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night-unfurls-its-splendour · 1 year ago

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Susan Kay's 'Phantom' Read: Part VI (Erik-Christine Counterpoint)

Dear God.

I can now unequivocally say I hate this book. Some of you may have caught my vent post from earlier which I wrote in one of the many moments I had to put the book down and walk away for the good of my own health and sanity.

The badness of this book has now ceased to be amusing and is now just... bad. So bad in fact that I think it triggered my bronchial asthma and I had to get out of the bathtub and find my inhaler before I could finish this portion.

To sum up it really seems like Kay lost any and all interest in exploring Leroux's characters once she finished Erik’s back-story. Yes there were differences from Canon even there, but the story was still following Leroux's timeline and was by-and-large canon compliant.

This section, barring a few superficially similar details is virtually unrecognizable from the source material.

Yes Erik begins to teach Christine under the guise of the Angel of Music, and yes he takes her down under the Opera house for two weeks. And yes they go up for the masquerade and yes Christine and Raoul plan to run away on the rooftop, leading to Erik planning to blow up the Opera house out of desperation.

Carlotta croaks like a toad and the chandelier does indeed crash.

Yet all of these details seem like perfunctory afterthoughts. The intervening material is so wholly divorced from Leroux's story that when events from the canon are included, it felt almost jarring to me.

I hate the way Kay characterizes Christine, and Erik is just as bad if not worse.

Christine’s descent into the lair is clearly modeled off of the Musical/1925 movie, with Erik drawing her down into the tunnels in a trance. And Christine asks for the Angel to take her away! How convenient for Erik!

I would have been far more interested in seeing the abduction from the book as told from Erik's perspective.

This launches a self-indulgent two weeks of Christine essentially worshipping at Erik's feet, which is shattered only by a frankly ineffective unmasking scene (again based on the musical/1925 movie and less affecting than either).

This is no torrid, passionate, innately horrifying yet also emotionally heart-wrenching unmasking of Leroux. Christine simply snatches the mask and Erik has a heart attack(?) before he can fully choke her out.

Christine’s shock at discovering that her Angel is actually a man, and then her horror of his face is lacklustre, and completely insufficient to convince me that this is really a big enough stumbling block to prevent her from marrying him. She puts him on such a high pedestal and Erik does absolutely nothing to contradict her. He says he worships her, but in action, she is always deferential to him. He never prostrates himself before her, never treats her like a queen, like a goddess. He never follows her around like a faithful dog, as he does in Leroux. On the contrary, she follows him.

She's so obviously in love with Erik that her claims of confusion regarding her feelings for him come off as flaccid and disingenuous, and her obvious preference for Erik and her complacency with her situation sap any tension from the love story.

Don't misunderstand me, I like when a Christine has a preference for Erik. My problem is that Kay has completely lain all her cards on the table. Christine speaks freely and almost easily of Erik to Raoul who is basically a cardboard cut out. Kay's attempt at "exploring" whether Raoul's doubts in Christine's love for him are really founded in Christine secretly holding a candle for Erik is ultimately pointless because the READER already knows that she finds Raoul's love a pale comparison to what she feels with Erik! There's no mystery here!

(Its unfortunate that Kay wrote this before having access to Lowell Bair's translation, which provided us for the first time with Leroux's own answer to that Question: Why tempt fate, Raoul! Why ask me about things which I keep hidden in the back of my heart like a sin?"

It makes it feel even more incomprehensibly perfunctory when Christine decides to run away with Raoul when she knows that she could simply marry Erik for however long he has left (he's apparently not long for this world anyway) and then go on with her life. Gah!!

And then there's how Kay infantilizes Christine. While Leroux's Christine is eccentric and dreamy and credulous, she is not ignorant or "unstable". She's aware of the ways of the world

You would say that to me, Raoul? You, an old playfellow of my own! A friend of my father! You have changed since those days, Raoul. What can you be thinking of? I am an honest girl, M. le Vicomte de Chagny, and I don't lock myself in my dressing room with mens voices!"

Christine very clearly understands the implications here, and she's outraged and offended that Raoul would even imply that she would conduct herself with impropriety.

And it's not only Kay who infantilizes Christine, but Erik as well:

I'm beginning to realize just how much of a child she really is, how terrifyingly immature and vulnerable--even unstable. There's a fatal flaw running through her, like a hairline crack in a Ming dynasty vase, but that imperfection makes me love her with even greater tenderness. I don't suppose for one moment that that boy is aware of the never-ending care she'll need. Whoever marries Christine is going to have to play the father as well as the lover; if she lives to be eighty she may never be more than a child at heart, a lost and frightened little girl, bewildered by the demands of reality.

