#threatening manslaughter

[allmightyscroll-swag]

Oop, I realized I never actually posted about this, but!

Anyone remember my separated Donnie au? Code name: Violet skies? Well I'm remaking it! Rewriting it, even !!

Here's Foot Recruit/aka Donnie!

Draxum, quite begrudgingly, ends up raising the four turtles with Splinter: whom saved him when a part of the lab's roof collapsed, while he was holding onto two of the turtles. Splinter brought the both of them to the sewers, and it all happened from there.

The turtles grew up not too different, safe for extra actual training and knowledge of both the hidden city and things mystic; until Leo and Donnie turned 14. Donnie went out one day with Raph, and didn't come back.

Two years after his disappearance, when the series events begin, they find him in the Foot Clan. Now called just Foot Recruit, with no memory of them — and a good 6 years worth of memories of living with the foot clan.

#rottmnt #scrolls art #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt art #rottmnt fanart #rottmnt donnie #im not abandoning kraang leo btw #i love that silly little turtle to bits #just wanted to introduce him <3 my boy #foot recruit is an absolute MENACE in the foot clan bte #no more parental / brotherly supervisor means HE CAN DO WHATEVER pretty much #which includes; setting buildings on fire #commiting every type of fraud #threatening manslaughter #stealing vehicle's #vandalism #attempted experimentation on humans and yokai #and a long list of property damage #he's a menace to society. #and also having a rivarly with cassandra. (friendly rivalry mostly. expect Cass doesn't realize their like best friend's yet) #(their basically attached at the hip. they have movie nights which also doubles as girls night where they talk shit and complain)

[sandyman-on-a-pirateship]

obsessed with the concept of crowley threatening his plants, need a flowershop au where crowley just yells at all his plants for 5 hours before his regular mr. aziraphale usually comes in

#aziraphale is a plant professir or some shit #and is like how do you get ur orchids to bloom here or smth #crowley always says something cheeky about buisness secrets #one day aziraphale comes in earlier and just stands there while crowley threatens the plants with vehicular manslaughter #crowley #good omens #aziraphale #ineffable idiots #flowershop au

[gentaroukisaragi]

Agams is my favourite 2022 tokusatsu wife guy but in terms of rankings he's technically the second most 2022 tokusatsu wife guy

#yeah threatening to destroy a planet is good and all but have you committed manslaughter for your wife and put a guy you sincerely cared #about in jail because he may or may not have kidnapped your wife? agams cant hold a candle to kijino in terms of sheer wifeguyness #but i like agams better. sorry kijino! #biggest forehead in the galaxy #why not i'll shove this in the other one too #dont brothers

[thedevilspearl]

do you ever get the idea some of the brothers have a human kink? if so? who? i personally think lucifer and beelzebub. sometimes satan if he’s not thinking about committing manslaughter messing with lucifer!♡ (ꈍ ω ꈍ) ♡

-☽

the brothers with a human kink — most to least

a/n: i have to tell you, moon nonnie — i’m genuinely not sure with this one! it’s not something i’ve considered greatly before but when i think about the brothers with a human kink, i have a feeling they all have it, just to different extents. so i did a mtl if that’s okay ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

also i’ve been sick in bed all day, so thank you for this awesome idea to keep me going ₍⸝ ˃̵͈᷄ . ˂̵͈᷅ ₎⸝ ♡

tags: all brothers, no explicit smut but consistent discussion of kinks, so minors do not interact! other kink warnings — power play, mild predator/prey, vore, exhibitionism.

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑

lucifer’s human kink is so lowkey that he doesn’t realise it himself, but it’s actually the most prominent out of all the brothers. it’s the fact that humans are so fragile compared to demons; one wrong move could be fatal so it brings out his protective side. he wants to be by your side, watching your every move to ensure your safety and well–being. it’s innocent at first, but then comes the part where he wants to test your limits, both in and outside of the bedroom. how much can a human like you take from a demon like him?

𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐙𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐁

he’s always thought about eating you, it was one of his first thought when meeting you, in fact. of course, he would never but there’s a little pit of fire in his belly that warms him up in all the right places when he thinks about it, and how weak you would be against him if he ever gave into his desires. he’s vocal about this kink, telling you how he adores you and how yummy you look. now, in the bedroom, there are some real tests of faith because he can become so close to devouring you whole. but he is aware of how strong his human kink is, so he knows how much more control he needs around you, especially when every little thing you do can set him off.

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍

the power trip from a human kink is what gets mammon going. he knows for sure how powerful he is, and his self–restraint is incredible. he’s never going to hurt you at all, let alone with his demon powers. but there’s no harm in threatening you a little with it, right? it totally boosts his ego when he sees you get all fidgety when he brags about how strong he is, and how a silly human like you could never best him. but, and this is a big but, he finds it all the more thrilling when a silly human like you actually overpowers him. he’s not as strong against his human as he thought, and his human kink is raging when you put him in his place.

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍

satan has a deep understanding of the difference between him and you. more than any of the brothers, he really acknowledges the power difference and he never wants to use that against you. and that is why he tries his hardest to never use the fact that you’re a human to sexualise you. he treats you as his equal, someone he would never use his power to take advantage of. however, if you were to suggest you were into it, he wouldn’t mind feeding his sinful desires and put you in your pitiful place. after all, what power does a human have to protest the demon of wrath?

𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒

a human kink and exhibitionism come hand in hand with asmodeus. for him, it’s not entirely about power play like with some of the others but rather, he and he alone has the human every demon is after. he once was the most sought after, but now it’s you and it will always amaze him how a human could do that in a world where demons could destroy you in a second. you have the real power here, and he wants to flaunt that. walking side by side with everyone’s favourite human who looks at no one else but him... it makes him happy, and flustered. he relishes in everyone’s gaze towards the two of you. it’s a match that shouldn’t work, but it does and it excites him. he wants to show them everything.

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑

belphie’s emotional connection to the human race is far too deep; from hate to jealousy, to something akin to love after meeting you. he appreciates they way you helped him overcome his past views and actions, but regret will always remain deeply rooted in his soul. so he tries not to think about these things. it’s not right to think of you in such ways simply because you are human. after everything you taught him, he thinks he’s sick to even think about a human kink. but then again, it’s in his nature as a demon to want to overpower those who are lesser than him. he’s very conflicted and tries to hide it, but he will sometimes lose control and show you this dark secret of his.

𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍

while kinks are inevitable in a relationship, he doesn’t see them so significantly. sex is special, for sure. but what matters to him is the chemistry between you, the flow of emotions and the genuine feeling you have for each other. but still, he loves that you challenge him. a mere human thinking they can take on the grand admiral of hell’s navy? he won’t back down so easily. every now and then, he likes to remind both you and himself of his powers as a demon, and he loves even more the blush on your face when you test his strength. whether it’s out of fear or arousal, it drives him crazy.

#♡ pearl’s writing #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me smut #obey me smut headcanons #obey me x reader

[mondaymelon]

— 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 ♡

໒꒱ || :feat~ albedo, kaeya, zhongli, childe, ayato, thoma, alhaitham, kaveh, wriothesley, neuvillette x gn!reader:

໒꒱ || notes: a new nation joins the mix !! please help there are too many what do i do when natlan appears?! ITS OKAY RAAAAH FLUFF FLUFF RAAHHH FLUFF CHILDE COMMITS MANSLAUGHTER AGAINST A FUCKING PUMPKIN RAHHHH @anonbinaryweirdo CHILDE IS BEING A SILLY ALL FOR YOU MWAH HApPY OLI DAY!!

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @solxima, @poweredbyghostadventures, @haliyamori

⤷ the seasons are changing, so let’s have some fun, shall we? ♡

"Klee, don't run so fast..."

ALBEDO sighed, yet his mouth curved upwards into a faint smile, one that could almost be mistaken as a laugh. Maybe it was. “Klee, if you’re going to run off like that, the Acting Grandmaster will certainly throw a fit about it.” There was little hope in soft threats against the child, but he had succeeded in capturing her attention, and she whipped around to look at the two of you, her bright beam dimming to a small pout.

“But Jean isn’t here! That means I can boom everything and she won’t put me in solitary confinement, right?” She gazed up fiercely at the two of you, her bold ruby eyes sparkling with daring excitement. The three of you had decided to take a little excursion to a nearby pumpkin farm at Jean’s insistence, saying that you especially had been overworking yourself with the new influx of tasks to do and that now they had stabilized, she could manage them for a day or two. She had been a little suspicious about it though, beaming the entire time and occasionally laughing at moments that weren’t remotely amusing. Her distracted gaze also kept glancing at Lisa, who had been shelving books with a devious smile. Just what is up with those two? You blamed it on the lack of sleep.

“Although…” she tilted her head, looking very thoughtful for a brief moment. “I’ll let you decide!” She ran over to you, clinging to your clothes with sparkling eyes. “What do you want to do? Just today, Spark Knight Klee will let you lead the adventure, ‘kay?” She was bouncing on her feet now, her expectant gaze a little too earnest.

“Klee, let’s be respectful…”

“Eh?? But… I want to be nice to your sweetheart!!” Klee pouted, cheeks flushed.

“S-Sweetheart…” Your mouth dropped open as the tiny girl let out a little ‘ah!’

“Oh no, I forgot I wasn’t supposed to tell you that! Shoot, Kaeya is going to be sooo mad!! Shhh, you didn’t hear anything, okay?? He definitely didn’t tell me that Albedo liked liked you, so please don’t snitch!” Klee held her hands over her mouth, looking rather apologetic as her round eyes threatened to burst into tears. Albedo sounded like he was choking.

“K-Klee, why don’t you go over and look at the pumpkins for a while? I’ll let you take home the biggest one you can find…” Albedo was clearly startled, his smooth speech interrupted with a stutter. As the girl eagerly dashed away towards the fields, he let out a long sigh. “I’m very sorry about that, it seems the Cavalry Captain has been saying some strange things to my little sister.”

You shook your head with a smile. “No, don’t be. It’ll be funny later on as we look back on it, although…” Your voice trailed off as what Klee had said flashed through your mind. In a voice barely above a whisper, you glanced up at him, “Is it true? Do you… feel that way for me?”

His breath caught in his throat, and he did not speak until three beats later. “I didn’t want you to find out this way, but now that it’s come to this…” He cleared his throat, returning his averted gaze to stare at you, his brilliant teal eyes meeting yours. Every movement of his lips entranced you, and you could feel the way your cheeks grew warm as his words slowly sunk in.

And it was true, he meant it. His body was living, breathing proof, even if his life wasn’t meant to exist in the first place. That was okay. He was okay with it all. If he could have you, then the origin of his life didn’t matter. At the very least, his existence could be filled with your warmth.

“I wish to be your partner.” ♡

“Hm, this should be fun~”

KAEYA appeared amused as he hummed with delight. The reason? Something a wine-lover like him was sure to enjoy - a winery tour, not Diluc’s, to ensure the maximum happiness of both brothers. The wind lightly breezed by, rustling the warm colored leaves that resemble tongues of fire. All around you, people trailed after the tour in front of the group, aimlessly chattering amongst themselves or dutifully nodding to whatever information the guide was saying at the moment. Did it really matter? In all honesty, you knew that Kaeya had come for the sole purpose of wine, and now that the two of you were here, nothing else really mattered. He glanced at you with a beam. “C’mon, what’s with the grouchy face? Don’t you think this will be fun?” Without much of a warning at all, he grabbed at your face, pinching and stretching your cheeks while he quietly laughed to himself.

“Hey, shtop-” You manage to wrench out of his grasp, rubbing your aching cheeks with a pointed glare directed towards the male. “You know I’m not a good drinker. I’ll pass out and then you’ll have to go through the trouble of carrying me all the way back…”

Kaeya blinks, then laughs. “Hey, it's only a winery tour, who said anything about actually drinking the wine?” He chuckles into his fist, tilting his head with a swift motion. “Although, I suppose it can’t really be helped…”

“Exactly. So if you see me drinking a little too much, you better tell me, alright?” You stared him down in the eye, a failed attempt at looking the slightest bit intimidating. “I don’t want to be all intoxicated and babbling all my secrets out for the world to hear. That’d be utterly mortifying.” Just the thought of you made a shiver course through your body, a detail Kaeya’s diligent gaze didn’t miss.

He let out a cheeky laugh. “Ah, I don’t know, wouldn’t that be funny to look back on later?” The two of you were walking side-by-side on the stone-pebbled path, and he skillfully swept your hand into his, fingers intertwined in a motion so fluid it almost felt like the two of you had done this in your past lives as well. “You know, you’re really cute when you’re drunk.”

Your mouth falls slightly ajar at his bold words, whipping your head to the people around you just in case they heard. They didn’t, and continued blabbering about the most useless things in the world - the ripeness of apples, the types of long grass that was near the fields, all that significant information that one typically could do without. “Kaeya!” Your voice is panicked as you whisper shout at him, eyes wide. You know your face is red, you can feel it, and it’s something that’s too easy to spot with an eye as trained as his. “Don’t say that kind of stuff in public! Besides, it’s not even true!”

Kaeya pouted like a little child, fake crocodile tears threatening to spill from his eyes despite his voice giving away his clear amusement. “Awww, but love, why not? Is it such a crime for me to profess my love to you in the great outdoors?”

“Ugh…” You sighed, turning away in an attempt to hide your flushed cheeks. “Kaeya, you know what you-”

Too late. He had grabbed onto your chin with a grin, carefully examining just how red he was able to make you.

“Haha, you don’t even have to drink wine, love. Your face is already red enough just from my presence!” ♡

“Be careful. It’s hot.”

ZHONGLI passes the cup to you with a soft smile on his lips, one that makes his amber eyes glow with warmth. “If I had known you liked tea, I would’ve brewed you some more often.” He holds his own teacup with a gloved hand, seeming indifferent to the heat he had just warned you about. “It’s a fine day, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” You took a sip of tea, reveling in its rich flavors that danced across your tongue. “A hot drink like this is a good way to spend it.” Zhongli’s smile was one of fondness as he nodded to your words. “On days like these, you can find solace in a book by the windowsill and a drink in your hand… Although I’d like to learn more about you. How do you like to spend your time?” You glanced up from the fluid in the cup and locked eyes with his gilded ones instead. 

“Are you curious?” You answered with a nod, and the male let out a low chuckle. “Honestly, while I’m knowledgeable in a few areas, how to pass time isn’t exactly one of them. If you asked me about Liyue’s traditions and legends, however…” He paused as he swirled the cup’s contents. “I could likely go for weeks on end.”

