’s patience, so once he lets go of you, you sink down in your chair with your chin up to keep your eyes locked with his. Obedience you can do but you will not be broken by it - not for a grievance as petty as this. Silco turns his attention away from you to instead study your workspace with mild disinterest.

“How many more tattoos have you promised her?”

The question catches you off-guard. You frown. “We only have one more session.”

“That’s not what I asked, is it?” he snaps and leans over you, forcing your gaze even higher. “Try again. How many tattoos have you promised her?”

You swallow and try (unsuccessfully) to ignore how his position reveals another tantalizing inch of his neck. Shit. You need to focus.

“I’m not sure,” you say as you drag your eyes up to meet his. (Which he definitely notices, gods be damned). “She requests a different number every session.”

He searches your eyes for something specific and you hope you don’t reveal anything that’ll get your hand chopped off. You aren’t sure whether or not he finds what he’s looking for when he finally straightens and saunters around you until he’s out of your field of vision. As much as you want to keep your eyes on him, something tells you it’s in your best interests to stay still.

“I will allow you to have a final session with Jinx under certain conditions,” he says. He moves again but it’s only by the sound of his voice that you realize he’s moving closer. “First, you will not mention my relation to Jinx to anyone. I will know if you do.”

You refrain from pointing out that he wouldn’t need to worry about that if he hadn’t stormed into your place of business like a petulant child, and instead say, “Wouldn't dream of it, Sir.”

Silco places his hands on the back of your chair and a thrum of energy moves through you as it shifts under his weight. You grip your pants in clenched fists to keep your hands from visibly trembling.

“As soon as the session is over, you will not speak to or even look at Jinx without my express permission. Is that clear?”

“What if she comes to me fir-”

Silco tugs the chair back and hisses directly into your ear, “Is that clear?”

You can’t help the shiver or the goosebumps or the way your eyelids flutter when his breath touches your bare skin, but you try your damndest to answer evenly.

“Yes, Sir.”

It comes out almost as a whisper and you hold your breath with dread. Did he notice? If he did, he doesn’t react. In fact, he leans even closer so that his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, almost too soft to feel.

“Very good,” he purrs. “And since I am benevolently letting you walk away with your life and all of your fingers intact, you owe me one favor for every tattoo you gave her without my permission.”

Janna.

You try to swallow but your mouth goes dry. Is he doing this on purpose? Surely not. But - he can’t be blind to the effect this is having on you, can he?

“What sort of favors?” you ask, miraculously avoiding the desperate whine you feared would leave your mouth.

Silco backs away and says, “All in good time, my dear.”

Then, without so much as a glance in your direction as he passes, he leaves.

You stare after him for what could be hours, trying to ignore how empty the shop now feels without him commanding the space. Trying not to contemplate how his voice trailed sweet as honey through the air.

Eventually, you have enough presence of mind to lock up the parlor and go home. There will be no more work for you tonight. Even if your other clients do show up, which you doubt considering how fast the rumor mill moves in this part of the city, you know you won’t be able to concentrate.

That night, you fall asleep to the memory of his breath on your neck and his lips on your skin. It’s deplorable, how thoroughly he’s managed to consume your entire frame of mind. The thought alone of the ease with which he’d done so is what keeps you from using the memory to bring yourself some pleasure - and all you get for your reward is a sleepless night of sexual frustration the likes of which you’ve never before endured for anyone, let alone a fucking mob boss whom you’d never met until today.

It’s not until you wake the next morning with the sound of his voice still on your mind that you realize the hopeless position you’ve found yourself in.

You are (or you hope to be) well and truly fucked.

---

The day of your final session with Jinx is marked by an utter lack of motivation on the opposite spectrum as it had been on the first. You don’t want to even contemplate interacting with any of your clients, let alone sitting down to tattoo them, but without a distraction you fear you’ll simply run away and risk being killed on sight by any of Silco’s goons. So you go to work and take a dizzying spin on the roller coaster of “Please, Janna, let this torture end” and “Oh fuck, the time is moving too quickly and I could literally die the moment Jinx walks in.”

