#i wish i had money or could draw but below the cut is long!

[reimenaashelyee]

Clean version here

Not a bingo but a jenga. My responses below the cut

Somehow I have half of this image filled out. I wish I could cash it in for points to redeem.

Jenga:

First comic is a magnum opus: There had been a string of graphic novel adaptations of books I wanted do when I as a young teenager, but The World in Deeper Inspection was my first, substantial, original behemoth of an idea. It was the only one with the power and the potential to stay and push me to become a comics creator. Everything I am and have as an artist and writer is because of TWIDI.

Fan art more popular than OCs: This was going to be inevitable because I hardly ever post about them online. But I suppose if you count my one-off character design illustrations that go viral or my published graphic novels, this box wouldn’t be true… (The God of Arepo is my most popular fan work)

I binged your life’s work in 2 hours: I am glad you like my work enough to be this engrossed in it – but honestly please please reread it again and SLOWLY so you can appreciate the visual storytelling – not just the words and the main action!! You’ll have a fuller experience if you take the time to luxuriate!!

This isn’t even my day job: It both is and isn’t. I do enough from comics that I can survive out of it near full time (thanks to my usual speed; very grateful), but I get financial stability from the monthly paycheck from the actual day job. Relying on my speed to produce near-constant output for money is something I am losing interest in as my ideas become more ambitious and niche.

Subscribe to my Patreon: Somehow I am able to hawk my free-to-read platforms with a certain amount of success but never can get a big dent on my Ko-fi.

Received unsolicited critique on a free comic: Unavoidable reality. Though I hadn’t had something egregious in a long time (and it better stay that way).

Had to explain what a webcomic even is to someone IRL: Nearly all the people I surround myself with are ‘normies’ (people who aren’t so online and/or don’t read online media), so this comes up often – and it will become more frequent as I pursue institutional pathways like residencies and grants. Even if they knew what webcomics were, it would be under the name of webtoons.

I can’t wait to draw this scene in 4 years: lol @ Alexander Comic and TWIDI

Multi-year hiatus: TWIDI’s eternal curse, until I figure out how to build enough stability in my career/life to return to it – full-time and for real.

Financially supported by someone else: My dayjob, mainly, but previously my parents.

Is somehow mutuals with favourite artist: That’s what it’s like as your career progresses and matures! It’s always nice to become peers with those you admire – especially the ones you grow to love only after knowing them.

Characters get gayer over time: Growing up and being able to witness the various ways of living can and will change how one approaches their characters.

Successfully fulfilled a Kickstarter: Not on my own, but I had a few for my books that published smoothly.

Empty space:

ADHD diagnosis: I have ADHD-esque behaviours that I have managed to overcome with ADHD-specific hacks, but whether I actually have the thing itself is a question mark. I lean towards not really having it since I am able to execute and complete tasks regularly.

Works in animation or went to school for it: I used to want to study and work in animation before I discovered the potential of comics as a storytelling medium. I don’t have a desire to break into that industry, even without all the employment and late-capitalism instability that it’s going through right now. I am not averse to trying if asked, however.

Had an art teacher who hated anime: Never went to art school.

Yes I’ve had burnout but what about second burnout: Currently going through a fallow period, but I really don’t think it’s Burnout Burnout. Touch wood, I continue to maintain my love, interest and desire to make comics and stay in my artistic career.

Forgot how to draw main character’s face: Characters are so seared into my brain, it’s not easy to forget. Helps that they each have particular quirks that belong to their design.

This comic gave me my hand/wrist injury: Still out here WITHOUT any of those. I hope I can keep it that way until whenever I retire.

Emergency commissions: Hopefully I will never have to resort to do this. (Very grateful, yes)

Sleep… “schedule”? my 7-8 hours of sleep is essential and non-negotiable.

If it’s not 3 hours long is it even worth adding to the work playlist: This is is referring to video essays I guess? I rarely ever encounter essays of over 3 hours that I am interested enough to watch. (Also I can’t really watch something while drawing; I lose speed/concentration)

Embarrassed to look at early pages: Not embarrassed – I was younger and less-skilled then, that’s just how it is. There were a lot of things younger me did that I could still learn from.

Regrets costume choices: I pride myself in being able to style myself and my characters, and so far I have never regretted the clothes I give my characters – the TWIDI characters all have base outfits from when I was 15!

#artist meme

[aniron48]

24. just really needed a hug sort of hug for 00leiter would be amazing if inspiration strikes! 🥰

Alex, mi vida! Thank you for always inspiring and indulging my deep-seated need for 00leiter, and thank you for this prompt. 🥰 Your wish is my command, my friend! It's here, continuing below the cut, as well as on ao3:

sometimes it takes the night to fall

“My mother wanted me to go to law school,” Felix says. His tone is measured, and this, this, is something he’s going to include in his annual performance review at the Agency, which his supervisor signs every year without reading a word: Agent Leiter is calm and measured, even when he is soaking wet, covered in pink feathers, and holding a flash drive with the plans for a chemical weapon designed to take out half of Europe, circumstances which Agent Leiter would have avoided entirely had his MI6 counterpart not been a fucking asshole.

“‘You’ll make good money, son,’ she would tell me,” Felix says. He pulls his Glock out of his holster, pointing it toward the floor to let the water drain from the barrel. “‘You’ll wear nice suits.’ But no, I knew better. I didn’t want to take the motherfucking bar exam.”

“You wear nice suits now, Felix,” Bond drawls, looking him up and down, and Felix is either going to punch or kiss that look off his face, but he hasn’t decided which, yet.

“Normally, I would agree with you, James,” Felix says. Measuredly, again, because he’s a goddamn station chief for the CIA. “But right now, my nice suit looks like it survived simultaneous explosions at a poultry farm and a Pepto-Bismol factory.”

Felix had had plans for their mission in Prague, plans which involved a timeline, and coordinates on a map, and the judicious use of SIGINT. James Bond had had instincts, and even if those instincts had been accurate, as far as identifying the Belarusian middleman they were looking for went, his methods left a lot to be desired, seeing as they primarily involved a chase through a crowded craft fair in the center of town, followed by what could charitably be called hijacking a bachelorette cruise in order to chase said middleman down the Vltava River. And now here they were, on a deserted dock in a decidedly seedy part of town, mercifully free of bachelorettes, but with an unconscious henchman tied to an oil barrel behind them, waiting for the ride that would take them not to their warm, comfortable hotel room near Karluv Most, but to the U.S. Embassy, where Felix could hand off the hard drive and then spend the rest of the night filling out the ream of paperwork required after the sort of nuclear-grade shitshow James Bond tended to leave behind him on a good night.

“I think I know what you need, Felix,” Bond says, and the way his mouth turns up at the corner can’t mean anything good.

“What I need,” Felix says, “is not to be picking penis-shaped confetti out of my beard.”

“No,” Bond says, stepping closer, and if the British exfil team doesn’t get there soon, Felix is going to paddle to the Embassy on a goddamn inflatable canoe, “No, that’s not it.” 

He brings a hand to the back of Felix’s head, drawing him in close. “Why don’t you start by putting your arm around my waist.”

They’re Felix’s own words from years ago, directed back at him with Bond’s characteristically lethal precision. Not long after the events in Bolivia, Felix had flown into London for the memorial service of another MI6 colleague who had died in the line of duty. Later, after everyone else had left, he’d joined Bond where he stood in the back of the church, stiff with grief and the bone-deep chill of the British winter.

“She drowned, you know,” Bond had said, his tone conversational. “004, I mean. She deserved better. It’s a terrible way to go.”

Bond and Felix had been lovers for mere weeks at that point, if that designation even applied to the handful of hours they’d stolen in South American hotel rooms and, on one memorable occasion, the lost luggage room of a train station in the middle of nowhere. But Felix wasn’t an idiot. He’d been in Venice when Vesper died. Even then, he’d known Bond well enough to know what wounds would be fatal to him, if left untreated.

“It is,” Felix had said. He hadn’t dared to say much of anything else. “I’m sorry for your loss, James.”

“It’s England’s loss,” Bond had said. He’d already begun to go distant around the edges, all of the lines of his body tensed for a fight. Felix had wanted nothing more than to demand Bond come back with him to his hotel room, to fuck him fast and merciless until all the tension bled from his body, until he was easy and louche again, unspooled against the Egyptian cotton sheets. But his first instinct with Bond wasn’t always the right one, back then, and he’d looked at Bond in silence for a long moment before making his decision.

“Come here,” he’d said. “I’m going to give you a hug.”

Bond had looked at Felix like he’d just suggested they piss in the baptismal font. “A what?”

“A hug, Bond. Jesus Christ. Come here.” He’d pulled Bond in by the lapel of his expensive wool coat. “You start by putting your arm around my waist, like that. Then you put your other arm around my shoulders. Like this, asshole. And then—” Felix had squeezed with all his might. “Then you hold on tight.”

They are here, now, tonight—and by “here” Felix means Prague, means the dock, means covered in dirty river water and the detritus of phallus-shaped souvenirs, but he also means so much more than that—in no small part because all those years ago, his own instincts had been right when he’d taken James Bond in his arms in an empty church, and so as angry as he is, he’s powerless to deny James this, now. He gives in to the inevitable and steps into the embrace, dropping his head against James’s neck.

“I hate you,” he says, but there’s no longer any heat in it. “This was the worst night of my career.”

“The ladies liked it,” Bond says.

“The ‘ladies’ thought we were strippers. One of them threw her drink on me when I refused to take my shirt off.”

“The night is still young,” Bond points out. Felix refuses to turn his head to look at him, on principle, but he can feel Bond’s smile against his cheek.

“Fuck you and your entire country,” Felix says. “I’m glad we threw your fucking tea in the harbor.” But his head is still on Bond’s shoulder, and his arms are around his waist, and he’ll stay that way until the sound of a distant motor signals that their ride is near, and the night moves on around them.

#prompt fills #one shot #my fic #sometimes it takes the night to fall #james bond #felix leiter #00leiter #fluff

[thestalwartheart]

😍 tummy kisses 😍 (physical intimacy ask)

Hiiiiiii!

Thank you so much for the prompt! This was such a fun little piece to write. It's tooth-rotting fluff, so be warned you might give yourself a cavity. I needed it after that All Too Well gifset I made yesterday.

I've popped it under the cut and on AO3.

Enjoy! 😘

tummy kisses.

Q is a man who favours realism and common sense, which is how he knows that James Bond’s favourite part of Q’s body is probably his cock. Or his arse. He’d lay down money on either of the two.

However, if he were to yield to sentimentality for a moment, he might say Bond’s second favourite is his torso: the long expanse of pale skin where there’s no particularly exceptional terrain, save for a trail that leads to more exciting things.

It’s the place where Bond lays his head at night while he and Q are watching films. It’s where he touches first in the morning, stroking his fingers under Q’s pyjama shirt and disrupting the daily tea-making routine. It’s where he’s placing a teasing kiss now. His mouth is right below Q’s navel, and given they’re both naked in bed, it should perhaps be erotic.

It only tickles.

The ungainly giggle Q lets out is mortifying. He claps a hand over his mouth, but it’s not even there a second before Bond draws it away with a smile and a kiss to his knuckles.

“Don’t. I want to hear you.”

“Oh, come off it. That was hardly sexy.”

“You don’t need to sound like a pornstar, Q,” huffs Bond. “Just enjoy yourself.”

When he grazes his stubble over the same spot, Q shakes with laughter again, writhing as Bond laughs with him and continues his gentle, insufferable attack.

When Q had imagined being in bed with James Bond, he had never imagined this. It’s perhaps the only place in the world where Bond lets himself be truly amused. There is no suave posturing and none of his usual sarcasm. Some days, Q thinks if he could wish for any one thing, it would be for Bond to be as free and easy everywhere else as he is here.

“This better not have awakened anything in me,” gasps Q, panting with exhaustion and sensitivity.

Bond snorts. While he comes up to kiss Q properly, he moves a warm hand between Q’s legs. It is maddening how Bond can be everywhere at once in bed. It’s a skill that’s taken years of experience to cultivate, no doubt, and Q is extremely thankful for that journey, which at the moment seems to have been designed solely to bring Q pleasure at the end of it all.

“It’s awakened something,” says Bond against his lips, smiling. Q swats at him with nowhere near enough energy.

The tickling Q could happily leave behind, but when Bond trails his hand up over his stomach again, Q experiences a visceral need for it to stay there for a long, long time.

Shit. It’s awakened something indeed.

#00Q #00Q fic #my fic #007 fest #007 fest 2022 #teamcivilian #ask box

[kaiasky]

Recently rediscovered an audio log I had made while tripping. I tripped and then played tabletop/journaling RPGs, to prep for GMing a D&D oneshot where the players would be tripping and the gm sober. (the oneshot never actually happened sadly/fortunately)

This, unsurprisingly for me and particularly where I was at the time (this is around the time I did 5-25kaia stuff), led to me arguing with my past and future self in a long rambling 1h30m audiolog recorded in parts throughout the trip. For the first part, i was playing Delve by blackwell games, then i wandered around the apt and streets thinking, then i sat down to try and play a hack of dungeon world.

I do not think this is very interesting to read.

but it was very funny and highly recommend that if you are going to trip [this is not an endorsement of tripping or not] you should get a cheap audio recorder and yell at your sober self.

- "do i think the dragon,, dragon. the dragon dragon. um. dragon. fight the dragon? no it'd kill me. cant risk it. [30 seconds of silence, then i remember the recorder records voice and not thoughts]. but thankfully its asleep."

- "its all garish and costly because theyre building their fantasy fancy. thing. fuck. [saccharine voice] you know what i meeaannn. its a kitchen :("

- "its like the eiffel tower, in that everybody hates it but once we're all dead. its gonna be like a landmark. fuck. talking :("

- "im just imagining [[the mine entrance that doubles income below it]] like a lifeguard tower. but thats silly. [at self] fuck you. fuck you. its a lifeguard tower. shut up. theres a big lifeguard and he says thats too much money, give it to me.... [next turn] they dig up a temple below it. so theres. a cult of the lifeguard mine. that thinks we should be lifeguard mining. so theyre going to mine there. lifeguard mine there. [laugh]"

- [the temple in the lifeguard mine is revealed to be a mimic and i am OVERJOYED at how perfect this is. the mimic called out to the dwarves to build the lifeguard mine and they built it and fed themselves gleefully into its maw. wish there had been a lifeguard on that mine! everything i say for the next 15 minutes is about how i love the lifeguard mine]

- "these dwarves are really like suffering and i like it. the gems and ruby crystals keep looking more and more natural and wet and like teeth and blood. and they break through into a small chamber with foul smelling gas and an archway carved with ancient sigils. and they retreat and. the lifeguard mine isn't gonna be a problem for them any more, fuck yes. talking is easy when its describing how these guys die. im gonna draw an evil sigil. i think drawing evil sigils could be fun"

- "i cannot explain the things to you, i think the things and i think i should have communicated them. i am experiencing the process of making myself legible, but i think a lot of this is just that i trip solo, where tripping with others there is a lot of this experience already. i think i just came here to say, this peach is good. peaches are a good experience. *peach noises*. goodbye."

- "this is me to sober me. have you ever noticed that the lights on the bicycle make it look like a weird little alien creature. say hi sometime."

- "ok. so, I don't want it to end. but i lost by the rules. so i have to figure out how i want to cheat in a way that works and feels good. which is difficult. so im going to say that we're cut off from the surface by the lich king . which breaks a lot of the rules but im going to say the lifeguard mine is the new core of dwarven domain." [[i go back and forth on how to resolve the fact that i lost and would have to break the rules, and don't come to a decision]]

- "fundamentally i do not think i—i the creature here—was meant to think about dwarves. That's not a complaint its just. i think about the things the songs are suggesting to me and. [laughing] they are not math. [sob-laugh] they are not math. [pause]. they're so sour.... by the way i know these [recordings] will not be useful to you"

- "figuring out what to do with a lit candle was not the smartest decision of me. i think i can just blow it out, but you know. the significance—sorry you should try this. you light a candle and you snuff it out and you cover the lid and. the air pulls on your hand. you can really feel the suction. that's cool"

- "so for some reason, i have decided i need to roll a bunch of dice and add them up. so you can know well i can do math. i have. 1d20, 2d12. ... this is difficult. anyways i rolled 51. did i add those correctly? i took a picture figure it out" [[an: correct! i checked]]

- "ok so like, you're trying to study yourself and how you respond to this. to figure out how to do this better but also just to study yourself. and so.. [music changes and i lose train of thought] think it was like. recording me is mean, because. it makes me sound dumber. because theres some subject object positioning you're positioning yourself as the interlocutor. and so you're putting me-yourself into disadvantageous positions from the get-go. which is all to say you've imagined yourself and you're beating yourself up. fuck. im yourself too. fuck.

- "the difference between this vs if i was talking with somebody in real life. we have this sort of interviewer-interviewee dichotomy going on. im talking about things to an interested audience but they aren't saying things back. but i think part of the fun of acid and why it'd be so good with an rpg group is the struggle to communicate because that's all anything is or something, actually. communication is the thing you try to do as a human in life—or a dwarf."

- "i do think its very funny that you decided you wanted to make yourself extremely legible. like i feel like most people get into this state and think "ok, I don't have to be legible". i don't have to make sense. but youve gone in this opposite direction of my thoughts have to be rigorously justified [saccharine voice] which is very stupid. because they dont.”

- "can you imagine what reading-listening to 45 minutes of this is going to sound like? [[an: yes i can.]] it's going to sound like nonsense! and that's what it is! we're 3hrs in, just timestamping for you. which also means ive been recording for a lot of the time ive been on drugs. like. a big fraction. percentagewise"

- "this hasn't been a very visual trip, because ive been trying to focus on stuff. like dwarves."

- "why did i think i had to record this. im sorry. sorry. im recording a fucking "my voice sounds bad" thing on,, acid. but i feel like my voice should sound more like. girlvlogger. when im talking about this to my camcorder, because im trying to make things legible to you like a vlogger."

- "none of this makes sense. but just but just think about how im feeling, and dwarves, and west [an: the sleeping at last song] and you'll be able to rederive it. i think we say that to a lot of people online. im interested to see how it is for you" [AN: no fucking idea]

- "god dammit. it was paused. i was thinking about an eyeball monster, and how that's like, an analogy. for how acid is the experiential and not intellectual. because the person who said that it was very stupid is right" [AN: referring to some wikipedia thing about an early person seeing his academic friends taking acid who said like, ‘it cant really give profound insights because the people taking it all sound really fucking stupid’]

- "the greedy algorithm thing becomes relevant once again because im just a greedy algorithm, because once i look forward i cannot help but have changed the entity that was looking forward. that made sense. this is about dwarves im talking about dwarves again."

- "ok, so an experiment that you can do for me. i feel like im thinking faster than i can put things into words. and... if you had to put things into words for things you are thinking about right now would you be able to do this? did i. [laugh] i think i came here to ask my future self what it was like being sober. which is a real fucking lot.

- "ok the point is i guess. there's debate over what this is for, is this for me. which is you listening to this is a future subject position i am taking to sort of imagine myself in to force myself to put things into words and through putting things into words, becoming the person who has to put things into words which is a novel and unique position to convince me to think about things. OR, is this supposed to be useful to you, because you wanted...to plan an...rpg [laughing] jesus christ oh my god. you wanted to plan a fucking rpg so am like this. [aside] yep . yep that is what happened isnt it right. yup um ok. [pause to eat goldfish and contemplate life]. and so i guess in the terms of the rest of my life. i am actually trying to explain this to you. i am trying to figure ou—fuck what am i doing? [laugh] this is intended to be a useful document for my future self to plan an rpg. i know what this is, and it is NOT a useful document to plan an rpg! You are just talking to a tripping person. and that's not particularly enlightening. except for me, the tripping person. get fucked! :)"

- "Its really just messing with me that the purpose i am like this right now is [through laughter] to figure out how rpg people would feel on a trip. like you really did it. this is gonna be how they are! you'll see, it'll be funny. get fucked! you were like [frat boy voice] ok ill prepare ill get so prepared by doing drugs. [me voice] and now you have to tripsit-gm for TWO groups and one of them's me. and im in the PAST which is really an L for you but [unmitigated glee] its really funny for me. oh my god get absolutely fucked!"

- "those dwarves are so screwed. im really excited for them!"

- "and I think an RPG will be easier if there is somebody else just sort of making a momentum that continues even if people aren't thinking in that direction. because right now the momentum is that if i think a thing i will continue thinking things. and if i don't make myself tethered to the act of speaking into a microphone, or talking my way through a task, then I'm going to fly off and get lost in the fog. So i think having a gm will be good. which is to say that it's rather rude of you not to be here for *my* game because i am invested in these dwarves, and i want somebody to figure out the math for me while i just decide how the dwarves are sad."

