#is this anyone called 'Mark' in the audience right now

[thequantumranger]

He looks so good!

#I want him but I am poor T.T #anyone 🥺👉👈 wanna gift me #🥺👉👈 all the RE figs #🥺👉👈 for my 30th bday next month #is this anyone called 'Mark' in the audience right now

[meangirls-imagines]

Hi. A request here (ignore it it's breaking any of your rules).

I was thinking of Regina George being with masc fem!reader that is actually a softie. I like the idea of a relationship with the dynamic of a mean girlboss and a soft nerdy type, especially if Regina is significantly shorter than the reader.

Imagine the shorter Regina pinning reader against a wall. Or Regina calling reader her 'puppy' because of how she always follows her around the school like a lost puppy or how she lets Regina tell her around without complaints.

Possessive power bottom Regina x Service top Reader (with reader managing to get on Regina's nerves by talking back) 👀

Fire and Ice

Description: For as long as anyone can remember, it had always been Regina and Reader. The complete opposite from each other, it worked perfectly. But, what were the school's power couple like behind closed doors?

WARNINGS: smut, fluff, slight dom/sub dynamics, reader being a little shit

Y/N Y/L/N and Regina George.

Best friends to lovers.

The couple had been deemed North Shore's power couple before they even stepped foot in the hallway. The two had gotten together in sixth grade, proudly open ever since.

As they grew up, Y/N grew into more of a masculine person. She loved sports, hockey specifically, baggy clothes, she cut her hair shorter, got more buff. She was a completely different person now than she was in sixth grade.

Regina, on the other hand, hadn't changed a bit. She was still obsessed with the color pink, designer brands, makeup. Still as feminine as ever.

She always made an exception for Y/N, some days opting to wear the girl's hockey sweatshirts (that were too big on her), a custom made pink jersey with Y/N's last name on it. Everyone knew the two were together.

The question that wouldn't leave anyone's minds:

Who was the top?

The students of North Shore were extremely curious. Most of them assumed it was Regina. But, there was that small percentage of people that thought Y/N was the top.

That small percentage was going strictly off of physical attributes. Y/N was more masculine, she was taller, she didn't take shit from her girlfriend. She had to be the top.

The 90% that believed Regina was the top had right to do so. Y/N followed her girlfriend around school as if she was a lost puppy. It was cute, how much Regina had Y/N wrapped around her finger.

The two had the same class schedule, so they always sat together (more like Regina sat on Y/N's lap), they always went to lunch together, walked the halls together. Regina was always watching Y/N at hockey practice and always at her games.

There was also that time Regina and Y/N got into a mini argument in the hall that one day.

Regina was on a mission.

She had heard from Gretchen who heard from Karen who heard from Taylor who heard from Josh that some girl was throwing herself all over Y/N and her girlfriend wasn't trying to stop it.

She spotted Y/N next to her teammate Mark's locker, the two no doubt talking about the upcoming tournament they were going to play in.

The blonde had turned Y/N by her shoulder and fixed her with a glare. "What the fuck, Y/N?" Y/N looked at her girlfriend confused. "What do you mean, Regina?" The blonde glared harder. "You're gonna tell me you don't recall the slut that was throwing herself over you in your last class?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Oh my god, how did you even find out about that? Nothing major happened." The blonde got an angry look on her face and pinned Y/n against the locker, glaring at the taller girl.

Y/N just smirked, keeping a mental note for later, letting Regina have her moment. The blonde looked up at her girlfriend. "You better not let anyone touch what's mine. You got that?" They had gained an audience, everyone watching in anticipation for Y/N's next move.

The girl just smirked and allowed Regina to claim her publicly before the blonde stormed off, clearing a path in the hall like the Red Sea.

Regina got a text 15 minutes later from Y/N.

Y/N❤️: I let you have your moment in the hall. But when we get home later, you're not leaving that bed.

Regina's heart raced in anticipation.

"Fuck, Y/N."

"Take it, Regina."

The blonde was on the verge of her third orgasm. When they got home that day, Y/N had decided to show Regina that she was the only girl for her. Her solution? Making Regina feel good.

She had made her cum twice with just her fingers and mouth and was on the verge of making her cum for a third time with her strap. Regina's brain had been turned into mush as all she could focus on was Y/N.

"Fuck, Regina. You take me so well. Can't believe you thought I'd entertain the thought of another girl taking me from you."

Regina couldn't speak. Her senses were overwhelmed with Y/N. The girl was making her feel things that only she could make her feel.

"I'm all yours, Regina. Forever. I don't want anyone else. But, there's one thing I do want. And that's for you to cum on my cock." She reached a hand down in-between Regina's legs and began to rub the bundle of nerves that rested there.

The blonde felt her eyes roll back. Y/N's cock was hitting all of the right places. She felt her climax rapidly approaching as Y/N pounded her.

"Cum for me, Regina. You can do it." Regina felt her entire body tense as she came around Y/N's cock. The girl continued to slowly thrust, allowing Regina to ride through it. The blonde shook from the aftershocks of her climax and the feeling of Y/N's slow thrusts.

Y/N was peppering her face with soft kisses as she came down. "You looked so pretty, Regina. So beautiful. Wanna make you cum again, pretty girl."

Regina gushed around Y/N's cock. With the way her girlfriend was talking to her, she would let her make her cum as much as she wanted, but Regina's body had limits.

Y/N continued the soft kisses. "Will you let me make you cum one more time, sweet angel? Just one more. Then we'll be done. Please." The blonde nodded, pulling Y/N into a more heated kiss. Y/N's thrusts slowly sped up as the blonde moaned into her mouth.

Regina was officially fucked out.

Y/N smirked and sped up her thrusts. "God, Regina, I can't believe you thought I'd go after someone else. Not when you take me so fucking well. Only want you. Only want your pussy." Regina felt heat wash over her body at Y/N's words.

"'M gonna cum. Y/N, please." The blonde's words slurred together as Y/N's cock began to hammer in and out of her. Y/N smirked and began to rub Regina's clit again. "Cum for me, baby. Come on, pretty girl. Cum all over my cock."

Regina saw white as the pleasure bubble burst. Her whole body felt like it was ascending to another dimension as Y/N whispered sweet nothings to her as she came down.

Y/N pulled out and went into Regina's bathroom to grab a wet cloth. She came back and gently cleaned between her legs, whispering praise at Regina's whimpers. She threw the towel to the side, making the blonde drink some water before pulling her into her arms.

"I'm yours, Regina. Forever. No one compares to you, baby girl." Regina sleepily smiled at the girl's words and drifted off.

The next day, when the two walked into the school, everyone's question was answered. Regina walked limped while wearing the pink hockey jersey as Y/N walked next to her, a huge smirk on her face.

That 10% of the school that had guessed Y/N would never let anyone else live it down.

#regina george x reader #regina george imagine #mean girls imagines #mean girls 2024

[sdr2lovemail]

Could you write something about Sun and Moon being irritated/jealous that they can't kiss the reader (the maintenance worker one) with their mouths like a human can so the reader shows them about all the other ways to kiss? Like kissing Sun's hand up his arm to his cheek until he is giggling so loudly Vanessa thinks he's gone off his rocker, or gently kissing Moon's forehead all the way down to where his heart would be? Even better if the maintenance reader leaves behind little lipstick marks on their face for Monty and the gang to laugh about :D

Inspired by that one tumblr post about a guy walking out with a few lipstick kiss marks and then saying "you should see what they did to the other guy" in a stereotypical mobster voice before said other guy drunkenly walks out absolutely covered in lipstick marks, sfw of course I want Fluff I want Affection I want Lovey Dovey-ness if you think you could swing it, just the softest silliest thing you can write, and keep up the good work anywho :')

I have no mouth, and I must kiss. (GN Reader but they do wear lipstick) Synopsis: After a play full of heartbreak and tragedy, Sun realizes that he'll never be able to kiss you. You remedy the situation.

Notes: It's been almost 2 years since I've written a fnaf fic, I feel rusty. Help wanted 2 got me calling my old mans' numbers. That's a joke they never left my phone. Anon if you're still out there, I hope you enjoy the fruits of my labors.

Requests are open!

Children are very persuasive. While you originally came to the daycare to fix a broken screen, you’ve ended up in a play. Decked out with a foam sword, you act as the story’s brave knight. Once you’ve slain the dragon, a kid wearing a Monty hood, your princess awaits.

“My dear knight! You saved me from the evil dragon!” Sun swoons. Instead of his waist frills, he’s worn a bright yellow skirt. Dangling from a few of his rays was a princess cap. The bells on his wrist jingle as he clasps his hands. “Is there any way I can repay you?”

You press a hand against your heart and bow your head. “There is no need, Princess. Protecting you is my sworn duty.” You’d say your acting wasn’t half bad for an underpaid maintenance worker.

“The princess has to kiss the knight!” A kid called from the audience.

Sun felt rigid like his joints were locking up. He hoped you couldn’t hear his fans kicking on as his body temperature rose. He would love to kiss you but wanted the moment to be perfect. “N-now friend, we don-”

“Mr. Sun can’t kiss them! He doesn’t have a mouth!” Another kid argued. Something about what they said made Sun feel weird.

“Yes, he does! It just can’t open.” 

Sun lets out a huff, turning to you. “They’re getting cranky. It must be snack time. I’ll pass them out quickly. That way, we can spend time together!” He bounced on the balls of his feet, eager for you to stick around.

Your fazwatch pings with an alert: a S.T.A.F.F. bot got stuck in Monty Golf. “Oh, sorry, Sun. I have another job to do. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Sun would be frowning if his faceplate could move. He quickly perks up and sets his hands on your shoulders. “Right! Right, right, right, you have a job. Responsibilities! I’ll- I’ll see you at closing. Buh-bye, friend!” The jester waves you goodbye before sighing, hurrying to pass out snacks before someone throws a tantrum.

The rest of your day goes as smoothly as working as the Pizza Plex could be. It was after closing time, and you were doing your final tasks. The glamrocks were in their rooms, the S.T.A.F.F bots were on their set paths, and nothing on the floor needed fixing. The last place you needed to check on was the daycare. 

Walking through the big wooden doors, Sun is nowhere to be seen. You call his name, followed by Moon’s, but still nothing. Shrugging it off, you make your rounds, checking everything is in place. During the sweep, you could hear muffled words from a storage closet.

“Do you think they’ve kissed anyone, Moon? We can’t do that…” That was the unmistakable voice of Sun. “I wonder what it would be like. Hmph, even the glamrocks can move their mouths…” He grumbles.

When you open the door, Sun jumps like he’s been shocked. He scrambled to stand up. “Ah! Oh, hi! You’re here early!”

“It’s almost eleven. I’ve been here for almost thirty minutes.” You say, checking your watch. “What were you talking about?”

“Would you believe me if I said nothing?” The daycare attendant tilts his head, his faceplate spinning a bit.

“No, I would not.”

Sun sighs as he sits back on the closet floor, his legs crisscrossed and his hands holding his face. Taking a seat next to him, you ask him what’s wrong.

“I was just thinking about some stuff after our play. Moon and I can’t kiss you!” He flops over dramatically as if he’d heard tragic news. “Our face is stuck in this stupid smile!” He tugs on one of his rays, angry at his lack of facial mobility.

“Hey, I don’t mind that you guys can’t kiss me. There’s more to a relationship than that. Besides, there are other ways to kiss.”

This breaks him out of his kissless stupor. “There are? Tell me, tell me!” Sun practically shakes where he sits. “Better yet, show me!” He opens his arms wide, inviting you to do as you please.

Taking one of his large hands in your own, you place a kiss on the back of his hand, leaving a lipstick mark on the shiny plastic. While he didn’t have pupils, you could feel Sun’s eyes burning into you. He didn’t want to miss a single second!

The touch sensors in his arms and hands weren’t that sensitive. Kids sure did like to scratch, kick, and bite. But even so, he could still feel your lips pressing fluttering kisses to his casing. Laughter bubbled up in his voice box. 

Kiss after kiss lined Sun’s arm. Even if it left stains, this is one mess he could let slide. You took his other arm in your hands, mimicking your previous affections. Kissing back up his arms, you reach his faceplate. Sun’s giggling gets louder as your lips kiss the hard surface of his cheeks.

“Hey, your shift’s almost over. Get ready to clock out.” Vanessa’s voice rings from your watch. 

When you pull away to answer, Sun tries to follow your lips. “Alright, I’ll be at the office in a moment.” Sun lets out another round of laughter.

“Oh, you’re with him… Your pay gets docked when you stay overtime, you know. Make sure to leave before the shutters close.” With that last sentence, Vanessa cuts off her line.

With excited, shaking hands, Sun brings your face closer to his. “Keep kissing me! Please, please, please!” His begging is cut short as he listens to Moon say something. “Awww, but I’m not done!” Sun still gets up to turn the lights off, moping the whole way there.

Bright red optics suddenly appear in front of your eyes. The lights glow against your skin. Moon clicks a flashlight on, making his faceplate look more menacing than he probably intended. “You weren’t thinking about leaving, were you? Not when you haven’t given me the same attention Sun got, right?” 

“Oh, of course not, Moon!” Cupping his face in your hands, you leave a kiss mark on his forehead.

You bring your trail of kisses down to his nose, trailing along the curve, up to the corner of his eye. Moon lets out that raspy laugh of his. He tugs you closer, craving the warmth of your skin against the cold of his plastic.

He watched as you kissed down his face and neared his chest. “Sun was whining all day, worrying over us not being able to kiss you.” Moon snickered. “He was fretting over nothing, as usual. But I must admit, he’s right about some things.” 

His ‘breath’ hitched as he watched you kiss right where his heart would be. The fans in his chest cavity kicked into overdrive as they tried to cool his circuits, trying their best not to overheat. “Kissing you would be a dream.” 

Letting out a laugh of your own, you press another soft kiss on Moon’s chest. “I guess I’ll have to do the kissing for all three of us.” Punctuating your sappy sentence, you kiss their sculpted-on smile. An audible puff of air leaves the daycare attendant’s chassis.

 “Attention Pizza Plex Guests and Staff. The Pizza Plex’s doors will close in ten minutes.” An automated voice rang over the building’s speakers.

More alert than before, you get up from the closet door. “I gotta go!” You were not trying to spend the night here. “Bye, Moon. Bye, Sun. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget to wash that lipstick off!”

They weren’t really listening, absolutely high on kisses. For a few hours, they simply rest in the daycare’s storage closet, gushing to each other about you. Well, more Sun than Moon.

Once it was time for Moon to do his rounds around the Pizza Plex, he’d forgotten about the lipstick covering his exoskeleton. It wasn’t until Monty knocked on the glass of his room.

“You having a good night, Moon?” It was like the smirk in Monty’s voice was audible from his voicebox. “Seems like you had a lot of fun.”

Seeing his reflection in the glass, Moon lets out a growl. How could he forget to wash off all this lipstick? “Not a word of this to anyone.” Moon scratched his fingers down the window, leaving marks behind. He turns tail to head back to the daycare and wash the stains off of himself.

Unknowing to the lunar animatronic, Monty had already sent a message to all the other bots.

#daycare attendant x reader #sun x reader #moon x reader #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy’s x reader #sundrop x reader #moondrop x reader #security breach x reader #security breach #fnaf #daycare attendant #x reader

[novantinuum]

mmmmmmm. messy ass ramble thoughts ahead. this is not coherent, it is 1am, you have been warned.

so i've been thinking about that "i can fix anything! i can just keep messing up and fixing things forever, and you'll never have to know or think about any of it!" line during steven's lil manic panic moment in the ep everything's fine in the context of like... og SU episodes

this whole lil manic slip is one that's like... it seems a little extreme for him as a character at first, when one looks at the situation on surface.

but i think it really does shed a LOT of light onto one of his deepest fear. the same fear he's harbored for a good damn deal of the show.

"i didn't wanna hurt anyone!"

this moment comes just a few eps after the S3 finale 'reveal' of rose shattering pink diamond. in that final scene of the season, steven gets 'confirmation' from garnet that this happened, and seems to accept it for what it was- a difficult decision made amidst a treacherous war.

but also, he Doesn't.

because he's the legacy rose left behind. because each and every day he's growing more into his power. because now, with this reveal of rose's decision to shatter on the table, he's putting each and every decision he makes under a microscope.

he had no choice, he claims. she wouldn't let him help her.

he had no choice. it was self defense.

but is that true?

isn't that the same thing his mom probably told herself before ending a gem's life forever?

even though she poofed bismuth and holed her away for suggesting the very same idea??

rose became a hypocrite... so what if HE becomes the hypocrite, too?

see, with steven... i think it's really easy in the main show to sorta... observe all his actions on the mere surface without considering the deeper tickings of his psyche. like... take lars being brought back to life. from audience POV, that's a good deed. steven just saved someone with his magic! positive moment.

but genuinely... i think this was one of the worst moments of his entire life. i think he's still haunted by it- by the fact that he can just "fix" people in that way. and i think fixing jasper's shattered gem only made the specter of that day worse.

steven believes his role is to be the Shield.

the protector.

the one who is willing to do whatever it takes- even up to turning himself in for a crime he didn't commit- to protect his family and his friends.

and like, we all know that it's not steven's FAULT that lars died. BUT- he still died while under steven's protection.

and so the same way steven blames himself for "hurting" bismuth, jasper, and eyeball, he blames himself for killing lars. mentally, he Takes Responsibility for his death. yet another tick mark in the box of horrible "mistakes" he's made, yet another tick mark landing him just a little closer to the rose he's desperately trying not to become.

and worst of all... it's a mistake he "covers up."

because his tears are able to bring him back from the dead entirely.

and years later he realizes this is true for gems as well ;-;;;

so yeah, i absolutely think lars' death was also at the back of his mind when he said that line at the beginning

what steven saw in the depths of his mind as he was panicking there was him slipping down a slippery slope of violence that he couldn't escape from

first, causing harm to other gems and calling it self defense...

then, letting your friend die protecting YOU when you're the one who should be protecting him and facing NO consequence for this misgiving because you bring him back to life

then, expressing anger so visceral it can shatter floors, destroy whole rooms, flip vans. out of control. inexcusable.

then... outright shattering a gem in a duel while training to hone that anger. once again, facing NO consequence because you bring her right back.

then, that sudden, terrifying thought of "what if i shattered white diamond"

like, steven has absolutely no framework by which to separate his actions from genuine desire or just plain abstract thought.

he has no framework by which to understand the beautiful tool of adding a "man would it be fucked up or what-" to the beginning of those sorts of intimidating, dark musings.

he has no framework by which to understand the complexities of his trauma, and the way in which genuinely fighting back against someone he once called an enemy might feel empowering- instead, it would seem he's disgusted in retrospect with how deep he pressed into that fight, how much a part of him ENJOYED it, all because of the horrid destination it led to.

anyways at this point steven thinks he has now become the Hypocrite like his mom, and that he's just destined to hurt everyone around him forever but never be punished for it and Ouch

this post has no end, these were just ramble thoughts, the end. goodnight. i am sleepy and need to prepare to make Wig tomorrow bc OH boy i am con crunch.

yeehaw .

