#i miss Zenith he needs to get real

[feniksido]

In the name of Balls or whatever

#my art #bg3 #enver gortash #the dark urge #orin the red #what if i told you guys that im obsessed with evil people #yes this is a mess #i miss Zenith he needs to get real #durgetash #baldur’s gate 3 #orin's lady gaga meat dress is confusing to me but she's killing it so who am i to doubt her #zenith

[kararisa]

darling, starling

— 16. wine-stained lips — ✦ (wc: 0.9k)

Dandelion wine is a delicacy in the heart of Mondstadt, renowned as not only the best-seller of the region’s finest Dawn Winery but also as Venti’s favorite wine. The golden-colored drink has a flavor similar to mead, adorned with a subtle undertone of honeyed sweetness. While you’ve had the pleasure of sharing a glass or two with friends, you’ve never downed a full bottle.

Though that notion certainly changed today.

It’s a scene you're familiar with: dimmed lights, faint music, you and Scaramouche on the couch, sipping on glass after glass of wine. You were talking to him about... something. Was it the wine or the concert? It was something stupid, you know that much, because Scaramouche simply sneered at your comment and drank more of his wine.

The first night Scaramouche graced Inazuma with his presence after years away was spent here in this very living room. You and your friends had downed glass after glass, catching up after an eventful dinner.

Now, nine months have passed since he came back. It’s just you and him here. All alone.

Not that it’s a bad thing, at least in your book. The conversation isn’t boring, being able to flow much more smoothly with the help of the wine. And the skinship isn’t half-bad either. His hand has been resting on your knee for a bit, and your side has been pressed close to his for however long the two of you have been seated on this sofa.

It’s just the two of you here. There isn’t a need to keep up appearances.

"So, Scaramouche," you make your hand into a fist like you're holding a microphone. "How does it feel to be dating the Zenith?" 

"No comment."

You pout, "The crowd's not gonna like that; you're not giving them anything to latch on to." 

"Then I say that it's none of their business."

After a moment, you shrug, "Better than nothing I guess."

The two of you were bound to be hounded by reporters eventually, so you've taken to shooting him question after question in the guise of a journalist looking for some juicy gossip. 

His answers could use some work, you could say that much. 

"Our sources say you were at Windborne's concert tonight. What can you say about their music?" you hold out your invisible mic.

"It was alright."

You're getting annoyed at his clipped responses. "Don't lie, you enjoyed their concert," you swirl your glass before taking a sip. "I saw you smiling when I was on stage." 

"Again, I was only there because of you," he retorts. "You perform really well when you're in front of a crowd. Like you belong there." 

You likely would have blushed even more if the wine hadn't run its course, "Stop trying to butter me up. You're already dating me."

“We’re not even dating. And I’m only telling the truth — you were born for the stage,” he murmurs the next part so softly that you almost miss it. ”I like seeing you perform.”

You choose not to acknowledge the fact that you heard that last sentence, opting instead to drain the remnants of your glass. Its nectarine sweetness gives you comfort, a fleeting refuge from the tension in the air. With your glass now empty, you slowly swiveled to face Scaramouche, your heart racing, and your senses on high alert.

He was already looking right at you, seemingly closer than he was just a moment ago. HIs usually neat hair was now disheveled, a subtle blush graced his cheeks, and gods were his eyes always this pretty?

You lean closer to him, purely to take a closer look at his pretty face and most definitely not for any other reasons. The red eyeliner he usually wears is smudged at the wing, his hand that was once on your knee is now resting on your arm. You're still holding your empty wine glass, spinning it in your fingers while Scaramouche inches impossibly closer. Is the warmth spreading across your body coming from where he's touching you or have you had just one glass too many?

Honesty, you can't bring yourself to care with the way he looks at you. Maybe that's the real source of the heat.

“It’s just you and me here,” you drag your fingertips across his collarbone, a teasing trail that lingers on his shoulder. “No need to get so close.”

“Give it a rest,” he mumbles, voice slurring slightly. “Like you said, it’s just us. So shut up.”

“Make me.”

He leans in closer, ever closer, and presses his wine-stained lips onto yours. Time still as your hand, which was once wrapped around your wine glass, lets it slip from your fingers. You hear a soft thud as it finds its place on your carpet, but your attention is somewhere else entirely.

His hands, soft and warm, find their way to your waist and pull you closer. The taste of wine and the scent of his cologne threaten to intoxicate you further.

You tilt your head, deepening the kiss. A soft, breathless sigh escapes you, and you feel one of his hands moving to the small of your back, sending shivers down your spine. You grip his shoulder tighter in an attempt to anchor yourself while the rapid beating of your own heart echoes in your ears.

Scaramouche breaks away from the kiss for a moment to catch his breath. And you see nothing but want and need and desire in his eyes. He kisses you over and over again, each one more desperate than the last.

It’s just the two of you here — you let the world fall away as you start to run your fingers through his hair, a soft groan escaping him as you do this. Nothing else could matter in this moment.

And you’d kiss him all night if he’d let you.

✧— previous — masterlist — next —✧

summary: nothing more than a mistake made in the heat of the moment. that's all it is, and that's how it should be. but perhaps there's more than meets the eye

taglist — currently OPEN:

@aestherin @unsterblich-prinz @yourstrulykore @krnzysh @syriiina @yumiaur @featuredtofu @kodzusmiles @meigalaxy @fangygf @motherscrustytoenailclippings @samyayaya @hiimera @beriiov @e0nssadrift @dazaisboner @nillajhayne @chluuvr @nillajhayne @deffenferofjustice @romyoia @xiaomainlmao @hotgirlshit5 @potabletable @letthewindlead @esuz @toriiee @kclremin @angelkazusstuff @phoenix-eclipses @sakiimeo @mayuumine @lilybythevalley @only-cherry-blossom @keiiqq @what-just-happened-huh @n3r0-1417 @haunts-gh0st @layla240 @mamafly @duckyyyx @certified-shrimp @kgogoma @xtobefreex @mechanicalbeat1 @meidnightrain @nordicbananas @feiherp @erzarq @nnasv

#genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin impact smau #scaramouche smau #wanderer smau #scara smau #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #scara x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #genshin modern au #genshin celebrity au #genshin scaramouche #genshin impact scaramouche #darling starling smau

[fillingthescrapbook]

Let's Talk About: Minx and the need for more episodes per season.

Before we begin, I want to say: I need a third season of this show. A longer one that the second season's eight-episode order. Hollywood needs a reminder that filler episodes didn't mean nothing happens in the show. Filler episodes were necessary because, while the main plot is spinning wheels, we're getting character growth and relationship developments. And that was one of the things missing in this season of Minx.

Now, I don't remember the reason I started watching Minx. The trailer was intriguing enough that I decided to give it a try. I quickly fell in love with the iridescent Idara Victor, Jessica Lowe, and Oscar Montoya--and even though I don't remember a lot of the nitty gritty of what happened in Season 1, I remember rooting for the three--and Lennon Parham's Shelly, by the end of it and wanting to know what happens next.

The cast of this show is spectacular. The writing though... The writing was serviceable. It's not until this second season that I'm coming out as a fan of the show writers.

While the first season was mostly a hero journey for main character Joyce Prigger (the outstanding Ophelia Lovibond), the second season had a more nuanced arc in how it tackles success. Yes: success. Instead of throwing another wrench into the world of Minx, the writers decided to zag and let the characters be celebrated. And in that celebration, they were able to uncover a bigger issue: the politics of gender equality.

In season two, the show adds a new character: Constance is a billionaire who supports the arts, feminism, and is pushing the characters into reaching the zenith of their dreams. The only one who is a little put-down by Constance's handling of business is Don (Jake Johnson) because he's used to being the top dog. But even he can't argue that she has helped him achieve success he only dreamed of before.

With the characters thriving and getting the good life, Constance begins to introduce compromise in to their world. She begins to sow a divide by giving the characters what they want--while essentially taking away the most important thing they got in the first season: each other.

The show asks each character what it takes for them to bend their values. What are they willing to compromise to continue the good life they're currently enjoying?

Now, I do understand why some people would think this second season was more superficial than the first. In letting the characters succeed, it does feel like nothing bigger is happening for the most part. Because the trials they're facing aren't do-or-die. The characters aren't always in danger of losing everything.

But, if we're going to be honest: isn't that how we lose everything in real life? Bit by bit. Day by day. Life is good until suddenly it's not. And that's the magic of Minx's sophomore season.

The writers plotted the downfall well. If we go through the season again, we will see where the writers are foreshadowing the sacrifice each character will have to make. And it is amazing work.

Unfortunately, because the show only had eight episodes to work with--all the focus on delivering a satisfying story took out something that made the first season magical: the way each character progressed from episode to episode.

Season 2 gave everyone better storylines. Unfortunately, because there's a distinct lack of screen time to share, those storylines didn't get room to breathe. Most of them had to progress in between scenes and off-camera:

Idara Victor's Tina had a powerful arc of realizing her place in the world, of needing to choose herself--and yet, most of her processing happened in scenes that were already servicing Don's A-plot or B-plot, or while the main arc is place-setting, or while Shelly is having a moment for her character arc.

But at least her storyline gets to inch along from episode to episode. Oscar Montoya's Richie, while having a poignant endpoint for his character arc, didn't really have a clear path from point a to point b. He gets pulled into being every kind of supporting player before finally getting his moment to shine.

And then there's Jessica Lowe's Bambi. Her storyline is edged from episode two to episode six--and is only allowed release...in the final moments of episode seven. And while she does get somewhere in the finale, it also feels like it's just a lot more edging.

So, yeah: the plots and the character arcs are better and more powerful... they just suffered a lot from the lack of time. I'm not saying the show needs to expand from being a half-hour dramedy... but maybe having more episodes to let the plots and the characters breathe would do the show good.

Because goodness knows: this show is amazing. But it'll have a hard time firing all its bullets if we subtract cylinders from the barrel of its gun.

#let's talk about #minx #tv talk #delayed posting because of the strike

[crystalelemental]

Special Costume Select Scouts (September 2023)

Now we have two Special Costume Select Scouts to choose from. Let's talk about the options available.

Select A

SC Diantha - A very sensible choice, especially for those who missed NC Hop. Diantha, oddly enough, has remained the premiere Fighting-type damage dealer in the game. Yeah, like even now, she's second best, only losing to Hop, and it's by a slim margin. Keldeo rules. If you have Aura Cynthia, you're likely able to handle all Fighting-weak content just off Bruno, but if you were craving a serious powerhouse in the type, Diantha's really hard to beat. That said, 1/5 has excellent DPS, but notably loses a lot of sync power. Diantha will still get it done, but she's definitely the type that looks longingly at 3/5.

SC Ingo - Bug Zone. That is realistically the only real value of a 1/5 Ingo. He has some odd utility, in a bit of physical debuffing (which doesn't align to any top meta Bugs except his brother), and a twinge of speed when he sets Bug Zone so it's not much. The evasion is cute but often irrelevant. If you invest to 3/5, he's an excellent nuke, but that's a pretty big if. Most Zone setters exist for 1/5 utility, and Ingo's no different. He's a bit worse off, this is really not a great Zone support, but Bug is in bad shape so there's an argument for him if you have SS Hilbert, Alder, or SC Emmet.

SC Emmet - Speaking of whom, SC Emmet is the big physical Bug man. I will be frank. 1/5 SC Emmet without EX is effectively without merit. I've had him for over a year, and let me tell you, the man does not accomplish squat. This is a guy who needs investment. And ideally that investment is EX. 1/5 EX can make it work. Natural Rising Tide is hugely valuable, and is his primary sync effect. Just do not expect him to do much in Gauntlet. I think I've benched him every single time.

SC Hilda - I adore SC Hilda. Rock damage is fairly hard to come by, and our Rock Striker collection is uh. Limited. Classic Blue, Emmet, and SC Hilda are still the big three, after like two years. Seriously. SC Hilda and SC Diantha remaining in power this long is kinda funny. That said, Hilda is my personal favorite of the three. While her damage numbers are overall worse off, Hilda succeeds by virtue of consistency. Emmet is the strongest, but only under Sandstorm; without it, he's substantially worse. Classic Blue is stronger on Hyper Beam, but has worse sync, and much rougher setup (defense drops compared to Hilda buffing defense every attack). Her gauge is also fantastic, with a bit of speed boosting and Fuel Economy compared to the others with 4-bar and Blue praying for Free Moves Next to proc. I will sing Hilda's praises endlessly, but Rock isn't...terribly hard to shop for? It is, but also we now have Gordie and Roark, who are pretty excellent. So it's a little harder to justify her? Especially considering those three are good, but not great. Rock is not a very strong type right now.

SC Lyra - Okay. SC Lyra is a very, very bad time. I'm willing to argue this until I'm blue in the face, despite the fact I might get her today. Lyra's problem is she's slow. She has terrible speed, and her buffing is +1 per action, dependent on what you want. Crit boosting is on grid and expensive to acquire. Attack boosting is every time she is hit. The only stat she buffs quickly is Defense. Her unique niche is her AoE Rebuff on Earthquake, but for Ground? She offers far, far too little to be exceptional for the type. She's in a terrible position with little being given. I know Support are generally always nice, but in this case? I'd sincerely argue she's the bottom of the barrel.

SC Zinnia - But now we must speak of the zenith. SC Zinnia is my personal pick for the best of this set. If you have NC Marnie, there is justification to not pull Zinnia. Otherwise...man there is no one who competes. Even NC Marnie is worse in my eyes, and I'm being so serious. It requires 3/5, granted, but come on. She's stupid good. 1/5 has merit too. Significantly less, but there are two benefits she provides. First, the ability to take Five Stats +3 parameter, and just eat all those buffs for herself in one action. Second, if you have NC Calem, his trainer move with her X Atk All immediately caps offenses of the entire team, which is perfect for Masked Royal. She has crazy utility even early on, and becomes one of the best units in the game by 3/5. Absolutely exceptional value.

Select B

SC Steven - I'm starting off with the obvious winner. If you don't have yourself an SC Steven, get yourself an SC Steven. 1/5 is perfectly sufficient, and gives such overwhelming attack bonuses to physical damage dealers it's insane. Partnered with SS Acerola, Fire and Grass types become effectively unbeatable if they're physically inclined. And that's before factoring in the buddy move, which has hilarious niche utility like Restrain, which powers up Selene specifically. He's amazingly strong.

SC Lillie - I'm not mad about it... Lillie is really good. At 3/5. At 1/5, she offers an incredibly limited buffing kit. 3/5 is her main niche, where she gets the option for double Potion MPR, and the tools to make her incredibly fast at buffing Sp Atk/crit to cap. Consistent healing every time she's attacked is also nice. Lillie is very good, and well worth considering if you already have SC Steven.

SC Sonia - Sonia's pretty bad. Like, the only time I saw her get any substantial utility was with Adaman/SS Acerola. Adaman really gave her a lot of tools as a dual strike component, but it's with the caveat that she must be 3/5 for Defense Crush 9. Otherwise, any offensive option can get the job done. Grass is also pretty well saturated, so it's not like she does much that's unique. As a Hit the Gas striker with poor speed, she operates on the SS Giovanni wavelength of "being terrible." I really cannot recommend her at all.

SC Guzma - Guzma's funny, but terrible. He has some notable fame as the guy who hits with the force of god, but only after missing three times and then landing Dynamicpunch. It's incredibly slow, and incredibly not worth your time.

SC Shauna - I actually like SC Shauna. I think the outfit is cute. But she's only okay. A good Gauntlet soloist for those who care about that stuff, and generally useful in that mode regardless. But for CS it's very hard to slot her in over alternatives. 1/5 is just that much worse. Shauna interacts with stages on the basis that she can sustain, and without Potion MPRs at all, she's going to seriously struggle with sustain given her inability to directly boost defenses. She needs investment.

SC Jasmine - Okay, now this one's for me. Barring SC Steven, I am going to argue, legitimately, that SC Jasmine is better than SC Lillie. I'm going to fail! Lillie has a high flinch rate and faster boosting to offenses (kinda)! But listen. Jasmine has serious utility. MGR9 and Mind Games 4 on Absorb is huge for a fairly slow pair. Flash Cannon with On a Roll 9 and two MGRs can be used on teams with faster allies and some speed boosting. She has Safety Net naturally, which makes her an excellent EX choice. All Ramped Up at 3/5 gives her the ability to, in two turns, +4 Sp Atk, +6 Sp Def, and +3 crit Jasmine gives the more important crit rate faster, and compresses bulk in Sp Def into the same role. With X Regen All, she approximates Lillie's passive healing. Oh, and she has built-in Vigilance, so her lucky skill is basically free money. Jasmine is excellent, and I've personally found better use for her than Lillie. Both are excellent choices, but my preference will always be for Jasmine.

Final Thoughts SC Zinnia and SC Steven are the incredibly obvious picks for these. If you don't have either, I strongly recommend the pickup if you have the gems. Zinnia is legitimately my favorite pair of the year, so I'd recommend her over SC Steven, but Steven has objectively better utility for cheaper.

Provided you have those, it's trickier. In set A, it's legitimately a free for all. If you like Zones, Ingo is a good pick, while the other three are your choice between whichever offensive type you need most. In set B, Lillie or Jasmine are top priority as supports. Both are excellent. Shauna's ranked below them because she's got it fairly rough, but it's a lot better off than Sonia or Guzma, who are pretty niche.

#pokemon masters

[lovesbiggerthanpride]

more than words (Javier x F!Reader)

notes / warnings: married life, fluff, flirting, implied smut, pillow talk 

masterlist

You never were great at expressing yourself; there was irony in this statement. When it came to your demanding career, as a publicist, crafting sentences and phrases to get the job done weren't a problem. But with personal relationships, words had a way of failing you.

But when he came along, things began to change. You wanted to do better. To find those words that would solidify how much you care for him.

March 26th had become an important day on the calendar. The day you knew he was someone you wanted, no, needed in your life. The day you fell in love. Also the day he declared how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. It was routine to take the day off. He always lavished gifts on you, being the best boyfriend, fiancé, and now husband. But you knew you had to work harder, wanting to impress him, tell him, show him. Making sure he was aware of your gratitude.