- "ok, I'm going to try and go through the dungeon world character creation,, as though i were?? two separate people? as though i were one person? we will just have to find out. but i think this is the part we were the most curious about, so buckle the fuck up. i am having such a hard time and you are just not helping me at all. :(("

- "are your thoughts filled such.. latent thoughts? all these things are filled with all these subthoughts, that I'm not gonna pursue, but they're just there. *sigh*. right im going to play some fucking dungeon world. idk i feel like it's a little bit cruel to—i haven't tripped with people in so long but like. they keep getting pulled up from the depths every couple of seconds because you're like, what do you do? and whatever you're thinking about—you know, what it would be like to be samol hieron—is interrupted by like, i attack the goblin. and i know thats the point of this i know thats the point of this."

- “i think you'll never understand because you're not in my brain and you'll never understand how weird i want it to be and i think if you said like, sure youre in the cosmic realm oooh its all trippy. its like, you don't understand what that's like. you couldn't describe trippy as a gm. i dont remember what the start of this was. Anyway you're poking yourself to the surface, which isn't as fun. and i think that's also a function of tripping with other people, but also you're a very talky person whos demanding their attention. i dont always like that. sometimes people are talking and i just sort of tune them out. so i think [serious voice] if there's one important thing to take from this, it'd be like, them being able to tune you out because you are being an annoying gm. important. and you cannot expect their attention."

- "ok so i have a character! hes tisald and hes a dwarf. so he is like a dwarf, but he doesn't have the sort of stocky build you'd expect. he carries this slim blade that gleams in the night and ripples like water, and I don't think he talks much, but he's like weirdly compelling when he does. what im saying is hes probably a vampire. or like, hes bad news. maybe he'll defeat the lich king but he's probably bad news later if he gets what he wants."

- "ok so i dont have 2d6, somehow, which is certainly a choice for me, to have. but this is fine, actually. im just going to roll a d12 and divide by 2, and that's a d6. so ok obviously i cant play this game—what are you trying to do kenyon. this d12 idea is the stupidest thing I've done its sad. make sure you get good dice for your players this is sad for me."

- "ok so the problem is rules. ok we've kinda been toying with the idea that i can be both perspectives at once, but i cannot, because i cannot be the gm and the player. i can be sober and tripping that's fine, but like. i can't be like, heres what you find down the corridor, what do you do, and then also decide what you do, because that's just thinking—you're just thinking. the fundamental thing is like. ok ive been thinking about it in these terms—you open the door and peek inside. your character does. and in my mind there's something else that's supposed to fill in there, and that is the role of the rules, or the gm, or the collaborators. but you're trying to fill this in with yourself and i dont think that works because that's just imagining. or dreaming."

- "i dont think you want to set yourself as the adversary of the adventure, which i think was kinda your idea. or like, sober you's temptation was... that you would be the evil thing that they would fight at the end. and i think that's a very sober-person plotline."

- "i mean i think the key thing is that my thoughts are so permeated with meaning but that is not because i am better at thinking, it's because my brain is stupid and scrambled. [sigh]. i guess i just wanted to tell you that you're not incomparably dull compared to me. [laugh] jesus christ is that why i hit record?? to say it's ok to be sober?"

- "i think where we're at. as best as i can figure are, 1) talking as the sober person is not going to be.. idk, i feel like there are sober people that could be entertaining to hear talk, but i think, a lot of the time you're not talking at their level, and i think especially that goes for psychedelia. like i think if somebody was like, to me? there's like some crazy rainbow swirly wormhole, i would be like, yeah ok, i can picture that and its, fine, but it doesn't do anything special to me because im tripping. and sadly i think that the eyeballs thing also, is bad. [pause] idk. i think if you stuck eyeballs on a plant i would find it funny to me personally. yeah"

#drugs

[jbycrs]

Explaining the warnings for Jonathan’s ED, SH, and suicidal ideation with a drawing at the bottom for body hcs up to date(keeping in mind he only gets top surgery in California, prior to that he’s still binding)

Around the time Lonnie left, money got even tighter in the Byers house and Joyce started being more absent to make due.  10 y/o Jonathan, in charge of himself and his brother for long stretches of time now, and aware of the situation his mother was in, began skipping meals whenever she was gone.  He’d make enough for two and let Will and Joyce enjoy it so the groceries could last longer.  Even when he didn’t have to do this anymore, it became an instinct.  It became a method to feel in control, counting how many hours he could go without a meal.  He doesn’t eat when he’s stressed, and he feels validated when his stomach growls or hurts.  He can be obsessive about it from time to time, but when he isn’t actively using it as a coping mechanism it leaves his mind entirely, allowing him to dismiss it as a problem entirely. This will likely be mentioned vaguely but often as he will have stomach pains or get dizzy or feel weak.

As far as harming himself goes, that is a bit of a mixed bag.  He began using a razor with intent around age twelve.  He stopped at thirteen.  Started again.  Stopped again.  It had been a year since the last time he did that when Will went missing, and he relapsed when he was planning the funeral.  Luckily, he hasn’t done it again since Will was returned home.  All I intend to write about this is the mention of scars and how he’s insecure about them.  He still has harmful habits like picking at his skin, scratching himself aggressively(sometimes until there’s almost or a little blood), and punching his legs or banging/tapping his head on something

Jonathan is the kind of depressed where you don’t even notice it anymore.  He has good days, good times, but he can’t recall a time where he wasn’t anxious about something, wasn’t overthinking something to the point of being absolutely overcome with guilt, wasn’t talking down to himself in a similar tone to his father’s, or seeking an emotional pick-me-up desperately.  He’s used to it, and he’s neutral towards it.  He’s depressed, but he lives with it.  He deals with it. But when Will went missing everything got worse.  He felt for years like the best thing he’s ever done and ever will do is protect his brother, and then he couldn’t do that.  Ever since then, with every bad things that happens in Hawkins and every bad day he sees his brother having, Jonathan feels like a failure.  He wishes idly sometimes that he was taken instead, that his body was found in the quarry instead of Will’s fake one.  It’s not constant, it’s not something that follows him around, and thus it isn’t something I will likely mention often at all, but it is there and it is a mindset he’s accepted as a part of his norm as well.

As I mentioned in my rules, if any of these things are something you don’t want even vaguely mentioned or implied, just let me know so I can avoid it!  And below here we have the hc pic for what he looks like as of s4, complete with surgery scars and my very poor attempt at something like a wolf-cut!

#tw: eating disorder #tw: self harm #[about; i wanna have control]

[furyborne]

A Delicate Matter

Personal struggles, below the cut in case the subject matter could be triggering to anyone. It’s a long one, folks...

Struggling with some intense dysmorphia and dysphoria. Haven’t felt this awful about the way I look in a long time. Not sure if it’s particular dates that are influencing this, or if it’s just my brain being... my brain. :/

I’ve never been comfortable with the way I look. Assigned female at birth, I was a “tomboy” my entire youth, with having three brothers being sufficient reason for my “need to fit in”.

Puberty hit like a freight train, and I suddenly had to wear size D cup bras. When one is “trying to be one of the boys”, you can imagine the kind of attention that can draw (not any kind I feel comfortable with now, but then I craved the validation that my body was worth something).

And while this led to a whole new array of therapy-inducing issues, one of my biggest hang-ups was the fact that I didn’t feel comfortable in my body.

I wanted to be attractive. I wanted to be sexy. I was a size 12 throughout high school, and built broad (like a brick house, my da once said), and I hated looking in the mirror and seeing this..... “masculine” physique plastered with sizeable breasts.

Aside from the backaches I used to get frequently, I was becoming more and more uncomfortable with my chest. I grew up incredibly sheltered, thought even the word “sex” was taboo and embarrassing to say, so I didn’t have a vocabulary to explain my feelings, and just leaned into, “the size of my chest is making my back hurt.”

It was said often enough that even my father mentioned he’d pay for a reduction if he could afford it, as one of my great aunts had had done when her bust size became an issue for her health.

Now. How many teenagers, children really, do you know that nearly plead for such drastic body modification?

Needless to say, due to financial circumstances, I never got that surgery.

Fast forward to getting married, having children, and my bust went from a D to a J and I was slowly dying inside. I liked the attention from my husband, but even HE could see that I wasn’t comfortable in my skin.

After our youngest was born, he discussed putting some money away a bit at a time until we had enough to afford the reduction I so desperately wanted.

And then, he died, and for while, that was the only pain that mattered.

I lost a bit of weight and went from a J to a G cup. And still, through my grief, I felt anger at not being able to exist without the bitter tang of my discomfort with my own body.

I bought so many outfits. So many things I never would have thought to wear. So many dresses and shoes and cardigans, trying to embrace my own image. I bought things for ME.

And a few times... A few times, I felt legitimately beautiful.

Then, I was propositioned by a married man because he liked the way I dressed and was dissatisfied with his own marriage, and I was doused in a violent wave of disgust yet again.

That is the moment in which I can pinpoint exactly where my current level of self-loathing started.

I stopped wearing those outfits. Stopped caring about my appearance. Stopped dressing up just to please ME.

Now, it’s been ten years, and the raw ache is still present, and I’m not where I wish I could be, health-wise, weight-wise, appearance-wise...

And the appearance thing is gnawing at me. I look in any reflective surface and feel little but disgust and frustration.

I took to wearing my son’s flannel shirts (as he’s over 6 feet tall, and they fit well on my average, but quite overweight frame) because I could pretend that I was just “that heavy” and not have to look at my chest.

And it BURNS me inside...

I remember a few times, as a younger me, that I tried taping my chest. I new it could be dangerous, but I NEEDED to try it. Similarly, staring longingly at a sharp blade and wondering what it would be like to just slice the bags of fat off my chest.

And I fear, I’ve circled back around to that way of thinking again.

I cannot even begin to figure out how to feel any better about myself...

#dysphoria #dysmorphia #self-harm #mental health #If I forget any tags please tell me #not in a great place mentally and I fear I've forgotten something

[uldren-sov]

AAAA so my lovely rp partner @s0tc commissioned the LOVELY @cytharat with our agents in some not so wintery wonderland conditions and s0tc surprised me with these today and they’re so incredible!!! AAA look at them ;;;

Thank you so much, both of you! Below is my part of our gift exchange.

Out of any assignment they’ve had so far; the jungle, the desert, the interrogation, the poison - this may yet stand to be the worst. It’s been a week and there still hasn’t been any safe weather to go check out their post yet. A blizzard had torn through, nearly crashing their transport shuttle from the space station to the main base here on Hoth upon arrival. And since then, it had not let up for a full week.

Some planets should just be better left unsettled.

Evacios and Evelyn had made due, kept focus on their objective here, and trained … for the first five days. Past that and it was beyond the pail of what they needed to do and what Imperial Intelligence wanted them to do. Besides, it wasn’t like there was any communication out of the base during the blizzard, no one to report on what they could, or couldn’t do.

And what didn’t they do.

But even that became boring, became inconvenient and more hassle than it was worth. But on the seventh day, the comms crackled to life with the broken up voice of a petty officer on the other end. Communication at last which meant …

Evacios was one of the first to see just how the landscape has changed as a result of all the snow, and after being the one to hit the massive cargo bay doors he -- couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised. The snow had piled up, perhaps 20 feet, along the edge of the door. Some of it started to crumble, to fall into the hangar that led out, but sunlight flooded the room, sparkling off the mostly fluffy snow.

“Well, shit,” he heard Evelyn suddenly grouse beside him. They were both ready in their winter gear to set out, to finally get started so they could leave the planet; Evelyn in appropriate white-and-light-blue accented gear, to camouflage in the snow. Evacios? Evacios already had a stealth generator, so he wore his signature black.

“If they ask us to shovel we’re-” he started, cut off from the base commander emerging along with most of the retinue here.

“All right! We’ve confirmed the storm has passed and has continued South-Southwest which means we need to clear a landing area immediately! New oil for the droids and a shovel for every able hand,” she said and there it was, the pointed look towards them, “and may I remind you that while you two might be Intelligence; here? You’re still under my command.” A quick standoff, as Evacios settled a hand on Evelyn’s shoulder, if looks could kill she’d have probably run the commander through in a heartbeat -- much like how he wanted to. Yet he had to play his part, the responsible one, the leader, so while he might have glared he still snapped to attention.

“Yes, sir,” he managed. It satisfied the commander and he felt, rather than heard, Evelyn deflate beside him.

“So you just get to sign us up for volunteer service?” she said, turning her perturbed gaze his way, crossing her arms and scowling. She wasn’t pleased, that much was certain, but he nonetheless settled his grip on her upper arms, massaging them slightly.

“The sooner we help, means the sooner we’ve finished, means the sooner we can get to work,” he explained but smiled just enough for her to narrow her eyes.

“I don’t believe that for a second and remember I know when you’re lying, now,” she warned - interrogation training; both of them were given separate and unique “win” conditions, and while she at least knew he had been feeding her false information she couldn’t get him to give the answers she needed. A win and a loss, perhaps, but he nonetheless let her think she knew his tells.

“True,” a sigh and then a twitch of a grin in truth. “It’s just, you said you’ve never seen snow before and-” oh, but she looked outraged in an instant.

“This is your fault,” she started, as people began to move about them, around them, the soldiers starting to go through procedure to start clearing the wall of snow.

“It is,” he agreed and leaned in just close enough to only not be kissing her, the steam of their breath floated up between them, “and I promise I’ll make it up to you later.” It mollified her immediately, still upset yet nowhere near the anger he saw.

“You better.” And he sealed the promise with a quick kiss.

Most of the snow was cleared by the droids, while it wasn’t impossible to get up so high for the soldiers, and two would-be Ciphers, to start assisting, it was high enough to warrant caution, especially as more of the snow crumbled in large chunks and scattered across the floor. A small avalanche would ruin equipment, so best let the droids do it up to a certain point.

And that certain point apparently was midway and midday, the droids having pushed the snow aside, meant there were now dizzyingly high walls of snow on either side of the hangar entrance. And while they didn’t need to clear much space, there had to be enough for a fighter and a shuttle to land. The snow wall was some ten feet up, high enough to still warrant a ladder and before long, white-clad soldiers skittered up them like ants up an ant hole to begin work digging out the entrance the old-fashioned way.

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Evelyn said from below him on the ladder. He stopped at the top to offer her his hand - which she took.

“It’s your first time seeing snow. How could I possibly pass up the opportunity for you to experience it hands-on?” He smiled and she shook her head. And while he spun his shovel, the loathsome task he signed himself up for as well was one more thing he had to tolerate with this training, he did at least catch Evelyn look out with wonder.

Indeed, spread out before them was a verifiable sea of white, a desert where instead of sand, was ice. It rolled and crested with where the wind found and built dunes upon. The mountainous peaks dotting the horizon were frosted along the peppery black stone and silvery ice as the wind dipped down to woosh gently through the man-made tunnel they were all now creating. The kicked up snow caught the errant flakes, pinwheeling them through the icy-cold air, sparkling in the sunlight of a clear day.

It was hard for Evacios to not share, at least a bit, in the wonder he saw in Evelyn’s expression. Still, he stalked over and pulled the yellow-tinted goggles down over her eyes - snapping her out of her reverie.

“Let’s get to work.”

And what work it was. For hours they toiled, heave-hoing snow off to the side for the droids to push away. The whole platoon, even the commander, took up a shovel to start clearing the area and then create a ramp up to the rest of the world on the far side of the landing. It didn’t have to be completely clear, the whole base was no doubt situated on centuries old ice and snow, and should they dig, they’ll no doubt just find the ice shelf. No, they just had to clear it to an even level of the base. It took the full day, the sun now starting to fall into the horizon - perhaps giving them an hour, maybe two, before it would sink past the mountain ranges and once again make the temperatures unbearable and inhabitable. Evacios tossed his, then Evelyn’s shovel to a passing droid and sighed heavily. His arms, shoulders, and back burned from use - yet even that was not enough to say he was truly warm. Hoth may not have been the worst place for an Imperial to be stationed, that award belonged to Korriban beyond a shadow of a doubt, but damned if this place wasn’t at least top three.

“This might be my first time seeing snow,” huffed Evelyn, as tired soldiers trudged past them, back inside, “but you know what? If I never see any snow ever again, I’m good.” She worked her shoulders out, and then her neck.

“No love for it anymore?” he crossed his arms as she emphatically shook her head.

“I’ve dug trenches in the jungle during the rainy season,” she started and shook her head, “and honestly, I think I like that better.” She huffed. “I can’t wait to get off this planet.”

It wasn’t that much of an issue … yet Evacios knew that so long as she held this animosity, it was only likely to grow. He couldn’t have her frustrated or angry when they haven’t even started their mission. They had bunks here, they had heating here, they had food, and blankets, and warm ‘freshers, and all the amenities of an altogether comfortable - despite the environment - outpost. Evacios himself, as spec ops, have seen and lived through far worse and knowing that their mission took them far outside any kind of military outpost? This was as good as they were going to get, and he couldn’t have her start out like this when morale would probably be the only thing that got them through this test.

He wandered away from her innocently enough.

“Surely you can’t miss the rain, the humidity, the bugs,” he started, just trying to get her going - keep her talking and if not distracted, then at least focused on something else.

“The rain you can keep out, the outposts had dehumidifiers, and there’s bug spray for a reason,” she checked them all off. “I even prefer the vine cats, at least that gave us something to keep an eye out for.”

“You want there to be some kind of deadly creature out here? Lurking just behind any errant snow drift to kill us?” he asked jokingly as he turned his back to her and squatted down.

“Just something to break up all the monoto-” ironically that was when the snowball had hit her chest. She was stunned as she looked down to see the smear of snow clinging to her suit and slowly looked to him, the snow clearly on his hands, twisted on one knee to get the bead on her and throw it.

“I’m sorry, what was that again?” He grinned, giving her his best mischievous look before she snapped back to it and started sprinting at him. He scooped up another handful before running, himself, away from the base, off to the side - where the massive wall of snow would hide them from curious onlookers.

He snapped to a turn and threw the snowball back towards her, it was sudden but she was quick enough to duck and curl, the snowball glanced off her shoulder but she gave a surprised yell at the impact. A new sensation, one she was unaccustomed to, of course her body would react that way but the smile was unmistakable in a second. It even grew, unbidden, from him as she quickly reached down to arm herself as well. He took off and lept over a haphazard pile of snow he thought he could use as cover.

Instead, his feet met with unpacked snow and he sank a solid two feet behind the pile with a surprised gasp. His legs caught very nearly painfully, yet all that happened was give Evelyn time enough to make her very first snowball and launch it at his head. He brought his arm up in time to brace his face but he felt it skid across his hair. He scurried to get out of the hole but by that time she made another and caught him in the back with it.

“This is called payback!” she shouted without any hint of malice as another one caught him in the side before he could finally pull himself out. And when that one hit he even heard a peel of laughter coming from her.

All right then. He may have gotten out of his hole but he kept low and pushed the loose snow up into a small hill - some cover as he kept prone and worked some snow loose around him so he could get even lower.

“You know, I think you’re a better shot with these than you are with a blaster!” he called, and when he looked to gauge her reaction he had to duck at once to avoid a streak of snow - a poorly compacted snowball.

“Real funny, at least i'm not using tactics to win a snowball f-” and from his cover he launched one, two, three more snowballs which caught her in her hip, her side, and her chest. Her eyes widened, her expression a mix of outrage and perhaps exhilaration as she quickly ran behind some cover herself and they began the assault in truth. It wasn’t long before every throw, every connection, was met with shrieks of laughter and tapered chuckles. It was a complicated game of cat-and-mouse with snowballs as the former soldiers and Ciphers in training ducked and moved between covers, between volleys, and admittedly stumbling and tripping over the soft powdery snow where it wasn’t packed down correctly.

It all came to a head when Evacios peeked out over a small hill and saw that Evelyn was not but a few feet in front of him, sprinting as hard as she could and seemed to have no intention of stopping. He could step out of the way, he could slip out of the grasp - perhaps - but he let it happen. She crashed into him, nearly folding him in half as they both collapsed into the soft snow in a plume of flakes.

“I win,” she said between crests of breathless laughter. Poised above him she kept him down with hands firmly on his chest, not that he was making any effort to change that.

