#prepare for an ONSLAUGHT of fan art

[leather-field]

#disco elysium #how do i tag these guys #the anodic ravers #egg head #pete andre #acele berger #noid #my favorite little guys #de #HARDCORE TO THE MEGA!!!! #my art #oh yeah i started playing disco elysium and accumulated 35 hours over like four days i am obsessed #prepare for an ONSLAUGHT of fan art #also i didn’t use any drawing reference so ignore if they look a little weird please

[snailsandpuppy-dogtails]

Happy Birthday

Smut Fic Sunday! Garvez Smut WC: Lordy, lordy, 9,031! Ao3

It’s Luke’s birthday and all he wants to do is cuddle with Penelope, but instead he’s agreed to go with her to a massive comic and scifi convention. With not a mention of his birthday all day, Luke fears she’s forgotten it, but Penelope Garcia would never.

He was woken by the feel of kisses lightly pattering like rain on bare skin across the ball of his shoulder and high on his chest. An easy smile curled as he coiled and released a shuttering stretch. “Good morning” Luke finished with a little grunting sigh, a warm arm wrapping around the even warmer Penelope Garcia laying next to him, his lips finding hers the instant his vision shifted from dreamy darkness to peachy dawn.

This. If he had his way, this is how he’d spend this birthday and every one after, wrapped up hazily in the plush surroundings of his bed with her next to him, all thoughts fluffy and light, mush and warmth.

Nails lightly scratched down his stomach as she snuggled down deeper into his side, cheek nuzzling between his breast. “Are you excited for today?”

“Excited?” Luke made a face, “Intrigued?” “Always, with you.”

Penelope tilted her head to look up, still listening to the steady beat of his heart, “Remember, it’s a two day thing: today costumes and panels, tomorrow, booths and shopping.” Index and middle fingers tapped his sternum counting off the vague itinerary. “So today, we dress up, but you can pack whatever you want for tomorrow.”

Patting his chest and kissing the tip of his nose, she then got up to shower and prep their costumes, hers, an original-run Star Trek uniform, his, very blandly, Cas from Supernatural. But she wouldn’t fault him for what he was comfortable in, she was simply happy he was going with her.

Getting ready, he thought about how out of character it was that she hadn’t mentioned his birthday yet. He knew she didn’t forget, she’d been conflicted about going to the con at all because of it. He’d told her that was crazy and his birthday wasn’t a big deal, that the convention was important to her. But it wasn’t like her to brush off a birthday entirely, either.

Even in the before days when he pleaded that they not do anything, she’d cover his desk in little decorations and make traps to spring out of his drawers to annoy him. Of course, she blamed those on Spencer because “why would she go through that much trouble for someone who doesn’t appriciate her efforts?”

Spencer always heavily denied it was him, not that he needed to.

Hell, she’d even started celebrating Roxy’s birthday once she tracked it down; making little cards addressed to the care of Roxy’s ‘furdaddy’ and leaving a new toy and treats.

This was his first birthday with her no longer his coworker though, their first as a couple. Maybe she was trying to respect his wishes.

Yeah. Right.

She probably had something bigger and more embarrassing planned.

The day was a whirlwind from the second they stepped foot in the lobby. Upon arrival he prepared for her announcing it was his birthday to the front desk, the onslaught of well wishes and prompts for arrangements. But once they’d checked in, she rushed on, not a word uttered.

“Come on, we’ve gotta get going, this one starts in 45 minutes.” Penelope directed, nose pointed to the schedule on her phone, “I want to get semi-decent seats. The bellboys can take our stuff up.” With a wave of her hand, she quickly fired off their room number to a staff person waiting beside the desk, ending with a bubblegum “thank you,” and pulled Luke back out of the hotel and in the direction of the convention hall, leaving no chance to settle in or catch his bearings. And no mention of a birthday.

Their day was packed with writers and actors divulging secrets and inspirations, stories of off-screen pranks, micro-table reads, and candid answers to fan questions, character contests, workshops, discussion panels, art competitions, and improv sessions.

He thought at one point while raising her hand, she was going to tell the cast and get the hall to sing to him, but she praised an actor for his support of retired animal rescues, then asked about the origin of a vegan pulled pork recipe he’d contributed to a fan zine in the 80s.

During a brief lull they ended up having lunch with recent mega-star, Lila Archer, who was there as part of the cast promotion for the newest DC movie. He didn’t even know Penelope knew her, but they both quickly filled him in on the way they’d met. Stupidly, he thought she might bring it up then, but all they talked about was how awesome it was to finally hang out in person, about how Spencer and Derek were doing, and how different but just the same L.A. is now to when Penelope left all those years ago. Not a peep of happy birthday.

At the end of their long day the elevator rose, and with each floor his hope - was he really hoping now? - rose ever higher.

She hadn’t let him see the room, had made someone else take their stuff, had kept both keycards, redirected or made excuses when he’d try to bring up wanting to head back to the hotel, they were in an elevator that didn’t seem to be making any stops for other floors and wasn’t counting them off…And when he thought about it, there really was no reason to stay in a hotel rather than their own comfy bed and drive back in the morning. Maybe she was planning something up at the top. Maybe this was going to some banquet hall where his friends and the team would be waiting. He wasn't sure if the idea was exhausting or relieving.

Slipping a card out of her pocket she draped her arms around his neck hanging against him, Luke responded with an arm to her waist, supporting her. She leaned in, faces a blink apart and kissed him, grinning and lazy, punch drunk from the day, sending them both tumbling into the doors. Penelope, pressed against him and pressing further, arched as she inhaled into the kiss, the blue micro-mini of her costume rising shorter with every wave of her body on his, but stopped when the elevator dinged. She didn’t even say it then, just pulled back and scanned the card, triggering the doors.

Doors which opened not to a hallway, but a room.

A room he could tell was void of people.

Their room? Which, if correct, he had to admit was pretty cool, but wasn’t very secure.

Maybe that’s why the elevator hadn’t gone to any other levels, maybe it couldn’t.

But again, there was nothing. No one. No streamers, no surprise, no happy birthday.

Just dark, empty, space. He must have looked disappointed because when she took his hand leading him out of the elevator she turned back with the most adorably sincere expression on her face, asking in the sweetest tone, “What’s wrong? Luke?” eyes wide, imploring.

Ah, right, ‘profiler by association’. He couldn’t let something as trivial as no birthday get to him. He’d maintained it didn’t matter, was he going to make her feel guilty when suddenly, apparently, it did?

Luke tugged her in closer, smiling, “Nothing, Chica, I’m a little tired is all,” he lied, and placed a peck on her lips. Penelope pulled away eyeing him, searching for something.

Seemingly satisfied at what she’d found, she simply said, “Ok,” and stepped back. “I’m going to get changed and hang things up in the bathroom, unless you want to?”

He released her hand, declining the offer, “You go ahead, I’ll take a look around, try and find the light switch…”

“Ohh!” she exclaimed, the mention of lighting apparently having reminded her of something, “There’s supposed to be a working fireplace, maybe we can use it!”

“Are we camping now? Have we been teleported?” Luke chuckled at the Penelope of it all. A fireplace in a hotel. Of course.

She’d gotten the penthouse suite in a ritzy hotel built in the 50s. Back then it had supposedly been a place for dignitaries and visiting council to cool their heels…and a hide-away for Presidents wanting to meet ladies clandestinely. Close enough to the Whitehouse, but far enough to not get caught…The perfect setting for her perfect gift.

Finding the light panel and switching it on lit up a scattering of dim warm lamps and pouf-like floor lights, yellows and pinks illuminated the room.

Looking around, it was a very large and stylish, if time-warped, place. The décor was all midcentury swank; black leather Eames lounge chair, one of those spaceship looking fireplaces enameled red, a thick white “fur” circular rug, and a large angular cherry wood desk against the far wall which, in all it’s glowing navy glory, couldn’t be ignored, was entirely glass- floor to ceiling.

In place of a wall there was a massive window and a view overlooking the whole of National Mall. The Washington Monument, Capitol Building, and Lincoln Memorial were all in a row from here, interspersed with reflection pools mirroring the alabaster glow of the erections against the inky blue sky. Taking it in, he tried not to think too much about the whole birthday disappointment, tried to be thankful for this, at least.

It’s not that he minded, they’d been busy. There was a lot she wanted to squeeze in to the day and there were guest speakers she said hadn’t been to a convention in years. Could he blame her? She was happy. Deliriously so. He liked seeing Penelope happy. Lived to make her happy.

He honestly didn’t like big celebrations. All that attention and spectacle being made over him. But he wasn’t arrogant enough to not be thankful he’d made it another year; for so long his jobs were so treacherous he was lucky to have made it another day. Though these last few years were less statistically dangerous due to the job change, it was still a dangerous field and anything could go wrong given the right situation so his perspective hadn’t changed in that regard. The thing that changed was that every day he got to wake up with her, and waking up with her was the best, so really, it didn’t matter as long as she was there.

But he thought there’d be…something.

Despite his protests and insistence, he’d come to anticipate something.

All her extravagance, all of the attention she paid, how she loved to plan and execute and bring joy. How she loved to celebrate. He started to wonder if in her excitement for the convention, she really had forgotten, let it slip her mind. And it was the prospect that Penelope Garcia had forgotten to needle him that was tipping towards turning his world upside down.

Walking deeper into the room, Luke kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks, then loosened the tie and tossed the tan, baggy trench coat of his costume over the back of the lounge chair.

Making his way to the fire place near by, he crouched down to light it, and when success struck, he called through the room “Got your fire going…Do you think we should send for marshmallows?”

Penelope, leaning out from around the bathroom door, considers telling him he’s had her fire going all day, that she’s a toasted marshmallow, but settles on a sighed saccharine “My hero” to get his attention.

Upon hearing her, Luke stood, turning to the sound of her voice. What he saw made his knees buckle, landing on the edge of the lounger.

She’d redone her hair in record time, pinning it up in big fluffy blonde curls like a 60s bombshell. She had one long leg out, curving it around the door frame in an imitation of those vintage cartoon stripteases, thigh and calf and high stiletto rubbing flush against the wall before she comes out, revealing an entirely new outfit. Gathered white silk chiffon clings to her shoulders and swoops across her full breast. She twirls slowly, the fabric of the skirt floating up to tease lavender satin and lace waiting underneath, her hands trailing the curves of her body as she does.

“You are, you know…” she says low and sultry.

All thoughts frozen on the woman before him, he offers only an uncomprehending “What-?” in response.

No matter how often he’s seen her, no matter how often they’ve met like this, his all responds. No matter how many times he’s known her inside and out, turned her inside and out, the sight of this part of her, just for him, takes his breath away.

“…so I thought I’d treat you like one.”

“Like what?” He bubbles a low staggered laugh. Nerves. She’s making him nervous in only the way Penelope Garcia can.

“Happy birthday to you…happy birthday to you…” she starts singing velvety and slow. Penelope slinking towards him. Luke watches the whole time, unable to take his eyes off her, not wanting to besides. He knows he must look like an idiot, slack-jawed and nervous dopy smile, he swallows and he can feel his heart thump hard in his chest. For some reason he can’t explain the whole thing is making him uncomfortable but in the best way. An ache breaks out all over, nerve endings exploding with anticipation, needing to see what else she’s planned, what gift this is.

She hadn’t forgotten.

“…happy birthday, Mr.” she pauses, then winks, “-Alvez. Happy birthday to you.”

Penelope, his very own Marilyn, perches on his knee as she finishes, dress rustling under her, “A hero” she answers finally, “…you’re my hero.”

She’s kept up the breathy tone, deep and playful and provocative, but letting the mask slip for just a minute, she frames his face with her hands, whispering, “Happy birthday, my beautiful boy, my Luke” and then, like her approach, she kisses him slow, nails trailing his chest over his wrinkled button-up, the hem of her dress brushing his thigh. Automatically Luke reaches up, fingers knotting in her hair, wanting to pull her in, to kiss her deeper. It was his birthday and the only present he wanted was now in his hands.

But she has other plans. “Ah, ah.” Penelope chides, gently pulling away, “Tonight, because it’s your birthday, and I’m so grateful for you, I’m worshiping at your throne.”

Rising from his lap, Penelope takes a step back, thinking briefly that she was smart for having taken up yoga and pilates during the pandemic, they would definitely be needed…Snapping her fingers, she grins when slow instrumental music starts to play. She’d programmed her phone to respond to the sound and asked staff set up bluetooth speakers before their arrival. One hand skates over and up her chest as the other drags up her leg pulling the hem of her skirt higher, exposing her thigh, her body leisurely snaking to the music.

Luke pushes up to stand, to thread his arms around her and join in her revere, but is met with halting finger tips, Penelope making eye contact, “No touching the dancers, Mr. Alvez. Let your eyes enjoy.”

Her push meets little resistance, a crooked smile flashing back at her, Luke falling complacently into the curve of the chair. He likes it when she calls him that, Mr. Alvez, she has a way of making it sound scolding, like a slap and at the same time dirty and full of promise. Just the way she says it makes him ache with want.

Penelope lets her head fall back and her mouth drop open, a hand ghosting up her neck and through her hair. She plucks out bobbypins that get lost in the rug, long gold waves cascading down her shoulders, hips moving in a tortiously slow figure-eight. Fingers gather up her skirt and tease high up her legs, exposing more skin, almost high enough, but never quite there. Her dress swoops and sways with the movements, throwing shadows to the wall like a dozen dancing Penelopes against the firelight, Luke rubs his palms high on his legs and licks his lips thinking about just the one.

Turning away, Penelope does a wiggling sink to the floor, her hands lifting up a mess of hair as she looks over her shoulder, “Would you?”

“You said no touching the dancers…”

“A quick exception, but if you’d rather your present stay wrapped?”

Luke smirks leaning up to unzip it just enough, fingers brushing skin, a subtle exchange of “There?” and “thank you” traded in small smiles and eyebrow flicks, Luke once again obediently leaning away.

Smoothly, Penelope rises, turning, pulling the zipper down as she does until it reaches its end and she’s standing once again facing him, the straps of her dress just barely holding their place to her body. She does a deep shoulder dip towards him, slipping out one arm and then the other, the dress falling to the floor in a susurrus whoosh revealing underneath, the teasing lavender from earlier.

Luke lets his eyes slowly rove over the expanse of her, softly glowing gold from firelight. She’s standing before him in a strapless lavender bra topped with a large cream satin bow, perfectly hugging and elevating her ample chest. Matching lavender underwear straddles the curve of her hips, eyelash lace running up the middle, dividing her and splitting with her legs- a filthy, un-Marilyn like thing, something he was finding desperately sexy in the moment. Fantasies of fucking her though her underwear, the thought of the sensations that tickling lace running up and down his shaft would bring as he enters her again and again, how easy it was to get to her, how easy it might have been all day…He thinks of the photobooth, her sitting on his lap, his hand resting on her knee under the table at lunch, the elevator, opportunities secretly denied.

A stuck breath escapes seized lungs and his fingers wrap and bite into the bottom of the armrests as Luke’s vision drifts back up to find her expectantly taking in his appraisal. With Penelope wrapped like a gift, topped with a bow, he could think of little else to say, humming a low, agreeing, “Happy birthday to me…”

She grins, starting a passive loop around the chair, leaving his view. His head turns slightly watching her fingers skate along his shoulders and when they get to the nape of his neck, he watches her shadow on the wall. Her nails comb over his scalp drawing out a rush of goosebumps, and his head falls back to catch a heated glimpse of her.

Gentle fingers brush down his cheek and curl around his jaw, and when she’s at his side, Penelope leans back across his lap, hands the only contact to his body. She draws herself up slowly and crosses in front of him, arching over him, lips baiting his but never touching, hips swiveling leisurely to the music, then turns to face away from him sinking to sit back on her heels between his feet. She leans back, her head rolling gently on the chair between his knees, closing her eyes. He watches from above as pale hands massage over the bow on her chest, the swell of her blushing breast rising and falling with her breath, hands that work over her collar, up her neck, through her hair… her thighs rubbing together, her lips parting in a look of pure ecstasy. She’s panting lightly and starts, with a wave of her body, to wash back up him, back to chest. She opens her eyes, softly connecting with his, her hands making their way from her hair to his thighs, his thighs to his sides, his side to his chest, finally looping around his neck, her head landing on his shoulder, her breath washing across his skin, and Luke can’t help but notice somehow, maddeningly, she’s managed to keep all touch from his groin.

Her hands crisscross and she rotates over him, body still writhing and undulating, a knee is brought up beside his thigh, and then the other, Penelope framing him, straddling him, the pressure of her legs against his, her hips sink and brush, but never make contact. Undoing his tie, she takes hold of one end, pulling as she does a rolling backbend, tie and Penelope slipping away from him, towards the fire, her body making shallow waves. He watches, her movements directing his gaze, her breasts pooling as she falls back, the roll of her stomach…hands and fabric caressing her bare thighs…the split of her underwear, Penelope split open in front of him. He sees how wet she’s made herself and is reminded once again, how easy it would be to take her, to leave all this behind and impatiently get to the point. But as if knowing, her hips lift, Penelope shifting to draw herself back up. Gyrating, swaying left and right, Penelope curls over him, satin and skin, her soft, fire-warmed tits in his face, her hands in his hair.

And then Luke’s hands are on Penelope’s hips, breaking the rule, taking hold and bringing her down, her lips drag across his cheek in a whimper as his strong guiding grip grinds her against his zippered erection, Luke moaning, deliciously heavy pressure on her bare clit, slick juice coating his trousers, her body shuddering against his.

Penelope catches herself at the end of the exhale, pushing off his shoulders, pushing off his lap onto shaky legs. “-not yet” She wants to, she wants to simply have at it right here in the chair, to ride him until she’s a panting glistening breathless mess. But that would be selfish. And this was for him, to praise and bestow and make him feel mind-blowingly desired and admired and to make him feel godlike.

It was a quietly kept secret that Luke had usurped her in the caring department, always placing others before himself, often to the point of neglecting his own wants, today being a perfect example. She’d decided it was time he felt what it was to be spoiled.

“But what if I want my gift now?” he asks, lip jutting out of a frown, big, sad, puppy-dog eyes.

The sight of him pouting is almost too much, and she can’t hold back a giggle, “If you really do, I won’t say no…but good things come to those who wait.” She whispers, “Close your eyes” sealing the instruction with a kiss, sinking to her knees between his wide spread. Light, deft fingers move from button to button as her mouth moves from jaw to throat, kissing and sucking, her lips and tongue wrapping warm and wet around his Adam’s apple, suction practiced enough to turn him on, but light enough to avoid leaving marks. With the last button undone, she gently pulls his shirt tails free, hands swooping under fabric and over shoulders to rid him of his shirt.

The garment joining her dress in a rumpled pile on the floor, her hands move back to him, every part of him smoothly crinkled elasticity, gently wrinkling skin coating tender muscle. Up this close they can’t deny their age. This is what, his 48th birthday? Clicking joints and scars, broken noses, and sore backs are starting to take hold, but Luke takes care of himself, has to, she knows, and though this, him, his body is nothing new to her, the act of slowing down, taking him in millimeter by millimeter is. She’d caressed him before, kissed him, stroked the inches of his bare flesh, but often Luke preferred to be the one in this position, down on his knees, feeling her rise to a polished shine. He was a giver, that’s why this was so important, that’s why this gift was special, she wants him to know just how cared for, how loved he is, how high she holds him. She wants him to feel just the way he makes her feel time and time again.