As you were pressed against his warm and broad back, lightly running your fingernails on his arm, relishing that you both stayed in bed after 10, you offered a question that could lead anywhere. Open-ended, possibly frustrating.

"Do you know?"

"What?"

"Do you know?"

"Do I know what, honey?"

When you felt confident that the suspense of your teasing riddle had reached its zenith, you placed your chin on his shoulder. With a smirk, you whispered, "Do you know that I love you?"

Javier rolled onto his back, causing you to follow suit. When you returned to lay on your side, the brown eyes you adored were glued on you.

"Yes."

"Good.”

“Where is this coming from,” he asked, voice still rough after many hours of sleep. 

“I wanted to remind you. I love you."

"Thank you for telling me," he mirrored your position — head resting on the palm of your hand — "I love you too."

You didn't want to miss a second of being close to him. Touching his cheek, you guided his face towards your own, so tender kisses could be given. Starting slow, enjoying how your lips felt on his, and soon after, tongues beginning to play. Didn't matter if you kissed the night before or a few minutes earlier, each one was precious and felt like the first time.

That part was easy — exchanging words for action, and allowing natural instincts and attraction to take over. As much as he adored physical touch, you realized that wasn't his only preferred love language. Hearing that he was appreciated, being told how proud you were of him — that made a difference. You noticed the shift in mannerisms. He stood taller, smiled brighter. Nothing was fake. No fronts. All him, the real Javier.

"Hi."

"Hi," his low voice repeated warmly, reluctantly having to stop these kisses and warm caresses. Hands finding purchase on your sides, nose nuzzling your cheek and neck.

You sighed, loving this quiet time together. 

"Remember that house we rented? Hidden away from everything and everyone?”

"How could I forget? Best weekend ever. We must have fucked ten times.”

“Seven.”

Sitting up, he countered with a scoff, “I made you cum ten times.”

You could hear in his voice how proud he was to correct you. That man never forgot. While attempting to find a sassy comeback, heat was making its way up your body as those vivid memories flooded your senses.

“You just remembered those three, didn’t you?”

Javi winked and you were gone, lost in his smile again.

“Ok, back to what I was saying.” You lifted your hand to gently brush away the rogue brown lock that was sticking to his forehead.

He chuckled, seeing how distracted you were. “Mmhmm. What made you think of that?”

“You have one hour to pack. We're going back."

"What?"

Amused by his raised eyebrows and dropped jaw, you confirmed, "Yes."

"No work?"

"None," you squeezed his arm, before rising from bed.

It was difficult to get away from the office, and it was easy to catch up on projects when you were off the clock. But you chose to not bring any work because quality time was needed. Just the two of you.

Surprising Javi was a miracle. He noticed everything. But you had learned to make moves secretly, without leaving any trails. It was a given that you would receive something big every year. When you went downstairs to make your coffee, greeting you in the kitchen were three dozen roses — marking the years of your marriage — a new diamond bracelet, and a reservation for a night out, so you wouldn't have to cook, your least favorite household "chore".

It was your turn to lovingly "one-up" him.

"You sure are doing a lot."

Javi had followed your lead, stuffing items from the dresser, into his suitcase.

"It's because I want to. That's why," you reminded him.

Sharing a look, you already knew how the next two and a half days would be spent in the small idyllic town. Trying out and fixing meals in the spacious kitchen, shooting the breeze and also talking about the future while exploring the property, binge watching a favorite comedy series, and then making love until the sun came up. The order in which those activities would occur didn't matter, but there would be lots of fun, and plenty of opportunities to reconnect.

After styling your hair and protecting it with a shower cap, you informed Javi, "The Uber is coming in thirty minutes. Quick shower?"

The scene you watched made you burst into a hearty laugh. Javi nearly tripped over himself, pulling off his clothes as soon as the words fell off your tongue. Never failed, the bell for playtime.

As much as you prided yourselves on time management skills, the shower was not quick. Heavy petting and making out. Then a furiously paced fuck once you stepped out of the tub. Forty-five minutes later, you and Javi rushed out of the house, sunglasses on, luggage in hand, looking like guilty teenagers. Receiving a steady side eye from the long-suffering driver, you apologized profusely again now in person, after a long text exchange, but still couldn't contain your giggles and snorts.

"You're such a troublemaker," Javi leaned over, doing a miserable job at reprimanding. His lips and mustache touching that sensitive spot of your neck.

You looked straight ahead, with lips pursed. "Not my fault you couldn't resist."

"Baby, that move you did on the counter, how the hell was I was supposed to not—“

"Mister, shhh. We don't need anyone knowing about what we do in private," you stared at him, playfully slapping his thigh.

You had a way of flirting that included banter. It was a turn on, being kept on your toes.

Not wanting to irritate the driver any further, you rested your head on Javi’s shoulder, willing to stay quiet for the remainder of your ride to the airport.

Locking fingers, you pecked his cheek. Brushing your nose on his jaw. You murmured to your handsome soulmate.

"I love you."

Like clockwork, Javi’s cheeks rose and the shade of his ears began to darken into a flushed pink. The look of satisfaction. Total bliss. Those three words worked magic every time.

-----

thanks for reading. just tagging a few people: @moralesfish, @queridopascal, @dinsplaything, @littlemisspascal, @heythere-mel​

L

#Javier Pena x F!Reader #Javi x reader #Javi x you #fluffy stuff #Javier Pena x Female reader #Javier Pena fanfiction

[pangtasias-atelier]

Endless (W)eight

Well this story kinda ended up changing a rather bit from what I initially planned lol. But I am kinda content with how this was especially cause struggling to write immense sizes. Of which this is cause I kinda just kept making Freyr fatter and fatter lol. 

This was meant to be like a semi sorta sequel to the Joshua Gerik story I wrote but this isn’t even really summer themed anymore. If you do understand the reference with the title, I love you. Anyways, enjoy but please do not fucking perceive me cause while this is far from horny or anything this is self indulgent and feels kinda weird since it isn’t the same characters I gush over and also cause this is like the biggest I've written lol

Askr's Order of Heroes enjoying a now endless summer, the revelry continues to increase throughout the weeks just as the heroes' waistlines. Heroes summoned from the beginning of the Order's creation to those summoned during the current reigning peace partake in the merriment alike. No hero quite forced into enjoying themselves and their time, the bit of nudging from the food's addictive nature and decreased metabolism only strengthens the feeling laying dormant inside a hero, one particular new recruit is completely absorbed in enjoying themselves to the fullest.

The King of dreams, Freyr, appears nothing like he once used to. The God who governs dreams appears to be enjoying his own blissful, hedonistic dream. Never having eaten a morsel of human food in his entirety of living, he more than makes up for it now, Freyr having eaten more food in his short time of being summoned to Askr than any  human could possibly imagine in their lifetimes.

Absolutely corpulent, Freyr's overwhelming fatness is enough to put even whales to shame. Unable to move unlike a whale, Freyr's size is simply from pure, unabashed hedonism. So content and obsessed with stuffing his face with the divine delicacies produced by humans, his ballooning waistline had been of zero importance to him. It still is, what with his ever ongoing display of wanton gluttony. Immobile several millions of calories ago, Freyr's current appetite is enough to put the entire Order to shame. Far more than even a dozen times over. Unable to get up and move around, the same is true for the entirety of Freyr's castle crushing weight. His hands and feet are gone in their entirety. They're absorbed and smothered under the enormity of his weight. The near same is true for even his head with his numerous flabby back rolls and engorged cheeks. An overly ridiculous amount of fat is caked all over his blubbery, rotund form. His appendages are just as useless as the rest of his bloated body. In a constant euphoric dreamlike state, Freyr has no need to do anything besides enjoying himself. Especially with the aid of the summoner. Kiran perfectly willing in enabling the perpetuation of Freyr's overconsumption, the summoner is able to at least transport Freyr from place to place through magic. Albeit at an increasingly concerning amount of magical and physical strain on Kiran's part with so much required to move the meaty mountain that is Freyr. And at the cost of creating more monumental goat sized craters throughout Zenith with every transportation. Not that anyone is able to tell that Freyr is a goat. His once magnificent horns appear to be nothing more than sad little stubs on the overflowing stack of pancakes of a man. Not like most would even be able to discern Freyr as a human either, the man more akin to a gelatinous blob. Completely nude, all people get upon the sight of Freyr is a staggeringly wide wall of blubber. Clothes had been forwent long ago. Not that anyone could remember; Freyr's sheer weight alone is more concerning for everyone else. All his fancy adornments are no more. His bright lei had been torn asunder from his several chin folds and doughy neck. His pristine white shawl had fallen off from his melon breasts and ample back tore the strap. His gold bracelets snapped in half by his overburdened arms and calves. And his flowing lower garments which grew too tight for his widened rear and hips. Clothes too much of a hassle back then, the time and material needed to clothe Freyr now makes a shirt back then seem like an expert working on a simple scarf.

The beach no longer suitable for Freyr, what with the sun's heat combined with his own overabundant body heat, Kiran had brought him to Nifl. The icy cold region suits him perfectly. A nice freezing temperature provided year-round, the nice cooling helps keep him from feeling like a furnace about to explode all the time. Nifl also a rather sparsely populated country, Kiran had moved him to the absolute most desolate place. It had taken a modicum of convincing on Kiran's part at first, Freyr unwilling to hide his splendor and immensity from humans. Until Kiran cajoled him throughout several talks, reminding him that his enormity can be seen from those all around him from great, vast distances and that the move was only to ensure him a proper space to grow comfortably. Freyr large enough to fill up and destroy the entirety of Askr castle from his abundant acres of adipose back when he had first been magically transported to Nifl, his efforts in simply grazing and lazing worked wonders on his body, Freyr now large enough to occupy Nohr's Castle Krakenburg and even the entirety of Windmire and then some. His frame towering just as imposingly as it spreads, the great, mountainous man is indeed visible despite residing weeks from the nearest inhabitable place. His own size indeed a great issue, the amount of food required to merely keep Freyr fed, much less the food necessary to ensure his continual growth, is also another concern with regards to space. The summoner able to find another spell to aid with just that, a small portal floats above his face. His feeding tube comes out one end of it, the other end coming out another portal somewhere in Askr. The contraption alone is the size of a castle, such great quantities of food needed to feed Freyr and Freyr alone. Speaking of food, giving him enough complete meals to satisfy his hunger is completely out of the question. Instead, his feeding tube houses a mixture that Freyr can never quite place. Some days, he tastes an arrangement of the most cloyingly sweet desserts paired with an assortment of decadent toppings. Other days, an impossibly wide array of spicy yet savory dishes enter his mouth. And on even more days, the mixture changes throughout the day, his taste buds never left unsatisfied with the selection. Though such a thing is impossible with Freyr simply caring about stuffing his gullet. Freyr currently devours away at his unending torrent of food with the same fervor he always does.

His growth still occurs at a rapid pace, hundreds of pounds slathered onto his elephantine body daily. But at such a prodigal girth as extraordinary as Freyr's, the extra few hundreds is nothing but a pathetic drop of blubber into the oceanic bucket of lard that he is. Completely unrecognizable as even a human figure at this point, a passing semblance lost tons and tons of weight ago, his stomach puts even the largest of doomsday dragons several heroes once faced. His soft, flabby expanse of lard oozes and flows forward in all directions. His mountainous stomach spreads for miles as far as anyone could see, his expansive pale blubber blanketing the snowy landscape as it takes up the area in its need for more room. Rivers for love handles jut out the side of his mountain of a gut, the ginormous rolls of flab melding into an indiscernible shape. The upper roll of his gut lurches forward onto the lower valley filling slab of fat that is the lower half of his gut. Or what can be construed as it, Freyr's towering body hard to discern. His cavernous navel is in a constant state of twilight from the overhang, the space reminiscent of a black hole. His enormous breasts remain flopped on his great cushiony gut. Freyr's own corpulence the only thing able to rival itself in terms of sheer size, the two titanic tits take up a sizable, meaty portion of his stomach. Each breath alone can crush the entirety of Daein Keep alone. The bright pink hue of his areola is the only real demarcation of his breasts, the sagging tits even managing to mesh together with his mound of a gut. Above his gut is Freyr's unfathomably high amount of neck rolls and chins that simply crash upon one another to form a ringlet of uncountable rolls. Freyr's ass surges out behind him. The tremendous ass cheeks splay out further than even the Mila Tree's canopy. Freyr's ass and gut take up the most space of himself, both assets spreading wherever they please unlike his bloated, sunken appendages. Not that there is much distinction between his ass and gut, both absolutely massive piles of blubber with little shape to speak of. His back is riddled with hundreds of soft plush rolls. His legs useless several hundreds of feasts ago, the two oceanic thighs are bunched up together in a mockery of what a leg should be, rolls upon rings of fat smothering one another to make up a leg. The same is true for his arms, dozens of rings of fat making up his arms uselessly splayed to the side from his uncountable plush love handles. Freyr's cheeks occupy an even greater amount of space than his head, the bulbous mounds of fat splaying out to the sides of his face even as it takes up most of said face. And yet, even at such an inconceivable size, Freyr simply needs more. He craves it. To eat and grow to the absolute inordinately massive that he can possibly be.

The telltale sound of a ripple sounding out, Freyr nearly misses it over the crashing pleasant torrent of his muffled moans from his eating. Knowing what is to come, his monstrous guzzling somehow becomes even more fervorent. A figure comes out of the portal and steps onto Freyr's corpulence.

Kiran is merely the molehill to Freyr's mountain. Yet, even such a comparison is far too diminutive of Freyr's grandeur, Kiran neither even being an anthill, merely an ant in the presence of someone as monumentally fat as Freyr. Always visiting daily to check upon his process, Kiran's next action is not done so often. He closes the portal housing Freyr's feeding tube, the colossal man going without food for more than a second for the first time in weeks.

Freyr's eyes are constantly closed now just as they were when he was once thin and fit, an image hard for those to imagine with his size being what it is now. Able to more easily attune himself to the dreams of others with his eyes closed, he keeps them closed for his own dreams. Dreams of the future. Dreams of living as the god he ought to. Of nothing more than to simply eat and grow. To further display his greatness for all humans to see and awe. To tower over them in immensity and power. Of growing so immensely fat that even the mortal realm will be unable to withstand his divine corpulence and returning back to Ljósálfheimr only to continue eating and growing with the aid of his realm's infinitely expanding space. With his treasured human who benevolently offered unto him the knowledge of human delicacies and set him upon this path.

And so, he opens his eyes as his most loyal devotee rests comfortably atop him. It is only right for him to offer such a pleasure to a mere mortal. For despite the summoner's abilities, that is all he is in comparison to one as great as he. A delicate human before a god. His own titanic waves of lard fills up the near entirety of his vision. The fat from his waves of back fat folding on up to his face just as his greatly stuffed cheeks do.  The only break to the monotonous view of his pale blubber is the summoner's face peering down at his sunken face.

"Kiran…" Freyr's deep rich voice is magnified from all his fat pressing down on him. His luscious mannerism in speaking in a near hazy drawn out whisper is magnified as well, speaking a time and energy consuming task at his monumental size.

A relaxed smile on his face, Kiran allows himself to rest a ginger hand on Freyr's cheek. Unable to lift a single cheek with even both hands, he merely pinches at the plush malleable lard. His eyes never once leave Freyr's own. Keeping them fully open is also too taxing of a task for Freyr. Instead, they remain half lidded. Kiran's hands explore only the near perimeter of Freyr's face. Enough rolls on his expansive lard, Kiran could spend hours simply exploring such a small section of Freyr's corpulence. Freyr's churning stomach is a turbulent, raucous machine with its tremor like desperate growls. Freyr's taxed wheezing mixes in, the two filling in for the silence. Freyr's slight moans trickle in as Kiran's hands wander off towards Freyr's horns, his delicate hands wrapping around and rubbing the tip of them.

"Hnnn… Kiran…" Unable to even squirm from the touching, every single part of Freyr immovable, he remains still as the red tinge of blush on his face deepens and darkens.

"I am here to serve you," Kiran drapes himself over Freyr's enormity, one hand never leaving Freyr's horns. "Whatever you may wish for, I will perform," Kiran's smile widens as Freyr's black hole for a stomach seems to respond to the thinly veiled offer, Kiran always being like this whenever he has come to increase Freyr's intake of food.

"Haah, so hungry,,, I hnngh-require food," Freyr wheezes from a mere sentence, the energy required of him to do anything a foreign concept now. "Much more hah food,,,"

"Of course," Kiran reactivates the portal spell. A bright iridescent blue portal appears above Freyr's face. A ripple in the sky, Kiran reaches his hand inside it and rummages around. Grabbing the thick wide tube, he drags it out of the portal.

"Wait,,," Freyr slowly croaks out right before Kiran brings his feast of a snack to his lips. His stomach wrenches in pangs of hunger at the tantalizing offer of food dangling right in front of his face. "I shall haah have you stay,,," His bloated face puffs out in exertion. It is only fair to offer such a devoted human such a great right of basking in his presence.

Kiran's face softens. "Of course," They respond as if asked to hand over an item, not remaining atop an inconceivably obese and growing man. "Now, I mustn't keep you waiting much longer," With no interruption on either end, Kiran slots Freyr's feeding tube back inside his mouth. Freyr begins guzzling away at it before Kiran even activates it. Kiran huffs in amusement before activating Freyr's feeding machine.

"You deserve to grow as big as you wish. And I would be delighted to remain by your side as you do,"

Freyr merely half grunts half moans in affirmation, preferring to eat and to not disappoint his loyal devotee. Especially as he wishes to find out his possible limit, not that he'll ever willingly stop growing nor that he even presumably has one.

#my writing #fat emblem #feeder emblem #fat!freyr #fat!heroes #fat fiction #male weight gain #ssbhm #maleweightgain

[lovelylogans]

and into the nightfall, my love (i keep your heart next to mine)

warnings: lucid dreaming/sharing dreams with other people, mention of night terrors and intrusive thoughts, please let me know if i’ve missed anything!

pairing: virgil/logan

word count: 1,278

notes: this is for day 3 of @analogicalweek! the prompt of the day is “nightmares/dreams” and i have decided to write about dreams! title is from “the disease” by angels & airwaves off their album “the dream walker.” please enjoy!