“This time,” he conceded, surprised, at least, to find himself smiling. He would have been content at that, but then he remembered - had to always remember and keep up his ploy. He covered her hands with his, his black gloves covering her white ones in their entirety. He met her energized grin with a sly smile of his own, one he knew spoke of promises only he could keep. “Take what you want as a prize.”  An obvious invitation but one she nonetheless took.

She kissed him immediately, hotly, full of an aggression and possession she no doubt used with plenty of men before him - men that easily and eagerly wilted from. He, on the other hand, slowly wound his arms around her body, covering over the white of her jacket, and his gloved hands disappearing into her black tresses. He gripped her behind her head and held her back just enough to reply, slower, deeper, languid enough to where she sighed gently through her nose and was compliant in a matter of seconds. He angled her head as he drew her in closer, brushing his fingers down to the base of her skull, keeping her to him, as he kissed her methodically, slanting his lips against hers until he pulled her back and she gasped softly for breath.

“Come on, it’s going to get dark soon and I’m not entirely convinced the commander won’t lock us out on principal,” he whispered with a smirk. She huffed in response, another shake of her head.

“The faster we’re away from her the better, definitely,” she agreed as she unwound herself from his embrace and offered him a hand. He didn’t take it and stood on his own, to which she just shrugged, “by the way. I’m not done with you yet.” She made her own promise in her own way and he had to smirk, raising his split eyebrow in amusement.

“No, I didn’t think you were,” he commented airily, as he started brushing himself off. “But, hm, humor me for a second.” He fished through his pocket as she crossed her arms and watched him curiously. He found his holo, hit a button, and tossed it gently. It landed just a couple of feet from them and began hovering.

“Really? A picture?” she questioned dryly.

“To commemorate your first foray into the elements,” he said glibly as he stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “As I said, humor me.” He smiled and gave a quick kiss to her cheek. She rolled her eyes but she was having a hard time fighting off the smile on her face.

“Fine. One picture,” she relented but snatched the holo from its position to hold it up higher.

1 … 2 … 3 … He smiled and held her close and as soon as it was taken she quickly reviewed it. He watched her from behind, the earnesty of her excitement was touching but the sun was now low, the day was ending, and work would begin again soon. He pressed his cheek against the crown of her head and she leaned back into his embrace, yes - Intelligence work would begin again soon, his work, though, was never done.

#i wish i had money or could draw but below the cut is long! #ly soph!!! #this is so lovely ty guys sm!!! ;;;; #SWTOR #Eve and Eva

[minsyal]

The Fugitive (Finding Home), Pt. 1

Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Warnings: strong language, Resident Evil-esque violence and descriptions of gore, and dark/sexual themes

Summary: A once-in-a-lifetime trip turned dark. You're quickly exposed to the sinister and mysterious world of a cursed village under the control of dark leaders. How long will you last and will you ever return home in one piece?

Backpacking through Eastern Europe was not a top priority on your “to do” list. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Being one to preplan everything, you were completely caught off guard when your roommate sprung the idea of the trip out of the blue. You roommate, Jezebel Haine, was your first and only roommate from college onward. All legs, she was one of the stars of the track team but was most certainly not one of the brightest shining ones. She was considerably dim-witted, fanatical, and had a booming over-the-top personality that scared every potential boyfriend who had the disservice of meeting her. There were times, though, that she was rather endearing. Her childlike sense of self and emotional drivers consistently put her at a crossroads between what everyone else was doing and what she should be doing; she was, and always will be, a follower.

After four years of becoming “the bestest of friends,” you had a hard time imagining such a hard shift either into another roommate or living alone. Plus, her parents funded most everything she did and, in turn, funded the apartment the two of you shared.

“It’s an amazing opportunity!” She insisted, waving her hands in a simple manner as she rose from the condensed cushion of the leather-clad couch. “Think about it.” Gathering your hands in hers like a 20’s actress who had just met the man of her dreams, she pulled the bundle to her chest. “We frolic through the European countryside, it’s golden hour. My skin looks absolutely gorgeous… yours too, of course. The sun is just about to set, but alas!” She let out a dramatic gasp, removing one of her hands to cover her mouth. “It’s growing dark out!”

“That’s what happens when the sun sets.” You noted, causing her to drop the act for a moment only to immediately go back into character.

“We hear the crunching of leaves and twigs all around us as if something…” she drew close and lowered her voice to a whisper, “sinister is coming. Out of no where we’re ambushed! By what, I’m not sure. Then,” her eyes became glassy as she lay a delicate hand to her forehead, “two absolute studs… and I’m talking big bulging muscles, gorgeous trendy hair, captivating eyes… really everything a simple girl could ask for… seemingly drop from the sky! We’re saved!” She throws your hands into the air as if they’d fall like confetti. Drawing both her arms in, she sways back and forth in a waltz of one. “We’d be married by the next day! Hell, maybe we’d even end up as princesses.”

Oh, how utterly wrong she was.

“I told you this was a stupid idea.” You groaned, haughtily holding your chin up while feeling your spirits low. A few miles back, on an asphalt road that quickly turned to dirt, sat the dingy red rental truck with a blown out engine and a deflating tire. With no cell service and the last town being over 100 miles back, your only choice was to walk.

“Don’t blame me!” Jezebel stopped walking, feet falling flat to the ground as she stomped her foot in a childish manner. “I,” her lip quivered as all the anger held in her body dissipated, “I just wanted to have a fun time with you.” Big tears flowed from her eyes quickly after finishing her proclamation, leaving smearing black lines down her face from the eyeliner she insisted was necessary in the Romanian countryside. God, if her parents weren’t funding this trip, you’d throw a fit for your money back.

“Jess, just,” reaching backward, you fished a rag from your backpack, “don’t cry. That’s not going to make this better.” Sniffling, she accepted the rag and wiped her eyes, further smearing black all over her face. You couldn’t help but feel a shred of sympathy for her. “Let’s just keep going. No use in wasting daylight. I really don’t want to get caught out here in the dark.”

“Where are we supposed to go, then?”

“I’m sure the next town will have some sort of inn or hotel. At the very least, they’ll have directions to the nearest city.”

After another five miles of walking, the sun was beginning to set and no gorgeous studs were waiting to save you. The blazing yellow ball inched slowly beyond the horizon. Its warming rays that had kept the snow from freezing the two of you in the day crept down below the snow peaked mountains that were nestled in the distance. Shadows began dancing between the trees, sending the forest into a theater of silent performers. The dirt road that was once large enough for two cars was now only a walking path so slim that Jezebel had to follow on your heels. Every now and again you were reeled back by the piece of rope that she had attached to your backpack that was firmly gripped in her hand. She claimed it made her feel safer.

“You think those two hunks are going to come save us now?” You joked, attempting to make light of this dark situation.

“I wish.” She huffed, frustration evading her voice as exhaustion took center stage.

Flickering light caught your eye. Hues of yellow and red mingled together in the distance, the outlines of rooftops and smoke-filled chimneys littered the ground below. “I think that’s a village.”

Another mile of downhill travel was all it took to reach the place where the once distant flickering of torches and lanterns grew into the quiet streets of a cluttered settlement. There was no clear indication of movement once you stepped foot in the village; the only evidence of any life came in the form of fresh boot prints, livestock, and the ever-blazing lanterns. Jezebel was all to happy to release your makeshift leash from her fingers, trotting mindlessly by to examine the street corners and homes. Your eyes continued wandering up the rooftops, finally landing upon the eerie looming castle situated on the mountainside above.

From around the bend, you heard Jezebel screech.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You threw caution to the wind, quickly rounding the corner to scold her like a parent would to a misbehaving child. “You don’t know if these people are violent or not. We can’t just go parading ourselves into the town center.”

“I think they’re violent.” She mustered the shaky words. Her hands covered her eyes and the majority of her face as she backed away from whatever had caused her distress.

“What?” The unpleasant squelch of snow beneath your feet caused your attention to draw downward. Dark snow surrounded your boot, an unnatural red hue stained the pure white. Gaze moving upward, your chest restricted feeling as if it had crushed inward on itself. The putrid smell finally fell upon your nostrils as you backed away from the scene. Severed animal heads hung lazily above you, their tongues flopping from their opened mouths.

“I want to go home.” Jezebel sobbed, rasping her cries into her cupped hand. Shaking her head as if to knock this moment from her brain, her short-lived façade of curiosity gave way to her immediate feeling of impending dread.

“That’s what I’m trying to do right now, Jess. Just, calm down.”

A low grumble had you standing further on edge, if that was possible at this point. The sound was clear as day and was anything but human. You weren’t even sure a human could get to an octave so low without the help of technology. Eyes darting upward once more, a chill ran from your shoulders to your toes.

Hauntingly yellowed eyes lingered upon the two of you. The beast-like figure was silhouetted by the moonlight, outlined like a ghost. It looked to be a man, but also anything but a man in the same sense. Its mouth was parted, baring old rotted teeth that looked to have dried blood caked between its gums. Its hands were bloodied as well, small cuts were painted across its forearms only hidden by the rags that clung to its chest.

Before you could process the situation, Jezebel let out another yelp. In an instant, the beast lunged down from its perch, landing with a ground shaking thud nearly five feet before you. “No!” Jezebel’s open palm collided with the space between your shoulder blades as she pushed you toward the monster. The last thing you saw was her backpack falling to the ground as she began running toward one of the homes. You landed face-first in the snow, groaning as all the air in your lungs were forced out. The beast snarled, once again showing its teeth as it hunched down to your level. This was, most certainly, not the way you envisioned dying. Things like this weren’t supposed to exist; this is myth, this isn’t real. It all felt like bad dream gone worse that you couldn’t wake from.

“Pesky creatures, aren’t they?” A new voice called out as the horrendous sound of metal crushing bone and muscle slithered through your ears. The disgusting feeling of gore instantly trickled down your hands. “Please,” the voice continued, “feel free to thank me anytime.”

A moment later, the stranger let out a scoff with the squishy suction of whatever he had used to quiet the monster. The tap of a boot on your elbow finally prompted you to uncover your eyes. “Or don’t.”

“I,” you started, opening and closing your mouth multiple times unable to find the right words, “thank you.”

“Oh.” He tiled the stiff rim of his frayed hat back, exposing a pair of circular sunglasses perched upon his nose. “Foreigners, eh?”

“Yeah, um.” You gathered yourself, finally pushing up to stand on your feet. “We got lost.”

“And ended up here, no doubt.” A stifled chuckle left his lips as he tilted his hat back in place and swung whatever he used to kill the beast over his shoulder. “If I were you, I’d get the hell out of here.”

Without another word, the stranger sauntered off with a backward wave of his hand. “Oh, and have someone clean this mess up.”

“Y/n!” Jezebel’s shrill voice called as she returned with a rather confused villager. He held a shotgun with both of his hands, Jezebel shone a flashlight in your eyes.

“Are you okay?” The villager moved forward with extreme caution after peering around you dumbfoundedly seeing the crumpled body.

“I’m fine, no thanks to her.” You spat, anger swelling in your throat causing a particular acidity to your words.

“All of you! Inside this instant.” A matronly holler came from behind Jezebel and the villager. “You know Miranda’s protection only runs so far as we grow closer to this time.”

Who is Miranda and, more importantly, who was the man who saved you?

The home you were ushered into was on the outskirts of town. It was one of the larger estates given the fact that some people seemed to live in one-room shacks. Upon entering, you were greeted with the warm glow of yellow light trickling in from what looked to be a formal living room. The sweet aromas of honeyed tea wafted through the air, drawing further in as the woman led the three of you deeper into the home. What was worse? You pondered. Being killed by that beast or potentially being murdered by the inhabitants of this home? You couldn’t decide. Thus far, the two gave no indication of malice.

“Please, sit.” The woman pulled out two of the chairs at her table, the wood scratching against the floor. “I’ll fetch the tea.”

Jezebel was so brainless. She smiled at you as if she hadn’t just offered you up as a midnight snack. Surely there was no hamster running on that squeaky track that powered her.

“What was that thing?” You turned to the man who was now seated to your right. “The monster.”

The man ignored your question, instead grabbing a piece of rounded bread from the plate at the center of table. Slathering butter on it, he looked to you. “How’d you kill it?”

“I didn’t.” You frowned, recalling the mysterious man who saved your life without even dropping his name. The villager raised his brows and kicked his foot up on the table. He was waiting for more information. “Some man came out of nowhere. He had some hammer-like weapon.”

As soon as he processed the words, his foot fell from the table and he leaned forward, uncomfortably close. You could smell the distinguishable bite of alcohol percolate from his lips. “Did he wear glasses? A hat?”

“He did.” The words slowly drifted from your mouth. “Hair to about here.” You motioned to the halfway point of your neck.

“Adelina,” the man called, presumably to the woman who guided you inside. He got up quickly, rushing to the other room leaving you and Jezebel alone.

“What the hell is going on here?” You whispered in a harsh tone, leaning forward to get closer to her. “Is this not weird at all to you?”

“I think they’re nice people.” Jezebel responded at full volume without a second of thought.

“That’s coming from someone who tried to feed their supposed best friend to a monster.”

“I was buying us time to get help.”

“Help? I almost died!”

“But you didn’t.”

“When we get back to the U.S. I never want to speak to you again.” You seethed. How could she be this bad? You knew there were a few… a considerable amount of screws missing from Jezebel, but how in God’s green earth does she justify her actions at this point? The thought of it accompanied by her dazed and empty stare only fueled the fire of anger more.

“Dear,” the woman, who you now knew was Adelina, reentered the room accompanied by the man with a tray of cups and a kettle in her hands. She set a delicate china glass in front of you, softly filling it with a reddish colored liquid that she assured you was Celestial Seasonings, a tea imported from Africa. “I hear that you’ve met Lord Heisenberg.” Placing a hand over her heart, she gave a warm smile that only sent another wave of dread through your body. There was something so alluring about this woman, yet so sinister.

“Lord, who?”

Adelina stiffened, craning her neck to the side as she plastered a forced smile upon her lips once more. You had upset her, that much was obvious. “One of the four Lords that rule here alongside our dear Mother Miranda.” She explained, pushing the cup of tea closer to your body. Jezebel had already finished her first glass. Warily, you lifted the cup in your hand and allowed the warm water to heat your frozen body. An elongated finger pointed to the framed painting that hung to the wall. “Mother Miranda protects us here.”

Mother Miranda. You could only focus on the image of the woman silhouetted by six black wings and a halo outlining her head. Her eyes were indistinguishable behind the raven-like mask that clung to her face. Adorned in a black garb, she looked to be a holy figure in this town. But like Adelina, something just wasn’t right with Miranda.

The unsettling reverb of crickets and cicadas chirping grew louder and louder with each passing hour. You counted the seconds between waves of mass chorus; so far, it was roughly thirty seconds between each bleating scream of their nightly tune. You couldn’t sleep. Despite the somewhat comforting, but entirely unsettling welcome given by Adelina and Marion, you couldn’t help but feel like a caged animal in the tiny cupboard room they had given you. A curious thought tickled the back of your mind, willing you to remain as alert as possible after an exhausting day of hiking; where had they put Jezebel? Not that you particularly cared at this point. After the attack she had done a 180, dropping all suspicion of malice in this village. She simply flushed the pictures of hanging heads and wild beasts from her memory. You sometimes envied her lackadaisical memory accompanied by a fanatical view of the world. Living blissfully ignorant, especially in a situation like this, seemed to serve her best.

After a small dinner of fish that smelled of ammonia, of which you politely picked at, Adelina insisted the two of you stay the night. “The beasts will return!” She exclaimed, holding a firm hand over the intricately carved wood of the doorframe. “Early tomorrow we can arrange for a car to pick you up from the next town over.” Hushed murmurs climbing up from the cracked floors pulled you from your thought. The voices spoke in an incomprehensible argument.

“I’d quite like to keep...” the words faded in and out.

“No, no, no. Don’t be ridiculous...”

“What if....”

The floor spoke a soft squeak from beneath your feet as you shifted to get closer to the voices. Their conversation stopped, and you waited with bated breath for it to continue.

“We have to offer someone up tomorrow.” It was Adelina.

“I know, I know.” Marion sounded frustrated. “But you know Mother Miranda prefers only the purest. How are we supposed to know if either of them are-”?

The words faded once more as the two moved from room to room. Walking on the sides of your feet, you followed. Peeking around the corner, your eyes landed on Adelina and Marion illuminated by a flickering fire. They stood close to one another, keeping their tones low.

“Clearly, we offer the frumpy one. Take a look at her. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s unexperienced.” Adelina snickered, taking a seat on the worn couch with her back to you. “She wouldn’t fit in here anyway.”

“The dumb one would get along nicely with our son.”

“I agree.”

A knock at the front door sent a shiver of adrenaline down your spine. Quickly scrambling to hide, you took in a deep breath as Marion passed by with his shotgun in hand. From the parted door, you could see the sun barely peeking over the horizon. Had it really been that long already?

“Are you sure she’s pure?” The new man stood in the doorway rushed past Marion, looking in the direction of the room they had put you in.

“I suppose we could check.” Adelina called, rising to join the others. “The both of them had that tea. They shouldn’t wake until the ceremony later today.”

“Is she in there?”

“Yes, the other one is upstairs.”

“Let’s check this one first.”

With heavy footsteps falling upon the rotting floorboards of the somewhat dilapidated home, you slunk further into the shadows of the room behind you. The glint of something metal caught your attention; a small handgun sat perfectly on a dresser as if set there intentionally for you to find. Holding your breath, you crept forward to it. You’d never shot a gun in your life, but you knew the basics... both hands, check for ammo, rack the slide, pull the trigger. At least, that’s what the movies told you.

“Out of bed so soon, are we?” The soft voice turned malevolent as Adelina appeared in the doorway of the room. “I wouldn’t use that if I were you.” She motioned to the gun that was aimed rather unskillfully for her chest.

“What the fuck is going on in this village?” You spoke with purpose now, tone wavering slightly as Marion stepped behind his wife.

“You don’t understand things around here, girl.” Adelina spat, moving aside as Marion began charging into the room. The loud blast of the gun echoed from the walls of the home followed by a harsh curse and the sound of a body crumpling to the floor. You had shot Marion in the leg; he’d live.

“No,” you started, re-racking the slide as Adelina’s other friend approached wielding a similar gun to your own. Adrenaline washed over your nervous system, your hands shook violently, but you attempted to remain composed. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand. This isn’t normal! Tell me what’s going on now or,” your eyes trailed down to Marion who was attempting to control the flow of blood from his wound.

“You wouldn’t.” She laughed bitterly.

“Like hell, I wouldn’t.” You exclaimed, training the gun onto her. “Now tell me, what’s happening here.”

“You’ll understand soon enough.” Adelina’s friend’s words were the last thing you heard before your ears rang and the sting of a bullet burnt white hot in your shoulder. You weren’t sure if your gun ever went off again.

Despite being tied, bathed, dressed, and currently sitting on a freezing alter-of-sorts, you still hadn’t the slightest clue as to what was going on. A crowd of villagers surrounded from the south, all carrying on with a rumble of conversation. Adelina shot daggers at you, Marion as well, from a small, inclined hill at the edge of the crowd. The clothes you wore were your own, she had fished through your backpack claiming that it was of no use to waste a nice dress on “someone like her.” Jezebel was likely still fast asleep at their house.

A woman with the likeness of the framed photo you had seen appeared out of nowhere. So, this was the famous Mother Miranda that everyone regarded so deeply. She stood before you as the crowd’s voices hushed and their eyes became hazed with looks of admiration and devoted appreciation. Surely, she was a human, deities and gods didn’t exist in a physical form, you assured yourself.

Without a word, Miranda moved gracefully as if flowing across the ground to stand before Adelina. Taking her face between her hands, she whispered what you assumed to be praise as Adelina’s lips moved rapidly thanking Miranda. She then moved to Marion and grazed her hand against the wound on his thigh, speaking of how his steadfast devotion would quickly heal any injuries of cruelty spread by evil. When her attention finally fell back to you, she frowned. Stalking around you in circles, Miranda’s imposing figure made you want to shrivel to nothingness.

“Thank you.” She turned to the villagers as if to dismiss them. “When the time comes, I will return for another.”

The black wings you had seen in the photo sprouted from her back, shielding your sight of the villagers as they retreated to their homes. Hopeful cries and shouted blessings to Miranda echoed from the crowd as the village gate slammed. The only evidence of them once populating this empty square were flowers and offerings of fruit and grain left for the supposed goddess.

The world swiftly darkened once more.

Part 2 - Paths Meet

I promise there's more Heisenberg in the next part..

Feedback is always appreciated

#karl heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #resident evil village #resident evil heisenberg #re8 heisenberg #heisenberg imagine #lord heisenberg

[danidrabbles]

OCTOBER 1: KNIFE PLAY

Notes: Kicking Kinktober off with the following. Thank you as always @javier-pena for reading this over for me!