She takes her time moving southward left and right, lips just barely lifting, drifting in wisps from mole to freckle, down the terrain of his pecks and his abs, licking and sucking on warm, soft nipples, finding the little trail of hair above his navel and swirling her tongue down it, kissing the rippling skin above his belly button.

His hands flutter from armrests to shoulders, shadows lightly hovering, flexing, quietly encouraging her. She opens her mouth wide over his navel and drags her teeth closed, pulling just a little, soothing with her tongue, tasting him, feeling the muscles tighten and flutter under her devotion, her fingertips brushing over ribs in ribbon-like swoops. She can hear his breathing becoming heavy and thick above her and the moans he holds back washing into sighs, his hips rocking ever so slightly in time with the music. She’s proud. Of her restraint, of his, that she gets to do this for him, that he’s letting her, that she gets to be the one calling forth his pleasure.

And pleasure it is, every movement a tickle sending blood rushing down to his already throbbing dick, her wet hot lips fat and full on his chest, on his stomach, her fingers drawing lazy, distracting circles, the heavy weight of her satin covered tits slipping over and over, down his cock and up his lap, bobbing and bouncing as she laps lower and lower down his torso, short slick little swipes, getting closer and closer.

When she reaches the point where she’s run out of skin, she suckles at the base of her path, the lowest point on his abs right above his groin, that distinct arrow pointing down, directing… Nerves light up like a string to his cock, so close, suction so good, her hands massaging his thighs…

Luke rubs his feet back and forth on the rug to keep from bucking, his grip tightening on her shoulders, releasing a shuttered breath and murmured plea.

Her fingers move to his waistband undoing the hook, lowering the zipper. He opens his eyes watching. Penelope glances up before reaching down and freeing him, her mouth dropping open and her eyes widening, connecting with his. She’s looking up at him with a shocked and timid expression. She’s hamming it up, he knows. She knows exactly how big he his, but he doesn’t care that it’s an act, visually, physically, it has the same effect.

Licking her lips,

finally, finally,

she licks the tip, salty dew on soft smooth skin. Gradually she licks more, large swathing circles spiral around him until she’s taking him into the heat of her mouth, damp, slippery, plush. She bobs and sucks, her tongue curling and pulsing around the bottom of his cock, hands squeezing the base. She goes deeper and deeper, saliva flooding her mouth, flooding around him, wetly slurping and sucking like she needs him, and god, the suction of her mouth, the pressure of her hands. His tongue peeks out dampening his lips, “-god yes” Luke sighs and groans her name. Pulling back with hollowed cheeks and tight lips, she ducks forward again, sucking down further, relaxing her throat until she takes him all the way, and hums. Luke sucks his teeth and moans above her, biting his lip at the feeling of her snug and hot and wet and vibrating around him, throat muscles constricting, muffled sounds, his fingers clench in her hair sharply pulling, the control it was taking not to let go and release, not to thrust into her mouth over and over, spill himself down her tight throat, he’s so close.

“Pen, if you don’t-” shaky labored voice joins shaky hand as Luke releases his hold to pet her hair. “I’m gonna-” the sentence is pulled tight as muscles contract and hips jolt up. There are beads of moisture at the corners of her eyes, but her head smoothly follows the thrust of his body rocking back, her hands soothing on his legs. She’d tell him to do it, but her mouth is full, so she brushes her thumbs high on his thighs, when he’s settled back down she hums higher, louder, and then touches herself, rubbing her breasts under the bow and moans loudly around him. Warm pleasure ripples like vibration from the head of his cock up through the rest of him, bodily immersed in tingles, balls drawing up, and he can’t hold back. Luke cries out as he comes, Penelope quickly pulling back to suck hard at the silken head, hands gripping and pumping low on his shaft, gummy-soft tongue drawing out his release, swallowing down every drop until she pulls off him with a “pop”

Luke, flush and panting, looks down at her, Penelope wet-eyed peering up at him from her knees, a large thumb clears the saliva from her chin as he draws her up into his lap to kiss her, tasting himself on her tongue. His hands cup her face and burrow in her soft hair, holding her just so, kissing her gently, hands move to lightly massage up and down her back. And lips, full, scruff scraping lips move to her collar, sucking lazily at her shoulder, nipping a path to the blushing pink tissue overflowing her suddenly very constricting bra. She can feel his tongue wedging its way between cup and flesh, nose and teeth working towards some common goal, feeling it when he mumbles into her skin in frustration, making out “fuck it,” just before the bra falls loose between them, coming unclasped, A muffled triumphant sound swathes her breasts, the objects of his struggle now free. Luke’s hand comes between them to pull and fling the ribbon of his gift somewhere far away before joining lips and tongue in a stroking, feasting hold.

Her fingers alternate between tensing and curling at the base of his skull, and surging up through thick waves, her hips mindlessly chase forward, rubbing and grinding to the pulse Luke’s fete delivers. Grateful, devouring gulps punctuate his hunger for her as he switches left to right, rippling tongue and muscular lips enrobing taught nipple and areola, his arms wrapping around her back and to her sides keeping her close, his energy rebuilding with each brush of contact.

Nails zing up his scalp, small gasps and hard swallows float above him, hips crash in waves against him. She’s straddling high up his lap, those fine strands of lace brushing cool, delicious tickles to his bare cock mixing with her heated, slick vulva, the feeling, even without penetration, even better than he'd imagined.

A hard nipple puckers from the shift in temperature as lips switch to the other, she tosses her head back wanting the feel of those lips on hers. Her eyes roll from the light pressure and drag of teeth over stimulated nerves. Head twisting, she catches the erotic shadow theater playing out on the wall, the same one being acted out on her, glittering silver strands of Pan-like curls descending on her. Captivated, she grinds and ruts, watching their merging silhouettes cast large across the room, Penelope mindlessly seeking relief, friction, their likenesses in the throws of divine worship, and she feels him jump and harden again between them.

Grinning wickedly, Penelope adds a dragging lift to her grind, threading herself up and down his shaft, lifting to tease the hood of her clit on the head of his cock, feeling him ready at her actions. Just a bit higher and she can sink onto the whole hardness of him, lovingly hug and milk him from within until he comes again, until she comes around him.

Her movements push him, and all at once he’s done, he needs her, needs to be in her. Not just her mouth on him, not just her lips against him, but deep inside, feeling her drumming pulse, feeling her coming around him. He arches and shimmies his hips, shucking the rest of his clothing to the floor. Mouth now trailing back up, back to find her lips, to capture them, tongue against tongue and flesh against flesh, his hands caressing the ticklish bare skin of her inner thighs.

She smiles against his lips, murmuring, “Glad you finally put on that birthday suit, it looks good.”

Luke pulls away from the kiss, Penelope’s hands coming to sit on his chest, thumbs strumming absently on the bits of hair around his nipples. “Just good?” he asks, eyebrow arching and teasing smile spreading.

She smiles, wanting for some quip, but her expression softens taking in the creases around his eyes, taking pride in the fact that she’s had a hand in putting more than a few there. “It is getting a little thin…” her gaze drifts to a scar on his shoulder, her fingers brushing at the edge, “fraying.” She can feel herself getting sentimental, sad. She needs to snap out of it, now isn’t the time. With a smack to his chest, she brightens.

“oww-”

“But! I’ve always liked old things,” she grins, “and tonight, we are young, tonight, this room is our playground. So, Birthday Boy, where do you want to play? The chair, the rug, the bed…?”

Luke’s eyes fall around the room thinking about the options laid out, each situation fulfilling a unique fantasy, but then his eyes fall on the obelisk outside, firm and proud, the wide open window, the expansive view. All he can think is how he wants her there, to show her off to all of DC, to the heavens above, and the people below, Penelope in rapture at his doing…

His lips press open to the base of her throat, taking advantage of the proximity. “Everywhere, Chica, there’s not a place I don’t want you, but, if you think you’d be open to it, I’d like to show my present off...” slow kiss after another he makes his wish to her skin, fingertips drifting, “take you to that window, fuck you against the glass, share that beautiful face as I help you come undone. I want everyone who walks by to know it’s just for me. And that mine is just for you.”

At the reveal Penelope hesitates, the idea unnerving, unsure how she feels about the act, their jobs…being exposed… but she’s sure about him, how utterly she trusts him, completely, with all of her. Her safety, her security are in his hands, she knows he’d never let anything happen, prevent and protect her with all of him. If this was how she could show him that, then she wanted to do it for him.

Penelope pulls him into a deep kiss, lifting from her spot and taking him with her, consenting. Once standing, she lets him lead, Luke carefully guiding her across the room, their lips never parting for long. Gentile brushes and caress are painted on bare skin as they glide over the rug and to the crystal wall, Luke turning her in his hold, a hand low on her belly and one high across her chest cupping her shoulder, his lips nuzzling up the back of her neck, behind her ear. She leans into him, holding his arm, her eyes drifting shut, feeling him better.

Luke watches her in the reflection of the window, how her jaw drops and her lips part, watches as Penelope disappears into Penelope, her body trapped to herself and him, his hard cock pressing into the silken curve of her underwear, and delivers a sharp bite to her neck, then eases back, opening up space in front of her. His hand leaves her belly letting it make contact with the cold glass, the other moves to warm her tits. Her dripping cunt has left a mark on the window through the split in the lace and Luke swipes at it, collecting some on his fingers to feel her out, rubbing at her pulsing clit. Penelope’s stance widens and her body sinks down and then up, Luke’s fingers pushing past the lace, pushing up into her.

He kisses her neck, lips moving in suction all over her shoulder, her legs falling apart a little more, giving him more room, allowing more space for his hands to work. His thumbprint brushes quick heavy strokes to her swollen clit, satin sheathed thumbnail delivering dampened rhythmic clicks against the glass, index and middle fingers spreading and twisting and thrusting inside her, Luke grinding himself against the smooth fabric separating them, Penelope’s breathing becoming shorter, gasping, Luke switches finger positions, the two coming together as one, long middle finger finding and teasing, rubbing and crooking against the spongy part of her, the part that tickles and drives her wild, he goes faster and faster, her legs squirming and hips jumping but he doesn’t let up. She can feel her muscles constrict in a ball, heavy and low in her belly, her breath light and airy, her tongue whipping out to lick and her head tossing, the rest of her unable to do much else, he’s going to make her cum on his fingers before he gives himself up.

Hard and throbbing between them, hips pulsing and dragging, he watches her. She’s lost in the feeling, the euphoria he’s creating, his skin on hers, his lips on her, the sounds he’s pulling out of her just for him. But she’s watching him in the glass too, how his brow pinches before his mouth descends, his tongue swiping out to lick at his lips, his strong fingers kneading her breast and his hand quickly vanishing and reappearing between her shaking thighs. She’s on the edge, about to cum, when movement outside draws her attention.

Vision coming to focus on the view outside, she sees a group of people walking up the path to the lobby and she can tell when Luke does too. His actions growing light, teeth teasing at the delicate and sensitive joining of her neck and shoulder, his thumb backing off to just barely circle her, fingers slowing to spread and crook inside her again. Penelope whines out at the change in pressure and pace, a sharp frustrated sound reverberating around the room as a damp palm slaps high above her and her eyes squeeze shut momentarily. Her nails scramble and fingers flex and spread on the glass, then streak down only to grab the back of his head holding him to her. Her panted breath fogs the window slightly obscuring the view, but they’re only five floors up so she notices when a man in the group of pedestrians stops, seemingly watching them. She wonders if he can actually see them, if it was her hit that drew his attention, or just the building itself.

Luke keeps up his now teasing strokes, not stopping, though he must see the man too.

She’s spread wide and bare and there’s a man down below very possibly watching what they’re obviously doing.

She thought if it happened, if someone did walk by she’d feel embarrassed, all of her on display, a stranger seeing her naked body, a stranger watching her in such an intimate act. But, she realizes, she doesn’t.

The hand between her legs slides out, pressing firmly up her belly and across her hipline, fingers march in a playful two step down her thigh. “Still ok?” washes in a breathy check-in up her neck.

Penelope turns her head, lips finding his, kiss lingering “Yes.”

Luke cups and rubs at the swell of her thigh before hiking her leg up and over his own, his knee bracing on the translucent barrier in front of them. His hips push into the back of her, his cock threading between them with his rocking sway, lace and skin whispering, crying against him, then slowly, deliberately, he penetrates her, a grunting gratified sigh passing her ear as he settles himself fully. Penelope keens at the tight fill and throb clashing with her own pulse, swallowing thickly, trying not to move, all of her wanting to move. Luke’s hand skates with heavy pressure up her stomach and to her chest, strong hands grabbing and pushing her breasts together, fingers pinching nipples as he pulls them back apart, she jerks, bucking back into him reflexively, her body curling at the touch and swallows a shriek as she forces him deeper, his weighty slow drags matching her slow drag up. Luke grinds into her, bringing her closer to the glass, his lips brush her ear, murmuring “Do you see him Penelope? Watching you? Envying me?”

Her eyes glue to the man outside, heavy breaths pushing up from low inside.

“Do you think he’ll think about you tonight? About seeing you?” Measured and impeding, Luke slowly thrusts in and out of her, sucking soft kisses down the side of her throat.

“Do you think he’ll cum imaging himself fucking you?”

She feels the tickle of eyelashes as he kisses her again, trails the side of her neck with the tip of his nose, soft lower lip dragging after.

“He wants you,”

Another kiss, damp, pulling.

His vision shifts in focus from the man outside to Penelope’s reflection in the glass and back. His arm moves to hold her waist, positioning her to push her tits into the cold window, with every thrust their wrapped legs spread further until they’re flush to it and he continues to drag himself in and out of her, her clit rubbing firm on the icy barrier, the lace of her underwear delivering a million little licks to his shaft with every pull.

“He wants to feel your full. hot. body…” he punctuates with three sharper thrusts before reverting to the dragging pace, “shaking and cuming around him…”

Penelope writhes and whimpers in his hold, her legs quivering and her muscles clenching around his cock, spurred on by his voice.

“Ohhh,” Luke hums, “you like that? Do you want him to?” His hand trails her belly across her hip holding her to him, circling his hips, dragging fuller, longer strokes into her, her swollen clit peeling and sticking to the glass with his oscillations.

Penelope leans back into Luke as much as she can, shaking her head and panting “nu-uh.” and licks at her lips. He can see her brow drawn up in concentration.

“I think you do, I think you like the thought of that. Do you want him?”

It’s not jealous, or possessive, it’s curious, almost reverent. Her throat is dry, and she swallows before breathing out “-no”

He places small kisses behind her ear, moving her hair to one side and continues down the back of her neck, soft lips on the ball of her shoulder, “If not him, then who? Tell me.”

A shiver runs down her spine, her legs trembling in his hold, he continues the beat, measured, long thrusts. “You-” she whines at his fingers suddenly playing against her clit, making it harder to answer “-You” she repeats clearer, louder, her hips push back desperately into his, ass slamming into groin, hands bouncing and slipping on the window, no purchase to be found. She tries to sink lower, to force him to speed up, she wishes he’d speed up, make her cum. She can feel her walls throbbing, hard and quick around him. Needing him.

“Shh, shh, shh…” Luke calms, steadying her, “Will you cum for me?”

“yes. Luke-” she wants to, though she’s not sure she can, needing more, faster than this teasing pace he’s stipulated.

Luke glances down, the man now alone, head pointed high up to them “Even with him watching?” He kisses her flushed cheek and nips at her jaw.

“Yes!”

“Then do it, beautiful girl, cum for me. Show me how devoted you are.” Simultaneously Luke pulls out and thrusts up swiftly, pinching her clit and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Penelope’s surprised squeal melts into a moan, body convulsing, coming hard, her hips try to pitch, but she’s forced immobile against the glass and Luke as soon as she starts. “That’s my beautiful girl, let him see you.” Her moans turn to whimpers, Luke rolling her through one orgasm and into another, her body slippery and hot on the chill glass, her eyes locked on the man below. She feels powerful, and loving, and loved, she feels beautiful and cherished, and she hopes Luke feels that way too.

She thinks that his thrust will be the first of many more, that he’ll speed up, pin her further, cum with her, share himself just like he said, but instead he stops, releasing her.

Pride bursts warm and large inside him, adoring eyes stair down at her; Penelope, his, freely, openly, undeniably. That he can do that to her, for her, that she trusts in him, even like this.

Penelope sucks down steadying breath as Luke pulls out and turns her to face him, taking her lips on his, taking her body gently to his, the heat of his chest warming her glass-chilled breasts, his hands running in loving strokes from arm to waist to hip.

He lowers himself in front of her, sucking a wet path down her breastbone and over her stomach, collecting a thigh and kissing it too, her hands automatically landing on his shoulders. His hands drift lower over calf and ankle removing first one heel, and then the other, Luke, looking up at Penelope, sliding fingers up to hook in the band of her underwear and dragging them down her thighs, slingshotting them across the room. He buries his face in her tangy wetness, nose nuzzling, and long, rough tongue lapping up her juices, Penelope moans quiet and low, a hand resting on his shoulder finding a new place in his hair. He licks and sucks, fingertips brushing the backs of her legs before he gradually rises up again. Kissing her deeply, hooking a leg around himself, lifting her up, impulsively walking them to the desk, placing her on the surface. Luke pulls back, then surges forward kissing her quickly, forehead rocking gently against hers and pulls away again, her legs dropping from around him.

“Is office furniture on our list of approved play equipment?”

Penelope chances a glance to the side, Luke following her gaze, the man now sitting on a bench, head still tilted up. They can see by the angle of his arms that his hands are on his lap, what he’s doing, they can only assume. Luke’s eyes trace the side of her face trying to gage her feeling, “Should we give Tom there another show…or do you want to make this a private event?” he presses a warm kiss to her cheek, waiting.

Penelope turns back to him, arms draping loosely over his shoulders, nails teasing neck, teasing him “Do you know how often I thought about this? About you? And me. My office? Every time you came in there. Every time we were alone…Plus, your dutiful servant hasn’t brought you to finish yet…” She smiles at him deviously, curling her legs around the backs of his to bring him closer, leaning back to drag him down with her, “and you said you wanted everyone to see…how did you put it? That pretty face is just for me.”

Laying her head back, fingertips brushing his jaw and cheek, she parodies, “Oohh, SSA Alvez, what is it now? Do you have files for me? Do you want information? Well, what do you want? -Oh, me? Did you want me like this?” she poses, “Or maybe like this?” she coos, posing again. “Agent that’s such a big file, I don’t think I can manage it-”

Luke’s eyes narrow smirking at the cheesy lines, but there’s a growl that tears at his throat. He’d be lying if he said some of his dreams pre-relationship hadn’t gone exactly like that. Luke’s voice dips, warm and dark, his head dipping with it to her ear, “Penelope Garcia, I already told you, I want you every way you’ll let me.”