#jen rambles #su #su future #steven universe #su meta #???? maybe??? #it's messy but it is Thoughts

[moralesmilesanhour]

mad props! 02

summary: Miles catches onto your antics. wc: ~800 a/n: some advanced haterism going on here. this has gotten increasingly fun to write as the plot ramps up! pls don't be scared 2 leave any reactions or thoughts in the comments + tags :) 01 02 03

From then on, you made it a point to ignore Miles during partner work and punctuate it with an eye roll. He tucked his head back in surprise the first time you did it, and you felt like you’d just won a prize.

…That is, until he ignored you back. 

Eventually, Miles just turned to the person in the next column to ask for a pen instead, seeming perfectly content with working on his own.

It should've been a relief.

Today, Mr. Sanchez handed out worksheets to write a short composition on, and you struggled to recall the correct word for ‘kitchen’. All of your attempts to remember the pictures at the back of your flashcards came to nothing, finally forcing you to turn around and ask with a heavy sigh.

"Um, hey," you began, wincing at the softness of your voice. "What’s ‘kitchen’ in Spanish? You remember?"

Miles looked at you with only his eyes. " ‘Cocina’."

No puns, no off-hand comment. Not even an offer to help further. He just quietly returned to his work. 

Your plan was already falling apart now that he no longer initiated conversations for you to brush off, so you went with the next best thing: competing with him.

“Who was able to solve for the trajectory of–oh!”

The AP Physics instructor pushed back a strand of red hair as she glanced between you and Miles, whose hands had shot up at the same time.

“Let’s go with someone who hasn’t spoken yet. Ms. L/N?”

You smiled as you answered, “24.7 meters per second.”

“Excellent job, Y/N, and thank you for participating today. Now, would anyone else…”

As the woman called on other students, a strategy began to take shape. 

It wasn’t hard to tell when Miles was about to raise his hand. His eyes would go wide, with a tiny smile that said he was certain that no one else could get this question right but him. His hand went up so fast that you had to answer before the teacher could even finish their question, but it worked. And it got you a few extra points for participation.

“Now, who can tell me what makes the film ‘Romeo + Juliet’ so unique?” asked the English professor.

Miles raised his hand. “It takes the original play and reinterprets aspects of the original plot for modern audiences.”

As soon as he answered, his eyes flickered towards you almost as if on cue. Sure enough, your hand flew up.

“Y/N, what a surprise! Care to add on?”

“Of course. The director, Baz Luhrmann,” you met Miles’ gaze as you specified the name, “used his over-the-top cinematic style of directing to bring the drama of the original play to life in a contemporary context. He replaced the swords with guns and balls for parties, but kept the dialogue the same so that audiences could better understand Shakespeare without needing to grapple with the work of translating Shakespearean English into modern English. He found a way to make the play accessible without compromising on the text.”

Miles narrowed his eyes at you while the stocky teacher made a noise of approval.

“Very succinct explanations, you two. I’m very impressed with you especially, Miss L/N. I hope to hear your voice more often in class.”

You noticed Miles still glaring, and rested your chin in the palm of your hand.

In a sickly-sweet tone, you whispered, “What?” 

He shook his head and turned away.

-

“Alright, make sure you go home and memorize those formulas! See you Wednesday!”

You neatly stacked your papers and slid them carefully into one of your labeled folders as the bell rang, marking the end of your last class.

The hallway bustled with students rushing like bees to their lockers. On the way to your own, a pop of color catches your eye. 

It’s a bulletin board filled with sign-ups for a number of clubs, from cheerleading to student government to debate. Remembering your college counselor’s comment about your extracurriculars “looking a bit empty”, you drew closer. Might as well, right?

You didn’t have the stamina for cheerleading, but speech and debate looked promising. Just as you took out a pen to sign your name, though, you stopped short and frowned.

At the very bottom of the list read the name ‘Miles Morales’ written with a neon highlighter. 

Then again on the art club’s flier. And anime club. And music engineering. 

‘Miles Morales’.

‘Miles Morales’.

‘Miles Morales’.

Guess you weren’t the only one who needed to beef up their transcript.

“Show-off,” you muttered to yourself. 

Just as you were about to lose hope, there was one other club that Miles hadn’t signed up for, hanging precariously off of the edge of the board from a single thumbtack:

Theater. 

And auditions were the very next day.

#miles morales fic #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #miles morales x fem!reader #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #moralesanhour

[hanasnx]

ooo what if pornstar!ani has a partner who’s not involved w porn at all? she’s more in the background, and she doesn’t even see ani’s films.

until one day, maybe while ani isn’t as active, she asks about making a homemade film together :(( and everyone can just tell how much more intimate (but still rough) everything is <3

- 🐻🐻

because of the way anakin operates, i think if he found a partner he might go through a phase of no longer doing porn, or considering a career change altogether.

i like what you said about how “maybe while ani isn’t as active” like imagine when he started dating you, you became his girlfriend, and suddenly he’s a lot free-er. the first time you and him had sex marks the time in which he stopped answering his phone with job offers. you didn’t fully realize he was soft-quitting it. and it’s not that he planned to, he just can’t imagine screwing anyone else right now because that’s just how anakin skywalker’s maddening devotion operates. not every sex worker is like this obviously, but right now he is and he’s never done that with anyone else.

and when you notice that hey.. you’ve been home with me a lot ani what’s going on.. or course he’d never tell you, save you from taking blame. and you’ve always wanted to make a homemade sex tape without an audience, what’s the difference if there is an audience? if he must, ani can just blur your face.

and the homemade with love porno of you and your lover is one of those fem gazy owen gray type where he gives you shaking orgasms and you lovingly call him every name in the book and he strokes your head and french kisses you as he’s fucking you :) so so sweet and still rough in an attentive way.

he can fuck you like the sluts he’s done before if you want, you just gotta ask him

#indy shoots the shit #thanks for the msg!! #titaniasfairy #ch: adultfilm!anakin #anakin skywalker prompt #anakin skywalker thought

[moon-fics]

The Lime Light (prologue)

A/n: I had to reupload this bc I messed up some editing but now it's up for good!

Summary: After disappearing from the spotlight you finally return. However, a rough night and a scandalous paparazzi photo causes you to forge a new PR relationship with the beloved actor, Peter Parker.

Rating: PG 13

The light is too bright in the questionably damp room as your agent's, Elizabeth Allen, voice blurs into the background. Stress drones out all noise from the outside world, filling your ears and mind with tv static. You rub your forehead to ease the unsteady feeling inside, your heart beating louder than a drum. 

"So, you'll do it right?" Liz asks, her voice full of hope. You know that you've been letting her down recently, avoiding roles that would boost your audience. "You can't keep turning down roles or they'll stop requesting you," She warns, wagging a finger at you.

If she was anyone else you'd snap at her, telling her you just aren't feeling the role. However, you both know you've been using that excuse for months and she's too sweet of a woman to yell at. 

It's a good plot, one that would win awards if done right. A love story with tragedy that isn't expected until the last act. A girl in love with a man with a double life, but she's in love with his secret identity and hates the man behind the mask. It's cliche beyond belief, but almost everything has already been done in Hollywood. 

"Have they gotten anyone relevant in the cast?" You ask with a heavy sigh, sitting up straight in the chair. You're now alert and invested in the conversation, at least as much as you can be. "I mean, I'd rather not work with a cast full of new faces," It's a harsh thing to say, especially since you started out in the same spot as them.

Liz nods, a burst of energy coming through her, “So you’re actually interested?” She squeaks as you nod in hopes it’ll satisfy her. It's the first time in a while you've shown interest in any gig she's gotten you, which to her, is a huge deal. She quickly shuffles through a file which you can see contains an out of order script. 

"Here we go," She hums, placing a paper with a list of names on it. You hesitantly reach for it, sliding it off her wooden desk. It's covered in scratches from her pen pressing too hard on paper, a few coffee stains as well. You smooth out the paper, starting on the first name. 

Felicia Hardy is the first name you recognize and you're surprised she isn't the lead. Instead she's stuck as the supporting actress who eventually dies off to progress the plot. From what you've heard about her, she'll throw a stink about it but eventually agree to her character's fate.

Your eyes scan over names of actors you've neither met nor heard of. You're relieved when you finally land on Harry Osborn but it's gone when you see a question mark drawn next to his name. That could mean many things but the two most likely is that he either hasn't decided or the casting director is still looking.

"Is Harry still dropping roles after what happened?" You ask, glancing up from the paper. You should know the answer, you should be asking Harry himself. But after witnessing something as gruesome as his incident, you couldn’t bring yourself to call him once he was discharged. Liz is no longer sitting in front of you, instead she's organizing her desk. She's nervous, why wouldn't she be? 

"From what I've heard from his agent," You forget that she has connections, that she's no longer a young woman struggling to keep actors. Just like how you're no longer a child sitting in a chair you can't fit in; your mother making sure you can't speak for yourself. Her words still echo in your mind telling you to cry on que and to never get close to your co-stars. "He's debating giving up acting entirely." She shrugs, tightening her bun. 

The news doesn't surprise you in the slightest, what happened was traumatizing. Even though you had only watched what happened you still have flashes of broken bone and blood on an expensive set. Even now you cringe at the thought. 

"I know you get along with Harry and I really think he might accept the role!" She cheers up, placing her hand on her desk. You wait for an explanation, already knowing she'll tell you without a prompt. "His best friend, Peter Parker, is the lead role." She squeals. 

Liz is a huge fan of Peter Parker and often laments about how she regrets not signing him to her company,at the time she thought he was a one shot wonder. He's a brilliant actor who has a great streak in the industry and a huge following of fan girls. Somehow every movie he's been in has been a hit, something an actor can only dream of. 

As much as you want to continue to pretend like you aren't known by millions, you have to suck it up. You can already feel the all nighters and coffee on your breath. As the buzzing in your mind slowly begins you hold out your hand.

"Hand me the script."

-  -  -

You stare at the boy in front of you, at least a year older maybe two if you’re generous. You’re examining him from afar, imagining how he looks at every angle just so you can get a feel for him. You’ve never worked with a boy around your age, not in such a serious role like this.

His hair is well kept and he never leaves his father’s side. A part of you knows he only got this role because his father is directing the movie, I mean, Norman Osborn always gets what he wants. So why wouldn’t he want his son to become just as famous as him?

You’re so transfixed on taking note of his every feature you hardly notice your mother approaching you. Your first big role and she’s not letting you out of her sight, she calls it a precaution, but you know she just wants to keep her strings attached to you. Even at the ripe age of thirteen you understand her love is purely based on your achievements. 

Eventually, you’re thrusted onto set to practice your lines with the boy… and holy shit you’re nervous. You’re too new to acting to have any fame get into your head but you have no clue how this boy will act and honestly, you’re terrified he’ll get you recasted.

As you approach the set decorated to be a middle class kitchen your hands are sweating. You’re lucky Mr. Osborn has allowed you to hold onto your script or you might forget every line even after the hours of late night practices. Before you know it you’re standing a few feet away from the red, no brown, wait maybe both haired boy. 

“I’m Harry,” The boy speaks first, holding out a hand. He isn’t even holding a script, he’s confident he knows his lines which only makes you feel worse. You hesitate to shake his hand, worried he might crush your hand or secretly tell you how out of place you are. “I heard this is your first time in a position like this!” He continues, a genuine and bright smile spreads across his lips.

Finally, you use your voice and take his hand, “I’m Y/n, it’s nice to meet you,” You’re taken aback by how soft his skin is and how he doesn’t insult you for being nervous. Something about him is warm, he’s like a fall candle that you light at night when you can’t focus. 

“You shouldn’t be nervous just because my dad is the director. He can’t replace you,” He assures you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You don’t understand what he means, actors get replaced all the time for the simplest reasons. “I specifically chose you to work with and my father won’t risk my career over something as small as forgetting lines!” He gestures to your script, his head tilting to the side. A strand of hair falls out of place and suddenly you’re reminded that he’s not some big shot, he’s a kid same as you.

With a new determination in your chest you give him a solid nod. You feel special, you feel wanted for the first time in a while. Harry chose you to work with out of who knows how many other girls. He must see something in you, something he wants to work with. With a yell of ‘action’ and a snapping sound, the flame between friends is ignited.

#peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #tasm!spiderman x reader #peter parker x fem #andrew garfield x female reader #andrew garfield x you #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield #actor!au #Pilot #harry osborn #harry osborn x reader #felicia hardy x reader #felicia hardy #mj x reader

[kittenofdoomage]

Obeying Temptation

Summary: She’s not a good Christian girl by any stretch, but he might still have some fun corrupting her.

Pairing: Alpha!Demon!Dean x Omega!female!reader

Word Count: 8481

Warnings: soooo much blasphemy, religious themes, smut (incl. fingering, full penetrative sex and oral sex), A/B/O (incl. scenting, knotting, marking, mentions of bodily fluids), angst, drama, demonic possession, mentions of breeding kink, dirty talk, derogatory names, hands on throats, biting, bruising, abandonment, slight dubcon and implied murder of religious clergymen, ambiguous ending

Ao3 Link

Author Note: Happy New Year everyone, enjoy some blasphemy before 2023 kicks in 😈

Church had always felt like a chore. In truth, it was more her mom’s thing than Y/N’s, but she obeyed the rules of her mother’s house, since she was stuck living there until she could find a job that paid better than minimum wage. Every Sunday, she put on one of the hideous Sears dresses her Aunt Margaret sent every birthday and followed her mother to church. Her mom didn’t make her sit at the front with the rest of the gossipy old ladies that liked to speculate on the love lives of the other attendees, at least.

It was hard not to zone out when Father Taggart droned on about the importance of community and keeping Jesus in your heart, and if she could have gotten away with it, she would have played on her phone until the service was done. She’d never understood the purpose of “God’s House”, preferring to believe His house was everywhere, seeing as he was supposed to be ubiquitous. 

Today’s sermon was more of the same. Y/N sat away from most of the other parishioners, listening as the greying vicar rambled through Matthew 22-something, her attention wandering around the stone archways of the old building. As her eyes drifted, she noticed someone in the darkness to the left near the confessionals, a good few meters away from the pews.

He stepped forward, white collar catching her gaze first. Another priest? she wondered, and his eyes met hers. A smile tugged at his lips but it was nothing like the smile she would expect to see on a vicar’s face. This smile was calculating, cunning… predatory. Despite the distance between them, she could tell he was an Alpha, unusual for a man of the cloth; she wished she could see him more clearly but he was almost entirely bathed in shadows.

“And now, I would like to invite a new voice to speak,” Father Taggart announced, and Y/N dragged her eyes from the shadowy priest to the front again, though she could feel him watching her still. “May I introduce Father Crowley, who will be standing in for Father Grayson now he has retired.”

She remembered Father Grayson, though she’d only met him a few times when she’d picked her mom up from her Wednesday night prayer group. He was at least a hundred years old, she was sure of it, bent double and hair as white as snow. Maybe he should have retired a few years earlier.

The man who stepped up with a polite nod at Father Taggart was in his late forties, or maybe early fifties - she was never very good at judging age. He had dark hair and a slightly unkempt beard, but she supposed he was attractive. For a priest.

“Thank you, Father Taggart,” the newcomer crooned, his British accent making a few of the older ladies whisper among themselves. “It is a pleasure to be speaking to you all today. As he explained, myself and Father Winchester will be standing in for Father Grayson until a suitable permanent replacement can be found.” He smiled, looking out upon his audience. “I’m sure we will feel right at home in your wonderful parish.”

Y/N glanced back to the shadows, wondering if the mysterious Alpha was Father Winchester, but he was gone. She shuddered, feeling a chill in the air as Father Taggart gave Father Crowley a further welcome, then called everyone to stand for the last hymn.

Hymns had always been the part of church she enjoyed. Singing in general was a hobby, one to be practised away from anyone who would hear her, so hymns offered her a way to sing without being singled out in a crowd. The church organ player situated herself, then began to play as Father Taggart instructed the mass to turn to Holy God, We Praise Thy Name.

The mysterious priest didn’t appear again.

It always took forever to get her mom in the car after services, usually because she was still chatting with her friends. Y/N hung around the grassy front, toying with her keys as she waited, listening to her mom pass comment on the “hot new priest”.

“You know he’s still twenty years younger than you, right?” she called out, making her mom glare in her direction.