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+!)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: SMUT, established relationship, romance???, sexy use of knives (...i hope), sliiiiightly dub-con but that’s Dave for ya, dirty talk, gags, 1 **** (dedicated to Kelli and Cris 😘) If I forgot anything important, please let me know!

The slam of the door startles you awake. Sitting up in bed, you listen to him rummage around downstairs, trace his path through the kitchen, the living room, and up the stairs. Usually, he’s more quiet, at least attempts to not wake you, but the fact that he doesn’t must mean that today is one of those days.

You know what Dave does; your darling husband by day, something else entirely by night.

It hadn’t started off like that, is what he told you once he came clean. He really had been a CIA operative before becoming what he is now. But this suited him better. He had tried to explain what that meant, careful not to scare you; that people paid good money to eliminate other people, that it sometimes got messy.

But you weren’t scared. You tried to explain that to him, and that mutual understanding, that you were the same on some level others might consider fucked up, it deepened your bond, your marriage, in a way you never expected.

The bedroom door sweeps open, his silhouette dark in the deep of the night, painted in shadows, but the little light in the room does allow you to take note of the blood that has dried on his face. It makes you inhale deeply, fisting the duvet under your hands and waiting for him to make the first move.

It’s one of those days, after all.

Dave reaches you in two big steps, his boots heavy against the protesting wooden floor, but waits at the end of the bed, gnawing at his bottom lip and balling his fists like he has to physically hold himself back.

“It’s okay,” you say, and as soon as you do, he’s on you. Sheets discarded, he crawls over you, pushing you back against the mattress. His eyes roam your face, and he seems to be looking for more than that, so you give him more affirmations. “You can take what you need.”

Wordlessly, he straddles you, a thigh on either side of your body, and you’re trapped below the weight of him, your arms pinned to your side, the fabric of your nightgown stretched across your frame. There’s a barely-there roll of his hips, and he’s unmistakably hard as he seeks out the friction against you. He reaches behind himself, then produces his knife from his back pocket. With a click, the blade reveals itself, glinting like a promise and fuck, it shouldn’t make a burst of arousal flare up inside of you, but it does.

“You would let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?” Dave asks as he turns the knife over in his hand once, twice, before giving you an expectant look.

“Yes,” you answer, obedient, eager, honest—because you would.

The cold blade—phosphated carbon steel, as he once explained to you—presses against the skin at your collarbone, the tip just hitting the side of your neck, and you swear you can feel your pulse racing against the sharp steel.

You know exactly what he can do with it, what he has done with it, and yet you trust him, literally with your life.

“You won’t hurt me, not unless you know I want it.”

You don’t miss the way he grins, or grinds down against you, or how he inspects your body under his. In a flash, he hooks the knife under one of the straps of your nightgown and pulls, the fabric parting easily around the top of the blade.

An eager hand pulls at the flap of fabric until he can fill his hand with the soft, plump flesh of your breast. With a gasp, you arch up against him, crying out when he pinches your nipple and twists.

You expect him to go for the other strap, expose your tits to him and play with them until you’re begging him for more, but instead, he fists the torn fabric and pulls it away from your body, bringing the knife up to begin cutting a slit right down the middle. With each rip-rip-rip of fabric, the throb between your legs gets more intense, and an actual moan escapes your lips when he fists the last bit of it and pulls, tearing the garment in half and pushing it to the sides of your body.

His finger dips under the waistband of your underwear, grazing just where the soft curls on your mound begin. He toys with it, pulling it from your body and letting the elastic snap against your skin, before hooking his finger back under it.

“Want me to tear this off, too?” he asks, focusing not on your face, but on the task at hand.

You take a deep breath. “Use the knife.”

That earns you his attention, something akin to pride flashing across his face before he looks back down. In one rapid move, the blade slides over your hip bone and under the fabric of your underwear. With a tug, it tears, the elastic snapping and the material folding back, exposing you to his hungry eyes.

Your head falls back against the pillow, and you moan as he repeats the action on the other side, again when he rips the fabric from between your legs.

“Open up,” he orders.

You try to move your legs, open them for him, but with his thighs still on either side of yours, it’s impossible. Just as you’re about to protest, he leans over you, grabbing you by the chin.

“Open. Your mouth.”

His fingers find your face, and the pinch to your cheeks borders on painful, making you open your mouth with a wet gasp.

Even in the dark, you can see him smile, before he tilts your head back just a tick and spits. His smile only grows when you welcome it with a moan, eyes fluttering and body surging under him before you swallow. “That’s my good girl,” he praises, kissing your open mouth before stuffing your ruined panties inside of it.

The blade is back at your throat, and the pressure of it against your voice box abruptly cuts off your answering whine. With a rough exhale Dave sits back and begins dragging the dull side of it down your body. Still, you find yourself holding your breath, your chest jutting out with the effort. Chin to your chest, you watch as he circles your nipple, once, twice, until it begins standing to attention, hardening at the cold, gentle touch. He brings it back to the centre of your chest and slides it over to your other breast, flicking at your nipple. Satisfied with how your body quivers under his, he slides the blade further down your body, following the bump of your ribcage to your belly button and down.

He shuffles back, and despite the fact that his body is no longer keeping your arms incapacitated, you keep them pressed against your torso while he crawls between your legs. With his free hand, he pulls one over each of his thighs, spreading you open for him to look at, to take you.

The knife kisses the sensitive skin of your thighs, and he keeps teasing you while he opens his trousers and takes his cock out. His eyes fix themselves on your cunt, no doubt glistening with want, even in the dim light of the night.

“You get so fucking wet for this shit, it’s depraved, sweetheart,” he grits out, and despite the fact he says it like he’s scolding you, you know he loves it. Dave is a dark man in more ways than one, and he loves that you’re like this. Like him. For him. With him.

He proves you right when he begins stroking himself, a ragged sigh sailing past his lips as he throws his head back, exposing the thick, strained tendons in his neck. He allows himself a couple seconds of relief, before he stops himself with a long exhale, a hand trailing up your thigh to touch you where you’re more than ready for him.

He fills you with two thick fingers, curling and stroking at your slippery walls, and it’s so much at once, making you cry out against the makeshift gag in your mouth.

“This sweet pussy is going to feel so perfect around my cock,” he says, eyes only leaving yours when he slowly pulls his fingers free, groaning softly at the way your body pulls at him, working to keep him inside. “Would you like that?”

You nod in the dark, unable to help yourself from bucking your hips to chase his touch. The hand that still holds the knife is quick to push you down, the blade glinting dangerously close to your hip bone.

“Want me to put it in, baby? Want me to put it all in? Push all the way inside until you can’t think about anything else but how deep you can feel me inside you?” He slides himself over your mound, pushing until the head of his cock can smear wetly under your belly button, showing off just what that would mean.

There’s so much you wish you could tell him right now. That yes, you want it. That you want him so badly to just take what he wants from you, here, like this, between the shreds of your clothes where you’re spread for the taking. That this ‘depraved shit’ does make you wet, it does when it’s him, when he uses you, when he makes it hurt.

But your affirmation is suppressed against the fabric in your mouth, nothing but incoherent, muffled babbles filling the bedroom.

And yet, it’s like he can tell exactly what you’d been thinking, because the knife hits the floor with a clatter, and if he gave you any time, you might be able to analyse the sudden surge of emotion that flows through you at the idea.

But he doesn’t give you that time. The sound of the blade startles you almost as much as the fat tip of his cock notching at your entrance, as the slide of him inside, as the sharp thrust that makes his thighs slap against the back of yours. He pushes you up the mattress with the force of it, and your hand flies up to press a palm against the headboard to keep your head from knocking against it.

“Fucking Christ,” he sighs, stilling for a second to revel in the tight squeeze of your pussy before he draws back and spears himself through your slick walls - again, again, again.

“I’m gonna make this pussy come,” he promises, voice strained. “I’m gonna make it flood my cock and then I’m gonna cover you in my come,” he adds, a hand dragging over your torso, thumb and pinkie catching on your hardened nipples before he settles his hand on your hip to pull you down against him.

The head of his cock knocks against the button of your womb with each thrust, and at your silenced keens, he falls down to a forearm, eyes boring into yours as he continues to fuck you. “I’ve got you, baby,” he assures.

Your hand curls around his bicep, fingernails digging into the fabric of his long-sleeved top. It’s wet, warm, no doubt evidence of his successful mission, and that thought, your body’s response to it, eases the glide of him inside you.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats, his hand leaving your hip to slide between your legs, to draw maddening circles around your slippery, puffy clit, and with the way he’s been working you up, you already know it will take no time at all. “You know that, right?”

You nod with a muffled groan, focusing on the way he stretches you open and plays with your clit, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes with how hard you squeeze them shut as it builds—as it all builds.

You know.

--

Thank you for reading! I hope to see you all tomorrow for October 2: Stripping. Anyone who guesses correctly which character I’ve written for will get a sneak peek at the fic in their DMs😌

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#dani writing #kinktober 2021 #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #the equalizer 2 #fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[memeadonna]

Anything for You, Baby

Hello everyone! This is a short little thirst story I wrote for @sendhelpimstupid featuring Sugar Baby Kirishima. The stunning art can be found here. Please visit her page and show her some love! 

This story is 18+. Minors DNI 

Warnings: Sugar Baby/Sugar Mommy Relationship, Premature Ejaculation, Cross-Dressing, Sub Kirishima, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Mild Choking, Scratching and Biting Mentioned, Vaginal Intercourse, I wrote this in like 3 hours sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes

Word Count: 2,562

Of all the things you were thankful for in life, people were always surprised when you mentioned Kirishima's expensive taste. Your entire relationship had started because he hadn't noticed how much money he'd been spending until one day he was overdrawn. He hadn't added up the totals of his expenses in his head, hadn't realized every time he swiped his card that money left his account. He liked the finer things in life, and how was he supposed to know that his bank account was meant to last him all of his first semester? His parents had told him "figure it out", so he couldn't even ask them for help. 

Being at a hero school was tough already – he could barely even enjoy the city nightlife since he was stuck at the dorms between classes doing homework. He didn't even have enough time to get a job outside of school hours. Maybe he wasn't cut out for university, let alone at a prestigious hero school. 

You had noticed Kirishima's state of panic, and when he confessed to everyone in the dorm that he was out of money, people (Bakugou and his other friends) had made fun of him. Uraraka and Iida had stepped in immediately, chastising them for mocking him. He tried to play it off as no big deal, that he'd figure it out, and the conversation shifted elsewhere. 

You'd been born into a wealthy family like Iida and Momo, and on top of that you'd had your own job throughout high school, so you'd saved up lots of money already.  "I could hire you," you told him after everyone had left for the night. "Pay you to do things for me." 

"I don't need your charity," he'd snapped back. "Did Bakugou put you up to this?" 

"I just thought I'd offer to help you since we're friends," you answered calmly, before getting up and heading to your dorm. That night you'd sat up late regretting ever asking him if he needed help. 

Early the next morning he was at your door. "What kind of things?" was the first thing he asked, as you rubbed your eyes and blinked up at him blearily. You made him repeat himself twice because the words didn't stick in your brain this early. 

"Clean my room, do my laundry," you'd finally told him, offering what you hoped was a kind smile. "Other things when I want them." The blush he gave you at those words more than made up for his harshness last night. 

You'd started slowly, of course. You gave him rewards for handing in assignments on time, taken him out to dinner when he got good grades, and little treats for random things. "Do I always need a reason, baby?" you'd asked him one night as he examined the concert tickets, you'd just given him. You'd been delighted to accept the ticket he gave back to you and had secretly smiled to yourself as Denki had whined and complained that Kirishima had promised to take him! But that was back when Kirishima was spending his money on everything. Now he was just spending it on himself. 

One day, half-joking, you'd gifted him a French Maid outfit to clean your room in. It was just a little too tight for him (he couldn't even do the zipper up!), but it was the creamy white stockings and cute little heels you were interested in. He tried his hardest to clean your room, but after the third time he rolled his ankle, he ended up with you in his lap, and let's just say that your relationship changed from there. 

You'd pushed him back into your bed and felt him up beneath the skirts and ruffles. You left a smattering of dark hickies over his neck and collarbones, moving down his body with clear intent. He was beet red, sitting up and panting as he watched you with wide eyes. Your hands slipped below his skirts and trailed up his legs, and you watched him squirm. "Aw," you teased, revelling in your victory. "What's wrong, does the baby like getting dressed up all cute and ravaged?" 

He stammered with a reply for a moment, but you dipped under his skirt and the breathy gasp he let out as you began to kiss up his thighs was more than worth it. A part of you wanted to pull back out and apply lipstick so you could leave more evidence of your kisses, but there was no way in hell you were going to back down now. You settled for more hickies and a few bites, and by the time you reached your prize, he was hard and throbbing. 

You were the only person with a dorm on your floor (luck of the draw), so you didn't dare tell him he should quiet down his moaning, especially not as you slid the lacy panties reverently down his thighs. 

It was clearly his first time, and he was squirming in your grip as you gave him a teasing lick. A part of you wanted to pull back and tease him some more, but this was too good to pass up. He threw an arm over his eyes and slipped his other hand into your hair. He arched his back as you raked your nails down his thighs, and let out the sweetest noise you'd ever heard, blowing his load directly in your face before you could even get him into your mouth. After you'd finished laughing and wiped his spunk off of your face, you'd given him the sweetest kiss on the cheek. He'd gone beet red as you laughed, and hadn't said no when you promised him a shopping spree because he was just so good for you. 

The sales lady at the lingered store had been surprisingly accommodating when you'd asked her if they carried up to a 3X. 

He'd been your sugar baby for all of first year, even after he got his own allowance from his parents. He'd been your boyfriend the rest of your university career (of course, you still liked to treat your spoiled baby), and a few years out of school he'd asked you to marry him, with that same sweet expression he always had when he told you he loved you. 

The world saw Red Riot as a strong, manly hero that took shit from nobody. They also saw him as hopelessly in love with you (or with Dynamight, depending on which magazine you read). He was a real Man's Man, always on the covers of fitness magazines or advertising sports drinks and protein powders. He advocated for always being chivalrous and brave, but that Manly Men also took the time to be vulnerable and compassionate. 

One thing that hadn't changed since your days in university was the fact that your Eijirou loved to be spoiled. Shopping sprees, private chefs, weekends away… his eyes always lit up no matter what you surprised him with. You were both similarly ranked in the charts, and both made a lot of money, but he secretly adored the fact that you had a bank account you filled up every month just for him. He'd buy whatever he wanted with it, whether it was designer clothes or handbags (for either of you), or any number of things (he particularly liked buying new gym equipment that the two of you most certainly didn't need). 

Today had been a hard day. You'd been overusing your quirk and your muscles were sore, not to mention you'd been working with one Lord Explosion Murder God which meant that you'd been ordered around all day.

When you got home, a note from your husband was laying on the counter. Eijirou would be home a little late, and you could order whatever for dinner. Grumbling to yourself, you refused to take yet another order from yet another person and reheated leftovers in the fridge. Take that, loving husband! 

You ate standing at the counter in your uniform, and after you'd put the dishes away you marched up to your bedroom, already peeling your costume off. You left it on the bathroom floor as you hopped into the shower, and just let the hot water scald your aching muscles. You used Eijirou's body wash because you missed his smell, and changed into your pyjamas while you combed your hair. 

You crawled under the covers and scrolled on your phone for a while, wishing your husband would just hurry up and come home already. You wanted to fall asleep in his arms, hear him tell you all about how he would protect you from the bad things in the world. 

The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs woke you from a restless sleep, and you sat up in bed. How long were you asleep? Was that your Eiji? 

The door opened, and what greeted you took your breath away. Your husband stood in the doorway with a sheer robe, trimmed with red faux fur. It was tied with a ribbon around his waist and accentuated his hips beautifully. He was wearing red lacy thigh highs and nothing else beneath the robe. He completed the look with a set of Louis Vuitton stilettos, which you noticed in passing due to the stunning everything else the Adonis before you was showing off. 

"Hey," he purred. "Heard you had a rough day." He smirked at you as your eyes trailed up and down his body. "Can I make it better?" he took a few steps into the room, undoing the ribbon around his waist teasingly slowly. He opened the robe, letting it fall off his shoulders and rest at his elbows. He had filled out a lot since university, and he was a healthy 7'6 and twice as wide as you. He could lift you with one arm and toss you like a football if he wanted, but as he dropped his robe to the floor and elegantly clicked his way across the room towards you, he had no intention of tossing you around tonight. That thought made sparks dance around your core, and you felt your panties starting to soak. 

You sat up on your knees for a better look at him. He ran his hands over his body, shamelessly showing off for you. His dick stood proud and tall and was already leaking for you. You smiled at him as you slipped into your role. "Did you buy that to look pretty for me?" you asked ever so sweetly. "Sounds like you want a reward." 

He walked right up to the side of the bed with a breathy "Yes,". You leaned up for a kiss and enjoyed the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he took his time with you. 

His hands gently explored your curves, squeezing the plush of your thighs and the soft skin beneath your breasts, and as you pulled back to lick your lips at him, "Anything for you, Baby," felt like the most natural thing to say. 

He crawled into bed, careful not to kick you with his knife-shoes, and placed his wrists at the headboard. You attached the restraints with all the care in the world, and ran your hands over your baby's chest, admiring all of the scars that years of hero work had marked him with. "You're beautiful," you told him, leaning down for another kiss. 

You painted his chest with kisses and hickies, not caring if they'd be visible the next day. Let people stare. Let people know who your man belonged to. 

"I love these too," you ran your hand over his new stockings. "You know lace is my favourite." 

"Always the best for mommy," he purred back, pleased with himself as you explored his body. It had become familiar to you; you knew everywhere he was sensitive. You knew how to get him going, how to slow him down, and how to drive him wild. You shrugged off your own pyjamas and he let out a noise of approval, eyes taking in your curves. "You're stunning." He offered, looking absolutely awestruck. If his hands were free, they'd be all over you, but now was not his turn for control. 

You slid off your panties and tossed them off the bed, eyeing his body up with increasing lust, before suddenly straddling him and sinking down onto him with a small noise of discomfort. He let out a sharp noise of concern and pleasure, gasping. "You've gotta prep yourself!" He hissed, half-drunk on the tight squeeze. 

"Shut up," you answered, and picked up a brutal pace. He let out a strangled noise and arched up into your touch, gasping and whining and looking up at you with eyes clouded by lust as he gave harsh thrusts up into your welcoming body. His hands hardened and unhardened within their restraints, along with a line along his forehead. You wrapped your hands around his throat, and he tilted his head back to bare it to you. His moans crescendoed as you began to put pressure on him, canting your hips faster and faster. 

He was drunk off the lust singing in his veins and bent one of his knees to give you better leverage. You freed one of his hands from its restraint and it immediately flew to your hip to help you ride. His tongue was lolling out of his mouth, and his breath came in desperate gasps. "Gonna cum!" he whined, blinking desperately up at you. "Please mommy! Please let me fucking cum I want to cum so bad!" he babbled, blinking his pretty crimson eyes up at you. 

You gently caressed his face and smiled down at him. You leaned in closer, giving him a deep kiss. "So do it," you growled. "Knock me up." 

His hips faltered and the absolute roar he let out at your challenge sent a pleased shiver through you. He ripped the other restraint right off of the bedframe (along with a chunk of the frame itself) and flipped you onto your back, all without pulling out of you. He kissed you ravenously, his hands squeezing every inch of you. He grabbed one of your tits in one hand as he reached his other down to play with your clit. He threw you over the edge, and as you came around him, his thrusts changed. They were sharp and purposeful as he poured everything he had into your body. 

"Mine," he growled out, sinking his fangs into the tender meat of your shoulder. He didn't dare move as the two of you came down from your highs but rolled the two of you back over so he didn't crush you. You laughed a little and cuddled into his chest, enjoying the warmth of a womb full of his cum and the delicious stretch of him inside of you, not to mention the feeling of utter safety that having his arms around you brought. "I love you." He purred, giving your forehead a kiss.  

"I love you too," you answered back, smiling up at him with tenderness. 

"Did you really mean it?" he traced his hands over your back, massaging your tender shoulders. "You want to start a family?" 

"Mhm," you nodded tiredly, before looking back up at him once again, echoing your earlier promise: "Anything for you, Baby." 