This is infuriating to me, because, as M. Grant Kellermeyer so astutely points out in his footnotes of the 2018 Old Style Tales Edition of the book:

"He confesses his cheat. He loves me! He lays an immense and tragic love at my feet... he has carried me off for love! He has imprisoned me with him underground, for love! But he respects me!*"

* - This, indeed, seems to be a unique experience in Christine's life: she is surrounded by people who despise her (Carlotta), dismiss her (the managers), idolize her (Raoul), infantilize her (Mama Valerius), and pity her (the opera workers)--Erik alone respects her. Erik alone sees in her the power and artistry that becomes increasingly obvious as her character grows in confidence and assertiveness. Erik fears her to an extent, and [...] it is likely that Christine is simply touched by Erik's belief in her, his confidence in her, and his devotion to her success.

And Kellermeyer's point about Christine growing in assertiveness is very very important. She wields power over both Erik and Raoul.

But Kay's Christine doesn't. Erik's treatment of her, both his actual treatment and his internal monologue is absolutely horrible, so again NOT AT ALL how Leroux's Erik treats her.

Let's start with the stretch where he's playing the Angel (Alexa play album "Playing the Angel" by Depeche Mode)

Christine says:

He's so stern and exacting in his demand for perfection; he never praises me, even when I know I have done well. He remains aloof and cold in his timeless imperishable wisdom, and I know that the worship of a mortal heart can mean nothing to him.

Kayrik said he wanted to be her angel who would make her feel confidence in herself at last, and yet none of his behaviour exhibits any desire to do that. I hate interpretations of Erik that take "stern" to mean cold or outright verbally abusive. That is terrible teaching method and never produces good results. Furthermore, in Leroux, Christine never mentions the Angel withholding praise, and when he is aloof following Raoul's reappearance in Christine's life, it even seems as though this is a departure from the norm.

Arguably one of the most iconic moments of the original novel is the scene where Christine is left alone in her dressing room after recovering from a fainting spell that saw her carried off the stage immediately after her triumph. Raoul, outside her room, hears Christine and Man's voice conversing and we are given some of the most iconic lines in the novel:

He had heard a man's voice in the dressing room, saying, in a curiously masterful tone:

"Christine, you must love me!"

And Christine's voice, infinitely sad and trembling as though accompanied by tears, replied:

"How can you say that to me? To me, when I sing only for you!"

[...]

The man's voice spoke again: "Are you very tired?"

"Oh, tonight I gave you my soul, and I am dead!"

"Your soul is a very beautiful thing, child," replied the grave man's voice, "and I thank you. No emperor ever recieved so fair a gift. The angels wept tonight."

Raoul heard nothing after that.

This important scene, deeply layered with romantic and sexual subtext, is completely absent from Phantom. Not only that Kay explicitly says that when Christine returned to her dressing room after her triumph, the voice wasn't there at all. He never congratulates her, never praises her. He's simply. Not. There. For her.

It's not just this that I hate though.

It's the number of times Erik calls her a "stupid child".

Funnily enough, Erik treats Christine with the exact same supercilious condescension that makes me hate Raoul in the musical.

Both Kayrik and Musical Raoul look at Christine and regard her as potentially mentally unstable, unable to trust her own senses or handle reality. To both of them she is a "scared little girl" and will never be anything more. Both of them look at that and say "No matter, let me wife that."

Interesting thing: Leroux Erik only calls Christine "Child" when he is in his guise as the Angel. Never does Erik, as Erik, refer to her that way.

Now I'll pause to say, there is one part of this episode I enjoyed and that is when Christine masturbates to Don Juan Triumphant.

And yet even this I have a problem with.

I've already covered the fact that though Leroux's Christine is innocent, she is not ignorant. She is very aware of the potential sexual danger Erik poses to her when he abducts her (though this, again was not a portion of the book available in English when Kay was writing). Nevertheless I still find it hateful and irritating that Kay's Christine is so ignorant that when Erik's music arouses her, she says she touched herself in a place "I had never known existed."

And the fact that Christine has remained insensible to her sexuality this far into her relationship with Erik is another thing that chaps my hide.

Both Leroux's Christine and Andrew Lloyd Webber's admit to fearing the effect that the Angel of Music and his tutelage have had on her. Leroux's Christine says "I hardly knew myself when I sang. I was even frightened." And Andrew Lloyd Webbers also says "He's with me even now, all around me--it frightens me" and in a short-lived alternative lyric used on the West End "I'm changing, Meg!"

And indeed, Erik's tutelage has changed Christine. Her singing under Erik's influence is not simply that of innocent euphoria. It referred to in deliberately orgasmic terms such as "Ecstasy" and "Rapture". And this so frightens her, because she is aware of what exactly these ecstasies are awakening in her. But Kay's Christine doesn't seem to be undergoing the same change. Instead of Erik's voice awakening her, Kay rather describes him as shrouding her in the fantastic, even shielding her from the very awareness and maturity that Leroux's Erik seems to be drawing out in her. Her final step into adult awareness is Erik revealing himself to her as a man, which seems to be something of a non-event here, not even of importance independent of the Unmasking. To Kay's Christine it simply is, while that simple fact is reacted to by ALW's Christine with undisguised attraction and by Leroux's with indignation.