Agnes, her mom’s best friend, prodded her. “Did you see that other one?”

“No?” Her mom frowned, glancing over at her daughter. “There was another one?”

“Mmhmm,” Agnes nodded. “Younger. Very handsome. Maybe Y/N…”

“Oh, god, Agnes, please,” Y/N interjected, holding a hand up to stop the older woman. “I’m not interested in any guys, priests or not. Besides, I thought they’re supposed to be celibate?”

Agnes and her mom chuckled. “That’s a common misconception,” her mom advised, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Trust me.”

“I don’t wanna know,” she mumbled, scrunching up her face in disgust.

“Oh come now, dear,” Agnes chided softly, “you can’t expect to live at home forever. We all have a body clock, you know, Omegas most of all.”

It was difficult not to roll her eyes at the outdated opinion, so she decided not to engage in yet another discussion about how Omegas weren’t just breeding sows. Jingling the keys, she turned her attention to her mother, giving her a tight smile. “Can we get going, Mom? I wanna enjoy the rest of my weekend.”

Her mom rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, Agnes.”

“Take care, Judith. Goodbye, Y/N!”

“Bye,” Y/N muttered, already marching towards the car. Judith followed at a leisurely pace, ignoring the impatience of her daughter as she climbed into the passenger seat. Turning the key in the engine, Y/N glanced back to check the rear of the vehicle, making sure she didn’t hit the black classic parked behind her.

“Agnes is only worried, you know,” her mom started.

“Mom -”

“I know, I know, none of my business. But I would like to see a grandchild…”

Y/N gritted her teeth. “Mom.”

Judith went quiet, clamping her mouth shut with a grin. Y/N pulled the car out of the spot and sped off, hoping that her stern tone was enough to put the subject to bed. They were silent the whole way home, and when they got inside, Y/N retreated to her room to lose herself in something distracting.

By Monday morning, she’d forgotten most of the encounter, and began her week at work with a smile. Her job kept her busy, and though she hated the majority of her duties, she liked that it occupied her mind and she never had to take it home with her.

Sunday rolled around with a storm, the second of the week. The weather had been all kinds of crazy since summer had hit, and when she arrived at church with her mother, they had to run in to avoid getting drenched. Judith toddled off to her usual spot, and Y/N, once again, found sanctuary at the back. It was emptier than usual, likely due to the rain, and she could hear it on the church roof above the crowd.

Father Crowley stood at the front, waiting for everyone to get settled, and when Y/N looked around, she couldn’t see Father Taggart. Her mom was sitting with Agnes, both of them whispering to each other, and they fell silent when Father Crowley called for quiet.

“I have some grave news to give you all today,” he began, and several parishioners sat up straighter. “Father Taggart has been taken ill, so he will not be conducting service today. I would like to ask you all to hold him in your prayers, and hope for a full recovery.”

Y/N tensed, a new scent tickling her nose. The pew she was sitting on was empty save for her, and she looked to either side, searching for the source of the smell. It was thick and rich, invading her senses, inexplicably Alpha.

Movement from the darkness at the left of the church caught her eye. She focused, seeing him standing in the shadows by the door that led out to the graveyard, and for a second, she could have sworn his eyes were black. Her hands shook as she clutched the church-copy of the bible, unable to take her eyes off of him.

Father Crowley was speaking again, delivering a sermon every inch as boring as Father Taggart’s, and Y/N wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention. She stared at the mysterious priest in the shadows, feeling her heart rate speed up, and a light sweat broke out on her forehead. Her lips parted as she panted lightly, suddenly aware of what was happening.

She needed air.

Getting to her feet, she tried not to stumble, being as quiet as possible as she headed for the main entrance. No one seemed to pay her much attention, most of them listening to Father Crowley, so she escaped unnoticed, closing the door behind her.

It was still raining. The only thing that protected her was the awning over the doorway. She didn’t care, gulping down fresh air as she tried to control herself. “It’s too early,” she muttered, shaking her head.

The door opened behind her. “Is everything okay, sweetheart?” It was her mom, and Y/N turned, nodding.

“It’s fine, Mom, I’ll just go wait in the car.”

Judith didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?” she whispered. “It’s Sunday, it might be a while.”

“Can I help you, ladies?”

The low rough voice made them both turn, and Y/N almost yelped at the sight of the mysterious priest. In the dull light of the storm, she could see every detail of his handsome features, and her mouth went dry as she drank in all six feet of him. “My daughter isn’t feeling well,” Judith explained before she could stop her.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Y/N insisted. “I can wait in the car.”

“If you’re feeling unwell, you can sit in the rectory until service is finished,” the priest offered.

Judith smiled, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, Father Winchester, that would put my mind at ease.” She glanced at her daughter. “I don’t think you’ve met yet. Y/N, this is -”

“Father Winchester,” Y/N whispered, staring at him. “I’d really be okay in my car.”

Her mom frowned then, reaching out to take her hand. “Please, Y/N, I’d be happier if you weren’t alone out here.”

She wanted to scream. Father Winchester was an Alpha, though her Beta mother wouldn’t scent it. He smiled at her, and she felt a thread of fear knot in her stomach. “It’s only next door,” he said smoothly, gesturing to the covered walkway that ran around the side of the old building. “Your mother can come and find you when she’s done.”

Her mother’s pleading gaze made her heart drop. She nodded reluctantly, and Judith beamed, clasping her hands over Y/N’s, tilting her head as she gazed at the priest gratefully.

“Thank you so much, Father,” she gushed, patting her daughter’s hand before scurrying back inside.

Father Winchester held out an arm, gesturing to the footpath. “It’s this way.” He stepped off, and Y/N followed. His scent filled her mouth and nose, making her stomach churn, and she couldn’t help staring at his muscular frame from behind him.

The rectory was a neat little house behind the church and the graveyard, far enough away from the other buildings that it was eerily silent. It was still raining, less enthusiastically than it had been before, but enough for her to feel her clothes getting wet as she followed the priest across the back of the graveyard. He paused after he’d opened the front door, holding it for her to slip past, and she felt a chill as she did. The door closed behind him, turning to face her as she hovered in the hallway.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked politely. It felt forced, and his intense stare made her insides quiver.

“Uh, sure.”

He smiled - the same predatory look he’d given her before. “The kitchen is through here.” Leading with his hand, he didn’t wait for her to follow, though she did, letting her gaze travel over the aged wallpaper and the few old pictures hanging on the walls. Most of them were religious or with the church itself as a subject, and for a moment, she wondered if Father Taggart was home, seeing as he was ill.

“How is Father Taggart?” she asked curiously. “Father Crowley said he was taken ill.”

Father Winchester barely spared her a glance as he filled the kettle with water, placing it on the stove top. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he muttered, his tone indicating a lack of regard for the man in question.

“Where is he?” she pushed, hoping that she wasn’t alone in the house with such an odd man.

He turned his head, grinning at her. “He left this morning. Staying with relatives in Florida. Warmer air.”

It sounded like he was mocking her, but she couldn’t see what the point would be, so she shrugged and let it go, looking around the kitchen for somewhere to sit. There was definitely space for a dining table and chairs in there but the space they could have occupied was empty.

“How are you feeling now?” the Father asked.

His question caught her off-guard. “Uh, okay, I guess,” she stammered, hugging herself for some small measure of comfort. “Probably allergies.” She was lying through her teeth; the gentle ache beginning in her belly told her exactly what was happening.

He hummed like he didn’t quite believe her. “Are you sure?” he pressed, turning to face her. “Lying is a sin, Y/N.”

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head hurriedly, fighting the urge to back up and show his intimidation of her. She dropped her hands to her sides, trying to appear casual. “Well, I mean, storms kick up all sorts of allergens,” she managed, shrugging.

Father Winchester sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “You know, I gave you the chance there,” he scolded softly. “But I can see you’re going to be difficult about it.”

A lump formed in her throat. “About what?” she rasped, feigning innocence.

“I can smell you.”

The statement made her freeze, and she met his eyes like a frightened rabbit. He was facing her now, stalking her almost, and even though he was scaring the crap out of her, a tiny part of her was sending a thrill down her spine. His eyes shone as he stepped closer, and her knees trembled.

“Been able to smell you since you got out of your car,” he continued, coming closer still. “Sweet. Ripe. Just begging to be plucked.”

“Father Winchester, I -”

He scoffed, silencing her. “It’s Dean.”

She frowned at the odd correction, never knowing a priest to be so informal. But then, she’d never known one to be this inappropriate toward her. “This is wrong,” she whispered, finally backing away from him, only to find cupboards at her back two steps later. He was so close now, close enough to grab her, close enough that he was blocking any escape.

A smirk curled his lips, making him even more devastatingly handsome. “Then why can I smell how wet you are, sweetheart?”

Y/N whimpered, pressing herself into the cupboard door. “You shouldn’t be acting like this,” she denied. “You’re a priest, a man of the cloth -”

He was suddenly up against her, and she sucked in a breath, words fading as his scent overwhelmed her. “I’m an Alpha,” he murmured, reaching up to cup her face with one huge hand. “You’re an Omega. I know you feel it, I know you want it.”

She shook her head, her only struggle against his hold. He chuckled, leaning in like he was going to kiss her and she knew she should have resisted but she didn’t. His face got closer and right as he was about to brush his lips over hers, he went left, pressing his cheek to hers instead. The hand at her jaw tugged at her jacket, pulling it down until her bare shoulder and throat were exposed.

“I wouldn’t force myself on you, Y/N,” he crooned, mouth right against the shell of her ear. “It’s so much more satisfying to watch you try to fight it.” He chuckled, running the tips of his fingers up over her bare arm. “And you’re going to beg for my knot before long.” His fingers slid over her shoulder and up to her throat, stroking over the spot where an Alpha would lay his claim.

A shudder ran up her spine, and she could feel wetness in her panties. No doubt he could smell it, how aroused she was just from a few moments in his presence. “I don’t -” Her mouth was so dry, she couldn’t speak. Working some saliva up, she managed a tiny whine, and Dean pulled back to look her in the eye.

“Try again,” he ordered softly.

“I don’t think th-this is appropriate,” she stammered, too aware of the hand still lingering on her throat.

“Why not?” he teased, grinning at her. “Your body wants it. Every second, your scent’s gettin’ stronger, princess.”

This is wrong, this is wrong, she chanted in her mind but already she was imagining it, conjuring fantasies based on the hard lines of his body that held her against the cupboard. “Please,” she keened desperately.

“Please, what?”

The kettle began to shrill loudly, and the tension in the room snapped. Dean stepped away, leaving her to crumple in on herself, and she panted against the cupboard, watching him as he continued to make the tea.

She wondered for a second if she’d imagined it but her jacket was still hanging halfway down her shoulder, and she could still feel his touch on her skin. Her panties were soaked through, and when she straightened, she felt the ache in her belly turning raw.

The front door opened, and she heard her mother’s voice. Relief swept through her, but Dean didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by the arrival of company.

“Oh, of course, Father, we understand,” Judith was practically swooning over him, “after all, safety comes first.”

“Absolutely, my child,” Father Crowley replied and the front door shut loudly. “Now let’s see where your daughter has gotten to.” His voice got louder as they approached the kitchen, and when he entered, he smiled at you. “Here she is.” He glanced at the other priest. “Safe and sound.”

Judith didn’t notice the odd tone he spoke with, but Y/N did. She stood still as her mother came closer and began to fuss, pressing one hand to her daughter’s forehead. “Oh dear,” she mumbled, flustering a little as she realized what was ailing the younger woman. “I suppose we should get you home.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Father Crowley interjected, glaring at Father Winchester, who smirked back.

“Thank you for looking after her, Father,” Judith cooed, smiling at both men.

“Take good care of her, won’t you?” Dean requested, all charm as he stared right at Y/N. She swallowed down a whimper, ducking her head so her mother didn’t see her reaction to him. “She’s a very special girl.”

Her mother clutched her chest, giving him an adoring look. “I will, Father Winchester,” she promised, taking Y/N’s hand but her daughter was already moving, desperate to get away from the scent of him. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye?” Judith admonished, making her freeze in her tracks.

She turned back, stomach churning, palms getting sweaty. “Thank you, Father,” she mumbled, curtseying like she was a child at Sunday School.

“I’ll keep you in my prayers,” he replied, a filthy smirk on his lips.

Judith didn’t linger this time, following as her daughter dashed for the door and out into the fresh air. The door closed behind them, and Crowley turned to Dean, arching one eyebrow in his direction.

“Feeling a little more enthusiastic about this?” he taunted. “Though you’re behind. I’ve already got three in the bag, what’s so special about this one?”

Dean’s smirk grew. “Didn’t you smell her?”

Crowley hummed. “Not something I’d be attuned to,” he shrugged. “This meatsuit’s a Beta.”

“You’re missing out,” Dean chuckled. “All she needs is a little push and she’ll be begging.”

“Seems like a waste of time.”

The younger man growled. “I thought we were here to have fun.”

“We are,” Crowley confirmed hesitantly. “I just thought it was a little more damning of little old ladies and less chasing tail.”

Dean snorted, rolling his eyes. “Whatever floats your boat. We should get rid of Taggart. He’s gonna start stinking up the joint.”

She’d been mistaken in thinking getting away from Father Winchester would slow her predicament. If anything, by the time she arrived home, the heat was getting stronger. Her mother parked the car and ushered her out, ordering her to her room to rest while promising noodle soup.

Usually, she’d sleep through most of a heat, ensconced in her personal space, and it would be over within three or four days. Even at her age and unmated, she managed them easily, but this one was early, way off her regular cycle. It felt stronger too, crippling her in hours, and by the time her mom brought her soup, she was at the point of begging for unconsciousness. Judith was concerned - Y/N dismissed it, assuring her mother she only needed rest and sending her away.

Every time she closed her eyes, Dean’s face, his scent, tormented her.

Monday didn’t bring any improvement. She strayed from her nest only to use the bathroom, snacking on comfort foods and watching shows when she wasn’t sleeping. Her mom checked in before she went out, and while she was gone, Y/N used the private time to take the edge off, cursing herself when she imagined Dean being the one to satisfy her.

She fell short of satisfying herself, only succeeding making the longing worse.

On Tuesday, her mom was home, and expressed a desire to call the doctor, but Y/N waved her off again. Her fever was beginning to break, she just had to ride it out.

In the afternoon, someone knocked at the door, the noise disturbing her sleep. She laid in her bed, listening as her mother greeted whoever it was, and for a moment, the low voice that answered didn’t register. When she realized who it was, she bolted upright, staring at the door in horror as she heard them coming up the stairs.

Her mother knocked at her door seconds later, and Y/N snatched the covers, pulling them up to her chin. The door opened without her consent - nothing unusual for Judith - and she stepped in alone, even though Y/N could smell Dean just outside in the hall.

“Y/N,” she murmured, “Father Winchester has come to check in on you.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Y/N grunted back. “I’d rather not -”

“Nonsense,” she insisted. “Maybe prayer will help take your mind off of it.”

The utter disregard the older woman suddenly had was alarming, but Y/N didn’t have a chance to question it as Father Winchester entered, smirking at her. Judith smiled, glancing over at her daughter as she wilted in the bed.

“I’ve got to run into town. Will you two be okay?” Judith asked, ignoring the horror on Y/N’s face.

“I’m sure I can assist Y/N with whatever she needs,” Dean drawled, still grinning, eyes locked on her. It didn’t appear that Judith caught his double meaning at all, as she quickly retreated, leaving her Omega daughter to the Alpha’s mercy. He waited until he heard her reach the bottom of the stairs, then he pushed the door almost closed, licking his lips. “Mmm,” he exhaled, “I can taste you in the air, pretty thing.”

“I could shout,” she threatened quietly. “Mom will -”

“Go ahead,” he dared. “But I already know, you won’t. Because you’ve been thinking about me for three days.”

Her cheeks flushed with fresh heat but she held his gaze in defiance. He tucked his tongue behind his teeth, his expression mocking her, and she scowled, hating the fact that he was having an effect on her.

Downstairs, the front door shut, leaving them alone.

Dean moved closer, lowering himself onto the bed by her thighs. He didn’t touch her, but his proximity was enough to make her tense, the desire in her belly growing stronger with every whiff of his scent. “Don’t worry,” he soothed, lifting his chin. “I won’t touch you unless you ask nicely.”

She ground her teeth together. That same tiny part of her that had sprung up back at the rectory, the Judas in her soul that made her quiver at just his voice; it was screaming now, pleading with her to give in. Keeping her mouth shut, she focused on remaining still, unreactive to his presence.

“Ooo, hard to get, huh?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Your scent betrays what you’re craving, baby. I bet you’ve cum half a dozen times on those useless plastic knots.” He looked around the room, obviously looking for evidence. “Where do you hide them?”

Y/N kept her eyes on him, unwilling to give away her secret.

“Gotta be somewhere mommy won’t find,” he continued, getting to his feet again. “She’s so nice. I doubt she knows what a little cockslut her daughter truly is.”

Her stomach clenched, and she looked down at her knees underneath the quilt. Dean laughed again, wandering over to her dresser. He smoothed one long hand along the top of it, glancing back at her in amusement.

“No, not in here, too obvious,” he mused aloud, scanning the room. Spying her closet, he strode over to it, opening the doors. He inspected it without touching anything, looking back at her again to check her reaction. She continued to keep her eyes down, chewing her lip to silence herself. “Not even gonna give me a hint?”

The rise he wanted wasn’t forthcoming though he didn’t seem bothered by her refusal to play his game. He stalked closer, trying to get her to look at him. She kept her head down, resisting, but when his knee hit the bed, she couldn’t stop her eyes darting towards where her shoebox lay.