Taglist: @malicealieness (If you would like to be added to the tag list, please send me an ask requesting it)

#Kirishima Eijirou #sub kirishima #kirishima x you #kirishima ejiro x reader #Kirishima x reader #bnha x reader #Bnha #bnha fanfiction #bnha eijiro kirishima #bnha eijiro x reader #sendhelpimstupid #Memeadonna

[resbangmod]

Resbang 2021 Promo #21

How to draw the line between wrath and mercy

presented by author: @victoriapyrrhi​ [AO3] [Twitter]

with artist: @Not-So-Scandalous

and artist: @rogha​

and artist: @marshofsleep​

Pairings: Soul/Maka, main Spartoi cast Rating: R Warnings: rich people snobbery, piratical activities, mentions of child harm, themes of eat the rich, robin hood-style robbery, minor character death (Maka's mom), atrocities committed by a mega corporation, basically-but-not-really-a-Firefly AU

Summary: Soul's always had the best that money can offer - schooling, technology, every opportunity you could wish for - thanks to the Company and the fact that his parents are the Directors of Corvus Sector. He doesn't think a lot about why he lives the life he does, about who creates the wealth that the Evans family and their cohort enjoy. Up until he can't ignore it anymore. Protests and violence and hundreds of stories of corruption, pollution, exploitation...

Soul takes his insider knowledge and runs on the hope that he can break the Company's strangle hold on his sector and his family.

Captain Maka Albarn and her crew do what they can to make ends meet in the wilds of space, even if it isn't all strictly legal. But more than that, they've all got an ax to grind against the Company that's taken from all of them - family, money, livelihoods, futures. They fight back when they can, but nothing really makes a dent in the stranglehold the Company has over their galaxy.

 When Maka agrees to smuggle Soul off the planet, they form an unlikely alliance. Together, they just might be able to make a change.

Please enjoy the story and art previews below the cut!

The dust is thick enough that it nearly obscures the entirety of the Grigori as she settles into her landing, engines slowly cycling down. The left side touches down first, bumps up suddenly, sending the gear on the right side thudding into the chalky dirt. A moment later, the left side settles back down and the ship comes to her rest. There’s already a thick coating of reddish clay dust sticking to the landing gear and creeping up the hull.

Inside, Captain Maka Albarn subtly peels white-knuckled fingers off the back of the pilot’s chair. “Not bad, Liz,” she says, and despite the rocky, rocking landing, she does mean it. It’s only the third time Liz has piloted the Grigori solo, and it had Maka much longer before she managed a landing half as smooth. Still, it’s hard to let go of the chair.

 “Could have been better,” Liz frowns. She flicks her long blonde hair back over her shoulder and unsnaps her safety harness.

Maka resists the urge for platitudes. The Thompson sisters have been part of the Grigori’’s crew long enough now that Maka knows that, despite her outwardly frivolous, careless persona, Liz has an uncanny ability when it comes to machinery and electronics. It’s been a long time since it’s taken more than a few days to master something. Usually, it’s only a matter of hours. Maka has found that it’s a fine line between being encouraging and supportive to Liz as she learns to pilot their little S-class ship and just coming across as patronizing instead.

Tsubaki had learned that particular lesson the hard way, and upon observing the whole explosive conversation from behind her cup of coffee in the galley, Maka had quickly adjusted her own tactics.

She claps her hand on Liz’s shoulder. “A couple more drops and I’ll be sleeping like a baby when you bring her down.”

Liz rolls her eyes, but grins. “Yah, yah, whatever you say, Cap.”

“Damn right whatever I say.” She punches the comms button and calls down, “Suits on and ready to deploy - let’s see if there’s anything left we can salvage. Kidd, you’re on door and comms duty.”

Next to her, Liz snorts. “Like he’d be on anything else.”

“Can you imagine him in this kind of dust?” They make their way down to the cargo bay, grabbing their helmets and latching them up. “I think his programming might self-destruct.”

“Aw, come on, Cap, he’s not that bad.”

“You can’t even say that with a straight face,” Maka admonishes. Once they’re in the bay, she calls up to Kidd again. “Lock her down and open her up, please.”

“You know I can hear you when you have the helmets on.”

“You’re just mad cause you know we’re right,” Liz says, and makes a kissy noise.

 “Like I’d want to be out there. Have fun, savages. If you die, I will not be retrieving your bodies.”

#resbang #resbang 2021 #soul eater #how to draw the line between wrath and mercy

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 30: Likeness

Draco Malfoy had spent his entire life being shaped and molded into the image and likeness of Lucius Malfoy.

It had always been assumed that he would go into politics, that he would settle down with a nice pureblood girl and have a child. His life had always been laid out before him like it had already happened.

But the summer Draco turned 18 he left. He left his family, left his friends, left the wizarding world all together. Draco cut his hair short on the sides and let the top grow out and then he dyed it pink.

He got a muggle tattoo; bright, beautiful flowers to cover up the dark mark: new life conquering death.

And he got a job dancing at a strip club. He was good at it, he had the body for it, for the corsets and the tiny panties, for the heels that made his legs look miles long. The muggle glitter made his pale, muscular body shimmer under the lights. He had the face for it, his eyes mysterious and otherworldly enough that the make-up only enhanced it.

He was a very popular act and Draco enjoyed the whole affair. He enjoyed people watching him, desiring him. It wasn't a forever career but it served him well.

It continued to serve him well for four whole years, before one night when the lights came up and he strut out onto the stage, rolling his hips and letting his hands caress his body, and just as he was reaching for the pole his eyes snagged on a pair of eyes he would have recognized anywhere.

It felt like eternity passed in the beat of the song he missed as he found Harry Potter staring back at him from the audience. A jolt of something electric skittered down his spine and Draco forced himself to look away and start dancing.

(Read more below the cut)

He hooked his leg around the pole and began his routine, falling into the familiar motions, spinning, and rolling, and flipping, using every ounce of strength and control he possessed.

And he very intentionally did not allow his eyes to stray to Potter.

Even without looking, though, he knew that he had the other man's undivided attention. It had been so long since he'd felt the heat of Potter's gaze on him that he'd almost forgotten what it was like to be the center of his attention.

At the very end, as he was collecting the notes that had been thrown at him, he allowed himself one more look.

Potter had grown up. He'd grown taller and his body had filled out, it was almost hard to believe that he was the same boy who'd come to Hogwarts looking malnourished, weak, and filthy to fight the most dangerous wizard to ever live. His hair had grown out, too, it was pulled back into a messy bun, and he'd grown in a beard that he kept trimmed neatly.

He had the sudden urge to feel the scrape of his beard on all of the sensitive places on his body, to sink his fingers into Potter's curls as his mouth tasted Draco's skin.

He made eye contact, and his arousal spiked at the look of sheer want in the other man's eyes. In that moment, Draco felt like the most powerful man in the entire world.

The man sitting next to Potter, a muggle that Draco didn't recognize, punched him in the shoulder and the moment dissipated like smoke.

With a quick shake of the head, he finished collecting his money and disappeared back stage without looking at him again.

That night he wondered what would come of Potter seeing him, wondered if he'd find reporters from the Prophet at the show the next night, worried that his world was crashing down around him.

But he couldn't seem to stop wondering if he might see Potter again.

------------

Potter returned the next night, and the next, and the next, and so on for the following month.

Every time Draco stepped onto the stage, Potter was there in the crowd watching. And he found himself watching Potter more and more, until one night he spent nearly his entire scene watching the other man, he might as well have used Potter as a spot to keep himself from getting dizzy.

It was that night that he decided enough was enough. He had to find out why Potter was here and what he wanted. After his performance he changed quickly, pulling on a pair of skinny jeans and a plain black t-shirt. He slipped into a pair of trainers and headed out of his dressing room and toward the door that led into the club.

Potter was no where to be seen when he came in so he went outside and saw him walking down the sidewalk. "Potter!" he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth.

The other man froze before turning slowly to look at him.

Draco jogged to catch up to him but found that he wasn't quite sure what to say once he was standing in front of him.

"Uh," the other man said inelegantly, rubbing the back of his neck, "Hey."

"Hey?" Draco spluttered incredulously. "You show up to every single one of my performances for the past month and that is all you have to say? Hey?"

"You're very talented," Potter offered.

"Yes," he replied.

Potter snorted, "Humble as ever, I see."

"Why should I be humble? I am talented," he said, tilting his chin up defiantly. "I've worked hard to get where I am."

"Sorry," Potter said, trying to backpedal, "I didn't-" he shook his head. "I'm not sure what to say to you. I didn't mean to offend you."

"I'm not offended," Draco replied. He crossed his arms, wishing he'd brought a jacket, "Just," he huffed, "tell me why."

"Why what?"

"Why you keep coming to watch me dance!"

Potter looked at him for a long moment, "Are you cold?" he asked.

"Yes," he replied, because it was true. Potter started to shrug off his jacket, "You don't have to do th-" but his protest fell on deaf ears as he looped it over Draco's shoulders.

"I've asked myself that very same question a thousand times," Harry replied. "In part, I think it's because so many people just stayed the same. It's why I left the wizarding world for the most part, everyone wanted me to be who I'd always been and I didn't want that anymore. I wanted to be allowed to grow and change. And you've obviously done that, too."

"So, what you felt like we were kindred spirits or something?" he asked.

"Sort of," Potter replied, lazily lifting one shoulder, "But you're just nothing like what I imagined you turn out to be and it made me wonder what else I was wrong about when it came to you."

"And you thought the best way to figure it out was by watching me pole dance?"

Potter laughed and rubbed the back of his neck again, "I don't know. I couldn't figure out what to do," he confessed. "I didn't know how to talk to you."

"Still," Draco said, "there has to be more to it than that."

"You're also bloody gorgeous," Potter added, "when you dance. And I really like watching you."

"Oh?"

He nodded, "I'd wondered a little bit before I saw you again if part of my obsession with you at Hogwarts was actually attraction that I just hadn't understood at the time."

"And?" he asked.

"Well, obviously seeing you again confirmed it." Potter looked down and scuffed his toe on the sidewalk.

In a moment of bravery that he'd never quite be able to understand later, Draco stepped forward, caught Potter's chin and pressed their lips together.

Potter took a surprised gasp, sucking a bit of Draco's air into his mouth before he started to kiss him back. His hands moved to cup Draco's face as he kissed him softly, gently like Draco was something precious, something treasured.

He'd been kissed a lot but he'd never been kissed like this. He'd never been kissed with such single-minded devotion, never been kissed like he was someone instead of something. Potter licked into his mouth, stroking his tongue over Draco's as one of his hands slid down to Draco's waist, drawing him a bit closer.

After a long moment, Potter pulled back first, "We should get off the sidewalk," he said.

"Logical," Draco replied.

"Could I take you to dinner?"

The corner of Draco's mouth tipped up, "I don't usually have dinner with my one night stands."

"Well, maybe I could not be a one night stand?" Potter said. "Not that I'm even remotely opposed to the idea of sex with you, I just can't imagine that one night could ever be enough."

"I might be able to be persuaded."

"Oh?" Potter asked, smiling wide enough that his dimples appeared. "How might I be able to persuade you?"

He smirked, "I'm not entirely sure yet but you're resourceful, you'll figure it out."

"Where would you like to go for dinner?" Potter asked.

"You flat," he replied. "I'm still in my stage make-up and it makes for some funny looks."

"Your make up is gorgeous," Potter protested, "But I'd be very glad for you to come back to my flat."

"Lead on, then," Draco replied, feeling a spark of anticipation.

This was just the first of many nights that Draco came to Harry's flat after the show. He came to his flat so often, in fact, that it eventually became their flat. And Harry had been right all along, one night (or one lifetime, for that matter) could never be enough.

---------------

You can read Day 107: Charge as a sequel to this ficlet. :)

Day 29: Punch | Day 31: Veritaserum

#thanks for the prompt anon! #I hope you enjoy! #harry potter #100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #drarry #drarry drabbles #drarry ficlets #my writiing #day 30

[believerindaydreams]

Hi @pear-oh here is your February Fallout story! You said you liked Dead Money, so here's a small scene with Arcade and Boone on a rooftop at the Sierra Madre. Rather introspective :)

"It's a tribute to the human spirit," Arcade says, and coughs. Even up on a rooftop, the Sierra Madre's poison isn't far away.

"It's bullshit," Boone says; but with a hint of amusement in his tone, and from him that's virtually laughter. He slices a box of long-dried apples in half, dips pieces in their precious dirty water to soften it. "Why waste energy drawing hearts over your supply caches in a hell like this?"

The Socrates in him can't resist meeting the question with a question. "Why wouldn't you? If you knew your time was running out, that you couldn't escape, why not try to help the people who come after you? The Followers would be nowhere today if not for the kind of mentality, a kind mentality if you will, that bears an interest in the welfare if future generations."

"Takes you away from the here and now, maybe that is something," Boone mutters, rooting through the stash. "But a bottle of booze you stash away is one you won't have when maybe you need it- what's this green stuff?"

Arcade picks it up, peers frowning at the torn and distorted label. "Absinthe? Word in Freeside is that it's excellent for your perception, although the properties of alcohol being what they are I imagine that's nonsense-"

"Gimme and we'll find out," Boone says, cocking a police pistol. "Got some ghosts below."

"Uh, it's not exactly as if we have ammo to waste," Arcade says cautiously, even as he hands over the bottle. This rooftop is as safe a spot as any in this blasted hellscape. Even a drunk sniper couldn't get into very much trouble up here-

Shots ring out, hard and fast, each one with the eerie clean precision he associates with old memories of V.A.T.S.-equipped Enclave fighters. Only Boone's doing it raw, no tech.

Pure talent and sheer damn stubbornness. The bit of him that's privately never really grasped Navarro's fall, still wondering how any post-war culture could have brought the Enclave's might to dust on the wind, understands the NCR better now then after a decade of peaceful life there. It makes him glad and jealous both, that he's a doctor, neither expected nor wanted to wield such destructiveness.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Wish we had some explosive rounds. Doubt I'd need to headshot them twice if I could blow them apart the first time...though with these things, who knows?"

"As a guess, it's a question of dismemberment. Probably one bullet would do it, if you cut them apart during that unconscious stupor."

"You wanna climb down there and find out?"

"No."

The way this place caters to his worst impulses. He remembers the reassuring whisper of Enclave holotapes, soothing Navarro's infants to sleep at night- don't trust outsiders, don't trust strangers. These uncanny ghosts are everything he was ever taught was terrible about the outside world: unthinking monsters with a taste for rampage and destruction.

He's glad he's not killing them.

He's glad Boone is.

Arcade watches the sniper's steady hands, the flesh turned a violent coloring under the Madre's clouded moon, and can't quench his appreciation of the reprehensible.

#fallout new vegas #FOFebruary22

[teganberry]

Atlantis AU - Character Designs

This was waaaaaay too much fun! I guess there’s something about Kingdom Hearts characters that translates really well into the aesthetic of Atlantis. Story setup and character bio’s are below the cut!

In the year 1920 world renowned archaeologist Professor A. Wise discovers a book known as The Shepherd’s Journal, which he believes may hold the location of the Lost City of Atlantis. With the help of his two best students, Professor Wise makes sort work of decoding the ancient Atlantean language, unlocking the book’s long held secrets. He presents his findings to the famous adventure Yen Sid in hopes of receiving financial backing from him for an expedition to the Lost City. While Yen Sid himself is now much too old to venture out on such an arduous journey, he enthusiastically agrees to financially support the venture. All that remained was for Professor Wise to assemble the talented crew required to see the expedition through.

Kairi: Kairi is a University student studying history and linguistics. She is one of Professor Wise’s top students and helped him in the decoding The Shepherd’s Journal. When presented with the opportunity to join him on the Atlantis expedition she excitedly agrees the moment he asks her. On the outside Kairi appears to have a very positive outlook on life and a rather happy go lucky attitude. However, this persona is a mask Kairi uses to hide a deep pain she has carried all her life. Born out of wedlock to the disgrace of both her parents, Kairi has always been seen as an outcast in her family. Her wish to be educated at a University far away was only agreed to by her wealthy family so they may finally be rid of her for good. With the exception of her friend Roxas, Kairi feels she has never been truly loved by anyone. That all begins to change, however, when upon reaching the city of Atlantis she meet’s a mysterious Atlantean man with the most charming smile she’s ever seen.

Roxas: Roxas attends the same University as Kairi, studying history and archaeology. He and Kairi met in their first history class together and became fast friends. Upon learning of Kairi’s family and troubled past Roxas promised that he could be her new family, and that they would always be friends no matter what. He was the second student who helped Professor Wise decode The Shepherd’s Journal. Unlike Kairi, however, Roxas was less eager on the idea of actually travelling to the Lost City, fearing the journey there would be fraught with danger. Kairi comforts him and tells him that so long as he won’t regret it some day, then he shouldn’t force himself to go on the journey. After thinking on her words and knowing deep down that not seeing Atlantis would haunt him for the rest of his life, Roxas agrees to join the expedition. After all, who knows what sort of other worldly treasure he may find? Or perhaps whom he may find.

Terra: A commander who served in the first World War, Terra is recruited for the expedition along with a number of other ex-soldiers for their military know how and leadership skills. While cool and stoic on the outside, on the inside Terra has become a troubled man, scared by the horrors he faced during the War. Having seen hell with his own eyes, he is now desperate to see “the other world” wherever it may be.

Xion: Adoptive sister of Axel and mechanical engineering wiz kid! Xion, along with her older brother, were both personally recommended by Yen Sid for the expedition. There’s no engine she can’t fix. Xion makes no secret of the fact that she and her brother are only in this for the money so they can keep financially supporting their family. But despite that mentality she has a kind heart, and finds herself easily making friends with Kairi and Roxas.

Axel: Like his sister, explosive expert Axel is in this for the money, plain and simple. He was also recommended by Yen Sid, and has well over a decade of experience with explosives. Axel likes to make friends with everyone, whether they like it or not. Roxas and Kairi were doomed to be his new best friends from the start.

Sora: Growing up Sora always appreciated how lucky he was. Despite having no parents and no royal title to speak of he was somehow accepted as a ward of the Atlantean Emperor. He grew up within the palace walls and became best friends with the Prince. He had to be the luckiest orphan around! Sora thought that he had everything he could ever want, that was until he came across a mysterious girl with impossibly red hair on the outskirts of the city, who claimed to have come from the world above. Sora knew from the moment he met her that he was a goner. He just hoped the Prince wouldn’t be too mad…and why are all the rumours that Sora may actually posses Royal blood after all suddenly re-emerging?

Riku: The Prince and heir to the thrown of Atlantis. Riku understands his duty well, but that doesn’t mean he always sticks to the rules. Much the the distain of his head guard, more often then not Riku can be found sneaking out of the Palace with Sora to go hunting, or explore more of their mysterious home. The boys both know that once Riku becomes Emperor their time together will no longer be free. They swear to one another that until that day comes they will spend every moment they can together. It is during one of his many expeditions with Sora that they come across the party of explorers from the world above. Riku notices that Sora seems instantly taken by the girl with strange red hair, and even he must admit that there is something about her...

Aqua: The Prince’s head guard and and attempted voice of reason, Aqua is a woman who will do anything to protect her Prince even if that means protecting him from himself. While she does her best to maintain a stern exterior appropriate for her position in society, on the inside she has an incredibly warm and loving heart. She will just as soon scold Riku, Sora and Ven for their inappropriate actions, as she will offer them heartfelt advice and comfort whenever they need it. When the Explorers first appear Aqua does not trust them. While some of the newcomers seem friendly enough, others among the group appear to have darker motivations. And then there’s the tall man in the group, with brown hair and a haunted look in his eyes. There’s something about him Aqua can’t seem to figure out, but she determined to find the answer. For the sake of the Prince’s safety of course…

Namine: There was once a time in Namine’s life when everything was normal. Her days would pass and nothing strange or out of the ordinary would happen. She could read and draw to her heart’s content. Then one day, through no fault of her own, she somehow got mixed up in one the the Prince’s crazy adventures and by the end of the madness had seemingly become friends with the Prince and his best friend, Sora. Ever since then Namine’s life has become one ridiculous adventure after another, so it wasn’t really much of a surprise when Sora came crashing through her front door one day exclaiming that strange people from the world above had somehow appeared in Atlantis. What did take her by surprise was when she finally laid eyes on the Explorers she found that she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off one of them in particular. A young man with blond hair and a lyrical voice she just can’t get out of her head.