Further sullying what is otherwise a very engaging (if somewhat short) scene of... self... discovery(?) Is Erik's perspective on the proceedings, an excerpt which prejudiced me against this book long before I undertook to read it:

I dared not think how near I had been to losing control, how terrifyingly easy it would have been in that moment to rape her. I'd raped her with music instead, and perhaps that crime was almost as bad as the one it had so narrowly prevented. Either way I'd violated her trust and destroyed a rare and precious innocence--soiled the delicate ambience that had lain between us all these weeks.

When I first ran afoul of this quote I had still been under the impression that this section of the book would be following Leroux's story and took this to be Kay's interpretation of the moment after the Unmasking when Erik, having lashed out in horrific fashion at Christine for exposing him, retreats to his room to express his anguish through music, and that music actually prevents Christine from taking her own life. In another travesty of censorship, though, the salient details of this moment (Christine's description of Erik's music) is yet another portion of the book Kay would have had no knowledge of or access to, yet is one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful pieces of prose ever put to print:

Troubled at the idea of the fate now awaiting me, and terrified of seeing the monster's uncovered face peering from the doorway to the room with the coffin, I had run to my own room and snatched up the scissors that could bring me freedom from this loathsome fate when I heard the sound of the organ.

At that instant I began to comprehend to Erik's strange rejection of what he termed "opera music". What I was now hearing was completely different from the music that had thrilled me up to that point. His "Don Juan Triumphant" (for I had no doubt that he was now losing himself in his Masterpiece to forget the horror of the moment) at first struck me as one long, dreadful, glorious lament into which he was pouring all of his bitter misery.

I visualized the manuscript with the blood red notes and easily imagined that they had been written in blood. His music carried me on a gut-wrenching journey through martyrdom and into the most hidden recesses of the pit which this hideous monster called home; it showed me Erik banging his poor, ugly head against the dreary walls of the hell where he took refuge from those whom he would otherwise frighten. I, listening, gulping for breath, besieged and pathetically broken by the Titanic cords which turned suffering divine: rising from the pit they suddenly rallied into a remarkable, menacing swarms, soaring up to heaven circling ever higher Like an Eagle toward the Sun. Listening to that Triumphant Symphony as it as it set the world of fire, I now understood that the work had achieved its apotheosis, and that the Beast soaring on the wings of love had dared to countenance Beauty.

Yet another iconic moment which Kay saw fit to axe from her work is Christine's visit to her father's grave at Perro-Guirec, where Erik plays for Christine unseen in the snowy graveyard at midnight, and after which Raoul comes face to face with Erik for the first time.

Kay weaves a frankly incoherent and disjointed tale that confounds in the original scenes and rushes through the ones that touch on canon.

But by far the most unforgivable omission

She cut out César, the White Horse from The Profeta.

See I was all set, back in part III to praise Kay's foreshadowing, because CLEARLY she put so much focus on Erik's affinity with his horses, having him tell Giovanni that he has no need to train them--they follow him because they want to, etc CLEARLY that was set-up for him carrying César off to transport Christine. RIGHT?

RIGHT?

Wrong.

As lovely as Erik's description of Christine's kiss is, by this point its so overshadowed by a cloud of shit, I couldn't really enjoy it.

Nearly finished now. I can't wait for this to be over...

Masterpost

#phantom of the opera #poto #commentary on 'phantom'#susan kay phantom #phantom susan kay

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powderblueblood · 8 months ago

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I thought you might appreciate this because you're a tattoo artist. I'm South Asian and I draw my own henna tattoos on my arm every month and it got me thinking about giving Eddie a full henna sleeve. It would take hours but I would do it SMILING. The thought of getting to try out different designs on him every few weeks once the tattoo's faded makes me feel so fuzzy and warm. But I feel like he'd have trouble staying still for that long. And the smudges!!!!! cue that scene from season two of the bear. He'd smudge the tattoo on accident before it has time to dry I just know it in my bones but I couldn't stay mad at those big brown bambi eyes for long. If you could tattoo him what would you like to give him? I've always wanted to get a stick and poke tattoo but none of the artists in my area offer that so all of my regular tattoos have been done by machine

OH I LOOOOOVE THIS SO BAD, I love the idea of having to make him sit still for the henna but he’s also just so fascinated with how precise you are about it….. anon write that blurb I would FAINT!!!

I had a nice little think about this (esp because I’m working on new flash to get back to tattooing) and I’d love to give Eddie medieval style tat of a gargoyle 🥰 to pwotect him 💕 because I’m a SAP

or one of these fuckin things

I will never not get a kick out of these freako medieval illustrations and I feel like they’re exactly Eddie’s bag, like once he moves on from getting very hardcore cool tattoos he’s like ‘I need a collection of like genuine little freaks on me’

But I hope you get to get a stick n poke soon! They’re so fun and like meditative almost. Gosh I miss tattooing

#powder room talk #anonymous

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hearts-are-connected · 2 years ago

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youtube

This is truly one of the best scenes in the entire trilogy. I love the big battles as much as the next person, but this scene feels a little slept on in my opinion. I've never given much thought to it until seeing it again this evening.