That was the kind of man he was. Stoic, yet warm-hearted, and with a surprisingly in-depth view on Liyue’s history and culture. Where he learned all of this, you had yet to figure out, but his presence in and of itself was something soothing you couldn’t quite describe. At times, you feared his tranquil way of speaking had been inflicted upon you, but that wasn’t a bad thing in the slightest. The way he spoke was like verses in a poem, well thought out, wise, experienced, and with gliding tones like the reddening leaves on the wind. The way he was able to move even the most cynical crowds with the sway and caring truth in his words was but one of the things you admired about the man. Someone like Zhongli must've been a person who had received the favor of Morax, considering how well-versed he was. It wouldn’t be a shock if it were true.

You smiled, propping up your chin on your elbow. “Then, amuse me.”

He shook his head gently, almost in a reprimanding manner. “I’d rather see you to your residency before the sky turns dark. It’d be a shame if I were to take up all hours of your day.”

The words flew from your mouth before you even had the chance to consider them. “Who said I wouldn’t want that?” With a panicked gaze, you watched as Zhongli’s expression shifted into a startled one. For once, the stone-firm man seemed to have been given the slightest of shoves. 

It was a moment before he responded. “Saying such things…”

“They are the truth.”

“...Very well, then shall I tell you a story?” Now, his eyes glittered with a distant, deep sadness that had appeared in the short instant of silence. You nodded your head, and he continued onwards, his words forming one great melody, one intertwined with a knowledge that transcended the earth yet persisted with a harmony of tightly knit feelings that you could never begin to unravel. “One about the god of contracts, and the god of dust, a very, very long time ago. Did you know how far Morax’s love went for the goddess? He held her with much reverence in his heart, yet one day, she flowed through his fingers like the dust she was. He was never able to tell her the truth that lay in his heart, and fell into a deep sorrow.”

He fell silent, and you cocked your head. “Then… Then what happened?”

Zhongli’s somber face brightened as he smiled at you, his shining umber gaze one that held something clearly important. “That…”

“His heart has healed, with the help of someone dear.” ♡

"Against a pumpkin? Hah, that'll be an easy duel!"

CHILDE’s arms are raised, hefting up a… weedwhacker? How’d he get his hands on that?? From what you heard, it was a newly designed kind of weapon, though for some reason used to cut grass, of all things, that had been recently shipped from Fontaine to various influential people around the globe for its first use. Apparently, Childe qualified as one of those people. That, or he had just beaten up someone who had, then plucked it from his grasp. Either way, it was certainly not a welcome sight. You just barely managed to wrench it out of his hands, though with grudging certainty you can tell that it’s only possible with him going easy on you. He laughed again, his shoulders raised in triumph. “C’mon, just let me at him!”

“‘He’ is a pumpkin, Childe. You are challenging an inanimate fruit to a duel.” You deadpanned at the sight, making sure to place the weapon far, far away from his reach. “We came here with a job to do, let’s not forget that. These are going to be important Halloween decorations around the harbor and Jade Chamber, remember? Lady Ningguang commissioned us… or rather, me, herself, and I’m not about to present her with a gouged out collection of gutted and ravaged pumpkins.”

The male pouted, visibly upset. “But. It was looking at me strangely! That thing clearly is itching for a fight, and all I’m doing is giving it one it deserves!”

Yet another cause for a long sigh. You could feel your willpower slip away with your exhale. “Childe, it’s not looking at you. Those were the guidelines I drew with ink. Please, for once, cooperate with me.”

He pauses, then his eyes twinkle, and you know with reluctant confidence that he’s thought up something stupid. Surprise, surprise! You receive your big, fat, green checkmark as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, his lips raised in a mischievous smile. “Only if you give me a kiss~” 

It was better to agree now, then change the promise afterwards. You nodded exasperatedly, “Alright, alright, now let’s-”

“Ah ah ah!” Childe tutted, raising his fingers to your lips to shush you. “Sorry, but I only receive upfront payment~!”

You resisted the urge to slap him in his painfully handsome face. His features were so perfect it hurt, with his deep ocean eyes and freckles dotting his skin like stars in the night sky. “Come here.” Instantly, he perks up, and you can just imagine him with dog ears and a wagging tail, a sight that almost makes you like him. “Mmmmwah.” You plant a kiss directly on his cheek, only leaving your lips on his skin for a brief moment before pulling away, trying to hide the growing red on your face. “There.”

“Wh- Ah, no fair, you can’t do it on the cheek!” Once Childe snaps out of his initial ecstasy, there of course comes the complaints. “Do it again, do it again!”

“You never specified where. Now get to carving.” It’s hard not to laugh when you see the growing, childish frown that crosses his expression.

“C’mon, kiss me just one more time?” ♡

“Are you enjoying the view?”

AYATO’s eyes twinkle with amusement, his light hair swaying gently in the cooling breeze. The wind had grown chillier in the weeks prior, but you had luckily dressed enough for the occasion, and the warmth of his and yours intertwined fingers was far enough sufficient to dispel any chills far, far away. 

“Mhm. It’s beautiful.” You weren’t lying, the courtyard garden the male had invited you to view was certainly a marvel to behold, the warmly tinted leaves dangling like fiery ornaments from the great wooden branches, yet at the moment your eyes could only linger on the light smile that graced the man’s lips. The corners of his mouth tugged upwards, a soft expression that made the colors around you seem all the more vivid. His lashes fluttered close, then blinked back open, his seas of violet underneath a breathtaking wonder more than anything else in this world. And the beauty mark the archons themselves had painted with such delicacy, just beside his eye.

Simply put, Ayato was a man of majesty.

Your man of majesty. 

It still astonished you how someone like him had chosen you, out of all people. The way your heart beat faster and words grew hastier when he was near was something you found impossible to deny.

“You say that, but continue gazing at me all the while.” He lets out a low chuckle, speaking nonchalantly. “There’s no need to needlessly flatter me like those Inazuman officials, who are always ever so desperate to gain my attention.”

“Ayato, that’s not my intention!” You pout in protest, jokingly offended that he had dared compare you to such foolishness. “Besides, it’s in no way ‘needless’! Your beauty must certainly be admired, or it’d be a waste of that pretty face of yours!”

His eyes widen a fraction as he stares at you with a slightly dumbstruck expression, that is, until he breaks into an uncharacteristically loud bout of laughter, one gloved hand over his mouth failing to mask his beam behind it.

“Ah-Ahahaha!” Ayato smiles into his fist, grinning to himself. This was what he loved about you, apart from everything. Your laugh, your smile, the abrupt way that broke apart from his somber lifestyle, all of it. “Beloved, sometimes I wonder how you’re able to come up with such things.”

“Why are you laughing? What I said was true.”

“Just like that, right there.” His smile only widens as his eyes twinkle at the sight of you.

“You're not finding this funny, are you??” You squint up at him accusingly, frowning. Ayato locks his gaze with yours, his lilac eyes against yours a captivating sensation.

“Funny? No, I could never. Beloved, you’re the most endearing of them all.” ♡

“Now mix it together…mhm, just like that.”

THOMA has a firm grip on your wrist, aiding your motions as you gently stir the fluffy batter. He’s standing behind you, his taller stature the slightest intimidating - that is, if you didn’t know Thoma at all. He’s one of the sweetest people you’ve met, especially in an originally hostile Inazuman environment. His spring green eyes sparkle as he releases his fingers, slowly taking the bowl from your grip. “Okay, I think it’s ready now!” He’s excited, and you can tell by the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Let me just adjust the fire, put it in, and then we can wait until it’s over. It should only take 10 minutes or so with this fancy new furnace Master Ayato installed the other day…”

He rambled onwards, skillfully multitasking spreading the batter on the pan, adding more fodder to the fire, and checking its temperature, all while still talking. Another fact about Thoma - he had much to say about people he admired. Although it was rather awkward to admit, it seemed that you were one of those, as Ayaka told you with a sheepish smile on her face how Thoma had chattered all about you while briefly cleaning her room. Well, not awkward, per se. It was a feeling that was hard to put a label on, just one that made you feel warm inside. Oh… was it because of his pyro vision? Perhaps that was why your face felt so hot at the moment, listening to him talk in his smooth voice and seeing the genuine interest in his gaze. “You’re pretty.” It hasn’t even struck you that you’ve said those words out loud until you realize that he’s stopped talking, and is now staring at you instead with round eyes and a mouth slightly ajar… that, and the growing red on his cheeks. 

“I-I…?” Thoma can’t even speak with how hard he’s stammering, like something out of a cartoon, and his face is completely flushed, to the point where you think he might be feverish instead of embarrassed. “Wh-Why are you saying things like that, all of a sudden…” He coughed into his fist stiffly, readjusting his posture and taking his oven gloves off. “Besides, between the two of us, no, out of all of Teyvat, you’re the prettiest.”

Maybe he hasn’t realized that he’s said those words out loud either, because his gaze is casted to the floor that’s going to burn from how hard he’s staring at it.

“You heard me, right?” Oh, it seems you were incorrect, he had meant for you to hear it. Is that why your heart was beating so fast?

“You’re the prettiest one.” ♡

"You didn’t have to come.”

ALHAITHAM’s sharp gaze is locked onto you as he gently holds his hands in yours - per your request. His skin is cool to the touch, just like the chilling air that’s causing his hair to ruffle. “I’m here on official business, so I’ll be here awhile. Are you certain you don’t want to head back home?”

“And listen to a sleepless Kaveh rant about building structures for the next four hours?” You scoffed playfully, leaning into his frame with a smile. “No thanks. Spending that time with you is absolutely the better option of the two.”

Al Haitham’s brows furrowed the slightest bit, and he turned his head away with a brief exhale. “If that’s what you want.” He’s acting with a mask of indifference, but you know him well, well enough to discern that he’s not being truthful to himself. There’s the slightest lean in his posture, how his eyes are just a little softer, and how his voice isn’t as stony as it should be - telltale signs that he was hoping for your presence in his long work shift. Whilst the blonde architect you knew complained day and night about the two of you’s shared roommate, he wasn’t unbearable at all… although, perhaps it was unfair to compare the two. After all… you thought with a faint smile. We’re lovers.

The ashen-haired male turned to you upon seeing the change in your expression. “Is something amusing?”

“Nothing, Haitham,” you replied, beaming innocently. “You’re just very handsome, is all.” The Haitham you knew was right here, at this moment. The way his eyes widened a fraction and the way his lips twitched, the way his cheeks remained pale but you knew his ears were painted rose under his headphones. It was a person the people around him who only yearned for his attention and status could never dream of seeing. A Haitham that was for you only. 

“...What has you saying those kinds of things? I’ve already told you not to mess around, and here we are.” Al Haitham sarcastically sighs, and you know its a fake. The negligible hesitance in his usually quick-witted response has his words trailing a half-second behind, a detrimental mistake enough to determine his flusteredness. Reading Al Haitham is like a game, where the answer key is provided to onl you.

“You looked like you wanted to hear it.” You smile sheepishly, clinging tighter onto his sleeve. He’s not radiating warmth by any means, but the faint heat that rises from his body is satisfactory enough for you to feel warm. 

“Hopeless.” He says, yet doesn’t move to pry you off his arm. “Utterly hopeless.”

In his gaze is a hidden secret that his mouth wouldn't dare speak.

He was the hopeless one. The fool hopelessly in love with you. ♡

"Don't be scared, I'm right next to you!!"

KAVEH certainly looked the part of a fearless boyfriend, with the way he’s clinging to your body and shaking like a leaf. It’s no secret that he’s utterly terrified, but you’ll let him live his fantasy that he’s fooling you, at the very least. The flickering bravery in his eyes had long disappeared the moment you stepped foot into the haunted castle, a surprising suggestion coming from his roommate Al Haitham, of all people. You had heard the rumors, and heard more than a couple mouthfuls of curses directed towards him on nights where Kaveh stumbled into your place, completely wasted and reeking of booze. It was only now, with begrudging admittance, that you could confirm their truth. To tell the architect of this “romantic” and “couple-bonding” journey through a new Sumerian attraction was all it took for Kaveh to completely jump on the idea. “H-Hey, stop walking so fast, I can’t keep up…!” The blonde looked quite pitiful, holding onto your shirt with tears pooling at his eyes as he struggled to keep up with your average-paced speed. “H-Haha, you must be terrified, to be running like this…!” His awkward laugh was quickly strangled into a high-pitched screech as a person dressed in ghosty blues and greens dropped down from the ceiling and dangled there ominously with a cackle.

Moments like these made you question how you had even become acquainted with him in the first place. 

“C-C’mon, let’s run, I-I’ll protect you!!” Despite his outward appearance being disheveled as could be, with his usual properly groomed hair strewn and sticking up all over the place and his sleeves bunching up near his elbows, he managed to wrestle his way behind you while sprinting away, so at the bare minimum, if they caught you, he would be the one to fall to their claws first.

Ah, perhaps this was why. The ever steadfast desire of his to make sure you, at least, were safe. That astounding selflessness that remained apparent even through the tears that clouded his wavering gaze. You resisted the urge to laugh as your dash slowed to a brisk pace, and instead pressed against Kaveh’s side with a smile.

“H-huh?” His voice was airy, out of breath, startled. Kaveh glanced at you, crimson eyes round and expectant. “What’s wrong…?”

“I’m scared.” Lying through your teeth was guilt-inducing, but the brightening beam on Kaveh’s newfound flushed expression just about swept it all away. “Let me hold you like this, o-okay?” You even added a stutter for an extra effect, which just about drove the arrow through his poor heart. Where was your oscar? You held onto his hand fearfully, staring up at him.

Kaveh, all of a sudden, seemed to have been invigorated like someone had pumped adrenaline directly into his system, that is, an energy called “l-o-v-e!” “A-Ahem! If-If that’s the case, very well! Stay behind me, and I’ll protect you! Ahahaha! No demons would dare even set foot near my… elemental powers!” 

“Oh, thank you Kaveh…” If he noticed the evident sarcasm in your voice, he pretended not to, and there wasn’t a single change in his dumbstruck expression.

“No need to thank me! If I were unable to shield you, what use of a lover would I be?” ♡

"Look what I got...! It's for you."

WRIOTHESLEY’s eyes sparkled as he presented a glossy red apple for your viewing, its smooth, unblemished exterior being handled with the most delicate touches in direct contrast to the silver studded gloves he usually wore. “Here, c’mon, try a- Ahem.” He cleared his throat, carefully straightening his posture. “Please take it.” 

It always amazed you how his dignity still tried to uphold somewhat of a “professional” view on this entire situation. Puzzling, indeed. Perhaps he was just paranoid that he’d be seen so giddy like this and be absolutely clowned on once word got around and he went back to work at the Fortress of Meropide. The prisoners must be harsh to control on a daily basis, considering how on more than a couple separate occasions the man would come home with cuts and bleeding knuckles, to which you’d scold him (gently) for a good half hour while bandaging them up. His personality shifts were nothing but unusual.