⁂

Logan has earned a reputation with his fellow astronomy camp counselors as one early to sleep, late to rise, and with naps snatched in between.

The only person who can compete with him is Remy, which barely counts, as he is very open about his narcolepsy disorder. He jokes about it frequently.

Astronomy camp is slated to have campers with all kinds of sleeping habits. It's a major aspect of the territory—due to the nature of what they all study, even the campers most inclined to be early birds take on some form of nocturnality.

Fortunately for Logan, that's not much of an adjustment. He was already a year deep into his masters degree, and besides that, he had found himself adjusting to get used to Virgil's seemingly random hours of rest for a year and a half before that. Therefore, people could poke fun at him all they liked—it’s not like they really knew what Logan got up to when he seemed to be snoozing in his bunk. 

It has become much easier to pinpoint precisely when he falls asleep since he has become boyfriends with Virgil. Today, as soon as he falls asleep after a long night of teaching teenagers about supernovae, he finds himself in a field.

It’s a familiar field. The grass is much softer than grass in the waking world, with no chance of causing an allergic reaction; there is no need for a picnic blanket or towel, here. 

He knows that if he turns his head and looks toward the horizon, the sky would be streaked with purple and navy in a way that is vaguely reminiscent of a sunset, but it’s against a night sky in a configuration that could not possibly happen in the real world. 

He knows if he turns his head to examine the sky, the stars will be far brighter and far more visible than they were on an average night; it’s as if the stars have been pulled closer to earth, just for them.

He knows if he turns his head, he will see a conglomeration of flowers gleaming like tiny stars fallen to the earth, and fireflies much brighter than could be natural bobbing about, bumping into the glow-in-the-dark bumblebees that are feeding lazily from the star-flowers.

He has no desire to turn his head, though, because Virgil looks away from what looks like a book, except Logan knows that it isn’t, because sleeping brains cannot interpret letters in the same way that waking brains can. Virgil’s seemingly startled by the sudden appearance of Logan lying down with his head in his lap. 

“Hey there, honey.” He cards his fingers through Logan’s hair in greeting, smiling down at him.

“Hello,” Logan says, pleased. “Have you been asleep for long?”

Virgil hums vaguely, in the way he usually does whenever his sleeping schedule does not quite stack up to Logan’s expectations for a healthy sleep schedule.

He supposes that it would be a bit difficult to ask his magical boyfriend whose domain hovers in the land of unconsciousness to maintain a sleeping schedule suited for a perfectly normal person, though.

This field is one of Virgil’s most common locales.  He has others—a house with a bizarre conglomeration of styles in separated into innumerable rooms, a library with shelves arching dizzyingly upward with no end in sight, a lakeside picnic that seems to be on Venus, a restaurant that can serve any food you imagine with various dishes on tables that spiral out, the center of a hedge maze that is home to various living statues—but Logan likes the field. He finds it quite restful.

“How was camp today?” Virgil asks instead, scratching his fingernails through Logan’s scalp, making Logan shiver, and he closes his eyes.

“Good,” he sighs. “I talked about supernovae today.”

“Oh, cool, did you incite an existential panic talking about the death of the universe?”

“No,” Logan denies immediately. Then he thinks about it. He opens his eyes, and admits, “Well, two of them looked somewhat stressed exiting the lecture, so maybe.”

Virgil snorts, setting aside the book—it is a book cover, Logan can tell, but if one looked at where pages would normally be, it is filled with a swirling purple-and-black light that makes him headachey and see double if he looks at it too long. He turns his eyes away. These books somehow imbibe magical beings with knowledge, though Logan isn’t quite sure how. He is not magical, and as such he can’t behold these study materials without effect the way Virgil can. He is only a little bitter about it.

“Ack, sorry,” Virgil says, noticing Logan’s discomfort, and tosses the book into the air. It arcs upwards, and vanishes at the zenith of the throw—no book to come crashing back to earth. He resumes scratching at Logan’s scalp.

“How was your day?” Logan asks, looking up at the sky. The constellations are much more accurate than they were when Logan first entered Virgil’s domain when they started dating—he is always at least a little touched, seeing evidence of the influence he has on Virgil’s life.

Granted, the stars are much larger and brighter to be truly accurate, but. This is a domain where fireflies and bumblebees get along and stars are captured in flowers. Logic and accuracy don’t apply here.

“Eh, fine,” Virgil says. “Someone mixed up me and Roman’s services again.”

It is an understandable mix-up, if an annoying one. Virgil’s domain is in dreams, whereas Roman’s is in daydreams. A minute difference but a very important one—it boils down to Virgil being more powerful at night, and Roman more powerful in the day. Also, due to this dichotomy, their powers are entirely disparate.

“But I got to help them anyway,” he continues. “They’re dealing with night terrors and intrusive thoughts, poor thing.”

“Which tincture did you give them?” He asks, interested.

“If they follow my directions right and actually drank it?” Virgil says. “They should be dreaming about a nice night on the beach. Eating s’mores next to a bonfire, ocean in the background, their friends.”

Logan hums softly. “That does sound nice.”

Virgil shrugs, but he looks quietly pleased with himself. Helping people with night terrors is one of his favorite aspects of his work; Logan knows that the creation of so many domains was a struggle, for him, as Virgil had to wrestle with his own night terrors in order to gain better control.

“Would you like to visit somewhere like that?” Virgil asks.

Logan smiles, reaching up to cup Virgil’s cheek. “You can take me anywhere you like, as long as I’m with you.”

Virgil leans down, pressing his lips to Logan’s, and as Logan closes his eyes, he feels the sensation of Virgil changing their sensations—it’s a bit like being surrounded by rapidly heating, melting ice cream.

There’s the sound of the ocean in the background, and sand that is smooth and will never get entrenched in uncomfortable places, and the warmth and sound of a crackling fire, but Logan does not open his eyes.

Intellectually, he is aware that his body is in its bunk at camp. He knows that he is not actually on a magical beach. But the warmth of Virgil’s hand, the wetness of Virgil’s lips, it all feels so real.

He is kissing his boyfriend, and he and his beloved will never have true cause to miss each other, because so long as he and Virgil are asleep at the same time, they won’t be parted, even if Logan travels halfway across the world. 

A magical beach could not compare to having Virgil. It could not even come close.

#my post #text #my fic #analogical #analogicalweek #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #logan sanders

[yandere-romanticaa]

It was neck and neck, but this old man won! It's your time to shine daddy Lilia!

Yandere alphabet.

ft! Lilia Vanrouge. 💚

A - Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Lilia is very touchy feely and he makes sure that his arm is at least around your waist if he's close to you - he can't help himself, you're just that cute! And I wouldn't describe it as intense per say, just a tad suffocating. He'll leave you be if he sees that you really need it but chances are, the two of you will be glued by the hip.

B - Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

That's a tricky question because Lilia is quite hard to pin down. If he does create a mess no living soul would ever know unless he just flat out tells someone. Chances are, he probably won't even need to lift a finger - everyone knows who he is so there is no point for his hands to get dirty.

C - Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Ah, he'd be such a tease, downright cruel even. He'll taunt them for not paying attention to all the warning signs and red flags, actively gaslighting his darling in the process. His words cut deeper then any blade and darling will have to learn that the hard way.

D - Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Honestly? Not really, no. He wants his darling to come to him by their own will, even if it is twisted in the end. It really doesm't matter to him in the end though as their happily ever after is pretty much here.

E - Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

It would take Lilia some time to fully open up to his darling. He's used to being the caretaker, not the other way around. But once comfortable he will open up his heart.

F - Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Lilia would enjoy it a bit at first but if his darling keeps being persistent he will be very upset. Why can't they just live out their lives in love and peace...?

G - Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

He treats it as both a serious matter and a game at the same time. He's curious to see at how his darling will fall for it and despite him messing around he will toughen up if need be.

H - Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Probably the first time Lilia had tortured them. His knowlege of the human body is.... erie, shall we say...

I - Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Why, marriage of course! Lilia wants nothing more then to spend the rest of his days with his darling. Wouldn't that be a dream come true? Oh, he'd love a family, with lots and lots of kids! He'd be the best dad in the world, he can already see it! With his ambitions set in motion chances are that this will be happening sooner rather than later.

J - Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He says that he doesn't get jealous but really, that's just a lie. This old man just doesn't want to admit the fact that he fears that he may be boring to his darling and anything of the sorts. If he does get jealous, he just cuddles his darling until he gets better. The perfect payment, yes?

K - Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

He's the same pretty much all the time, he's protective and affectionate, very sweet too! Just give him some love and he'll go away....~

L - Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Very old fashioned with a hint of playfulness. This old man knows exactly what strings to pull and there is no stopping him. Once his sight is set on his darling, it is endgame.

M - Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

He shows his true colours in a subtle way, no one really figures out what they are once it is too late.

N - Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Probably by taking away their privacy and then his punishments will get worse and worse. It really all depends on the severity of darling's crime and Lilia can get even stricter if need be...

O - Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

It all depends on darlings attitude. If they are kept line he will keep himself in line too.

P - Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Lilia's endless patience is downright disturbing. He is like a spider just waiting to snatch up his prey and then tear it apart with no remorse what so ever. It also helps that he has all the time in the world to deal with pretty much anything so in case his darling ever tries to pull something, Lilia will just figure something out and stop them.

Q - Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

No. He'd tell himself that he could handle it, that he was used to death, but he could never get past this. Lilia is probably going to cast some sort of spell on his darling to ensure that their souls are conected for the rest of their days. The poor old man just doesn't want his heart to be broken once more.

R - Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Guilt is something that Lilia almost never feels and that would be the case here as well. He is doing this for darlings well being, Lilia knows best! And he'd never let his darling go - once they're in his clutches, there is no getting out.

S - Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

If he is being honest with himself, he is not quite sure. He mostly blames it on his old age and the fact that he's seen so many humans dissapear in a flash, just like that. And if that were to happen to his beloved... He'd mourn for an eternity.

T - Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

A more sadistic side of him would enjoy such a display - please dear, don't stop. He likes to hear all the little noises you make, they're all just so adorable. ~

But if his darling starts giving him the cold shoulder, Lilia won't be happy about it. He'll poke them and scare them, until he can finally get some sort of reaction, even if it wasn't the one he wanted.

U -Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Well for one thing, he is a lot more creative and fun than your average yandere. He gets away with his obvious stalking and his comments go unnoticed by pretty much everyone, even his darling. His magic is also something to behold and any person that at least has half a braincell would know not to mess with Lilia. He may be small, but he really can be dangerous.

V - Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Despite his cheery exterior, Lilia never actually shows any weakness. That is mostly because his darling themselves are his prime time weakness, along with Silver, Malleus and Sebek of course. The only real way to hurt Lilia would be to hurt those three but let's be real, darling can't even approach them. The last thing to do in that situation would be if darling starts hurting themselves but Lilia would take all the sharp objects away the moment darling just pricks a finger.

W - Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

On purpose? Never. Out of necessity? Definitely. You see, all Lilia wants is for his darling to be happy, and how can they be happy if he is being cruel? He's torn over this, but there are times when he just has to put his foot down and remind his darling of their place, no matter how much it may hurt them.,

X - Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

His darling is pretty much family to him so he'd go to great lenghts to ensure darling's safety. As for winning them over, he can get pretty cheeky but his flirting mostly subtle, blink and you'll miss it, but it still has that long lasting affect of keeping darling up at night. Just like how Lilia wants it.

Y - Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Once Lilia realizes that he fell for someone he is going straight for the kill. You only get to live once, what is the point of hidding his affections? He will be a massive tease though~!

Z - Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

He does have a sadistic side but Lilia truly does not want to do this. He fell for his darling for a reason, he doesn't want them to just be a shell of their former selves. His ideal situation is that his darling remains mostly docile with just a hint of the rebellious fire he fell for in the first place. He can break his darling but he doesn't want to. So for everyone's sake, keep it that way.

Tags: @yourlittlerunt , @phantomness @pumpkiethepie, @twst-rose-prisms, @tsuisute, @delusional-obsessions, @teralavey, @minoux-x, @tiaragqueen

#yandere #yancore #twisted wonderland #yanderecore #yandere aesthetic #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere alphabet #twst x reader #diasomnia #lilia vanrouge #yandere lilia vanrouge #yandere lilia vanrouge x reader

[killervibe]

The First Day

Post 7x12 The Flash reaction fic 

~.~

Cisco walked into his office at Argus, after his in-depth tour and three hour onboarding, still taking it in. He swivels around on his heel in his fresh, crisp button down and marvels at the high-tech. No more keeping his hands to himself and scolding himself not to touch. It’s all his now, it hardly seems real.

“Hey!” He beams at a tall man in a suit that walks past in a brisk pace. Cisco catalogues through the senior management staff in the incredibly long meeting. Tall man, moustache, it had to be the international engineering intelligence team lead, Zenith. The man acknowledges him with a quick nod and a mumbled “Boss.”

Cisco watches him lower his head down and continue walking.

Huh. Weird. Zenith wasn’t one for small talk. Cisco sat himself down in his chair and logged on with his new access credentials. That was fine. He pulled up his calendar and typed in at least twenty passwords to actually pass the security to read what the events in his calendar mean.

A woman walks into his office then with a full gourmet lunch he hadn’t even ordered. “Sweet!” Cisco grinned, lighting up at the array of food. “This looks amazing, that’s awesome.” He picks up a fork and jumps right in, starving. “What is this, chicken?”

Cisco looks up again but the woman is gone. He frowns and swallows down his mouthful. Okay, well. He hadn’t expected that.

When the day is almost over, Cisco has learned more than he ever needed to know about the current state of technological advancement in America and has made zero friends. He tries not to worry too much about it when he walks into his hotel room in Star City Suites. There wasn’t any time to look for a house yet, and he had always suspected Kamilla would want to be a part of the buying process, so he would be staying here for a little while.

He’s the boss now. He doesn’t need friends, and they don’t want to be his friend. Cisco just has to tell them what to do and that’s it. Everything requires a level of clearance so questions asked by those that don’t hold it must be met with a stoic face and indifference.

Cisco rubs at his head between his eyes and sighs, flopping onto the main bed. Something curdles in his stomach, and he knows deep down it isn’t the new fancy lunch food.

His phone beeps then, and he’s glad for the distraction. He smiles in spite of himself when he sees Caitlin’s name and picture flash on his screen.

Caitlin: Checking in to see how your first day went!!! Tell me everything (Well everything you can 😉)!!!!

He stares at the text until he nearly drops his phone on his face. His thumb twitches over the keyboard, desperate to assure her how much he loves this and this is great and everything is awesome because it totally is. It totally is. And yeah, Cisco had rushed to make this choice and take the job offer because he wanted to be a leader. He knew he had it in him and he had to prove it to himself to try. Cisco stares at the ginormous paragraph that poured out of him, without so much of a second thought.

What he wrote was ridiculous. He sounded like a complaining and annoying privileged brat. Hey Caitlin, I’m struggling but it’s my fault because I sprung this on you only yesterday so please tell me you’ve been crying because you missed me the way I haven’t smiled once for real when left alone by myself at my big fancy desk because I missed you…Anyway people are stiff here, like cardboard Team Flash Dr. Light cutouts stiff and I’ve met over twenty people so it’s not like I haven’t looked. Remember when we used to make fun of Argus? They were always cool and amazing but we’d snicker from the absurdity of it all when Lyla went home with King Shark put away and thought we were lucky we weren’t her. So why am I here?

Cisco needed to get a grip on himself. It wasn’t overdramatic that he missed his friends and family. It was normal he suddenly felt uncomfortable and awkward. This was new and it was unfamiliar, and would feel so for a long time. That’s life, and so is change.

Then why did this feel so much like how he felt the day after he took the cure?

#the flash #killervibe #tkv fic #cisco ramon #angst #ish? #im trying to heal ok #7x12 #s7

[fae-fucker]

Zenith: Chapter 76-79

Chapter 76

Andi has a nice little poetic nightmare. It’s irrelevant. The next morning has the girls preparing for the ball, complete with dresses and makeup.

Some things to note include Lira saying that in Adhiran religion (which is global, I guess), one has to mourn for three days before “letting” the souls of the dead pass on into ... everything.

Andi tries to say that it’ll take time to heal from it all, but Lira is having none of it.

“It will take time to move past what happened on Adhira,” Andi started, but Lira held up a hand.

“My three days of mourning have passed. Lon’s and my aunt’s, too. Now we, and the others who lost loved ones during the attack, must give the lost spirits to the stars, to the trees, to the wind.”

Which basically means that she’s done feeling bad about the unexpected and brutal attack on her home planet, so that’s convenient. Well, if one of our main characters doesn’t care about her people getting senselessly murdered, then why should we?

She also lets us know that her aunt has fixed up the Marauder and brought it here, because of course. Lira wants to arrange for Lon to be transferred to the Marauder, and though she has a logical reason for it (taking him home personally), it’s only a setup so we know why he’s on there at the end of the book when Andi’s bleeding out and needs a universal donor.

Spoilers, I guess.

Andi’s mother, Glorya, intercepts Andi as she tries to leave her crew to their makeover montages, just so we can move into a scene where her mom is brushing her hair and babbling on about gossip and vapid high society stuff.

But Andi, of course, gets lost in a flashback that’s so amateurishly written it’s honestly embarrassing and only highlights Shinsay’s helpless reliance on flashbacks as a storytelling device.

Observe:

Her words faded away as memories took their place. Andi lost herself to them.

The whole flashback is written in italics for some inexplicable reason, even though it would’ve been fine as just regular text since we’re clearly told what’s happening now and what’s a memory.

Also, there’s one bit where the memory “fast-forwards” to a different one. Shinsay, this isn’t a fucking movie. This isn’t a screenplay. What the fuck are you DOING.

The flashback and the mother’s inane babbling are all there to illustrate how vapid and brainless Glorya is and how she only ever cared about her status and not about her kid. Glorya pretends that everything is back to the way it was but Andi curses her out for abandoning her when she needed them most and how “the way it was” was actually always shit.