We have the hobbits, who are completely naive to the world outside the Shire. Said naivety on full display as they light a fire to cook, thus alerting the Wraiths to their precise location. What I love though, is the fact that in the face of these towering, cloaked creatures; Sam, Merry, and Pippin stand in front of Frodo. I'm sure the scene plays differently in the book, but talking specifically about the film, I love how this kind of foreshadows their place in the final battle.

Sam stands as the first line of defense, and is the first to make a move against the enemy to protect his friends. Just like how in Return of the King, Sam was one thing that Frodo had to remind himself of who he truly is and where he can draw strength from as the Ring saps it away. When it consumes him for that brief moment in Mount Doom; it's Sam who brings him back to himself. It's Sam who catches him.

Merry and Pippin are both thrown to the side. Separated. Just like they will be when Pippin's sent with Gandalf to Gondor and Merry stays to fight with Rohan. Both hobbits needing to be separated in order to grow in their respective paths, before coming together for the final battle. Standing side by side to help Frodo, just like in this scene where they stand on either side of he and Sam, guarding them from outside forces.

And then there's Aragorn.

This fight alone, brief as it is, tells you so much about Aragorn as a character. He's strong, capable, protective, loyal, and brave. Outnumbered by otherworldly enemies that wield a weapon capable of beginning the transformation into a Ringwraith with a single stab, he still gives this fight his all. No hesitation, except for the last second, when he uses torch to finish the fight.

This scene alone is enough to demonstrate why Aragorn is one of my favorite characters. He fights even in the face of odds that aren't in his favor. Aragorn is willing to die just to give Frodo a fighting chance in Return of the King when he charges at the Black Gate. Like he has been at every single fight in this journey. Not only that, but he doesn't care one bit if anyone else decides to follow him. If he alone ran out to face Sauron's army and died alone, he would've accomplished what he'd set out to do in buying Frodo time to see that the ring is destroyed. Even if it's only a few minutes.

And who runs out after him before even Gandalf?

Merry and Pippin.

Two of the smallest people in middle earth help lead the charge against the an army that vastly outnumbers them. Putting aside their fears for good of their friends and Middle Earth.

I love this story so much.

#lord of the rings #aragorn #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #merry brandybuck #peregrin took #sauron #tolkien #one ring to rule them all #Youtube

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drainthehero · 3 years ago

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Superman needs convincing. Chapter 4

The Man of Steel flew away from Luthor’s penthouse apartment filled with conflicting emotions. He felt shame for the fact that he had been so desperate to empty his balls into the tight ass of Jacob and he was confused about how good it had felt to have his big super cock buried into the hole of Jacob.

Superman was also unsure about whether Jacob was being mind controlled, meaning Superman might have taken advantage of Jacob. Recalling his experience with Jacob brought a throbbing hardness to his cock, however without realising it the Man of Steel avoided touching his boner as the weakness and jolts were still fresh in his mind.

Before Superman spent too much time thinking about his experience his super hearing detected a commotion coming from near the centre of town. At super speed he changed into a fresh costume and made his way to the scene of the crime.

On approach he identified what appeared to be a conflict between two drug operations. It seemed as though one group was making a hit on a disused warehouse which had been converted into a makeshift drug lab. There was already light gunfire running between the two armed groups with around a dozen civilians in lab coats cowering behind any kind of cover they could find.

Feeling the need to make a scene, the mighty superhero landed with force, drawing the attention of both sets of thugs. The ground of the warehouse was wet and muddy and his landing sent a spray of mud in all directions. When it had cleared he stood there in his glorious costume, having assumed the heroic hands on hips pose. Seeing the Man of Steel and realising their predicament, the thugs immediately resolved their differences and turned their weapons on the spandex clad body of steel.

Superman gave the criminals a disapproving look and slight shake of his head, before directing a gust of his super breath in their direction and knocking most of them from their feet. He sauntered confidently over to the remaining two men standing, his muscles bulging through his spandex and his cape gently billowing from the motion of his walk.

“You should know by now that Metropolis is under my protection. I will not allow drugs to flood our streets nor will I stand by while innocent citizens are used to make these despicable products.” He gestured around himself to emphasize his point.

One of the remaining standing men appeared to be less intimidated by the Man of Steel, replying “Intergang won’t be dictated to by some pussy alien who gets around in tights and red panties!” He emptied a few rounds from his handgun onto muscled chest of steel. The bullets bounced harmlessly from the mighty pectorals.

Superman only sighed. “You and your associates will be given your day in court, but I urge you to name those higher up in your organisation and an arrangement can be made for your safe testimony. The courts,” Superman was cut off by the same man.

“I think we will pass on your ‘offer’, Superman,” he spat out. “I have a better arrangement in mind.” And he drew forth a chain from an internal pocket in his jacket. As he pulled the chain out of its special lining, a green rock could be seen which started to glow a sickly green hue as it neared the mighty form of Superman.