Ven: When Ven first signed up to be trained as a Royal Guard he had expected a tough training process that would teach him to be both strong and disciplined. What he had not expected was for the Prince and Sora to take such a strong liking to him that they would insist he join them on their expeditions at every opportunity. Caught between his duty of obeying the Prince’s request but also to follow Aqua’s commands, Ven often finds himself receiving an earful from the head guard. But once the lectures are done Aqua always admits that, while Ven shouldn’t leave his post, at least the Prince had taken some form of protection with him. When the Explorers arrive Ven is initially excited, but like Aqua he quickly becomes suspicious. There’s just something in particular about the Explorer with messy jet black black hair that sends an involuntary shiver down Ven’s spine.

#Kingdom Hearts #Sora #Kairi #Sokai #Sorikai #riku #roxas #namine #rokunami #terra #aqua #terraqua #Xion #axel #ven #Atlantis #atlantis the lost empire #Atlantis AU #I have out way too much thought into this... #my art

[inscribed-in-asteroids]

AN: Took a while but here’s chapter six! Make sure to reblog and like, or leave comments and kudos on AO3, which is still the best place to read it.

Title: The Ripple Effect

Characters: Hordak and Entrapta, feat. Glimmer, Bow, Aurora and Eon (OCs)

Rating: M (for smut)

                                            Repairing Harm Done

Hordak walks through the center of their new home away from home. Entrapta and he share their enjoyment of space, and going on adventures with her has been some of the greatest years of his life; however, Beast Island has been transformed into a multicultural landscape, where anyone could come here if they wanted, and stay here if they chose. While Odessa has been away with her friends, they opted to expand the lodgings here to accommodate growing numbers. Talon and he weren’t the only ones with children, and even without offspring, his siblings were finding life partners, and to add on top of that, visitors from nearby planets come to Etheria as well and, sometimes, like it so much they wish to remain.

Upon this realization, they made an organization to discuss blueprints, schedules and funding for such a project. The funding was no issue: Glimmer and Bow were more than happy to aid them, and have visited the island several times now to see what else was needed. It wasn’t necessarily money they needed, either, as everything on Beast Island was based on a trade system and very loosely; they have utilized the technology on the island well, and created elaborate new machines for daily living. Glimmer and Bow, simply put, love being involved. They offer their expertise, Bow on his own inventions and Glimmer with her magic, but they were enthusiastic to be present at all.

He notes his brothers above him in the trees, connecting large trunks with man-made bridges, where a community of apartments will be launched high above them. The groves are to be interconnected this way, allowing for more freedom of development and making use of every inch of the island, eventually establishing long pathways that will join all shores of the island. This will be the new dwelling place for many of the citizens on Beast Island, while the area he’s moving through will serve as the marketplace, with recreational centers, hospitals, schools and restaurants lined throughout the ground floor. They have been constructing it for a while, but high demand has allowed for a speedier process to take place. Underground it will be primarily used for laboratories, as he and Odessa have the largest ones. It’s also their excavation site for First Ones tech, which they still continue to find more than twenty years later, the deeper into the earth they go; it’ll also serve as their mausoleum, for when those days come.

Animals chirp in the branches, shadows moving along his frame. Looking up, he meets the eyes of his brothers hammering boards into place, and they wave down at him. Being in a good mood, he waves back—

A sharp pang goes up his shoulder. Wincing in surprise, Hordak holds his hand up for a moment. Confused, he shakes off the sensation and continues toward the direction of his residence. Opening the door, Hordak steps inside.

“Entrapta? I’ve returned,” Hordak announces.

No answer.

She must be out. Maybe he’ll go check up on Emily and Imp. The latter has been growing, which came as a surprise to everyone. No one believed Imp could actually get bigger. It’s about the time Imp needs to have tests run to check if he’s still healthy as his body develops, Hordak muses, beginning to climb up the steps—

His legs suddenly lock, and they buckle, causing him to sprawl on the floor. His palms and knees slam into the hard stone, sending waves of pain up his frame. Another shortly follows, stabbing through his body. And it’s never one type of stab—it’s sharp, a knife slashing through; or painfully dull, akin to being jabbed with a worn, flat spear. It may not cut, but it’s relentless. And he can’t ever tell which is worse.

Trying to stand, he finds himself unable to. He pushes up with his hands, and the pain stings up his nerves, all the way to his neck.

Hordak lets out a breath of shock, of anger, of fear.

No.

No no no no no no no—

He looks down at his hands, and the color recedes—the blue drains, melting from elbow down, streaks forming along his wrist, and he can feel them weaken at the shoulder.

Hordak yells out loud, hunched over from the agony, watching as his forearms split in two without warning right down the middle until they’re merely the width of bone within the muscles thinning blood flow slowing unable to move or feel or sense or know why—

Hordak lets out a cry of shock, jolting himself up. Breathing hard, he turns to his right. Moonlight cuts through the dark of his bedroom, the blinds never being tightly sealed enough for his liking. But for once, he’s relieved to see it.

His head falls into his hands, and he breathes in. Breathes out. He withdraws to look at them. His forearms show no signs of disease, stark in the dim room. His shoulders move as they should, and he rotates them to be sure. He claws the air with his fingers, two quick movements. Then he lets them go toward his palm, slowly, pinky first as the rest follow, moving in synchronicity. He repeats this motion four more times, and none of them hurt.

Entrapta shifts beside him, her arm reaching out for his body. Automatic. When she finds only the pillow, Entrapta opens her eyes. She props herself up on an elbow, reaching out to touch her husband.

“Hordak? Are you okay?”

Blinking, Hordak turns to look at her. Her hair is loose about her body, draping across her shoulders in long strands. She doesn’t wear clothes to bed, finding it more comfortable. She followed his example on that one. After decades of being in pain, he didn’t want to be constricted as he slept. It reminded him too much of how often he had to be bound in place by something or another to keep from falling apart. His body was attached by sinew and muscle, like anyone else, but it never felt like that. It always felt like one small gesture would render him incapacitated, and his shoulders would fall from their sockets.

Entrapta sits up, touching the small of his back, “Did you have a bad dream?”

Hordak sighs, “I… did.”

Entrapta brushes the side of his face, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Hordak reaches up to take her hand in his, “It… It was the usual dream.”

Sidling next to him, Entrapta lays her head on his shoulder, “I know. It’s scary.”

He lets out a breath, unable to disagree. Adora had fixed him, permanently, in that other lifetime. Horde Prime wouldn’t allow something defective in his midst, so his body had been healed at the expense of his mind’s free will. But when Adora expelled Prime out, he was released from the confines of both mental and physical anguish.

He knows this.

His body has not known that pain in many, many years.

But there are days when he’s walking, sitting, breathing, and his thoughts turn to anxiety. Anxiety about the day, the moment, when his body will fail him again. He exercises every day, relishing in the activity he had been denied. The strength and power and agility that he long forgot about and wishes to keep. He makes sure to have that routine set out for himself, to have those thoughts at bay, to stop worrying him. He recalls how nervous he’d been when Odessa had been born—to have his daughter in his arms, and he would panic about the pain coming back and he can’t grab her in time before she collapses onto the floor and she dies. In a second, just like that.

Pulling his knees up, Hordak stretches his arms out onto them, giving a heavy sigh.

Entrapta rotates a bit, brushing his hair out.

“Entrapta?”

“Yes?”

“Can you check?”

Without further question, Entrapta moves forward, inspecting his back first. She notes the perfect coloration of his body, from neck to fingertip. Drawing aside the covers, she makes similar mental notes from his hips down to his feet. She looks up at him, smiling, “You’ve never looked better!”

Hordak sighs, relieved.

Entrapta lays her cheek on his forearm, “And I do mean that.”

He meets her eyes, and she wiggles her eyebrows.

Hordak laughs, allowing the anxiety to leave him, “You’re a pervert.”

Entrapta’s grin widens, “Can you blame me?”

Hordak leans forward to kiss her forehead. And she tilts her head back so their mouths can touch. Her hand caresses the side of his cheek, and he relaxes.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he whispers, after a good while.

“Don’t worry about it,” Entrapta says. She pushes him onto his back, brushing her thumb along his mouth. “You’re not alone, you know.”

Hordak nods, staring up at the ceiling. Entrapta lays next to him, and she taps her chest.

Without a word, he turns, burying his face into her collarbone. Warm and inviting.

Her hands play with his hair, humming quietly. Stroking her fingertips down his neck, careful of the port located there. Entrapta doesn’t stop until he’s taking measured breaths, long and deep; once he does, only then does she fall back asleep.

                                                              -

Hordak steps out into the bright outdoors. Everything is in place. From the new construction in the trees, to the bustling shoppers around him, and, below, he knows Imp and Emily are taking ownership of Odessa’s lab while she’s away, as they tend to when she’s absent. Her friends are missed as well, and he will admit to himself, it’s good for her to have them.

Tristan’s general apathy tends to keep him anchored, but it lifts away as soon as he knows she’s back home, becoming more involved and energetic. Hydrangea’s eagerness to keep peace always stays in place, but she defers to Odessa’s knowledge and skill more often than with anyone else. Hordak knows that there could be no better allies to his daughter than those two.

They’ve been her friends since childhood, and they gravitated toward one another in a manner he found interesting. Despite being born a clone, he knows who he is, and he tends to keep to himself, save for Entrapta’s presence. His brothers tend to be more gregarious, which baffled him at first on how willing they were to interact with Etherians, and he surmised that, even among replicas, he stands out as incredibly reclusive. There are a few who took to his more stern and introverted nature, of course, he isn’t unique to averting social events, but he continues to have the shortest temper, if pushed enough, and is withdrawn. Talon is one of those individuals to match it, as he tends to be around his wife alone, but he doesn’t mind the spotlight, and that’s their difference.

Hordak’s gotten better at being around others, but he finds it exhausting after a while. Entrapta says that’s okay, and she wouldn’t change that about him and has outright stated to prefer it. Large groups are only ‘fun’ to watch, not be part of.

Odessa, meanwhile, enjoyed company, and Tristan was the first person she brought home. Hydrangea and Odessa liked each other very much, which delighted Entrapta and Scorpia; however, Tristan’s addition caught them by surprise. Mermista wasn’t the warmest woman when it came to who associated with her son. Hordak knows that his actions from the past were to blame, but she hasn’t done anything to damage his child’s relationship with her companion, so he says nothing.

Hydrangea’s mother, Perfuma, is no different, though she tends to have a lenient grip. Which he knows is due to her bohemian attitude, rather than an acceptance of Odessa. She wouldn’t stifle her child, as she has asserted that children should be allowed to do as they please and grow up how they will. It’s not a sentiment he disagrees with—he gave Odessa all the freedom she wanted. Entrapta was the one to spoil her, and he took on the disciplinarian role, for when it needed to be done, but overall, he and his wife encouraged Odessa’s desire to do what she wanted. Sometimes, her strong personality could be overpowering for others, but she’s not a bad person.

Despite what others may think.

“How are you doing, hon?” Entrapta asks, getting up to his level.

“I’m doing fine,” he responds. “Did you need something from me?”

“No,” Entrapta smiles. “You always ask that.”

“Ask what?”

“If people need something from you.”

He pauses in his tracks, “Do I?”

“You usually ask that when I’m looking at you, or wondering how you are,” Entrapta states. “And when I say people, I mean just me. You don’t do it with others.”

Hordak looks at the ground, silent.

“That’s not a problem, Hordak! It’s an observation,” Entrapta assures him.

He doesn’t question it further, for now.

“Oh, hi, guys!” Entrapta says.

Hordak faces behind him, finding Glimmer and Bow waving at him. For a flash of a second, he’s stricken with concern, but remembers that they’re supposed to be here today. That must be why they were in his dream, and it has nothing to do with premonitions of impending doom.

“Hey! Hope we’re not late,” Bow says.

“You’re right on time!” Entrapta replies.

Glimmer smiles, “Good! I hope you don’t mind—we brought Aurora today.”

Hordak looks past them, their daughter standing near the portal. Utterly disinterested. Without thinking, he says to Glimmer, “Was it wise to bring her?”

She looks at him, surprised, before waving her hand and laughing, “Oh, Hordak, she’s fine! She’s a big girl. Aurora, come here please!”

Aurora’s expression belies her unwillingness to be present, a polite smile on her face.

He doesn’t want to be rude— Well, that’s not true, he wants to be rude. It just isn’t prudent. Aurora isn’t a person who tends to be engrossed in what’s going outside of her social circle.

Glimmer looks up at Hordak, “I brought her because as future queen, she needs to participate in what’s happening throughout Etheria. You and I are working on this together, so I figured she would benefit from learning how things work with other kingdoms outside of a council meeting!”

Hordak nods in understanding. Makes sense.

Entrapta looks at Aurora, “Hello!”

“Thank you for welcoming me,” Aurora curtsies.

“What’s first on the agenda?” Bow asks.

Entrapta laughs, “We’ll go up into the trees first! We’ve designed a mode of transportation that takes us all to the top!”

Hordak silently walks behind the group. Entrapta leads them to a lift that operates when people enter into the rectangular container, made of nearby materials, predominantly the wood and bark of trees, as they’re the sturdiest thing at the moment. It’s in its rudimentary stage, Entrapta explains, and hopefully it will be changed into solid metal soon, since they didn’t want to waste resources at once. They had to see if it worked first, and they needed to design a glass case to hold it. All of them are elevated toward the top, allowing them a view of everything below.

Glimmer looks over the side of the box, “Wow, where did you come up with the idea?”

“Remember Horde Prime’s ship? He had this sort of thing aboard. We figured it would help get people around easier,” Entrapta says.

“So, you took the contraption of someone deplorable and used it for yourself?” Aurora asks.

“Yep!” Entrapta says.

Glimmer stares at her child, and Bow’s brows rise an inch.

Hordak’s arms remain folded, glaring at the back of Aurora’s head. Not liking her tone.

She doesn’t approve of it. And while he may not like owing Prime anything, it isn’t conducive to advancement as a group to ignore advantages simply because it came from a heinous individual. Good people have bad ideas, and bad people have good ideas, it depends on how it’s used.

“I don’t see how this is sensible of your time,” Aurora says.

Entrapta laughs, “Not everyone can teleport like you and your mom! We have people who can’t jump and climb the way we can.”

Aurora gives a delicate sniff, unimpressed with the explanation.

Glimmer claps her hands together, “Well, I think it’s a phenomenal idea. Prime was a monster, but his ship was incredible.”

“Mama—” Aurora begins.

Bow points at the distant grove, “Oh, look, pookas! Aurora, these were the animals that I met with Adora while looking for Entrapta.”

“The very things that would’ve eaten you all, and my grandpa, alive. You don’t say,” Aurora dryly answers.

“They’re friendly now!” Entrapta corrects, hair morphing into a hand with a forefinger pointed up.

Aurora grimaces when a pooka chitters at her, stepping away.

Hordak comes forward, unable to deal with it any longer, “Perhaps, it would be better for Aurora if she went and explored on her own. There is a plethora of activity in the market, and the main thing we would all be discussing is infrastructure.”

Bow turns to him, “Oh, I don’t think it’s necessary for her to leave.”

Glimmer nods, his suggestion more than welcome, “Actually, he might be right. Sweetie, why don’t you go down and check things out?”

“Thank you, I will,” Aurora says, giving another polite smile. With that, she teleports to the ground.

Entrapta yells over the side, “Byyyeeee!”

Bow and Glimmer share a long glance at one another. Aurora is a pleasant young woman, and now at eighteen, she should be engaging with more outside of Bright Moon. Neither Glimmer or Bow could imagine not wanting to go out of their comfort zone, whether it’s irritating or boring. But Aurora had never been quite as easy with ventures toward the unfamiliar.

Aurora is a creature of habit and routine, so she tends to stick with people that she knows, which is why they gave Marlena and Clawdeen the day off, both to allow Aurora to expand her horizons on her own, while giving their goddaughters well-deserved rest. Adora and Catra serve, too, as Aurora’s respective godparents, for they had all promised to be the guardians of each other’s children. And it’s why they decided, when Aurora asked if she could visit her extended family on the outskirts of the Whispering Woods, they pushed her to join them on this trip to Beast Island.

Aurora’s behavior since arrival was troubling Glimmer; she’s sure it wasn’t obvious, but her daughter radiated displeasure. Aurora is normally so genteel, with impeccable manners, which were inherited from Angella, and nurtured more by Bow and his relatives. Glimmer, even as she gets older, could never get rid of her fire to engage with every little aspect of life as much as she could. There was so much to do and see and experience, and she likes to believe that Aurora’s the same, even with her personality being softer than her own: mellow, caring, even shy. She knows her daughter is a good person.

Everyone always says so.

Bow and Entrapta have gone ahead, chatting animatedly about inventions and the latest in revolutionary designs. Addressing Hordak, Glimmer murmurs, “I’m sorry about Aurora.”

Hordak looks at her, “I don’t see the need for an apology. She doesn’t have to hide her disdain.”

Glimmer pokes him lightly in the arm, teasing, “Why? Because you’re the same?”

“Exactly,” Hordak replies, giving a light chuckle.

Sighing, she holds up her face with her hand, “Still, I don’t know why she’s upset today. I know kids don’t like to be with their parents after a certain age, and want to be with their friends—I was definitely that way—but I thought maybe she would have fun, you know? Engaging with the people, the mix of culture. Beast Island is so grand now!”

“I’m glad to hear you approve of what we’ve accomplished thus far,” Hordak says.

“That lift contraption is useful, but nothing will ever overshadow the day we got indoor plumbing in the palace.”

Hordak smiles, letting himself relax in the easy conversation.

                                                              -

Aurora walks through the throng of individuals bustling around. She didn’t expect so… many clones. She knows this is one preferred habitation, along with the kingdom of Dryl, and they are sporadic in other parts of Etheria. But to have so many of them present is a sight to behold.

She doesn’t approach any of the shops, but watches closely. Etherians, too, are wandering from stall to stall, store to store, and she ponders why any of these citizens would want to leave their kingdoms. Do their leaders not provide enough for them that they feel the need to come to a place still in development? She has heard of Beast Island’s many, many changes from childhood to adulthood, but she doesn’t see the appeal of coming to a location that isn’t as established as the rest of Etheria. New Chelicerata is an exception, since restoring a ruined kingdom isn’t a simple task, and that was in no part thanks to the Horde destroying the land and water.

To add on top of that, Aurora notes the strange carts being driven around the area. Compact metal transportation vehicles that are hovering above the ground, or whizzing through the canopy. An invention from Entrapta, no doubt. She tends to be the mind behind the majority of the designs. Those cannot possibly be safe.

Aurora treads lightly along the ground, a little dash of levitation magic that she’s been practicing. A gaggle of children, both Etherian and mixed, run past her, and she sidesteps out of the way. None of them are paying attention to where they’re running, almost doing the same to a couple of people. She quietly shames their parents for not teaching them respect better.

“Hey! You all have to slow down!”

She recognizes the voice, stopping in her tracks.

“Aww, but we wanna run!” chime youthful voices of reckless abandon.

Her eyes shift back and forth from either side, not risking looking behind herself, wondering if she can slip into a nearby building.

“You want to run? Go that way into the woods and return after a while. Whoever’s fastest wins and gets bragging rights.”

“What if one of us gets lost?”

For a moment, she wonders if she could master the invisibility spell this very second—

“Your parents didn’t tell you, but that’s the price of being fools running around without a care: you didn’t get to learn map reading. It’s a curse, so it’s inevitable you’ll die in the jungle.”

The children laugh, “What? No way!”

As the conversation turns to protest, Aurora darts behind a wall, letting out a breath. Crisis averted.

“You know, I heard that if you run like mad back to your homes, and don’t get lost, the curse is lifted! But you can only try when the moon’s half full.”

A gasp comes from one of the children, “Oh my gosh! It’s half full tonight!”

“I guess you kids better practice for this evening!”

Aurora peers around the corner, listening to the children fall for the outlandish lies, while unable to see anyone.

She’s startled when the next sound is that of quick steps coming her direction, darting past her—

Instinctively, she teleports, narrowly avoiding collision with a child. She closes her eyes and sighs.

Why can’t she go home?

“Aurora? What are you doing here?”

She tenses.

She didn’t plan where she’d wind up.

Slowly, Aurora tilts back her head, giving her signature smile, “Eon. I didn’t expect to see you.”

Peering down, Eon quirks a single brow, “You didn’t expect to see me where my family is? Do you not know how visitation works?”

Aurora withdraws, realizing with embarrassment how her head had been resting on his chest. He stands there, nonchalant, several stacks of flour levitating above his palm. He wears Mystacoran attire, deep, noble colors of purple with the usual white or gold accents replaced with his signature black.

Standing out as much as her, if she’ll admit anything. She attends any event wearing dresses, colored soft pink with whites trimming her sleeves and the hem of her skirt. She smoothes out her outfit, looking at the fabric, “I know how visitation works. Normally, you’re locked up in your room.” She side-eyes him. “Doing nothing to better yourself.”