She surges up kissing him, loving and adamant. Luke’s cock, hot steal between them, and still slick with her, glides over her wet cunt. Both sigh into the feeling when he pushes himself back in, this time though, his movements aren’t patient or soft. Immediately his hips pull and snap, sharply building up a rhythm with intensity. Her hands skate down his back, thumbs sweeping around to affectionately brush his hipbones and continue their way down to honor firm, round cheeks, hardening and hollowing with each clenching thrust, her hands welcoming him to her, nails digging into the meat of his ass in a relentless back and forth until it’s too much to hold on, letting go to brace above her head instead, gripping at the ledge of the desk, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip with each delicious forceful jolt, distorted keening squeals dampened. Luke arcs over her, inhaling at her chest drawn up and together, licking away the sweat beading there, sucking at and smothering himself in the full mounds of flesh that bounce with each punishing thrust. His movements come fast, rough, hips slapping and pitching, her thighs falling open, legs wrapping around his back, heels brushing and locking, stance widening to receive him deeper. He snarls his exertion, breath hot on her neck, his hands tug at hers, freeing her fingers from their hold on the wood, threading them with his as their hands slam back down to the desk above her, Luke bottoming out with every ram, arms locked, hips snapping.

“Ah- Luke!” Penelope is forced into a crunch, forehead lightly pressing into his chest as she curls into him, lips brushing his sternum, mouth opening in a small silent scream, her body shuddering. He can feel her come, slick walls constricting in strong clenching gasps around his cock, nails biting into the backs of his hands, he continues to thrust into her, fast, unyielding, every hit punctuated by more “aht- aht- ahs-” small yelps and sounds of pleasured pain as she falls back to the desk surface. She’s huffing and gulping, his pubic bone slamming hard against her overstimulated clit, her skin pulling sharply against the lacquered wood, then his hands release hers grasping her hips and hold her to the ledge, desk digging sharply into her ass, position changed. He pitches and pummels faster and faster, hips thrusting and pushing, pumping, slamming against her, into her, pound after pound after pound after pound higher and higher in a rush of sucked breath and lightheadedness, she hears him getting higher, his moans and groans reaching a sopranoing timber, feels him harden and stiffen and swell inside her, feels him drawing up before he comes, gripping his jaw, jerking his head to face the window, she reminds him through broken breath, “Look, show him…that I did this- that you’re cuming for me, that I’m-”

Luke sees his reflection pulling out and plunging into her again and again, his cock glistening with her honey, her legs still trembling around him, Penelope fine and laid out like a treat just for him on this desk, just his. With effort he tears his eyes from them, forcing his vision to go past, and lock on the man, now arching back on the bench, with all that’s left in him Luke increases to a brutal pace, Penelope still tight and hot around him, his toes curl and his feet rise and his calves cramp and his body jolts and arches with the man, his fingers harden, he jerks, freezing, and bellows, coming violently, and then every muscle contracts and kicks him forward over and over and over and over in short tight bursts and all she can do is cling to the desk edge as he strains and moans curving above her.

“yours!” She almost loses the rest of the thought as she cries. Her voice goes out, head twisting to the side, face twisting up, her muscles contracting harshly around his cock, coming again at his final thrust, his slackening jaw and glazed eyes.

Luke releases a breath collapsing onto her breast, her legs fall and his arms immediately scoop up and under her, holding her close, sticky and hot, each regaining their breath, their footing.

They lay like that until their heartbeats have slowed to a regular cadence, until euphoria transitions to drowse, until his legs start to tingle and their vision blurs and the sweat trapped between her back and the wood feels gross and swampy. Penelope tilts her head up, planting a kiss to the crown of his head and combs her fingers through his hair, “So birthday boy, was it good?”

“Mhm,” he agrees, nuzzling his cheek where it rests on her soft chest, then adds, without thinking, “I was starting to think you’d forgotten…”

Wriggling out from under him, pushing him up in a burst of energy, Penelope pitches, “Luke Alvez, I would never!”

Luke stood looking down at her, he can’t contain the dazed smile that pulls at her reaction, that she’s more upset about it than he is, and takes her hands in his tugging her up to join him. “I know, that’s why it was so weird…”

“Well. I wouldn’t. It was a surprise!” She pouts, hurt that he would really think she’d forgotten about him.

“I know.” he says dipping his head to look deeper into her eyes. His hand frames her jaw and his thumb brushes high up on her cheek, his other hand snaking around her waist to draw her with him as he walks backwards toward the bedroom. “Maybe next year, just in case, you tell me happy birthday in the morning…”

Penelope’s eyes crinkle and a mischievous grin replaces her frown, “Oh? You think this is lasting that long huh?”

Luke laughs, stumbling over a discarded heel, “Ice cold! What happened to worshiping at my throne?”

“It’s past midnight- not your birthday anymore, Alvez.”

Luke pulls her closer, bending over her, pulling her up on her tip toes to kiss her as his legs hit the edge of the bed and he falls backward, taking her with him. “Weeell, in that case, I guess it’s back to being my turn.”

#garvez #criminal minds #fan fic #luke alvez #penelope garcia #birthday smut fic #ao3 #snails tales

[geesuv]

So, I have a mixed relationship Magic the Gathering. I haven't played for years for various reasons and I'm not a huge fan of the really try hard, rules-focus culture of the player base. This is the point of the game, I know, but it's how I feel. But on the other hand, the worldbuilding of their creative team is simply on point. Frankly, D&D could learn a thing or five from the amount of imagination, craft and simply compelling ideas they manage to fit into their many planes. So I like to keep on top of the set releases and ogle all the new art for that very reason. But I stopped reading the fiction around Amonkhet/Ixalan when I realised that it generally involved the characters doing incredibly asinine things so the pre-determined story could move along. My point is, I haven't really followed things. But this morning, I got looking at the wiki page for the Phyrexian invasion. Spoilers for the phyrexian invasion plotline beyond this point!

Long story short, fantasy robots invade every plane in the setting. Honestly, these big meta-threats don't really do anything for me. I'm much more interested in hearing about the local quirks, problems and struggles of each of the planes. Every time one of the Big Bads stomps around, it dilutes that. "Check out this really cool techno-magical world! But don't forget about the phyrexians! They're a thing, you know! Watch as they assimilate one of the few ligitimately interesting planeswalkers! Hm? Technomagical what now? Oh, the setting! Right, yes, here it is..." Anyway, the Phyrexians are basically the fantasy Borg. They invade, take people over, so on and so forth. I got reading this wiki page and it has a list of planes and how they got invaded. There's few details, but it covers the essentials. Then I noticed something. Eldraine, a plane of powerful fae magic and well-organising military culture of knights, widely defeated and the ruling courts collapse under the onslaught. Until a spell macguffin wins the day. Strixhaven, a literal magic school who were warned and prepared to meet the invasion. completely overrun and all the faculty killed. Until a spell macguffin wins the day. Kamigawa, a plane of technomagical mecha, organised samurai and skilled ninjas. Suffer heavy losses and barely hold the invasion, but seem to be fighting a losing battle. Theros, a plane of powerful gods and greece-style heroes. Widely defeated and many gods fallen. Fiora, a plane known for widespread and convoluted conspiracies and schemes. Successfully and decisively defeats the invading force. Hold up. Run that back a bit. Fiora? The political scheming plane?! A world that can be best summed up by the phrase "chronic backstabbing disorder"?! They defeated the fantasy borg where magic, heroes and literal gods failed?! For context, Fiora was the setting for the two Conspiracy sets. Which are, in my biased opinion, some of the best and most fun sets MtG has ever done. They broke down the tryhard numbers experience and set up an environment where you needed to scheme with other players to try to win. It was great. Details are sparse. All the first page says is "Queen Marchesa secured the grip on her throne and the loyalty of her people by leading the defence of the plane and successfully beating the Phyrexians back." and the Fiora page simply reads "Queen Marchesa refused all who trespassed." Be still my beating heart. Queen Marchesa, The Black Rose, Mother of Assassins, poisoner, necromancer and Monarch of Paliano, is just the best and one of my favourite MtG characters. Learning that she took one look at this invading army of assimilating fantasy robots and said "No. I don't think you will." really just made my day.

#conspiracy #magic the gathering #the black rose #marchesa #phyrexia #wizards of the coast #phyrexian invasion #lore #fiora #Paliano

[kudosmyhero]

Transformers: Primacy #2

Read Date: May 21, 2023 Cover Date: September 2014 ● Story: Chris Metzen ◦ Flint Dille ● Art: Livio Ramondelli ● Letterer: Chris Mowry ● Editor: John Barber ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

Reactions As I Read: ● Strongbox isn’t in a good position… ● Stunticons. never heard of them, but judging by Strongbox’s reaction, they’re bad news ● Thundercracker! <3 ● Predacons stripped a whole planet’s ecosystem in months?? jeez ● watching Trypticon plummeting toward the city

● Metroplex 😭 ● 👏👏👏👏👏

Synopsis: On the ruined planet Magmara Nine, courier Strongbox finds himself separated from his convoy and under attack from the Stunticons. Surrounded by the evil speedsters, his distress calls unheard, Strongbox tries to explain that he doesn't even know what cargo he's transporting, but the villains ignore him, having been informed by Swindle that the payload is cash. Wildrider leaps on top of him and causes him to run off the road, but just before they go over the edge of the bridge they're on, Drag Strip snags Strongbox's trailer with a grapple line, allowing Motormaster to reel in their prize even as the ill-fated courier falls away from his cargo and plummets to his doom. Upon opening the trailer, however, the team is surprised to discover that their booty is not the money they expected: rather, it is Thundercracker, who had paid Strongbox's convoy to transport him as part of a ruse to draw the Stunticons out. Motormaster refuses to work for Scorponok, but changes his tune when he hears that Megatron is back.

On the jungle world of Canis Tor, Predacons Razorclaw and Rampage are engaged in battle with each other; the Predacons have hunted all life on the planet into extinction and now find themselves stranded there and turning on one another. The other Predacons watch them grapple, grimly realizing that cannibalism seems inevitable—a prediction that becomes sudden reality when Divebomb collapses and the others close in to dine. The appearance of Astrotrain in the skies above stops them before Divebomb meets his end; from within the shuttle 'bot, Starscream appears and invites the Predacons back to the Decepticon fold with the news that Megatron has returned.

Meanwhile, on Cybertron, Optimus Prime and Alpha Trion confer on the discovery of Omega Supreme, who now stands guard over Optimus's quarters in Metroplex. Trion is happy to see the ancient 'bot return, but warns Optimus—concerned over Omega's continued aloofness—that it will take time for the giant sentinel shake off the effects of his million-year isolation.

On the world known as The Presidium, the Combaticons prepare to raid an old cache of Cybertronian weapons considered so dangerous by Nominus Prime that they were stored off-world. When the access codes acquired by Swindle fail to work, the other Combaticons are about to turn on him when the garrison doors suddenly open, revealing Starscream and the Predacons. The promise of ample payment convinces Onslaught and his team to board Astrotrain and blast off for home.

Elsewhere, out in deep space, aboard Trypticon, Soundwave updates Megatron on the continued re-consolidation of the Decepticon forces. Soundwave is hesitant about visiting the final planet on Megatron's list of targeted worlds, but Megatron refuses to have his judgement questioned… and so Trypticon soon sets down on the living hell that is Junkion. The native Junkions gather around the city-ship, but are immediately cowed when Megatron emerges and orders them to submit to his will and ready their "world-ship" to join his armies.

Back on Cybertron, Optimus Prime meets with Bumblebee, Hot Rod, Grimlock, and Bulkhead in response to the appearance of a huge object on their long-range space scanners. Prime hopes it is a ship carrying returning Cybertronians who left during the exodus, but soon realizes that it is Trypticon; Bulkhead refutes the notion of shooting it down, as doing so would rain devastating debris onto the planet while Grimlock and Hot Rod are quick to deduce Megatron's goal—to drop Trypticon directly on top of Metroplex from orbit. In response, Prime orders the city evacuated, and gives the command for Metroplex to transform. No sooner has the Titan assumed his robot mode than Trypticon comes crashing out of the sky, ploughing into Metroplex and tackling him to the ground. The saurian behemoth looms over the toppled titan, and greets Metroplex like an old friend…

(https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Primacy_issue_2)

Fan Art: Therapy Session by Valong

Accompanying Podcast: ● Swerve's Bar Podcast - episode 04

#idw #idw comics #my idw read #transformers #comics #comic books #fan art #fanart #podcast recommendation #podcast - swerve's bar podcast #swerve's bar podcast

[nicetrynicetry]

KOREA 56 pt.2

The onslaught of new experiences on Tuesday makes a thorough recounting extra difficult. I know that I fell asleep at 1am and woke at 7am, the equivalent of taking a bizarre late afternoon nap in London, missing your alarm and waking at just before midnight; a nap fit for one's depression rock bottom. And yet the trick to overcome a shift in the body clock when travelling, I think, is pulling open every single curtain or drape or blind in one's hotel room, so that natural light tells you when to wake(ish). NB: look at me, an anxious and comparatively rare traveller, giving obnoxious travel tips. NNBB: having said that, I am the master of Not Listening To The Body, which makes jet lag easier I know I did not go back to sleep at 7am when I woke and decided to ride the morning out. I collage together a routine: coffee in the room, TM, brush teeth, coffee in the lobby (5,000 ₩, sounds like a lot), 2 cigs out front with the westerners and service staff, writing this very blog

When I'm done I text J to see if he's up given his 13 hour time difference. We both don't want to go to the gym but know it'll be good for us. We half heartedly walk on the treadmill and I stretch while J lifts weights and remarks on how sparing they are with the AC. "They want us dead", he says, takes a picture of us for his fiancé in which I look insane, wearing my German Marlboro cigarettes t shirt We shower, then walk through the "French antiques" district of Itaewon to a brunch hosted by the globe's finest gay Asian art dealers. It is here that I decide to let go of my No Photos rule, and take a picture with fans of my music and/or art. This will be the first of many, a strange 10 minute ritual where the person taking the photo switches places with the people IN the photo and each person takes a photo and is in a photo. R and J look on appreciatively. I guess I take photos with people in Asia now. I attempt to chat with strangers while inhaling a large pork and lettuce sandwich in which the bread is flaky pastry aka a reworked BLT. There is something both unnerving and freeing about not necessarily knowing where one's next meal or snack is coming from, and thus eating as much as I feel I need. I eat the way I did before my eating disorder at age 10 - unafraid of seconds - with a little more caution because you don’t cure everything in one day. I smoke a cigarette on the roof and look at the taller buildings to the left (BASTARD bar and club) and right (Twilight Zone). The sun is out and it is scorching. While I eat a triangle of Camembert (why is Camembert here?) a woman tells me that Uber works in Korea now. I had been futzing around with a taxi app called Kakao until this moment, and breathe a sigh of relief, even though I hate Uber with all my heart

So we Uber to the Gangnam neighbourhood (pause for a rendition of Psy’s Gangnam Style) with the sole purpose of acquiring the shade of NARS lipstick I left at home in London by accident. We snake around the 11 floors of a giant Shinsegae mall and I engage in sign language with a Korean NARS staffer who in the end does not have the colour I need. I settle for a close approximation. J then buys a blue sweater vest, and I buy a fuzzy yellow Isabel Marant shacket (shirt / jacket). We both agree that it is nuts we are suddenly shopping in Korea, both new to the country and new to travelling together. It feels like our friendship honeymoon. I couldn’t have asked for a better companion, one who waits for me outside the Shinsegae smoking box while I join 45 addicted Korean men in what feels like the hottest party in town

Instead of going to the Korean suit shop I had in mind, one where I got two of my best suits on Matches.com, we survey the traffic situation and make the choice to go back to hotel to prepare for my show opening. R, Y and D join us outside to get the car and we are all wearing our chicest black attire. It will become abundantly clear by the late evening that we make a great crew. We go to Ilmin and I take my photos and I see my show for the first time. G is darting around approvingly, I am shown some cakes prepared by the museum that I’m told are inspired my particular paintings. They name the titles of the paintings that informed each cake and I am too embarrassed to admit that I don’t remember which titles are for which works. Overstimulated by the number of conversations and bows with and to strangers, I go to hide in the cafe next door, and see a waitress running at high speed with a large back of ice. I learn that a visitor has slipped and fallen on the marble stairs and her face is bleeding. She is taken away in an ambulance. We go to the roof of the museum with a stunning view of the king’s palace and the mountains behind it. Y explains what all of the skyscrapers are used for (book publishing, Pharma, weapons, banks), and explains the legacy of a 16th century Korean general whose statue stands in the square below. The sun sets and the air cools slightly, but not enough to wear a jacket 

We walk along a fake river to dinner, I wade in my Hoka slides through the water and my crew expresses jealousy since they’re all wearing socks and shoes. We are seated in a small room for Korean BBQ and I eat a little of all 25 condiments and accessories alongside the most delicious meat I’ve ever tasted. The businessmen eating at the restaurant are getting drunk. They seem joyous, almost raucous. Not even my constipation can ruin the evening. We walk through a brightly lit series of streets selling merchandise and jewellery and street food. I plead with Y to go to a cat cafe, where J will become depressed and triggered as he thinks of his kitten at home. Later I will dream that I am nursing my mother’s dying cat during its final hours and hiding from a butch lesbian who keeps claiming to be my girlfriend. Our cab ride home is silent with fatigue. I fall asleep at 11pm sharp, my body superglued to the bed

[esor-ogramira]

I’m slowly leaving DeviantArt and moving my art to Tumblr! (please read)

So the staff at DeviantArt decided to make a very condescending-sounding journal about moving to Web3. It’s obvious that they’re just trying to soften us up to the blockchain and turning DeviantArt into an NFT place!

Journal in question: https://www.deviantart.com/team/journal/What-is-Web3-928785233

So I’m gonna be slowly moving almost all of my art onto Tumblr, and deleting all of my art from DeviantArt. I’ll only stay on dA to keep track of some webcomics that only update on that site.

Once all of my art has been moved to Tumblr, from that point onward, any future request openings will be posted here, on Twitter and on Instagram.

So be prepared for an onslaught of some of my old art, including some of my old Minecraft fan-fic-related art. I still have the fan-fic that is now The Fenrathae Series on my computer, but considering the fact that the fan-fiction involves some character designs that could easily be misinterpreted as anti-Native American caricatures, I’m not entirely sure what I should do with it. I was reuploading the chapters to DeviantArt, which is where I originally posted them, but with dA clearly trendchasing with Web3 and the blockchain, I’m not sure if I should post it there or not. The only reason I’m reuploading the fan-fic is because people need to see my mistakes and understand that I’ve learned from them. Which was not what I was thinking of when I deleted the fan-fic from dA.

I don’t really want to post it to AO3, because the writing is very old and not very well thought-out, as well.

Once Book 1 is ready to be read by the masses, I might post chapters on AO3, but considering the fact that AO3 is a fan-fiction website, I doubt it would be very welcomed on that site. And I doubt that it would gain much attention, either, especially considering the fact that I don’t have much of a following on Twitter or Instagram, or even here on Tumblr.

TL;DR: I’m moving my art from DeviantArt to Tumblr because dA is choosing to go down the blockchain and Web3 route.

#Updates from Esora Ogramira #The Fenrathae Series

[thejinichan]

Love this game..love these boys X3 ..I have died soo many times 0_0’..but keep going back for more.