I mean it’s fine. It’s all right. I see what they’re going for, it’s melodramatic as all fuck but it works for what they’re trying to do? I can see this as being a realistic way for an emotionally neglectful family to look like. I wish it was more nuanced and wasn’t just shoe-horned in here (Glorya doesn’t show up before or after this bit, this is the only time she’s ever present or even mentioned in this book in any meaningful capacity) for the sake of making Andi’s friends look better and for her to not have anything that anchors her to Arcardius, but like, I won’t say this isn’t realistic.

And then Shinsay can’t stop themselves and it’s back to silly time:

“Really, Androma...” 

[...]

“That is not my name,” Andi whispered. She allowed the darkness to come up into her voice, the mask of shadow and steel to sweep across her face. “My name is the Bloody Baroness. And if you or Commander Racella ever so much as utter a single word toward me or my crew again, I will personally strip the skin from your body and wave it like a flag from my starship.”

Glorya let out a soft squeak. Andi snarled with all of her teeth.

Guys I can’t breathe this is too fucking funny. And not in a good “woo vindication!” sort of way, but in a “they really put this right after an emotional confrontation about parental emotional neglect/abuse huh?” way. They really thought this was ... badass? Revenge? Andi, sweetie, you’re, like, traumatized? Presumably? I can’t really tell. But maybe get some therapy?

Do Shinsay think this is somehow a win and that Andi’s threat means she’s fully released from the hurt and pain her parents have caused her through their neglect? It’s honestly written as if Andi just confronted her mother and her own hopes of coming back to her family in this one short scene, and then upon realizing her parents never loved her, she scares her mom a little and then is all smug and satisfied at the end.

That ain’t how it works, darlings.

Then the annoying Marketable Space Pet runs in and starts biting Glorya’s toes and she runs away shrieking like a defeated Disney villain.

Way to undercut your own drama, Shinsay.

The chapter ends with Andi thinking about how her crew is her True Family for the bajillionth time. Because we’re all idiots and Shinsay wants us to remember that.

Chapter 77

It’s the evening of the ball and Andi thinks about how she missed Bavista, which is apparently your generic coming-of-age ball held at Arcardius for every 16-year-old. I’m guessing it’s a yearly thing? The book never clarifies. Not sure why the fuck it’s here tbh.

Actually, it’s a pretty good demonstration of how the worldbuilding in this book is presented so here, have at thee:

She could still remember seeing the otherworldly dresses and suits float by her on the feeds as she watched the girls and boys glide into the A’Vianna House in the Glass Sector. They seemed light as air, full of pride, bursting at the seams with excitement. Once inside, they would be greeted by members of the Priest Guild, who would award each young person three items.

The first was a vial of water from the Northern Ocean, symbolizing strength. For growth, they accepted a single leaf from the oldest tree on Arcardius, known as The Mother, which was said to have been planted when the Ancients first arrived. Lastly, they were given a single floating pebble, no larger than a child’s fingernail, chiseled from the very gravarock where the Cortas estate was. It represented the wisdom of rising above.

Is this relevant to anything? Does this help you understand this world or its inhabitants? Does it tell you anything of the culture of Arcardius or its youth and what’s expected of them? No? It’s just a really generic list of things thrown together using Mystical Proper Nouns as glue? Weeell heeell.

Also what does “it represented the wisdom of rising above” mean? This is utterly generic and means fuck-all, that’s what.

Anyway, Andi’s admiring herself in the mirror. Her dress is very sexy, trust me, I can’t be bothered to include it so just imagine your favorite My Immortal outfit description. It does include sword holsters at the back, which are Andi’s favorite part, because she’s a strong independent woman who don’t need no man. She never actually uses them or brings the swords to the ball so ... Idk what the point of this was.

We also get some shit about how Andi actually LOVES dresses and being pretty but she never admitted it to anyone. But don’t you worry, this badass space criminal LOVES all things girly, because that’s feminism! Can someone check in on Shinsay? I’m not sure they’re getting enough air with their heads so far up Sarah J Maas’ asshole.

Admitting to herself that she looked pretty was something Andi kept private. She didn’t want to give her crew the satisfaction of knowing her true thoughts about fashion. How even though she was a fierce, hardened criminal, she could still appreciate the joy of a beautiful, impractical ball gown.

Huh. And here I thought they were your family. That’s weird that you’d keep this information from them, especially considering all of them seemed pretty excited to be prettied up in the last chapter. I guess they’d really just haaate the idea of sharing this joy with their captain, huh? Why aren’t you admitting this to them, Andi?

You’re saying shit about how “even though” you’re a hardened criminal, you can “still” appreciate beautiful gowns, like those two are somehow contradictory. Are you, mayhaps, ashamed of having this traditionally girly interest? Hmm! Interesting. Why could that be, I wonder? Why would having traditionally feminine interests or even caring about one’s appearance be seen as something inherently shameful or embarrassing, as inherently contradictory to being fierce and “hardened?”

This is all just so *clenches fist* feminist.

Forreal though, somehow Shinsay managed to take their entire made up GALAXY and make it subtly and not-so-subtly sexist. Good job, morons. Really girlbossed that one, huh?

The only bit I like about this whole mess is this:

The dressmaker had also accented her gown with a sparkling necklace full of jewels that Andi didn’t plan on giving back.

This is the one and only space pirate-y thing Andi does -- sorry, considers doing -- in the whole book and honestly could’ve been used to build her character more, but it’s just a one-off joke here. Wasted.

Valen comes to fetch her and we get some subtle foreshadowing.

“Valen the Resurrected.”

He stopped to look at her, brows raised. “What?”

She shrugged. “It’s what the press is calling you in all the feeds.” Valen let out a deep chuckle.

[...]

“Something tells me things are about to change for the better,” he said. “I’m ready to see it all happen.”

Andi wondered what he would do now that he was home with a whole planet at his disposal.

He deserved to have some fun.

Is it bad that I’m rooting for Valen to destroy everything? And this isn’t my villain-fucker coming out, I just want this poor bastard to absolutely annihilate Andi and her gang of acolytes.

Chapter 78

Andi and Valen arrive at the ball. It’s all very pretty and space-y and aesthetic. There’s a bunch of aliens everywhere. Andi sees a woman with funky eyes and assumes it’s a body mod, because I guess she knows the genetic characteristics of every species by heart and can tell when something is real or not.

An old classmate of theirs comes up to talk to Valen and congratulate him on being alive, then Andi reminds him of who she is just to be a smug asshole and the guy fucks off in a panic. She’s just so cool and badass, you guys.

Then it’s time for Valen and Andi to dance, and of course General Cortas looks like he’s about to lose his marbles because these darn kids! >:(

The chapter ends on Andi noticing Dex pouting in the distance.

“Relax,” Andi whispered. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”

She flashed him a wicked grin as the music began.

And as Valen spun her into the first move of the dance, Andi saw Dex standing on the fringes of the crowd, an expression of longing clear on his face.

Chapter 79

This chapter is exactly 298 words of Dex moping around about how he’s actually not over Andi at all when he thought he’d done such a good job of repressing his feelings, and how he should be the one dancing with Andi instead of Valen. If you’re surprised, you’re clinically dead.

#eff reads: zenith

[rinharu-purple]

Relationship Goals: Ch 15

Flows of tears being wiped away by the fingertips of love- dreamless night skies full of stars - a heavy heart washed clean by the rain - hot sweat and cold droplets of water-  a simple “good night” and a “good morning” - that all too well known scent - the excruciating pain of yet another “goodbye”- a blood drenched jacket that’s long lost its owner’s warmth...Name of Faith 

Being the solidifying chapter of my Gavin stanness, chapter 15 has a very special place in my heart. On the other hand, the whole chapter is the very embodiment of “relationship goals”, ensuring that in the MLQC universe MC and Gavin’s relationship is the most harmonious, mature and loving one. The chapter is about an hour-ish long so you could guess how long this analysis will take to read but it surely will be much less than it took me writing it, I promise ;)

At the end of chapter 14 MC had to say goodbye to Kiro without knowing if he would survive the fight against tens of BS men and carry the burden of being the key individual who can put an end to the out of control EVOL outrage. She was heartbroken about Lucien’s betrayal and was worried as hell about Victor’s whereabouts. She was still struggling under the overbearing weight of having to play the role of the “Queen” all the while being one of the last remaining people who still bear to think about the whole TV- tower incident. She’s found herself doubting the meaning of her existence and couldn’t help but feel as though she wouldn’t belong there. At the beginning of Ch 15  we find an MC that hit the rock bottom and is therefore deeply depressed. This is the first time she’s shown such a distressed psyché. So this is how the chapter starts...MC wakes up in her room after being hospitalized for a while, lost in thoughts and looking for reassurance in the gingko leaf bracelet on her wrist.

To have and to hold...

While she is buried in negative thoughts Gavin shows up at her place to give her the good news that there are no more signs of EVOL fluctuations and that STF’s investigation ends as of that day. This results in a real smile blossoming on MC’s face and then her concern switches to Gavin’s well-being. This first dialogue between them is already an embodiment of the foundation of their relationship. Gavin and MC’s main concern is always the well-being of the other. Sure, Gavin and MC always put others before themselves so they both have an altruistic character, however if protecting any other person would mean their s/o getting hurt, then they prioritize each other. We get to see what it means in the second half of the chapter. MC is worried about Gavin’s injuries, Gavin is worried about MC’s emotional state, MC is worried that she makes Gavin worry about her, Gavin is worried that MC worries about him worrying about her, thus keeping her real thoughts inside- not- opening up about them to him. That’s a vicious cycle which needs to be broken and that is exactly what our best boi does by reassuring her that she doesn’t need to put up a front and that she could tell him whatever is eating at her...anytime at all. That guy is already 3 steps ahead of her when it comes to worrying so he pulls her out of her self-agonizing overthinking bubble with those simple words which work like a charm. MC feels as though her heart was slowly lifted up by two hands out of a ravine. So she finally tears down the walls surrounding her agony and lets her tears flow and Gavin wipe them away and he brings the sunshine back into her heart.

Ever since her father’s passing MC didn’t much have anyone to open up to about her most bothering concerns or a shoulder to cry on. Gavin sees this crystal clear and encourages her to tell him about it all, cry it all out and also manages to lift her spirits up. He knows instinctively what she needs at that moment. She is broken, she is lost and she is stripped of her self-worth. Gavin can relate to this state all too well, because he too has been there when his mother died. He knows that she doesn’t need any encouraging talks or sweets or a scientific explanation to her feelings. At that moment, all she needs is warmth and a safe space to process what she is going through thoroughly. Which is why Gavin simply offers her to share what’s eating at her with him and cry all she wants. He doesn’t do anything beyond that. He NEVER EVER PUSHES HER TO DO ANYTHING! He just stays by her side in silence, giving her space...a warm space and the rest unravels from itself.  GOAL #1 Find someone who can feel your troubles, address them with care and share your burden with you. Someone who gives you a safe space to feel down without feeling ashamed of yourself. Someone who makes what’s yours theirs. 

For better, for worse... 

Gavin is aware of the fact that his words can give her comfort, but he also knows that she hasn’t told him the whole story yet. She needs to feel self-worthy again and go back to her true, kind and brave self. So he arranges a Ferris wheel ride in the middle of the night to show her the bright side that she fails to see at the moment. If MC had been asleep then he would’ve just tried another night but much to his luck she was standing on her balcony, lost in her thoughts, gazing at the bracelet he gave her and confiding in it. So he sweeps her off her feet once again and takes her to the construction site. He shows her from the cabin the world she succeeded in saving and that the world which is still turning thanks to her. She is the savior and not the burden and most certainly not a burden to Gavin. Neither with her negative feelings nor with her presence. She belongs there where she is and Gavin appreciates her existence. Because she didn’t only save the world but also him, many times, she caught him while he was falling. However, MC believes that its always been Gavin who was always there to catch her from falling. Their feelings and thoughts are again mirroring each other. Both of them are invested equally in their journey together, both have saved the other. Hearing this, MC finally opens up about her true feelings and lets the tears flow, and those tears are again wiped away by Gavin. When the wheel reaches its zenith, MC and Gavin are in a tight embrace and MC is finally almost back to her usual self: “With it, he took all my tears, all the unsaid words, all my worries and regrets. At that moment, it felt like the walls around my heart had fallen, letting in countless rays of sun. All the unease, suffering, doubt, pain and hesitation just evaporated”. Once they get off the wheel and they run/fly hand in hand under the summer rain, MC feels like Gavin has always been by her side all over the past years and her heart’s worry and gloom is washed away by the rain. This is a very crucial thing for their relationship, because they were separated for six whole years and yet now MC feels like he were always by her side, watching her from afar, accompanying her in her journey. 

On a side note, Ferris wheel and the gingko bracelet have become the main symbols of their relationship. The bracelet represents their bond with each other regardless of the distance separating them and I am certain that the bracelet doesn't have any tracker on it to be honest but it helps MC to cool down when feeling upset or sad by reminding her of Gavin, her precious moments with him, his love for her, and that he will always be there for her. The Ferris wheel on the other hand is their journey. Each time they ride the Ferris wheel together their spirits are lifted up alongside with the cabin. Once it reaches its zenith they consummate their love for each other once again, no matter if it's on a date with a kiss or in CH 15 when MC tells Gavin her true feelings and Gavin addresses them directly resulting of them reciprocating their importance for each other. GOAL #2: A relationship is much like a Ferris Wheel. It goes up, it goes down, then goes up again. It's not always a bed of roses, there are many thorns during the ride. The important thing is to go through both phases hand in hand. 

This whole episode names Gavin as the source of MC’s sense of safety, courage and faith. MC feels herself the safest and most serene around him. Their night together at MC’s home is a strong evidence to this. Up to CH 15 and in the following episodes, MC has constant nightmares almost every night.  But when she sees the faint ray of light from the crack of her bedroom door, she finally enjoys a night’s sleep without nightmares or worries. Knowing that Gavin is on the other side of her door gives her the deepest sense of peace. This happens again in CH 26 btw. and I think the original idea was for them to sleep in the same bed in CH 15 but then abandoned due to obvious reasons... As far as I know Gavin is the only LI who sleeps in MC’s apartment so it shows the level of trust she has towards him. No matter what’s happening during the dates, in the mean story MC is not canonically that close with any of the guys, so it truly shows how safe she feels around Gavin, knowing that he wouldn’t overstep his boundaries. And she couldn’t be more correct, since Gavin leaves before she wakes up, making sure that none of them feel awkward in the morning and leaving the place as he found it, but not before leaving a note which gives her a reassurance that he is going to send somebody to keep an eye on her and ends with a simple “good morning”. Gavin is a very considerate guy, who doesn’t miss any hint thrown at him. After hearing MC not being able to sleep without wishing him good night, he realizes how important this simple wish is for her. So he makes sure to wish her a good morning, whether he is there to say it face to face or not. GOAL #3: Be with someone, with whom you can fell safe and be yourself around them. Someone whose presence chases your fears and nightmares away . Someone who knows what your values are and respects them.

In sickness and in health...

Not long after having a heart to heart conversation, MC and Gavin find themselves in a dispute over Perry. MC wants to stay by Perry’s side with the hopes of being able to help him but also come closer to the truth about her father. Gavin is not happy with the idea since he’s lost his EVOL and is dubious about Leto’s intentions so if any danger were to strike, he might not be able to protect MC. Despite this he agrees with MC’s wish in terms of her not putting herself in danger and that he would stay by her side. The second time the topic comes up, Gavin outright forbids her to get involved with Perry and MC in return, for the first time ever, tells him that she is going to do otherwise. This dispute arises because Gavin doesn’t tell her full story, that he’s lost his EVOL and that the STF is executing the Evolvers. MC on the other hand fails to see the situation from Gavin’s perspective or to trust him when he is so strict about keeping out of the whole ordeal. But right before they temporarily part ways she finds the courage to ask him about his worries and troubles, since she too can feel his distress, much like Gavin did hers at the beginning of the episode and offers to share his burden with him and that’s the thing. MC isn’t upset that Gavin doesn’t want her to see Perry anymore but that Gavin isn’t open with her and that he is still keeping his problems to himself. MC was hoping that he would trust her to face the truth and take on everything with him. That’s what actually hurts her the most. And Gavin is lost in this unexpected argument since he’d never had a situation like this with MC so he is torn between telling her the truth or leaving it be. Unfortunately he decides to just leave their dispute at that and leaves, not willing to have a fight with her. So they give each other the good old silence therapy for days and only after Perry reminded MC of Gavin’s good-will that she finally sends him an SMS (but only at second try, she wouldn’t send the first SMS in which she tells him that she is worried about him). Gavin is not  better either, since he is already at the hospital to check on her from afar, but is not ready to face her yet. Its a typical “earlier in the relationship dispute” so much so that MC even literally sleeps with her phone while waiting for Gavin’s text/ call/ any response at all. Even I am shocked by his level of stubbornness at this point.  The next day MC receives the bad news about Perry and leaves the hospital, letting herself get soaked in the rain. This time around without Gavin by her side, with completely different feelings, thinking that the rain can’t wash everything away. This is a pivotal realization on MC’s end, because at that very moment she realizes that Gavin was the reason of her being able to overcome her worries and face her troubles with faith and courage. Luckily for her, right when she was thinking of him, she senses his scent behind her aaaand cue “Rosy Mirror”...

Its such a lovely moment for the maturity of their relationship, despite them still getting to know each other and being the youngsters they are. So MC apologizes to him (but only going through the reasons why in her head so Gavin only hears that she is sorry) and then Gavin finally opens up, since he has realized that was the mistake on his part, not telling her about his true worries. So without further ado he tells her about his insecurities about the possibility of not being able to protect her since their downfall from the TV tower, about him losing his Evol, about following her for a while from behind without knowing what to do. And that’s pretty much all it takes for them to overcome their dispute, since it was a relatively small dispute and so MC again fells warm and dry inside, not caring about the rain. GOAL #4 There are disputes in all relationships. What’s important during those disputes is not to hurt each other’s feelings irreparably and communicate in honesty. It’s about trusting in each other’s good intentions and resolving the problem in hand with care and understanding. 