Superman was completely caught off guard when he saw the kryptonite and felt it’s effects. “Ughhh… ohhh… ahhhh” he said weakly, his eyes locked onto the debilitating rock. “Ohhhh… weak. Ahhhhh.” His face and mouth started to go slack as he felt the sapping effect begin to take hold across his muscled form.

“Urrghhh,” was all the Man of Steel could muster as he fought to remain standing but slumped against a nearby pillar. His eyes widened in fear as the man held the chain up in front of Superman, dangling the rock. “Where… how… did you get that?”

The man took a step toward Superman who was already leaning against the pillar and had nowhere to turn. The Man of Steel adopted a pleading look in his eyes, as the deadly rock continued to dangle before him. He willed his arms to lift and knock it away, but the large muscled biceps simply hung uselessly from his shoulders, unable to respond.

The man took another step and lifted the chain over Superman’s head and placed it gently but firmly around his neck. “Ugghh, argghh” gasped a shuddering Superman, as the close proximity from the large rock increased the effect upon his weakened muscles. “Please. Please, no. Please don’t,” he begged as the green rock came to rest between his massive pectoral muscles. The once super breath of the Man of Steel was now ragged and rasping as he struggled to even draw oxygen.

Superman’s head lolled limply on his neck and his massive muscles were soft and drooping on his once mighty frame. The heavy chain on his neck proved too much and he sank down onto his knees before the thug and leaned forward weakly resting his forehead on the thug’s groin. “Ughh… please… help… so weak,” he mumbled with his mouth against the semi hard cock of the thug.

The criminal looked down at the defeated hero in disgust and grabbed his hair to pull his head back. “Buy me a drink first pussy. How pathetic. So much for the saviour of Metropolis. This rock is enough to make you go weak at the knees and bury your face in my cock.”

“Argghh!” exclaimed Superman as his head was pulled back by his hair. His face looked straight up at the thug but the eyes of the Man of Steel were unfocussed. “Ughhh, no, please,” he continued to ask desperately.

With a mammoth effort, Superman lifted his arm weakly and placed it around the chain just above the kryptonite. “Unghh,” he grunted with effort as he attempted the lift the rock to remove it. But he was far too weak and his arm slumped back down uselessly, allowing the kryptonite to once again rest on his chest.

The thug took a quick step back, allowing gravity to pull on the Man of Steel as he toppled forward and landed face flat in the mud and rubbish on the ground of the deserted warehouse.

Superman, though, not yet ready to give up, planted his hands at his sides and heaved himself back up onto one knee, with his hand reaching down to steady himself.

All of the criminals had now recovered themselves and surrounded the Man of Steel, watching his pathetic attempt to stand. He kneeled before them, his once pristine costume covered in mud and filth with the green glowing kryptonite casting a sickly hue over his features.

As he felt the last vestige of his strength escaping him, he blinked his eyes slowly as if drunk and looked for any sign of rescue or hope. “Uggh… so weak… please remove it. Take it away. Please. It’s draining my strength.”

“What a pathetic excuse for a superhero. Look at you, kneeling before us and begging for us to help you, where moments ago you were threatening us.” The thug clearly had no sympathy for the plight of the weakened and defeated Man of Steel. He then spoke to the other criminals, “bring the civilians over. Let’s show them just how Super he really is.”

Superman watched helplessly, kneeling and covered in filth, while the gunmen rounded all the technicians into a circle.

The lead thug then moved to stand beside Superman, grabbed him by the hair and forced him to watch.

At a nod, a young man in his 20’s was selected randomly and separated from the group to stand a few feet from where Superman knelt in defeat. The leader addressed the young man, “so this is your saviour?” he shook the limp head of the Man of Steel from side to side as he spoke. “This pathetic excuse for a superhero can’t even save himself.” To emphasize the point, the leader drove his fist into the spandex covered stomach of the Man of Steel.

Where once, abs as hard as steel would have crushed the knuckles of the criminal, Superman now crumpled under the force of the blow and could only bend forward as the wind was knocked from him. “Ooompphh! Arghhh! Urrghhhh,” groaned the Man of Steel as he felt pain blossom across his stomach.

The leader immediately grabbed the hair again and pulled Superman back up into a kneeling position as a grimacing look of pain was etched onto his face.

“Beg for your Superman to save you!”

The young man proceeded to beg Superman to help him. He implored the mighty kryptonian, saviour of all Metropolis, to get up and defeat the criminals. But Superman merely knelt there, covered in filth, barely able to utter groans and moans as his body was consumed by pain. A pathetic, “please stop. Don’t hurt them,” was all the once mighty hero could manage.

The leader again addressed the young man. “Now. We are going to beat you senseless. Your hero is too weak and pathetic to save you so he can just watch unless he dares to try and stop us.”