#cuphead #cuphead and mugman #cup and mug #this game #is my new undertale #falling into a new fandom #be prepared for fan art onslaught #you my followers have been warned #by jinichan

[phis-corner]

demon’s daughter

Uh- this is my first time attempting a multi-chaptered fic, so bear with me. There is no canon. Just saying.

Masterlist [Chapter 1] Chapter 2

Marinette Al Ghul was very, very angry.

Half the League had staged a coup, killing many of the members still loyal to the Demon’s Head. Her mother, Talia, was in a watchtower, rapidly shooting down the helicopters assaulting the compound.

And Ra’s Al Ghul, the Demon’s Head, lay on the floor in front of her, his body horrifically burnt. He was alive, but just. The work of Slade, his trusted right hand man. 

Marinette hurries to Ra’s’ side as her twin draws his sword and attacks the traitor, anger fueling every one of Damian’s attacks.

“I am sorry that I was never good enough, Ra’s, but I am not sorry that you will be dead soon.” She murmurs. Marinette stands up, the rage of the Pit burning inside her. These people want to kill her. Kill her brother. She refuses to let that happen.

She flips open her two steel fans and bares her teeth in a snarl as Slade swings at Damian, who blocks the blow, but the force of it sends him crashing into the building.

Marinette charges the man, fans glinting dangerously in the light. She dodges the first swing and delivers a swift kick to Slade’s stomach, one fan slicing a cut across his right cheek. The second blow is intercepted by her fans. She is pushed back, her slim eleven year old body no match for a full-grown, very well-trained assassin.

Damian joins her and the onslaught of attacks from both of them sends Slade flying across the courtyard.

“So you’re Talia’s little bastards.” He sneers. “Not bad for children, but no match for me.”

“We shall see about that.” Marinette hisses. The Pit rage inside her grows even larger, and she lets the madness control her movements. The steel fans whirl through the air as she flicks her wrists, spinning and kicking, pushing the man back under a balcony.

Damian understands her motive and slices through the support beams with his katana, sending a large amount of wood crashing down on Slade. When the traitor bursts upwards, Marinette feels satisfaction as Damian thrusts his blade into Slade’s right eye.

“And now, your heart.” He snarls. Slade parries Damian’s blow and intercepts Marinette’s swing with his armor, eliciting sparks. 

Three spheres roll to a stop at Marinette’s feet. They spew out black smoke, and the twins reflexively cover their noses with their sleeves as Slade makes his escape.

“I’ll make you two suffer for this. Next time.” Slade’s voice rings all around them as they search blindly through the haze.

The smoke clears in time for them to see Slade being lifted out of the compound by a helicopter, with a man they recognize crouching in it, smirking.

“Ubu.” Damian growls. Marinette puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Do not worry, akhi. We will make him pay.” The helicopter sails away and they follow it out of the building.

Her brother raises his sword. “Come back and finish it, cowards!”

The remaining traitors also throw smoke bombs as they are picked up by the helicopters, leaving the twins in front of a burning building, surrounded by smoke, corpses, and blood.

“Grandfather.” Damian remembers, running back into the burning building. Marinette follows, not about to let her brother go alone anywhere. Not after what just happened.

“Damian!” She hears Talia call. “Marinette! Wait!”

She ignores her mother and charges down the stairs that lead to the Lazarus Pit, then freezes at the bottom. Damian releases a shaky breath by her side as Talia stops behind them.

Ra’s’ burnt corpse lay in front of them, outstretched hand just mere centimeters away from the green water.

Damian walks towards the body, sword falling to the ground.

“Damian.” Talia says. Her brother tries to pick up the corpse, heaving with the strain.

“We have to get him into the Lazarus Pit.” He says desperately. Damian picks up the body, but Marinette runs in front of him, blocking his path, stuffing down the tiny spark of elation at seeing her oldest, and largest tormentor dead.

“Akhi, you know the Pit cannot heal bodies this damaged. Ra’s is gone for good.” Damian sets the corpse back down and bows his head, tears glimmering in his eyes but refusing to fall.

Talia puts a hand on each of their shoulders. “You did your best.”

“I failed.” Her brother says. Marinette lets her hand rest on top of his, offering him silent comfort. We both did.

“We can’t think about that now. We must move.” Talia says. “Damian. Marinette. Come.” 

Marinette stands obediently, but Damian stays a moment longer. “Damian. Now!”

Marinette gently grasps her brother’s wrist and pulls him to his feet, following her mother out of the room.

“...Where are we going?” Damian asks.

“Gotham City.” Talia replies. “It’s time you meet your father.”

.o0o.

The ride to Gotham City is tense. Damian repeatedly polishes his katana, while Marinette continuously opens and closes her fans.

Their father is Bruce Wayne. World’s richest man, known for his work in many charities and for his ‘playboy’ reputation. At night, known as Gotham’s Dark Knight. In other words, their father is Batman.

Talia leaves them on the boat, choosing to track down their father and bring him back herself.

Marinette turns to Damian once she’s sure her mother is gone. “I would like to spar you, akhi. It would be a good outlet for both our feelings right now.”

Damian scans at the space around them. “As much as I want to agree, this space isn’t nearly large enough for a productive spar.”

Marinette huffs. “You are right. I shall meditate instead. The Pit rage has not completely receded yet from the fight.”

“Remind me why Mother wants us to stay behind this curtain again?”

“Officially, it is because she wants to keep us hidden until she is sure he will accept us. Unofficially, I think it is because she would like to seduce him first.” Marinette replies.

Their mother comes back not long after, with the footsteps of a tall man trying to be as silent as possible. Batman.

“Would you like a drink?” Talia asks.

“Last time that didn’t go so well.” A deep voice responds.

“Oh, you’re right. If I remember correctly, I put a little something in your beverage.”

“Same way I remember it.”

Damian and Marinette exchange a look. So this is how they were born.

“It made you romantic.”

“It made me do what you wanted.”

“Was it all bad, Beloved?”

A pause. “...No. It wasn’t.”

Marinette tunes out after that until Talia says “And now this man wants to kill us.” Her heels click closer to the curtain.

“Us?” Batman asks.

“Not you.” Talia replies. “Me.” She draws back the curtain, letting Damian and Marinette step out of the shadows.

“And your children.”

“Children?” Batman says, only the slightest change in tone indicating his surprise. “You expect me to believe this?”

“I assure you, they’re yours.” Talia says easily.

Damian, always the more confident of the two, walks up to their father and eyes him up and down. “Don’t look so stunned, Father. I thought you’d be taller.”

Marinette raises an eyebrow at her twin. “Akhi, he is six feet and four inches tall already. Any taller, and he would be a tree.”

Batman stays silent, choosing to glare? Stare? Do something that Marinette didn’t know because the white lenses hid his eyes and his facial expression doesn’t change.

.o0o.

The boat drives away, leaving Marinette and Damian with their father.

“You didn’t know about us.” Marinette states. 

“No.” Batman is not known for his eloquence.

“So Mother has made us your responsibility.” Damian snarks, but there is an air of seriousness to it.

“Something like that.”

Marinette squeezes her brother’s hand for reassurance. “This isn’t necessary. We can both do fine by ourselves.” 

“So do I. But things have changed. Your mother thinks that the two of you are better off with me for the time being.”

Damian raises an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“Better than with the League of Assassins.” Their father replies.

“They taught us how to fight.” Damian says hotly.

“And I take it, not much else.”

“Actually, Father, that is not true.” Marinette jumps in. “In addition to learning many forms of martial arts and how to wield plenty of weapons, Damian and I are years ahead of a normal curriculum and we are both fluent in twenty languages. We can also play multiple instruments. My brother prefers piano and violin, while I tend to favor woodwinds such as the flute and oboe.”

Batman grunts and presses a button on his belt. The Batmobile opens, and the twins follow their father towards it.

“I’ll drive.” Damian says.

“No.” Their father grumbles.

“I know how.”

“No.”

“Can I drive then?” Marinette asks.

“No!”

Once they’re settled in the car, Batman hits the ‘Call’ button for someone named Alfred.

“Alfred.”

“Yes sir?” The butler has an impeccable British accent, much like Marinette and Damian’s. She can put on an American accent at will, but she preferred the sound of the British one. It was more structurally elegant.

“We’re going to have company. Prepare two rooms.”

“A sleepover? Oh, goody.”

“Actually, we would like to share a room.” Marinette says. “It would make us feel more comfortable.”

“I shall prepare a bunk bed then.”

“We don’t have a bunk bed. Alfred, where-” The call hangs up.

The Batcave is everything Marinette has ever imagined. Dark, yes, but full of state-of-the-art technology, vigilante costumes, and a medbay off to the side. Plus, a lot of bats.

An elderly man greets them when they exit the Batmobile. “Welcome back sir. I presume this is the young man and lady of whom you spoke?”

Damian strides up to the man and tries to stare him down. “Hello, Pennyworth. I’ve heard about you.”

Alfred bows. “At your service, Master Damian and Miss Marinette.”

“Would you prefer it if we called you Alfred, Mister Pennyworth?” Marinette asks.

“If you are comfortable calling me Alfred, then yes, I would prefer it.”

Damian looks around the cave. “Where are the rest of the servants?”

Alred raises an eyebrow. “I am the sum total.”

“You have only one servant?” Her brother says condescendingly to Batman, who looks a little awkward.

Marinette squeezes his hand. “Akhi, do not be rude. Our father was gracious enough to let us stay, although he did not have to. It would be counterproductive to his nightly activities if there were too many people who knew about it.”

“He’s not a servant.” Batman says. “He’s a friend.”

Marinette smiles at Alfred. “Pleasure to meet you, Alfred, friend of the Dark Knight.” She curtsies with perfect posture, the way she was taught, eliciting a smile from the man.

Damian sniffs and walks over to the Batcomputer. “So this is the fabled Batcave. Grandfather told me all about it.” Her brother sits down in the chair, inspecting the computer, then turns around and folds his hands, looking every bit like their grandfather.

“I, too, have heard about this place, but never from Ra’s or Mother. It was Lady Shiva who informed me instead.”

Damian frowns. “It is not your fault that Grandfather was always disappointed in you. He was… biased against women.”

“Ra’s has been disappointed in me since the day I was born. I do not care for his opinion.” Marinette says easily.

She walks up the stairs to the loft with the vigilante costumes and grimaces. “Father, what is the meaning of these atrocities?”

Batman is nonplussed. “What?”

Marinette gestures to the Robin costumes. “This. Why are they colored like a traffic light? What happened to Gotham’s Dark Knight, the epitome of stealth? Why were your proteges such eyesores? What exactly is the function of a bright yellow cape in the city of darkness?”

“This one does not even have pants.” Damian says tiredly. “Why would one fight criminals without pants?”

“Master Dick was a boy when he wore that.” Alfred says. “As for Master Jason and Master Tim, the Robin colors are now tradition. It is a legacy, the mantle being passed from boy to boy.”

“Never very peacefully though.” Damian comments. “The first Robin became Nightwing after a falling out with you, father. The second one took on the mantle not long after, and when he died, the third one, who found out your identity, essentially blackmailed you into taking him on. When the second Robin came back as Red Hood, he attempted to kill the third Robin on multiple occasions, did he not?”

“Akhi! Do you not have any tact? The death of family members is always a sensitive subject!” Marinette hisses, in Icelandic. It is highly unlikely that they will understand it.

“You don’t seem too sad about Grandfather’s death, ukhti.” Damian retorts. 

“Ra’s holds no special place in my heart. He sent me to train with Shiva from birth. You and I may have both grown up fighting, but you were treated like a prince, akhi. I was the lowest of the low. You endured hardships, yes, but you have never died. Nobody dared to kill you in training. I did not have such luxuries.”

“Would you like to see where you’ll be sleeping?” Alfred asks. “It is getting late.”

They follow him out of the Batcave and into the Manor.

“Are the others sleeping?” Marinette inquires.

“Hopefully. Master Dick is returning from Bludhaven tomorrow night. Master Jason currently at the Manor, recovering from some fractured ribs, and Master Timothy will likely be out for another six hours after Master Jason sedated him so he could get a full night’s sleep. Miss Cassandra should be asleep as well, though I think she will now be awake from the sound of our voices and our footsteps.”

“Cassandra Cain, correct?” Marinette says thoughtfully. “Daughter of Lady Shiva, Batgirl. A master at reading body language, capable of beating just about anybody in a fight. I was trained to match her, but my skills are nowhere as precise as hers.”

“Yes. Miss Cassandra is very proficient in reading body language. She knows a lot more than she lets on.” Alfred stops in front of a door.

“This will be your room. You will obviously have free run of the Manor, although I would suggest not going into any of the other bedrooms without the occupant’s permission. The door on your left leads to a bathroom, and the door on the right leads to a game room.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Marinette says, when it is clear that Damian will not be saying anything polite. “If it is alright with you, we would like to be alone now.”

“Of course, Miss Marinette. Goodnight, Miss Marinette, Master Damian.” The door shuts behind him.

Damian immediately gets to work, searching the room for any bugs and finding none. Marinette opens the closet and pulls out two sets of pajamas: one in green and one in lavender. She grabs the lavender ones and lays the green ones out on the bottom bunk for Damian.

“Akhi, I am going to take a quick shower. It has been far too long since the last one.” 

 “I am claiming the bottom bunk, ukhti. I will investigate Ubu’s location while you are gone.”

Marinette heads into the massive bathroom and turns on the shower. Hot water comes streaming down immediately, and she marvels at the sight. Damian, being the heir to the Demon’s Head, would be used to it, of course, but as a female, she was seen as far below his status and was treated as such. She didn’t even know she was an al Ghul until after her first death.

Marinette knows that her twin brother was always treated with much more reverence, resulting in much more confidence and arrogance on his part. Damian has been exposed to the Pit, but he has never been killed. When she returned to Nanda Parbat at age nine, Damian was condescending at best. He did not believe her to be worthy of his time, no matter the blood bond between them. Just like Ra’s al Ghul, the man he was trying to grow up to be.

She changed that when Talia ordered them to spar, with Ra’s as a witness. They traded blows for hours, evenly matched, and it became evident that neither would lose unless the other collapsed from exhaustion. Ra’s decided to end the spar, and Marinette left the room tired and sweaty, but satisfied.

Damian was a lot more willing to talk to her after that, and she finally got to bond with her brother, even if he was rude at times.

Ra’s was not so easy to please. Marinette spent the rest of her time at the compound trying, but he would not acknowledge her no matter what she did. She would never be good enough anyway, so Marinette stopped trying. It wasn’t like she couldn’t take on any assassins he tried to send her way. (She killed six in the year she spent at Nanda Parbat.)

She and Damian bonded fairly easily after that. They never slept in the same quarter, but Marinette requested that they be put in the same room at the Manor for a couple reasons. One, so they could have some familiarity in this new city, and two, so they could plan Ubu’s demise without arousing suspicion.

Marinette stares at the mirror as she dries her hair. Tan skin, littered with lighter scars of all shapes and sizes, not noticeable unless one looked for long. Her eyes are the same shade of blue as her father’s, unlike Damian’s piercing green. Her midnight black hair was chopped short for practicality in combat. She slips on the pajamas and heads out of the bathroom.

Damian is sitting on the bottom bunk, clad in the green pajamas with a laptop on his lap. “I found Ubu’s location. He’s also in Gotham.”

“Good.” Marinette says coldly. “That means we can get him ourselves.”

“I shall make sure he dies a painful death.” 

“Only after we get the information, akhi.” 

That was another difference between them. Damian had no qualms about killing. He saw it as the only way to defeat someone in a fight, unless it was a spar. Marinette, while fully capable of ending a life, hated it. She did not kill unless absolutely necessary, or when the rage of the Pit overtook her, which did not happen almost at all. She had gotten a lot better at controlling the madness.

“Ubu does not plan on moving for quite a while. He is certain that he is safe here. We do not have to make a move tonight.” Damian shuts the laptop. “You should sleep, ukhti. It has been quite a long day.”

Marinette gives him a small smile. “It has been a long day for you too, akhi. We both have to sleep.”

She flips off the lights and climbs up to the top bunk. “Goodnight Damian.”

“Goodnight, Marinette.”

Marinette closes her eyes in the unfamiliar bed and lets the darkness overcome her.

Next

Update: the tag list for this fic is now closed. Everyone who either asked or commented has been put on the list! Thanks for your support! 😊

#maribat #demon's daughter au #what do i tag #my writing

[harrysweasleys]

a place for us // d.m

Summary: I’d like to request a Draco x reader please, she’s the plus one to the golden trio & Malfoy actually has a crush on her since 1st year but never tells her even though she comes from a pureblood family too. In the 6th year she’s the first one who noticed how drastically Malfoy has changed and decided to investigate & that’s how she founds him in the room of requirements and they just bonded, Draco really opens up to her and they meet in secret every night plus a kiss in the end maybe? Thank you

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: dudes i’m so close to 600 followers i love you all. thank you so much for sticking by my work. also so very sorry it’s taking me ages to get around to these requests. writer’s block, ya know? but, enjoy!!!! xoxo 

— —

As you watched Draco pick absentmindedly at his quill during Potions, you knew something was wrong. He had been acting off all year. Maybe he wasn’t a fan of Potions now that Slughorn was the Professor, but this didn’t excuse why he had been sulking the entire first month that school had returned. 

“Y/N?” Harry’s voice caught you out of your trance, causing you to snap your head in his direction with a startled expression. You suddenly became dizzy, needing to blink rapidly to regain control of your head.

“Yeah?” you asked, pretending like you hadn’t just dozed off while staring at Draco for nearly five whole minutes.

Harry raised an eyebrow, “We’re partners for — you weren’t paying attention, were you?” The clear disappointment on his face made you feel awful, but you couldn’t help it. You were intrigued by Draco’s lack of boasting. For five years now, you had spent classes with him where he had spent the entire time bragging about his status and wealth, and now he was just silently sitting at the back of the class, head in his hands and his mind clearly distracted

“I was too,” you snapped back, furrowing your eyebrows and turning to face Ron and Hermione, who were also paired together and beginning to jot down instructions.

“Then,” Harry leaned his elbows on the table and stared you down, “what potion are we making?”

You squinted, trying to think of what you had picked up from the short time you payed attention to Slughorn, “Draught of Living Death?”

Harry groaned, “Lucky guess.”

You grinned, proud of your shot in the dark, and stood up to collect the ingredients, bringing your copy of Advanced Potion Making with you to search the stocked shelves.

As you turned around to go back to your desk, arms filled with ingredients, you nearly crashed into a body.

“Oh, I am so sorry—” you grimaced, wanting to smack yourself over the forehead for being so clumsy. Luckily, you hadn’t dropped any ingredients, but you felt like a fool nonetheless.

Draco smiled softly down at you, “My fault. Didn’t notice your arms were full.” He proceeded to maneuver around you and collect his own ingredients, gently pressing up against your arm as he did so.

You shuddered, choosing not to look back and glance at him before speed walking back to your station, where Harry was preparing the cauldron.

“You alright?” he asked, peering up at you quickly before picking at the ingredients.

You nodded, forcing yourself to continue staring down at the table to avoid looking at the Slytherin boy. Something about him was just incredibly off and despite not really being friends with him, you wanted nothing more than to figure out what was going on in that pale head of his.

When class came to an end, Slughorn deeming yours and Harry’s potion the best one in the class (Hermione scowled at Ron), you waited behind to walk with your friends, who were approaching you slowly after cleaning up their desk.