Dropping to one knee, he reached under the bed, finding the only thing that was under there. He pulled the box out, glancing up to see her shameful expression, and he knew he had his prize.

“Let’s see,” he hummed, tugging the lid off.

Y/N only owned two toys, a vibrating wand and a dildo. Dean went for the dildo first, holding it up in scrutiny as she tried to will her bed to swallow her whole.

“Oh, baby. You’re in for a treat.” He clicked his tongue, smirking at her. “This is tiny.” It hit the floor with a thud that made her flinch. “But this one might be useful.” He dropped the shoebox, throwing the wand onto the bed; it landed between her knees. “Which one do you like best?”

She hesitated. He waited patiently, staring at her, and she shivered, letting the covers fall to her shoulders. “I-if I tell you… you won’t hurt me, right?”

A frown dampened his smile. “Do you think I’m going to hurt you, Omega?”

The use of the title made her shiver again. Her whole body ached, the arousal becoming unbearable and only enhanced by the scent of a potent Alpha so close. “I don’t know,” she confessed.

“I told you - I won’t touch you until you ask me to,” he repeated.

“Th-the wand,” she rushed out, and his smile returned. “The kn - the other one feels too fake.”

He chuckled, tilting his head a little. “Tell me the truth, princess,” he moved closer, sitting on the bed again, this time on the opposite side, “have you ever taken a real Alpha knot in that sweet little cunt of yours?”

She couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped. “Yes,” she whispered. “Once.”

“Lemme guess,” he mused, tapping his chin with one finger. “Highschool sweetheart. Thought he was the one, only for him to pop your cherry and leave you high and dry, right?” Her gaze dropped, and he took it for confirmation, laughing lightly. “Oh, darlin’, I’m gonna blow your mind when I get inside you.”

His words were so crude, so unbecoming of a priest. No one had ever spoken to her like that and she was ashamed to find his filthy expressions arousing. “Y-you said you wouldn’t force me.”

“I won’t,” he assured her. “I told you, you’ll beg me for it.”

Faking bravado, she lifted her chin, staring at him. “How do you know?”

“Because you’ve got my scent now,” he breathed, “Omega.” She shuddered, unable to suppress it, and fresh warmth invaded the space between her thighs. “See? Just my voice makes your pussy clench, doesn’t it? How many times have you imagined me fucking you to get off?” She whimpered, breaking eye contact. “Honesty, Y/N.”

“A lot,” she rasped truthfully, because she hadn’t counted.

He grinned triumphantly. “You wanna cum right now, don’t you?” She nodded, clenching her hands in the covers. “Then pick up your little toy and make yourself cum.”

The idea of refusing floated in her mind but she was so aroused she could feel it soaking the sheets underneath her ass. Dean watched her, green eyes hungry as they fixed on her, and before she could contemplate what she was doing, she pulled one hand out from the quilt and grabbed the wand.

He sat back a little, hands in his lap. Swallowing hard, Y/N hid the wand under the covers, turning it on so he could hear it, sliding it between her thighs. It didn’t even occur to her to fake it, and when the vibrating head touched her clit through her thin panties, she whined loudly.

“That’s it,” he purred, rubbing his crotch through his black slacks. “Aren’t you warm under all that?”

Desire controlled her, overriding her common sense. She pushed the covers down, shifting so she was a little flatter before pressing the wand to her sex again. Dean was stroking himself through his pants now, watching her as she writhed against the stimulation.

“I think you’d cum quicker if you took your panties off,” he suggested.

She nodded, too lust-drunk to fight it anymore, and in a few seconds, her panties were off and across the room. Dean watched as she spread her legs, bringing the wand’s head to right where she needed it. The intense need in her core only got her to the edge quicker, and she shuddered through an orgasm under the priest’s stare, feeling shameful as the pleasure subsided.

“Did that feel good?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whimpered, legs still twitching as she pulled the wand away and turned it off. Her cunt clenched around nothing, and she squirmed, desperate to feel more friction. Dean’s gaze dropped to her slick pussy, and he bit his lip, obviously restraining himself. The realization dawned on her that she didn’t want him to show control… she wanted him to touch her. “Please,” she forced out, chest heaving and breath coming in short pants. “Touch me.”

His lips curled into a sly smile and he chuckled. “Told you so,” he murmured, reaching out to slide his hand over her knee and up her bare thigh. “But you need to be specific. Where should I touch you, Y/N?”

“M-my,” she hesitated, feeling the warmth of his hand so close to where she wanted it, “my pussy.”

He grinned. “You learn quick,” he muttered, finally cupping her sex with his hand. She groaned, unwittingly canting her hips into his palm. “Oh, you’re so wet and warm, little Omega.” A finger dipped inside her, making her mewl pitifully, but he only laughed, teasing her with a little more of it. “Tell me what you want now.”

“I want -” She stopped, licking her lips as her breathing got heavier. “I want you to make me cum.”

“Like this?” He thrust his finger into her up to the knuckle, and she cried out, clutching the sheets underneath her. “So tight too,” he groaned. “You’re going to burn me alive.”

She twisted, nodding desperately. “P-please, more.”

He fucked the single digit into her, letting her body adjust before he penetrated her with the second. Her voice became hoarse, and her cunt throbbed around him, slicking every stroke as he opened her up. His wrist twisted, allowing him to press his thumb to her clit, and her whole body trembled.

“Just opening up for me,” he praised, looking down at her hungrily as he kept his fingers moving at a steady pace. “I bet you’ll gush all over my hand, won’t you, dirty little whore Omega? Look at you, all ready to beg for what you really want.” She moaned and nodded, rocking her hips in time with his thrusts. “Wonder how hard you’ll cum with my knot stretching that perfect little cunt out? You wanna feel my seed in your belly?”

It was too much. With a hoarse shout, she came, clenching hard around his fingers as he held them deep, his thumb continuing to work at her clit until she was dripping down his wrist. She was crying with pleasure, unable to vocalize anything as she shuddered from head to toe, and when Dean pulled his hand away, her legs collapsed, leaving her in a messy heap, eyes closed and chest heaving.

She could hear him lick his fingers clean.

“What do you want now, Y/N?” he taunted, leaning over her. She whimpered, opening her eyes to look up at him.

“Want your knot, Alpha,” she keened, reaching for him.

He tisked, pulling away before she could touch him. “That’s not good enough,” he chided, shaking his head and smirking at her. “If you want it that bad, you’ll come and get it.”

“Wait,” she mumbled, pushing up onto weak arms as he walked around the bed. “Where are you going?”

“Not far,” he replied mockingly, pausing at the door. “Like I said, if you want it that bad…” He trailed off and shrugged, disappearing out of the door. Y/N scrambled to follow, reaching the doorway with only her t-shirt on, but as she stepped out into the hall, it was empty. Father Winchester was gone.

She stared, pouting at nothing. Had she imagined it in some sort of heat fever? No, she could smell him, feeling his lingering touch in her most intimate places - how could he leave her like that? He’d watched her get herself off, made her cum with the briefest of touches, and then he just… vanished?

With her climax, her heat was given a brief reprieve, and her judgment became a little less clouded. She knew what Father Winchester - Dean - was doing. It was immoral and wrong and why was she still craving him? She should have been disgusted with herself, she should have thrown him out, she should have -

But she hadn’t. She’d let him make her cum and she’d enjoyed every second of it.

Shame washed over her. She retreated back to her room, covering her face with her hands as she made a frustrated noise. All she could think about was him, all she wanted was him. It felt like he’d cursed her, when all he’d really done was talk dirty, and she’d broken like a twig.

Maybe she should let his superior know what he was doing. She was fairly certain priests weren’t supposed to seduce their parishioners, especially not with the ferocity Dean displayed. Except… except then he might be made to stop, and that tiny part of her from before was getting bigger and louder by the minute.

She dressed quickly, repeating the same cycle of thoughts in her head. They weren’t really doing anything wrong. He wasn’t the celibate kind of priest, and she was a single unmated Omega. Their only sin was sex before marriage, which she’d never exactly been big on, judging by the three guys she’d actually slept with in college.

By the time she was dressed, she almost had herself convinced. At the bottom of the stairs, she grabbed her coat and keys, pleased her mother hadn’t taken the car. When she opened the front door, she knew what she was going to do, and she was at peace with it.

The church was quiet when she pulled up, the windows sparkling in the afternoon sun. Y/N sat in her car, nibbling at her finger as she watched the door, concerned someone would see her. There didn’t seem to be any sign of life, so she climbed out, taking careful steps up to the door to try the handle. She wasn’t surprised when it opened, and she slipped inside, closing it behind her.

Inside was empty. At the far end by the altar, candles burned, and the smell of frankincense hung in the air. Moving forward, she listened out for anyone lurking, slowly heading for the front pews.

The door clicked loudly behind her. She turned, seeing Dean with his hand on the lock, and he turned his head, lips curled in another filthy smirk. His eyes were dark, almost black, she thought, but when she blinked they were normal. Dismissing it as a trick of the light, she turned to face him, unconsciously holding a breath.

“Well, well,” he chuckled, swiping a thumb across his full lower lip. “You didn’t waste any time.” He strolled towards her, bumping his hand off of each pew as he went. “It’s barely been an hour.”

She bit her lip, watching him draw closer. There was weakness in her knees, and her heart pounded in her chest so hard, she thought it might burst. Dean chuckled, slowing to a stop just within reach.

“Father Winchester,” she whispered, trying not to sink to her knees. He bared his teeth and she swallowed. “Dean.”

“Try again.”

A shuddering breath left her lips. “Alpha.”

He hummed, reaching out to grasp her chin in his fingers. “Yes?”

She knew what he wanted, what she had to say in order to get what she wanted, what her body was craving like an addict. Still, she struggled to get the words out, unused to expressing her sexual needs aloud. “I need... I need your knot,” she whimpered.

He tisked, releasing her. “Not good enough.”

Her legs gave out, and she dropped with a frustrated cry. “Please,” she wailed, “please, Alpha, I need it. Need you to knot me.” Dean groaned, palming his crotch, looking down at her hungrily. Y/N lifted her head, panting as she pleaded with him. “Need you to fuck me.”

His jaw hung half open as he tore at the buckle of his pants, pulling his half-hard cock free. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him, watching as his erection thickened and filled out, the bulge of his knot obvious at the base. “You’re learning,” he mumbled, stroking himself as he stepped closer. “Open up.”

She obeyed, kneeling a little straighter as he offered himself to her, tapping the heavy crown against her bottom lip.

“Wider.”

Her jaw ached already but she did as she was told, instinctively brushing her tongue across the weeping head. His taste was tangy on her tongue, and she swallowed it down, lifting one hand to touch him. He didn’t resist, watching with his chin tucked into his chest as she took the initiative and started to explore his shaft with her tongue.

“Keep going,” he murmured, stroking her face before cupping the side of her head. “That’s it. Good little cocksucker.”

She moaned around him, feeling her own body respond to what she was doing. Her pussy throbbed and her skin prickled with heat, and her movements became more enthusiastic, much to the Alpha’s delight.

“Take it deeper,” he instructed, and she complied, eager to please him. His cockhead nudged the back of her throat and she gagged, pulling away at the fear of throwing up. Dean stopped her going far, quickly tugging her back. “Keep trying,” he ordered. “You’ll get used to it.”

Cautiously, she opened her mouth again, feeling the weight of him on her tongue. He thrust forward a little, and she swallowed, concentrating hard to control her gag reflex. Dean moaned as she kept doing it, rocking his hips to keep up the pressure.

“Fuck, you got a sweet mouth,” he groaned. “But I bet your pussy feels even better.”

He pulled away without warning, and Y/N spluttered as she landed on her hands, gasping down air. Dean’s hand slipped around her upper arm, pulling her to her feet; she stumbled, grabbing onto him for stability. Without waiting, he tugged her toward the altar, roughly pushing her against it.

“A dress would have been better,” he commented, yanking her pants down to her ankles as she squeaked in alarm and grabbed the cloth-covered altar table. Two fingers quickly pressed against her sex, sinking into her without warning. She cried out, clutching the table, bending over without thinking. “Still so wet,” he muttered, fucking the two thick digits into her.

“Please,” she wailed, unable to take any more teasing.

“Impatient now,” he chuckled, pulling his fingers free. “Don’t worry, baby,” she heard his pants drop as the heavy belt buckle hit the floor, “gonna make you feel all better.”

He pressed in behind her, letting her feel the weight of his cock as he slid between her thighs. Holding it against her pussy, he reached around for her throat, pulling her up straight.

“Look up,” he commanded quietly. She obeyed, lifting her eyes to the wooden crucifix above them, the carved image of Christ staring back. “I want you to look at Him while you’re taking my knot.”

He pushed into her, and she cried out, digging her fingernails into her table underneath her, struggling to keep her gaze where he wanted it. His thick shaft settled deep in her warmth, creating a pressure in her belly that threatened to overwhelm her.

“Fuck,” he cursed, his grip on her throat loosening for a second. “Just as good as I imagined.”

Y/N whimpered, fighting to keep her head up as Dean started to fuck her with slow, purposeful strokes. Her hips dug into the altar with every thrust, and his hand kept a steady grip on her throat, forcing her to look into the eyes of the crucified messiah as he defiled her.

It felt too good to care.

Her first climax came quickly, and her cries bounced off of the stained glass windows, echoing around the old building. Dean didn’t slow or stop, grunting in time with the slap of his skin on hers. His other hand grabbed her breast through her shirt, squeezing without a care for how rough he was being but her only noises were of pleasure. She was getting off on the way he used her, the bruises he was bound to leave on her skin.

“You really are a sinner,” he groaned, feeling her pussy clench around him again. His hand dropped to her belly, the fingers at her throat forcing her up a little straighter. “Bet you’re ripe right now,” he murmured, close to her ear. “That empty little womb just begging to be filled.”

The thought of what he was suggesting shouldn’t have made her wetter, shouldn’t have had any effect on her at all, but she would be lying if it didn’t. Her whole body shuddered at the depravity of even thinking about carrying his spawn, and she let her eyes roll back and fall shut. Dean chuckled, slowing just a little to watch her slick cunt swallow him over and over.

“I’m gonna knot you,” he panted, palming her ass, releasing her throat as he kicked her feet apart a little wider. Her belly and breasts came flush with the altar, and he hummed when his cock stabbed a little deeper. “Oh, baby,” he purred, “you’re so ready to be filled up.” Y/N whined, pushing up onto tiptoes to stop from slipping. “I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

His hips snapped into her with more force, punching a cry from her lips. He started to fuck her hard, hard enough that she knew she’d have physical marks from the wood colliding with her hip, if not from his fingers gripping her flesh tightly. She couldn’t hope to stop herself from screaming, cumming hard as she felt his knot beginning to swell.

“That’s it, Omega,” Dean growled, slapping her ass as she clenched around him. “Fucking cum on my knot.”

With one last thrust, his knot popped, thickening inside her as warm spurts of cum filled her belly. His teeth found her throat, and in the throes of pleasure, she didn’t resist, crying out as he broke the skin and left a permanent reminder of his touch. She slumped forward when he released her, gasping through the last of her orgasm, going limp as he finished. He groaned with a low chuckle, squeezing her ass again, enjoying the last few squeezes of her warm walls around his cock.

“Wanna hear a secret?” he murmured, pulling her up and holding her there, practically impaling her on his knot. His lips brushed the shell of her ear and she shuddered, almost wheezing in his grip. “I’m no priest.”

Was he expecting her to be surprised? No priest acted the way he did.

“Then what are you?” she asked, expecting him to say anything but what came out of his mouth.

He chuckled. “I don’t think you’re ready for that, little Omega.”

How she had made it out of the church and home without anyone seeing her was a stroke of luck, and she managed to avoid her mother for the rest of the day. Her heat subsided quickly after her encounter with Dean, but she still wasn’t entirely satisfied. After their encounter, he’d disappeared without answering her questions, and every time she’d returned to the church later on in the week, there was no one there. The mark on her throat ached, and though it hadn’t been deep, she still kept it covered to avoid questions from anyone who might see it.

Shame kept her from attending church on the Sunday, having decided by that point that Dean had used her. She feigned a migraine, letting her mother take her car, and then she ate junk food in her room while watching reruns of old sitcoms on television. When her mom returned a few hours later, it was with surprising news.

“Father Taggart passed away,” Judith said after Y/N came down to see what had happened. “No one is sure what happened, only that the bishop is saying they didn’t send any replacement for Father Grayson, and no one knows what happened to Father Crowley or Father Winchester.”

“That’s strange,” Y/N mumbled, recalling Dean’s words while he’d been buried inside her. The majority of her soul was in pain at the abandonment of an Alpha - again - and that this time, he’d left something of himself inside her.

“Oh, and did I mention?” her mother continued. “Mrs. Whiting was found dead two days ago. Another mystery. Her husband is still missing.”

Judith carried on, musing over all the gossip she’d heard today, and Y/N tuned it out, trying not to pay any attention to the emotions crushing her chest. She should have been more careful, should have been wary of the handsome Alpha - she definitely shouldn’t have offered herself up to him like a brazen hussy.

She had to keep her involvement with him quiet. The last thing she wanted was attention from the police. It was easier to keep her head down and carry on, deal with her own stupidity and not let herself be fooled again.

When a few days passed, she let it sink in. A night of crying to the most tear-jerking movies she could think of, and she felt a little better. She kept going, and days turned into weeks, and Dean was a brief thought that flitted through her mind occasionally. His mark faded to an easily-disguisable scar, and she continued on with how her life had been before, ignoring the longing for excitement that he had brought her. The only change was church, despite her mother’s protests.

She never expected to see him again but she wasn’t sure she could walk back into the place where she’d let him own every part of her.