With that, the young man was set upon by three of the gunmen as they used their fists, boots and weapon butts to pound his vulnerable flesh. He immediately begged for Superman to intervene and save him, but soon his mouth was swollen and bloody and he was unable to speak clearly. The leader stepped in with his own commentary.

“Superman, look at how this poor young man is being thrashed. And you, who came here to bring us all to justice, you can’t even walk over and stop one punch!” To emphasize his point, the leader threw a soft punch onto the strong square jaw of the Man of Steel who immediately cried out and toppled over from the impact.

As he lay helpless on his side he uttered weakly, “no! Stop! Please don’t.” Superman was lifted back to his knees by the leader as he fumed with impotence and helplessly watched the young man getting bashed into unconsciousness before being dragged away. Superman felt a terrible shame for offering these people such hope, only for it to be dashed when he was exposed to kryptonite and stripped of his powers.

In frustrated rage, Superman lifted his massive arm to again grab the chain attempting to lift it over his head. “Ughhh… Mmnnnghhh,” he groaned as he weakly flexed his oversized muscles. But eventually he failed again, dropping his arms uselessly to his side.

“Argghhh,” he sighed in defeat. “So weak, can’t even lift this chain.”

The leader walked over to where the group of technicians were huddled and said, “now it’s time for your punishment, Superman.” He grabbed one randomly by the throat and continued, “come here for your punishment or this kid gets it.”

Superman knew he could not endure the humiliation of first causing then watching another beating, so he attempted to stand, thinking he could at least approach his fate with dignity. He managed to get one foot on the ground and pushed with all his might to bring his muscular physique to a standing position. About half way up though his strength gave out and he crashed to forward to the ground with his chest and legs in the mud.

Giving up on walking over, the Man of Steel lifted himself up to his hands and knees. His head was limp due to his weakness and the glowing rock of kryptonite hung beneath his huge pectoral muscles like a beacon leading him forward. The once pristine costume and cape of the superhero were covered in filth and muck with the bright blue and red colours now covered in splotches of brown.

Focussing on placing a hand then knee, Superman crawled over to the leader like a whipped dog. After four shuffling movements the leader gave a silent sign and the gunmen moved in to kick the shambling form of the mighty superhero.

“Look at this wretched dog of a superhero,” the leader said to nobody in particular. “He drags himself like a beaten animal and does not even have the strength to protect himself. You are a pathetic hero,” the last he directed at Superman.

Superman felt a kick land on his vulnerable ribs and collapsed in agony on the filthy ground. “Urrghhh,” he could only exclaim as he dragged himself back up and continued his shuffle.

For each kick that landed on his arm, ribs and ass, the Man of Steel was flung to the ground in pain. After ten gruelling minutes of this he finally reached the leader, who released the technician and flung the grateful lad away to join his friends.

Superman could feel pain across his entire body caused by the blows which had been landed during his humiliating crawl. When he arrived he climbed up onto his knees and glared at the leader with as much defiance as he could muster. “Please. I will do ask you ask. Just please let them go. You have me, you have what you want.”

“I decide what I want, and you should only speak when addressed.” The leader then crouched down and quickly darted his hand forward to grab the grimy red briefs adorning the groin of Superman and squeezed the now vulnerably orbs in one hand.

“Aaiiieee! Arrghhh!” shrieked the Man of Steel. He grabbed desperately at the hand now crushing his balls but his weak scrabbling had no effect on the vice like grip on his testicles. “Urrghhh! Godddd! Pleeasseee!” he begged wildly as the pain grew and spread across his body. “My balls! So much pain. Pleeease!”

Finally the leader released his grip on the balls of steel and Superman crumpled forward over himself with his knees and face on the ground and his weak hands clutching in vain at his abused balls. He gave a half whimper/ half cry as he waited and hoped for the pain to subside.

The leader was having none of this and motioned for two of the men to grab Superman and support him to stand.

“Mmmmmh,” muttered Superman. “Please. No more. I’m too weak.” He hung limply in the arms of the two men with his legs crossed and feet on the ground but not supporting his weight.

The leader dragged the yellow belt from Superman and threw it aside before grasping the top of the signature red briefs and wriggling them from side to side menacinglty. “I think it’s time for us to see what the Man of Steel is packing down here.”

Superman went wide eyed as his handsome features contorted in fear. “No! You can’t, not my briefs! Please!”

Without further words the leader pulled the red briefs down to rest around Superman’s knees giving everyone a clear view of the soft cock of Superman swinging in the breeze.

“Boys! Oh my god! I can’t believe Superman is a kinky pussy boy who wears a cockring!”

In his misery, the Man of Steel had completely forgotten about the K-ring attached permanently to the base of his shaft. Somehow his eyes widened even further as his face burned a deep red from the shame of his double exposure. “No. You don’t. It isn’t… Errr,” he stammered as he tried to think of an excuse.

The men were now jeering at the kinky Man of Steel and how he was only able to fight crime if he felt the cool ring of steel wrapped around his shaft.

“Maybe this is the source of his powers, boys. You reckon he will stay weak forever if I remove it? Maybe I could be the next Superman,” he joked, flexing his muscular arms in a mock hero pose.