“Naturally, Ronald,” Hermione scoffed, discreetly rolling her eyes, causing you to chuckle.

“What? I’m just saying!” he argued back, holding his hands up in fake surrender, “If you drank Draught of Living Death as a dead person, you’d return to life! It’s called Living Death. So, of course, Zombie.”

“That’s what was going on in your mind during class?” you couldn’t help the bubbling laughter as the four of you exited the class, turning down the hallway with the crowd, “Charming, really. No wonder Harry and I beat you guys.”

However, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a specific blond head rushing in the opposite direction. It was rather odd, considering your next class — Defence Against the Dark Arts — was also with the Slytherins.

“It’s what’s always going on in my mind, Y/N,” Ron deadpanned, looking over to where you were now staring, “What’re you looking at?

Hermione and Harry had now stopped walking, moving out of the way of the onslaught of students, being careful not to get trampled.

You turned back to face your friends, “I — need to pee, yeah, I need to pee.”

Despite your super unconvincing voice, they nodded at you and Hermione spoke up, “We’ll meet you in Defence class, then.”

“Right, yeah,” you mumbled, waving a quick bye and taking off in the current of students, unfortunately going against the tide as most of them were heading the opposite way.

You cursed yourself for being curious. Dodging students left and right, gripping onto your backpack to avoid having it get knocked off your shoulders, you eventually made your way into the clearing, adjusting your disheveled robes before continuing on.

Looking left and right, you couldn’t find Malfoy anywhere, but you were almost certain he had taken the left corridor. So you did the same. Luckily, you avoided coming in contact with anyone, rushing down and turning the corner.

As you turned, you saw Malfoy’s figure at the end, rounding another corner up ahead. You followed him, keeping your eyes peeled for anything that could give away what he was off to do.

He was by no means a star student, but skipping class wasn’t exactly ‘normal’ for him. In the five years you had known him, you had only noticed him skip class twice and both times were due to Quidditch injuries.

Yes, you had noticed both times he wasn’t there. Not because you wanted him around, but because he usually made his presence very well know, especially around your friends — who he seemed to strongly despise, despite the fact he had never been rude to you.

You continue following him up the stairs and down more empty hallways. You had never seen the school this empty, but that was because you had never decided to take a stroll while you were supposed to be in class.

Finally, after walking for what felt like ten minutes, Draco stopped abruptly and stared at a wall. You ducked, hiding behind a statue, and peered out through the tiny window you had.

He was staring at this blank stone wall, but you knew exactly what it was. You had been there countless times the year before where Harry had held practices for Dumbledore’s Army.

Why Malfoy needed the Room of Requirements was beyond you. He had always managed to get his way with Professor Snape, surely he couldn’t be doing anything proper or good behind those doors.

You watched as he stalked in, careful to double check if anyone was near him before the doors slowly started to vanish.

It was now or never, you thought.

So you bolted.

The doors were barely able to fit you as you squeezed through, the door turning into a wall behind you and disappearing completely. You stayed quiet as you turned around, ready to face a pissed off Malfoy, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The Room of Requirements was completely different from how you had seen it last year. Instead of a wide open space with mirrors and books on Defensive spells, it looked like a storage room.

Chairs, books, desks, anything and everything you could think of, were piled up to the ceiling in rows. The dust was unbelievable — your throat was already beginning to tickle after your first breath.

Not only could you not see Draco, but you could barely see anything with the amount of junk that was in this room. He had probably taken off down one of the rows, but which one, you had no clue.

You decided to head down the furthest right, passing old desks and books along the way. The smell of dust and decay got stronger along the way. You had to keep your eyes on your feet to avoid tripping on scattered objects.

Once you passed an old bookcase, you heard quiet muttering. Draco’s head came into view, along with what appeared to be a triangular cabinet. His head was leaned up against it, muttering silently, his shoulders shaking and his arms lying limp at his side.

“Malfoy?” you whispered, suddenly becoming very much aware that he probably didn’t want you following him.

He spun around, eyes wide. It was hard to tell since he was naturally so pale, but his complexion seemed even more ghostly than usual.

“What are you doing here?” his expression changed from shocked to anger, his hands clenching into fists by his sides.

You stammered, trying to find a reasoning that wouldn’t make you come off as a stalker, “Are you okay?”

That wasn’t exactly smooth, but his face seemed to soften. He looked you up and down, visually calming when he noticed your wand wasn’t in your hand, nor did you show any signs of accusing him of anything.

“Is Potter hiding around the corner?” he hardened again, standing stiff and placing his right hand inside his coat as if ready to grab his wand and defend himself any second.

“No, no, he’s not,” you raised your hands, “I’m alone. I just... sorry I followed you in here.”

He slowly removed his hand from his jacket, letting it fall limp at his side once again. Despite Draco being one of the most intimidating and feared students in the school, not once had he ever made you feel out of place. You figured it was probably because you were a pureblood, and your family did have a decent status in the magical world. He would torment your friends, calling Harry awful names — even going as far as calling Hermione a mudblood.

You should hate him. Everything about what he had done screamed awful, rude, bully, dangerous, but he had always been kinder to you, softer even. And somehow, deep within your heart, you knew you couldn’t hate him.

It was annoying, really. Every time he and Harry were in the same room, tensions would go through the roof. Draco would spit insults at your friend, but turn to you and greet you or bid you a good day like a normal person.

Ron would often rant about their disastrous encounters with him in the common room after everyone was asleep, and you’d sit quietly and offer no input.

One of the moments you realized Draco was nowhere near as bad as he seemed was during the Triwizard Tournament. When Harry was under water — Hermione and Ron having gone missing as well — the notorious Draco Malfoy had comforted you. Had told you everything would be alright. That your friends would be safe.

Really, there was no way you could hate him after that.

“Why did you follow me?” he asked, eyes darting to the ground to avoid eye contact. You were honestly surprised he wasn’t angrier. He had always had a short fuse around most people.

You took a deep breath, unsure of how to word it, “I was, uh, worried.”

His eyes snapped up to you and he scoffed, “You? Worried about me? Right.”

“I am,” you pressed on, “You’re not okay. I can tell. I just thought I’d try and find out what was wrong so I could... help, I guess.”

It wasn’t a lie, per se. You did want to figure out what was wrong, but you weren’t sure how you could be of any help to him.

“Well, thanks, but I don’t need your help,” his voice had more of an edge now, clearly a sign he was becoming fed up with your presence. Maybe it was a mistake following him.

“How do you know? Maybe it’s something I can relate to. We both have a lot of pressure, being purebloods, you know,” you crossed your arms as you spoke, slightly offended by his tone of voice.

He rolled his eyes, “This has nothing to do with you. You wouldn’t understand. I can handle myself.” Although his face was hard, steady, cold, you could tell that his eyes were pleading. Pleading for someone to care, to set him free.

“I can tell you’re lying,” you approached him slightly, trying your best not to seem as if you were cornering him, “Try me. Maybe I’ll understand.”

If you weren’t close to him, you wouldn’t have noticed the way his eyes were watery, becoming red as he clearly fought back his emotions.

“You think you would understand? You think anyone can possibly understand this?” he raised the sleeve of his left arm, revealing a dark tattoo on his forearm, the symbol immediately recognizable.

Your heart dropped to your stomach and you took a step away from him, mind becoming hazy as your eyes were glued to the Dark Mark etched into his pale skin.

“You — you have the mark,” you breathed out slowly. You couldn’t fathom why he’d have it. You knew his parents were Death Eaters — hell, everyone knew that — but why Draco? What could he do while he was still at Hogwarts?

“Yeah, thanks, almost didn’t realize,” he spoke through gritted teeth, rolling his sleeve back down and finally letting his emotions free. A tear slid down his cheek as he faced away from you, frustrated at himself for being so vulnerable around another person.

You were still frozen in your spot. You thought he had maybe been dealing with depression, anxiety, pressure, fear — but never this. You never in a million years thought that he was dealing with the Dark Mark. 

“I’m so sorry,” you found yourself saying the only thing you could think of. It was true, you were sorry for him, but there was nothing that could be done. Once the Mark was on, was there even a way of removing it? It was unheard of, really. Once you pledged your undying fidelity to You Know Who, it was that or death from then on. Thinking of that, you couldn’t blame him for being quiet and distant all term.

You found yourself approaching him even more, feeling thankful he didn’t pull away, and did the only thing you could think of in the moment.

You hugged him.

Your arms wrapped around his waist slowly, noticing immediately how he tensed under your touch. When your arms were fully wrapped around him, you rested your head against his chest, hearing the violent thud of his heartbeat.

“What are you doing?” he asked tensely, his body completely rigid at the strange showing of affection.

“Hugging you,” you replied, voice slightly muffled by his clothing, “You can hug back, y’know.”

He hesitantly raised his arms and draped them around you, not fully hugging you just yet. But as his mind caught up with him, he pulled you even closer to his body, as if all of a sudden, you were the one thing grounding him to reality.

“Do you not like it? I can stop,” you chuckled humourlessly, suddenly feeling embarrassed by your rash movement. If anyone saw you hugging Draco Malfoy, your friends would shun you for life.

He shook his head, “No, no, it’s not that. I’ve just — I don’t get these often.”

Your heart broke for him, “Well, I can give them to you.”

You replaced your arms around him even tighter and he relaxed at your touch, letting his head rest atop of yours. For such a strange encounter moments before, this seemed an oddly intimate way to end up.

“Thank you,” he whispered, arms still wrapped tightly around you. You had to do a double take. You were nearly certain you had never heard him apologize before. Was this what it felt like to be accomplished?

“Don’t thank me,” you muttered, slowly pulling away from him and tugging at the hair that got caught in his buttons, “I just always find hugs make me feel better. Thought I’d give it a shot. And I know I can’t even begin to understand what you’re going through, but I am here. If ever you need anyone. Talking, listening, I’m good at it all.”

He forced a smile, cheeks more flushed with colour, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Even though you had just found out he was now a Death Eater, you didn’t fear him. You didn’t feel like you should be running in the opposite direction and warning Harry and Dumbledore. You didn’t feel like he should be kicked out, expelled or killed. In that moment, he was vulnerable, scared, human. You just wanted to help.

“I should probably head to class before Harry thinks I’ve been attacked,” you tried adding humour, but it didn’t seem to work.

Draco’s frown deepened, “I’m not going to attack you.”

“I know,” you reassured him calmly, regretting your joke, “I just don’t want Harry and Ron and Hermione to come searching. We’ll keep this a secret, yeah?”

He gazed up at you, a light smile on his lips, “Don’t exactly want the world knowing, so yeah. Thank you.”

You nodded curtly, unsure as to how to continue the conversation, “Well, I’ll see you around. Take care of yourself. Please.” You shot him a genuine smile and he returned the gesture, eyes locked on you as you disappeared from sight and out the door.

As you left the room, you let out a deep breath, leaning against the wall and processing what had just happened. Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater. A Death Eater. He wasn’t even old enough to do magic outside of school. Did that mean he had to do his Dark Arts in the school?

You shook your head, not wanting to dwell too much. The more you overthrought the situation, the more you’d be tempted to warn Harry. But you highly doubted Draco’s purpose was to harm Harry when You Know Who wanted to do that himself.

Beginning your speed-walk to class, you really did try to clear your mind. You thought about Quidditch, about your upcoming Transfigurations essay, and even about what topic you guys could be discussing in class, but it seemed nearly impossible considering what had just happened.

You had been so distracted by your own thoughts you hadn’t even noticed you were right in front of the class. You opened the door with a grimace, knowing Snape was bound to be aggravated as hell that you were late.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he scowled, turning all of the attention of the class on you, “Mind explaining why you’re nearly half an hour late to my class?”

Half an hour? Had you really been gone that long.

“Sorry, Professor, wasn’t feeling well,” you lied, raising your hand and placing it on your stomach, “Was thinking of going to the hospital wing but didn’t want to miss the class.”

Snape scoffed, hardly believing your lie, “Thirty points from Gryffindor. Now sit down.”

You nodded, sliding into your usual seat next to Ron, who glanced over at you with a quizzing expression, “Where’d you really run off to?”

Luckily Snape was too busy scolding Neville Longbottom because Ron was not exactly a pro whisperer.

“Just... I wasn’t doing anything. Thought I was onto something but I wasn’t. Just forget about it,” you brushed him off, turning to face the black board and taking down notes, ignoring the confused stare Ron kept sending your way.

You had promised Draco you wouldn’t tell anyone. And besides, he showed no signs of doing anything dangerous just yet. Maybe this made you an accomplice, but you wanted to gauge the severity of the situation before you ran off tattletaling to Dumbledore.

Draco may have new found power, but was he actually going to put it to the test?

You wanted to find out why Draco.

——

For days now, you had actually been meeting up with the Slytherin in secret. Whether it be the Room or Requirements or even the Astronomy Tower during warm evenings, you became someone he felt comfortable around.

And surprisingly, you had become comfortable around him too. If your friends found out, they’d kill you dead, but you were becoming better and better at coming up with lies and excuses as to why you always got back late and where you kept going off too.

You’re pretty sure Harry is suspicious of you, but he’s never shown signs of not trusting you, so that was a good thing. Hermione and Ron were too focused on ignoring each other to pay attention to what you were up to — honestly, a part of you was thankful for it.

The Astronomy Tower was dark as nightfall fell upon it once again, the twinkling stars and bright moon being the only source of light. It was peaceful, really. The only place you could really go to get away from the chaotic environment of the school during the day.

And, yes, it did make it slightly more enjoyable that Draco would accompany you here.

“How’re you feeling?” you asked, the usual question you’d greet him with.

He shrugged, “Same as usual.”

You nodded, looking out over the dark lake, “Remember, I’m always here if you wanna vent.”

He smiled slightly, stepping closer to you and leaning against the railing, “I haven’t forgotten.”

The air surrounding you was tense, yet strangely peaceful. As if you and Draco had slipped into a common ground. Unsure how to address the issues at hand, but very much aware that you were going to be there for him.

“What did you tell your friends you were doing today?” he smirked, knowing how you had started to lie for him.

Rolling your eyes, you turned away from him, “Told them I was going to the Owlery to write to my mum. Don’t know how they believed it.”

“Because they’re idiots,” he scoffed, causing you to turn around and face him with a stern glare.

“Hey, you can’t keep talking about them like that. They’re my best friends,” you defended, crossing your arms to emphasize your point. You cocked an eyebrow as he opened his mouth again, warning him not to call them any other names.

He raised his hands, “Fine. Apologies.”

You uncrossed your arms and rested them on the railing, looking back out over the starlit sky and shadows of mountains. The view from up here was gorgeous. You had the view of the entire castle, as well as the view of the scenery surrounding it.

No matter how many times you looked over Hogwarts, the view never got old.

“It’s stunning, isn’t it?” you asked, looking down to the courtyard, illuminated dimly under the moon.

“Yeah, it is,” Draco said softly. You looked over and noticed his eyes were still on you. Both of your cheeks went pink, turning away immediately and choosing to look at other things.

“I’m scared,” he said softly, pulling you attention back to him, “I think — I know — that the Dark Lord wants me to do something. Something bad; something dangerous. And I — I don’t want to do it.”

You felt your heart sink at the broken expression on his face. You knew that he hated himself for what he had become, he had told you numerous times. But it didn’t change the fact that you really did feel bad for him.

“What is it he wants you to do?” you asked, moving closer to him without even realizing it.

He shook his head, eyes wide, “I — I can’t tell you. It’ll put you in danger.”

Based on the paleness of his face, you knew you shouldn’t push it. After all, being the only one at school who knew he was a Death Eater was already putting you at enough risk. It didn’t help, either, that you were slowly, but surely, falling for the boy in front of you.

“You don’t have to tell me,” you smiled, placing your hand softly over his. You hadn’t realized he was shaking so much, but he relaxed under your touch and let out a deep breath.

“I just—” he sighed, closing his eyes, “—I just don’t want to do it.”

“I don’t blame you,” you moved even closer, placing your other hand on his cold cheek, “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. I wish there was a way I could help.”

He opened his eyes, smiling softly down at you and placing his hand over yours, which was rubbing his cheek lightly, “I wish you could help too. But the last thing I want to do it place you in harm’s way.”

You felt heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks due to the way he was gazing down at you. He seemed to be staring into your soul and it was the most intimate moment you had ever felt.

“I appreciate that,” you whispered, realizing in that moment how close you were, “But I don’t want you in harm’s way either.”

He chuckled dryly, “Kind of late for that. I was practically born in harm’s way.”

Quite suddenly, he pulled away from you, and you only then noticed how warm he was when his distance caused cold air to surround your body. You found yourself missing the closeness, but figured his distance was probably for the best. You could barely fathom telling your friends you were talking to Malfoy — you couldn’t imagine what they’d say if anything were to actually happen.

“I know, I wish you had a choice,” you spoke up, louder this time as he kept his back turned to you, “It’s not fair.”

He shook his head, letting it drop, “It’s not. But —,” his voice trailed off before he turned and faced you, his face set and all softness gone, “I should probably go to bed.”

Your eyes involuntarily widened and you couldn’t help the clear shock on your face, “Wait, did I say something?”

“No,” he replied rather quickly, “I just need to go.” And without saying another word, abruptly rushed down the stairs, his blond head disappearing from view before you could even say another word.

You stayed there, silently in the dark, for another long while. You couldn’t understand why he had taken off so hastily. Was he scared of you? For you? For himself? Did he have a realization? What was it that had rushed him away?

You walked back to the Gryffindor common room with a sulky mood, mind whirling as to what it was that could have caused a drastic, sudden change in his mood. Draco had always been a tough book to read, often leading to him being irrational, but something told you this was more than just his normal actions. You couldn’t exactly blame him for being paranoid — he was dealing with You Know Who — but you couldn’t help wanting to know more.

The common room was quiet as you re entered. Thankfully, you wouldn’t have to deal with your friends’ questions tonight. They could wait for the morning when your head was a little clearer and you could think of better answers.

You stalked up the stairs and into the room, glad that Hermione was snoring away so it was loud enough to cover the sounds of you sliding under your sheets and putting out the lantern next to your bed.

Safe to say, it was hard to sleep that night, your head far away and your body tossing and turning non stop.

You had never been more physically and mentally exhausted as you were the next morning.

——

Somehow, you had managed to go four days without seeing Malfoy. He hadn’t shown up to class, nor to any of the meals in the Great Hall. You were worried, there was no beating around the bush about that. But you still couldn’t express your worries to your friends or they’d think you were insane.

On the fifth day, the dark heavy rain poured down and the dark clouds in the ceiling of the Great Hall during breakfast did nothing to lighten your mood.

You had barely slept these last few night, Draco being the only thing you could think of. Both worried for his safety, and worried for the safety of others, you kept an eye out everywhere you walked to see if you could spot his familiar face.

But he was nowhere to be seen.

To your great distaste, seeing Harry and Ginny finally realize their feelings for each other in the span of these last five days had made your longing for Draco even worse. Yes, your stupid heart had decided to grow feelings for him. And yes, it ticked you off knowing you’d never be able to act on said feelings.

So, seeing Ginny linking her hand with Harry’s as she joined your table for breakfast made your blood boil.