It’s so bad that before your last client leaves, you ask her for a couple of smokes, which she gives happily. You haven’t felt the need to alleviate your stress this way in years, but the combination of debilitating arousal and consuming fear at the thought of seeing Silco again… It’s with desperate abandon that you inhale all three of those cigarettes out back before you go inside to face the most dangerous test of your life. What you don’t expect is him to be waiting there already.

He stands to the side of the furniture-separated lobby, eyes roaming over the numerous photos of your past works decorating the wall and very pointedly not acknowledging you. Jinx is nowhere in sight. Has he changed his mind?

“Do you always show up late to appointments with your clients?” Silco asks smoothly and shifts to study another photo. You glance at the clock over the door with a scowl. Late by less than two minutes.

“Do you always materialize at the place of business of your supporters just to antagonize them with ridiculous questions?” you ask as you go to the sink to wash your hands. It might be better not to respond with your usual snark, but it’s either that or ask him to fuck you - there is no in between right now. Damn him. And damn your fucking gutter-brain.

“You’re a supporter now?” he trills. “I would have called you compliant, at best.”

Oh, you’ll give him compliant in every sense of the word if he just -

You turn around with a hand on your hip. “Where is Jinx?”

“Ah, now you’re concerned with your appointment,” he looks over his shoulder at you with his brow raised. You don’t dignify that with an answer.

He turns away from you again, his hands clasped behind his back. Your gaze traces his figure from the imposing collar of his coat down to his fingers as he picks at his nails absently. Something about him seems… different. Unsure isn’t quite the right word, but it comes close. You wait with baited breath until he finally speaks again - at the wall rather than to you.

“Jinx won’t be coming today.”

“Oh.” Your stomach drops. As much as you dreaded giving her another tattoo with the newfound knowledge that she’s Silco’s daughter, you have grown rather fond of her. “You’ve changed your mind, then?”

Silco sighs through his nose and once again faces you.

“No, she is… indisposed at the moment. She insisted I come to you so that you didn’t think she forgot.”

Your first thought is that you have no idea what to do with this information, considering whose mouth it’s coming from. He has hundreds of employees he could have sent in his stead, but here he is. Your second thought is, 

“Is she okay?”

Silco doesn’t respond right away but you see his calculations come to some sort of positive conclusion as his eyes soften the barest amount.

“She will be,” he says. Then, as if he realizes he gave too much away, he straightens and turns toward the door. “When she is able, she will come to you to reschedule.”

After a slight pause, in which you think he might have something else to say though he keeps it to himself, he strides toward the door. The whole interaction strikes you as pleasantly strange but somehow it feels incomplete. Without much thought about it, you call out to him as he reaches for the door.

“Silco.”

He drops his hand and glances at you with his good eye.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

You can tell it catches him off guard even though he has no visible reaction. He puzzles over the sentiment before he asks, “For what, exactly?”

You hadn’t thought that far ahead, so you cover up your own carelessness with a huff. “For not killing me, I guess.”

“Killing you isn’t off the table should you disobey the terms of our agreement.”

As if it could be called that. But he gave the threat with a glimmer of amusement that hasn’t yet faded from his eyes. You aren’t sure if you’re meant to see it, but something about it emboldens you. With leftover effects from your hungry devouring of those cigarettes, your inhibitions fall away.

“Well, if I do something to bring about my death at your hands, the least you can do is fuck me first.”

Shit, you said that out loud. It’s the second time in as many conversations with him that you wish you could eat your words or otherwise shrivel up and poof out of existence. You’re barely able to stop yourself before you apologize and it’s a miracle you can stand your ground as Silco stares at you with such carefully crafted neutrality that he must be hiding something. He clasps his hands behind his back and slowly turns toward you once again. The way his head tilts oh-so-slightly makes you feel like a mouse caught in a cat’s claws - and it thrills you. Terrifies you. All of it and more at once.

He stands there silently, staring at you until you’re sure your ears are red, but you don’t back down. It’s far too late for that. You don’t know how much time passes before the corners of his lips turn up into what is maybe a smirk.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, voice dark and dangerous and full of promise.

You’re unable to even form a coherent thought, let alone respond. Either he notices this and decides to give you some mercy or he loses patience in his little game, but he leaves without another word.

With both anticipation and a little dread, you realize tonight will be the first in a series of very long nights imagining just what he might do to you if you’re at his mercy. It’s probably unhealthy, but since when did you ever care about something like that? In this city, it’s take what you want or deal with the leftovers.