It was almost a relief when her period came. His comments about her fertility had lingered in her mind, burrowing deep until she was in a panic. But her cycle continued as it had before, and she thought she could finally forget him entirely.

She didn’t notice the black car parked along the street, didn’t recognize it at all, though she’d seen it before. She didn’t even pay attention when she saw it outside her office, or at the grocery store. It was only when she walked past it for the sixth time outside the pharmacy, and the door opened, that she finally saw who it was.

Dean stared at her over the top of the Impala, and Y/N froze on the sidewalk, feeling like time had slowed down. He smiled awkwardly, unlike the predatory smirk from before, and she frowned, tilting her head at him.

“You’re back,” she blurted out.

“Kind of,” he replied haltingly.

It had been about six weeks. She was due her heat again. “What do you want?” she asked.

“To talk.” He sounded sincere at least. “To explain.” There was something in his voice, something that tugged her forward. “You’re my Omega, Y/N.”

She took a breath, knowing without even thinking about it that she’d listen. “What if I don’t want to talk?” she challenged. “What if I don’t want an Alpha?”

Dean smiled again, but once more she noticed the difference in him. “Is that true?”

“No,” she confessed quietly.

He gestured to the passenger door. “You wanna get in?”

It felt like opening that door would lead her somewhere, and not just into this man’s arms. Whatever he had to say, she felt like she needed to hear it, that this was not only the door to his car, but the door to her future. She looked up, smiling at the bright sunny sky, then dropped her gaze back to him.

“Yeah.”

Feedback is appreciated!! Thanks for reading 😘

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #demon!dean winchester #fanfic #fanfiction #spn #supernatural #blasphemy #a/b/o #alpha/beta/omega #alpha!Dean Winchester #omega!reader

[crystal-lillies]

General thoughts after watching Season 1 of Netflix's Avatar: The Last Airbender (spoilers may be present)

It's not bad. It's weird, but it's not bad.

No one asked for this.

No one asked, but we got it anyway. So what did we get?

It's not a 1:1 remake. I don't think, despite everything people have worried and griped about before the show's release, anyone wanted that either. It doesn't retain the same character arcs for everyone. Not just Sokka, but everyone.

At the same time, they still have arcs.

They're weird, they feel weird, because this show does what the Shyamalan movie doesn't, and makes an honest effort to capture the essence of the animated show, of the characters, of the world, and there is respect in its efforts.

There are musical motifs from the original. The set designs are out of the original. Many scenes are shot exactly like the original as homages.

And yet, storylines are merged together, elements from later seasons are introduced earlier, character interactions happen differently, character motivations are presented differently, and that feels weird.

We know the motions but when we the audience try to follow them, the show changes its direction and pulls a weird flex out of left field.

I won't say I agree with every major and minor change made, but I'm not enraged or disappointed in the same way as I was (and many of us were) after seeing the movie.

Instead, I'm more inclined to see where these new threads intend to go, and how the story we all know and love can be told in a different way.

Roku had barely a presence in this season, whereas in the original, he was more or less Aang's spiritual teacher. Instead, we've felt more from Kyoshi and Kuruk and Yangchen, and Aang has felt lost in his spiritual journey as well as his physical one.

Ozai, who was just a shadowy one-dimensional nightmare for most of the original first book, is now a more fleshed out figure, but one of confusing motivations. It's not the tonal whiplash of the movie, of the Ozai who legitimately worried and cared about Zuko's well being while also having still scarred and banished him, but one who is playing a 4-D chess game with his kids as the pieces and doesn't care who wins so long as one does.

I don't think it was the right call to have Zuko fight back in the Agni Kai before getting burned, but it gives a different dynamic to Zuko and Ozai's relationship that he's not the towering, shadowy Mark Hamill terror Zuko cowers before.

This Zuko seems legitimately convinced Ozai cares about him and all it takes is the Avatar to win his full love back, whereas there's still bitterness in the OG Zuko of book one. He knows Ozai favors Azula over him, he knows he's had to struggle well before being banished.

I also think not casting Dee Bradley Baker was a mistake. But they have time to correct that mistake.

All the kid actors, being green, of course do not stand up to expressive and gorgeous animation with brilliant voice acting. But they are all giving it their best, and I think they have what it takes to grow into the Book 3 Team Avatar if they get the chance.

The music got to me a number of times, particularly the instrumental renditions of "Leaves From the Vine."

Do we need this show? No absolutely not.

We have the original ATLA, and we always will. It's a timeless classic of our generation. Nothing could ever compete with it or ruin it.

However, I do feel like this adaptation is worth giving a chance to stand on its own. It may be far from perfect, but after watching it through, I legitimately want to see where it goes from here. I want to see this cast grow and change in their own ways. I want to see Toph in live action. I want to see Ba Sing Se. I want to see the new directions this story chooses to take to end up in the same place at Sozin's Comet.

But that might not happen if Netflix decides to cancel it, and I think that would be a shame.

I really do think it's worth seeing this show through, for better or worse.

Overall, as a show, I would give it a modest 7/10. (With individual elements skewing higher or lower throughout)

I don't like that it's only 8 episodes, but that's been a trend of other streaming shows also, across platforms, so I cannot fault NATLA alone for that.

You don't NEED to have seen the original to understand what's happening or get key details (unlike SOME adaptations have been doing recently). You can get a complete picture with just this. Is it as pretty or vibrant as the original? No. But it is still a whole picture (or, could be, with all three seasons).

It has great effects, sets, props, choreography, good music. It has SUKI. And JET. and JUNE. And THE Cabbage Man!

AND OMA/SHU ARE LESBIANS! I mean, I see that as an absolute win.

#flowerspeak #long post #atla #avatar the last airbender #netflix avatar the last airbender #natla #netflix atla #I do think two more episodes could have been added for breathing room and more show element inclusions that were mentioned offscreen #but that's a problem I've had with streaming shows as a whole. lacking necessary breathing room #we used to get shows with 20 to 22 episodes each season #and now we are lucky to get double digits at all per season #but overall. i truly enjoyed my watch. and i do want to see more #natla spoilers #Netflix atla spoilers

[katnissmellarkkk]

I did a lil search for all the times Katniss talked about Peeta’s blue eyes. Or called them those blue eyes. She was so mesmerized by his eyes lbr 😭. Anyways, enjoy!

-

The shock of the moment is registering on his face, you can see his struggle to remain emotionless, but his blue eyes show the alarm I’ve seen so often in prey. Yet he climbs steadily onto the stage and takes his place.

-

It’s not until we enter the City Circle that I realize I must have completely stopped the circulation in Peeta’s hand. That’s how tightly I’ve been holding it. I look down at our linked fingers as I loosen my grasp, but he regains his grip on me. “No, don’t let go of me,” he says. The firelight flickers off his blue eyes. “Please. I might fall out of this thing.”

-

“Do you mean you won’t kill anyone?” I ask.

“No, when the time comes, I’m sure I’ll kill just like everybody else. I can’t go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to . . . to show the Capitol they don’t own me. That I’m more than just a piece in their Games,” says Peeta.

“But you’re not,” I say. “None of us are. That’s how the Games work.”

“Okay, but within that framework, there’s still you, there’s still me,” he insists. “Don’t you see?”

“A little. Only . . . no offense, but who cares, Peeta?” I say.

“I do. I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?” he asks angrily. He’s locked those blue eyes on mine now, demanding an answer.

-

I look up into those blue eyes that no amount of dramatic makeup can make truly deadly and remember how, just a year ago, I was prepared to kill him. Convinced he was trying to kill me. Now everything is reversed. I’m determined to keep him alive, knowing the cost will be my own life, but the part of me that is not so brave as I could wish is glad that it’s Peeta, not Haymitch, beside me. Our hands find each other without further discussion. Of course we will go into this as one.

-

Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to me. “For you.” I hold it out on my palm and examine its iridescent surface in the sunlight. Yes, I will keep it. For the few remaining hours of my life I will keep it close. This last gift from Peeta. The only one I can really accept. Perhaps it will give me strength in the final moments.

“Thanks,” I say, closing my fist around it. I look coolly into the blue eyes of the person who is now my greatest opponent, the person who would keep me alive at his own expense. And I promise myself I will defeat his plan.

The laughter drains from those eyes, and they are staring so intensely into mine, it’s like they can read my thoughts. “The locket didn’t work, did it?” Peeta says, even though Finnick is right there. Even though everyone can hear him. “Katniss?”

“It worked,” I say.

“But not the way I wanted it to,” he says, averting his glance. After that he will look at nothing but oysters.

-

I wish I could meet with Peeta privately. But the audience of doctors has assembled behind the one-way glass, clipboards ready, pens poised. When Haymitch gives me the okay in my earpiece, I slowly open the door.

Those blue eyes lock on me instantly. He’s got three restraints on each arm, and a tube that can dispense a knockout drug just in case he loses control. He doesn’t fight to free himself, though, only observes me with the wary look of someone who still hasn’t ruled out that he’s in the presence of a mutt. I walk over until I’m standing about a yard from the bed. There’s nothing to do with my hands, so I cross my arms protectively over my ribs before I speak.

-

Through the water in the glass, I see a distorted image of one of Peeta’s hands. The burn marks. We are both fire mutts now. My eyes travel up to where the flames licked across his forehead, singeing away his brows but just missing his eyes. Those same blue eyes that used to meet mine and then flit away at school. Just as they do now.

-

#everlark #thg #hunger games #Katniss everdeen #Peeta mellark #bookcomb ♥️🔎

[ladykailitha]

Can Anybody See Me? Part 16

Hello, darlings! I am back with this wonderful story. I figure there will be about 20 chapters provided more drama doesn’t crop up for our lovely duo.

The Cinderella thing is mostly true. Not the throw up part but the English teacher part. And she did swear off drama.

Also I used real lines from the play 1776 all credit goes to the writer Peter Stone.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

*

Eddie always got tired of hearing the music by the time the last week before the performance came around. But he never got tired of watching Steve learn the dance moves or say his lines.

What was impressive was the fact that Steve picked up his lines faster then the kids that had been doing this for years. The actor playing John Adams kept stumbling over the line “Does anybody see what I see?” He kept saying “Does anyone see what I see?”

Eddie could tell even from the light booth that Steve was about to leap from the sidelines and strangle him.

Miss Lucy called out the correct line for the tenth time and the kid threw his arms in the air and walked off the stage in frustration.

Miss Lucy sighed. “All right, I guess we take a short break before getting back to it.” Marty patted her shoulder and went to go talk to him.

Steve turned to Janice. “You want to strangle Vince or shall I?”

Janice laughed. “How about we take turns?”

By then Eddie had made his way to them, the boring way. As in he actually used the stairs.

“Now, now, Stevie,” he growled low. “Threatening John Adams is a completely different part of the play!”

Steve and Janice laughed. Eddie loved this laugh. It wasn’t the dark chuckle or sneering smirk from his King Steve years. It was an actual laugh, open mouthed and loud.

“You ready for your first performance in front of a live audience?” Janice asked.

Steve gulped. “No?”

“There’s always someone who throws up,” she said with a grin. “So if you feel like up chucking, just do it in the designated garbage can with the lid to keep the smell from getting to everyone else.”

Eddie winced. “Yeah, we really don’t need a repeat of Cinderella.”

Steve’s face drained of color. “What happened with Cinderella?”

Marty came up from behind Janice and said, “The kid playing the King threw up on the girl playing the fairy godmother. Like all over her dress. And apparently she had a weak stomach, so she threw up too. And then the girl playing one of the step-sisters threw up because of the smell...and it just spiraled from there.”

“They had to cancel that performance,” Janice finished with a grimace.

“That performance?” Eddie said. “Hell they had to push back all of the performances until the following week so that they had time to get all the costumes dry cleaned.”

“It was a mess,” Marty said.

Steve frowned. “When was this?”

“Oh this was in middle school,” Marty said. “Um...our seventh grade I believe if Eddie was there for that.”

Eddie nodded. “The English teacher wanted to direct that year and she was a way better teacher than the actual drama teacher. But after the puking incident she swore off drama forever.”

It was Steve’s turned to wince. “I can’t say I blame her.”

“So yeah,” Janice said. “Please use the designated receptacles if you decide you need to throw up.”

Steve grimaced. “I don’t usually throw up when I’m nervous or scared, so I think I should be fine.”

Eddie frowned at the edition of scared to that statement. When the hell would Steve have been frightened? He supposed he could be referring to his dad, but this felt like it was something else.

“All right, everyone!” Miss Lucy called out. “Places!”

Steve got back out there and stood on his mark. Vince and Martin, the kid who was playing Hancock got to theirs.

“I’m still from Massachusetts, John;” Martin said, “you know where I stand. I’ll do whatever you say.”

“No, you’re the President of Congress,” Vince said. “You’re a fair man, Hancock—stay that way.”  

The messenger boy came in and handed Steve the dispatch.

“Tell me Mr Thomson, out of curiosity, do you stand with Mr Dickinson or do you stand with me?

Steve held up the dispatch. “I stand with the General. Lately–I’ve had the oddest feeling that he’s been–writing to me,” he said.

And this time the scene went off without a hitch.

“Cut!” Miss Lucy called. “Well done everyone!”

“Steve just a little more emotion in the ‘me’ bit, okay?” she said. “Your voice is supposed to crack with the despair of it all.”

Steve nodded.

“Kenny,” she said, “The way you uttered you line sent chills down my spine. Keep that up.”

Steve privately thought that Kenny should have been Adams instead of Lyman Hall. He was the much better actor. The only thing Steve could figure is that Kenny wanted the Georgia representative role.

It was one Steve had originally thought to try out for, but after reading the script a couple times decided that between Hall and Thomson, Thomson was a better fit for him.

They managed to get through the entire play that day.

Steve met up with Janice, Marty, and Eddie afterwards.

Eddie rubbed his hands together. “I can’t wait for next week.”

Marty laughed. “Yeah, yeah, Mr High School Delinquent wanting a valid reason to skip class...”

Steve frowned. “Why would we get to skip class?”

All three heads turned to him in shock.

“How do you not know?” Janice asked, her eyes wide.

“Know what?” Steve asked even further confused.

Marty smacked his head. “Shit! We’ve never actually said it out loud.”

Janice and Eddie turned to him.

“Wait, seriously?” Eddie asked eyes wide as he tilted his head forward in shock.

“We assumed everyone would know because we do it every year,” Marty explained.

“Steve,” Janice began, “did you not go to the high school productions of the school play in elementary?”

Steve frowned. “I vaguely remember that, I guess. I don’t think I ever went to the assembly. I think me and Tommy would cut out and then show up for the last few minutes.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Of course you did.”

Steve pursed his lips. “So we preform for the elementary kids all next week?”

Marty nodded. “Just the first act. Just enough to whet their appetite for the full thing so they drag their parents to the show so that we get the money.”

Steve nodded. “Okay. Do you guys do it for the middle school as well? Because I vaguely remember watching some musical about pirates my eighth grade year I think it was.”

Marty sighed. “We used to according Miss Lucy, but they stopped that year. The middle school principal hates the arts and discontinued it. Combine that with a drama teacher that didn’t care and you get the mess that is middle school preforming arts.”

Steve’s frown deepened. “I have a friend in the drama club at the middle school, I don’t think he’s every said anything bad about it. And he complains about everything.”

Eddie looked over at him and cocked his head. “Which one?”

Steve hummed. “Oh? Um, Dustin. The curly haired one without the front teeth.”

Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, I can see him being a drama kid.”

Marty chose that moment to cut in. “The problem is because they don’t have anything to compare it to most middle school kids don’t know it’s shit. And by the time they do figure it out, they’re already in high school and have moved on.”

Steve nodded. “Make sense I guess. And with the year almost over it wouldn’t make sense to try and change the system now.”

Janice sighed. “Sad but true.” She looked at her watch. “Look, I’ve got to go, I’m going to be late for work. I’ll see you guys later.”

Marty looked at his own watched and nodded. “That’s my cue as well. I need to talk to Mrs Thompson about one of the wigs. Apparently James is allergic to the power in his Franklin wig and we need to find a replacement that won’t scalp our actor.”

Steve grimaced. “Ouch. Yeah, I hear that. See around, man.”

Marty said goodbye and dashed off.

Eddie turned to Steve. “You coming to my place to study tonight?”

Steve hummed in the positive. “I just have to stop by my place to pick up a couple of things. Do you want me to grab some pizza on my way?”

Eddie grinned. “Sounds great. I love all meat.”

“You would,” Steve said rolling his eyes.

Eddie pushed him playfully. “I eat veggies, dude. Just not on pizza. It makes the dough all soggy.”

Steve frowned. “Huh. I don’t think I ever noticed that. I like a good supreme. But I’ll forgo today and just get a pepperoni and an all meat.”

Eddie smiled softly. “You do that, then. And I’ll see you at seven?”

Steve gave Eddie’s shoulder a squeeze and let his hand linger for a moment. “See you at seven.”

And then he walked away.

Eddie practically skipped backwards before he turned and ran out of the auditorium.

There in the back, shrouded in darkness, Kyle Carver sneered.

*

Steve arrived at the Munson trailer seven o’clock on the dot. His backpack was slung over one shoulder and the hot pizza perfectly balanced in one hand as he knocked on the door.

Eddie threw open the door and smiled. “Right on time.”

Steve grinned back. “I try.”

Eddie stepped back and let Steve in. Wayne smiled at the sight of the pizza.

“I like your boy, Eddie,” he said with a chuckle, rising to his knees. “Anyone who brings pizza from D'Onofrio’s is okay in my book.”

Steve laughed. “Like I’m going to get it from that new chain store that just opened up. My Italian grandmother would haunt me in my sleep.”