“Morning,” she grinned, pressing a light kiss to Harry’s cheek, Ron grimacing at the affection.

“Bloody hell, can you not do that around me?” he groaned, looking down at his plate with disgust as if seeing the gesture caused him to loose his appetite.

“It’s sweet,” Hermione beamed, closing her book and placing it between you two on the bench, “I think it’s nice.”

Harry and Ginny grinned at her compliment, but it went unnoticed by you as your eyes scanned the Slytherin table once more. Draco’s head usually stuck out like a sore thumb, so you’d see him if he was there.

“Ron, you’re ready for Quidditch practice, yeah?” Harry nodded towards Ron, finishing off his pumpkin juice and standing up, “Let’s get going.”

“It’s raining, mate,” Ron groaned, about to stuff the last bit of toast in his mouth.

Harry shrugged, “Thanks for pointing out the weather, let’s go.”

Hermione giggled as Ron begrudgingly stood up and followed Harry out of the Great Hall. As you watched them leave, your eyes following them to the door, your heart leapt out of your chest.

Draco was standing in the doorway, looking like right hell. His face was ghostly, his eyes sunken in and dark and his hair matted to his head.

You stood up, nearly knocking Hermione over with the force of your movement. But as you looked over at him, Hermione seemed to vanish from your view.

“Gotta go,” you said to the two girls, striding towards the entrance. Draco must have seen you, because he took off in the opposite direction, his pace picking up once he noticed you following him.

“Oi, Draco, slow your roll,” you shouted, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. You hadn’t expected him to actually stop, causing you to crash into his back and nearly stumble over.

“Sorry about that,” you mumbled, regaining your balance and hiding the flush on your cheeks. He didn’t move, so you turned around to face him, holding back a gasp when you noticed the state he was in.

“Draco, what happened?” your voice was soft, reassuring. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel like you were judging him.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, looking down to his feet, “I’m fine.”

Scoffing, you raised a hand to his cheek and placed it against his skin lightly, “You can open up to me, remember?”

He leaned into your touch, eyes closing, “I’m sorry. I just — I needed to stay away.” He shuddered as he spoke. You could tell he was trying to be as open and honest as he could without giving too much away.

“From me?” you asked, stepping closer to him and pulling him behind a pillar so you couldn’t be seen by passing students.

He nodded, “I don’t want to put you in danger if I can help it. I’m — I like your company.”

“I like your company too,” you smiled softly, “Which is why it sucked when I couldn’t find you.”

“No, like — never mind,” he waved his hands, brushing you off, “It’s pathetic.”

“Wait, no, you need to be open with me,” you pointed a finger at him, a grin forming on your lips at the redness growing on his cheeks, “What is it?”

He fidgeted in his spot, avoiding your gaze before speaking so softly you almost missed it, “I actually like you. Like, like you. Since first year, actually. And I opened up to you. And then I realized I was putting you, the one person I care about, in danger.”

You stared at him, mouth agape and face drained of colour. Had he just said he likes you? Draco Malfoy likes you? You had always had a soft spot for him — even though you shouldn’t have had one — but you never imagined he felt the same to this extent. It slowly started to make sense; why he was always kinder to you, why he felt the need to open up to you, why he wanted to distance himself after doing so.

The redness on his cheeks grew, and you could feel the heat flooding into your own. For some reason, just the knowledge of his crush had your heart fluttering away because you couldn’t deny — you had one too.

“Well, that’s good to know,” you stepped closer, “I like you too.”

His head shot up, eyes nearly bulging out of his head, “You — you do?”

“Yes,” you said, more seriously this time, “And now that my little secret is out there, you need to start taking care of yourself. I know this is scary and you don’t know what’s going on, but take care of yourself. Please. For me.”

He seemed to ponder on your words, moving closer to you, “Promise. I will.”

Almost as if your presence had done something to him, the colour seemed to have flooded back into his face and his eyes seemed to spark life once more. You grinned, pleased at your affect on him, and wrapped your arms around him.

He leaned into the hug this time, less awkward and unsure. His head nestled into your neck and his hands gripped your waist firmly, the affectionate gesture being a source of comfort to both of you.

You pulled away after a long moment, grinning like an idiot and trying your best to hide it, “I’m really proud of you for opening up, y’know? It can’t be easy and I—,”

Your rambling was cut off by his lips forcefully pressing up against yours. You were too caught off guard to kiss back, standing there stiff as a board with your mind racing to catch up to his actions. He noticed your stiffness, causing him to immediately pull away and stare at you with panic in his eyes.

“I am so sorry, I don’t know why I did that,” he ran his hand down his face, pale as ever and the panic in his eyes growing more by the second, “Forgive me, it was heat of the moment.”

“Stop rambling,” your mind finally caught up with you to the point where you could process what just happened, “Kiss me again.”

He placed his hands softly on either sides of your head and pressed his lips softly against yours. Tingles shot through your entire body at his touch, your heart being sent into overdrive as fireworks erupted in your belly.

His kiss was soft but passionate and needy. You could tell he was desperate to cling to you as much as he could, his body pressed up against yours and holding you flush to him. His body was relaxed — this was probably the least stressed he had ever been around you.

Your hands went into his hair, his delicate kiss still sending your mind into a frenzy, even after he had pulled away and rested his forehead against yours.

“That was — that was —” Draco’s breathing was a little off as he chuckled, eyes staring into yours with a whole new level of adoration.

“Yeah,” you grinned, pulling your forehead away from his to look at him properly. His eyes were wide and he couldn’t fight his smile.

From that moment on, you didn’t leave his side. You met in the Astronomy Tower nearly every single night — it was a place just for the two of you. He confided in you about his feelings, his fears, worries, dreams. Anything that was going on in his mind, he told you about it.

And he loved you.

He felt like the didn’t deserve your kindness, your open heart, but he welcomed it and accepted every moment, feeling the least alone he had ever felt before.

You, on the other hand, managed to keep your time with Draco a secret from your friends for a long time. They had become suspicious, yes, but you managed to throw them off your scent and make up a storyline of what exactly was going on.

And you knew bigger things were to come. Wars, fights, probably even death. But you were going to keep your promise and stick by his side until the very end.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy one shots #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fics #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy reader insert

[seacottons]

The Art of Mischief

pairing: wooyoung x reader

genre: disgusting fluff. absolutely disgusting

wc: 4k ( idk how that happened )

warnings: some foul language

five times wooyoung pranks you for his annoying tiktok videos, and the one time you pay him back.

“Baby, I’m home!”

You were greeted with the sound of oil sizzling, and the smell of spices and meat as you stepped into your shared home with your boyfriend.

You bounced happily into the kitchen, sock feet thudding gently onto the wooden floor boards as you made yourself over to where your lover was stirring a pot of stew. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you tucked your chin onto his shoulder and stood onto the tips of your toes to glance down at the concoction he was preparing.

“What’chya making, Woo Bear?” Your grip around him tightened as you beamed, nose grazing the shell of his ear. You blinked as you peered expectantly at the silent, black haired male. His airpods nestled comfortably in his ears, dark eyes trained expertly at the meat and onions over the stove. He made no move or sound to acknowledge your presence, “Babe?”

Releasing your hold around him, you stood by his side, hip bumping into his playfully as you carefully tucked your head down and over the pans to catch his gaze. Suddenly, the ingredient list of the spice mix bottle became so damn interesting, as he examined it with a piercing gaze. The naive smile on your face drooped.

You wondered if San gave him something strange to smoke today.

Blinking in confusion, you tried again, voice softer this time.

With a wave of your hand in front of his face, you were sure he would snap out of whatever spell he was under, “Woo Bear? Hello?” He turned his back to you and grabbed a pair of silicone tongs to flip the slabs of beef, head bobbing to the sound of music playing in his ears, “Love, what’s wrong? Are you mad at me?”

You leaned towards him, brows shooting up in worry as his eyes drifted from the meat to the soup, hands working to lower the heat under the two, all the while ignorant to your presence. You shook his shoulder rather forcefully.

Your patience wore thin at this point. This was very out of character for Wooyoung. Where was the ceaseless teasing and the loud howls of laughter?

He even had the audacity to whistle whilst ladling a small amount of the kimchi stew he was brewing to give it a taste. This fucker.

Your hand flew to give his ass a loud slap as you croaked out in disbelief, “Jung Wooyoung, why are you ignoring me!?”

If your actions and words had any effect on him at all, he made no sign of it, and instead decided it will be a good time to season the soup with more salt. Giving it another taste test, you watched with a suspicious glare from his right as he slurped the soup quite noisily. You stepped closer, frame flush against his side as you leaned your face to silently squint at him, the tip of your nose just barely grazing the side of his jaw as you made sure to huff to showcase your anger. His brown orbs flickered to the right, and his jaw tightened in an attempt to contain his giggle. The muscles in his face strained as he pursed his lips harshly, breath hitching in his throat as you practically glued your face onto his own.

Wooyoung choked. He threw his head to the left, a mixture of a snort and cackle escaping his throat. You eyed him suspiciously as he hunched forward, hand gripping the edge of the countertop as he practically wheezed at your fuming face, “What’s going on-“

Your jumbled thoughts came to an abrupt halt, brows quirking up in curiosity as he pointed to one of the shelves behind you. Your eyes met the sight of his phone safely tucked against a few cans, camera facing you. Your lips pressed into a thin line as you gazed at him in unamusement, rolling your eyes as you playfully smacked him with the nearest hand towel, “That’s not funny. I was really worried you were mad at me, you bum,” you pouted against his lips as he held onto your frame whilst pressing numerous apologetic pecks onto your face.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but try that one on you,” he uttered against your skin, “You’re so cute when you’re worried.”

Golden beams of sunlight streamed through the thin white curtains of your room, the faint sound of birds chirping and cars honking waking you from slumber. Nestling further into Wooyoung’s hold, you buried your face into the crook of his neck, leg thrown onto his side as you clung onto him groggily. Pressing a soft kiss against the expanse of his neck, you mumbled a raspy ‘good morning’, lids fluttering open just a fraction before quickly fluttering back shut.

An extra half hour of sleep won’t hurt, seeing as Wooyoung wasn’t even awake yet. You adjusted your position, bed sheets rustling gently as you clung onto the male.

A dreamy smile found itself onto your features as you instinctively gripped onto him tighter, your breath fanning out against the shell of his ear.

Since when did Wooyoung go blonde?

Your puffy eyes fluttered open to gaze at the blonde strands tickling your nose, head lifting up in confusion. You swore he had black hair last ni-

You froze in dumbfounded disbelief at the sight of San underneath your frame.

Seconds ticked by, and your head tilted in confusion whilst also leaning forward, silently doubting your eyesight for a moment.

Why was San in your house?

Why was San in your bed?

Why was Wooyoung not in your bed?

It takes a few seconds for you to fully process the sight,the reels in your mind slowly churning after a long pause.

A pair of innocent brown eyes met your gaze, “Good morning?”

You threw yourself off of him with uncalculated movements that left you struggling with the the confines of the comforter, your bum thudding hard onto the carpeted floor as you emitted a wail of shock. Your hands slammed against your frame instinctively, shoulders sagging and lips parting to emit a sigh of relief at the feeling of clothes. You shot up and grabbed the unsuspecting San by the collar of his shirt, tugging him forward and demanding to know what on earth he was doing in your bed of all places this early in the morning. He squawked in astonishment, face contorting with fear and worry whilst pressing his palms against your shoulders in a failed attempt to keep you at bay.

“(Y/n)! Calm down- it was Wooyoung’s idea! I swear, I didn’t do anything—”

Your head shot up, and ironically enough, the first thing to catch your gaze was Wooyoung’s phone blatantly placed onto the middle of your dresser, the culprit weakly wheezing against the doorframe of your room, pained eyes glazing with unshed tears and visage a bright red from his silent and uncontrollable laughter.

“Baby- I’m sorry!” his eyes widened while watching you grab onto one of the pillows, weakly attempting to scoot back out of the room.

“Jung Wooyoung, you rat, you’re dead!”

“Baby!” you called out happily while slipping into a comfortable pair of slippers as you screeched into the hallway of your home, “I got you the strawberry croissants you were craving last night!” You peeked your head into your bedroom, eyes searching for the black haired male, “Baby?”

You paused as you heard the sound of running water and Wooyoung’s singing emitting from the bathroom. Knocking on the door, you cupped your mouth and leaned against the wooden frame, “Baby, I’m home! Don’t take too long!”

You giggled as he continued to belt out high notes as he showered, and you shook your head while making your way over to the kitchen to brew a batch of coffee to go along with the pastries you bought. A chime from your phone caught your attention. Absentmindedly digging through the cabinets, your actions came to an abrupt halt as you noticed a message from Wooyoung himself.

‘Baby! I’ll be home soon. Might stop to get us take-out~’

You quirked a brow, glancing at the time the message was sent.

Peering at the clock against the wall and back to your phone, your mind spun in an attempt to find a clear and rational explanation. You texted him back in confusion, the sound of his singing still audible from the kitchen.

‘I’m home? Aren’t you in the shower?’

You paused minutes after you loaded the coffee machine with water and coffee grinds to check on your phone, lips pursing in annoyance at the lack of response from your lover.

The scent of coffee wafted through the kitchen and the soft click of a door handle caught your attention, your heart practically skipping a beat in wonder.

Who was that?

You took tentative steps to peek at down the corridor, visibly taken aback at the sight of your boyfriend, “Hey, babe! I grabbed some chicken pasta and-“

“Wooyoung!?”

He gave you a quizzical look at the sudden volume. Walking over to you with a wary expression, he prodded your nose and shot you a grin, “The one and only. Want an autograph, babe?”

“If you’re here, then who’s in the shower?”

“What?”

“Someone’s in our bathroom! Who did you let in!?”

“What are you talking about, baby?”

You feel an onslaught of a headache starting. Why must your days always be this chaotic?

You rushed towards the bathroom with heavy thuds, the pads of your finger working hastily to unlock the knob with the lock pick you kept above the door frame. Swinging the door open roughly, your hands immediately grabbed the closest weapon— Wooyoung’s frilled toothbrush–, your eyes narrowing in suspicion at the shower stall, arms extended and ready to aim.

You were met with an empty bathroom.

You glanced at the shower stall— dry and without a speck of water. The sound of running shower head and Wooyoung’s angelic singing blasted out from a small, portable speaker.

Of course.

Of-fucking-course.

The sound of laughter behind you ceased your train of thought, and you peered back in disbelief as you grabbed the device, rushing back to your amused boyfriend, who had the time of his life nearly choking with laughter. You shoved the device into his face in accusation, and your eyes darted frantically to find sight of the—

The video camera San lets him borrow sometimes, sitting innocently in the corner of the living room.

You should have expected it from this persistent fucker.

“You’re unbelievable, Jung Wooyoung!”

Wooyoung begged and insisted on you joining him on his Instagram live where he promised his online fans a mukbang and session of him answering questions.

You complied as long as you didn’t have to appear on camera, as you preferred to eat without the eyes of many watching your every move.

Peering through his round spectacles at the phone facing him, Wooyoung’s brows raised in curiosity as he read through the many comments rolling past the screen. His messy locks framed his chiseled face, cheeks puffing slightly as he chewed on the kimbap he picked up from a nearby restaurant. Your hands appeared on screen as you reached down to grab at a piece from his side of the table, happily munching on the roasted vegetables and eyeing him with endearment as he squints at the screen of his phone, “Are you planning on adopting any pets soon?” he reads after swallowing. Clearing his throat, he swirled his spoon in the bowl of miso soup, eyes flickering up to glance behind his phone to meet your curious gaze with a flirtatious wiggle of his brows, “Why would I? I already have (y/n)?”

The piece of pickled radish nearly dipped down your throat wholly.

“Wooyoung!” you cried in disbelief, nearly dropping the kimbap in the shallow dish of soy sauce. You sent a swift kick to his thigh from underneath the table, a loud cry leaving his lips as his hands immediately flew to wrap around your ankle, tugging up your sock covered foot to showcase it to the viewers.

“It’s not nice to kick your boyfriend, (y/n),” Wooyoung shot you a mischievous grin, brows wriggling teasingly. You grumbled underneath your breath, and he cackled and reached over the tray of food to pinch your cheek whilst cooing obnoxiously loud, “Don’t be mad!” Rolling your eyes, you pecked the inside of his wrist before you retracted his hand away from your face to sip on your warm soup. Wooyoung leaned towards his phone with a large grin plastered onto his features “(Y/n), my cupcake. What did the soup bowl say to the other?”

“What?”

“You make miso happy.”

“That was horrible, Woo,” you mumbled, a failed attempt at hiding your face with a piece of seaweed.

“It made you smile,” he shot back, an infectious grin taking over his features. Standing up, he stretched his arms out before walking over to the kitchen, “I’ll be back! What drink do you want, babe?”

“Just water, please.”

You paused mid-bite as the lights of the living room flickered twice. You glanced outside to check the weather, brows quirking up in confusion at the sight of the clear night sky.

The lights flickered rapidly just before Wooyoung walked back with soft, padded thuds.

“Is this one of your pranks?” you grumbled, eyeing him cautiously as he settled the cup in front of you.

He appeared taken aback, jaw slackening as he quickly defended himself, “What? The water? I swear I didn’t put anything in it!”

“No, the lights-“ As if on cue, the lights of the living room and hall flickered repeatedly, “Oh-.. I guess that wasn’t you. We should get them checked out later.”

Well, that was quite odd.

“They were working perfectly fine all day, though,” Wooyoung mused, his phone catching his attention suddenly, “You guys think it’s probably a ghost? Yeah, could be.”

You scoffed at the ridiculous comment, heart beginning to race rapidly, “Ghosts aren’t real.”

Wooyoung pounded his fists onto the coffee table, the soy sauce and soup rippling upon impact, before he raised his chin and bellowed loudly, “Hey, ghost! Make the lights flicker three times!”

“Wooy-“

One. Two. Three.

You feel a part of your soul leave your body, your voice meek as you spoke, expression pleading for an explanation, “That was merely a coincidence..” you drawled out unconvincingly.

“You try, then,” he chimed, leaning forward with a taunting smile.

“Absolutely not.”

“Let the lights flicker twice on the count of three! One..”

“Wooyoung, stop. This is silly.”

“Two,” he gestured for you to continue.

Sighing at his playful antics, you rested your chin atop your palm as you pouted at the ebony haired male, “Three. Now can we..” your voice trailed off as the lights flickered twice more. The smile on your face instantly fell and you gave Wooyoung a wary glance, eyes widening comically, to which he guffawed in response.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he squawked, hands reaching up to adjust his red hoodie. His eyes glimmered with mischief, “Don't tell me you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared!” you cried incredulously.

“What if the ghost turned of all of the lights in the house?”

The live video suddenly darkened as all of the lights in the house flickered off. The sound of your wail in the darkness and Wooyoung’s laughter rung out, and his phone was the only source of illumination within your dark house. You quickly dropped your chopsticks to crawl from the other side of the table to latch onto your giggling boyfriend, “This isn’t a laughing matter!”

“Baby, why are you shaking?” He cooed, pressing a kiss onto your cheek, “Dont worry, I’ll fight the ghos-“

“Don’t say that word!”

“(Y/n), but you’re always so feisty. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a silly little ghost?”