“If you insist? Thank you.” You took the apples from his hand, fingers brushing. It was a light contact, yet Wriothesley flinched all the same, able to contain the red on his cheeks but not the dusting of it on the tips of his ears. Lucky him, it was more or less covered by his white streaked hair anyways. He could only hope and pray that you didn’t catch the sight.

Spoiler alert: you did. His fingers were warm, despite him being a cryo user. Not unpleasantly warm, like a sweaty hand that makes you feel all gross inside, but a pleasant version of it, one that makes you want to pepper kisses all over his pretty face for just existing within your realm of life.

You had to hold back on indulging in those thoughts, however, as the currently posing as stoic Wriothesley was gazing into the distance with a dramatic expression. Ooh, should you compliment him? Perhaps he’d invent a new shade of red, then! It’d be a sight to see. As silly as the idea was, you didn’t exactly what to tease him right now, not when you could taste the crisp sweetness of the apple he had picked for you on your tongue.

A smile flitted across your face and he took notice of that, giving you a small smile of his own. “Is it good? Let me have a bite. Aahh~” He leaned forward, and opened his mouth, which slowly closed in the silence that ensued. It was hard not to laugh at how sheepish he looked, rubbing the back of his head with a silly grin that escaped his usual patrolling of expressions. Who would’ve thought that a man who worked at a prison day in and day out would be so into… cheesy things? No matter, it made your heart race all the same. 

Wriothesley had expected the crunch of an apple, if he was lucky and you didn’t leave him hanging in your confusion. What he hadn’t expected was the sweet taste of your lips against his, your warmth blending with his own, your arms around his shoulders and his around your waist. It’s warm, hot. Yes, he felt like he was burning, from the inside out, from every touch of your fingers to every movement of your mouth. Sweet.

“So? How is it?” You pulled away, wiping your mouth with a cheeky smile that made him want to kiss you again.

So he did.

“Sweet. Impossibly sweet, yet nowhere near sweeter than you.” ♡

"Do you feel warmer if I hold you like this?"

NEUVILLETTE has found his arms wrapped around your smaller frame before he can even come to his senses. Yes, that’s right… the two of you had decided to go on a brief outing, with promises that you’d show him more of the outside world and that he’d, in turn, accompany you on this little adventure. Except… the two of you hadn’t accounted for the weather to be this chilly, and while there was no rain, as there was never when the two of you were together, the sun’s stale light wasn’t sufficient enough to warm your frozen body. You said you were fine and that the two of you should just stop by the next sightseeing point in the trip, but his gaze is certainly nothing to laugh at. In an instant, you’re in his arms, and he finds you in his. You’re shaking, quivering, and he’s fucking upset at himself that he didn’t do anything sooner.

“Y-Yes, it’s warm now… thank you.” Your shaking has evidently subsided, and now you lean against his chest, rising and falling with every heave of his chest. With how close you are, body pressed together with his, can you hear his heartbeat? It’s loud in his own ears, and he’s paranoid you’ll hear it - the rise and fall of the water on the ocean shores, the choppy, erratic waves on a midnight black sea. He’s afraid you’ll hear his jumbled symphony and leave him before he can say what he wants to say to you the most.

Oh, but does he even mean it? He wished he could provide the question forever poisoning his thoughts with an answer, but no matter how much he inquires of his all-knowing archon, no matter how much he judges the cases of the land, no matter how much… he still can’t find a solution that will resolve his quaky heart. It’s a problem that lies in him, that’s something that’s at the very least certain. It cannot possibly be with you, you who is as bright as the sun and whose warmth is that of a clear summer day. A beautiful disposition that is unmatched with his gloomy one. Still, he’ll yearn for you until he makes sense of it. Neuvillette cannot bear himself not to try. He will make the scale just, so that the two of you may…

“Neuvi?” The call of your name for him snatches his wandering attention in an instant. He gazes down at your figure, wrapped into his coat tightly. “Are you okay? You’ve been looking distant for a while now.” The concern in your eyes lessens the concern in his heart, and he smiles softly at your words.

“Yes, I’m alright. If you want, should we stay like this the entire trip?”

“W-What?? No, I couldn’t possibly…!!”

Verdict complete. He’ll wait. Wait until the days pass and bring the months with it, he’ll watch the leaves sink to the ocean floor and he’ll wait for his heart to decide.

Oh, if only he could know the verdict of yours.

“If it’s for you, know that I’d be more than willing.” ♡

(a/n) this reached the fucking image limit and i had to get rid of the dividers. i am so upset

anyways gotta love how they're all so romantic and childe is just like: mmm... murder... pumpkin... mmm.. screw chiscara and zhongchi . childe x pumpkin ftw (this is a joke) eek wrio feels so ooc im goinng to sob

#★ ˎˊ˗ mondaymelon #astronetwrk #favoniuslibrary #albedo x reader #kaeya x reader #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #thoma x reader #ayato x reader #kaveh x reader #alhaitham x reader #wriothesley x reader #neuvillette x reader #albedo genshin #kaeya genshin #zhongli genshin #childe genshin #alhaitham genshin #kaveh genshin #thoma genshin #ayato genshin #wriothesley genshin #neuvillette genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin fanfiction #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin impact

[genericpuff]

Persephone has a very nasty habit that needs to be talked about.

Have y'all ever really sat down and observed the when of Persephone's actions towards others?

There are three actions specifically I want you to recall and try and remember what happened preceding those actions:

1.) Persephone turning Minthe into a mint plant

2.) Persephone cornering Tori at his job

3.) Persephone invading Leuce's home with barn animals and low key threatening her life

Think very hard for a second about the when of those events. What happened leading up to them?

First, Persephone turning Minthe into a mint plant. This happened right after she made out with Hades at the shopping mall, but more specifically, this happened while she was hiding out in Hades' home from Zeus, while also fearing the worst of her situation with Apollo.

Second, Persephone cornering Tori at his job. This scene came right after she saw the "Apollo for President" sign in Olympus.

And third, Persephone invading Leuce's home. This came shortly after she had felt insecure over Hades calling Hera 'Bunny', which for some reason she pinned on her own "jealousy" instead of calling out the elephant in the room.

It also came right after the Zeus/Dionysus incident and Demeter trying to force her to stay in the Mortal Realm, but I think the Hera incident is the most damning because it's the most related to Persephone's clear insecurities that are being compounded by dating / being married to a serial cheater.

What do all three of these things tell us about Persephone?

It shows that Persephone has a bad habit of projecting all of her problems onto other people that have nothing to do with the bigger issues.

Minthe ratted her out, yes, but she was still running from her inevitable trial, attempting to use the Underworld's policies to play the system and get herself off as scot-free as possible. I mentioned this already in a previous post, but these aren't the actions of a person who claims to feel as guilty as they do over committing mass manslaughter. Point is, she would have gotten caught eventually, and she still had to answer for her crimes. Minthe was an easier target for her anger and frustration than Zeus.

Tori gossiped about her in college, yes, but it came from a very real incident in which Hades ripped out his roommate's eye and beat him half to death. Tori wasn't even gossiping at that point, he was deadass just telling his side of the story and warning people that Persephone was affiliating herself with an abusive man. None of what he said about her being "Hades' dark concubine" was untrue, but he had the unfortunate luck of being at the bank right after Persephone was triggered by the Apollo sign. Tori was just an easier target for her anger and frustration than Apollo.

Leuce attempted to 'seduce' Hades, yes, but she was manipulated by Thetis in an attempt to get her planted just like Minthe and I think a lot of people forget that. Not to mention, Persephone says that she had "ten years" to make the moves on Hades, but like... no she didn't, because Hades was either possessed by Kronos or in a coma for those 10 years, and then he got married to Persephone like 5 days after that LMAO (not saying that excuses her trying to seduce him, I'm just wondering when she was supposed to find the time in those 10 years to talk to him LOL). And finally, and most importantly, Hades had already rejected her advances. She was already embarrassed. She clearly wasn't going to attempt it again. She is of no threat to Persephone, the now wife of Hades and Queen of the Underworld. So Persephone raiding her home was purely just for her own entertainment and, again, to satisfy her own insecurities. Leuce was just an easier target for her anger and frustration than Hades and Hera.

Point is, instead of actually dealing with the root of her issues, seeking legitimate help for her trauma, and/or learning any amount of self-care techniques to manage her frustration and refocus herself on the bigger issues, Persephone is instead relegating herself to a bully who takes out all of her issues onto people weaker than her, oftentimes people who have nothing to do with those bigger issues or have no real bearing on her life.

I'm sure now that I've written about this (because I'm not 100% convinced Rachel isn't reading this lmao the odds are low but never zero) there's gonna be some arc where Persephone goes "aw, I saw the bigger issues but now I'm a different person so life goes on!" without actually doing anything to make up for how she's harmed people (there already is sort of a 'twist' like that in the newest FastPass and it's uh... yikes) but until that happens (again, odds are SEVERELY low but never zero) Persephone is literally the worst person in her own story. She doesn't need a sugar daddy, she doesn't need power, she needs some bitter doses of reality and, most importantly, help.

#lo critical #lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

the counterpart

• chapter 1 — a welcome threatening stir

rating: explicit. please don’t skip straight to the (future) smut parts though, i’m currently teaching myself how to play chess just for this fic /hj

word count: 4,5k

pairing: viktor x fem!reader (no use of ‘y/n’)

cw: alcohol, occasional cussing, reader is a smoker (she plays chess and lives in the 90s, how do you expect her to have healthy lungs in these conditions?). a LOT of tension, viktor is a certified brat tamer. i think that’s it — please come yell at me if i missed anything. basically just a silly little chess rivals (sort of) au.

i am finally writing this multichapter and i hope it will be a fun read for you and an excellent torture for me. i have a vision but i don’t know how to make shit perfectly executed. we’ll see how this goes. an ao3 link will be added later. any feedback is highly appreciated.

part 2

⸻

You weren’t obsessed with him. 

With the way his tongue would click against his teeth so astutely irritating — a gesture you grew to define as some brief foreplay before said appendage touched his palate precisely one tortuous time, whispering a victorious ‘check’. With a crease dissecting his forehead — a rare occasion you managed to grasp only twice: the first time being your failed attempt to capture his queen, and the second — a recent one, at that — being a foolish way you’ve lost a freshly converted into a rook pawn: concurrently the most humiliating way to jeopardize an intellectual sparring. 

You weren’t obsessed with his bizarre contemplative humming, nor with his Czech last name — needless to mention the disheveled mayhem of dark hair: Viktor was just a mere enigma you fancied to occasionally demerge — sneakily, patiently, with a positive passion to it. Habitually in a private ambiance of either his or your dorm room, though actually more commonly his — something about it simply screamed peace, as contradictory as that sounds. Sweetly quiet, relatively neat, with a never properly made bed being the only truly concerning mess in it.

That apartment was the embodiment of a grandmaster’s mind, and it certainly had all the chances of belonging to one at some point: if only he kept up with the meticulous tactics you were (secretly) so jealous about. 

“Envy is a waste of time,” he unkindly reminded you one particularly languid evening, “you should pursue ways to expand your knowledge — not to contract them with such trivialities.” 

That reproach got into your ambitious head. Call it a reality check or a simple first impression — since that encounter was also the first one you two had ever shared.

Though could someone really blame you? You didn’t need humbling. Well, not any more of that crude one, at the very least — a local college chess club had more than enough of it to offer. You could consume their disdain for weeks and it still wouldn’t make them run out of it — they had plenty in stock specifically for women. That much was obvious the second you appeared before those arrogant, prejudiced fools. You stepped in there innocently hoping to enroll, but stormed off with a genuine intention to commit homicide — a manslaughter, to be precise, and god weren’t you going to be merciful. 

‘You can’t enroll without a rating,’ hissed that bespectacled, caricaturely tall boy — all heavily starched collar, stupid chequered tie and a handful of dirty blonde hair plastered across his forehead. 

Bullshit, you thought, gathering every last ounce of your forced politeness, who needs a rating to enroll into a college fucking chess club? 

‘We don’t accept amateurs,’ assented his not any less grimy interlocutor, his expression a tad bit more bearable. ‘Please, leave,’ he demanded, lancing your face with his hostile eyes. 

Well, it’s a good thing you accept ill-mannered bastards, you almost muttered, fists clenching hard into a white-knuckled disaster. 

And perhaps you were even willing to negotiate, to have their best players all lined up in front of you — each waiting for a turn to be relentlessly put in his place by you; and you would certainly show them — quick, efficient and contemplative. You would force them into submission — professionally so, in a way that would make them all wonder whether the next Judit Poglar herself has decided to bless them with her presence. 

Because, sure; you were certainly many things — an excellent mind, a trickster, a fanatic, but that list never included an amateur. The mere fact someone even dared to insult you in such a way — and without even sparing you one game of chess — was, frankly, deeply humiliating. 

So you decided to let your pride win. Walked out of that damned club with an ostentatious huff, heels clacking loud enough to muffle their demeaningly misogynistic brouhaha — a tacit protest, an addendum to your passive-aggressive ‘good luck, gentlemen’. 

They didn’t want you — fine, whatever, you didn’t want them either. You’ll find yourself a counterpart soon — not any less intelligent, and, most importantly, a respectful one. They’ll come crawling back to you once you gain a rating, mourning their loss and pathetically begging for sweet mercy. You could already imagine the holes rubbed through the nice fabric of their dress pants from all the kneeling you’ll make them do. 

Besides, Jayce had already promised to introduce you to someone decent. ‘He’s sweet,’ he assured you, a friendly arm wrapped around your tense shoulder. ‘Incredibly smart,’ he proceeded with his wholehearted praise, proud grin so wide the corners of his mouth were definitely hurting. ‘Somewhat awkward,’ he mused, raising one eyebrow in consideration, ‘though I’m not entirely sure it’s awkwardness, per se, Viktor is simply… pensive.’

Viktor. Your eyes squeezed shut, offering the restless imagination a brief opportunity to brainstorm. A competent, pensive and sweet chess lover: what would his temper turn out to be like? Does he have a rating yet? What if he’s already playing professionally? Perhaps he even has a title? 

Jayce’s next comment didn’t offer you much help though. 

‘He’s handsome too,’ he whispered, a shit-eating smirk wiped instantly off his pleased physiognomy. Elbows become offensive weapons between the ribs of unfortunate matchmakers, you see. 

Either way: the deal was sealed. You were going to meet Viktor the next chance you get, and Jayce’s upcoming birthday has provided you with precisely that convenience. 

It still happened rather spontaneously — you can’t mentally prepare yourself for an encounter you don’t quite know what to expect of. Sure, Jayce’s complaisant flattery was still at your service — a source not exactly reliable, yet somewhat welcomed nonetheless: though only because you lacked any other information about this Viktor persona.