Till death do us part...

Our pair makes up and are ready for the next move but there are no happy endings in the MLQC universe...nö nö nö. Of course drama ensues as MC and Gavin find out that Perry has been kidnapped while MC’s precognitions start getting worse. But remember folks, Gav-babe is back so he calms her that as long as her precognitions are about the future, they can still change the course of events and that He trusts in her, so she also should put her trust in him too.  “That was his absolute faith in me, and his absolute reassurance for me”. We could actually roll the credits here without going further with the heart wrenching end of this chapter. 

Not long after though MC and Gavin has to face the worst of the worst...They have to witness Perry getting shot in the chest and leave him in his state, only to be greeted by the STF aiming at them by the exit of the warehouse, leading Gavin to resign from the STF. While on the run from the STF/NW, Gavin realizes that his Evol becomes extremely weak, so much so that he cannot even raise a barrier to hold back the bullets, which then results in MC getting shot on the back while trying to protect him. Not only MC’s precognition is coming true, but also Gavin is at his limit, both physically and mentally. So he is left with no choice, but to sacrifice himself and once again get separated from MC. For Gavin is Ch 15 is the worst-case scenario. The justice he has always believed in turned out to be a façade, he had to witness another child’s suffering in front of him and his raison d’être comes to the brink of losing her life because he failed to protect her. Everything that keeps him alive, everything that makes him who he is , is shattered right in front of his eyes. MC doesn’t have it any better as she can only watch as her worst nightmare comes true. The last 15-20 minutes of this chapter covers MC’s perpetual fear of being left by Gavin. She says thrice that she doesn’t want him to leave and begs him to stay (unfortunately Gavin doesn’t hear any of it). The have just built their faith in each other and yet got separated again after a brief moment of togetherness. IT becomes one of the issues that MC struggles with for at least 10 chapters, namely her fear of being left alone by Gavin.  

Here is a small comparison: All other LIs relationship with MC are doomed because of their choices: Kiro’s alternate personalities as Key (no time) and Helios (no love), Lucien’s involvement as Ares in BS or his values contradicting that of MCs, Victor’s pride and dominance as the research topic for my Phd at Boston College. Those guys actions and personalities conflicting with that of MCs are whats standing on the way of a harmonious relationship. With Gavin, these two are doomed by the seemingly endless external threats. Both Gavin and MC are constantly the main target of somebody’s plans and are under attack. Those poor babies cannot have a second of peace. As if it wasn’t enough, those parties constantly use their bond for their own means. Its Shaw using MC as a bait to provoke Gavin, its Josie telling MC that she is going to kill Gavin, its Gavin’s father using MC to convince Gavin to accept the NW plan. MC and Gavin don’t have any obstacles with regards to their own personalities or choices. They trust each other, stand by each other, understand each other’s perspective and love each other. In this chapter Elex even shows us that they could even take care of a child together for God’s sake. They...just...fit...

Unfortunately once again things unwind to their demise and Gavin, once again, has to leave MC for her sake. Before leaving her, Gavin repairs the gingko leaf bracelet brand new, so that MC can find the reassurance she seeks for on it in his absence and remind her that he will return to her side. He also leaves his jacket behind so that she can still feel his warmth. That’s his promise to her. That’s his reassurance that this is not a goodbye and that he is not ever going to leave without saying goodbye.  GOAL 5# True love is selfless, true love never dies and if two souls belong together, then nothing can keep them apart. because true love prevails. 

The chapter ends as its started. MC wakes up in her room after being hospitalized for a while, lost in her thoughts and finding reassurance in the gingko leaf bracelet on her wrist. The only difference this time around is that she wouldn’t find Gavin in her living room or hear three knocks on the door and find him standing tall in front of her... for this time around Gavin is gone...

#roll in the tears #this chapter has ruined me for good #I'm telling you #mlqc #Meta #mr love queen's choice #mlqc gavin #mlqc haku #mlqc bai qi #mlqc baek gi #name of faith

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Out Tonight (Part 6)

K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Nipple Play

<- Part 5

Summary: Backstory, Spanish lessons, and finally some sober sex! 🥳 (This chapter is very NSFW/18+)

For @thatesqcrush​​’s Kink Bingo challenge! And with this, I finally finish a row! 

5,420 words

The twenty-minute coffee date Rafael Barba had been dreading somehow turned into hours without him realizing it. The summer morning passed quickly until the sun was at its zenith above the turtle pond, and all of the work-related responsibilities he would have been grinding himself to death on had slipped his mind as he wandered through the park with your hand in his.

It turned out that you did have a few things in common. You both grew up in the Bronx. Though when you told him where, he snorted and joked, “What is an upstanding young lady from Spuyten Duyvil doing with a boy from the projects?”

Your jaw dropped when he told you what neighborhood he grew up in. It was an area you were familiar with mainly as a place to avoid, especially, god forbid, at night. The clean-cut lawyer in a sharp suit did not look anything like what you’d expect from the poverty he came from. You just assumed his family was wealthy.

“That’s incredible,” you said, a new surge of admiration for him stoking the fire of your attraction. You scooted closer on the shaded bench beneath a tall oak you’d stopped to sit on, your bare leg pressing against his slacks. You still hadn’t kissed, everything just barely skirting the romantic. The touch of his hand shot electricity through your skin, just from his fingers brushing yours. Neither of you wanted to push things too far, too fast, considering the guilt still lingering between you. “You must be a genius.”

Instead of boasting with the sly, cocky grin you had learned was among his favorite facial expressions, he grew serious, all but a trace of a smile leaving his lips. “I just worked hard,” he said.

“Really hard,” you said, knowingly, squeezing his hand. “Even people who work hard, who are smart… it’s almost impossible to escape that kind of poverty. The fact that you did it is…”

His inquisitive eyes, matching the foliage behind him, were strained as if deciding whether to share something or not. But he did, quietly. “I still work hard. Every day. It feels like if I make one false step, everything could fall apart. But, I have enough to support my mother.”

“And an impressive collection of ties,” you chimed.

He smirked, lifting your hand to casually press a kiss to the back of your knuckles. “And suspenders.”

Your pulse raced. Looking up and down this flawlessly stylish man, it all made sense. “Dressed to kill,” you muttered. “You wear it like a disguise.”

He frowned, the warmth leaving his eyes. You had touched a nerve. “Would it be a disguise if you wore it, or just because I’ll always be poor deep down?”

“I didn’t mean—OK, I get how that sounded. I just mean… you are exceptionally attractive. Like, really attractive. I mean, why am I telling you? You know that. Look at you.” You continued the obsequious flattery until a sarcastic smile appeared in the corner of his lips. “You know, actually,” you admitted, “I only grew up in a good neighborhood because my dad re-married rich. The weeks I was with my mom… she worked three jobs just to support me and a crummy apartment. I could never actually count on what the step-family would pay for, so sometimes I rode on boats with rich people, and sometimes I lived off canned pasta. It was weird.”

He looked at you appraisingly as he assimilated this new tidbit of information. “It isn’t easy, straddling two worlds.”

“Except you worked your ass off to break into one, and I ran away into the woods and got really into trees. Trees don’t judge you for not fitting in.”

“I’m sorry for judging you,” he whispered, his voice turning surprisingly tender. He lifted a hand and gently brought it to your cheek. You closed your eyes as it made contact, his palm warm against your skin, the pad of his thumb soft as it began stroking your cheek. You leaned forward, and he closed the remaining distance, his lips capturing yours, slow and sweet. It was chaste at first, and careful, but neither of you wanted to break it, and as it continued, his arms wrapped around the small of your back and your shoulder, drawing you in deeper as his heady scent enveloped you, the taste of coffee on his tongue as his lips parted.

“Barba?”

Rafael practically jumped out of your arms as an inquisitive voice called his name, leaving you kissing the air. The voice belonged to a tall brunette woman pushing a toddler along in a stroller.

“Liv!” he practically shrieked in alarm, straightening himself.

You looked between them and the kid, and felt like such an idiot. “Oh my god, you are cheating!”

Liv gave you a look, and burst out laughing. “Sorry, sorry, nothing like that. I’m Sergeant Benson, SVU,” she extended you a firm handshake and explained, “I work with Barba on a lot of cases.” She turned back to Barba with an amused smirk. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your date, I just couldn’t believe my eyes. Counselor, I didn’t realize you had a personal life.”

“It’s a new thing I’m trying. How’s Noah?”

“He’s perfect,” she smiled, cooing at the curly-haired child. “He loves the turtles, so we’re going down to the pond. Beautiful day for a nature walk.”

“She knows every tree,” Barba volunteered, puffing his chest out with the same cockiness he used to talk about himself, tipping his head at you. “Go ahead, test her.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Liv said, bemused. She gave a polite nod and a reminder that she still owed Barba a coffee for some legal thing he had come through on (which only gave you a slight pang of jealousy), and then waved goodbye, walking down the path toward the water.

You sat in silence, recovering. Barba was obviously scandalized to have been caught in a compromising position by a colleague, the tips of his ears turning red. You were glad she wasn’t his wife, but didn’t love having to suddenly confront the fact that he had an entire social life you knew absolutely nothing about. It sort of ruined the intimacy of the moment, tearing the cardboard moon out of your sky too soon.

Barba broke the silence first with a low, drawn-out groan. He turned to you, his eyes soft but flashing with passion, taking your hands in his again. “If we start seeing each other… there is a good chance you will get to know Liv in some capacity.” He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, and on the exhale beseeched, “You cannot tell her how we met.”

The earnestness with which he implored you, holding both your hands, made you burst out laughing. He did a poor job hiding his smile as he watched you double over. When you finally contained yourself, you pecked an innocent kiss to his lips. “We can say we met at a bar. We don’t have to mention all the, uh...” Karaoke. Drunken shenanigans. Dubious consent. Whatever you call we-didn’t-have-penis-in-vagina-sex-but-you-fingered-me-until-we-orgasmed. He grimaced with you as you both recalled all of the things you would not be telling anyone about your meet-cute. Then you started remembering his fingers gliding in and out of you, his hungry lips marking up your skin, and a warm shiver ran down your back. He swallowed, seeing the lustful heaviness creep into your eyes and responding with his own.

He nearly kissed you again, wrapping you in a passionate embrace that would have hastened you to a bedroom, but you pulled back. He said “seeing each other.” You thought this was a fun fling with no strings attached, and the idea that he was already thinking about more made your heart sink with guilt. “I should tell you...”

You never got to finish your thought. Liv had only gotten fifty feet when her phone rang. She was yelling into it frantically, demanding answers. Barba’s phone buzzed with an incoming message. Liv stormed back up the path, waving to him. “There’s been a… development,” she said, censoring the case details in your presence. “They need me at the precinct. You’re probably going to want to come, too.”

“I believe I am already being summoned,” he replied, checking his phone.

“Good. I need to call the sitter. Please let everyone know I’m on my way.” She hurried off, and any hint of flirtation was gone from Barba’s eyes as he stood, fully back in cold lawyer mode as he made a phone call, then another to order a Lyft.

He was already walking with quick, purposeful steps toward the nearest exit of the park when he hung up his last call and turned back to you apologetically. You had been trailing behind him, unsure if he wanted you to follow, and didn’t miss that you were an afterthought. But his regret was sincere. And the truth was, you didn’t mind this serious version of Barba at all—the sober Barba who poured his soul into getting justice and would forget a date he had been enjoying the instant duty called—because you’d seen the drunk version who fell apart, sobbing in your arms when he let down the victims. He had a hard side and a soft side, and so far, there was nothing about him that you didn’t like.

Oh god, you had a crush on him.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. It’s an emergency,” he explained, brow furrowed heavily over yearning green eyes.

Oh god, this was only supposed to be a one-night stand. Maybe a few nights, but a stand nonetheless. How dare he look at you like that?

“It’s alright. It sounds important,” you half smiled.

“Can I call you later?” he asked. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and he had none of the confident swagger usually in his voice. It was a small, hopeful sort of question that told you there were real emotional stakes to your answer.

Oh god, did he have a crush on you, too? Did you have a crush on each other? This was terrible!

Drawn in as if by a magnetic pull, you closed the short distance, threaded your hands between his arms and body, and clasped them together behind his back. His lips quirked as his confidence returned. His hands cupped the sides of your face, then his mouth crashed against yours, fired with all of the passion of desire realized and reciprocated, relief, and longing. It was the type of kiss that would have been drawn out and sensual if it hadn’t been condensed by necessity into a hurried goodbye. You were out of breath and overheated when he broke it, seconds later.

“I’ll be waiting,” you breathed. He gave a hungry growl and a sharp, promising stare that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core before running to catch his ride.

***

Barba hated intelligent psychopaths. Even after they’d been put away, there was always some new appeal to fight, a new witness to come forward, some clever misdirection to cast their crimes into doubt. He’d been running around since noon working out deals with witnesses, obtaining warrants, and warning Liv’s detectives that they were being played. Now the sun was hanging low in the sky, and he realized he had never heard Carmen’s futile warning for him to go home already because his secretary didn’t work on weekends when he was pulling overtime. It was just him and his headache.

The time. What time was it?

He sat bolt upright in his leather office chair and groped for his phone. There was a notification from you from an hour ago that he vaguely recalled hearing buzz.

“How’s the emergency?”

He cursed and checked the time. It was getting late. Too late to make a reservation at any of the swankier restaurants he could take you. But he called you anyway, and was delighted when you answered.

“Hey. It’s Barba,” he said.

“I know,” said your amused voice on the other end of the line. “Your contact is in my phone, Sexy Karaoke Lawyer.”

He groaned in a way that was secretly a laugh. “Alright, Lorax. Are you free tonight? I’d like to take you to dinner. Actually, I thought I could make dinner. At my place?”

You gasped with mock scandalization. “Is this a booty call, Mr. Barba?”

He choked. “No. I just—” He stopped stammering when you started cackling like a grinning idiot, and his voice dropped low. “What if it is?”

The sudden shift in confidence caught you off guard, and he heard you swallow. “Then I’ll be there.”

***

It had been ages since he’d had time to make his abuelita’s costillas de puerco recipe. Or rather, it had been ages since he’d made time, considering he hardly had the time to do it now. He rushed through the corner deli at lightning pace to pick up what he needed, and rushed through prep, knowing you’d be over in less than an hour.

He had no idea why he felt such a drive to impress you. Why he needed to see you again so soon when you’d spent hours by his side that morning. The entire short time he had known you had been strange, anxiety-inducing, and guilt-ridden, but instead of hating you, he found himself wanting more.

The truth he didn’t want to admit was, every interaction with you, no matter how awkward, had been underscored by a potent sexual chemistry, and at the moment, he was nothing but a horny teenage boy who wanted to get laid.

That was all. This was some mid-forties hormonal resurgence. Madre de dios, it was a midlife crisis.

Or maybe this was what happened when he stopped getting in his own way. He’d spent years nursing a broken heart, years that turned into decades guarding himself against anyone getting too close. He never thought he’d feel this way again for somebody new. It was too late in life to meet someone who would know him as well as his childhood friends from el barrio, and they were all married by now. But he’d opened himself up just an inch, just for a night, by mistake, and let someone see past the hard, cynical facade, and now he wanted you to know him. He wanted to know you. He wanted to see how this ended. Maybe this was a revelation.

His heart jumped in his chest at the buzz of the door intercom.

***

“Hola, Rafael,” you greeted, and he grinned at the way you pronounced his name with the correct accent. “Oh my gosh, what smells amazing?”

He stood aside and nodded you in. The apartment was tiny, as most city apartments are, but tidy and well decorated. You were immediately drawn to the sturdy dining room table made of solid burl, and admired the natural chaotic pattern of the grain.

“It needs fifteen more minutes,” he said, observing with amusement how you completely ignored the good silver he’d broken out and started stroking the wood.

“What ever shall we do to pass the time?” you pouted innocently. Barba growled low in his throat, cupping a hand around your hip to draw you close, and you responded by pressing your hips flush against his, smiling lustily. Well, you had more or less agreed that dinner was a pretense for a booty call—no reason not to get right to it.

You hadn’t changed, but he was wearing a more casual wine-colored cashmere sweater, and you ran your hand up it, relishing the velvet softness under your palm as well as the shape of his chest. His lips met yours hot and searching, but didn’t stop there. They trailed over the side of your mouth, kissing down your jaw. He pressed wet, hungry kisses along your neck, and you moaned as his tongue lapped over the soft underside of your throat, his hands gliding over your hips. He pulled back by an inch. “Are you sure… you want this?” he murmured.

“God yes,” you moaned with your lips in his perfect salt-and-pepper hair, arousal raising your temperature as your body responded to his touch. “You haven’t been drinking this time?”

“Not a drop,” he replied huskily, somehow making it sound lewd as he resumed kissing the crook of your neck, and over your shoulder. You curled your fingers through his hair, and backed you up until your legs hit the edge of the table, and rested your weight against it, enjoying the feeling of being pinned as you angled your pelvis to grind against his growing erection.

“Oh, Rafa...” you moaned. “Can I call you Rafa?” you asked, not sure if the nickname was too personal. With the emotional baggage of your first night together, you hadn’t been sure if being on a first-name basis was respectful enough.

“You can call me anything you want,” he purred, his teeth gently pinching your shoulder.

You made a deep, chesty noise, sinfully considering that. “Don’t give me such broad permission, or you might regret it… papi.”

He groaned, and you felt his cock kicking against your cunt. Bunching up your skirt over your hips, you rocked your hips against him, panting just from feeling the strength of his arousal through his clothes. “Yes,” he hissed softly, holding you firmly against him as he worked his clothed erection against your panties, growing more excited with every mewl and shudder it drew from your lips. “That night was… moronic… but I remember the way I felt… how much I wanted you.” He turned his head and sucked a light bruise into your neck. “Do you still feel that way?”