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, brows furrowed, “You provoked it! Now shut up and protect me.”

“Babe, it’s okay- I promise-”

You both startled when the lights flashed on, your breath hitching in your throat as you whined fearfully, “Wooyoung, our house is haunted.”

“Can I come out now? You promised me you’ll save some kimbap for me!” a voice suddenly chimed in.

You stilled, head peeking up from Wooyoung’s neck to look over his shoulder where a grouchy Yeosang walked out of the laundry room. You shot him a confused glance, eyes then darting to your boyfriend, who couldn’t help but shake with poorly contained laughter, “See, babe? Ghosts aren’t real. Yeosang was just playing with the electrical panel.”

“You fucking little-”

Swiftly tugging the hood up on his head, your fists clutched the drawstrings and pulled down so roughly that his spectacles flew into the air. Only his nose peeped out of the small hole as he cried in surprise. His arms flew to clutch at your wrists, tugging you down with him and out of frame from the camera, his cackles still audible through the thick fabric as he wrestled you down near Yeosang’s feet. The blonde merely stepped over the both of you, making his way over to Wooyoung’s spot to munch on the rest of the food, ignorant to Wooyoung’s pleas and cries of help as you managed to place him into a headlock.

“Let me move so your viewers can enjoy watching you get your ass handed to you,” mumbled the blonde as he glanced back at the commotion, cheeks round with food.

Wooyoung adored your baking skills as much as he adored you. He would constantly beg you to make his favorite pastries and insist he must have yours because the bakeries don’t have the special ingredient that is your love, babe.

Humming quietly to yourself as you peeked through the glass of the oven, you added another minute to the timer just as Wooyoung’s two friends entered the kitchen, loud boisterous laughter drowning out the soft music playing in the background.

“Thanks for inviting us, (y/n)!” Mingi ruffled your hair with a large grin plastered on his face. He jutted his thumb behind him to Yunho, who stood with a gentle smile on his face, “Your cookies are the best.”

“Our cookies!” Wooyoung yelped, “I helped too, y’know!”

“Wooyoung challenged us to a cookie eating contest, so I hope you made enough this time,” Mingi snorted as he peered back at the pouting male.

“I won three times in a row,” Yunho added smugly, “Your tiny man is going down, (y/n).”

“Oh great, that’ll be fun to watch,” you smiled as Wooyoung cried indignantly from where he was preparing the table with glasses of milk and a timer.

“(Y/n)! I thought you’ll cheer me on,” he feigned a hurt expression, arms reaching out to tug you flush against his chest.

“I will, as long as you don’t vomit this time.”

Wooyoung spluttered at the remark.

“Or choke on your milk,” Mingi added, earning him a glare from the smaller male.

You gently pried him off to check on the cookies, removing the two trays and placing them onto the countertop to cool, “You can have those batches. I have two more to bake, so it’s fine. Just don’t throw up like last time,” you warned as you shook your mittens threateningly.

Whilst waiting for the last two trays to bake, you put away the ingredients back into their respective spots, glancing every now and then back at the trio who settled onto the table with a camera facing them as they argued amongst each other who the victor will be.

A sudden, shrill shriek startled you, the bag of chocolate chips falling out of your hands in surprise. You swiftly turned around at the sound of your boyfriend’s wails, hurriedly rushing over to see what the matter was, only to yelp at the sight of a bloody hand and a tooth laying in his palm.

“(Y/n), are these chocolate chips made out of rocks?” Mingi asked in astonishment as you panicked, your hands scrambling for a kitchen towel.

“Wooyoung! What the fuck!” you cried out in shock, fingers clutching his face whilst ordering him to remove his hand from his mouth, “Baby- open up, let me see! You need to stop the bleeding!”

“Wait, does this mean the game is paused?” Yunho piped from behind you, ignorant to your frazzled state of mind. You had the urge to smack the two over their heads as you growled back at them with such ferocity it made them pale slightly, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Forget the cookies and help me!” you barked before you kicked the legs of Yunho’s chair before turning back to your boyfriend, whose scrunched face was still hidden behind his hand, “Wooyoung! Open your mouth!”

The anguish vanished from his face within a flash, and the hard lines softened as he flickered his eyes up to you, hand peering away to reveal a perfectly clean smile, “Gotcha, again, sweetcheeks.”

You gaped, your last braincell struggling to process the stunt this little fucker just pulled.

The other two snorted in laughter at your flabbergasted expression, before hastily clamping their mouths shut as you tugged on his ear dragging him to the side slightly, “You’re sleeping outside tonight, you asshole!”

“You didn’t!”

“I did.”

“I’m the luckiest boyfriend in the world, I-” he rambled through the speaker of your phone as you put away the last of the laundry, “(Y/n), babe- seriously, you’re the best. Fuck- I love, love, love you.”

“I love you too. Now hurry home or else I’ll give the tickets to Yeosang and San,” you laughed at the angered cry that left his lips.

You were lounging on the sofa when you heard the familiar sound of keys jingling and door slamming open. The peaceful atmosphere was bombarded with the sound of heavy footsteps and wails of excitement from the ebony haired male who swooped you into a bone crushing hug and attacked your face with fleeting kisses. You chuckled at his antics, hands gently prying his face off of your own so you can meet his gaze, “How’d you end up snagging them, baby? I thought they were all sold out.”

“I know a friend,” you leaned forward to peck his lips, “Check underneath your pillow.”

A second later you were left alone in the living room. You trudged after him with a mischievous smile, peeking your head in just in time to see his shoulders deflate, a crestfallen expression finding its way onto his features. He picked up the two scraps of badly cut paper, turning them over to examine them.

‘You’re being recorded!’ one read.

He pursed his lips, eyes catching sight of your propped phone on your dresser as he released a soft laugh, struggling to keep a smile on his features, “Ah, I get it. This is for all the times I’ve pranked you, huh?”

“Yup,” you chimed, arms crossed as you made yourself over to where he sat on the edge of the bed dejectedly, “I don’t mind your pranks, y’know? It’s your charm I fell for after all, but I just need you to tone it down sometime. And no more pranks involving you getting hurt!”

“I’m sorry,” his lips were drawn into a subtle pout as he traced circles with his feet onto the wooden floorboard, “I deserved this, I know. It’s okay. I’ll try and tone it down, though, baby. You’re just so fun to tease.”

“You are too, cutie,” you reached behind you to grab at something in your pocket, before swatting his nose with the object. He startled at the contact, eyes bulging as he stared down at your hand.

“Are those...”

“VIP tickets to see BTS, yes. Only if you promise to stop—“

“(Y/n!)”

You were interrupted by a sudden screech and a flash of blue tackling you down onto the bed, your words muffled against a pair of plush lips. Your shared laughter rung through the halls of your home as you struggled to keep an overly excited Wooyoung at bay, his lips persistently pressing onto every inch of skin of yours on display.

#ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez fic #yeosang imagines #wooyoung imagines #seonghwa imagines #hongjoong imagines #wooyoung x reader #choi san imagines #choi san scenarios #wooyoung scenarios #yeosang scenarios #hongjoong scenarios #mingi imagines #seonghwa scenarios #mingi scenarios #yunho imagines #yunho scenarios #jongho imagines #jongho scenarios #mingi x reader #yunho x reader #choi san x reader

[the-working-class-guide-to-films]

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings

This is the second film in Marvel’s phase 4 films after the events of Avengers:Endgame. I’m slowly preparing myself for the onslaught of Marvel movies that will take place in the next four months, The Eternals in November and Spider-Man in December. I went in with low expectations, this is a character I know little about, in a franchise that I have no real love for. I was pleasantly surprised just how much I enjoyed this, not without flaws, but still a very good movie Marvel film that has got me a little excited about the new phase.

Shaun and his best friend, Katy, are going through life together, plodding along, not making the most of anything. On a bus ride home, assassins come for Shaun and his mothers pendant that he is always wears. An epic fight takes place and Shaun reveals himself to Katy as Shang-Chi, son of Xu Wenwu, leader of The Ten Rings. The pair of them travel to China to warn his sister about their father. The closer he gets to home, the more we learn about him and his past.

What stood out the most for me was the action. I’ve become disillusioned with the action in these comic book movies. They’re all the same, not spectacular. Shang-Chi is spectacular. There is clearly a lot of inspiration from other Asian martial arts films such as Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and The Raid franchise. It’s great to watch, not many cuts, but just good fighting scenes. That was refreshing. I thought the first two thirds were really good, there was little alien involvement, again something I dislike. I like my villains to be human, to be flawed but real. Not just some alien that wants to take over the world. Shang-Chi seemed to be going down this route and that was enjoyable. Despite my lack of excitement for Marvel films, I have seen them all. I try to think after the movie, if I hadn’t watched any of the previous films, would I get the reference, would I still have understood what was going on. I’d say yes for Shang-Chi, there is a character who pops up from Iron Man 3 that I was surprised to see, who does become the comic relief, but it’s explained fairly well in the film to catch you up to speed if you hadn’t seen it. I was also a big fan of the use of flashbacks, this film felt more character driven than other Marvel films and this was something that took me by surprise.

As good as the first two thirds were, the last third did feel a little repetivite of past Marvel movies. It suddenly became an alien villain and that was disappointing as the initial villain was interesting enough. The visual effects were still impressive, but it just seemed a bit rushed, like they couldn’t think of an ending so they just decided to have this other-worldly being that, you guessed it, wanted to destroy the world. Whilst there were some good performances, mainly from Awkwafina, Michelle Yeoh and Tony Leung, I wasn’t that interested in the lead, Simu Liu. His character tried to be both jokey and serious and to me that was slightly jarring. Perhaps they just need to figure out what this character will be. Be one or the other, I don’t think both really work. 

4/5 As Marvel movies go, this was one that I was impressed by. The fighting was by far the best from Marvel that I can remember. There were flaws, but it was ultimately very enjoyable.

#film #Film Review #movies #movie review #cinema #cinema review #new #shang-chi and the legend of the ten rings #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #asian cinema #Disney #simu liu #awkwafina #michelle yeoh #tony leung

[talltales]

                                                           anonymous request!!

it starts with a notification.

norasdad has shared a playlist with you. click here to listen!

no message attached.

her thumb hovers over the glaringly green button situated at the center of the email, circling as she frowns at the screen and sips on coffee long gone cold. usually such things came with context—i thought you’d like this. that artist you like has a new album out!

something.

“why are you glaring at your phone?” comes a disembodied, muffled voice from her bed, from beneath layers of blankets. heating in the old dorms had always been spotty at best; you had to stand exactly three feet to the left of the bathroom door to feel anything resembling warmth, “your grades already in?”

she huffs, “no, i just turned everything in last night. and is that the kind of faith you have in me?”

a face finally peeks out of the mound atop her bed, all messed hair and bleary eyes. “if you didn’t have me to come and wake you up every morning, you would’ve flunked out for attendance issues in the first week.”

“ass.”

bambam laughs, and the melodious sound is just enough to ease the tension building behind her temples, “so,” he says, and she blinks a time or two before she glances down at the flagged message still sitting open on her screen.

“someone just sent me a playlist, that’s all. i’m overthinking it.”

not that deep.

from the corner of her eye, she catches him pausing; witnesses the look of unguarded comprehension that disappears as quickly as it comes. at first, she thinks it might be something as innocuous as empathy—

then he hides the lower half of his face behind the covers and she catches a glimpse of a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

her eye twitches, “you—come here.“

“me?” he echoes, scrambling backward as she moves toward the bed. his ankle catches in the cocoon of blankets, however, and he topples right off the edge with a heavy thump.

“ow. damn.”

dissatisfied with his escape, she reaches blindly into the mess and hauls him up by the collar, “what are you hiding? what do you know?”

he appears to contemplate what he'll say, taking long enough that she’s halfway through a list of simple but effective ways to get her answers when he finally speaks.

“i know that… playlists are the modern day mixtapes, right? love confessions, like—” bambam gives her a positively shit-eating grin and wiggles out of her grasp, “you should probably open it. maybe someone’s got it bad for you.”

and before she can think—let alone say—much else, he makes for the door and scoops his backpack up on the way out, “see ya!”

the door shuts quietly behind him, and she’s left alone with her own thoughts.

a modern day mixtape, huh.

—

at first, she ignores the message because the thought of opening it makes her stomach do some weird flipping thing that’s more off-putting than exciting.

who would be interested in her like that, anyways?

but eventually, the playlist—and all that it might entail—slips to the back of her mind as she falls headfirst into work at the end of the semester and anxiously waiting for news on the state of her GPA. she’s finishing her second cup of coffee and staring a hole through her phone when she hears a voice speaking beyond the fog, “…alright?”

“what?”

“are you alright?”

the man standing at her side is still and familiar, blocking the onslaught of a sun that is much higher in the sky than she remembered it being a moment ago, “jaebeom?”

“that’s my name,” he smiles, with a short gesture to the chair opposite her. it takes an embarrassingly long moment to register what he means to ask, but she nods and manages to wrangle the piles of papers cluttering the table into a haphazard stack.

“i’m sorry, of course. make yourself comfortable.”

just a second later, he eyes the mass of documents she’s cramming into her bag and winces. “did i interrupt you? i can—” already, he’s making to leave and instinct has her reaching to grasp his hand.

she only catches the tips of his fingers, but it’s enough to stop him short.

“the only thing you interrupted was my latest existential crisis. no worries.”

jaebeom makes a sound that could be a sigh or a chuckle—maybe a little of both—before he slumps back into the seat and shakes his head, “that sounds even more concerning.”

she shrugs and gives up on making the folders fit back into her bag. instead, she moves to drain the last dregs of her coffee from her cup, “it’ll pass. then i’ll be back to my everyday anxiety.”

if he’s put off by the topic, jaebeom doesn’t show it. instead, he leans forward and plants his chin in his palm—regarding her with something that can only be considered as open curiosity, “so what do you do? to deal with that?”

this time, any cognitive delay—she thinks—is because it’s an odd question.

“what do you mean?”

unfazed, he taps his fingers against his cheek and she makes absent-minded note of the distinct structure of his face. im jaebeom is unreasonably attractive.

and why is she thinking like that? stop. stop.

“i’m asking how you cope. do you listen to music?”

the reason for his curiosity clicks and she hums, amused, “are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

her question's effect is immediate. his hands raise in a gesture of surrender, playful and earnest all at once, “i swear i’m not. i just noticed that you usually have headphones on. really, it was surprising that you didn’t today.”

oh.

had he tried to talk to her before? the thought is enough to summon a wave of guilt that she isn’t prepared for, and she finds herself bowing her head; fingers curling around her empty cup, “i’m sorry.“

“what for?”

her lips part to offer an answer, though some logical part of her mind warns her against it—overthinking, again—but finds everything skidding to a stop with a soft touch to her chin, nudging it up until her focus is trained on the man opposite her.

he speaks gently, but firmly, “whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

though he seems to catch himself and pulls his hand back; settles it palm down on the old cafe table, “sorry.”

the warmth of his touch lingers.

“i think,” she takes a moment to gather her thoughts; to test the words out on her tongue before she says them, “that we both should stop apologizing, for like, five minutes.”

jaebeom laughs, and the sound is sharp; unguarded and music to her ears.

—

“since when do you wear perfume?”

she stares as bambam sniffs the air through the mirror, chin lifting just enough that she momentarily considers throttling him where he stands, “since when does it matter?”

“you’re answering a question with a question.”

she pinches the bridge of her nose, prays for patience. surely something or someone up there is listening—“tell me why you’re here again.”

“because you came to understand... years ago that you can’t live without me. i’m basically the angel on your shoulder.” as he makes this declaration, bambam loops his arm around her and squeezes hard. “or the devil. whatever. so, who is it?”

“who is who?” for the moment, she leaves him be—raising her hand to pluck a few more stray hairs from her brows, “you’re going to have to be more specific. i know more than one person.”

and there it is. the smug smile that says bambam knows more than he’s telling. he toys with the ends of her hair, looping a few strands around his fingertip, “you can play this game with me, but i hope you know i’ll win.”

as much as she wants to brush his words off another instance of him being full of it, the quiet certainty that he possesses is enough to stop her.

“if you say so.”

“mmm,” gamely, he pats her shoulder before he turns to exit, “tell jaebeom i said hi.”

“get out!”

—

it isn’t like that.

the extent of her time spent with him is strolling through the aisles of a forgotten record shop downtown. for all of his dedication to the art of psychology, jaebeom is equally steadfast in his love for obscure music. thumbing through old vinyls is his pastime, and consequently what she finds herself doing on the odd thursday afternoon.

in place of his usual, proper slacks and button-up, jaebeom wanders the store in jeans and tank-top—carefully keeping in line with the oscillating fan on the wall as if it’s a shield from the descending summer heat. to his credit, the old building doesn’t appear to have working a/c and it may as well be.

she takes a moment to make sure her sundress is covering the essentials when the fan blows her way and continues flipping through the stacks, “what are we looking for again?”

when she turns back, he’s watching her with a bemused smile.

“nothing specific, but you’ll know.”

following my heart, am i?

jaebeom chuckles, and she realizes the thought has slipped out. loudly. embarrassed, she makes a show of inspecting the nearest vinyl until the heat in her cheeks fades.

“that’s the idea,” he says, but the confirmation nearly escapes her notice when she actually looks at the record in her hands.

“hey, i think i found something,” the lettering is small, but the focus of the cover art is the picture itself; a man in the forefront with a cigarette propped between his lips, and another with a match, reaching up from an endless crowd to light it, “ann arbor blues festival—”

she squints; pauses when she feels a hand settle on the curve of her spine.

“1969.” jaebeom murmurs, tracing the edge of the sleeve with a charming sort of reverence. his thumb catches on the hem of her cardigan before raising to wrap around her shoulder in a half-hug, “yeah, you found something.”

when he smiles, she recognizes the wild fluttering of her heart for what it is.

“great.”

—

“so what do you do with all these records?” she asks between taking sips of flavored, crushed ice—sickly sweet piña colada—and watching him sort through their finds for the day. without any discernible system, he sorts them into three neat stacks and makes notes in a worn paper pad.

“i make playlists,” jaebeom says without a glance, flipping to the next page before he stills mid-sentence and gives her a look, “after a month, now you ask?”

deadpanning, she drains an eighth of the enormous cup before she responds.

“i’m not a curious person.”

his expression turns thoughtful, but before she asks, jaebeom nods and returns to his task. the stillness that follows is more disconcerting than she’s accustomed to—with him, at least—and she finds herself speaking merely to break it, “you should send me one.”

it isn’t the right thing to say, if the clenching of his jaw is any indication. his fingers splay over the page, and his lips move silently as he reads back the information that is a foreign language to anyone but him, “sure.”

he doesn’t look at her again, and she leaves with the distinct and terrible feeling that she’s screwed something up.

—

“so how’s it going with our favorite psych major?”

“do you ever just say hi?” she peers at her wholly unwelcome guest over the lid of her laptop, more than a little testy, “how are you? et cetera.”

the picture of cool, calm, and unaffected, bambam takes a seat at the edge of the bed; brow raised and a hand combing through his bleached, silvery hair, “you look lovely today. the weather’s nice. are we ready to get to why you look like someone kicked your puppy?”

as satisfying as it might be to deny him this, she releases a heavy sigh and closes the old device. the empty word document goes black and with it, any remaining desire she had to get something—anything—done, “i think i fucked up.”

his head tilts, lips curving softly.