In this case, you refuse to deal with the leftovers. Even if doing so will earn you nothing but a gaping wound torn by the jaws of a beast - you’re not going to let such an immediate attraction slip through your grasp. You hope it doesn’t lead you to a painful death, but it’s not like you’re ever safe from such a thing in this city with your profession drawing people in all forms of perilous - from the righteous revolutionaries to the dirty scoundrels, it's all the same in the end.

It’s all just the dangers of business.

#silco x female reader #silco x you #silco fanfic #arcane fanfic #the dangers of business arcane

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

Fuck it! We need some stobotnik smut. I don't care if people calls me cringe. It's all worth it.

I JUST SAW THE SECOND MOVIE TODAY, YOU ARE NOT CRINGE. LET'S GO???

Stone was capable. More than capable, even. Robotnik deserved nothing less than a henchman who attended to his needs. So what if he acted as if he was his punching bag half the time? A tool for him automatically made stone important. Even if an important part of his job was to serve these simpletons coffee while the doctor stayed hidden to formulate his plans against...him.

Stone hated sonic. But not for the same reasons as his boss. He hated sonic because sonic was always on his mind. Oh what he'd give to steal just a fraction of obsession from that blue rat. To know the doctor would prowl after him, to want to pounce on him and bury his face in the dirt and make him fucking submit to him like-

Oh. Speak of the devil. He was calling him on his wrist watch. He brought his wrist up as he picked up the call.

"You called?"

"No, a piece of MY technology that I gave you is malfunctioning- of COURSE I'm calling. Bring me my latte. Oh and uh, something to snack on, maybe something with mushrooms."

"Yes sir."

Him and mushrooms lately, he'll never understand it. He was about to start the coffee, when the bell rang on the counter. A man was standing there, looking sort of nervous.

"Hey uh. I kinda lost something in here?"

"What'd you lose?"

"My phone number. Can i uh, have yours?"

He was about to tell him to fuck off. He wasn't ugly, but to him, he was another rat in a plagued up sewer. But that was when he noticed- he was still on call. He could hear this. That was when an awful, terrible idea came to mind. Stone put on a fake smile, and leaned against the counter. He HATED other people, but he knew how to fake it.

"You're not used to flirting, are you?"

"N-no. I'm sorry, that was lame. I just see you here all the time and I think you're REALLY cute. And the coffee art you make is adorable and I'd just really like to take you out."

He wasn't as good looking as Robotnik, but he DID take care of himself, he'd give the man that much for noticing.

"You can give me your number. Then I could show you what else I'm good at."

God he was pathetic, writing his number on a used napkin. And messy too, not an ounce of craftsmanship on him. He waited till he eventually left, before hanging up on the doctor. It probably would accomplish anything, but he'd like to think, for a moment, that he'd get jealous over little ol' him. He prepared his latte, and added his snack (simple mushrooms on toast), before putting his 'be right back' sign on the counter and heading to the back. He followed the tunnel, right to where the man was working.

Oh how he admired him. Fingers flying, a determined look in his eyes, even the way his mustache moved as he mumbled to himself. He would've stared longer, and he wanted to, but he knew he would NOT accept cold coffee.

"Doctor."

He made his presence known before stepping in, and setting everything down for him.

"About time, Stone."

"Apologies. Can I get you anything else?"

"Actually, yes,"

He watched the doctor get up from his seat, only to gesture to it right after.

"Take a seat for me."

"But that's YOUR chair-"

"If you were a robot, you would've done it already."

He really hated waiting. He obeyed, making his way to the chair, and sitting down. Oh it was still warm from where he sat. Don't pop a boner, don't pop a boner.

"Is there a reason for-!"

Suddenly his fingers dug into his mouth, and held onto his jaw. Oh he did something bad. He only ever did this when he was displeased. Not that he minded, he really, REALLY liked the taste of his leather against his tongue.

"There is. You think you're in charge, Stone. You think you can make me hear your little flirt session up there, try to make me jealous. NO ONE, and I mean NO ONE, tries to trick me, Stone. I'm ten steps ahead of everyone, including you. See, that's what I hate about people. No matter how many times you teach them, they still just. Suck. Don't they, Stone?"