Eon gives a cocky grin, “At least I don’t fake being busy to drown out the monotony enveloping my life.”

Decorum be damned, Aurora’s expression turns mocking, “I happen to like monotony. Schedules keep things together.”

“Another way of declaring you’re uptight,” Eon retorts, sauntering past her.

Aurora emits a light scoff, teleporting beside him, “I am not uptight! I appear that way to the lethargic. It wouldn’t hurt you to make an effort.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Eon replies, spinning on the ball of his foot and giving a small bow with his head. “I forgot that commoners like myself need your example to show us how we could improve ourselves.”

Aurora tosses back her hair, “That’s part of being a princess—leading by example.”

Eon rolls his eyes, continuing his path, “Of course. I wouldn’t want to contradict you.”

“But I would contradict you,” Aurora replies. “I don’t understand why you’re carrying the sacks like that.”

“Like what?”

“Magic isn’t something to do menial tasks with. Did your muscles atrophy from being bedridden?”

“I happen to enjoy using my magic for all my needs,” Eon says. “If it makes things easier, why not do it?”

Aurora shakes her head.

“So, what are you on the island for? Did your family finally admit you were found among the beetles, and that’s why you have those wings?”

“Are you insinuating I’m a pest?” she questions, annoyed, folding her arms.

“Beetles happen to serve a very good purpose,” Eon tells her. “I wouldn’t imply such malicious concepts about you.”

Aurora gives him a pointed glare, “If you must know, I happen to be tagging along with my parents. They wanted to check on how construction is going for your people.”

“Ah. That’s nice,” he says, sincere.

“For you, maybe.”

Eon resumes being distant, “Well, I thank you for showing you care. Your presence graces us.”

“I suppose this will do as I’m waiting for them to be done,” she replies, looking around with annoyance.

Eon stops in front of his destination, setting the cargo carefully on the ground. He waves at an uncle, who nods his thanks before continuing to help a customer.

“Why don’t you take it inside?” Aurora asks.

“They know where it is.”

“It’s nicer to put it inside,” Aurora insists.

Eon grunts in annoyance. Levitating them back up, he goes around the corner. He halts, turning to her, hiking a thumb in his new direction, “Are you coming?”

Blinking, Aurora glances behind him. “This job doesn’t require two people.”

Eon leaves the sacks floating, pivoting around, “If you’re going to make demands of me, the least you can do is watch me do it.”

“But—”

He gestures to the building, “Would you rather loiter outside this public establishment?”

Aurora concedes, following him to the back door. She supposes it’s better than being out in the open.

                                                             -

Hordak lets his mind wander as his companions take rein of the conversation.

The nightmare threw him off more than he’d care to admit. He has had this sort of dream before, however, he was shaken to his core with this one. It was the most vivid he had ever experienced, and an aspect of slumber he’d care to not go through again.

Bow and Glimmer head to a group of his brothers who are in the midst of adding beams together.

He took it upon himself to take a break in a home that was under development. It needs a little more work left, but it’s otherwise complete and ready for furnishing. No one will bother him here.

Entrapta looks into the house, noticing his posture. He’s staring out a window that overlooks the trees, the drop going straight down, hands behind his back. His thinking position. She swings over to where he stands, closing the door behind her, “Are you still holding up?”

Hordak’s brow twitches. He doesn’t tell her that it’s a poor choice of words, because he knows he’s a little more sensitive to this matter than usual.

But Entrapta touches his shoulder, “Oh, I’m sorry! I meant to ask if you’re fine.”

“That is not something you need to concern yourself with. They’re mere words.”

“Words that are insensitive,” Entrapta replies. He doesn’t give a reply. She sits on her hair, gazing right at him. Unmoving.

Hordak’s eyes flick over to her for a second. He continues to stare straight ahead. “Entrapta, you needn’t apologize or feel responsible.”

“I believe you when you say that,” Entrapta says, not removing her eyes from his features. Suddenly, she gives a bashful smile, “I just care about you.”

Heart twinging, Hordak stiffens. He knows that her concern is sincere, and he appreciates it. He raises a hand to her cheek, brushing it, “I know.”

Entrapta flushes, his gaze intense. She can’t help but look down then, soft giggles leaving her lips. His finger traces the shell of her ear, and a shudder snakes along her spine. Body growing warm from the attention. He always knew how to make her feel special. After Prime’s defeat, Hordak had layers of emotion to sift through. He had been angry for many years, and she knows there’s parts of that residual rage underneath the calm. But one aspect of his nature that blossomed was a sensitivity that left her speechless. Hordak doesn’t believe it, but he can be very romantic by simply being honest with her.

“Hordak,” Entrapta whispers, touching his hand.

He tilts his head, “Yes?”

“You know I love you,” she says.

“Yes, I do,” Hordak replies, surprised. “And I love you too.”

Entrapta gives a breathy laugh, turning her face into his palm, hiding. She peers up at him with one eye, “Really?”

“More than you could comprehend,” Hordak tells the truth.

“Aww!” she coos, pressing his hand into her cheek, slightly muffled as she buries her face into his palm again.

A light blush tints his face, and he gives a soft laugh, “Entrapta, what’s this about? Are you upset that you cannot help me with my problem?”

“A little,” Entrapta holds his hand in hers, kissing the inside of his wrist. “I don’t know what to do sometimes, and I don’t know if me being around helps at all.”

“You’re a great help,” he assures her, thumb stroking her cheekbone. “Don’t doubt your affect on me.”

Entrapta grins, “I know some of the ways I affect you, silly!”

Hordak steps closer, smile widening along his lips, teeth flashing. His voice lowers, “Do you?”

“I like to think so,” Entrapta teases, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, fingers moving into his hair.

Her lips touch his, and he pulls her close. Her body curves against his, and even after decades of being near her, he’s always amazed at how she feels. Hand angled behind her head, his other one shifts down her back, sliding down her thigh.

Entrapta moans into his mouth, and she realizes that she’s been wanting to do this all day. His breathing grows ragged, moans interspersed with her name, sounds that she never gets tired of, because he only makes them with her.

Hordak pushes her against the wall, and he feels her hair slacken through her frame. Her legs wrap around his waist, allowing herself to be held up by his hands. Entrapta gives a soft groan, pulling him close. Her mouth caresses his neck, causing his body to shiver. Her hands glide down his back, grazing over exposed skin.

His hand snakes up her frame, and angles between her legs. Against the fabric, he begins to rub her clit, and Entrapta gasps in welcome surprise. Grinding against his fingers, she gives a small bite to his ear lobe, hot breath tickling his skin.

Hordak presses harder with his fingers, and he knows she’s growing damp. He captures her mouth with his, swallowing a moan she emits, flushed and excited. She grins against his chin, giving a small chuckle.

Encouraged, Hordak stops petting her. He looks at her, “Entrapta, remove your clothes.”

“Ooooh!” Entrapta does as he says, discarding everything but her shirt.

With ease, he lifts her back up, pushing her securely upon the wall and placing her legs over his shoulders. He has no hesitation as he leans in, breathing in, and glides his tongue up slick folds, rubbing over the clit with the end of his tongue.

Entrapta gasps, closing her eyes in pleasure. His tongue moves slowly, taking his time. It moves through the sides, around, teasing the clit, but never going in. Entrapta’s hands caress his hair, brushing through dark blue locks. His moans vibrate into her skin, mouth burning hot on burning flesh.

Hordak’s tongue suddenly darts in, and Entrapta’s back arches, mouth parting open. Groaning deep in her throat, Entrapta’s fingers grip his hair harder. Hordak pushes her legs further aside, nails digging into tender skin. He pulls away, giving her a brief glance, as his teeth graze along the delicate skin of her inner thigh.

“Hordak…” Entrapta whispers.

“Hmm?” he hums, mouth covering her clit, sucking hard.

Her moan escapes in a staccato, trembling. Biting her lower lip, Entrapta forgets what she’s supposed to ask. Lost in the sensation of his mouth on her clit, tongue dragging along swollen lips. His fingers squeeze the sensitive flesh of her backside, his ears twitching when she says his name. Soon, she’s soaked, unable to think or speak, overcome by physical touch. His arms, once the most obvious area of his defect, don’t waver from the weight, keeping her steady without qualm.

She would love him no matter his appearance, but she’s happy that he has the body he lost before. It brought him so much pain and agony, leaving him enraged and bitter. Entrapta would watch him suffer every day in the Fright Zone, even with her modifications. He felt inadequate, pathetic and alone. She would never think of him this way—he was the most brilliant mind and kindest heart she’d ever met, valuing her for who she was. Loving her despite her own imperfections. She never gave a thought to her physical appearance. What she always worried about was how her mind, her personality, her feelings would be perceived.

He accepted all of it.

And she wants to help him overcome whatever fears remain in him. That the imperfections of his body wouldn’t ever be the only thing of him she’d accept—it would be the doubts, the worries, the anger. He was her friend and husband. He, and he alone, would always be enough.

The heat in her stomach spreads throughout her body. Growing feverish, sweat shining on her skin, her toes curl into his back. Hordak’s ministrations are relentless, breaths muffled as his tongue moves back in, deeper than before, making circular motions within her body.

Shaking with incredible force, it bowls Entrapta forward, clamping her hand over her mouth. Eyes shut closed, brows knitting together, she trembles from the orgasm rocking through her every nerve and muscle. Slowly, her eyelids open, finding him staring up at her.

“Wow…”

Hordak smiles, pleased at such a reaction.

As he wipes up his chin, Entrapta brushes aside his hair, tugging strands over his temple. “Oh... I remembered what I was going to ask…”

“Yes?”

“I was going… to ask… if you think anyone will notice us gone…”

“Perhaps. But I don’t believe there’s a problem, so long as we begin going back now.”

Entrapta gives a gentle pat to his shoulders, and he sets her down. Beginning to dress, she grins, “I think this house is ruined.”

“Nonsense,” Hordak returns, waving a hand. “We need only open a window.”

Cackling wildly, Entrapta leaps up into his arms, nuzzling his neck, “You’re so bad!”

Hordak kisses her cheek, “I try.”

“I can be bad too,” Entrapta says, leering down at his groin.

“I don’t think we have the time,” Hordak replies, arm wrapping around her waist. “As favorable as that outcome would be.”

“Awww… You don’t want to make an attempt?”

“I believe, unfortunately, we have been gone long enough to arouse suspicion.”

“That’s an understatement,” Entrapta replies, wiggling her eyebrows, hand stroking over his clothes. “We definitely can’t hide that.”

A boyish grin and light blush changes his normally stoic demeanor. The expression staggers her mind to a halt, mystifying her on the rare moments it occurs. He’s so pretty...

“Entrapta?” he asks, smile still in place.

Finally recalling what needs to be done, Entrapta moves toward the door, grinning, “I’ll go on ahead, okay? You take your time!”

He nods, and she blows him a kiss that he, on reflex, pretends to catch.

Squealing at his playful attitude, Entrapta bounces out the door.

Hordak hears her voice grow distant, and he notes the faint replies from their friends. Hordak looks back out the window, catching his reflection in the glass. He looks down at his arm, touching it where he can remember missing bone and sinew. He takes in a breath, feeling the air move through his nose, into his chest. The power in his body undeniable.

It’s an odd feeling. Being afraid of nothing.

                                                             -

Aurora follows Eon throughout the market. He, apparently, was needed today. His magic lent significant help to his people, restoring broken objects, fixing machinery, and taking deliveries to several places. She won’t admit it, but it was a welcome relief from simply milling about by herself. Granted, these are tasks servants would be doing, but it made her feel normal, like she was accomplishing objectives at Bright Moon.

Eon looks down at her, “Don’t you have other places to be?”

“If I did, I would’ve left,” Aurora replies.

“Are you bored?”

“No, not at all,” she shakes her head. A little surprised she means it, too.

Eon takes her word for it. He hadn’t expected her to trail after him the entire time, and he would catch her standing by, occasionally offering unwanted critique, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. Early on, he certainly did. But the day has been long and he’s hoping to rest soon. She always does what she wants.

“Are you almost done?” Aurora asks.

“Yes,” he replies. “This is my last spot.”

Aurora looks at the sparse appearance, not even a sign put outside. Eon opens the door, singing its soft chime, and Aurora steps in after him. She’s struck to find rows of jewelry arranged along the four walls, painted navy blue, with cases planted into the middle of the floor. Though empty, they are meant for future displays.

Eon heads over to the case closest to the back door, tapping a bell resting on top.

Aurora joins him, “Is anyone present?”

“Should be,” Eon replies, turning around to face the front. He puts his hands in his pockets. “It’s not an issue if no one is—I can come back later.”

Aurora peers at the glass case, looking at dazzling necklaces, bracelets and rings aligned on vermilion velvet stands. She didn’t expect a store of this magnitude on Beast Island. The quality of the items are beautiful, with delicate designs.

Eon watches her from the corner of his eye. Her expression is intrigued, perusing the case with calm interest. He closes his eyes, waiting for the merchant to arrive. He listens to the faint tread of Aurora’s feet on the ground, the soft tap of her fingers on the surface of glass. He lets his mind wander in peace, glad to have a moment to himself.

Aurora eventually returns to his side, “Are you sure they’re here?”

“Yes,” he answers, not opening his eyes. “If you prefer, you can go find your parents.”

Aurora turns around, skirt slightly shifting about her feet. She stares up at Eon, debating whether to take him up on the suggestion or not. Her parents might be done, but if they’re not, she wouldn’t be able to leave again as smoothly as before. Staring at each side of the room, she says, “This is rude.”

“Uh-huh.”

“This wouldn’t happen in Bright Moon.”

Eon gives an exasperated sigh, “No, of course not. Nothing bad ever happens in Bright Moon.”

She ignores it or doesn’t hear. Aurora boasts, crossing her arms, “Right! Glad you see it my way.”

“Your Highness,” Eon scoffs, turning to face her. “If everyone could see things your way, we’d have a greater need for service animals.”

She blinks, “Why is that?”

“Everyone would be blind,” Eon answers.

Aurora says, tone clipped, “Oh, what would you know?”

“A lot more than you,” Eon replies, feeling vigor return.

“I doubt you possibly could!” Aurora’s head tilts at an arrogant angle. “The only thing you’ve proven today is that you make an excellent mule.”

Feigning injury, Eon clutches his chest, “Ah! You hurt me. But I could’ve sworn that you were fine with loyal, hard-working creatures. Unless that only matters when it’s useful to you.”

Aurora crosses her arms, huffing quietly.

Eon has known Aurora his entire life. Aurora has proven time and again that she has an elitism that tends to push her away from most people. Her parents are open-minded, cheerful individuals, and together they tend to liven any situation. Aurora can be charming, but she lacks sincerity. While not brash, her keeping an absurd distance from the folks around them during his errands proved that she was around him because he was the one thing she knew, rather than any intention toward actual civility.

Aurora inspects her shoulder, finding a loose thread. She points at it, and it dissolves in the air.

“I thought magic wasn’t a toy,” he says, taunting.

“This isn’t the same,” she snaps.

Before Eon can retort, the door opens behind them. The two turn around and find a woman standing there. Full-figured, with brown hair, hazel eyes and pale skin, the merchant is dressed in Bright Moon garb. Silver arm bands go up to mid-forearm, and she removes a light blue cape to hang on a coat rack.

“Eon, hello! I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. My meeting ran late.”

“No worries. I thought as much,” Eon replies.

The woman stares at Aurora for a moment, stunned, then smiles, “Your Highness! Welcome to my shop.”

Returning the warm greeting, Aurora nods at her, “Hello, I’m pleased to meet you. What’s your name?”

“Minette, Your Highness. If I may ask, what are you doing on Beast Island?”

“Royal duties,” Aurora gives a dainty laugh. “It’s been lovely!”

“I’m glad to hear that!” Minette says, walking over to a desk.

Eon bends down, giving Aurora a deadpan stare.

Aurora shoos him back, returning it with a glare.

“So!” Minette begins, causing the two to stand upright before she can notice. “Eon, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“What is it?”

With an excited skip in her step, Minette returns to the chair behind the larger collection of jewelry, “I needed a model for some of my jewelry, and using you would be really helpful!”

“Really? That’s it?” he asks, a bit surprised. “I don’t need to patch a hole in your roof or magic up boxes?”

“Sorry! I understand if you’d prefer to do those things instead,” Minette jokes.

Eon takes his seat, a little relieved that this is the easiest job he’s had today. Aurora sits in a chair nearby, crossing her right ankle under her left, hands in her lap.

“Your Highness, you can scoot closer,” suggests Minette.

Eon gives Aurora a brief glance.

“No, thank you, I’m comfortable where I am,” Aurora says.

“Nonsense! You can try anything on too!”

Aurora is about to decline when Eon rises to his feet and stands behind his seat. He indicates to it with a quick motion of his head, and Aurora elects to accept it. He pushes the chair under her, before levitating the one she’d been in next to it.

Minette smiles, bringing out her first batch, “How is Nyxia?”

“She’s doing well,” he informs her. “She’s likely in a meeting herself.”

“Your mother isn’t usually doing business with other people, correct?”

Eon peruses the jewelry that she places out on the table. Picking up a silver-banded ring, a crimson gem laid in its intricate center, he says, “I suppose she isn’t. But she will occasionally meet up with someone. I think she had to discuss matters with the council on Mystacore.”

“No doubt causing a stir of some sort,” Aurora adds, slipping a white bracelet onto a delicate wrist.

Eon glances at her, “You would know how to do that, wouldn’t you?”

Aurora gives a demure grin, “Whatever do you mean?”

“Playing coy only works on the dim, Aurora," he tells her with a smirk. "But I don’t blame you for being outside of familiar company that you think it’d work on me.”

“Ha ha.”

Minette watches with curious fascination, beaming at them, “You two must be good friends.”

Aurora and Eon turn to her at the statement.

“Am I wrong?” Minette asks, unsure now.

Aurora gives an awkward smile, a little odd on her lips, “Oh, it’s not that! We’ve known one another for years.”

“For how long, if I may ask?”

“A long, long time,” Eon replies, trying on a bracelet as well, shining black. “My mother knows her aunt.”

“Ohh, I see! I wasn’t aware that you knew the royal family, Eon.”

“Not many do,” he answers.

“How do you know Eon?” Aurora returns the question to the other woman.

“He lived near me at Bright Moon,” Minette explains. “I was a resident of the complexes there.”

“Really?” Aurora asks, shocked. “Why did you move here?”

“I always liked to engage in the unusual,” Minette tells her. A happy smile grows on her face, “It was delightful having Eon move in next door. I had become acquainted with his family when they would visit, and they informed me that my designs might strike a chord with a different crowd too, so I decided to set up shop outside of Bright Moon. I’m going to live here permanently, but I’ll be keeping my place over there to be in touch with my family.”

“Oh, I see…”

Minette notes the slight change in Aurora’s disposition. She sets down a narrow container on the table, “Do not misunderstand, Your Highness! Eon and I had been neighbors for a good few years, and he talked to me about the changes occurring on Beast Island. It seemed like a good opportunity to try my business out here too and build a second location. I grew up in Bright Moon, of course, but a change of pace now and again doesn’t hurt, right? I love my home, but knowing that Beast Island had potential was exciting!”

Eon gives Aurora a brief glance, “Surely, you understand what she means.”

Aurora goes quiet, not wanting to look at him. The two enter a chit chat that doesn’t involve her, to which she finds relief. She doesn’t fully… understand Minette’s motivations. He, unfortunately, is correct. An overachiever herself, Aurora can comprehend pushing toward her goals. But her ties to her home are so valuable, that she can’t help but feel a little slighted that a subject of hers decided that it was better to live here, in an underdeveloped metropolis. She can’t disconnect that success is tied to her kingdom and all its facets. It figures that Eon would be capable of convincing someone that, an idea they’d never considered before, might be what they want. He was always good at that.

It has been… ages since they’ve been in each other’s presence. They don’t interact often, but when they do it can be rather... tense. Tense is how she describes her relationship with Eon. His personality is both sardonic and frigid, which can lead to frustrating discussions. He has been more than pleasant thus far—even with his tendency to argue with her. She attempts to be cordial when she can, but she finds his quips to cut to the quick bothersome.

Then he does things like hold out chairs for her, or open doors and allow her to enter first, and she’s a little confused how someone can hold her with contempt and yet high enough esteem to do favors.

Maddening is also how it can be expressed being around Eon.

Aurora’s curiosity rises when Minette pulls out another box, dark and smooth, with a simple crescent moon latch on the front.