Continuing the joke he reached toward the ring encasing the shaft of steel as if to remove it.

Superman cried out in panic. “No! Please! You don’t understand!” The might superhero began to sob as he struggled weakly against the strong arms of the powerful men holding him in place. “No,” he continued, “not that. Ughh, so weak. If only I wasn’t so weak.” He cried, continuing to struggle in vain.

Spurred on by this reaction, the leader grabbed the K-ring and tried to remove it from the shaft.

The following events were a bit of haze, even to the criminals. The singular recollection of all present, was the loud shriek of tortured pain escaping the mouth of Superman as the K-ring’s spikes which were buried in the shaft of steel threatened to rupture through his shaft.

The leader jumped in surprise at the sound, but not before noticing with curiosity the little spikes penetrating from the cockring and into the shaft.

Another memorable event was the almost instant erection being sported by the Man of Steel. Once touched the K-ring had activated and released kryptonite radiation as well as causing Superman to form a raging boner.

As the gunmen released Superman in shock, the additional wave of kryptonite caused him to drop like the sack of useless muscle he was and he now lay prone on the ground with his arms and legs spread out and a rock hard boner jutting up his abdomen.

At this point, the K-ring started to bombard Superman’s muscular body with waves of erotic pleasure and the hero started to moan and groan from the sensations while writhing in weakened bursts on the filth covered ground.

“Boys this just gets better,” observed the leader. “Look at that rock hard cock on Superman. He is clearly enjoying being our bitch, dontcha think?” The members all agreed enthusiastically.

“I think maybe he needs a reward instead of punishment. If Superpussy is enjoying being our bitch so much, I say we fulfill his fantasies. Come on lads.” The leader whipped out his cock and started to pump it, moving to stand over the weak form of Superman.

The other members followed suit and there were soon more than a dozen muscled men jerking themselves off over the most powerful superhero on the planet. Superman lay helplessly beneath the sea of cocks as he moaned from the effects of the K-ring.

The moaning of the Man of Steel only served to spur on the criminals as many of them fantasized about fucking the face or ass of Superman.

Superman had never seen so many dicks in his life, but he feared for what was about to come cum. He tried in vain to prevent the imminent cock eruptions, “No, please… ohhh, ahhhh, that feels so good. Hmmm, please, don’t cum on me. Please, I’m Superman.”

The begging was clearly a turnon for some of the men as a few leaned in to make sure they were within striking distance. Each chose a piece of the iconic costume as their target.

Superman’s cock had reached a familiar point where he needed to blow but he knew he was too weak to reach his cock and feared further punishment from the K-ring.

“Slow down lads, let’s not rush this. Superman obviously enjoys looking at this much hard cock, so let’s give him a good show.” The statement appeared true as the Man of Steel had a look of ecstasy across his face as he gazed up at the masturbating men over him.

The pressure continued to build in Superman’s balls and he could feel his desperation to blow starting to break his will. The combined effects of the K-ring radiation and the rock around his neck made him weaker than he had ever felt and his body could only spasm weakly as his muscles gave the barest of response to his commands.

The lads had definitely slowed down and Superman knew he could not outlast them now. Giving in to his own depravity, he felt his cheeks blush with shame as he asked, “please help me. I need to cum.”

The lads were shocked at such an obvious confession from this mighty superhero and the leader forced Superman to repeat himself.

Louder, Superman asked the question again. “Please, I need your help. I need to cum but I am too weak to even touch myself.” The leader waited patiently. “God please. I’m begging you, help me cum. I’m so weak but my balls are bursting.”

The leader gave a nod and the young technician from earlier was summoned over and commanded to suck the cock of his idol superhero. Fearing his life, the young man knelt beside the Man of Steel and took the hard throbbing cock into his warm mouth, immediately bobbing up and down on the shaft.

Superman was horrified that they would not only use a captive but that they would also make the captive give him a blowjob, rather than use his hand. When the Man of Steel opened his mouth to complain, the leader said simply. “This is the only way Superman,” to which the fallen hero nodded weakly.

The leader added. “Now say it.”

Superman was in a heightened state of ecstasy but could not bring himself to say the words, even though he knew what would be next. Sure enough, the young man was wrenched off the shaft of steel and the unbearable pressure returned moving between the balls and shaft of steel.

“Ok, ok! Please. Make him suck my cock. I need to cum and I want you to make him blow me.”

“That’s better.” The man was made to resume sucking the shaft of steel and he expertly ran his tongue up and down while using his lips across the head.

This exchange had driven the lads beyond the point of no return and many could be seen now with telltale shaking in their legs and arms as their bodies prepared for orgasms.

A wave of groaning and moaning began as each one shuddered and ejaculated over the Man of Steel, with each aiming for a specific target. The orgasms lasted more than ten minutes from start to finish with a shower of cum pouring down onto the humiliated and defeated hero.