He pushed his fingers further into his mouth, and Stone tried not to gag as the finger tips tickled the back of his throat. The doctor leaned in to force their gazes onto one another.

"Let's hope you learn THIS TIME, Stone. Take it out."

He knew exactly what he wanted. He's played this game with him plenty of times. He pulled his cock free from his confines, and started to stroke himself. It wasn't for his own pleasure though, it was for him. So the doctor would know he could be controlled just as easy as any machine. Robotnik pulled out his fingers slowly, now using his spit soaked fingers to squish his face.

"Look at you, Stone. You're too excited to do this. Too excited to play with yourself like a stupid mammal, all while I watch. What are you hoping I'll do to you, Stone?"

"S-sir I don't think-"

"You DON'T think. You do. Now answer me."

Stone swallowed. Dear god, he was going to tell him what he wanted. He really was. He swallowed, before just doing as he was commanded to.

"I'm hoping you'll step on my dick. I'm hoping you'll make me feel good and make me cum for you. I l-like it when you watch me make a mess."

Robotnik scoffed, as if it was beneath him. He moved his hand away from his face, to his hair, grabbing it and giving it a good yank, making his cock throb.

"And you don't want your new little toy to do it for you?"

Oh god. Was he...ACTUALLY jealous? Probably not, but the idea of it was so alluring, it made his cock twitch, and painfully. He was already working up a layer of precum over his hand, he wasn't going to last long at all.

"No. He's pathetic. Nothing like you. I w-want you, doctor, please."

Robotnik seemed unsure, before he swatted his hand away, and took a step back.

"So you want THIS?"

Then he gave it to him. He put his heel right on his cock, and leaned into him. It put his weight on his length, and had his nose right against his. He could kiss him. He wanted to kiss him. So much so, he came. It was an embarrassingly large amount too, he felt his balls ache as they emptied. All over the doctor's shoe.

"S-sir I-"

"Ugh. Even robots are cleaner than you. Clean it."

He moved his foot from his dick, to his chest. Stone nodded eagerly, holding his shoe, and licking off his mess. He could taste the dirt of the people beneath him, alongside the saltiness of his own liquid incompetence. It was delicious. Robotnik leaned over to take a sip of his coffee, clearly uninsured.

"I'll give you one thing, Stone, you certaintly recover faster than most robots do."

He knew what he meant. He was already eager to cum again. Stone was talented, especially in the realm of coffee. Afterall.

He was used to dealing with a lot of cream.

#asks #not transformers #sonic #lemon #stobotnik #you're WELCOME #jfc this has been sitting there for a bit-

[notsosilentsister]

If it's not an imposition I'd be really interested to hear about your other favourite authors? I found Hilary Mantel (and possibly a few others?) through your Tumblr + I know you have great taste

Oh wow, thanks! I'm still recovering from my surgery, and today the pain killers seem to work a bit less well than yesterday, so I can really use some cheering up!

My current favourites, in no particular order:

Susanna Clarke. Is there anything she can't do? Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell was such a doorstopper, and Piranesi is the height of narrative economy. I'm still utterly enchanted. It's a hymn to scientific inquiry without ever playing it out against myth, art, faith and ritual, a sort of Anti-Robinsonade - here too, we have someone torn out of his own world, having to survive in strange surroundings, entirely left to their own devices, but while Robinson aims to conquer, Piranesi just wants to understand/connect. One of the most likeable protagonists I've encountered in all of literature in quite a while. And the vibes are impeccable. I think Susanna Clarke is always so good at setting the scene, she has a knack for killer imagery, and always hits the right note with the prose style. It's never just style for its own sake, it's always in service of getting you in the right frame of mind for the story.

Lucia Berlin. Wrote mostly short stories with an autobiographical bent. And what a life she had! Very adventurous, upwardly and downwardly socially and geographically mobile, a true bohemian. Reading Lucia Berlin always makes me feel like I need to travel more (definitely) and get some divorces (a bit). (What it actually made me do, was go back into teaching. Lucia Berlin had a lot of jobs - one of her short story collections is called A Manual for Cleaning Women, and one of those jobs was teaching). Her life was often hard (traumatic childhood, dysfunctional parents, sexual assaults, addiction, health problems…), at times brutal - I mean, one thing reading her definitely didn't inspire in me is any curiosity about drugs - at times glamorous and exhilarating, sure, but the lows are very low. She has so many awful encounters and yet never closes herself off to connection, completely clear-eyed about the pain it might bring. Even when she takes you to the depths of despair, she never numbs to her surroundings; she has an eye for the beauty in hell.