You dipped your head to coax him back to your mouth, his pink lips wet with saliva as your tongue tasted them. “I wanted you to fuck me so bad,” you groaned, jerking your hips for emphasis on the word fuck. “But your fingers are very skilled… and your mouth...” You kissed him again, and felt his hand reach between your legs to slide your panties off.

His fingers paused halfway down the elastic. “Is this moving too fast?” he panted, suddenly trying to be reasonable. The kind of thing you would worry about if you were building a long-term relationship.

“Shh,” you hushed him gently. “I don’t want to think about too fast or too slow, or how different our lives are, or what’s going to happen after tonight. We’re just two strangers having fun. Can’t it just be that?”

He kissed you so softly, then. So tenderly that he could only have been subliminally trying to convince you of something more. His heart drummed with possessive affection; he already knew he wanted more than just tonight. At least the primitive, reckless part of him that didn’t overthink and over-plan every decision did. The rational part of him and the part that would say anything to please you came to an accord as he nodded, lips moving against your skin, “It can be.”

You grabbed his wrist and helped him slip your underwear the rest of the way off, stepping out of them and kicking them aside. His fingers didn’t immediately plunge themselves into your drenched folds, and his hips didn’t immediately return to grind against your wetness. His intelligent, cocky green eyes gave you a probing stare.

“Y qué quieres hacer esta noche?” he purred, low and seductive, giving you a choice.

“Oh, papi, me encanta cuándo hablas español. I want you to do anything you want to me. Anything,” you moaned, fairly certain that, with one or two exceptions, you really meant it. This man turned you on in ways you’d never experienced. There was nothing you wouldn’t try if he wanted it, and you knew he’d stop the second you asked, which made you feel bolder.

He chuckled. “Don’t give me such broad permission, dulce naturalista.”

The promise of mischief in his voice made you shiver, your cunt dripping. “Anything, papi. I just… want to know that you want me.”

He hummed. “This dress, this flimsy thing,” he hooked his index fingers through the narrow shoulder straps and tugged. “Did you know I’ve been staring at it all day, thinking about doing this?” He pulled the front down, just by a few inches, and freed your nipples. He dipped his head, and you gasped as he took one in his mouth.

“Oh god, it feels so good,” you whined as he began to suck, rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger. It was like he had a direct connection to your clit. He wasn’t even touching you there, but a hot pressure began to build between your legs as he devoured your sensitive nipples.

Then he suddenly released, your hard peak popping out of his mouth with a wet sound, and you whined for him not to stop. “Tu no dominas el español, verdad?” he asked.

“Qué?” you blurted, confused, but answering his question by not understanding it.

“I didn’t think so,” he said, a devilish look in his eyes. “You need practice, so I’ve decided I’ll only give you what you want if you say it in Spanish.”

“Pero… Qué pasa si… yo no sé… how to say it in Spanish?” You did want to learn more dirty talk, but this game didn’t seem fair. You wanted him to keep sucking your tits.

“You said I could do anything I wanted...” he reminded you, bringing his hand back to one of your breasts and kneading it tormentingly slowly. “Si no lo sabes, intenta. Practica, practica, practica.”

You wondered if this was some sort of dominance thing, or if he just liked watching you struggle with his native language. It was a bit exciting, though, you had to admit. Your pulse was racing with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment, because you genuinely had no idea how to say what you wanted. “Mis… pechos? Tu lengua. Por favor.” you pointed from his mouth to your breasts.

“Por favor, chupa mis pezones,” he corrected. “Repite.” You repeated it, and before you’d finished the last syllable, he replied, “Con gusto,” and began stimulating your nipples to the point of torture with his nimble lawyer’s tongue.

“Oh god,” you whimpered, your voice high and pleading, “It feels so good.” You bucked your hips into his and curled your fingers around the back of his head trying to force him to keep going, but he pulled back.

“En español,” he chided.

“En serio?!” you complained, but he simply watched you with his eyebrows quirked, waiting. “Me siento bien?” you tried. He smiled approvingly and lowered his sultry mouth to your skin again, flicking your hardened peak while pinching it between his lips. This time he pushed his hips back against yours so you could feel the heat of his erection on your pussy, and it sent new waves of electricity coursing through your body, which was already heaving just with the attention to your breasts. “Por favor, más... Oh god, yes,” you whimpered.

“Qué sabor muy rica, tu piel,” he murmured, muffled in your skin. “You taste delicious.” The vibrations from his speech tore a choked whimper from your lips, and you bucked your hips against his cock.

You bit down on your lower lip, fighting your rising climax even as you lifted one leg, wrapping it over his hip, to hasten it. “I’m gonna—oh god, you’re going to make me come just from this!”

“Voy a venir,” he coached you in a firm, teacher-like voice that nearly made you double over with arousal. “O puedes decir, ‘Me vas a poner a venir.’”

“M-me pon… ah!” he lightly nipped at your sensitive peak, turning the rest of what you were trying to say into helpless babble. “Please, please fuck me… oh god.” Before he could correct you, you remembered what he’d taught you in the bar right before begging you to leave with him so he could fuck your brains out. “Dámelo duro, papi.”

His whole body shuddered as he took in a shaking breath, but sober Barba never lost control until he decided to surrender it. As much as he wanted to fuck you, he was having too much fun teasing you. “You could also say, ‘Quiero que me coges,’” he explained academically, and you growled with frustration, writhing under him, your cunt seeking purchase against his cock. “If you’re going to speak a language, you’ve got to practice it,” he said, his voice far too calm and even for the circumstance, even with its wicked undertone.

“Dámelo! Por favor! Dáme tu pinga!” you begged frantically, rapid-firing off every way to ask for his cock that you could think of. You reached between your bodies and grasped his engorged sex through his tightened pants and stroked him hard from balls to tip. Your efforts were rewarded with an involuntary whine, Barba’s hips jerking forward.

“Me rindo,” he whimpered in surrender. His breath was ragged and he looked ready to fall apart. You purred with victory, but as you slowed the furious pace of your stroking, he recovered enough of his senses to smirk through his lust. “Pero primero, quiero saborearte.” His voice was thick, and his eyes dark as a tropical storm on a Caribbean island. He lifted the leg you’d wrapped around him up onto the table, and knelt beneath you. “Con tu permiso?”

You nodded, gasping sharply even before his tongue made contact with your soaked pussy just from the obscene expression on his face as he opened his mouth and extended the point of his tongue as he slowly leaned toward you. Your hands braced behind you on the table for support. Then you cried out loud when that tongue did hit you, slightly cold from the air, but quickly warming to match you as his mouth closed over your whole cunt. “Ah, que rica,” he sighed into your pussy, lapping at your slippery arousal with broad, languid strokes of his tongue, unhurried, as if he were aiming for no particular goal but to enjoy your flavor. “So wet for papi. Qué buena estudiante eres. Good students should be rewarded.”

He finally stood back up to his full height in front of you and removed his pants and underwear, letting them fall around his ankles, and his cock sprang free. You gaped down at it in awe. “Oh god, look at that cock,” you practically drooled. You automatically reached down and started stroking it, babbling on about what a thick, beautiful cock it was. He was too lost in the touch of your fingers wrapped around his shaft to even complain that it wasn’t Spanish.

“Ah, condoms!” he interjected before pushing himself inside you like every muscle in his body was screaming to do. “I’ve got some in the bedroom.”

You chewed your lip, not sure if this would come off the wrong way since he wanted to be responsible, but you slowly said, “We don’t need to use one if you don’t want. I’m on the pill, and I don’t have any STDs.”

His stormy eyes pierced into you, clearly tempted, but he couldn’t help remarking cynically, “If you give me a disease, I swear...”

“I’m afraid I don’t have my medical records on me, so I understand if you don’t want to take my word for it. I don’t know why I’m blindly trusting you.” That was a lie. Everything about Rafael Barba screamed precision, caution, and consent, and even after such a short time knowing him, you were absolutely certain he would never put you at risk. In fact, there was no way he’d ever have unprotected sex with a stranger.

Except his very next words were, “Fuck it,” and he hooked his arm under your elevated leg, and began rubbing his thick cock through your folds, coating it with your slick arousal. “You are absolutely sure you want this?” he looked at you with soft, understanding eyes, checking for any doubts.

You let out a needy whine, rolling your hips to rub your pussy against the tip of his fat cock. “Te quiero,” you whimpered, intending to say you wanted it, but his cheeks reddened and his heart flipped as you said something better translated as I love you.

You wouldn’t realize your mistake until much later, thinking back on it, or understand why his face was suddenly frozen between tenderness and panic, and then dawning realization, relief, and a small, barely noticeable wince of disappointment.

He entered you slowly, letting you feel every inch of stretch from his cock. Like the rest of his build, it was not the longest you had ever seen, but it was impressively girthy, and each blissful inch he worked you open brought the slightest fraying edge of pain. He knew his size could be a challenge, and was practiced at preparing, and patience. You were already so dripping wet, you didn’t need extra lube, though he had it on standby, and watched you carefully, pausing to let you rest every time he advanced. As he waited, feeling your walls relax to accept him, he ducked his head to your breasts, savoring the helpless squeals you made when he gave attention to what he learned was one of your most sensitive erogenous zones. Every time he flicked his tongue over your nipple or sucked its hardened peak into his mouth, your cunt twitched around him and your back arched to take more of him. It worked so well, he never stopped teasing your breasts, and your silent cries of, “Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god!” grew in intensity until you were screaming with pleasure, fist clenched in his hair as you held him to your chest, and his balls were pressed tight against your ass.

Panting hard and moaning into your breasts, he began to thrust, slowly at first, but you wrapped your legs around his back and used them as leverage to buck your hips into him, pushing back into each of his thrusts, deepening them and coaxing him to increase his pace. As you angled your hips, he began hitting a deep point inside that made your legs turn to jelly. “Dámelo bien duro,” you tried to say, but it mostly came out as unintelligible gasps and whimpers. His mouth never left your tits and you loved the angle it gave you, being able to watch his face, strained with concentration and clouded with lust, and his tongue working diligently to bring you to a climax that took you off guard with how suddenly it crashed over you. You couldn’t say there was no buildup to it, because you had been in throes since he first pulled down your dress, but he had barely begun to thrust when the heat coiling in your lower back suddenly tightened and snapped, shooting sparks behind your eyelids. “Ah—Rafa!” you wailed, squeezing your fingers in his hair.

He gasped, releasing the globe of your breast from his mouth at the wracking of your body in his arms. Your pussy convulsed, clenching tightly around his cock, coating it in your sweet release, almost too tight for him to thrust through. One more jerk of his hips through your rippling, fluttering muscles and he let out a string of swears, and you felt his abdominal muscles tense up against your belly. He pulled back and thrust into you once more, balls swinging against your ass, and his hot seed flooded you. He panted, trembling, still trying to hold onto you, though halfway sitting on a dining table without knocking off any of the plates was not the most ideal location for post-coital recovery cuddling. He grabbed a few paper napkins from behind you to catch the drippings as he pulled out.

It was over too fast, a testament to how long it had been for him. Both of you, really. But you weren’t disappointed. He made you come almost entirely with that silver tongue of his, and you were still shaking too much to take your weight off the table and put it on your legs.

The timer on the oven rang shrilly, announcing dinner was done.

“After dinner,” he promised, pulling his pants back on. “Quiero más de tu cuerpo.”

You were satisfied, but not yet sated, and looked forward to round two.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

@beccabarba​ / @caked-crusader / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @da-po / @madamsnape921 / @charlottegrice / @onerestein

#Rafael Barba x Reader #Rafael Barba #Raúl Esparza #rafael barba x female reader #my writing #thatesqcrush kink bingo #thatesqcrush

[abizarreyodelingincident]

Linked Universe: Our Nightly Confidant 1

Wind From Home

Twilight considers himself a simple man. A farmer at heart, even if he has the hands of a hero. He's grown in a small village, where everyone knows everything about everyone else. Community is a sense that's been cultivated in him as well as pumpkins on a sky island (whatever that saying means).

He loves his brothers and his sort of dad. This quest... he doesn't want to say it's a blessing. It isn't. The monsters threaten many. Their group hasn't always saved everyone. It's no blessing that hurts so many. But he can't help rejoice the opportunity to meet so many heroes. To find his place in the legacy of the Hero of Courage.

As a Hylian from a human village, he's never worried about his place, but he does find peace in belonging to a group with no such innate distance.

He's one of the oldests, weird as that is. Most of the group are like little siblings to him. Weird, insane and irreverent little shits that give him grey hair. No, he's not thinking exclusively about Wild (Wild's a special case). He's attuned to their moods.

Four asked if he had a special sense for this, the second time he'd done it. A 'special' sense, he had insisted in the middle of their training camp, meaning wolf senses. No. Twilight doesn't feel one side of him bleeds into the other. It's not like that.

It's not what makes his eyes trail after Wind today. His youngest brother (barely losing to Colin by a season) is currently laughing his ass off on a tree stump over Warriors tripping on Legend's items. It is denied, not very convincingly, that the items weren't left there on purpose. Little shits, he's telling you.

The truth is more down to earth, the way Twilight likes it. Dogs train themselves to recognize hylian expressions. They know what sadness and joy and anger look like all too well. They know when to cheer their big two-legged friends. And a wolf? Well, a wolf better learn fast the difference between a real smile and a fake if it doesn't want to end up stuck in a bear trap.

***

First watch is always a bit nerve wracking. Unlike second and third watch, Twilight can't just shift into wolf form to sniff out enemies and make sure the whole forest is secure. Links don't fall asleep easily. Legend wakes up at the slightest noise for the first two hours he looks asleep. Time might just stare at the sky the whole night, not getting a wink of sleep. Sometimes, Twilight himself just... can't stop thinking. Wondering where she is now. If she's alright. If Ordon's safe without him. Once in a while, he'll close his eyes and hear Lumi crying, and Uli's quiet steps to shush her.

The other half of the time, it's staying asleep that's the problem. The Goddesses know they all have plenty of material to fuel their nightmares (he's never forgetting Yeta's face, he's resigned to that).

When the moon's path has almost reached its zenith, Twilight hears the first few moans. His heart drops. He hoped. But he's not surprised. Sometimes, the heart can't take the weight of the mask people plaster on.

It starts small. It always does.

For a time, it's mostly sniffles and choked sobs. Then a small 'I'm sorry.' Twilight grimaces. None of them show their scar easily. The deep scars, at least. Wind wouldn't appreciate an audience. Unfortunately, Twilight can't exactly leave. The next best thing however is to try and cut it short.

So, decision made, he creeps around camp, places himself behind Wind and shakes his shoulder. (Carefully. The group collectively learned not to take sleeping Links lightly. At least, Sky had laughed out the black eye with grace.)

“Hey, Sailor,” he whispers, hoping none of the others react. “It's your turn.”

In truth, it's a touch early for that. But he knows he made the right call when Wind rubs his eyes and freezes at the wet feeling on his fingers. He'd been in the middle of turning around, but he immediately fakes a stumble and buries his face in his rolled up blankets instead. It's a good cover to wipe tears without being too obvious.

Twilight would be impressed if that didn't send pangs of worry through his chest. Oh, Wind...

“Mrm,” Wind mumbles. “One minute?”

“Sure, I gotta take a leak anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, piss off.” Wind waves him off from under the blanket.

Twilight smiles to himself. He should ask Wind to direct a play next time they visit his Hyrule. Queen Zelda was always in need of entertainment for the stuffy dignitaries. Jackasses couldn't crack a smile if they were whipped.

That faint irritation pushes him toward the end of the camp line, out of the clearing. Once he's out of sight and hearing range, he grabs onto his cursed necklace and sneaks through the underbrush. His senses make navigating through the twigs and branches child's play, and the lack of any pig-like stench reassures him that there's no malice-infected monster around. In less than a minute, he has circled around the camp and positioned himself the near opposite of where his hylian form left through. Generally, people don't make the association if he leaves a few minutes tick by. Out of sight, out of mind.

It's a bit embarrassing how well that trick works.

Wind's head is turned in the direction he disappeared earlier. Skittish, like a rabbit looking out of its hole. Wind must be waiting for him to return from his manly business, which is a bit of a lost bet at the moment. Seconds tick with only the faint brushing of leaves on his fur and the nightly wind for company. Then, all at once, Wind stands up and stomps his way to the stump Twilight had been using for his turn at the watch.

“Damn it!” Wind curses under his breath. The tears are held at bay, barely. “There's no way he didn't see... calm down, calm down dammit, he's gonna come back soon!”

A small boot kicks off some dirt. Twilight flinches in his hiding spot. That's more anger than expected. He's not sure what to do with that. None of them like vulnerability. None of them are used to being allowed vulnerability. He's worked on Wild and Time for a while now, and he's making progress, even if it's only them opening up to him.

It's that same instinct that pushes him to walk through the bush and reveal himself. He's as non-threatening as a large wolf can be, but Wind still whirls around with his sword drawn. Recognition is a second slower.

“Wolfie!” Wind whisper-yells. “Bad dog! I almost skewered you!”

Twilight raises one eyebrow, unimpressed. He is most certainly not a bad dog, and he is quite experienced at dodging last second hits by flailing, surprised preys. Not that he even thought of Wind as prey, never, but Wind didn't have to imply he'd be that stupid.

“Oi, what are you looking at?” Wind grumbles, dropping back on his tree stump. “Stupid dog...”

Twilight fights the urge to growl. He's here to help, not pick a fight. Unfortunately, his struggle had been obvious, because Wind deflates and sheaths his sword.

“Sorry. It's just... I'd been doing so well so far,” he whispers. “Even if they're big mother cuccos about me sometimes, they still listened to me.”

Twilight feels his tail curl between his legs. He knows he's overprotective. He knows it's annoying Wind, but he can't help it when every other time they fight, he sees Colin rushing into the path of King Bulblin.

“Hey, hey, don't be sad.” Wind cajoles, patting his knee like an invitation.

Twilight's too happy to question the change. He plops his chin on Wind knees and looks up. Small, calloused hands run into his fur.

“Do you have family, Wolfie?”

… What? For a second, he slips out of grasp just to better stare at Wind. Then, he sniffs his breath for a second, and whilst there's a fair amount of onions there (dental hygiene, Sailor!), no traces of booze anywhere. So, he softly woofs, tilting his head to the side.