“I didn’t know you were Italian,” Eddie said, taking the boxes from him to set on the counter.

“Quarter,” Steve said, tossing his backpack on the floor next to coffee table. “My mom’s half Italian, half French, all American as my dad would say.”

“And your dad is what? All asshole?” Eddie asked getting down three plates from the cupboard.

Steve smirked. “Something like that.”

Wayne grabbed a slice of the pepperoni and set it on his plate. “I’m going to watch the game, you two boys okay with doing your homework on the counter in the kitchen?”

Steve nodded and Eddie said, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Wayne nodded back and went to go eat his pizza in front of the TV.

The boys bent over their English homework cursing every British author under the sun for foisting their very unamerican style of writing on poor American high school students. In particular William Golding. Eddie still had a soft spot for Tolkien.  

“If this goes on for much longer,” Steve said after they were working on it for an hour, “we might have to call in big guns.”

Eddie sighed. “Why are we being made to care about some bratty teenagers trying to kill each other on an island?” He buried his head in hands and screamed.

“Fuck if I know,” Steve admitted. “Why don’t we take a smoke break? Sit out on the porch for a minute?”

Eddie lifted his head. “Yeah.”

They grabbed their jackets and went out to sit on the porch stairs. Steve pulled out his pack of cigarettes and handed one to Eddie.

“Camels?” Eddie asked, pulling out his Bic lighter.

“Got a problem with Camels?” Steve asked, flicking open his Zippo lighter and lighting Eddie’s cigarette when his Bic refused to strike.

Eddie shrugged. “I would have pegged you for one of those fancier brands. Clove or whatever.”

Steve shook his head. “My dad smokes ‘em and they were my first smoke.” He shrugged. “Can’t imagine smoking anything else.”

Eddie bumped his shoulder into Steve’s. “Yeah, same. Only for me, it’s Wayne’s brand.”

Steve smiled. “Makes it easier to share.”

Eddie smiled back. “Sure does, big boy.”

They finished their cigarettes and went back inside, finally able to finish their assignments.

Steve and Eddie lingered at the door, pressed together, Steve playing with the pins on Eddie’s denim vest.

“I wish there wasn’t school tomorrow so I could stay,” he murmured.

Eddie lifted Steve’s face by his chin. “I know, sweetheart. But we do and I would really like to graduate this year.”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, me too.”

Eddie pressed his lips to Steve’s. “Good night, Stevie.”

Steve gave him a quick peck. “Night, Eds.” He waved goodbye and drove off.

Eddie watched him go and then slipped back into the trailer where Wayne was cleaning up in the kitchen.

“Eddie what did I tell you about leaving your comic books on the counter?” he asked with a sigh, holding up the comic in question.

He frowned. “That’s not one of mine.”

Wayne looked at it again. “I didn’t figure it was Steve’s. He doesn’t strike me as the type to read comic books.”

Eddie crossed the trailer and took the book from him. The cover showed a young man holding a bat filled with nails in front of a tentacled monster in a dark hallway.

The title read: The Monsters on Maple Street.

“Hey,” Wayne said. “That’s the name of one of my favorite ‘Twilight Zone’ episodes. It’s a real good one.”

Eddie nodded. Wayne was right. Steve didn’t read comic books. But he did write and draw one.

Or rather: two.

Holy shit.

Part 17  Part 18  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21

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#My writing #stranger things #steddie #canon divergence #the boy with the bat #ladykailtiha writes

[sotwk]

Unnecessary Guardian (Legolas x FReader fluff drabble)

Summary: Legolas insists on secretly guarding his dear friend on her first patrols as a new Mirkwood Spider Hunter. (A/N: Reader does not actually appear in the story, but is alluded to as "She".)

Prompt: Story inspired by the Anonymous share received below:

Word count: 790

Rating: General Audience

Content: Fluffy implied romance, brotherly banter and ribbing, OC Mirkwood Prince, Feren

Warnings: None

To Read on AO3: Link

Dedication: For Anon: Thank you for inspiring me to write my first-ever drabble! I hope your job training continues to go well, and that having Legolas as your imaginary guardian gives you strength and confidence. <3

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics

Unnecessary Guardian

Third Age 1254 Spring

Mirkwood

“It will be the last time I ask this favor, brother. I swear it,” insisted Legolas, twisting his body to narrowly avoid collision with a hunter ducking back out of the crowded armory shed. 

Gelir rolled his eyes as he yanked a sheaf of arrows from the weapons rack and slid it into his leather quiver. “And last week, you swore it would be the one and only time.” With the younger prince stubbornly on his tail, he marched out to the assembly grounds, where over half of his unit had already gathered.  

"I misjudged how long my protection would be needed."

“Needed?” Gelir barked a laugh as he strapped on the last of his gear. “If your conclusion from that patrol is that she needs anyone to protect her, then you must not have been watching very carefully. And that, honeg, would only render your gallant services even more unnecessary.”

Protests died on Legolas’s lips, silenced by the truth. His mind flashed back on the memories of that first attack, when a spider the size of an aurochs charged at your party from an underground lair. He had been following high above in the trees, as close as he could get without defying Gelir’s orders. He barely had a chance to raise his bow before your arrow found its mark dead center in the spider’s cluster of eyes. Hit in its most vulnerable spot, the creature collapsed writhing, leaving it to be finished off easily by the knives of your comrades. 

“She outshot Feren at the range yesterday,” Gelir said, snapping Legolas out of his daze and making him wonder if his brother had snuck into his thoughts. The prince grinned and brandished two fingers at another hunter standing within earshot. “Twice.”

“Two times out of five rounds,” Feren called out with a shrug. “I got her in three.”

“Still a worthy achievement, from previously never being able to best you,” Gelir hollered over at his second-in-command. “She is learning and growing by leaps and bounds. I for one am eager to see how quickly she will rise in rank.

“Well, she should be arriving any second now,” Feren interjected, throwing a pointed glance at Legolas. “I would suggest heading off, unless you are willing to answer what I can only assume would be a string of uncomfortable questions should she find you here."

Legolas grabbed Gelir’s arm before he could walk away to join his unit. “Please.”

Something in the tone of his voice must have moved the older prince, because he stopped short to study him for a long pause. “All right,” Gelir finally said. “You may come along, like a sneaky little stowaway. Again.”

He tutted and held up a hand as Legolas’s expression cracked into a jubilant smile. “But only IF you admit that you are doing this not for her, but for you.” The Captain of the Spiderhunters grinned and clapped a hand on his arm. “Your attempts to feed me such frail lies is just insulting now, honeg. Solid, convincing lies, those I can respect. But this one is weak.”

Legolas raised his chin and fought vainly against the flush creeping up his neck.  

“I believe she benefits from having me--”

“Tsk, no. Try again.”

Legolas hissed and turned away, clutching his head in frustration. Gelir was not one to magnanimously let an opportunity like this pass, not when he had him cornered like desperate prey. Any moment now, you were likely to appear at the clearing, and he would be caught without an excuse for being all this way across the kingdom, so far from the Elvenking’s Halls where his duties lay. 

Legolas let out a slow, deep breath, then drew it slowly back in. “I…care about her,” he mumbled grudgingly, but as he released these words, a hard knot in his chest seemed to loosen with it. “I just want… I need to know she will not come to harm out there.”

At last, a smile that actually looked proud and sympathetic flickered on Gelir’s face. Reaching out with both hands, he grabbed his brother by the sides of his face and lightly knocked his forehead against his. Then just as quickly, he gripped him by the shoulders and gave him an affectionate little shake. 

"Be more careful about staying out of sight. Only Feren and I are wise to this and we will cover for you if need be, but do not make it harder for us by inviting suspicion.”

“Annon allen. I am in your debt,” vowed Legolas, already backing away and preparing to make himself scarce.

Gelir laughed and waved him off. “You are still a fool! But that is a problem I shall help you fix another time.”

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[jeffgerstmann]

So apparently AEW pays well and that's bad?

I know a couple of current WWE folks who definitely got better contracts simply because AEW existed and, thus, created a world where people might jump ship and go somewhere else.

But yeah, I don't know, people are fuckin' crazy. That said, with all of the recent free agent talk going around and that article that is all "WWE needs to look in the mirror about why they keep losing free agents to AEW," I think that's a little off the mark.

Like, yes, in a theoretical, big-picture kind of way the WWE should probably ask themselves why people would want to work anywhere else. And they can chalk it up to "well, we've had some negative press lately" or "this person just didn't want to work as many dates" or whatever. Each case will be different. But I think in the three recent cases cited, there are very real life reasons why none of those three would go with WWE. It's great that the offer from AEW was better and, honestly, I think those signees will easily find more success in AEW than they would in WWE.

Like let's not kid ourselves here: WWE could have offered Okada a fuckton of money, but would he actually make a meaningful mark in the WWE? He'd come in, the announcers would have to spend a ton of time educating the audience on why he matters because most of their audience doesn't watch anything else, and he'd probably just end up being the next foreign heel. The types of great matches he had in NJPW aren't really the kinds of things that WWE is looking for or especially needs more of. They'd probably rush him into a main event program for three months or so and then do something embarrassing with him. He'd be tagging with Nakamura in a team with a vaguely racist-sounding name or something shitty like that. He'd be another amazing performer in search of a meaningful storyline and the WWE's midcard is fucking stuffed full of guys like that right now. He'd be losing to Karrion Kross by Survivor Series.

Tack on the notion that WWE's business is doing really well and they're selling tickets everywhere they go and inventing new, more evil forms of revenue all the time and it's easy to see that WWE doesn't need Okada. They need to be making sure that they have a fresh crop of young talent ready to take over when the current headliners fall off or move on. At 36, Okada isn't quite that guy.

However, Okada is a great fit for AEW and its audience. Too good, actually. I mean I don't think he'll be a "needle mover" on the ratings because anyone in this country who knows who Okada even is already watches AEW. They're super-serving their audience. They're "building golden toilets" for their fanbase. As someone who really likes that shit, I'm stoked. But the weirdo ratings nuts online who live and die by television ratings are melting down over "is Okada a draw or not" or something. And I think it'd probably be obvious to anyone who really sat down and thought about it that Okada wasn't ever going to drag in a whole new American audience.

I'd say mostly the same thing about Ospreay. He'd become the leader of the Catch Wrestling Crew or whatever the fuck they're called now.

The other thing I'd say is that, over time, a better program will probably attract a larger audience. So AEW's programming is better by way of these new signings. They're great performers and I think they both have the ability to be super big in the US for years to come, provided they're working somewhere that plays to their strengths.

Bringing Sasha Banks over to AEW has a chance to bring in new audience since she had a level of fame here in the States already and, hey, maybe fans of hers weren't already watching AEW. It's possible! Punk did it, right? We'll see. That might immediately make her more valuable than Ospreay and Okada. That said, there are already a ton of women that I'd love to see more of on AEW TV, so inserting another star at the top of that division kinda rubs me the wrong way.

Either way, I think these three specific cases are, well, specific enough that trying to use this to claim that WWE is "losing out" on this free agency stuff is probably wrong. They know how much they're willing to spend on an individual talent, they've been at this long enough to have a pretty good idea how some of these people are likely to monetize once they get there, and they're simply not going to overspend on any talent anymore because they're really focused on trying to bring in new talent and raise them up through their system. For all we know, AEW overspent on all three.

But they aren't spending my money, so fuck it! It's awesome! I only get mad when the people I want to see are locked behind the ROH paywall. Like Athena! Put her on real TV, she's fantastic! What the fuck!

#wrestling

[undermine-the-instinct]

Sweet Dreams are Made of These

Cyno x Bard!Reader x Kaveh

Previous part.... Bard!Reader Masterlist.....

Warnings: In game racism (?) of the Sages against the desert folk/eremites. Gaslighting, Job market polarization ('Bad jobs' the desert folk do to survive), MURDER, DISSOCIATION. These parts will be marked beginning and end by a RED BAR. if you want to skip look past those. Word count: 7.1K.

Oh Cyno. You’re such a fucking idiot.

He jolts awake at his desk, immediately alert. Who… Who called him? Was he dreaming? About what? 

It's late. He fell asleep at his desk. How odd.

Do you want me to seduce you?

He shakes his head of the drowsiness, sighing hard. How annoying. He's just been sleeping over all this paperwork, work that he could've been working on? He thought he had an adequate amount of sleep, proportional to his workload. He needs to adjust it, if he's falling asleep like this.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes and looks at the report his cheek was plastered to. The written interrogation of a scholar, suspected of being an accomplice to one of his wayward classmates.

Said wayward classmate has been stealing and selling Akademiya knowledge. Essentially contraband. He's been writing down all the information he could and selling it to the eremites, to do Archons knows what with. Smart, since the Akasha could be tracked easier than paperwork.

The exact contents of said contraband was in a different report though. The accomplice's interrogation, carried out by another matra, simply noted the strange times he would arrive at the dorms and leave, the frantic way he wrote everything down. 

The case landed on his desk, now that a matra had caught him meeting with another known associate of the eremites. It would be up to Cyno to track and interrogate him. Should he do anything incriminating, Cyno will have to arrest him, as well as the suspected accomplice. He probably already would.

Cyno sighs hard, again; He needs to have all this paperwork done by tonight if he wants to be on track. He couldn’t believe he fell asleep.

There's a knock on his door, and he barks out a quick, “Who is it?" Sharper than he meant it, but anyways, a young secretary pokes his head in.

"Um, General? So sorry for interrupting you at the late hour. The…The Grand Sage calls for an audience." He doesn't show any signs, but his heart sinks at the familiar words. 

He stands from the desk without another word, and walks out the room, shutting it and paying no heed to the floundering secretary, sending him scuttling with a look. He makes way.

He walks the halls, his footsteps hardly a sound. His hand trails along the cool walls, tapping, counting.

Azar is a distinguished man, with many years at the Akademiya under his belt. He's seen generations of scholars pass and fail, and has been the judging hand in many of these fates.

A man like that doesn't survive being Grand Sage with clean hands.

The room is darkened, with only a lamp on either side of the man's desk, lighting up the documents there.

"The paperwork never seems to end, does it?" Azar has even more documents and articles on his desk than Cyno’s doubled, and Cyno wonders when this man ever sleeps.

"It's part of the job sir." 

"Ah, yes, unfortunately. If I trusted anyone else competent enough I would gladly offload it all. Alas, only certain people are suitable for certain jobs. Right, General?"

Cyno isn't sure if he should answer, so he doesn't. He stands there and waits for the conversation to go the way he knows it always goes. But Azar seems content with this nothing-talk.  

“You’re not wearing your Akasha, Cyno.” His hand flies to his ear, where the device would emit that green symbol.

“...How did you know I wasn’t wearing it sir?” He hasn't even looked up yet.

“Because I am the Grand Sage, Cyno boy. Tell me, how long did you have it off? Did you have any pleasant dreams?” Only children dream in Sumeru, and Cyno is not a child. He doesn't miss the implication though. And it doesn't escape him how, nonetheless, he still dreams.

Peach fuzz. Eyes flutter like dove wings. A mouth that sears across his like fire; the curve of a knee and the bend of the spine.

Do you want me to seduce you?

He shakes his head free of the fog.

“No, sir. Too tired to dream. I’ll put my Akasha back on when I return to my office.”

Azar nods his approval. "Good. Now, with all this work, it's important to rest, as well as to go outside and get some exercise. Have you been doing that, General?"

"I keep my body in top condition sir."

"Of course you do. Do you take any time off for yourself? You need time to rest, boy. You work hard enough as is, you should ‘party’ hard’ too, like the youth these days.”

Cyno gives a noncommittal shrug, and Azar sighs. “Well, you can relax after this job I have for you. Put yourself to use and get some fresh air. Here." He holds out an indiscrete envelope, which he knows is his next job. 

He opens it and looks it over as the Grand Sage speaks.

"We've been so focused on that Monstadt pest that it seems we've fallen behind in keeping order within the Akademiya. This one has been undermining us with this little ploy of his, you should have already read the reports. He annoys me. Take care of him, will you?"

Take care of him. He knows what that means. Normally, he doesn't speak, not anymore, and yet…

"This is the scholar suspected of selling information to the eremites."

"Yes, those brutes."

"...The report said that he's been selling general lesson plans, exams and answers for the past entrance exams. We change the tests every year, so that is general knowledge anyone with general permission can access.”

“Well, yes. We change the order of questions and topics and even the questions themselves lest a pattern be found, and the entrance exams lose their set purpose. Tell me. What is their set purpose?”

“To weed out the ones not knowledgeable nor capable enough to survive here.”

“Or worthy enough. Exactly.”

Cyno doesn't shuffle on his feet. “...Sir, the scholar can be charged with unlawful distribution of Akademiya knowledge, or even copyright infringement, if we push it perhaps. Akademiya knowledge such as official tests and dissertations are copyrighted. But his crimes don’t seem too…discriminatory. Severe." Azar doesn't speak.

“For lack of a better word, sir.”

Azar doesn't even look up from his paperwork.

“He's been selling it so that those desert folk could have a shot at passing the entrance exams,” he supplies, his voice going low. 

“Like a sort of study plan. He's been working to create a sort of basic general education for the younger desert folk. Better than whatever education system they might have."

Cyno nods. "He should have proposed the idea to the Sages instead of selling off the information. But does this require my involvement, sir?"

"Oh? You would have one of your subordinates take the case? Giving one of them a chance to shine, hm?"

"No. Sir, I'm wondering why there is a case at all." Finally, Azar looks up. He looks at Cyno, puts down his pen and folds his hands.

"Cyno," he says his name. Says his name properly, the first syllable a long ‘EE’, rather than a hard ‘I’, like most others say it as. It's a common misconception. Cyno. 

"From whom do the Corp of Thirty originate from?"