But you decided not to upset a dear friend on his birthday. Acting like Jayce was bearable to be around was a part of your gift, after all. 

Unfortunately, the fact he was born on an awfully steamy July day wasn’t helping you accomplish that; you squinted, drowning a glass of that disgustingly warm bourbon, a couple of melted ice cubes in it slightly diluting the once-rich taste of liquor. The man of the hour had quickly dissolved into a mess of infuriatingly noisy people after only reserving you a quick hello, shiny eyes already evidently tipsy — either from all the attention or the contentious quality of the booze this bar had to offer. 

You didn’t dare to complain. The tab was on a birthday boy, and you knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Knew better, yet still stared right at Jayce’s laughing physiognomy, grin so blindingly toothy it had you regretting ever sojourning this feast of life. Not that you had anything against attending birthday celebrations; but a cramped bar, a cheap drink and not a single minute spent with a man you came here for weren’t exactly your ideal perception of said… festivity. Not to mention that Viktor was terribly late — though your darling mutual acquaintance was in no state to properly introduce you to him anyway. You slipped out of your bar stool, rubbing an erratic little pattern into the weary skin of each heavy eyelid — but the sleepiness didn’t magically dissolve under the persistent pressure of your fingers. If there existed a thing you hated more than cocky men and bad booze — then it certainly had to be feeling hot, and this awful place has kindly reminded you of precisely that long forgotten loathing; air so sticky it was melting your brain into a tired, dysfunctional mush. 

Somehow you managed to find an exit before the headache became borderline unbearable, letting the evening greet you with a chilly slap on precisely that slick place where a damp blouse kept clinging onto your sweaty back. Summer sure was relentless this year — the outdoors didn’t offer you much of that crispy gentle breeze, but it was still not nearly as suffocatingly hot as inside that grimy shelter for drunks. 

Shaky hands slid inside the pocket of your pants, fumbling frantically with the contents of it: glistening candy wrappers, ringing keys and a handful of coins. Took you long enough to finally feel the shape of an old lighter, the spark wheel of it so terribly rusty the callus on your thumb started stinging as soon as you laid it on that rough little bump. 

With a sigh, you fetched a folded pack of Camel out of the same stuffed sack, the state of said poor thing utterly matching its owner’s — all ruffled, messy, with the bottom of it barely still intact. Well, fine, perhaps that last trait was not precisely pertinent to you, but your rear was hurting quite palpably after an hour spent sitting on that awfully uncomfortable stool — which meant that relating to your poor box of cancer sticks was inevitable. 

The spark wheel gave in after a few insistent pushes, and within seconds you were taking your first greedy drag, back pressed tightly against the cool wall; providing you a much needed support for taming a headache with a smoke break that would undoubtedly cause a new one in an instant. The filth filled your lungs with sweet relief, and you let the sedation run slowly through your veins, squeezing the filter in an affectionate little embrace of trembling index and middle fingers. 

And then your private moment was ruined. But not abruptly in the slightest, with just one simple call of your name – the most careful of all interventions, surprisingly quizzical and polite, heavily accented at the edge of the very last syllable. Still had you choking ungracefully on your tiny nicotine snack, filling the silence with awfully inelegant coughing. 

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you,” spoke your pensive intruder, causing you to sharply turn around, back clinging off the wall in one unsubtle movement. 

That’s how all meaningful formal meetings happen. Unfailingly when you least expect them, or, even worse — when you stop expecting them at all, with every thought banished from your utterly relaxed mind. They sneak up on you under shitty bars, giving you a slight vertigo and then offering a polite smile to make amends, gripping the handles of their canes with pent up awkwardness. And god were they peculiar intrusions — matching your silly, much too improper manner to wear corporate clothes for a night out, with just a few buttons of their tight vest undone; limbs lanky, but not inept, eyes brimming with pretty copper right onto your astonished frame. Made you randomly embarrassed about your chipped nail polish and messy hair with just a mere presence of their flawlessness: you knew you were facing a tease before you even managed to acknowledge his appearance, brow raising curiously in a cautious attempt of a greeting.

“Well, you did startle me,” was the first thing to leave your mouth after the coughing assault had ended, lips stretching lazily into an involuntary grin. “How do you know my name?” 

His eyes — oh those big shiny tormentors — widened in surprise, and one sinewy hand crawled somewhat haphazardly up his chest, fingers catching the knot of a red tie to pull on it firmly. To either adjust it or to make the clearing of a tender throat easier — you couldn’t quite place it, yet still watched him in silent astonishment, tasting the bitterish taste of tobacco on the tip of your tongue. 

“Well,” he parroted your tone with sharp accuracy and proceeded with distinguished sass, “I believe a certain someone has introduced us to each other… in absentia, so to speak.” 

Oh. So that was your new charming counterpart? Bravo, Jayce — there was actually something truthful about your flattering for the first time. 

“For I am Viktor, in case you’re still confused,” he obligingly reminded, abandoning the brief fidgeting with his tie to offer you a handshake.  

You gulped, almost extending a dominant arm to accept it, but some weird foreboding had once convinced you that to twine your still smelling of cigarettes fingers with a stranger would be somehow perceived as crude — and so you clumsily caught his palm with your other, less nimble limb. Let the heat of his touch engrave into your hand, eyes swirling the tiny mole above that defined cupid’s bow, making you feel stupid for stealing that innocent of a peek. Had you forgetting about the still stuffed into your mouth cigarette as it fell open in oblivious awe, almost dropping a decent bridge of ashes onto his pretty shoes.

Regaining the lost composure, you managed to introduce yourself in a manner similar to his — not that it was necessary since he seemed to remember what to call you exactly, but the gesture still felt right — you’d vowed to treat people with politeness and liked to think that it was going quite well for you. 

“So,” he uttered somewhat approbatory, withdrawing his hand from your tender clasp, “normally I don’t… tutor. But Jayce was rather insistent I try — and he’d also assured me that you’re quite passionate about the subject.” 

You huffed, letting out an undefinable sound of confusion. Not without a mixture of evident irritation to it, if you were to be frank — but that was entirely justified. A tutor? Is that how Jayce really took it? 

“I’m not looking for a tutor,” you sassed matter-of-factly, angrily inhaling from your cigarette. “I’m looking for a counterpart. What makes you think that you’re competent enough to teach me anything at all?” you inquired with candid hostility, watching him go limp in silent panic. 

You’d vowed to treat people with politeness and didn’t care if it wasn’t going well for you anymore. Quite a drastic change of plans, to be frank.

“Oh, I am not claiming that,” Viktor rushed to object, and the way a few strands of hair started shaking treacherously as he wagged his head had almost caused you to crack a pretentious smirk. But he quickly soothed the unkempt curl and proceeded with his explanation, “I was simply told you might need some help. Why the unnecessary attitude?” 

“Because you were told wrong,” you practically spat the smoke into his face, lips smacking together with an audible pop. It made his textured nose wrinkle with a fed up sigh, entertaining you with an ungainly attempt of waving that livid cloud away. 

“And that’s my fault… how, exactly?” he mumbled with an utterly puzzled glare, and you scoffed in silent rejoicement, leaning slightly closer to divert yourself with more of his emotiveness. 

“You should have paid more attention to what Jayce told you,” you jumped over his rhetorical question paying it no mind whatsoever. Though, as you were reminiscing on the events of this exact conversation — your own audacity made you wonder how Viktor managed to refrain from slapping you across the face that very instant. The shitty booze must have turned out not so shitty after all — it sure gave you the nerve, and you were holding onto it a tad bit too tightly. 

But your new companion didn’t take that well. His thick eyebrow protruded into a furious arc, lids twitching slightly at the outburst you were so pathetically proud about. Both hands returned to the handle of his cane, as if getting ready to transform it into a weapon — and he leaned his whole body weight on it with a displeased gasp, accented voice obtaining a lower, more threatening edge to it. 

He’s sweet, you scoffed, ready to press your forehead against his like an uncivilized animal. It’s not like you were acting much better than that anyway. 

Well, at least Jayce didn’t lie about the handsome part. 

“I’ll have you know that I was, indeed, paying attention,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “and if you wish to quibble over the words that do not even belong to me — then fine: be my absolute guest, but do not except me to align with your enthusiasm and partake in useless insults.” 

He cleared his throat again, evidently reluctant to indulge in whatever spectacle you were so clearly asking for. That man didn’t deserve your resentment, but now you certainly deserved his, and so you backed off, fingers twitching haphazardly as they curdled around your cigarette for one last awkward drag, lashes fluttering with palpable nervousness. 

“I was told you needed a tutor — and I sincerely apologize if your request was miscomprehended,” Viktor sighed, and you blinked at him in baffled reverence. Wishing oh so desperately to burn your  always looking for trouble tongue with that still somewhat smoldering tobacco stick. 

“No, I…” you gasped in response, but Viktor held a soothing hand up, stopping you from puking out more of that guilty incoherent nonsense. 

“Please, allow me to finish,” he demanded, and you obeyed — a mere culpable inch away from accidentally swallowing the filter still filling your mouth with a sharp savour of smoke. 

And your submission was appreciated right away. 

“So, as I was saying,” Viktor returned to his lecture with a distinguished cough, “I’m sorry if your request was miscomprehended. But it certainly wasn’t miscomprehended by me, which makes your reaction somewhat… unfair, don’t you think?” 

“Yes,” you yielded, nodding in weak agreement. “Yes, totally unfair.” 

“To say the least,” he was quick to add, emphasizing the last word especially heavy.  

“To say the least,” you parroted in response — just like a tamed misbehaving brat. And that’s precisely what you were — humbled, put in your place and sorry. You were sorry, and it made you quiver as you timidly chewed on the inside of an already half-eaten cheek, frantically counting the numerous scratches on your shoes. Doing anything to escape the gentle orbs undressing you off your very flesh in an attempt to find something even you doubted was still there: some prudence. 

“So, with that being said,” Viktor summarized, and you heard a resonant click of his cane against the concrete, “I suggest you take out your anger on someone who’s responsible for the incorrect wording.” 

You dared to abandon your defeated position, head tilting slightly upwards to witness his departure — just as languid as this completely disastrous evening; no offense to Jayce and his special day, of course. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he smiled, politely nodding at the establishment before you two, “I still ought to wish that someone a happy birthday.” 

So that’s how you lose both a battle and a war. He’d just taught you a valuable lesson — and here you were, so appalled to the idea of being tutored. Oh how the tables have turned. 

You reached out a hand for him, preliminarily putting out that damned cigarette to the sole of your messy shoe in a chaotic rush. Grazed his shoulder with a fleeting touch — so cowardly unsure if you were even allowed to pamper such luxury in these conditions. But he showed you some mercy — allowed it to linger there, slightly dipped into the curvature of his clavicle, awaiting your next move with a didactic frown. 

A look of a man who’d put you in a checkmate before even pulling out a chess board. 

“Viktor, I’m sorry,” you muttered with the most sincere remorseful look your face could even master, “I’m terribly sorry, actually. I shouldn’t have—“ but he interrupted you, eyes drifting playfully to the hand still invading his precious privacy. 

“Oh, shit,” you cussed under your breath, hastily pulling it back as if it was leprotic, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“Please, continue,” he insisted softly. Gave you a few seconds to finish crumbling into stupid tipsy pieces and stepped back, all of his attention centered precisely on your earnest apology. 

Oh, nevermind, someone please scratch the ‘showed you some mercy’ part.  

“I was rude,” you confessed (as if it wasn’t obvious enough already). “Unacceptably so. I’m not exactly… good with social cues — but it’s no excuse, I should never have said that. Especially within the first five minutes of meeting you,” the words were flowing out of your mouth so naturally — surprisingly smooth for someone who’d normally take three to five business days to come up with a proper atonement (or even consider the necessity of one whatsoever). 

“Do you think I could somehow… make it up to you?” you hit him with your most pitiable arrow, the one you were saving up for special occasions when you really did mean to somehow atone for all the damage, eyes two pretty things seeking his forgiveness with a sporadic, perplexed blink. But they saw none — he’d frowned, hummed in consideration, and then tormented you with silence for just a few more everlasting seconds, making you sink your lips softly into the edge of your nail and scrape some polish off of it. Squinting instantly at the awful, chemical taste — and Viktor finally gave up. 

You’d realized it was your first time hearing him laugh much later. It was, indeed, a thing to remember — all raspy, strangely domestic, not malicious or willing to destroy you any further. And yes — technically, he was laughing at you, but if that’s what you’d get every time this man filled the air with that soft laughter — then you may as well become a circus employee just to figure out how to make him emit more of it.

“All is forgiven,” he assured you, shaking his head, “the second you made that face, actually. But no more of that, please. If that’s how you plead — then I’m afraid I might someday forgive you something utterly unacceptable.” 

He’s sweet, you sighed, an unsure smile returning plastered across your face once again. 

Perhaps you should start listening to Jayce more often. 

“But back to your request,” Viktor was quick not to let you turn into a puddle on that still scorched by the sun ground, “a counterpart — is that what you need? Why not join a chess club, then?” 

His question didn’t mean any harm, and he obviously just asked it out of sheer curiosity — yet it still made you feel a tad bit demeaned. Not by him, of course, just by the fact those arrogant fucks still dared to coexist without you. 

Perhaps they would be willing to reconsider if they saw your behavior tonight? 

You sighed, shrugging off his query. “I tried to. They didn’t let me because I don’t have a rating.”

“Really? Well that’s just strange — since when does one need a rating for it?” his confusion was genuine, eyes widened drastically as if he’d just heard the biggest absurdity of his entire life. 

“That’s what I said,” you whined in a tone of a natural gossip-girl, almost ready to chain-smoke the entire rest of your pack now that you were reminded of your misery. 

“I see,” Viktor hummed, stroking a thumb over the line of his sharp chin in deep scrutiny, “hm, I’m certain I’ve never heard them demand a rating for enrollment before. A club is not a tournament, after all.” 

“Wait, are you a member of our chess club?” the realization quickly absorbed you, but Viktor didn’t quite catch on to your astonishment. 

“Yes,” he dryly confirmed, “yes, I am. Not that I spend much time there though — those gentlemen are simply… how do I put it politely? Mediocre. Incompetent. I don’t like careless opponents — what’s the point in playing them if you can picture how exactly you can win within seconds?” 

Within seconds. You froze in apparent disbelief, trying to figure out whether he’s bluffing or actually being serious, awaiting tensely on something — anything —  that might indicate a joke. But not a single muscle on his pale face twitched into a smile — he’d responded with a look as awfully inquisitive as yours, unsure of what exactly you expect him to do. 

So he does mean it. In that case, he’s either very full of himself — or these boys are, in fact, that hopeless in chess. And something kept telling you that it most likely was the ladder.