“These are my latest earrings!” Minette says, opening it. An array of different sets are revealed, but Aurora’s eyes hone in on a simple pair: pink tear-drop shaped earrings, not looking like anything special, but they have a soft sheen to their color that’s appealing.

“Your Highness, you seem taken with these,” Minette pulls them out. “Would you care to try them on?”

“Oh! Um, yes, thank you,” Aurora holds them in her hands, delicately pinning each one through her earlobes. Minette places a mirror in front of her, and Aurora discovers that she not only finds them pleasing, but she’s enchanted by it. They dangle as she moves her head, and she smiles. Genuine and delighted. “These are beautiful.”

“Thank you!” Minette turns to Eon. “And what about you?”

Eon stares at Aurora, and he pulls himself out of his reverie before Aurora can turn to face him. He looks down at the velvety interior, checking the selection. He does find his eyes trained on a similar pair, but in lovely lavender rather than the rosy pink she chose, their diameter wider a bit at the tip before becoming more rounded at the bottom by comparison as well. He picks it up, staring at it for a moment.

“Try them on, try them on!” encourages Minette.

Eon does as she says, and he checks the mirror too. He gives a light chuckle, the side of his mouth tilting up, “You do know how to win a man over.”

Minette claps her hands excitedly, “Good! Do you two like them enough to get them?”

Aurora nods, beaming, “Yes, absolutely!”

“Yes, I definitely want them,” Eon begins. He reaches for his pocket, “How much is this, Minette?”

“Eon, you silly boy,” the older woman giggles. “Consider them a gift from me to the both of you, hm?”

Aurora waves a hand, “Oh, that’s sweet of you, but you should be paid for your work!”

Eon nods in agreement, taken aback, “It doesn’t feel right to have them handed over. I can pay for Aurora’s set as well.”

Aurora, a little flattered despite herself, coos, “Aww, really?”

“Yes, really,” he answers.

Minette wags a finger, “Ah-ah-ah! I won’t hear of it. It really is my way of saying thanks to Eon for helping out today and times past; and Your Highness, I’d be honored if you wore them!”

Grinning, Eon shrugs, reclining in his seat, “Well, who am I to turn down a free present?”

“Thank you very much, Minette,” Aurora says. She looks at the mirror again, enjoying herself for the first time today.

                                                            -

Glimmer stands next to Entrapta, looking over a couple of blueprints that the engineer created with a team of clones. The day has passed with little event, and Glimmer was glad about that. She addresses Entrapta, “How is Odessa, by the way? Will she be home soon?”

Entrapta nods, widening her smile, “Yes! She will be home in a month.”

“Ooh, that’s exciting!” Glimmer says. “I bet you’ve missed her.”

“I knooooow!” Entrapta flips in place through the air. “I told her if she found anything interesting to bring it back!”

“Where did she go again?”

“She went to visit our family in Inicos. It’s a long journey, but the return trip is much shorter.”

Glimmer nods, then glances at Hordak. She leans in, whispering, “Do you think Hordak is excited?”

Entrapta picks up the cue, and whispers back, “Yes! Hordak doesn’t show it, but he misses our baby too.”

“That’s so cute!” Glimmer says.

“I know!”

From where he stands, Hordak’s ears twitch a little, looking over his shoulder at the women. They simply wave at him, and he resumes conversation with Bow.

Glimmer turns her attention toward the darkening sky. It’ll be about time to head back to the castle. She’s been enjoying herself since she’s arrived. Even with all the experience she has now, she cannot help but feel unsettled when she’s in the palace for too long, and it has been an overdue time in regards to going out. Beast Island may not be what individuals think of for relaxation and enjoyment, but without all the technology trying to kill you, it’s fun. Bow can attest to that.

The sound of the elevator is familiar by now that none of them turn to it. But a moment later, Glimmer hears, “Hi, Mama!”

She looks over Entrapta’s shoulder, and she rises to greet her daughter, “Aurora! Hi, honey. Did you have a good time?”

The princess gives a delicate shrug of her shoulders, “I suppose.”

“Are those earrings?” Glimmer asks, pointing to her ears. “You didn’t have them on before.”

Aurora touches one, “Oh, yes! Do you like them?”

“I adore them! They’re such a compliment to your face—” begins Glimmer, when her eyes slide over to the left. She lets out a loud gasp, “Eon!”

Eon continues his strides, giving a salute with his hand, “Hello.”

Glimmer, despite being dwarfed by the younger man, teleports over the remaining four feet and crushes him to her. “Oh my gosh, how’ve you been?”

“Not broken,” he remarks.

“Oh, I know you’re fine!” Glimmer laughs, releasing him. She holds his wrists in her hands, appraising him. “By the moon, you’ve gotten tall.”

Eon brushes his hair from his face, grinning down at her, “Thank you, it’s genetics.”

Entrapta bounces over, giving him an affectionate pat on the back, “And your strict diet!”

“That too,” he agrees. “I’d kill to have a slice of cake.”

“Were you with Aurora just now?” Bow asks, walking over to them with Hordak.

“She accompanied me all day,” Eon informs the couples. “She performed good samaritan duties.”

Glimmer can’t help her astonishment. She looks at Aurora, “Really?”

“He happened to be walking by, that’s all,” Aurora explains. “He worked, I watched.”

Bow holds his daughter by the shoulder, pulling her to him, giving her a happy shake, “You learned a thing or two though, didn’t you?”

“Sure, Papa.”

Eon leans down to Glimmer, “You know, she actually got dirt on her.”

“For once, huh?” Glimmer jests back.

Flushing, Aurora crosses her arms, “Mama, please…”

Hordak turns to Bow, “Will you three be returning to Bright Moon now?”

Bow nods, “Since Aurora is here, and it’s getting late, we likely should.”

Glimmer turns to the clone family, “Would any of you be interested in coming back and having dinner? The cooks don’t mind that!”

Entrapta shakes her head, “As much as I’d like to ask for tiny food from your chefs, Hordak and I have a previous engagement to attend to, so we’ll have to say no!”

Hordak nods at them, “Perhaps another time.”

“Got it!” Glimmer says, looking up at Eon. “What about you? You can have that slice of cake with us!”

“I got something to finish up here, but thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Eon, please, it’s Glimmer!”

“Sorry, Glimmer.”

Bow adds, “You should come by the next time you’re around!”

“Thank you,” Eon says, glancing at Aurora. “I’ll consider it some time.”

After a few more pleasantries, Eon bids farewell first. Hordak and Entrapta accompany the family to the portal about halfway before they veer off to their own place.

Glimmer stares up at her husband, “This was a great outing, wasn’t it?”

Bow stretches his arms toward the sky, “You bet! It’s good to get out of the stuffy meetings now and then.”

Aurora purses her lips, “I think we could’ve gone home sooner.”

Glimmer looks at her daughter, “Didn’t you have fun with Eon?”

“I had as much fun as one could while watching someone do menial labor,” Aurora replies.

“It’s good to get out regardless,” Bow says.

“I did always like that boy,” Glimmer tells them.

Aurora sighs, not understanding how he can win her parents over. He can be charming, to be sure, and he surprised her today by how useful he was to others. Even thoughtful. But he doesn’t have anything else going for him. She finds it to be a lucky thing that he enjoys being distant from her too.

Today was a fluke.

After all, he is a clone’s son.

                                                             -

Entrapta holds Hordak to her chest, brushing his hair as he falls asleep, “Did you have fun earlier today?”

“In the house or with our friends?”

“Both!”

Hordak smiles at her. His fingers slide up to touch her face, “I did enjoy myself.”

Entrapta leans forward, kissing the bridge of his nose. She puts their foreheads together, “Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything?”

“You can return the favor to me later,” Hordak says. “I’m comfortable.”

Entrapta continues petting his scalp, finding that she is also in a cozy position, and maybe they will just have more fun tomorrow. She yawns, voice getting drowsy, “Are you happy Odessa is coming soon?”

“Yes, I am,” he replies. “There’s much to discuss with her.”

“There is…”

Hordak’s eyes drift to his wife’s collarbone. Breathing in the scent of her skin, Hordak pulls her closer. His thoughts begin to pick up in the quiet of the room. Churning. Once his mind finds something to think about, he can have as much a difficult time letting it be as Entrapta could. And their daughter was, for better or worse, the same.

He asks, with unusual hesitation, “Is Odessa keeping something from me? She has a strong wanderlust, and she enjoys visiting family but... she doesn’t feel like herself. When she left, it seemed as if she was unsure of how to approach me. That she didn’t want to inform me of any event she experienced. Am I imagining it?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Entrapta?”

The question receives light snores as a response.

Sighing, Hordak kisses the column of her throat before settling into her chest, unable to stop thinking of his dream from earlier. The sense of unease he has balled in his chest.

He is curious what this odyssey would entail for his daughter and her friends.

And he is worried what the outcome may be.

#hordak #entrapta #entrapdak #odessa #fanfic: The Ripple Effect #shera #spop

[mysticalmusicwhispers]

#i wonder what your thoughts on diaspora in hetalia are#cause its a pretty interesting topic (the post in question)

@urmomsstuntdouble a collection of things that I think about on a semi-regular basis below the cut (also thank you for the tags!)

Disclaimer: I think this turned into more of a discussion of immigration and immigrants, but I hope this strikes your fancy anyways 😅. Also this got SO LONG and I explained quite a bit of history (because idk whether anyone knows much about this), so the key thoughts will be bolded!

My thoughts are kinda complicated about this tbh; it’s weird, because if China really did exist as a personification in real life, we’d probably both be judging each other, just for different reasons 😅.

General Hetalia Cases

I think when discussing immigrants/diaspora, you have to think about why different immigrants left. @cupofkey kinda discussed that a while ago (if anyone hasn’t seen this superb post, GO READ IT NOW) about the Vietnamese diaspora, and I think there’s some of that in every country. How do the immigrants feel about the home country? Why did they leave: because of hard times, poverty? Political instability/revolution/war? Opportunities overseas? Are they doing well in their new home, or still struggling? Does their new country treat them like foreigners or outcasts, unworthy of even arriving, or doing anything besides menial labor, or have they been welcomed (rather unlikely)? Do they hate their home country (politically), or miss them? Would they ever go back, not just to visit family or the place of their birth, but to return permanently?

I think on the whole, hetalia nations would still maintain a connection to their immigrants, especially since most are still in touch with their culture, although they’ve crossed borders or changed nationalities. (However, the angst of not being as in touch with your culture as you think you should is so real; would our home countries be disappointed? Or do they sympathize, somehow?) In the end, we’re all the same that way. Plus, the alternative thought of them just disowning immigrants feels weird; I don’t even know how that would be possible. But I think that connection gets complicated by the reason people left, and their feelings for their place of origin; I’ll be using APH China and Chinese Americans as an example to discuss this hksdgsdf (sorry I don’t want to do more research than necessary and I have Thoughts about this)

**OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER that immigration/diaspora discussions are almost always case by case and will vary greatly based on things like country of origin/race/ethnicity, country immigrated to, initial socioeconomic status, time period, etc. And even among diaspora, people can and will have vastly different experiences, and it’s not good to generalize. These are just some thoughts with one example.**

1. Waves of Immigration 

Depending on when people arrive, they’ve got different push/pull factors drawing them to a country and it also factors into how the nation feels about them and vice versa... Chinese immigration to the US has mostly two major waves (you could also say there were 3, counting the post-WWII/Communist China wave, but I won’t talk about that): one in the mid 1800s and the other after the 1970s/1980s into modern day; the gap is because the Chinese Exclusion Act (1882) that banned most immigration from China wasn’t repealed until 1943 (because of Japan’s attack on the US in WWII, the US needed China as an ally).

IMMIGRATION WAVE 1: MID 1800s

These immigrants were mostly from southern China (Canton area), and they came to the US because of hard times (Opium Wars + political instability because of things like the Taiping Rebellion) and economic opportunity in the West (eg. Gold Rush (San Francisco is literally “Old Gold Mountain” in Chinese today) + industrialization, railroads, expansion etc.). There was Much Discrimination against those immigrants, and many worked as hard laborers in a variety of occupations (on railroads, gold mine, farms (in the South esp), laundry businesses; there were merchants as well, but they were the minority); many were looking to get some money that they could send back to their families in China and planned to return, but over time, they settled down and stayed. I think for those immigrants, Yao would definitely be understanding, even if he might not be empathetic. After all, he’s not thriving at that time either, and although he thinks Alfred is inferior to him (in many ways), he understands why people would be drawn by economic promise and quick wealth, even if it might not be the best strategy for getting rich. It’s not like staying in China would be better lmao. However, I don’t think he would approve (?) how many of his immigrants stayed in the US when most viewed it as a temporary move; I think Yao is very surprised by how so many of them persisted to carve out a home there, despite the discrimination and limited opportunities. Perhaps he admires their resilience, the creation of Chinatowns and community and how they still come to a country that doesn’t even let them in (see the San Francisco Fire of 1906 and the boon for paper sons), but still wishes they would come back, however unlikely that hope is. Personally, Yao would never be able to stay in Alfred’s country, the beautiful country, if Alfred’s hypocrisy prevented his experience, his immigrant’s experience, from being anything close to beautiful. (You were founded by immigrants and foreigners, but now you spurn them: the poor sojourners who continue to flee to your shores, and refuse them respite from the disasters at home.) And anyways, Alfred is just the next scrappy young upstart, barely 70 years old but with a swagger like he rules the world; how could he have something over himself, the Middle Kingdom, who has stood the test of time? (Admittedly, he’s doing nowhere as well as Alfred—even he can see that, despite his pride, and despite the haze of opium in his brain. Leaving is the logical, objectively sound choice. Still, his pride hurts vaguely when he thinks how his immigrants keep choosing a country that keeps rejecting them, over and over again, instead of himself. But it is no matter. The injury to his ego is inconsequential and easily brushed aside; for they are still his people, and they deserve a good life, wherever they are. His distaste for Alfred flares up again: Arthur’s bastard child, who takes advantage of his trade (see the Open Door Notes, 1899-1900), but refuses his people.)

if anyone wants more context or is interested in the history I mentioned, I highly recommend this pdf (from the book A Different Mirror: A History of Multicultural America by Ronald Takaki)

IMMIGRATION FROM 1949 TO 1980: according to Wikipedia, there was very little immigration from mainland China during this period due to the Cold War and China becoming Communist; most of the immigration was from Taiwan/ROC but counted in the quota for China. Since there’s a separate Hetalia personification for TWN, I’m not going to go over that. However, there were also many people from Mainland China who escaped to Hong Kong, still a British colony, during that period (I hope it’s clear why, but if anyone asks I’ll put it in a separate post); some stayed there, while others emigrated to the US; both trips were for more freedoms and a better life etc because China was really really messed up for a bit (also keep in mind the people emigrating all had the means to and were at least middle class, usually somewhat educated, etc.). I will not be talking about that group either because I don’t think it’s my place to, but please know they exist as well.

IMMIGRANT WAVE 2: 1980s ONWARD

A lot of people came from mainland China for education; there was also an. exodus of intellectuals following 1989 (which I Will Not get into). Many of these people sought job opportunities, like those that rapidly opened up in the computer industry, there are many students who come here to study abroad, who take SATs and TOEFLs to get into good US colleges or to conduct graduate research and get PhDs; some stay, others have gone back to like, advance China’s development (this sentiment of getting good students to go abroad and then go back to China to use their talents for Patriotic Purposes isn’t a new thing, stretches back to like the late 1800s). I don’t really have much to say about this group besides what’s below ↓. 

2. Immigrant Thoughts On Their Home Country

more complicated, because it varies by generation and time period and probably 203943 other things. Mainlanders that came over starting in the 1990s till now have relatively positive feelings towards China (imo, extrapolating from my life experiences); I think part of that is also because most* of these immigrants aren’t really escaping from something? They’re coming for an education/job opportunities (students studying abroad in the US (留学生 or liuxuesheng) for graduate school or university come to mind as one example), and they’re still very much connected to China politically and culturally, sometimes* more so than to the US. For these immigrants, I think Yao doesn’t worry too much about them? They’re pretty successful* overall*, and discrimination, although still A Large Problem™, isn’t the same from stuff that Yao (or his immigrants) remember from, say the mid 1800s (see above), or even during the paranoia about Communists after WWII and the subsequent Chinese Confession Program that made many people really scared of being deported. (Red China made Chinese Americans a target of the Communist panic, and the confession program was instated in order to make sure Communist spies couldn’t infiltrate the US. Those who immigrated illegally could confess that and gain citizenship; however you also had to weed out everyone you knew who also immigrated illegally.) I think Yao would see them as an extension of himself in a different land; they’re very much still part of him, and he gives them his well wishes.

However, I think that immigrants born in the US in modern day at least (1990s onwards) are definitely more ambivalent about China’s legacy + modern day Issues™, as much as we are connected via culture and heritage. Not quite sure how Yao would feel about that, because I’m not quite sure how much Yao is the state and how much he represents the people. However, I think there would be some mutual unease; does he see this as betrayal of some kind? Perhaps he doesn’t blame us for feeling as we do? Maybe he wonders what we feel about him; maybe he doesn’t want to know. Maybe he chooses the easier route: to focus on the bonds between him and his huayi instead of the grievances, and leave the rest unsaid. 

Additionally with first gen immigrants, there’s the conflicting feeling of being stuck between two worlds and value systems that oppose each other in many respects. Also there’s sometimes a feeling of not-quite-being-in-touch-with-your-culture (in other diaspora as well, ofc. here it’s often exemplified by forgetting or not knowing how to read and write Chinese proficiently, among other things 🙃); idk. does Yao see that as a bit of a disappointment? Would he wish us to try harder? Does he view it as inevitable, for those raised in the US; the environment is too different, and perhaps he won’t blame us for those differences, or shortcomings. Does Yao know, or care, about the racism? What about his immigrants who try to assimilate completely into American culture, who try to erase the Chinese part of their identity? Those that have tried it, but regretted it? Are they still his, when they have tried rejecting their connection to him, choosing to drop the “Chinese” from Chinese American? Does he consider racism when thinking about them? What about international adoptees? Does he claim them, when some have not been raised in a culturally Chinese environment, and when it’s still a sensitive subject on both sides of the ocean? I don’t have answers to many of these questions.

There are also immigrants who fled China because of war or persecution or upheaval, (one example is with regards to the Cultural Revolution), but I don’t feel qualified to discuss it here, and I don’t want to take it lightly.

But, despite everything I’ve discussed above, I’d like to think that however an immigrant feels about their home country or however long they’ve been there, all nation personifications would still wish them a better life (even Yao). I mean, it’s not always easy being an immigrant/part of a diaspora (especially when race becomes a factor). I really don’t think any of the hetalia characters would say “look at your struggles. What a mistake it was to immigrate somewhere where you still face so many challenges, although they might be different from the ones back home”. that’s just No. Also, I think that when you disregard sentimentality and their inherent connection to the people, countries would still be able to sympathize with people trying to strive for better, you know? People immigrate for a better life, whether it’s because it was getting rough when they left or because other places had more potential, and like. although nation-people can’t leave their own country, I think they understand the people who do, because it’s a chance to make a new life, and it would be unkind, counterproductive, limiting, to prevent someone from taking that opportunity if it came. And their children, and grandchildren; they are still connected to their origins even in a new country, by blood if nothing else, and nations are people too; they must have some sentimentality for their people born in a different land. I’d like to think that if Yao met a Chinese American kid running around San Francisco’s Chinatown, or bumped into an ABC high schooler in a well to do Massachusetts suburb, he’d stop and nod and maybe say hello, and wish them luck, wherever they go in the future. After all, they are the products of his immigrant’s hopes and dreams, and they are his too, as much as they live in Alfred’s land.

* (asterisks): this is a) from my experience and research; not everyone will have the same experiences! please keep this in mind and don’t generalize a very vast group of people. :)

Idk if that was too sentimental or rambly or something, but yeah, those are some of the things I consider when I think about nations and their diasporas. If you made it down here, thanks for reading! I greatly appreciate it. Also I hope I got all my facts correct, but if anyone spots anything incorrect, especially regarding the post 1980s immigration wave, please tell me! Tried doing my research but there are still a few things I’m unsure about rip. 

This might be deleted tomorrow because I’m feeling weird about it, but feel free to reblog! I’d also very much love some feedback too if any of y’all are feeling up to it

#i was thinking about a lot of this when writing the zine fic so this post is partially an extension of that #hws china #aph china #musings #hetalia #nation lore #hws #aph #aph china headcanons #hetalia worldbuilding #headcanon musings #hetalia headcanons #I GUESS??