Shirly Jackson. I'm not usually a great reader of horror, but I will always make an exception for Shirly Jackson. Another great one for narrative economy. Maximal emotional punch for minimal word count. Great at exposing the blood curdling menace in convention. Honestly, I don't think I could stand it, if I had more of an inclination towards social anxiety, but even so, I think she'll hit anyone who's ever ended up on the wrong side of a group dynamic, and who hasn't? At times deceptively charming, delightfully excentric, cosily conventional, strangely seductive, to better set you up for betrayal, guaranteed to haunt you, long after you've closed the book.

Marlen Haushofer. Maybe I am a bit of a reader of horror after all? It's a fairly similar sort of horror too - the slow poison of corruption through civilization - but usually without explicit supernatural elements (the exception being The Wall, probably her most famous novel anyway). I discovered her as a kid - she also wrote quite a bit for children - and then got majorily back into her during the lockdowns, when she seemed to me like the writer of the hour. I wrote about that at some length here.

Jennifer Egan. She always does something that interests me. Maybe it's a bit of formal metafictional playfulness - I thought the powerpoint chapter in A Visit from the Goon Squad was actually the most moving chapter, definitely not just a gimmick to me (but maybe the sibling dynamic just hits a button for me) - maybe it's just her choice of topic. Look at Me is a downright visionary novel about the rise of influencers on social media, written before Facebook and Insta and the costs and benefits of erotic capital, something which I of course would only know from books and therefore find reasonably fascinating (also a bit about terrorism, written before 9/11, but I found that sublot less compelling); Manhattan Beach is about the first female diver at the Brooklyn Naval Ward, getting drawin into the New York demi-monde while investigating the disappearance of her father during World War II. She's sometimes criticized for writing a bit too much with an eye to effect (the metafictional stuff can be read as pretentious; Manhattan Beach is going for Grande Cinema), but I like that about her. I think you can alway count on Jennifer Egan to find an illuminating angle.

George Eliot. I usually don't have strong opinions about shipping, but "Dorothea/ Ladislaw OTP" is one of the topics I could improvise an hour-long lecture on at the slightest provocation. It's also why I have eternal beef with Henry James, who apparently went on record claiming that Middlemarch would have been a better novel if Dorothea had ended up with Lydgate. (Can you imagine? How hard can anyone miss the point? Might as well say Peggy should have ended up with Don.) I also don't usally worry much about spoilers, because I'm not generally in it for the plot twists. But George Eliot is a case where I really make a point of going in unspoilt. I think she's just the best at leading her characters towards genuinely difficult choices, and even if it's quite clear, what the right choice would be, making you quite unsure if the character can make it, or if it came to that, if you could. My one quibble with her is that I think she has a very weird idea of what makes one suited for a career in politics, but maybe I'm just too jaded.

George R.R. Martin. This started out as an ASOIAF-fanblog; it would be weird not to mention him. It's also a bit weird to mention him though - there was a period in my life when I was positively obsessed with ASOIAF, true, but I feel zero inclination to read anything else by George R.R. Martin. Not because he's a bad writer or because I resent him for not finishing the series - I clearly think he's highly skilled; I could not put up with subpar prose over so many pages, and I can live with unfinished work - it's just not usually my genre, and I feel that the special circumstance that contributed to my ASOIAF-obsession cannot be repeated. First, the series got some hype when there was talk of a TV-show, and I actually sometimes like jumping on a bandwagon. I just rarely do, because they're usually not my speed. But this one turned out to be, and I was excited at an opportunity to join the water-cooler conversation. And then I kinda got in too deep, because I was just working on my second thesis, and was desperately procrastinating. This probably sounds like me being overly defensive. It's hard nowadays not to feel a bit like a sucker as an ASOIAF-fan. We know there's not much of a chance Martin will ever finish the series, and we know how the show turned out. No one has much sympathy for the disappointment - the general tenor seems to be: What did you expect? It was always this stupid. I agree that there's much I dislike about the show that's actually already there in the novels (eg. gratituous sexual violence, half-heartedly rationalized by the pseudo-historicity) and I won't defend that.