“I’m jealous then, I suppose,” you offered him a safe answer, toying thoughtlessly with your poor, rusty lighter. 

“Please don’t be,” he protested with a careful plea. “Envy is a waste of time. You should pursue ways to expand your knowledge — not to contract them with such trivialities.” 

Bold of him to assume you might envy his skills. Well, yes — you were definitely beaming with envy, but he didn’t need to know that just yet. 

You snorted, almost letting that toxic conceit take over whatever pieces of common sense Viktor had just punched back into you — and his words dwelled, slinking through your skull, filling you not with thirst for vengeance, but with inspiration. It gave you some time to form a decent comeback, so you used it wisely: by delivering precisely that kind of answer, eyes rolling playfully at his discreet lecture. 

“I don’t envy your tactics,” you informed him, gracefully holding your head up, “I envy the fact you have someone to show them to.” 

And that boy smiled again, forcing your light vertigo to return — but not out of tipsiness or so-called ‘arrogance poisoning’. 

“So do you,” he whispered, and watched you derail with the most victorious countenance known to a man. Reminding you nonchalantly that he doesn’t need a single chess piece to have you in a stalemate. 

That muggy bar might’ve offered you an experience of being trapped in a figurative, impossibly narrow coffin, but Viktor’s presence was the thing that truly made you feel like an actual cadaver — all empty thoughts, and stiffness, and skipped heartbeats. 

But Jayce forgot to mention that your new competitor was also deeply laconic. 

“Meet me in the library next… Friday, if you’re available?” he wasn’t generous enough to award you with any more seconds to recover from this exchange, impatiently expecting a confirmation. You could only manage a non-verbal one, nodding weakly at his offer. 

“Say… somewhere around noon?” he mused, and you instantly nodded again, waiting obligingly for his next suggestion. What a pleasure it is to do business with you! 

“Perfect,” he snatched the words out of your mouth, already half-turned to the bar entrance, “please bring a board, and I shall bring the clocks… Yes, the library should suffice — it’s not like a game of chess requires much conversation either way. Now, please do excuse me — I really need to steal Jayce away for a minute.” 

You watched him vanish into that devilish, so utterly unfitting for a man of his kind place; eyes nailed into his back as the crowd of feasting people swallowed your new interlocutor. Letting an excited little breath slip past your open mouth, escorting him with an uncoordinated wave of a shaky hand — a rather silly, excessive gesture since he wasn’t able to see it, and yet it still felt right — like a perfect little farewell to strengthen this newfound friendship with. 

That’s how you met your counterpart — or, perhaps, that’s what you used to see in him once. 

What you were still oblivious about — is that this man will conquer you in much more capacities than just the game that brought you two together.

⸻

tags (please let me know if you’d like to be added to them) : @zaunitearchives @blissfulip

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x f!reader #arcane fanfic #viktor smut #*throws this thing at you and vanishes* #the cunterpart

[morbidology]

Esmie Tseng, a 16-year-old honor student from Overland Park, Kansas, presented a seemingly typical teenage persona through her blog, filled with sarcasm and a love for music. However, behind this facade, she provided a darker glimpse into her challenging home life with Chinese immigrant parents, Shu Yi Zhang and Tao Tseng, who imposed unattainable expectations on her.

Despite being an accomplished piano player, Esmie faced extreme pressure from her parents, who threatened to sell her piano if she didn't win a competition and grounded her for scoring 96% on a test. Their reaction to a few B's in an otherwise stellar report card even led to threats of moving to another state. Disturbingly, they subjected her to humiliating punishments, such as forcing her to stand naked in the corner when she disappointed them.

Moreover, her parents frequently shifted blame onto Esmie for their own problems. Following her mother's job loss, Esmie was unjustly accused, with her mother leaving notes on her computer expressing shame and labeling her lazy and a disappointment. Even Esmie's achievements, like numerous math medals, were dismissed by her parents as something not to be proud of, claiming she lacked intelligence.

On August 19, 2005, Esmie reached a breaking point in their quiet Blue Valley neighborhood home. In a tragic turn of events, she stabbed her mother to death in a brutal incident that unfolded across several rooms. Esmie later pleaded guilty to voluntary manslaughter and received an eight-year prison sentence. After her parole in 2012, Esmie redirected her life, becoming involved with Missourians for Alternatives to the Death Penalty.

#true crime #female killer #young killer

[awyeahitssam]

Stiles figures out the whole werewolf thing when he’s nine years old, and never mentions it.

Not when he’s eleven and his dad is stressing over mountain lion manslaughter, when he’s fifteen and his best friend ditches him for the Hale brood, or when he’s seventeen and Cora punctures his tires with claws after he beats her out for first place in a countywide Young Writers competition.

If the Hale’s want to kill supernaturals invading their territory, that’s their right. If Scott wants to pretend they weren’t once brothers to each other just because he’s no longer dangerously asthmatic or socially stunted, Stiles can accept that too. And if Cora wants to take out her petty frustrations on Claudia Stilinski’s jeep - well, fuck yes will he get his vengeance but he’s certainly not going to blackmail her just because she’s stupid enough to pop claws in broad daylight. 

(Instead Stiles threatened to leak photos of Cora making out with her twin’s ex-girlfriend in the bathroom of the local diner - time stamped before they broke up. It was enough to make her personally change and finance his baby’s tires, plus teach the stunted bitch a lesson on messing with Stiles.

It may also help the girls' dismal attempts at subterfuge.

He doubted it, though.) 

For all that people go on about Stiles not being able to keep his smart mouth shut, he’s very good at saying nothing of substance.

In the end Stiles moved away for college without anybody discovering he knew all about Beacon Hill's supernatural secret. 

(He warded the Sheriff’s house to kingdom come. It was subtle enough that the local pack wouldn’t notice, but if anything looking to hurt his dad came bumping through the night they would sooner be burned to ash than touch a hair on the Sheriff’s oblivious human head.) 

Stiles gets the call on Christmas Eve. 

Parrish - the only Deputy he doesn’t have a file full of blackmail on - tells him his father is in the hospital and might not make it. He says he hasn’t been shot when asked, but stays vague when Stiles demands to know what happened even as he throws together a bag and sends an all-caps text to Jocelyn, a study partner who works at the airport and will be able to get him on the soonest available flight to San Francisco. 

Stiles emotionally manipulates and cajoles and blackmails, and still gets nothing more than vague replies from Jordan. Clark, Whittings and Jones don’t answer their phones.

When Stiles gets to Beacon Hills heads are going to roll.

- Stiles pulls into Beacon Memorial at three in the morning Christmas day, parks in the first spot he sees (because fuck reserved parking) and hightails it towards the nurse’s station.

“Get me the status of the Sheriff,” he orders a vaguely familiar nurse, who doesn’t even bat a lash at his brisk tone. The hospital staff is almost as familiar as the police force; they helped raise him when his mother couldn’t, and even after, when he hung around after school with Scott. 

Beacon Hills residents acknowledged that Stiles Stilinski didn’t mess around about his father's health. 

(When Stiles was fourteen the Sheriff got shot in the gut. The condescending prick of a doctor who refused to give ‘a child’ information on his father was fired, ruined, and run out of town within the month.)

“He was found with a head wound but it’s stopped bleeding, and I know his vitals have stabilized,” she says, first off. “You’ll have to ask his doctor for more information, hon. Room 317.”

Stiles doesn’t relax, can’t until he sees his father is perfectly alright for himself, but he nods and tries for a smile. It strains across his face and drops within a few seconds, so he turns and makes for the ICU. 

“And Stiles?” calls the nurse. “He has visitors.” 

It turns out ‘visitors’ means that there are three Hale’s, an Argent, and an ex-best friend hanging outside the Sheriff’s room. Stiles feels well on his way to bashing in a couple of faces, especially when Scott looks up at him like he’s an injured puppy and says, empathetic, “Stiles.” 

See, this is why it took some convincing to get Stiles to accept his full-ride to NYU. Stiles just fucking knew that his dad would get drawn into supernatural shit while he was gone, and he had been stupid enough to believe that the Deputy’s would actually do as ordered and keep him updated on more than just his father’s eating habits.

Oh, he would be having words with Robins. 

Out of the assembled Hale’s - Talia, Laura, and Peter - two look long-suffering and one is arranging their face into something resembling sorry. Chris Argent is showing no emotion but the way he watches Stiles is careful, almost wary. And Scott just looks plain guilty, which isn’t a good sign for his continued health because Stiles has killed to keep his dad safe before and he would damn sure do it again.

(Maybe he’ll kill them all, if the Sheriff dies.)

Stiles drops the calm facade that he’s been clutching at for the past twelve goddamned hours, takes a step forward, and stares down the local Alpha.

“What are you doing here?” he demands. It’s inconspicuous enough, something an oblivious human would ask when apparent strangers were crowding the waiting area. 

“Stiles, isn’t it?” Talia asks, standing to meet his height and reaching out for a handshake. He doesn’t spare the limb a glance, narrowed eyes demanding answers. “We were assisting your father on a case when he was injured. We’re here to make sure he’s alright.”

Stiles modulates his scent, his heartbeat, his rage. His eyes turn to Scott and a sneer pulls at his mouth. “You too, Scotty? Were you helping my father on a case?” 

Scott McCall is a terrible liar and everybody knows it.

His throat bobs, his eyes dart to Talia, and then to Chris, and then back to Stiles, who is considering punching his lights out.

Peter Hale is Talia’s enforcer. Laura Hale is set to inherit the mantle of Alpha. Chris Argent is the local hunter. They all have a reason to be here, to be involved, but Scott - Scott is just a beta, which means Scott is probably what pulled the Sheriff into this mess. Why else would a low ranking, bitten wolf be here? 

“I, uh. Yeah, I was. Y’know. Helping. There were animals involved, and I’m studying to be a vet, so, aha, he - he was going to ask Deaton, but he’s… out of town. So your dad ended up consulting me instead?”

Yes. Truly terrible.

“I see. So instead of using a qualified veterinary technician, my dad decided to ask a first year from BH’s community college, who likely hasn’t completed his introductory courses. That makes so much sense. Your logic is so very sound. Ten out of ten.”

Stiles skin itched. He was getting impatient.

He was getting angry.

Stiles turned his back on the small crowd, pushing into the Sheriff’s room without mind to the sputtering Scott. The doctor wasn’t there so he grabbed the chart from the end of the bed, scanning it quickly, adding it to what he already knew. 

His dad had no physical wounds. He had been found unconscious in the parking lot of the police station. He wouldn’t wake up. 

Something supernatural was going on here, and no amount of human medicine would help, period. 

Stiles laid the chart back down and pulled out his cellphone, typing out a quick text, before giving his dad’s hand a lingering squeeze and exiting the room.

Everyone was watching him with sharp eyes, except Scott who was scowling at the ground. It seemed unimpressive and childish on his twenty year old face.

“Argent,” Stiles says, zoning in on Chris. He’s never liked Talia, never appreciated all she let her children get away with and the obviousness of her pack. Chris, however, he had extensively researched. He was a hunter coming into Stiles’ town, but unlike the werewolves he was discreet. Smart. “What are you hunting?”

Chris’ brow creases at his phrasing, but he didn’t acknowledge it as anything odd. “I don’t know much about who did this. He was found unconscious in the parking lot at the police station, and the doctors are still running tests to determine the cause of his condition.”

“Tests that won’t find anything,” Stiles says back, as calmly as he can when it feels like he’s about to shake out of his skin. “Most shifters would have left some kind of outward marking, and there’s no sense of magic around him so I doubt it was a Druid or Wiccan. I’m assuming you all know, so tell me. What. Was. It.” 

“Stiles, you know—”

Talia interrupts Scott. Just as well, because Stiles feels like hitting something the longer they stall. “Just what do you know about all this, Stiles?”

“Your family has never been the most subtle, I figured out about the supernatural when I was nine. My dad, however, wasn’t wrapped up in any of this until I left for college — presumably, he only got involved in the past few months, since his deputy’s haven’t informed me that he suddenly started hanging around Argent, Deaton, or you Hale’s.”

Talia opened her mouth again, and Stiles held up a finger. “Stop. I don’t have time to deal with your insipid questions. Just tell me what we are dealing with. Now.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Stiles slanted his eyes to the hunter. 

“I’ve been hunting a rogue fae,” Argent said. “Several people in town have fallen comatose, including one of your father’s officers.”

“Fae. Of fucking course, it always has to be fae. What kind?” 

Argent looked at him blankly.

“Come on. Was it seelie or unseelie? An elemental? Changeling? Elf?" Argent's forehead creased. "For chrissakes, did it even originate in this country, or do I have to brush up on my Welsh?”

A throat cleared behind him, and Stiles spun to face the enforcer. “Sweetheart, Christopher has no clue what you’re talking about. I doubt the Argent bestiary takes time to classify the fae beyond methods for killing them.”

“But you don’t even kill them all the same way! It’s—” Stiles groaned in frustration, running a hand over his face. “Forget it. Did anybody get a good look at it? Scott?” 

Scott jolted, mouth snapping shut. “Uh, why do you think I—?”

“Because you’re here, so either you’ve seen it or you dragged my dad into this shitshow. Which one?” Scott shifted.

“Both,” Peter chimed in unhelpfully. Stiles considered wringing his neck, but he was the only one providing any actual information.

“Okay. Okay, we’ll deal with that later. Was it male or female?”

Scott didn’t say anything, glancing towards Talia again.

“Scott, answer my goddamn questions! This is my dad we’re talking about!”

Scott winced back at his decibel, jerking his eyes from Talia to the floor. He looked guilty, as well he should. “A-a girl.”

“Tall or short? What did her skin look like?”

“Uh, tall. Like, taller than you. She was grey, and her eyes—they were completely black.”

Stiles' magic spiked, sparking out of his fingers unhelpfully. Stiles clenched his hands shut and ignored it. “Were there any markings on her forehead?”

“Yeah, there were, like, purple swirls—”

Stiles cursed. Explicitly. 

Talia looked scandalized.

“How long has it been since dad? When was he found?” 

“Eleven hours ago. Parrish called you almost immediately.”

“At least one of the deputy’s are being a good boy,” Stiles murmured thoughtlessly, pacing now. “How long has she been waiting between victims?”

“There have been two a day for the last week.” Peter offered.

Stiles frowned, stilling. “That doesn’t make sense. She shouldn’t have such an appetite, unless…”

“Unless what?” Peter prodded.

“Unless she’s pregnant,” Stiles whispered. He sounded like he was about to faint, and looked little better. “Oh god, a pregnant Aatmanand. I’m surprised this town is still standing.”

He pulled out his phone, flipping through his contacts and trying to ignore the way his hand was trembling.

She picked up on the second ring.