“Do you have a she-wolf and a litter of little pups that trip all over themselves? I bet you're a good dad, aren't you?”

Twilight can't help the shocked whine that burst out of his throat, nor the flattened ears on top of his head. Him? A dad? He was far too young for that! Being a brother to Wild alone was trouble enough as it was, fatherhood remained firmly beyond his grasp. Besides... it wasn't like he had someone with whom...

“Aww,” Wind cooed, scratching behind his ears, “I didn't want to scare you, Wolfie. I just thought you take good care of us, s'all. I bet you'll be a good dad someday.”

Flattered as he is, he can't help puff and huff into Wind's shirt. He's a noble beast, talked down to like a lap dog. At least, he successfully distracted Wind from what nightmare he had.

Together, they listened to the crackling embers, moving only when the flames needed another log or when a critter stumbled too close to camp (a very curious rat that scampered when it met Twilight's eyes).

“How much did he drink?” Wind mutters, a bit later. “Did he pass out with his breeches down?”

A low growl rumbles into his chest. The disadvantage of others not knowing he's Wolfie is hearing that kind of crap about himself. He's a misunderstood man condemned by the judgemental Links of the world.

“What? Don't like him? Twilight's okay. Most of the time. Like, he saw me cry. I know he did. He knows I know, but he still pretended not to... you know?”

Twilight's best deadpan glare expresses that yes, he knows. More importantly, he puts a paw on Wind's chest, making a small inquisitive noise. Why? Did he need to share it with a very innocent wolf that doesn't judge anyone and anything except Warriors' morning hair?

The fragile grin on Wind's face falters. His eyes dart around. “I... it's not like... You won't laugh, right?”

Twilight nods emphatically.

“It's nothing too bad. I just miss my sister and my grandma.”

Oh, Wind...

“... Please don't tell the others,” Wind said in a tiny voice. “They already have a hard enough time taking me seriously. I don't want them to think I'm being a baby who cries about his family.”

The confusion can't overtake the lance of shame and heartbreak that spears through Twilight's body. Had... had they pushed Wind into this? Made him think that because they hide their tears, they'd laugh at his?! Goddesses... Uli would smack him with her wooden spoon for making a mess like this.

Again.

He might have been a bit overbearing once his quest had ended. Colin had been happy about the attention... the first three days or so. Afterward... well... Uli and Rusl had taken him aside, put their feet down and helped him let go of his dead grip on his little brother's safety. And half the monsters he'd faced had nothing on the challenge of letting Colin make his own mistake. He thought he'd gotten better about this.

But he might have forgotten Wind was not nearly as tolerant or hesitant as Colin.

“I'm a Hero too. I'm strong. Why would I cry over nothing? My grandma and my sister are fine. I bet we'll be portaled in my Hyrule soon and I'll have worried for nothing and Twilight and Warriors will be right to treat me like a fragile little boy again.”

He's not. They all know he's not. He's just... the youngest. The most cheerful, most innocent, most... most well-adjusted of them all, and they want so badly for Wind to keep that. He's a wonderful young man. They're all so proud, so impressed with him.

He's gonna have a few conversations with Warriors and Time tomorrow. Goddesses!

“Hey, Wolfie... I know you don't like being around too long, but... Do you mind staying a bit?”

Twilight chuffs, stubbornly burying his face even deeper in his little brother's shoulder. As if someone would be able to pry him off Wind before morning.

***

“Do you ever feel a strange sadness as dusk falls?”

Wind looks up sharply, startled but unwilling to admit it. He'd been polishing that long view of his by himself. “What?” he says, and there's an implied 'the fuck?!' in there. Pirates...

Twilight brushes the grass and then sits on the hill, staring past the coast at the red sun. “My father told me that, the day before I left on my quest. Neither of us knew then I'd have a quest soon, of course. But it stuck with me.”

For a long time, Wind's expression shifted between fascination, embarrassment and a bit of confusion. Twilight really needed to teach him how to maintain a poker face before he played cards with Warriors again. Still, there's no rush.

For all that it tears him in half, dusk also has a way to sooth his old aches. It's a peaceful time. A moment when the day dies, when the living settle and close their doors.

“It's the horizon, for me,” Wind admits. “When I... the first time, I'd never ever left my island, and all of a sudden, I had to leave because that huge ass bird had kidnapped my sister. So I had to leave my home for the first time, and I was on Tetra's boat, staring at Outset Island shrinking and shrinking till it was gone. Even when I pulled out my sister's long view, all I could find was the waves of the Great Sea.”

“Ah, a boar and a bulblin got my brother, my childhood friend and a bunch of kids. Knocked me right out with a hit to the head.”

Wind pulled his lips together and narrowed his eyes. “Well... I didn't get hit or anything, but Tetra threw me out of a cannon so I could infiltrate the fortress. Hit my face pretty hard too. That counts?”

“It wasn't a competition!” Twilight laughs, ruffling Wind's hair. It causes a flinch, and that's the light-hearted mood gone. Great. Twilight breathes through his nose. “You know, sometimes, I really want to smack my dad upside the head.”

Wind blinks. “... Okay?”

“Every goshdarn time I see the sun set, I remember him and my mom and my brother and sister, and... home. Every sunset reminds me of home. Makes me miss it so bad. Now I can't help feel that strange sadness every time.”

Silence.

A snort.

“Goddesses damned!” Wind wheezes out through his laugh. “He...”

“Yup,” Twilight says, leaning his chin on his fist. “He didn't think that one through. Bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, ain't it? So, I do want to make him think before he spouts philosophy at me.”

“Hey, hey, Twilight!” Wind says, impish, tugging on his sleeves. Then, the second he has Twilight's attention, he puts on the most serious face he ever wore. “Do you ever feel a strange sadness... as you put on your pants?”

“You little shit,” he says, brimming with affection.

Wind, not to be undone, jumps to his feet. “Do you ever feel a strange sadness... as you drink milk?”

“Oi,” Twilight stands after him, darting right after the brat.

“Not the strange sadness of being chased by a goatherd!”

Two minutes. Two minutes and six variations of the most profound saying his farmer dad told him. Butchered. Butchered like a lame goat in winter. Twilight is both furious and delighted and it might be why, when he does catch Wind, he unleashes the noogie from hell.

Wind's screams, so closely related to that of a dying piglet, are very satisfying. Worth the kicks to the ribs.

And when retribution is served, Twilight shifts the hold into a one-sided hug with the smooth grace of a man who regularly pretends not to be the wolf that is never seen with him. Wind freezes, realization sharp on his face when he notices the tears gathering in Twilight's eyes.

“But the first thing I'd do if I saw him tomorrow... is hug him. Tell him I'm glad he's okay and that I missed him. Then I'd smack him and run for the hills, because Rusl happens to be the only guy in my village that knows how to use a sword.”

After a whole body shudder, Wind gives up and buries himself in his big brother's shoulder.

#Linked Universe #Linkeduniverse #LU Twilight #LU Wind #Wolf Link

[infinites-chaser]

watch the universe expand | mlqc | lucien/mc | a character study disguised as fic

spoilers for ch.13 and random stuff from following chapters

warning for non-graphic discussion of violence and some themes that may be disturbing/triggering re:human experimentation

The call comes as it always does, not quite like  clockwork, in the small hours of the night, when he imagines the stars  have reached their zenith in the sky, done with their rise, ready for  their coming fall.

"Lucien?"

"What is it? Can't sleep?"

"Can you tell me a story?"

The call comes as it always does, not quite like clockwork, in the small hours of the night, when he imagines the stars have reached their zenith in the sky, done with their rise, ready for their coming fall.

"Lucien?"

He chuckles, colors only she can bring out of him warming his tone.

(He thinks her voice at this time of night is what violet would look like, at least as the poets describe it, a light in the dark, the first soft edge of dawn as night gives way to day.)

"What is it? Can't sleep?"

(He wonders sometimes what color his voice is to her. Black, perhaps. Possibly grey.

He can't imagine his voice having any real color, not even to her.

He'd be surprised at the truth. To her, he's more than color, he's light.)

"Lucien?" she repeats instead of a straight answer. "Can you tell me a story?"

It's a routine they've fallen into ever since the first unfinished  one, what he'd told her about the artist and the butterfly that felt too  true to be called a bedtime story but he'd been loath to admit to  himself that it was more.

Every sleepless night, she asks for another story and manages to fall asleep before the finish.

Every night they spend on opposite sides of a shared wall, he  questions a little more of his soul, the feelings that lie within, and  finds he doesn't have any answers.

Perhaps he doesn't want to find them.

Eventually her reactions— quiet oohs and ahhs and gasps and the occasional question— always fade into nothing but quiet,  even breathing, and it's like he's been let off the hook but he never  hangs up, or at least, not for a long moment more.

"Lucien," she'd mumbled once, when the first rays of light had just cleared the horizon. "Is the story over?"

Somewhere between exams and sips of white tea, lulled into a  temporary peace by the gentle rhythm to her breaths, he'd nearly  forgotten she'd been on the line.

Still, he'd managed to keep the surprise from his reply.

"You just missed the ending."

There'd been a long silence, nearly long enough that he'd thought she'd fallen asleep again, and he could hang up, off the hook, but—

"Was it a happy ending? It's okay if I missed it, just as long as it was happy."

"...It was."

She'd made a noise of satisfied incoherence in response, and he'd  taken the opportunity to wish her a good morning, prescribe her a few  hours more of sleep, apologize, then hang up.

(He still wonders about that fuzzy morning, that long night.

If she would've questioned him more if she weren't so tired. About the story’s ending. About the length of the call.

If he would've answered. If he would've lied.)

"A story?" He repeats now, settling in the corner of his living room he knows will be closest to her.

Scientifically, he knows it isn't possible, humans simply don't have the body temperature— but he fancies he can feel her warmth, even through the wall.

Perhaps it's a trait of the Queen's gene, previously unexplored. And, well, he wouldn't be opposed to testing that hypothesis, but we digress.

It's clear as day, or, at least, as clear as a monochrome day can ever be: there's something more.

Something that catches on a corner of his heart when she makes a quiet 'un' of assent and clears her throat, the sound, tinny as it is through the  phone speaker, vivid enough for him to picture. Her hand pressed to her  mouth. Her smile, after. The crescent moons of her eyes.

"Not any story, though. Tell me about Evol again?"

Then, at his silence: "Please?"

(Irrational thoughts rise, unbidden. He'd do anything for that word from her lips. Fight an army. Raze a city.

He'd live by it,

die by it,

and at the end of the day, he still wouldn't deserve it.)

"What do you want to know?" He asks, but to his ears, it sounds like I'd tell you anything.

She hums in thought, a butterfly floating light in the breeze.

"Why do people have the Evol they have? I don't want the science, not really."

Her voice trails off, comes back stronger,

"I want your honest opinion, Lucien. Tell me why?"

and it sounds less like a question, but not quite yet a command.

He chuckles, then obliges.

Time crawls by, soft and slow, a steady seamstress stitching together  unexpected, lingering thoughts. At his words, quiet intense musings  picking at open seams and pulling at loose threads, the universe between them unspools.

Why do people have particular Evols? To answer that question, we have to first understand why people have any form of differing traits.

Biology says, at first glance, chance. A freak gene mutation on a  chromosome of interest: deep within relevant coils of DNA, an A-T  pairing shifts to an A-G. Maybe it’s deleted altogether.

('That's not very romantic,' she comments with a barely stifled yawn.

He chuckles, soft, indulgent.

'You're right. I'm sorry. You did ask for a story, after all.'

He continues.)

But. That’s not all, not when evolution’s taken into account. The  idea of natural selection has been radically transformed by its  representation in popular media to be some strange justification for the  hierarchy of society (in a quite underhanded fashion, he thinks,  keeping the poor down and beaten as if it were their natural place,  allowing the rich to get only richer as if nature and not trust funds  had secured their positions on the top of the pyramid of life. Only life  isn’t a pyramid. Not a tree, either. Not quite. More like a story,  perhaps. But he digresses.) In reality, in biology and in nature, it's  much less simple.

The theory of natural selection, at its most bare bones, is, yes, survival of the fittest. Just that ‘fittest’ doesn’t mean strongest, most cruel or most cunning, doesn’t even mean  kindest or most caring. It means nothing, really, outside of context.

Very biologically speaking, ‘fittest’ implies the organism  reproduces with the most success when compared to others in its given  environment. Traits caused by random mutations that help an organism  survive in a particular environment long enough for it to have offspring  are passed on. And if the environment stays the same, the same traits  will be favored and passed on, over and over again across and through  generations, coming to define a species and the role that species plays in the world.

Clearly, it doesn’t mean much in that sense for humans anymore. What is our ‘fit’? Perhaps we've broken free of the chain of evolution, and now lounge atop the dogpile, above the fray. Triumphant. Stagnant.

Because even though maybe we've been running as fast as we can,  evolution's never more than one step behind. What's a generation of  progress in a millennium? No more than the barest breath caught in the  endless march of time.

No, evolution still very much has us in its clutches and these days,  he wonders what it would take for humanity to realize it, as complacent  as we are— there are certain traits favored, personality and looks, but  beyond that, beyond the biology, even, isn't there more? Something we  want most in the world we live in, our given environment. What a person needs  most, forever strives for, what'll allow them to flourish in their  environment enough to have a legacy and know some part of them continues  to live on.

To meet that need would be to finally surpass evolution, unlock a new  humanity, create a new world. The Red Queen, running rampant, running  free.

(But first, Evol. The key.)

There are three theories on the nature of Evol. This is the first.

The Theory of Superhumans had been put forward by a scientist over a  century ago, through a series of research studies, his articles full of academic terms like intensive accelerated artificial selection, induced heritable genetic variation, changes in gene expression in an adverse environment, followed by the thesis, spelt out in plain words: under the right conditions, a human can develop superhuman abilities.

It had been heralded as a theory for the ages, for the books, sure to  stay with and shape the course of humanity's advancement for centuries to come— only, we know the rest.

Each term, carefully clinical, couched the horror of the truth: the  scientist, name now scrubbed from history, willfully lost in time, had  thought to try to create superhumans— the Evolved, he'd dubbed them— by  gathering unsuspecting participants, then putting them through several  trials meant to push the limits of humankind, to unlock some secret  extra ability, to finish our ode to survival of the fittest, its beginnings scrawled in the letters of our genes.

'The right conditions' had meant mortal peril. The trials had been worse than torture. Almost all the participants had died.

The surviving four (out of over nine hundred, making the success rate  of the experiment less than half of a tenth of a percent) had been sworn to secrecy while the scientist (the madman) had been  sentenced to an execution, his underlings thrown in jail, his research condemned, labelled a crime against humanity and a failure, his papers all burned.

Only, if the research had been a failure, one might wonder, why the burning of the papers? A message? Don't try this again. It was a failure. Why, then the secrecy?

The rumors, the whispers, the festering that spreads under the bandage of a wound left otherwise untreated—the experiment hadn't been a failure, it was a success.

(And maybe a young woman who survived put her hand up to the sky and  let it fade. Maybe a young man who survived let his emotions spill out  and take physical form.  Maybe one of the survivors had placed a hand on  a lost love's chest and willed their heart alive again. But they all  kept their silence, true to their vows.)

His voice trails off. Some part of him wonders if he's bored her, the rest concerned with if he's said too much.

Words he's said to her come to mind now, flashing bright and blinding in the darkest hours of the night.

'Trust your instincts.’  

‘Don’t you ever think maybe I’m the danger?’  

‘Run away while you still can.’  

He can't think of a time where they all apply as fittingly as now.

Perhaps, from afar, they'd seemed like fireworks, dark, mysterious,  alluring in a world with no other light. But this close, they're a  warning, perhaps even a lure— he's tempting her to come closer despite  the danger, he the ravenous firefly cloaked in a bright, warm glow.

Surely she can see the truth of him, as close to him as she is.  Surely, and yet, she stays, takes another step closer.

"You said there were three theories," she says, still awake, still listening. Still seeking out more. "What's the next?"

"I've told you this one before," he replies, and he means to meet  her, to challenge her to press up against the other side of their wall.  "Do you remember?'

There are three theories on the nature of Evol. This is the next. (familiar ground)

(Once, humanity built a tower and would've reached the heavens—

Once, Icarus flew too close to the sun—  

It fell. He fell.

The world goes on.)

Twenty-five years ago, a British PhD student found a book. (Let's call it The Black Swan.)

He read it cover-to-cover, then read it twice. Three times. A fourth.  Again and again, until the book's story, half legend, half truth, took seed in his mind, where it grew anew.

Twenty-four years ago, he tracked down the experiment's remaining  survivor, the woman who could bend light and shadow and fade into the  palest streaks of day.

('Have you come to kill me?' She asked, wry smile  twisting over her age-lined face. She saw his lab coat, his notes, his  eager, hungry smile. She knew them all.

He opened his mouth. She stopped him.

'Apologies. I misspoke. You came here to learn.'

He nodded, too-quickly, still eager. Still young.

'For science,' he said, the same tired argument, old words, old justifications and cover-ups reflected in new eyes. She shook her head.

'Don't say that,' she said, weary amusement lighting her distant gaze. 'It's for humanity. For a new world.'

She held out her hand. He took it.

No one ever saw her again.)

Twenty-two years ago, a hypothesis, not quite yet a theory, was formed. In it, the newly minted scientist put forth a potential genetic  basis for superpowers in humans: one gene with the power to transcend human ability, once activated and expressed. The gene was Evol, the individuals possessing it Evolvers.

In his notes he attributed the name Evolver to the term Evolved used in a decades-old unpublished paper— a single pile of ashes left of rumors and whispers and burned research papers, given new life, reformed.

(The reality is this: the woman and her body on the verge of vanishing on her deathbed, her wrinkled hands thin, wan, shades of grey, beckoning the watching scientist over.

'Let me tell you a story,' she'd said, her voice carrying and strong. 'Once Icarus flew too close to the sun. He fell. But what don't we remember? Daedalus— he flew.'