But let me go on record here, I really don't think it was always this stupid. It had interesting things to say about chivalry, honor, different leadership styles, forms of social organisation, family dysfunction, dealing with trauma, propaganda, the power of narratives, institutional failure, collective action, risk management, the cost of lies. It had multi-dimensional, psychologically plausible, dynamic characters. It had tons of forshadowing, and carefully constructed set-ups, and well-executed pay-offs. It had the most shocking twists, that still felt inevitable. And I think Martin has a really good ear for dialogue - eg. he has more than one way to make a character sound witty (something writers of witty characters often seem to struggle with; everyone just ends up the same kind of snarky, which quickly grates on me) - eg.Tyrion's wit is different from Olennas, and even Stannis has a blink-and-you-miss it dry sort of wit. Martin also has that Dickensian knack for distinguishing characters through speech patterns and catch phrases, which is a bit gimmicky, but hey, it works. And you need all the tricks at your disposal with such a huge cast. He was (maybe intermittently still is) trying to do something very ambitious, and I will always admire him for that, even if he likely never pulls it off.

#susanna clarke #lucia berlin #shirley jackson #marlen haushofer #jennifer egan #george eliot #george rr martin #roseblight

[ladyelainehilfur]

Weaktober Day 5: Sharp

Stephen kept a small collection. Well, maybe “small” wasn’t the right word to use. More like...understated. Gray would disagree, but Gray disagreed with everything Stephen said so he paid no mind to that. 

“Move it over to this wall,” he instructed. Two men in white silk gloves lifted the eight pound canvas with extreme care. If they dropped it, ripped it, made a slight scratch, it would cost them thousands. Stephen would never require anyone to pay that much for anything, but better careful than not. 

As they fixed it to the front wall of Stephen’s bedroom, Stephen admired the painting. It was of a knight donning a sharp sword and leading troops clad in silver and red into battle. The whole thing covered 1,300 square inches. It was a behemoth and Stephen loved it. He’d been looking to fill the space for a few months but he’d come across this particular painting at a charity gallery and was instantly taken by it. The grandiose posture of the knight atop his horse, the sunlight reflecting off the troops’ helmets, and the velvet blood-red of the flags flying from their arms. It was chaotic and glorious.

“Honestly, Stephen, I never took you for the conquest type.”

Stephen ruffled the top of Gray’s head as Gray entered, coffee in hand and not looking entirely impressed by the new addition to Stephen’s collection. “How much did this one cost?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Gray sniffed, disgruntled. “Don’t tell me not to worry about it when I’m the one managing your accounts.”

“Someone woke up grumpy,” Stephen teased, taking the coffee from Gray’s hand and sipping from it. He couldn’t blame Gray for being a little annoyed. It was three in the morning. While Stephen wouldn’t call himself paranoid, Gray was the one who suggested they avoid transferring priceless pieces of art to the house in broad daylight. Stephen didn’t live in a gated, ultra-secure neighborhood so it was a caveat he was willing to cave to.

“That was my coffee,” Gray grumbled.

“What’s mine is yours,” Stephen said earnestly. He pressed the warm flask back into Gray’s hands and beckoned for Gray to sit next to him at the foot of his bed. Gray did so reluctantly and they both gazed at the painting, three times taller than them sitting. 

"What do you think?" Stephen asked softly. 

Gray tilted his head in deliberation, taking in all the minute details, like he tended to do. Stephen watched Gray's eyes go over the canvas, smiling at the slight frown and subtle furrow in his brows. He took everything so seriously. Aw.

“Looks like all the other paintings in your collection,” Gray finally concluded, shrugging and drinking from the thermos. 

“The value of your artistic perspective is never unappreciated,” Stephen said, shouldering a light punch in the arm from Gray. “One day you’ll understand.”

“I’ll never understand you, Stephen,” Gray muttered, getting up and leaving Stephen alone with his art.

#weaktober #weak hero #webtoon #weaktober day 5