“What is it, Stiles? I’m trying to study.”

“I need your help.”

The person on the other line’s breath hitched, before coming back, smooth as silk. “Are you calling in your favor, Spark?”

“Yes.”

“Can I come to you?”

Stiles glanced at the camera in the room and short circuited it with a spark of energy. Someone gasped. 

“Yes.”

In a flash of light, Adelaide appeared. She was still in her human form except for her gleaming quicksilver eyes, blonde hair tumbling down her back in unruly waves, wearing a monochromatic polka dot pajama set. She took in her audience briefly before turning to Stiles, eyebrow cocking.

“What will you have me do?”

“I have an Aatmanad problem.”

Adelaide took a step towards him, nails sharpening to a point. Her smile was all pointed teeth. “You know I hate those uptight prigs. Just point me in the direction, little Spark.” 

“You can’t kill her,” Stiles ground out, fingers clenching. Adelaide’s nostrils flared, eyes dilating with rage. Stiles held up a hand to stall her protests. “She’s pregnant.” 

“Excuse me? I will not meddle with the Expecting, even for you!” Adelaide hissed.

“I’m not asking you to,” Stiles said impatiently. “I can track her down without you. I just need you to release the knots she weaved about one of the victim’s souls, and drain her leftover magic into a rune.”

Adelaide’s expression twisted again, this time in amusement. “You think much of my abilities. My kind has never been known for this capability.”

“Your kind has never been known for a lot of things,” Stiles returned. That earned him a laugh, quick and dark.

“Very good, Spark. If I do you this favor, my debt is repaid.”

“Agreed.”

“Wait a minute.” Stiles turned to Talia, eyes narrowed. 

“We may not have a minute,” he said coolly. “They die at the twelve hour mark, don’t they? Otherwise Parrish wouldn’t have bothered to say his condition was life threatening. That’s how long it takes her to properly establish her hold and drain them.”

Talia frowned. “You may know something about the supernatural, but this is my land. You cannot summon creatures here without my permission.”

Stiles stared at her. Behind him, Adelaide laughed. 

“What a stupid little wolf,” she smiled. “I can kill her for free, Spark. Alpha’s have the most exquisite aftertaste.”

Peter stood, taking his place behind Talia’s left shoulder. His face was cleared of the previous smirk, eyes hard and calculating. 

“Go fulfill our deal. If I need to kill anybody, I’ll do it myself.”

“You’re no fun,” Adelaide sighed. “I need the rune first.”

Stiles gave her a look, but she just grinned back. Stiles rolled his eyes, grabbing the Sheriff’s badge from his pocket to obscure the transportation spell from curious eyes. 

He held out his hand expectantly, and Adelaide grinned at him, snatching his wrist and gouging into his index finger with a claw. Somebody growled, low and threatening. 

Stiles didn’t wince, just cleared his throat until she dropped his appendage with a pout. 

He drew the anchor rune quickly, all too aware of the eyes in him, and gave her the badge. 

“Remember what I told you when we met,” he warned, when she turned to the room. Adelaide stiffened, glancing over her shoulder at him, and nodded. 

“I would not go against a Spark.”

Stiles turned back to the red eyed Talia. “I don’t fall under your laws,” he said, eyes half-lidded. “As your enforcer could tell you. And even if I did, that is my father. I would tear apart worlds to keep him safe.”

Talia frowned, glancing at her brother. “Peter?”

“He is a Spark, Talia. The Councils combined don’t have enough power to put a leash on his kind.”

“He can’t be,” Laura said, standing to meet her pack. “We would have noticed anything that powerful growing up here. He went to school with Cora, Mia and Scott.”

“‘He’ is right here,” Stiles said drolly. “And consequently doesn’t care what you think.”

#Protective Stiles #Stiles Stilinski #no Hale fire #magical Stiles #my writing #that is all

[anonymous-chicken-was-taken]

What the Ace Attorney Villains Could Get Charged With (to the best of my research) (in America laws)

Game One

!Disclaimer! I know nothing about law take this with a grain of salt I was just bored.

Frank Sahwit

Burglary - This one is obvious. He was a thief. He stole stuff. How many charges exactly depends on how many he admits to or can be traced back to him.

Breaking and entering - At least one charge from Cindy's case, potentially more depending on any other burglary charges.

Assault and battery - Hitting Cindy with the Thinker. The assault may or may not be aggravated depending on whether it was technically intended to be used in a way that would readily and likely cause death.

Second-degree murder - This one could potentially be brought down to voluntary manslaughter. It depends whether he intended to kill Cindy when he hit her, and if he was in enough emotional distress that hitting her would be semi-justifiable.

Incrimination - In pinning the blame on Larry, he did this.

Fraud - Even if pretending to be a newspaper salesman to steal from people didn't constitute fraud, Payne stated this as his job. This means he lied about his job to the court by saying he was a newspaper salesman. Which is fraud.

Perjury

Redd White

Incrimination - This is when he tried to frame Maya, and when he shifted the blame on Phoenix. This may lead to two charges.

Obstruction of justice - In incriminating Maya, he tampered with the crime scene. Plus, blackmailing a judge is probably illegal and probably falls under this.

Corruption - He was a corporate official, which makes some of this other stuff constitute corruption, mostly the blackmail.

Blackmail - Speaking of, he could be faced with countless charges of this, depending how much could be tied back to him.

Assault and battery - Punching someone in the face multiple times is illegal, kids. So is hitting someone on the head. If Frank gets aggravated for the thinker, so does he. Phoenix's assault probably wasn't aggravated, though, as I doubt his rings/fists would be ruled a deadly weapon considering the intent.

Intimidation - His threat for an "accident" to happen to Phoenix is more than enough to be considered a threat of violence.

First-degree murder - His murder of Mia was completely premeditated. There's little he can do about this.

Criminal threat - Threatening to injure or kill someone is bad. And using flowery language like "accident" doesn't negate it.

Wiretapping - While he didn't actually put the wiretap there, it can be inferred he ordered it. This makes it conspiracy, so there is some shared guilt.

Conspiracy - The wiretapping was a joint effort between him and April. He may try to claim otherwise, but its degree of success is debatable.

Workplace abuse - It's a real good sign when your secretary fears you murdering her like you did to that defense attorney a couple days ago, Redd, I'm sure you could never get in legal trouble for that.

Perjury

Dee Vasquez

Racketeering - Oftentimes, people in organized crime are automatically found guilty of this. This being charging someone for a service they haven't requested (think mafia "protection").

Blackmail - This one is also pretty obvious. Jack Hammer.

Obstruction of justice - This is her tampering with the crime scene when she moved the body. Also potentially when she tried to kill a lawyer involved with the case.

Attempted murder - By proxy, two charges, when she ordered her goons to kill Phoenix and Maya.

Voluntary manslaughter - Hammer was trying to kill her, she's got that justified self-defense plea. Not that it matters much, because...

Countless other mafia-related charges - We don't know the exact details of her mafia connections, but she's entrenched enough to have goons. We can safely say she did a lot of illegal stuff in organized crime.

Intimidation - Mafia goons trying to kill you is pretty intimidating. That and the threats of erasure.

Criminal threat - See above threats of erasure.

Conspiracy - She works together with Sal Manella in the obstruction of justice.

Perjury

Manfred von Karma

Forgery - He's known to forge evidence constantly.

Obstruction of justice - See above. Plus, tazing lawyers and stealing their evidence is pretty frowned upon. So is intimidating witnesses.

Assault and battery - The evidence room fiasco. Potentially aggravated depending on the actual voltage of the tazer and if he lied about it or not, but given they didn't die, probably not.

Theft - He stole evidence from the evidence room.

Intimidation - Brandishing a taser at someone is generally considered this.

Corruption - Being a government official, most if not all this stuff constitutes corruption.

Incrimination - Due to his conspiracy with Yogi, he is guilty of attempting to frame Miles by proxy.

First-degree murder - He sees a gun and a man he doesn't like in the elevator, and he does think about it before doing it. Thus, it is premeditated and first-degree. Also, given his conspiracy with Yogi, he may also be guilty of murdering Hammond by proxy.

Child abuse - Both Miles and Franziska could push for this, even just with what we have explicitly stated. Depending on interpretation and how poor of a guardian he was, this charge could have some serious ground to stand on.

Emotional abuse - Pretty much the same hat as the child abuse charge, only less uncertain.

Criminal threat - I don't know what you want from me, man. He threatens everyone all the time.

Torture - I haven't played investigations yet, but from what I'm looking at, he psychologically tortured a guy, so. That's pretty non Geneva convention certified of him, even if this isn't a war.

Workplace abuse - Again, this is hearsay because investigations, but he's pretty crappy to his subordinates, it seems.

Solicitation - He heavily encourages Yogi to kill Hammond and frame Miles.

Conspiracy - He provides Yogi with the means to kill Hammond, so while there is technically no mutual agreement, he's also guilty of this.

Perjury

Damon Gant

Corruption - As a government official, a great deal of his crimes constitute corruption.

Forgery - A great portion of the conflict of his case comes from the forged evidence he made.

Obstruction of justice - Most of the rest of the conflict of his case comes from the evidence he withheld.

Blackmail - Quite a severe case of it, at that. Multiple years against a single person is nothing to sneeze at.

Incrimination - That's what it was when he made it look like Ema killed Neil.

First-degree murder - He thought about killing Neil long enough to consider the pros and cons of doing so, and went through with it. That's pretty premeditated. A good lawyer may be able to get him down to second degree for Goodman, but it's highly doubtful considering.

Conspiracy - He had Lana hide Goodman's body, and while there was blackmail involved, there was still a mutual agreement. Thus, conspiracy.

Concealment of death - There are a few different names for this, but it's when he had Lana hide Goodman's body. It was unsuccessful, but there were still significant steps taken to have it happen on both their parts, so he may get a partial sentence.

Criminal threat - He makes so many threats.

Workplace abuse - I think using a pipe organ to punish your employees violates some international laws or something. Speaking of which...

Torture - Of the audio variety. Seriously this guy is the police how did this fly for so long that is BAD.

Vigilantism - This is actually very interesting. Despite the fact that he is a member of law enforcement and Joe Darke did kill multiple people, he still used illegal means to bring him to some form of justice. Depending on how much he wanted Darke convicted, it could be argued that his actions constitute vigilantism.

Assault and battery - One case of assault against Goodman, and two charges of battery against Neil and Goodman. Assault is the threat of violence and the means to follow through, and battery is the actual act of violence; seeing as Neil was unconscious, he could not have been threatened. The assault was aggravated, as a knife is a deadly weapon.

Perjury

GAME TWO

#this was fun #ace attorney #might edit later #phoenix wright ace attorney #ace attorney trilogy #frank sahwit #redd white #dee vasquez #manfred von karma #damon gant #crime #laws #crimes #how do I tag this lol #AA villain crimes #analysis #now with aggravated assault

[mollysunder]

I recognize there would be a lot of emotional and narrative weight if Jinx ever puts on Silco's jacket.

But wouldn't it be DOPE as hell if Jinx stole Finn's wardrobe!!??!

For all of Finn's faults he had a killer sense of style. Finn's look makes a great contrast to Silco, because Silco's look balances elegance with simplicity and practicality (you can tell he restitches his pant seams), but with Finn you've got this brightly colored intricately detailed look to express this newer brasher generation in Zaun.

And you could argue Jinx is designed as a decent blend of these two different aesthetics, at least in Gilded series.

I've already talked about Gilded universe where Piltover never built the sun gates, Jinx suspiciously dresses like a chembaron.

But if you dive deeper into the concept arts you can see how flexible Riot's artists see Jinx's tastes and style is, especially when elevated with wealth.

You've got classic punk + eccentric cybergoth chemboss.

Then you've got Jinx as an ornate lady with chemtech business vibes. (Jinx with glasses, what a concept.)

I'm not sure what to call this, but it looks like more of a mix between a saboteur and a tinkerer.

The rest are more play around with trying to adapt Piltovan academia into Jinx's aesthetic with varying success.

Long story short, Jinx needs to raid Finn's closet next season. I see Jinx threatening what's left of Finn and Renni's gang into submission for the whole "attempting to kill Silco" thing. One of her demands is all of Finn's clothes for her to customize as she pleases. I'm sure Silco left all her all his coats, cloths, and furs for Jinx in his will (with a clause to ensure she still gets it in case of manslaughter).

#arcane #jinx arcane #silco #finn arcane #just another excuse to talk about the gilded series #seriously tho jinx could absolutely pull more from Finn's aesthetic #right now i find her outfit pretty muted in terms of color for a caustic and loud place like zaun #also her outfit is solidly modern and if you want to do that in a place with 1890s-1920s aesthetic it needs to be hypermodern fashion then #the artists know all important people in zaun get fancy jackets #i should talk more about other gilded characters

[vegasandhishedgehog]

I didn't want to derail this post by @bird-inacage because it was so focused on SandRay and how going into episode 5 would treat them, but reading it struck me with an important realization.

Of our main couples, how much do they really enjoy each other's company?

Starting with Top and Mew, their dynamic is really interesting, because they are desperately trying to enjoy their time together. And there are moments where it's literally visible! They are having a good time! But it quickly gets ruined by the residuals of Top's bad habits and/or Mew's insistence to keep control of a relationship he took as a personal challenge. While Top is enjoying playing at domesticity, he has to either be continuously blue-balled or lie to get it, so any time he spends with Mew is dampened by the fact that he can't be himself (not that he's a great person but it bears to be acknowledged). Mew is so hopelessly trying to convince himself that he's not out of his depth that it's taking all his energy just to prove it, and he is likely mistaking any exhaustion from it as just being new to things. They don't actually enjoy each other's company, though.

Boston and Nick? Golden if they're having sex. The minute they're done, their minds are immediately on the continuous conflict between them: how do they want to keep their status. I think part of what contributes to Nick wanting something more committed is that he has a bit more stability both externally and internally (surprising, I know). He has his tech job, he has at least one friendship that's genuinely supportive (Sand), and he owns being a nasty bitch. Besides his cuckoo-for-cock thing with Boston, he has interests, skills, and a life outside of him and possibly views Boston as another one of those stable facets he always wants to be able to turn to.

But Boston isn't on the same page. When he isn't manwhore-manipulate-manslaughter being a student, Boston kind of doesn't have anything else going for him except his photography hobby which isn't being put to good use. He likely is part of the friend group because at least they're a queer friend group in the same field of study, and everyone else might as well be in and out of a revolving door. Nick is an anomaly for him, but he wouldn't know what to do with something stable let alone be valued for anything outside of sex so Boston dangles boyfriend status like a carrot.

So do they enjoy each other's company? Yes and no. And no and yes. They have a lot of things to work out between each other and unfortunately for both of them things will blow up and cause catastrophic damage. But they couldn't be made for anyone else, IMHO.