'Is this another one of your lessons?' The scientist had asked and he was still every inch as greedy, but he'd lost his eager tone. 'I assume I'm Icarus, aren't I, experimenting on and dissecting Evolvers, flying too close to God, growing too arrogant for the unforgiving sun?'

'No.' she'd said. 'Listen.'

But he didn't.

He heard only half a story. But now, the rest of the tale. The truth.

'Let me tell you about Daedalus. Let me tell you about a man like  you who thought he was special. Who thought he had what it took to  change the world.'

Icarus fell, but Daedalus flew. Human progress, but at the cost of what? At the cost of who?

Hundreds of thousands of participants of failed experiments and twisted studies greet her when she goes beyond death's door.

'It's never been for science,' she'd have said if he'd cared to listen, words burning one last time, vibrant and alive, on her tongue. 'This is for our humanity. Our dignity. Not in spite of humanity's love but because of it.'

And love is evol backwards, isn't it? Two sides of the same coin.)

Twenty years ago, the scientist published his research. The study  had been innovative, the findings thorough: each Evolver had in them a  sequence of DNA, a bare few codons that transcended evolution, pairs of A-Ts and C-Gs he dubbed the Evol gene. Its expression varied from person to person, just as one might have brown eyes, and another blue, though  he'd noted there were cases of similarity in awakened Evol in family  lines, within communities, between lovers and sometimes close friends.

These findings suggest a correlation between Evol expression and environment, he wrote. Shared experiences shape an Evol's final awakened form as much as genetics, if not more.

The only question is, what makes an Evolver, if not just genetics? Who gets the gene? Who awakens it?

Then, messier, more frenzied writing. More bold. What if we could create Evolvers?

The reading between the lines: what if we took apart Evolvers so that we could build one of our own?

Six months later, and he'd been stripped of all his accolades and funding, the remaining Evolvers he'd taken in released when they were found.

Crimes against humanity, they'd called it. He'd laughed, said it was for science. For humanity. For humanity's progress. (despite  our humanity. for anything but our love.)

"Lucien," she says, soft but insistent— she's been trying to get his attention for a while now, bringing him back out of his reverie. "You've been silent for a long time now. Are you still there?"

He blinks. Attempts a closed-eye smile, then remembers she can't see him, and covers it with another gentle laugh.

"Just thinking," he replies. "It was a good story. You told it well— better than I would've. I'm impressed."

"I just added on the ending with whatever felt right in the moment!" She protests, making the smallest noise of embarrassment. Then, even softer:

"I liked it when you first told it to me. Just, it didn't sound complete. It didn't have a lesson, really, or any sort of answer."

(Implicit in her words: Your stories never do.)

Silence. Again, she speaks, reaching across their shared void.

"I just wanted to understand it better— the story, I mean." She  pauses, and he can feel his heart pound, just a beat faster than normal.  At her next words, he can practically feel her blush.

"I want to understand you better."

He laughs again, quiet and gentle. With his heart loud in his ears, it's all he can manage to do.

"I don't know if you should."

Another warning. Another barrier, another wall thrown up. Still, she presses on.

"Tell me the last theory," she says instead of answering. "Tell me the theory that's yours."

(He does.)

There are three theories on Evol. Two official, as official as they could be, and the last is his— a pet theory, really, the kind full of conjecture and personal accounts that’d never make it off the drawing  board, much less to the first peer review.

Awakening his Evol had been easy. What came after was what had been  hard. They hadn’t told him what they’d done to him, what monstrous power they’d given, what he’d gotten— but maybe it hadn’t ever been theirs to  give, it’d only ever been his to have.

A thought experiment:

You think your ability is super speed. You take the hand of someone—  say, an old lady, crossing the street— and suddenly that ability is gone. You're shocked. Terrified, even. Maybe all your life you'd thought you were special, and didn't think specialness vanished, it was your trait, your birthright, not a thing as fleeting as an amusement park ride. Later, you pat a friend on the back, and their thoughts come to  your mind, loud and clear. You're shocked again. Almost terrified again. But then you realize: your ability was never one thing. It was  everything. (It was nothing.)

But what does specialness reliant on the existence of other special  people mean in terms of you and your existence? Logically, nothing. Your  genes are random. There's nothing like fate written into them, you have  this ability by sheer chance. Still. You are everything and nothing.  (You’re different from all the others. There’s no one else like you.)

You're a reflection of others, but in the end, what are you? What's a  genius, what’s being special or different or extraordinary, if at the  end of the day, it’s all just a single breath (a pained eternity) away from normal?

Copycat, echo, mirror. Imposter.

(You paradox, you.)

He tries to embrace the power of his Evol. Push it, examine it, test its limits, its potential.

He learns he can copy multiple Evols at the same time. He collapses  the first time he tries invisibility and telepathy together, experimenting with invisibility's time limit, telepathy's reach, ending  up in a sweaty, trembling heap on his apartment floor. For a blinding moment, a moment of stupidity (helpless humanity), he wants to share his  results— but it's just him in his apartment, him and the sound of his  racing pulse.

He strains. He trains. He learns to manage three.

When he feels the pressure in his head build to a point beyond mere discomfort, he releases the one— a forcefield he's grown fond of, the silent glow surrounding him fading to pale unadorned apartment wall. This time, his breaths are even, measured, controlled. He does not turn to share his accomplishment with anyone who might be there. He knows nobody's beside him. He knows he's all alone.

Instead, he stares down at his open palms, then closes them, the  second Evol, x-ray vision, vanishing. Then follows the last, a simple heightened perception, and the rest of his senses bleed back into grey.

(There's one power he tries to copy, one simple talent even his genius can never master. A want more desperate than any other—

He searches. He use any excuse to be around strangers, meet new people, see new faces, shake others' hands.

(Somewhere in the sea of introductions and small talk and conversation, a new personality— the beginnings of what would become ‘Professor Lucien’, polished, calm, smooth— emerges.)

He never finds it. Instead, he finds he can copy countless others, craft dreams, weave miracles, do anything and everything— all except for this one mundane ability, taken forcibly from him.

Seeing color.  

He doesn't know if he just hasn't yet found the Evol or if he has,  unknowingly, and passed it without a second thought, the Evol itself  incapable of being replicated, echoed, or worn like a glove.

He isn't sure which one's worse. He isn't sure which one's true.)

They come back to him in this purgatory— his demons, his saviors, those monsters. Black Swan.

They tell him he's special (he's learned long ago the word means  worse than nothing) that they're like him, together they'll make a  better world.

He accepts their lie. (It feels better, after all, to be somebody's weapon than nobody's anything at all.)

He plays being a killer. Dons the name Ares. Throws coldness up  between him and all the others like one of his forcefields, like a wall.

They speak of the potential of human evolution. They speak of a new  race of superhuman Evolvers taking charge of and ruling the world. All  in impassioned, hateful, dangerous words— they color his world black and  he embraces it.

Anything is better than grey, he thinks early on, perhaps foolishly, over yet another still-warm mangled body.

'Normie,' one of the other men on the mission spits, aiming a  kick at the body, low and vicious, his voice like a bloody oath. He  turns to Ares with a grin. 'We did good. Wanna grab a drink?'

Ares doesn't smile. He thinks, 'What's one more corpse?'

He returns to headquarters alone.

(They don't send him out on team missions, after.)

And now—

her.

His color. His reckoning. His proof.

(In her eyes— her strong righteous savior's gaze— he imagines the  artist's jar shattering, the butterfly soaring high, soaring free.)

"Lucien," she says, calling out to him, voice hovering, trembling on  the edge of a sob. His heart clenches, and he clutches it, wondering how  he should respond.

"Lucien."

He takes a breath, then another.

"I'm sorry— what is it? I'm still here."

Lines like "Are you okay?" or "Talk to me, please." go unspoken. Instead, she says, soft and gentle:

"Have you seen the stars tonight? They're beautiful."

"I haven't."

"Then...come to the balcony with me?"

An almost-eternity passes. But then, he agrees.

(first, a brief tangent.)

There are four men. He's one of them. But what about the other three?

The boy trapped in his past by the memory of the one he couldn't protect, his Evol and him both frozen in time.

The boy who wanted freedom from the rumors, the fighting, most of  all, from his dad, who grew wings to escape them and become one with the  breeze.

The boy who'd never been loved unconditionally and now surrounded himself with it, a part of him rearing its head to demand it.

(all other stories. for other times, other worlds.)

"You know, sometimes I think the stars must be lonely," she says, and though he doesn't dare look at her, he hears her both in real life and through the phone speaker cradled close to his ear. He feels rather than sees her move closer to his side of the balcony, closing the distance,  coming to the edge.

"They're thousands of light years away from each other," she continues. "Maybe they wonder if they're all alone, sometimes, if  they're the only light for miles in an empty, endless dark sea."

"It makes me sad, to think about it. We spend our lives looking up at the stars and casting lines, drawing constellations between them, but in reality, they're just as lonely as we are. Maybe even more."

"I'm rambling, aren't I? Sorry— it's been a long day, and it's just  this time of night, it always makes me melancholy for some reason. I can't remember why."

She laughs a little, self-deprecating. In the night's stillness, he hears the shuddering in her next breath. It takes hold deep within him, her fisherman's hook, line, and sinker, gone straight to his heart.

"Don't say that," he says, the words freed from that same place deep within him, and what he means is 'You're not alone.'

"MC."

He's at his edge of the balcony before he knows it— for the first time, it's him reaching back across the ocean between them, it's his question, his unspoken plea.  

His eyes seek hers in the darkness.

She finds him.

(His color.

Her light.)

There's a knock from the doorway, echoed over the phone. He laughs softly into the speaker, then moves in from the balcony and crosses his room to open the door. It's her.

“Lucien,” she says, and his name on her lips holds all the secrets of the universe, stars and galaxies swirling in the space between each of her breaths.

She holds her hands out to him, she, his lifeline, his compass, the one bright color of his life.

He hesitates for a moment, then takes then, gets pulled by them into her, into the warmest embrace.

(he can hear her heartbeats, echoes of songs of legend of stories, intertwined with his)

"Lucien," she murmurs into his chest. "Tell me a story? Tell me yours."

This time, he hears her as he's meant to, the words were never a  command, they were a question. A plea. Another step in his direction,  just like the knock on his door.

(he lets her in.

she stays awake for the rest of the story, stays on the line for the rest of the call.

together, they create their own ending.)

#mlqc #mlqc lucien #val writes #mr love queen's choice #mlqc xu mo #im v proud of this one akljfdskl *hides* #listEN listen listen lucien is an enneagram five that's it (am i projecting? possibly) #but i know ppl hc him as infj/intj and that's me so. im allowed. maybe #to project #also so much of this is just random non-canonical bs lkesjfdkl

[multiverse-swampy]

Questions and form made by @goddess-of-war-nyka

1. Introduce your summoner. –

Name: Swampy Age: 30 Height: 5′8″ Weight: 200~lbs Sexuality: Asexual Eye Color: Grey Blue Hair Color: Brown Nationality: Fantasian Hobbies: Drawing, Gaming, Singing, Sleeping

2. How did they come to Askr?

“I was actually relaxing in the Smash Mansion. A portal opened underneath me and I was dropped in... and then landed in the grass of an unknown world... which happened to be Askr and the Zenith world.”

3. What are their favorite hobbies? –

“Drawing, sleeping, sometimes singing.”

4. Does your summoner have any bad habits that the heroes try to help them through? –

”Well, I do have a pessimistic outlook and I’m generally a shy person... and I’m hard to come out of my shell. I had a firm belief that all people were bad, and only seek to use and abuse others for selfish gain. And I don’t think I speak very well. Oh, and randomly cracking joints. That’s a bad habit. And being autistic.”

5. How close is your summoner to their heroes? –

“I’d say I’m friends with most at this point.”

6. Does your summoner struggle with being a tactician? –

”Yeah. This whole game of war chess was something new to me and had to learn...”

7. How did your summoner react during their first time summoning? –

”Huh. Is that how this thing works? Weird.”

8. How does your summoner react to summoning now? –

“That time again? Alright.”

9. How well do they adjust to life in Askr? –

“The lack of technology scared me at first, so it was very slow to adjust and get to know people.

10. How long have they been a summoner? –

“Over two years now.”

11. Who’s your summoner’s main team? –

"Babby Caeda, Brave Eliwood, Legendary Edelgard, and Summer Rhys.”

12. Who’s your summoner’s S support? –

"Brave Claude. My boo~.”

13. How was your Summoner and ally support building to S support?–

“Slow burn for sure. I do believe we both have walls to break down. Generally quality time and doing general activities together helps with trust.”

14. How many allies have S support with your summoner? –

”Uhh... I think... five? Dream Male Corrin, Legendary Ike, Eirika (my BFF), Male Byleth, and currently now, Brave Claude.”

15. What are your top 4 ally x ally supports? –

“Let me think... Eirika X Seth Joshua X Natasha Quan X Ethlyn Brave Dimitri X Brave Claude ... Yeah, I think those ones fit.”

16. What does your summoner miss from home? –

“Technology, mostly. Stuff that made life so much easier generally.”

17. If they could bring one thing from home with them what would it be? –

“Like, a personal item? I think my satchel. I know Askr could provide me with another one, but I’m a bit hesitant to ask.”

18. Is your summoner’s robe unique? –

“Well, yes, given my wings, tail, horns... ears. I have an outfit for hot, mild and cold weather as well. I think the one thing that stands out, it has an Askr style heart on each shoulder and a big one on the back.”

19. Who are your fellow summoner friends? –

“Kiran, Mizuki, Olivander, Mercury, Razor, Aqua... Uh, I think I’m missing some more.”

20. What does your summoner wear if during their down time? –

“Things that are comfortable and fireproof. Shirt and pants/shorts are typically fine for me. Nothing too overly complicated.”

21. How do they handle merging heroes or sending them home? –

“I send most three star heroes home, while merging Heroes doesn’t bother me.”

22. What abilities/weapons do they have? –

“Outside of my Axe and Dire Breidablik, I can use my own claws and flame breath. I can also fly and use my wide array of trinkets from other worlds to help me out here.”

23. Would your summoner like to know magic? –

"Nah. No real need for it.”

24. Are they able to hold their own in a fight? –

"I could in theory, though Alfonse doesn’t want me to fight since he’s a worrywart and doesn’t want me dying on him... Which... is a fair concern.”

25. How many heroes have you acquired? –

"Over 400. Don’t make me count...”

26. What book has been the hardest? Emotional or battle-wise. –

“That one chapter when Freyja was giving me an onslaught... I remember barely clearing that cursed chapter...”

27. If your summoner went into battle what would be there class? –

“Axe Infantry or Flyer. Maybe a Green Dragon.”

28. Are there any heroes they clash with? –

”Huhm... I suppose that would go to Valter. He’s such a possessive madman, but I’ve grown used to his behavior over the years. Him calling me his “little bunny”... He gets worse when he becomes a naga... such a clingy snake.”

29. Which hero have you pumped more into? –

“... Unfortunately, that would also have to be Valter.”

30. Which hero do you get a lot of while summoning? –

“I uh... never really paid attention to that to be honest.”

31. Which heroes have they adopted? –

"Actually none, it’s more the other way around! By Fel and Lif, and by Byleth and Edelgard.”

32. Do they participate in voting gauntlets? –

“Yeah. Mostly for the awards and bonding time with my boo.”

33. How do they handle their orbs? –

“I do try to save them for legend dairy and mythic banners, unless there’s a special event with a higher summon rate.”

34. What hero do you wanna see in Fire Emblem Heroes? –

“Whoever is currently missing from Sacred Stones. I would like to see Glen, despite the clashing that might occur...”

35. Will your summoner stay in Askr? Nifl? Muspell? Hel? Embla? –

"Probably will stay in Askr, if they’ll allow me. I do enjoy the cold of Nifl though, though the goddess is... kinda... distant.”

36. What is your Summoner life like years later if they stayed? Askr. Nifl. Muspell. Hel. Embla. –

“I think I’d be mostly the same, while maintaining peace.”

37. Summoner’s family reacting to your summoner’s significant other?–

”Eh, I’m not sure. They’ll worry for my safety for sure, since I’m... not normal. When they know they mean well, I’m sure they’ll relax, but check up on me time to time.”

38. In a twist of fate, if your summoner could change one thing what would it be? –

“Probably sparing Freyr of his death or curing Bruno and Veronica of their blood thirst.“

#💖In Character #💖Multiverse Jumper; Swampy #💖Fire Emblem Hero Verse; Summoner #💖Get to Know Me; Muse Questionnaire #long post

[everythingpuddle]

Techna/Riven headcanons? Also Aisha/Riven, imo she was a real bitch to him in S2 yet everyone acted like he had to take it or he's a jerk. Like who the fuck needs a ride from someone and then demands THEY ride the vehicle? Not ask, demand. What an entitled bitch. I blame the writers for thinking the only way to write a strong girl is to make her a girl boss rude type.

I’ve done a few Aisha/Riven before with them teaching each other sports.

I actually don’t think she was rude to him about the bike in S2. She says something like ‘who says you get to drive?’ and then Riven just kind of lets her. She is a princess so I figure he just thought it would be more trouble to protest.

As for Tecna and Riven, I do headcanon them having a good friendship. Just not one that looks obviously like one.

They’re both from Zenith where the culture is more reserved. The two of them like hanging out because neither of them are touchy-feely and know when to give each other space.

When Tecna and Timmy had their S2 falling out, Riven did try and help them patch it up but with only limited success. He was sympathetic to both of them but lacked the ability to explain one’s point of view to the other.

Tecna never makes Riven talk about things he doesn’t want to and Riven never pushes Tecna into social situations she’s uncomfortable with.

When they went home for winter break Riven couldn’t get hold of his dad to pick him up so Tecna invited him to stay at her house. And in doing so accidentally kidnapped him because his father reported him missing.

Tecna guessed pretty early on when Riven first had a crush on Musa, although he didn’t confirm it for a long time. And when he did she had to promise not to tell anyone.

#asks #renfricrey #winx #winx club #winx riven #winx aisha #winx tecna #headcanons