"They are a faction of the eremites."

"And what do they do?"

"Protect Sumeru."

"Yes. And tell me, who makes up the majority of the Corp of Thirty, and the eremites, and the merchants and store owners in Sumeru? Answer that and tell me why, as well."

"All of them are mainly…desert folk. Those trying to seek a better life."

Azar has his hands steepled over the desk, his eyes hard and level and flat. 

“...I don't have to spell things out for you Cyno, you were an Akademiyian student. An exemplary one in fact. That's the only reason why I didn’t have you pressured out in fear of your…proclivity to violence, all those threats and fights—that, and respect for your adoptive father.”

“I was not a violent student. Those fights were usually instigated by the other party–”

"You did not grow up in the desert, but still, there is a savageness in you Cyno. It's in your blood. So imagine those who thrive there. Why there no shortage of eremites and mercenaries despite the high mortality rate. It's in the blood.”

Before he could even refute that (but wasn’t he right? He is violent), because he had to be wrong, if not misinformed, Azar went on. 

“It’s why I have you take on the more…Unsavory jobs. You do what needs to be done. We just take the desert folk’s penchant for violence, and repurpose it to something more honorable, less harmful for everybody. Mostly Cyno, we need them as our soldiers, not our scholars. If we let them study and fill our halls, who will serve as our civil defenders? Our guards and protectors? Who would help us boost our economy?

“I will not let the Akademiya's great prestige and peace be marred. Especially not by someone so naively hopefully and with so little subtlety." He waves his hand, back to his papers.  

"I want to make an example out of him. So I expect you to do a thorough job, sometime by the end of this week." That'll only give him a couple of days.

"Everything is in the folder. You should see where he's heading and ambush him there. Your other matra already did most of the tracking for you, so you just need to follow through." Cyno gives one last glance to the paper in his hand, before sliding it into the envelope.

“Cyno.” He looks up.

Azar levels him with a look, heavy and long, yet the apathy there is dull edged like a rusted knife. “This is for the better good of Sumeru, and her people. I enjoy this as much as you do. You understand that, right?”

"...Yes, sir." And he leaves.

There are still students in the library, briskly walking the halls back and forth. The bright stars in their eyes have been replaced by dark bags and desperation, and the gleam of spite for unfunded projects and encroaching deadlines.

He trails his hand along the walls as he walks back to his office, for some reason not in a hurry. People avoid his path so it is clear, and moonlight follows his footsteps as he trudged back. 

The boy is not even in his mid-twenties yet. And Cyno has to kill him. He's not that much older. A year or so.

He's not putting on his akasha, he’s going to sleep tonight, damn the paperwork. Hopefully he won't remember his nightmares tonight.

Maybe he’ll dream of you again.

There's so much blood.

Of course, he knows why there is so much blood but it doesn't really lessen the shock of how much of it there is. It always surprises him. For some reason. Why does it surprise him? It was worse in the beginning. He's learned to compartmentalize so it's simpler now.

Raise the staff. Strike. Avoid blows. Attack. Cut down the enemy. 

Make sure they don't get back up. 

He cuts them all down, wheedling out the group. The hideout they've been meeting has red splattered on the walls, on the children's pictures plastered there; red like their scarves, red like his blades.

The scholar falls to one knee as he makes eye contact with the ruddy smear of his eyes. Like the blood he spills, as the last eremite rushes to engage him. He gets up and starts running though.

When the last falls Cyno stands for a moment, listening to the ringing in his ears. He wonders… why exactly he doesn't like to wear shoes…? His feet are soaked in blood. It'll make the sand stick. 

He turns and chases down the scholar boy. The threshold is so red he doesn't leave any footprints.

The sand is hot. The sun is hot. It'll only get hotter.

He finds the Scholar not too far off, and immediately pounces on him, pinning him to the sands. He scrambles, but there's nowhere for him to go.

Strangely enough, he starts laughing. His hands fisting in the sands, voice high and hysterical, his eyes bulging. He doesn’t meet Cyno's eyes though, eyes scrambling for purchase anywhere else. Cyno finds he does not mind this, but he’s confused.

"Why are you laughing–"

"You're going to kill me, right, right? Oh fuck, what did I do? What did I even do?!" His voice rises, higher and higher, panicking.

"It's an order from the Sages. You have been found guilty of treason against the Akademiya–"

"What did I even do?!” He answers himself before cyno could. “I'm handing out lesson plans for the desert kids and that's treason? Why? Scared you won't have enough soldiers to lick your heels?" He spits, harsh vitriol. Cyno's eyes squint at the jab. The boy sees this, and laughs again.

"So, so that's why? And you're just going to kill me because they said so?"  His voice breaks down suddenly, betraying his terror and desperation. Irrationally– it's so irrational, it makes Cyno angry.

If the boy is going to put on some bravado he could at least make sure the act doesn’t slip. 

"I tried to stop it," the words pull at him, bringing reality slightly back into focus.

The boy scoffs, but it's more of a splutter of tears and snot. “Looks like you didn't try hard enough.”

"You were too outspoken, too bold. They were already on edge, now they want to make an example out of you." The boy blinks furiously, and his lips tremble in their half snarl.

"You're from the desert, aren't you? Shouldn't you want a better life for those kids? More than anyone?"

"I didn't grow up in the desert." He scoffs, and indignation drains the fear from his face.

"Those kids don't have anything. Either they join the Eremites or Corp of Thirty after failing the entrance exam, or if they get in, they’re stressed and pressured to drop out after a year or two. There's nothing else."

"I’m plenty sure that their economy would be in shambles if that were the case."

"But of course!" He laughs again.

"There's other professions. They could be merchants, but really that's a nice word for smugglers. Store owners, if they want to live while paying the exorbitant fees for a license. Assassins, sorry, Eremites, are always in high demand, especially with the high death rate. Cartels are all the rage. The brothel industry always needs more workers to satiate the demand. Oh, and there's always those who want an extra spouse or two, someone less privileged so that they can feel benevolent, beholden to. Like they’re doing some good thing. It's all sick. I'm fucking sick of it!” And, again, he starts to weep.

"Is it so bad I wanted something more for these kids? Shouldn't we give them a chance?"

Cyno can't think, and he feels half frozen, which is strange for being in a desert. He shouldn't even be thinking, he shouldn't be talking either. Cyno should have already slit his throat and left him to bleed while he starts to take care of the bodies.

The scholar smirks as he raises his weapon, but it trembles, barely put together.

"And to think these kids look up to you. The great General Mahamatra. The Sages dog, trained to bite–" his weapon slams into the sands by his head, throwing up a little sand cloud.

"....If I let you go, can you swear you'll stay undercover?"

His eyes fill with confusion, a little outrage. "....You killed all those men there, and you're going to let me go?"

“Who knows, maybe they’re still alive. I’m rather pressed for time, you know. I might have rushed the job.”

“I saw all that blood, those injuries— You couldn’t have–”

“Do you want me to slit your throat here? Leave you bleeding out in the sands, slowly, while I deal with this mess? The bodies? At least those already dead. While I cut them up and dispose of them, perhaps feed them to the desert foxes?" The boy's hair, its sweat-plastered to his forehead and his cheeks, crusted with sand and salt.

He trembles, hard, silent.

"I'll stage your death as they instructed me to do. You’ll be declared missing for a few weeks, or months, depending. Then we learn, you were conducting illegal, dangerous business with the eremites, finally they decided you weren't worth your keep, and decided to get rid of you. How horrible. How terrible. A tragedy. He was so young, so full of promise." A sort of whimper-shriek-sob leaves his clenched teeth when Cyno sets his palm flat against his belly, pressing down hard against the flinch.

"I admit, the Sages have been on edge lately, which is why they hard pressed me into this situation. They're upset with me too, but if I do this job, that'll ease their minds some.

"So why shouldn't I kill you? You're right, why should I leave you alive when the others aren't? What makes you so special? I don't even remember your name."

He doesn't. Or maybe he just never learned it. It slipped from his mind from the reports, and Cyno doesn't know if it's his guilt or his consciousness that's keeping it from the forefront of his mind.

His eye sight is looking a little blurry at the edges now, like a mirage, wavering and blurry.

"...Please don't kill me."

"Hm.” He nods. “I can't ensure that you won't try anything."

"I'll stay with the desert folk, I won't leave! I won't deal with the Eremites again, ever again, never, okay?!"

"And what would you even do?"

"What I've been doing. I'll…work as a teacher for the kids, I'll just stay low! Just…please don't kill me." Tears slip out his eyes and his hands fist themselves in the sands. 

He's not even in his twenties. Cyno's not that much older. 

He feels like it though. 

It's a familiar feeling, and all too familiar motions; He's done this so many times he swears he could dream of it. But it always felt necessary, those times. 

The way he pulls out a dagger and plunges the thing into the eye socket, past the soft squish of flesh and into the brain. Press down hard, dig it in deep. The body writhes, violent, half a groan slipping past the lips, a few spasms before it twitches still.

It's quick. Not painless, but quick. No time to despair. Perhaps one second of panic, and then stillness.

Just like that. There.

He piles the evidence, a bit too meticulously, makes sure he has the most important paperwork, a journal, (the rest will stay) and sets the base on fire. There are colored pencil drawings on the desk. Walls. Despite better judgment, he takes a couple, folds them and presses them into a pocket.

Is it done? A message pings through his akasha.

Yes. I'm burning the place down.

Have you collected the information from the Akasha?

Yes. I have the journal as well.

Good. Head back now. The fire will be dealt with and forensics will go to inspect the bodies. That is, if they find anything. 

I did my job. You won't find anything.

…Meticulous as always, Cyno.

Will we go ahead with the plan and alert the boy's family?

No. They'll file a missing person's report eventually and it'll go cold in a couple months. You can head back now. You have the next three days off.

And like that Azar's line is cut off. 

He stares at the flames, kicking up the sides of the base like a hungry beast. In his left hand he holds the journals. In his right, his weapon. The blood is dry, tight and sticky now, and is flaking off.

He starts the trek back.

There are soft hands on him, and he jolts awake from the sensation. He doesn't know where he is. What time is it? How did he get here? How long was he out?

Why are you kneeling there, at his feet?

You hold up your hands in a placating motion.

"You collapsed outside and I found you. I just brought you here before anyone else could see you. You're covered in blood and sand."

"Where are we?"

“At a nearby inn.” He swerves his head, and standing in the doorway is none other than the Grand Scribe, Alhaitham.

“And by nearby I mean In Sumeru city. You’re far from the desert, General.”

Immediately his brow furrows.

“And why would I be here?” In an inn?

“Because they found you slump in an alley, and insisted that we bring you inside before enough of a crowd came to witness your debacle,” he waves his hand dismissively, blase.

“Seeing me, they insisted I help them."

"I didn't take you for the good samaritan type," Cyno drawls.

"I'm not. I refused, until they threatened to make a scene. You know I don’t particularly like you enough to help you.” His eyes slid to the side, towards you, not a glare but still irritated. 

"But I hate a scene even more."

“...How do the two of you know each other?” Cyno moves to step off the bed and your hands flounder, trying to encourage him to lay back. He ignores you and focuses his eyes on the scribe, who remains nonplussed.

"We just met, actually. In person at least." You offer.

"Oh yes, the one man you call to aid you just happens to be the Grand Scribe. The same man who helped direct you in your process of acquiring your vision license." You pout, trying to look cute, but it just makes you look petulant. 

"It was the secretaries I met up with, who passed on his word. The work was carried up the chain through them up to him, so I never even met him. I just picked him out because he looked strong. I didn't want to carry you up all those stairs."

“Do not try and play me for a fool,” he scowls. "You two know each other. I can tell."

"You're swaying on your feet General, forgive me if I don't trust your judgment." The Scribe rolls his eyes, and tosses a case to you. You catch it, and he notices the red cross on its front.

"Answer me. How long have you known him, and what have the two of you discussed?"

"I told you I just met him, and based on his snarky ass attitude, I don't want to know him." Your eyes flash, sharp and gleaming.

“Such kind words.”

You roll your eyes at the Scribe. "I said what I said. So? Is there any way you can prove that I'm lying, beyond your intuition of course? Or are you just going to take the both of us into custody?"

"He can't do that unless he wants to break protocol," Alhaitham says. "He needs probable cause to arrest us, which he doesn't have beyond suspicion, that is."

Cyno clenches his jaw, feeling his teeth grind together.

"But I'm sure Azar would understand if you simply skipped that. Of course, to the General, protocol must be just a formality. Surely the Grand Sage trusts you?"

"Enough." He cuts a hand through the air like a knife. The Scribe is too keen, and knows him too well.

"If that's all I'm going to check in with the Matron-I'll make sure she stays silent. Deal with him, why don't you." The Scribe leaves, and shuts the door with a decisive click.

Cyno doesn't untense, he stares at where Alhaitham left with a slow simmering, crackling anger in his chest.

“So… Can I take care of your mess now?" You sigh, near forgotten. Near. Because when he turns his gaze back onto you you flinch.

“....”

“...What is it?” You shy away.

He scoffs. “You deny it so vehemently, but I know. You think you have that man wrapped around your finger, like how you had him to sign the form for you. But that man is too conniving. He'll use you until you're an empty husk, and then toss you aside."

"...Okay then. You done?"

His brow digs further down. "Do not make light–"

“I told you I'm unaffiliated with that man. He's snarky and condescending and talks like a textbook. Why would I want to know someone like that?"

That…gives him pause. "...You're right about that. He is particularly frustrating." Always sneaking off and rubbing people the wrong way.

"Exactly."

"...You truly called him over, by chance to help you?"

"Yes. I understand what a crazy coincidence it is...but have you seen his biceps? That’s why I called him over. He's strong, although I don't know what a Scribe would need to be so strong for."

"Because he's always planning something. I've warned you, stay away from that man."

"Aw, are you worried about me Cyno?" You grin up at him, and Cyno forgets to breathe for a moment.

"...?" You tilt your head at his silence, and with a hard sigh he turns away, and sits back on the bed.

"No. I just don't want to deal with what the both of you could get up to together."

"Oh, and here I was getting my hopes up." You pout again, and this time, you do succeed in looking the slightest bit cute.

He still feels like his mind is drifting away. He watches in some mute interest as you bring a small basin and cloth over, and start to wash the crust off his feet. He doesn't know why he lets you. He notices the first aid kit to his side, and watches you as you work. 

“You’re playing with fire, bard.”

“I’ve lovingly been called an arsonist before,” You grin. But it slides away.

“...The Akademiya is hellbent on beating me down, and you’re constantly on my tail. I have to use all the cards I have at my disposal.” You hold his ankle gingerly, and he can feel the pads of your fingers, under the cloth at his heel.

“....So you try seducing government officials?”

"Yeah, are you in love with me yet?" Cheeky fool.

"What kind of fool flirts with danger like you do?"

"Only the most romantic fools."

“But a fool nonetheless.” You give a noncommittal shrug, slipping into deeper thought.

"Yes. Though I suppose it is better than the alternative." You stop, a thought striking you. He just watches as you gather yourself and start drying his feet, patting firmly.

"Which is?"

"Holding myself up in some corner, shivering in fear and trepidation." 

"..."

Cyno sighs, relenting, and lets his elbow fall on his knee, resting his chin on his palm. It provides him a better angle to stare down at you. "You’re scared?"

"Yes, I am."

"Of me?"

"Of course I'm scared of you. You represent everything that can or has gone wrong so far. I can hardly find work because people are too scared of coming across you. There are establishments and restaurants that refuse to let me enter. You can only imagine the amount of people eager to sell me out for some mora. Some already tried. 

“Did you know the Zubayr theater almost shut down during all the interrogations you held for its members?"

"Of course I know." He mumbles, rubbing at the sand crusted in his lashes. "They shouldn't have entertained the idea of keeping you."

"Ooh, you sound like a jealous lover–"

"Do not jest." You chuckle, shoulders shaking.

"Well, don't worry. They let me go."

"...I know.” Zubayr told him himself, during his interrogation. So much for his impassioned speech about talent and hard work.

The smile remains on your face, but there is a somberness that pulls at his edges, and your eyes are sad. You wear your expressions openly, and Cyno doesn't like the way his chest tugs down with your mood. It angers him. It confuses him.

“Why do you pursue me?" You start applying a salve to his feet, bitter smelling and thick. You grab bandages next.

"I could ruin everything for you. I'm trying to."

"...Well, just because!" Just like that your pep is back.

"Doesn't it sound lovelier if I best you in love rather than combat? I think it does."

"You don't care for me." Cyno lifts his head, lets his hand smack down to his open lap. He looks down with all the spiteful righteousness he can muster, and he wishes you would shy away or fidget, instead of meeting his eyes.

"You don't even care for me but you play around like this. Do you truly think me so young and unseasoned? Are you truly so flippant?”

“What?” Now it's your turn to be confused, because your face twists like you ate something sour.

"Of course I like you, Cyno. I wouldn't 'play around like this' if I didn't. But that doesn't change the fact that you're…you."

"Yes. And you are scared of me."

"I’m scared of what you can do, I’m not scared of you, Cyno.” Finally finished, you stand, brushing the sand off your thighs.

“I’m a very stringent man.”

“And a very handsome and awkward one too.”

“I’m stubborn, and told I’m often the wet blanket at social functions.”

You giggle. “So?”

“Not a good metaphor when my element is Electro.”

“No, I guess not. But I happen to like your dour attitude, so I don't mind.”

“...I’m a very violent man. It's in the blood. My blood.” Like how it's still crusted in his nails, the lines of his palms. He raises his hand up to the light to show you. 

“Disease of the blood is hard to cure, especially if you were born with it.”