Finally we have Sand and Ray. Their relationship has a couple rocky moments in the beginning, but all things considered, it's literally founded on the fact that they like spending time together. Ray says it to Sand multiple times: "You're fun to talk to." He begs him to spend time with him, he offers payment for god's sake. And Sand obliges because he can't help himself. He also likes hanging out with Ray. They have found things outside of any romantic or sexual context that they both enjoy that become the foundation of all their future activities together: a good drink and good music. And the more time they spend together the stronger that will become, even as the strained relationships they have with everyone else threatens to fuck it up.

#only friends #only friends the series #ofts #only friends meta #topmew #bostonnick #sandray #jojo tichakorn

[celestialmilfs]

Break Me Down and Hold Me ‘Til the Dawn

Character: Melissa Schemmenti

Word count: 3,708

Warnings: Praise Kink

Genre: Smut, Comfort, Fluff

Rating: E

Description: “When you say stuff like that,” she says, slower than usual, like she’s figuring out the words as she goes, “I… I like it.”

It’s an admission of the obvious, the most basic instinct of any person: to desire approval, and she makes it sound like she’s turning herself in for manslaughter.

You take care to keep your voice calm as you say, “Why would I think that’s stupid?”

“I mean,” she says and then pauses for a breath, “I mean I really, really like it.”

---

Melissa has a secret and you crash right into her confession.

A/N: Strap in for the most emotional smut i’ve written to date. It’s so sugary you should probably brush your teeth afterwards. Title pulled from Spiritbox’s The Summit

---

The door slams shut at 7:30 sharp.

You rise from your downward dog on the living room floor and scramble down the hall, head rush be damned.

“Melissa?” you ask, but only hear the rustling of her leather jacket and the thump of heels ill-suited for the weather being angrily dumped by the door. Weary and barely standing, Melissa leans against the wall, her shirt damp, hair dripping and her eyes furiously staring at the umbrella she forgot to grab in her hurry.

You kiss her cheek and she slumps against you, face buried in your shoulder.

“Long day?” you ask.

“Understatement of the year.”

She pulls back and you notice the circles under her eyes, much darker than they had been last night. You put your hand on the small of her back and inch her towards the kitchen.

“Come on, I made dinner.”

Melissa looks at you like you’re made of cotton candy or fire trucks and presses a wet kiss to your forehead before letting her heavy feet drag her towards the smell of sweet potatoes.

She collapses into a chair by the kitchen table and you dash to the covered pot on the stove, still simmering on low heat. The second you lift the lid, the kitchen is filled with the scent of vegetable soup, rich and creamy. You fill a bowl and grab the leftovers of the ciabatta Melissa had made two nights back.

“I added extra pepper for you,” you say as you sit down next to her. The bowl clinks against the table and a few drops flow over the edge into a small puddle. “And there’s a bit of bread left.”

“You’re a godsend,” Melissa says. She pulls the bowl closer and sighs; her first smile of the night, and what a sweet little thing it is. Her eyes flutter closed as she tries a spoonful and doesn’t speak for the following five minutes, which she instead dedicates to inhaling her first meal since lunch.

“What were you doing so late?” you ask once she’s emptied the bowl down to a fifth.

“Grading.” Melissa tears off a piece of bread and dips it into the soup. She takes a bite, barely chews before swallowing, and continues, “Setting up next month’s lesson plan, looking for a math textbook for Amir because the little dip lost his copy, replying to emails.” She sighs. “So many fucking emails.”

“Well, I’m happy you’re home now,” you say. A strand of Melissa’s hair threatens to fall into her bowl and you tuck it back behind her ear, where it belongs. Melissa smiles faintly, even though her shoulders are heavy with exhaustion and her eyes can barely stay open.

She finishes her meal in silence and once she’s done, rises with a grumble to drop her dishes in the sink next to yours; the ones you’d meant to put in the dishwasher an hour ago.

Melissa turns and opens the cabinet only to groan at the sight; breakfast cereals and spices and your growing collection of baking supplies, all stuffed inside with little thought as to how you’re supposed to get anything out.

“Do we have any tea?” Melissa asks and starts to remove things one by one, her left hand held above her head in case something comes tumbling down.

“I think I saw chamomile behind the cake tins.” You get up and drag your chair with you. Sure enough, behind the heart-shaped mold and the powdered sugar is a bag of loose chamomile, still good to go. You hand it to her, and Melissa nods a silent thank you.

The kettle sits by the sink, freshly washed after you’d made yourself a cup of milky oolong earlier today. Melissa fills it with water while you hop down and put the chair back by the table.

The running water mixes with the pouring rain outside and you relish the quiet; the type of silence that Melissa always brings home with her, the kind that feels like its own form of music.

You wrap your arms around her waist as she turns on the stove and bury your nose in her hair.

“I’m so proud of you,” you say, almost kissing the words into the back of her neck. Melissa laughs, hushed and short.

“What for?”

“You do so much for those kids.” You inhale her perfume; the scent is heady and sharp, like ground cinnamon. “They’re everything to you. I love you for it.”

“Come on,” Melissa says. “Everybody does it.”

You turn her around by the hips and press your palms into the counter.

“No, they don’t. There’s plenty of terrible teachers out there and we both know it. You just love doing a really good job.”

Melissa braces herself against the edge of the stove, her fingernails clicking a nervous ta-ta-ta-tap into the ceramic.

“Don’t most people? I mean I just—“

“No.” You kiss the tip of her nose. “You’re brilliant. Incredible. My wonderful Melissa who does the most thankless job in the world for peanuts. You should be on a tropical island somewhere with six hundred free mai tais lined up. And a private pool. You deserve nothing less.”

Melissa averts her eyes and slips past you to the sink. She fishes a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water. She doesn’t drink; only watches the surface without saying a word.

“Melissa?” you ask.

Her cheeks are thinly flushed and she won’t look at you.

“Hey,” you say and take a step to close the distance. “Are you okay? Did I say something?”

“No,” Melissa says weakly. Her eyes flit from you to every corner of the room and then back again. “That’s not it, I’m sorry.”

You close the distance, your hips bumping together, and take her hand into yours. “What’s going on?”

Melissa watches you, conflict carved into her teeth as they gnaw at her lower lip. She puts the glass down and takes a deep breath.

“You’ll think it’s stupid,” she says, and there’s the faint tremor of a laugh in her voice, an attempt at levity to keep the long claws of something serious away from the conversation.

“Why?”

“Because it is.”

You frown. “I highly doubt that.”

Melissa stands in silence for a moment and you wait, nearly breathless, until she finally looks up; right past you and out the window into the brewing storm.

“When you say stuff like that,” she says, slower than usual, like she’s figuring out the words as she goes, “I… I like it.”

It’s an admission of the obvious, the most basic instinct of any person: to desire approval, and she makes it sound like she’s turning herself in for manslaughter.

You take care to keep your voice calm as you say, “Why would I think that’s stupid?”

“I mean,” she says and then pauses for a breath, “I mean I really, really like it.”

You stare at her, confused. The gears in your head turn and turn, and her words roll themselves over, back to front and inside out, until finally, like striking a match, it hits you.

“Oh.”

You remember, then, a moment from two weeks ago, when you were picking Melissa up from work.

You had been standing by the door with your phone in hand, waiting while she packed up, when someone had knocked and gone in; a woman of around 30, probably a parent to one of the students.

You really tried not to eavesdrop, but you were curious; it would be interesting to see Melissa in action instead of hearing a story over dinner, afterwards.

Besides, your stomach was growling and Melissa had promised you a double halloumi burger on the way back and you really just wanted to get going. They wouldn’t take long, right? Better that you’re close by.

The conversation had, luckily, been short, and mostly concerned a Jenna — how she’d be needing a little help catching up once she got back to school after her grandmother’s funeral.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Schemmenti,” the woman had said. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Really, it’s all right. Don’t worry about it.”

“I mean it.” There’d been rustling, and a slightly panicked grunt. Melissa must’ve been caught in a hug. “Good girls like you are few and far between. We’re lucky you happen to be so close by.”

After that the woman had left, even nodded you goodbye as she went. A few minutes later, Melissa had appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath and her eyes out of focus.

She’d dragged you to your car by the wrist and fucked you silly in the Burger King bathroom.

The kettle’s whistle rips you back into the present like an air raid siren.

Melissa watches you, shoulders squared with tension, an anxious frown strewn across her face. She clears her throat and takes an unsteady step back.

“I knew this was a shit idea,” she says and drops her gaze to the floor. She retreats further, unsure of where to put her hands as they card through her hair, skim her pockets and then finally settle, crossed in front of her like a door slammed into your face. “Forget it, okay. We can pretend this never happened and—“

“No, wait.”

She freezes, one foot over the threshold. You take the screaming kettle off the stove calmly, walk to her in silence and take her face in your hands, your grip firm enough to keep her from looking away.

“You are gorgeous,” you whisper. Melissa follows as you lead her back into the kitchen, one clumsy step at a time. “Every time you smile I think ‘This is it, this is how I’m going to go’. My heart stops and then you laugh, and it starts right back up again.”

Melissa’s back hits the fridge door, and you hear a souvenir magnet clatter against the floor.

“You are a goddess in leather, okay? The jacket and the pants together — Jesus Christ, Melissa.”

She’s very quiet and very still, save for her breathing, short and nearly panicked. The way she stares at you briefly makes you wonder if you’re doing the right thing, if you’re stepping over a line she wasn’t fully ready to cross, but then the corners of her mouth tip slightly upwards, and you know you have to keep going.

“You’re doing so well, honey. This is new to you and you’re scared and a little embarrassed, but you’re being so brave, so attentive and so, so good.”

You kiss her lips once, quick and soft as a feather.

“You’re my good girl, Melissa.”

The earth might as well have split in half with how rapidly the atmosphere changes; something invisible snaps as Melissa takes you by the hair and kisses you breathless.

Her lips are ravenous as she trails a line of sharp, hungry kisses down your neck and with one swift twist it’s your back against the fridge, your head bumping against holiday photos and last week’s grocery list, her leg nudged between yours.

“Please don’t stop,” Melissa whispers and then her teeth pierce the skin right above your collarbone, straddling the edge of just enough and too much. It pulls a thin whine from you, a sound she knows and translates into please dear god keep going.

“You’re being so good, honey.” It’s a struggle, getting a single word out while her hand tears at the buttons of your shirt. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me.”

Melissa’s breath hitches like she’s choking, and the shirt flies open. Your bra is easily pulled out of the way and without warning, Melissa’s lips close around your nipple to gently nibble at it.

She approaches you the same way she would an old recipe; with fierce, familiar warmth, her hands lost in her profound knowledge of your every curve and crevice. She draws a host of gasps from you, hidden into the top of her head as you kiss her hair and hold her even tighter.

Melissa releases your nipple and gives it a slow kiss goodbye, only to nip a line of stinging marks down your ribs, all the way to the top of your jeans. She pauses to dig through her back pocket and pulls out a small, threadbare hair tie.

“Just a second,” she whispers, and sweeps her hair up into a frenzied ponytail. “You ready?”

You smile down at her and brush her cheek with the backs of your fingers. “For you? Always.”

The button of your jeans pops open, the zipper is unzipped, and Melissa pulls everything down with two firm tugs. She rubs her nose against the soft inside of your thigh, breathing slowly and deliberately as she draws out every second to its limit, until you’re close to begging for something, anything.

She looks up and the light hits her eyes just right, makes them come alive like a forest pool dappled with afternoon sunlight, and you’re left breathless.

“I love you,” you say.

Melissa smiles and leans in.

A sob breaks free of your throat and echoes around the room, seeps so deep into the walls that you know you’ll still hear it two weeks from now. Melissa doesn’t treat you to anything but the tip of her tongue, light and barely there, and it is too little and too much at the same time, an impossible sensation she burns right into your nerves.

Melissa presses her hands against the fridge for support and shoves a row of magnets out of the way; the pictures they were holding fly to the floor in a chaotic flurry. She cranes her neck and presses the flat of her tongue against you, and it hits you like a brick, so much after so little.

“You feel so good, honey,” you say between rough breaths. “So, so good.”

Like she’s waiting for it, the tips of her fingers go scaling past your knee and up your thigh, until they’re resting lightly on your pubic bone. She draws a thin line down, down, down until her index finger is gently pressed against velvety heat, and then stops, her head tilted upwards to watch you, patiently waiting.

“Please,” you sigh, “I need—“

Melissa slips two fingers inside, knuckle by knuckle, and drags your trembling whine out, inch by inch. Her rhythm is slow, almost nonexistent as she savors each twitch, each swallowed curse and burdened breath. She leans against you languidly, as if it’s Sunday and she’s leafing through the morning paper, eyes closed and her cheek pressed against your hipbone.

She keeps you rooted to that feeling of home where you don’t have to keep watch over how you sound or look, where the only thing that matters is that you feel safe and loved and good. The pressure of her palm on your waist, her lips, whispering affections like little prayers, her body leaning into yours like this is where you were always both meant to be; it’s all almost too much, like trying to fit lightning in a bottle.

Melissa bends her wrist and beckons. Your knees nearly buckle but she keeps you standing, her hand firmly on the curve of your hip, enough to keep you from tumbling.

“Christ,” you whisper, fuel to the fire. Melissa’s fingers sink until her palm is flush against your skin and she settles into a steady beat, a tempo she reads from your disjointed cries and frantic gasps.

Her hair is slipping out of the tie and you notice a strip of gray, missed by her hairdresser, slide down the slope of her neck and settle on her shoulder. It’s like an ornament, a spot of moss growing on the side of a tree, a flourish bestowed for a life well lived.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” slips out of your mouth before you’ve fully even finished thinking it. Melissa flushes down to the tips of her ears and dips her head back between your thighs, her tongue deft and eager. A shudder shakes your body and you feel yourself drip; you can already imagine Melissa’s hand slick, the sleeve of her shirt soaked.

She pushes deeper and you groan, a garbled, ecstatic sound. Words are almost beyond you at this point, scattered into the wind like leaves in winter, but you still manage to say, “Melissa, my Melissa. You feel so—“ A breath, starving and coarse. “Jesus.”

You can hear Melissa’s unsaid ‘Just me’, can imagine yourself swatting her arm because it is stupid and silly and it makes you laugh in a way that very few things ever have.

Melissa opens her eyes and looks at you, a sloppy smile on her lips and her mascara stained on the left side. She thrusts, pulls you apart like a spool of string even when her wrist must be burning, her jaw sore and strained, but she gives you that small sacrifice in exchange for this, for you, unfurling under her touch.