“you’re going to have to be specific. you fuck up a lot.”

she exhales; the laugh that escapes is short-lived, but it doesn’t feel hollow, “thanks for that.”

there’s a hand in her hair, and where she expects bambam to make a mess of it, he carefully guides each stray strand behind her ears before moving to her shoulders, “anytime.”

her stomach is tying itself in knots by time she finds the words. they trip over her tongue as she tries to assemble them into something that will make sense to him—to her.

“i like jaebeom. i really like him, and for a while i thought that maybe...“ preemptively, she swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and finds them—thankfully—dry, “he felt the same way, but now i’m not so sure. i think—“

the hand sliding up and down her arm goes strangely still.

“wait,” bambam blinks at her, and for the first time, he actually looks baffled.

she stares back, “what?”

“you… didn’t open the playlist, did you?”

when she shakes her head, he mirrors the gesture with a small, pitying smile that she feels settle in her gut like lead.

“oh my god.”

—

playlists are the modern day mixtapes, right? love confessions.

jaebeom is surprisingly evasive when he wants to be. he is conspicuously absent from his usual haunts; searches of the library, the cafe, and the record shop turn up little more than the vague maybe i saw him?

it’s thursday, though, and maybe he’ll make an appearance for his afternoon vinyl-hunt.

hopefully, he isn’t compiling a new playlist for someone else.

if she wasn’t panicking at the thought of never seeing im jaebeom again, she’d be pissed that he had quickly turned her life into some bad 90s romcom.

and she’s a half-step from throwing her hands up and crawling back into the shelter of her many, many blankets when she spots him making his way through the slowly thinning lunch crowd.

again, he’s dressed for the summer heat; a sight now as familiar as the friendly, disarming student she’d known for years, in the strange sort of way that you could know someone through mere exposure.

it was a bit like watching the same train pass your house every day and knowing the graffiti on each car by heart.

her feet carry her to the front door and she meets him there—a little out of breath, but grasping the handle before he reaches it. the thundering in her ears is distracting, but no more so than the brush of his fingertips against the back of her hand before he quickly retracts it—

“i need to talk to you,” she says to his reflection in the glass. it frowns, lips pressing into a thin line, and she swallows her dread and turns to face him fully, “we can have this conversation here, if you want. but i don’t think you do.”

the latter part comes out as a whisper, as if the battery fueling her courage is all used up.

“lead the way,” jaebeom takes a step back, offering an uncertain smile—either nervous or pained, it’s hard to tell—that she holds in mind as she crosses the street and heads toward the park.

on a weekday, there is no one on the swings. the most frequent visitors are retirees speed-walking down the trails and the occasional dog walker.

at the first shaded bench they reach, she drops onto the seat and glances up at her unmoving companion. the intensity of his attention gives her pause; makes her want to curl into herself until she manages to get what she needs to say out.

like ripping off a bandaid, maybe?

“i found the playlist you sent me.”

jaebeom tenses, in the nearly imperceptible way that says he’s bracing himself. maybe to hear some unpleasant truth, maybe to walk away. but it doesn’t really matter which one it is, when both options are so unpleasant.

she reaches up and takes hold of his hands, squeezing until she feels like he gets it. jaebeom doesn’t reciprocate, but he does move closer and that’s enough.

for now.

“hear me out, please.”

swallowing, she tilts her head back and focuses on him; cutting a figure against the sun and shade—colored in shades of green reflected from the trees overhead. he is still unreasonably beautiful.

“i didn’t ignore it because i disliked you, or anything. honestly, i didn’t know what to make of it because who does that—“ jaebeom sucks in a breath, and belatedly she shuts her mouth with a sharp click that she feels in her jaw, “that’s not what i meant to say. i—stay still.”

when she summons enough courage to look at his face, his expression is purely one of embarrassment, though for himself or for how badly she’s botching this remains to be seen.

“i like you. in fact, i’m probably in love with you and before you respond, i don’t think you can say anything about how i’m doing this when you confessed through a spotify playlist.”

when jaebeom pulls his hands out of her grip, she prepares herself for any one of the scenarios she’d imagined while trying to hunt him down; he says nothing. leaves. he cusses her out and then leaves.

the scenario that she doesn’t dare to imagine is the one that presents itself; in the slide of his fingertips over her cheek, a careful touch that makes her alarmingly delicate pulse flutter around like a bird in a cage.

in the silence that follows, she basks in the contact; tilts her head to lean into his palm until his lips meet the corner of her mouth. once, then twice.

“you liked the playlist.” jaebeom whispers, and she feels him smile; hears the heady sound he makes that barely passes for a laugh, “i made it, but you liked it.”

his giddiness is echoed in her, she thinks, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling him down to kiss him fully and breathe his air because now—right now

hers isn’t good enough.

“shut up, norasdad.”

            —I KNOW THE IDEA ISN'T NEW              TO FALL IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ON FIRST VIEW              BUT I DON'T CARE              I THINK I'LL FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU                           I'LL PUT ON MY SUNDAY BEST              YOU PICK OUT YOUR FAVOURITE DRESS              I'LL TAKE YOU SOMEWHERE NEW              I'LL BE OLD-FASHIONED FOR YOU

#member + prompt #request #jaebeom fanfic #got7 fanfic

[lord-hermod]

Fun fact! Looking through the Omgitsfirefoxx tag on here is a better way to find fan art for Mianite's 4th and 5th anniversary than the Mianite tag.

Another fun fact! Prepare for the onslaught of old Mianite stuff over the next day or so whoops.

#hermod has spoken #mianitian isles #mianite fandom #mianite season none #mianitan isles #mianite #omgitsfirefoxx

[halloweeneva]

My birthday was today and I got an actual drawing tablet!

Prepare yourselves for the inevitable onslaught of fan art coming soon! >:)

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of DC: Week of January 29th, 2020

Best of this Week: Justice League #39 - Scott Snyder, Jorge Jimenez, Daniel Sampere, Juan Albarran, Alejandro Sanchez, Hi-Fi and Tom Napolitano

Talk about a Cosmic Sandbag.

Shayne, the alt-future son of Hawkgirl and Martian Manhunter, gave his life and essence so that his father could return from the darkness. This book opens with the amazing return of Martian Manhunter as drawn by Jorge Jimenez with colors by Alejandro Sanchez. Manhuner hasn’t been seen since Justice League #28 when Lex Luthor absorbed him to become Apex Lex, so this return had a monumental feel, especially as the rest of the League looks upon him with awe. Jimenez makes this moment feel powerful as J’onn stands tall against Perpetua with his reds glowing vibrantly thanks to Sanchez.

As soon as Perpetua takes notice that J’onn has returned, she lunges after him. This is likely due to the fact that Martian Manhunter is legitimately one of the most powerful telepaths in the DC Universe and in the subsequent pages, he makes the choice to connect the minds of the people of Earth with his and the rest of the Justice League to try and swing them all toward the side of hope. 

This results in a wonderful double page spread where Jimenez poses Martian Manhunter like he’s about to use the Solar Flare from Dragon Ball and speaks to the people. Jimenez and Sanchez show the people on the streets and various members of the League looking towards the sky with smiles on their faces. Snyder scripts this amazingly by having Manhunter give the rousing speech of goodness and rising above that Superman would normally give. What makes this even better is that Manhunter, who usually suffers disillusionment from living amongst humanity, does an amazing job.

J’onn’s speech manages to rouse enough people that the Totality, the macguffin that could imprison Perpetua once again, begins to glow and surge with energy. Perpetua, starting to feel the fear of loss orders an onslaught of the League. Jimenez emphasizes the anger on her face, the fear on Lex’s and the intensity of the battle happening on the steps of the Hall of Justice.. Sanchez makes sure that the colors almost surge off of the page with flashes of red and blue.

As the hope of the people of Earth continues to grow, the tendrils of the Totality wrap themselves around Perpetua’s spindly body as she screams in anger and hatred. Tom Napolitano places Martian Manhunter’s thought balloons perfectly throughout these pages as Snyder ends J’onn’s speech with the people of Earth joining together in the feeling of heroism and hope. The Sigil of Doom begins to fade away and Perpetua has failed…

And then “KRA-KOOM,” Napolitano’s powerful lettering cracks across the page as Jimenez draws the Sigil of Doom firmly seared into the sky and made even stronger by the overbearing hum of Sanchez’s vibrant green. This is the kinda trope that Scott Snyder does well, but also kinda overuses in his grand scale stories: The Cosmic Sandbag. The heroes were on the very cusp of victory and it seemed like the people of Earth were actually believing in the hope that Martian Manhunter was talking about, but instead they gave into their fear, hatred and base instincts just like Perpetua thought they would.

Snyder utilizes this bait and switch technique to show just how influential Perpetua’s evil is and how at the end of the day it will take more than just a flowery speech to turn people, especially since they watched the Justice Leagues battle the forces of Doom and lose massively. Snyder used this in Dark Nights: Metal anytime Batman thought he had a chance in defeating The Batman Who Laughs and Barbatos. They would just pull nonsense out of nowhere and further plunge our hero into despair because he couldn’t anticipate the villain’s very next five moves. I love it and hate it because it helps to show hopelessness, which I am a fan of, but Snyder does do it a bit too much for my tastes (See The Batman Who Laughs mini-series).

The next thing we see is a Rita Repulsa-esque cackle from Perpetua and honesty this might be my favorite of Jimenez’s panels because he just makes Perpetua look so petty. She’s basically saying, “Bitch, you really thought!” before explaining how everything was by her design. She wanted to give humanity a choice to hear both sides and they still chose Doom. Manhunter tried to hide his mind from her, but he failed to realize that as the creator of the Multiverse, he could never think fast enough to avoid her. Perpetua is far more powerful than these heroes could ever have anticipated.

Jimenez and Sanchez absolutely kill the next few panels as Perpetua casts away the shackles of the Totality, breaking out of the tendrils as her black cape...hair(?) causes a gust of wind to shake our heroes while the background shows varying tones of blue, almost a mockery of their ideals of hope. She stands over the Earth while the void of space appears vast around it and with a flick of her wrist and a flash of yellow she wipes the Justice League from existence. Doom truly has won and she vows to create a new story from the ashes of Hope.

Though, the universe itself has other ideas. In the black of Space, green matter begins to coalesce into a form, then that form takes shape and appears to be Martian Manhunter. Daniel Sampere, Hi-Fi and Juan Albarran take over the art from this point and pose Manhunter as if he’s in a womb, reborn after being supposedly killed by Perpetua and saved by something else. I love that Snyder places such importance on Manhunter and his humanity. Despite the insurmountable odds that the League has faced up to this point, he still does everything in his power to call back to the Earth, to try to win the people back.

He is unable to, however, and it seems as though he’s not the only one unable to use his powers as the rest of the League shows up behind him. In an awesome splash page Sampere and Albarran show everyone as wearing black bodysuits, potentially symbolizing a loss of identity or power as none of them seem to be able to use their abilities. Hawkgirl seems to be the only exception because her wings are a part of her. Superman tries to rationalize that as long as they’re not actually dead then there’s still hope, but then he fails to fly, landing back on the moon.

Another awesome thing about this issue is how it calls back to the very first issue of the run with the Quintessence showing up. The Quinessence are a group consisting of Highfather, The Phantom Stranger, Hera, The Wizard Shazam, The Spectre and Ganthet of the Guardians of Oa. They are some of the most powerful beings in the universe and even they knew that this was how things were meant to be. They saw the same vision of Doom that Martian Manunter did and saved the League in the nick of time to prepare them for what’s to come, not just a war of Justice or Doom, but for Everything.

With everything that’s been hinted at as far as the next incoming Crisis, this is a really good inciting incident as far as things go. Perpetua wins and sets up the next true war for the Multiverse. Given there’s still things to sort out with The Batman Who Laughs, the conflict is set and the Justice League has to give their all to ensure that they can protect the Universe. Superboy Prime is coming back in the pages of Shazam, Wally West has found his kids and Dark Multiverse world of his own creation and this issue even references Doomsday Clock and kinda cements its place as an alt-Universe story, but acknowledges the importance of it.

Scott Snyder has set the stage for everything to come and thanks to his fantastic art team telling the story, he drums up the feeling that there’s still a way to see Geoff Johns original vision for Rebirth through. The hope is there, the League just needs to fight for it. I can’t wait to see what Robert Venditti can do as the writer for Justice League given the amazing work he’s done with Green Lantern and The Freedom Fighters series. Doug Mahnke also taking over as main artist is also a welcome change as he’s one of my favorite of DC’s regulars as well.

This was a high recommend and I can’t wait for the future!

#justice league #perpetua #martian manhunter #hawkgirl #doom #scott snyder #jorge jimenez #daniel sampere #juan albarran #alejandro sanchez

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Z 252

So this one opens with this unusual art style.   I always figured it was from Buu’s POV, but it’s not.   Actually, the narrator does all the talking over this part.

Then it gets really dark, showing the wretched shape the world is in now that Buu’s wiped out 80% of the population.

I’m not sure what the deal is with this shanty-town these people have set up.    The vibe I get is that Buu blows up every population center he finds, so I don’t see how there’d be enough survivors left to set up something like this.   Maybe these are all people who were traveling, and they came home to find there was nothing left, so they banded together to try to set up some kind of shelter.  

Anyway, this is one of my favorite scenes from this arc, because they used the dub audio in the Toonami promo for DBZ in 2002.

Basically, instead of the narrator explaining all the backstory, the dub had a radio newscaster do it instead, which tied in nicely with the footage of these frightened people scanning the dial for an update on the situation.     Buu’s killing everyone, and it doesn’t seem like anything can stop him.    There’s something audacious about the idea that these people would even bother trying to get a news broadcast in the midst of this sort of apoclypse.    Z stands for the end, but not yet.

Anyway, the word gets out that there’s still someone left who can save the planet...

Misterrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr Saaaaaaaaaatan ✌️😈✌️

Meanwhile, on the Lookout, Dragon Team tends to Goten and Trunks injuries.  

So, this is something I never thought about before.   Buu beat up Gotenks pretty bad, and then he defused into Goten and trunks, who also have scrapes and bruises on their individual bodies.    Trunks’ clothes are even shredded up a little, and I have no idea how that makes sense, since Gotenks has his own costume.   

What I’m driving at is that neither Goten nor Trunks has that swollen eye that Gotenks had at the end of the previous episode.   Best not to think about it too much.

Then Piccolo gives them a pep talk and heals them anyway.    So why did Bulma bother putting all that iodine on Trunks?

Back to Mr. Satan.   According to this episode, he’s been in an underground bunker, protected by armed guards, so that he could train safely throughout Buu’s onslaught.   I’m pretty sure this is the first time we see Satan in the manga after he won the 25th Budokai.     Of course, in the anime, he kept popping up telling people he would save them from Buu, so that flies in the face of him being in hiding the whole time.   Oh well.   

Satan’s plan is to have these military-looking guys drop him off at Majin Buu’s house.   He starts out by calling Buu out, but he does it in a really low voice, and his escort thinks he’s got laryingitis, so he shouts for him.   

Satan tells them to go on out of here, and they do, but he isn’t too happy to see them go.    That’s kind of the lonely nature of Mr. Satan.   He seems almost naked without an audience around to perform with, but at the same time, he get frustrated being around his fans because he has to keep up his invincible hero act.

First, he sneaks up to the house, and when he finds no one inside, he starts getting cocky again, and talks about how Buu was too afraid to face him.    Oh, well, if Buu isn’t here, then he’s got a perfectly valid reason to leave, doesn’t he?    Then he starts kicking the shit out of the house, which I don’t really understand.

Also, this.

Then Buu actually shows up, and Mr. Satan shits a brick.

But Mr. Satan came prepared.    Buu’s all set to turn him into candy, but he explains that he’s here to offer him presents.    First, he gives him a box of chocolates.    Buu doesn’t get it at first...

But he tastes the candy, and decides that it’s actually better than the stuff he turns people into.   

But this is no ordinary candy.   No, this is POISON CANDY.   In the Japanese version, the script leaves it at that.   It’s poisoned.    The dub specifies that it’s loaded with cyanide, enough “to kill a water buffalo”.   That’s the sort of off-beat humor where the dub just can’t be beat.   

Unfortunately, the poison has no effect on Buu, and that may even be why he likes the taste of this stuff so much.    So on to plan B.

Mr. Satan’s second gift is a “Game Poy”.  

There’s even a Mr. Satan fighting game included, although Buu finds it too challenging.

So he changes the cartridge to an easier game, Mr. Satan Tetris or something.  

Ah, but this is no ordinary handheld video game.   This one is packed with explosives, and while Buu is busy playing, Mr. Satan sneaks off to a safe distance and...

Blows him to smithereens!

Or, not.    Buu doesn’t even realize that Mr. Satan tried to trick him.   He actually thinks the game was supposed to explode, and he likes it.   

Buu then takes a liking to Mr. Satan, and decides to make him his “servant”.  He then reaches into his pants and gives Satan some of the candy he’s made from people.   

Satan accepts, but spits the candy out when Buu isn’t looking.    Then he tries to hit him from behind with an elbow, but Buu doesn’t even feel it.

In spite of these setbacks, Mr. Satan convinces Buu to pose for some photos with him standing over him.   He says it’s the new fashion in photography, and Buu doesn’t particularly care.

I’m not sure where Mr. Satan’s head is right now.    He’s clearly went into this mission planning to trick Buu with poison and explosives, but none of that stuff worked, so what good will the photo do him?  I mean, if he ever managed to kill Buu, it would help convince people that he beat him up, but it’s useless if he doesn’t actually get rid of the guy.   

Also, who exactly is Mr. Satan trying to convince here?   80% of the population is dead.   He doesn’t know about the Dragon Balls, so as far as he’s concerned, they’re never coming back.   As for the other 20%, well, I think the world would never quite be the same after something like that.   Mr. Satan seems to be planning for a post-Buu era where he’s as big a celebrity as he was before, but I don’t think it would be that easy.   Anyway, why does he need a photo?   If Buu ever stopped killing people, everyone would give him the credit no matter what.    And at this point, he’s the only one trying right now, so if Buu ever does stop killing, it’ll be because of him.    He doesn’t need to trick his fans this time, but I guess he can’t stop thinking like a showman.

Anyway, he still seems to have some tricks up his sleeve, because he offers to cook a meal for Buu.

Meanwhile, on the Surpeme Kai Planet, the Elder Kai finishes his five (!) hour ceremony to amplify Gohan’s powers beyond their natural limits.    But that’s just the first stage.   Now comes the actual process of powering him up, which takes twenty (!!) hours.   At least Gohan gets to sit down for this part.

Back on Earth, Mr. Satan cooks Buu dinner and gives him a bubbly sponge bath.   Who’s taking photos of this part?   This won’t help his public relations at all.

But he seems confident that he can still pull this off somehow.   Yeah, he’s lulling him into a false sense of security.

Or has Mr. Satan just gotten himself stuck?

#dragon ball #2019dbliveblog #majin buu saga #majin buu #mr satan #goku #gohan #supreme kai #elder kai #kibito #piccolo #goten #trunks #videl #paur #krillin #bulma #chi chi #ox king