And you, strangely, don't react as you should. Though you both know the blood isn’t his. Maybe it would be more strange if you did react as you should’ve. You just take the cloth you put aside, and start cleaning his hands, using your nails to dig under the grime of his own.

“We exist in the world in two planes,” you say. “Mental and physical. Just as we are our mind and emotions and thoughts and morals, we are our actions too, or inactions. Nothing is predetermined, everything is just a result of consequence, a huge unfathomable cycle of cause and effect. The only way to predict it is to evaluate ourselves, and our effect on the world.”

You’re not getting much blood out, but still you try.

“So you could be all those things, that we both said, because we’re people, and people are large, we contain multitudes. Sometimes, being perceived by someone else lends ourselves to more authenticity. But, Cyno...Don’t let someone else's words dictate who you are; Just be whoever you want to be. Follow your head, but follow your heart too.”

“...” And what does he say to that? Could he say he’s felt split in half for as long as he could remember, like two puzzle pieces that only fit together sometimes? And not easily, even now he feels disconnected, like a socket pulled out of place.

But your words make sense, and land somewhere Cyno though he had long sealed away.

You have a habit of doing that.

"Who are you?" Cyno asks. "Tell me Bard, or criminal. Knight? Who are you, you confuse me." It comes out unbidden, but Cyno finds that he cares more about your answer. You hum a note under your breath, light and soft.

"I'm all those and more. I really hope I'm more. But I’m… just me. Just me. What about you?"

"Me?"

Your face takes on a commiserating look.

"Who are you? Sometimes I wonder if there's any of you beyond what the Akademiya needs. Cyno, the General Mahamatra. But what about Cyno the man?”

A rush of heat makes his skin prickle, and all of a sudden he’s acutely aware of how small the room is, how close you are.

He bristles. “Did I not tell you to stop this? Do not try to endear yourself to me–”

“I'm not. I sympathize with you. Pity you, a little. You remind me of myself in some odd way. The way you are, it's why I left home.” A bitter note, sour and unagreeable paints your face.

“We both give too much of ourselves to the things we devote ourselves to, huh?”

“You’re a civilian now, whoever you were before. You're not like me. You’re–”

“I’m what? A ‘good person’? Is that what you were going to say? I know you’ve done horrible things,” your eyes flick down to his hands, where he could still feel the leftover blood under his nails, sticky and grimy. Your mouth presses into a flat line, and you gesture halfheartedly towards him.

"And that...you will continue to. I…I already know that Cyno."

He looks at your hands, your arms; your sleeves are rolled up and you have tan lines. Your skin looks smooth, but tiny pock marks dot you, little scars and wispy hairs. Beads of sweat. It's hot here. In Sumeru. Your shoulders and your hair and your neck and your face.

Cyno knows that he dreams of this.

Never mind the fact that none but children ever do dream in Sumeru. He does, just knows it. He can feel it. This moment might be a dream too, this moment too still and heavy to be anything else.

You said people exist on two planes, mental and physical. So which plane does he exist on when he dreams of you, neither mind nor body, just pure longing?

For once, he doesn't shove down the thought, he doesn't stop to think. His mind is wandering anyways, he can't seem to hold on to his thoughts anymore than he could hold smoke. He reaches a hand and holds your chin. Your mouth is soft under his thumb.

"....You did something really bad today, didn't you." You don't say it like a question. The blood isn't his, you know this.

"Yes." But he doesn't want to think about that. Tonight he'll take off his akasha and let the nightmares rampage. He'll see the bloody Eremites, feel the suction of flesh as he pulls the knife out while the boy, he laughs and weeps and rages at him, and all the faces from before come back to haunt him. 

"...You're actually a really bad person, aren't you?" You breathe.

"Didn't you say I remind you of yourself?”

“Yeah. That's how I know." And he kisses you.

It's your turn to be shocked now. You release a muffled squeak when he pulls you up to his mouth, a hand on his arm steadying yourself. He doesn't think about how he's never actually kissed anyone before, except that time you kissed him in the alleyway, something dark and heavy, just awakened. 

He snakes his other hand to the small of your back, fists his hand in the cloth there, holds on, holds on. He's never done this before.

But he thinks this is the way it's supposed to be. He likes the way your mouths mold together, the taste, how close you are. You're warm, but in a good way. You can get closer. You can get a lot closer.

He dreams of this. The peach fuzz of your cheeks, the sweep of your eyes like dove wings, the arch of your eyebrow like bridges, tugging at his thoughts. Your mouth. Your damn mouth.

You break away with a gasp, breath stuttering. Your eyes wide.

"What was that for?"

"Do you want me to stop?" He waits, and the moment is heavy, you don't reply. So slowly, he draws you back, and kisses you again. 

This time he tilts his head at an angle, and you're more responsive to this. He didn't really notice it before, but you're close; You stand between his knees, and the dying sunlight gilds you in blood and amber like a temptation he’s all too keen to take. You’re close enough he can almost feel your lashes flutter against his skin.

He'll carry this to sleep as well. He hopes he does.

Your hand is still on his arm and the other creeps to his cheek, fingers damp. You mumble against his mouth.

"You could've asked me."

"Asked…what?" He clicks his tongue when you retreat just out of reach.

"To kiss me. I want you to ask me." You pull your face away, but you're still smiling. If he presses forward, he could reclaim your lips easily. You'd probably let him. No, if he asked, you would say yes.

But does he deserve it? Does he deserve having his hands on you? Being able to touch you?

Do you?

Of course I’m scared of you.

It's in the blood.

"...What did you mean before?" You suddenly ask.

"Before…?"

"You asked if I really think of you as ‘young and unseasoned’. Are you…not?"

He is, in practise. In theory, he’s long grown used to longing. He’s had enough practice denying himself the things he yearns for.

So before he could loses his nerve, and sense he stands, brushing against and past you, and out the door.

You don't follow him, and he immediately steps down the stairs, not bothering to make his footsteps featherlight like he usually does.

His eyes lock with the Scribe as descends. He can't discern the look there, and the woman he's speaking to wrings her hands but doesn't even lift her gaze from the pouch in his hands, mora obviously. The inn suspiciously doesn't have many customers, who also avoid looking at him.

The air outside is only slightly cooler, cooling the sweat at his brow and the nape of his neck. He lets go of a breath, before walking away from the inn.

It's not long before he hears footsteps following him, and heads to an alley to wait there.

“I knew you were impertinent, Scribe, but not foolish. Do you want to be charged with aiding and abetting criminals?”

"What, am I not allowed to have acquaintances?" The Scribes form blocks out the open light of the street, and he approaches Cyno, looking no worse for wear.

"....I'm not fooled. Even if you two are acquaintances, you only want them for your own schemes."

"Then why do you want them?" The words falter in his throat, and the Scribe draws closer.

“Why didn’t you arrest the Bard at the Zubayr theater? Why not when you caught them behind the Architects Guild? Why do you waste your time chasing them through alleyways and markets, to put on a spectacle for the good people?

“We both know if you put effort in, you could put them down flat.”

Cyno…doesn’t have an answer, and he burns, angered and sullen.

And the Scribe, bastard, scoffs a laugh, wiping a hand over his mouth. His eyes don’t widen, but sharpen.

“Well, how ‘bout it… Looks like the bard has secured another admirer.” 

He snaps. “And what about you? I know what you do with people–and I know how conniving you are. What I don't understand though is why you would potentially put yourself under the Sage's suspicion by leaving a papertrail. Paying for their bails, signing their license; Even staying until I woke–you normally would have left long before.”

“I have my reasons, and only I am privy to them. Nothing I do is careless, or without thought, General.” He leans against the cool wall and crosses his arms. 

…You were right, he does have big biceps.

“Exactly that. Makes me wonder what you’re planning.” They face off, with the ambient sounds fading away in lieu of this standoff.

The Scribe backs down first. He looks back towards the open mouth of the street, fiddling with the wire to his headphones. Tactical retreat.

“I won't resist If you decide to take me in for questioning General, if you find my behavior suspicious.”

“You would wriggle your way out somehow even if I did. I know you also work under Azar.” Which is the only reason he’s not dragging this man towards the Akademiya.

As for you….

“If Azar found you disloyal he would have done you in ages ago.”

“Which is why you killed Bahar, huh?” Alhaitham scoffs. 

Bahar?

So that’s his name.

Cyno almost sways, his head suddenly swimming, but he stays upright by sheer force of will and pride. “...I do as I'm told. It’s part of the job; For the better good of this nation.”

Alhaitham just sighs and readjusts the headphone over his ears.

“So you believe. Yet General, whether it be academics or knowledge, law or society, everything has its boundaries. Everything has a limit. A metaphorical line in the sand. If those lines are crossed, the rules and order that govern everything in the world will be destroyed. That's a simple fact of the world.”

“Your point being?”

“...What boundaries have you crossed, General? Beyond just your own.” And while the shock at his audacity is still fresh in his veins, he leaves.

He stands there for a moment, before stumbling his way back to the Akademiya, undignified. He follows the back alleys to avoid being seen. He has paperwork to do.

His head is too clouded for him to think straight. He shouldn't have spoken to the Scribe; Words are his forte after all, excelling in a subject that Cyno so often fumbles in.

He should have just taken the both of you under custody, damn the fogginess in his brain. If he couldn't trust his mind, he could trust the strength in his body–he’s sure he could take the both of you on. If the Scribe was stupid enough to try and protect you. It's what Azar would have told him to do.

Archons, why did he try kissing you? He shouldn’t have enjoyed it–You’re too…enticing. You’re like a seducer from his worst nightmares, come to life. And he’s too tired to resist you. It gets harder and harder every time he sees you.

Just follow orders, and the law. The law exists to exact justice and promote peace; that is a fact of life. The Sages are meant to embody the law, their word is law. 

Unless they decided to push their personal agendas forth, forsaking their duties as government officials. Unless they purposely took his ideals, his morals–and exploited them. For power, prestige, mora, greed.

And Azar is an incredibly greedy man.

…He’s tired. He needs to rest.

TAGLSIT: @jjkclub , @jaguarthecat , @swivy123 , @seajellyx , @ash-in-lavender , @stopthinkingstopthinking . @uchihaeirin

#my stuff #my writing #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #kaveh x bard!reader #cyno x bard!reader #bard!reader #Bard!series #Bard au #gn reader #gender neutral reader #kaveh x gender neutral reader #cyno x gender neutral reader #genshin impact kaveh x reader #genshin impact cyno x reader #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x gn reader #al haitham #alhaitham #genshin alhaitham #genshin al haitham #genshin impact al haitham #genshin impact alhaitham #genshin kaveh #genshin cyno #genshin impact kaveh #genshin impact cyno #general

[wingsoverlagos]

I'm absolutely enjoying your's and mythserene's hard work! Mark Lewisohn is so embarrassing at this point. I'm thinking about the song Blackbird, with Beyonce's new cover, and I'm wondering if anyone has seen Lewisohn's commentary on that? Lewisohn said Paul changes the meaning of his songs after the fact, and used Blackbird as an example. So stupid since Paul has talked about the meanings of the song, even in studio audio. Mark sucks lmaooo. How can he just make up things??

Thank you so much for reading! I can't say how much I appreciate it; the reception here has truly been tremendous, and I'm grateful to everyone who's been following along in spite of my daunting word count.

I have also been thinking about Beyonce's Blackbiird (as has Serene :)) and the very silly response to it--it's a lovely, safe cover of a beautiful song by one of the greatest pop vocalists of the day, it's not like we're dealing with Bey's version of Jolene, lol

I haven't seen any reaction from Lewisohn and doubt he'll have any hot takes about the song itself, but maybe we'll be graced with an insinuation that Paul is fame-whoring for a young audience and/or re-writing history by letting Beyonce use the original stems. Who can say? Lewisohn has an immense capacity for taking things Paul does in bad faith, but every now and then he surprises me by being normal about Paul.

Side-ish note, but I'm so happy that the Paul/Donovan Blackbird discussion is on tape to shut down people incapable of taking Paul at his word.

And while I'm here, it makes a lot of sense that Paul wouldn't discuss the civil rights message of Blackbird after the Tate-LaBianca murders and the popularization of the Helter Skelter scenario. The White Album as a whole, and Helter Skelter in particular, were inextricably tied with a horrific crime, and Manson's interpretation (or at least the prosecution's version of it - idk how accepted the Helter Skelter theory is anymore) framed Blackbird as a call for a violent uprising. Maybe he avoided discussing the song's inspiration (based on the timing/the mention of seeing riots in the papers, possibly the Holy Week Uprising) becayse he wanted to distance a song which drew influence from the civil rights movement from a madman's vision of an apocalyptic race war.

#asks #hope that was somewhat coherent...it sounded better in my head

[dreamescapeswriting]

Kinktober Day 11 ~ Spanking ~ KTH [M]

⤜WORD COUNT: 0.9K

⤜PAIRING: TAehyung  x Fem!Reader

⤜GENRE: smut, minors dni. Spanking, safeword talk, slight voyeurism, dom taehyung, sub reader,

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - October 2022

⤜MASTERLIST

“If you keep acting like a little brat, I’ll take you over my knee right here. I don’t care if they’re in the room with us,” The words bounced around inside of your head, you should have taken him seriously. The second you continued to be bratty with Taehyung he flipped you over his knees so fast you'd gotten fizzy. You'd barely had a second to register what was happening as your face hovered above the floor of the studio you were inside of. 

"Brats get punished," He spat down at you harshly, much to the surprise of every boy inside of the room but none of them said anything. Their eyes were glued to you as Taheyung flipped your skirt up to reveal your perky ass that was decorated with a bright red thong. If you'd known that the day was going to end this way - with your ass on display - you would have worn something a little more covering seeing as everyone now had their eyes glued on you. All seven pairs of eyes staring directly at you as your boyfriend let out a deep seeded chuckle at the way your entire body froze.

"Ten each side. Does that sound good enough boys?" Taehyung asked as he bought the audience in for participation in your punishment. Your legs shook as you laid across Taehyung's knee and you let out a helpless whimper. You knew that if you protested it would only end in more punishment for you and lord knows what Taehyung was in the mood for right now. The only way out of this was to say your safeword and you knew it was there for you to use if you wanted to.

the truth was, you didn't. this whole thing was exciting to you. the idea of the boys watching you as your boyfriend spanked you was thrilling and you could barely contain your excitement.

"Yn, count them." Namjoon chimed in before his cheeks flushed when you glanced in his direction, he didn't know why he said it but you smirked and nodded your head.

"Being a brat has its punishments, you know that angel," Taehyung said as he slowly pulled his hand back and harshly slapped it against your right cheek. Something the two of you had done plenty of times in the bedroom and yet somehow in public it made it much more exciting. 

You let a moan mixed with pleasure and pain fly out of your mouth before your entire body got hot.

"S-Sorry! I-I meant, one." You cried out as you looked down at the floor, not daring to meet the eyes of anyone else inside of the room. 

"Good girl," Taehyung grunted as he smirked, slowly slapping against your left cheek this time decided to alternate between cheeks to hurt you a little less. 

"You wore this to tease me, didn't you?" He questioned as you called out "two" in desperation, followed by yet another slap against your skin. 

"Yes," You told him, knowing better than to lie to him in this situation. Another slap landed across your bare skin and you cried out, your eyes filling with tears but you weren't at your safeword yet. both you and Taehyung knew you could take a lot worse than this.

"You wore it to show off in front of the boys and you did it because you wanted this. didn't you?" Taehyung taunted while rubbing his large hand on the place he had marked, softly massaging as you let out a jittery nod. 

"Y-Yes," You called out even if it was only a little true. The plan had been to tease Taehyung, you had no idea the boys were all going to be in the studio at the same time as you but you took it as a sign.

"Tell the boys how much you love this punishment, look at them while you tell them," he ordered as you slowly looked up to meet their eyes. Hoseok, Jimin and Jungkook all looked horrified while Yoongi and JIn both looked a little turned on and Nmajoon was smirking at the display in front of him. 

A swift and harsh slap was received against your left cheek and you hissed out in pain, gripping harshly onto Taehyung's thigh as you held onto something for stability.

"I love it! I love when he punishes me!" You cried out before Taehyung slapped against your ass again but this time he grazed you which made it hurt all the more. Your hips bucked forward and you cried out as though someone had truly hurt you, Taehyung stilled in place panic filling him a little. 

"Colour?" He asked, slightly dropping the cold and hard persona for just a brief moment and checking that you were okay. 

"Green," you whispered to him, alerting him that everything was okay you were just caught by surprise by the action. 

"How many is that? I lost count, looks like I'll need to start again," Taehyung sighed trying to fake being upset with you. You quickly recalled all of the spanks you'd received, 

"9! You got to 9!" You rushed out, your teeth chattering as you started to feel a little cold thanks to the air con inside of the studio and Taehyung chuckled. 

There was another slap against your ass before Taehyung rubbed it softly with the palm of his hand.

After a couple of seconds, your legs were no longer shakey and you stood up, looking down at yourself as you straightened out the skirt and faced the boys, bowing to them a little before Taehyung took your wrist in his and kissed it softly. 

"Go home and get a bubble bath, I'll be home soon to apply some cream." He promised before you headed out of the room, biting your lip as the cold air hit your stinging ass cheek.

Tagline: @chiisaiblog @rjdy-367 @rjsmochii @tinyoonsblog @sw33tnight @taestannie @cherrybubblesandvodka @army24--7 @acciocriativity @mitzwinchester @heyjiminnie @kimahnjung98 @halesandy @etherealinowrites @jin-from-the-block @aerastus @namjooningelsewhere​ @psychosupernatural​ @lyoongx​ @heeseunger24​ @laylasbunbunny​ @critssq​ @pearlygraysky​ @lenfilms​ @btsiguess-kpop​

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