“Honey, I’m going to—“ Her fingers curl and you feel the twitch all the way in your spine. “Melissa—“

She pulls her face back an inch, jaw glistening and lipstick staining her chin. Wind brushes against the windows with a gentle rumble that clatters the windows in their panes. Melissa catches her breath for only a moment, and then says, “I love you too.”

It’s almost enough on its own.

She falls back into you like she’s drawn by gravity and pushes you to a point where you can’t even think anymore. Her movements are fidgety, impatient; she loses herself in the what, where and how of you, and leaves any notions of composure rotting in the dust.

You grind into her palm right as Melissa tips her head and twists her tongue, gives you everything she possibly has to give and the world disappears into a spinning black hole with you at the center, the solitary singularity that ruptures like a thousand dying suns. You arch your spine and dig in your heels, begging the universe for something to hold onto, and there she is: Melissa Ann Schemmenti with her hand persisting in yours, exactly where you need her.

“I love you,” you cry and the tears come falling, and you let them, despite the tide of embarrassment that follows. “Melissa, I love you, I love you, I love you, you—“

Your knees finally give out and you nearly crash to the floor, but she holds you tight and firm the whole way down. She checks that your back is safely laid against the fridge before pulling her fingers out, drawing out one last shiver from your depleted body.

You notice a faint sheen of tears in her eyes as well, and of all things, a laugh bubbles up from your throat, a wobbly titter that seems to be the only way your body can attempt to parse the tidal wave of emotion still swirling inside.

Melissa smiles at you and then gets off her knees with a hefty ‘Ow’. With her back against the drawers, she pats her open lap and you slump onto her thighs.

Thunder rolls somewhere far above, and the rain falls thicker. You exhale, let your eyelids grow heavy, and you listen. The sky roars and under its boundless weight the trees bow and creak, the wooden swing in the backyard groans in its attempts to stay in its place, and the neighbor’s dog barks ferociously until it’s dragged inside. Above it all is Melissa’s breathing, still slightly labored. It feels like home at its most exposed: the same as her soft snores in the middle of the night, a peal of laughter from the living room, the smell of breakfast when you’re barely awake yet.

Melissa pulls your hair out of your face and starts brushing her fingers through it, tenderly untangling any knots she finds. She sniffs once, and you kiss the top of her thigh.

“What just happened?” she asks, almost childishly, honestly lost.

You turn your head to look at her. “I would say the best sex of my life, but I think you still have a few surprises in you.”

Melissa laughs softly under her breath. “Thanks for listenin’ to me.”

“Of course,” you say. “Thank you for talking to me. I’m so proud of you.”

Her jovial expression very quickly turns a little sour, and she purses her lips.

“You need to tone it down because I can’t go again yet.” She whistles between her teeth. “I haven’t wanted a smoke in six years, but honestly, now would be a really good time.”

“Don’t you dare,” you mutter.

“I’m just sayin’.”

You chuckle and put your head back down. Your eye is drawn to the mess on the floor: the magnets, the pictures, the wood that’s going to get sticky soon.

“We should probably clean up,” you say. Melissa sighs.

“Yeah.” She pats your shoulder and you pull your jeans back up. The zipper gives you some trouble, trembling fingers and all, but you manage to get yourself clothed in a reasonable amount of time. You rise from the floor and your right knee lets out a little pop as you get back on your feet.

Melissa, however, braces her hands against the floor, and then stops with a sharp hiss and a hand on her spine.

“Shit, my back, can you—“

“Of course,” you say, and slide your arms under hers. “Ready?”

You hold her by the shoulders while she wraps herself around you.

“One, two, three.”

You heave yourselves to your feet, but even when she’s securely standing, she doesn’t let go. Her hand is twisted into the back of your shirt and her face lies in the crook of your neck. You feel her lips softly trembling, her breathing coming in and out in small uneven hiccups.

“I love you so much,” she whispers.

You kiss the top of her head. “I love you too.”

You haven’t asked the universe for much, and have received even less; but for this one thing you will keep thanking the powers that be, for as long as you possibly can.

#Melissa Schemmenti x Reader #Melissa Schemmenti/Reader #Melissa Schemmenti #Abbott Elementary #Reader

[loosingmoreletters]

I’m curious, whats the relationship between your lawyer!hyj and stw?

I feel like they’d get on great. They have their little coffee dates to trash talk SHJ and complain about the association. HYJ regularly calls him up like “I need you to stand around intimidating while I tell people they can’t force others into contracts and that they better get rid of them now :)”

STW thinks HYJ is in desperate need of protection. Probably also aware HJY keeps looking at him like “could be a hunter…. Could be the replacement for the director” like I think HYJ has many more opinions on how guilds work and so on.

I feel like it would be additionally funny if HYJ became Yerim’s guardian because he knows the ins and outs of how awakened kids are treated and STW is just say there like “that is not a child that is a nuclear bomb. You already have one of those regularly threatening you (read: Yoohyun throwing a tantrum over Yoojin not being within reach)”

but HYJ does not care.

So TLDR I think they’re much closer than in canon and generally on the same side but STW is very much more aware that HYJ is ready to manipulate mansplain manwhore manslaughter him

#sctir #AUs and ideas #ask #Robins on lea

[woodsfae]

B5 S03E19 Grey 17 Is Missing previous episode - table of contents

I'm not sure how this episode is going to go, because prior to this I have always watched B5 high (I started this saga while taking hydrocodone pain meds I was allergic to post-wisdom teeth removal) or sober (which I quickly stopped doing, because the recaps were a dry and stale recounting of the plot in a most unpleasant way), but now I can't have THC for awhile (pre-op instructions for what will hopefully be my last surgery for awhile) and so I am experimenting with liveblogging while tipsy. 

So far I thimk that tipsy b5 blogging may be the era of run-on sentences. play video. 

Harry Sanders says in response to the question "are you a telepath,": "sure." 

I am guessing that Mr Sanders is not a telepath. But I am a huge fan of people fucking with Zack Allen. Queer icon Harry Sanders tries to flirt his way into the job. sadly, he fails.

Unnamed maintenance worker gets sucked into a maintenance tunnel with random wires trailing out of it. That probably won't be relevant later :)

Someone, I am assuming Sinclair, spoke of Delenn "with great reverence" to his Minbari friend regularly. I LOVE THAT OMG. *shipping intensifies* 

Harlan Ellison consulted on this one, too?? That's so cool. My Eepectations just went up. Minbari With The Nose thinks that Delenn should take over as Ranger One. Are they going out of their way to not say his name? 

Calling a gun with bullets a slugthrower is a pretty amusing thing to share with Star Wars. I once read a crossover fic where Han Solo (iirc) went on smuggling runs to B5 to pick up kyber crystals, which the B5 people have been using for mere data storage. 

"I swear it's like the Centauri triangle in there - something's always going wrong."

I only support Garibaldi's casual racism because actually, everything IS always going wrong with the Centauri....but has the Bermuda Triangle myth been supplanted with a centauri space equivalent?? And what makes it a triangle in 3d space?

Stephen Franklin is looking rough. Withdrawl. Withdrawal? Sad plotline. Space AA is not my favorite plotline. Also, Mr Dr Franklin, maybe don't compain about people following you around when you haven't even left Babylon Five???? That's a cry for help if ever I saw one in metaphor. If you wanna be alone like...barter some medical attention for a ride to an abandoned planetoid. 

Gray 17 is a level of b5? Cool. I thought it was going to be a person that disappeared. And it is several of them at least. But there's also thirty official grey levels but only 29 accessible. I like it. 

Delenn looks extra pretty today. 

Why does this Minbari know about siren songs? Convergent cultural evolution, or does this guy like Earth ancient-greek sailor myths? 

It's genuinly hilarious (and apropos) for a Minbari Ranger to think it pollutes the rangers for humans to be admitted. This warrior class Minbari thinks it's heretical for Delenn-of-the-clerics to consider taking command of the Rangers, which he thinks are the rightful domain of the warrior caste. 

hm. Where'd he go. That won't come up later, either. 

Garibaldi is leaning into one of his strengths: investigation. He's counting the seconds the elevator takes between Grey levels. Grey  like the grey council, or pure coincidence?

ALSO. no minbari has killed another minbari for a thousand years?? I find that very hard to believe. Domestic violence? manslaughter?? What kind of statistical fuckery are they employing to make that something Delenn can say without winking??

Delenn: "I want your word that you will not tell [Sheridan] about [the warrior class dick threatening to kill me]. Your. Word." 

*cue Lennier hinting unsubtly about Delenn's life being in danger*

I did not expect Level 17 Grey to come up. Where is the missing number if Grey 17 is missing, it goes to Grey 30, but there's only 29 levels? This mystery is deeper than I expected it to be!

 The missing floor, once Garibaldi rules-lawyers the lift into stopping there, is trashed. And it says Grey 17 in a different place than the other floors. AND there's what looks like a technical diagram for a trash can where the other floors have their designation signs. Idk what this means, but it's a data point!! 

Well. I would drop kick that puppet if it talked to me on a trashed level. But Michael Garibaldi let it DART him. like a SCHMUCK. Don't let it do that. hit the follow button for more HOT TIPS FROM MICHAL. (pronounced like McCalll, not like Michael).

Lennier!!!! YES HE IS TELLING SOMEONE. But not Sheridan. Love his rules-lawyering. Super cute. My guy. Lancelot (purely platonic version).

I would kiss Lennier all over his sweet face. And he would not like it. I am sure. 

Garibaldi has recovered-ish from his darting of unknown substance. FUCK THAT PUPPET. burn it with fire or smth. 

Who is this council of lost persons?? Jim Henson's dream?????!

"My name is Jeremiah. Welcome to the end of the world." 

YES PLEASE. This is good plot, and I like it. 

Delenn is really beautiful this episode. I think the red/blue rich, saturated colors particularly flatter her. But she is always unfairly pretty and generally lickable.

Delenn's mother entered the sisters of valeria soon after Delenn was born, and she's only seen her twice. TWICE. And Delenn's father died ten years ago. She does not mention siblings. How old is Delenn? If it isn't a plot-relevant spoiler, please let me know if you know it. 

Her thoughts on missing her father are both relatable and wistful. It made me thoughtful about the same topic. 

Jeremiah says the reason the Minbari almost defeated the humans in the war was because the Minbari are closer to the truth than humans. AND we have learned that the people on Grey Level 17 is because they hacked the system and detached themselves from the rest of B5. Isolationists being isolationist on a tiny little level of a space station is illogical and funny and very, very human.

The Minbari offended by Delenn running the Rangers is called Neroon! That's super familiar and I think I've met him before. He says "During the war I killed fifty thousand of you....what's one more?" Well my dude. I bet you didn't kill fifty thousand humans in one-on-one combat. And I'm gonna go ahead and bet on Marcus's staff-fighting prowess over his. 

GET 'IM MARCUS.

This is a well-choreographed and filmed staff fight. 

Jeremiah on Grey Level 17 actually is super aligned with Delenn's philosophy on the universe. But is far more freaky about the practical side of the philosophy. tbh. I think Jeremiah did LSD one too many times. 

Garibaldi isn't super serious about his threat because his choke hold lacks a fulcrum...Jeremiah could break it anytime he liked if he knew how to identify what wrestling hold he was in....signed...someone whose father wrestled in highschool and taught them from a young age to identify and break choke holds by neck-feel....

GO MARCUS GO GET NEROON. 

Neroon: "Why? You must have known you could not win....so why do it?" Marcus: "For [Delenn]. [...] In Valen's name." 

LANCELOT MOVE OVER, GALAHAD HAS ARRIVED

Jeremiah: "Listen. Listen. The only way out is-is to find a purity of thought. A purity of belief! That is the door! The door of the mind." 

Hm. This dude is craycray. And his further speech does nothing to dispel the notion. What is screeching?? 

If Sinclair was Entil'Zha, wthen what was this Minbari Ranger going to designate Delenn?

Damn it, Neroon lives. Bring! Back! Galahad! fuck u neroon. You don't deserve a capitalized proper noun name.

wtf is this thing hunting on level 17 grey?? I don't recognize its silhouette. 

Michael Garibaldi (paraphrased): HOW DO WE HURT THIS THING??? *looks at .38 bullets in hand*

Me, reliving my misspent youth: IF YOU GRAB THE SHELL OF THOSE .38s WITH PLIERS THEN HIT THE PRIMER WITH A BALLPEEN HAMMER U CAN SHOOT IT

(yes I did this shit for fun as a child and I am EXTREMELY LUCKY I did not have a mishap of a permanent injury variety)

hmm. Garibaldi sorta used my childhood fun trick but with a pipe to protect his fragile hands.. UNLIKE ME AND MY PLAIN PLIERS AND HAMMER

Neroon kicked Marcus's ass but Marcus is going to recover -a relief. But Neroon!! FUCK OFF. 

"you are more noble than I" - Neroon (paraphrased)

THAT'S A GALAHAD MOVE. psych. Marcus got you with his ideological purity and ironic wit!!

The murderous thing on Grey level 17 was a "zarg." OK. Please, if it isn't spoilery, remind me what that is. 

This episode feels a bit more disjointed than they usually are, but I liked it. And fuck Neroon!!! Get behind Delenn or shut the fuck up. 

*a perfectly good episode. but also. GET BEHIND DELENN OR STFU!!

onward

#woodsfae b5 #delenn

[snailsnaps]

(Slams self through wall faster than the kool-aid man) bro what would happen of tot Donnie ran into some bad guys. Like if it were meat sweats all donnie would need to do is cry. And the bros would come barreling in to commit manslaughter. But on the other hand like. If it were hypno and Warren (those two are definitely a couple). They'd be like 'who the fuck left a baby running around!?' And donnie would be like 'oh fuck how do I get out of this?' And he'd pretend to be a lost lil kiddo saying things like 'yes I am a baby and my favorite color is grape' they'd either try to find the parents or just be like 'ah. This is my son now.'

*is unfazed by the flying debris and happily explains*

So! Prepare for lore.

This theme will actually come up a lot in the fic! I think I've mentioned before in another post that Raph IS NOT GOING TO ALLOW DONNIE TO MISSIONS. AT ALL. He's more vulnerable than ever and his tech, like his battle shells, don't quite fit him anymore. So... No, baby is not going to come along to life-threatening fights.

Dee will not be amused. Will he try to go anyways? ...maybe. Will he try to go on his own to prove himself to his brothers? ...maybe.

As for villains, I think they'd all see this as an opportunity: idiots are too preoccupied being a babysitter to fight properly.

And some other might see this as an advantage...

Let's be honest here... Do you think the Purple Dragons, more specifically Kendra, will hold back at all seeing that Dee's a kid?

Because I don't think she'll hold back :)

As for the Married Gay Couple™ Warren and Hypno:

#ask #lore #rottmnt #alphastage rise