About half way through, Superman could feel his own balls shift, followed by his hot seed bursting from his cock and being shot down the mouth and then throat of the waiting captive. Superman bucked his hips weakly through the orgasm as spasms of ecstasy rolled across his large useless muscles.

When the cumfest was over Superman was quite literally covered in cum. His iconic S Shield had been the most popular target with many large globs dotting its surface. Some had shot on his muscular thighs or biceps and a few had aimed for his face, with a few hitting his feet and balls.

Superman gave a final shudder as the orgasm finished making its way across his body and he finally felt some rest from the effects of the K-ring, although he was still helpless in the presence of the kryptonite hanging around his neck.

At a word from the leader, the lads stashed their semi hard cocks in their pants and started to pack up their stuff, with two of them reaching down to collect the Man of Steel and take him with them.

They dragged the hero over toward a van, his still naked ass being dragged along the filthy ground and his softening cock dribbling a trail of cum in its wake. The reached the van and started to haul the weakened hero in when a number of loud engines were heard from outside. Additionally, ten armed drones flew into the warehouse and hovered menacingly over the men.

A voice issued forth from an unknown speaker. “That is property of Lex Luthor. Release it immediately and you will be allowed to leave.” Compact machine guns whirred into action on the drones and red laser lights could be seen targeting multiple gunmen.

“Ok, we hear you,” conceded the leader. He motioned quickly to his men to drop Superman, although they retrieved the kryptonite on its chain, and made a hasty retreat under the watchful gaze of the drones.

When the kryptonite was removed, Superman felt somewhat better, but his body would take a long time to recover molecularly from such prolonged exposure. As he lay there covered in so much cum and filth he saw the tailored pants and shoes of his saviour.

“Well, well Superman. Don’t you have a way of getting yourself into trouble.” Lex said quietly from above the Man of Steel. “You seem to have found a new way of having a good time though,” he added with a wry chuckle.

Lex reached out a leather gloved hand and gently patted Superman’s head, saying, “there, there, pet. I am here now. You’re safe again.”

Superman’s breathing slowed and he felt his heart slowing down. Almost without thinking he responded with, “thank you, sir. I was so frightened.”

“Shhh, pet. I know you were. Everything is going to be fine now.”

------

The next day Lex received a visitor at his private downtown offices. “Here you go Mr Luthor,” said the leader as he handed Lex the green glowing rock on its chain. “That was an awesome job. Let us know if you have anything else we can do for you.”

Lex let a small smile occupy the side of his mouth while he looked at the brawny man. “Travers, I realise I have only been in this city for less than a year, but I would have thought that even you would be smart enough to know I am not a man to cross.”

A look of confusion was quickly replaced by a cunning smirk as Travers pulled a gun on Luthor.

Lex merely shook his head and gave the weapon, saying, “when will you morons learn the value of collaboration?” Before he had finished speaking Travers was already a crumpled heap on the floor. He continued to no one specifically. “Find it and retrieve it. Scrub them all.”

Lex gave a sigh, threw the cheap imitation kryptonite on the corpse and returned to reviewing his quarterly reports.

#superman #superman defeated #superhero #superhero defeated

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mauesartetc · 4 years ago

Text

A collection of Vivziepop-related art tweaks

Some of you will recognize these; figured I’d post them here too in case others would find them enlightening in some way. Let’s go!

The position of Alastor’s eyes here flattened his face, and it’s super weird how his cheek and his temple form one big mass with no distinction between them. I remedied those in my version, in addition to avoiding awkward tangents with the teeth and lips. And I’m personally not a fan of the transparent anime hair phenomenon since it only creates more tangents and highlights just how little thought was put into the relationship between the hair and the face. So I minimized that as well.

This one deals with Angel Dust’s proportions. According to the Hazbin wiki, he died in his 30s, but the huge head and eyes make him look like a teen here. I don’t know the intent or backstory of this image; it could be the case that he actually is a teen in this drawing. But in case he isn’t, I drew another version with a similar (yet more believable) body type, the proportions of an adult, an expression that fits Angel’s personality, and a period-appropriate hairstyle. He also has a cranium now. Yay.

So here we have Dawn O’ Deedle, the sin of gluttony, totally not Doug Dimmadome, and yet another moth demon. Viv, I know you like moths and all, but how does that design choice connect to his character in any way? I also have no idea how his jacket works; is it a separate piece of clothing or is it part of his body? And while it’s refreshing to see Viv draw a body type separate from your standard-issue Slenderman, out of curiosity, I ventured beyond the fluff to see how this big boy was built.

Yeah... There are a lot of inconsistent arm lengths and thicknesses, and I’m not even sure where his lower right one is meant to connect (diagonal from the top one? Somehow that doesn’t seem right). The vertical line where his upper right arm connects to his body pointed me to where the shoulder would be, but even in 3/4 view, it shouldn’t look THAT much longer than the opposite shoulder. But beyond that, his pose pushes his weight forward so much that, being so top-heavy, he’d fall over.

I tried the same pose with more consistent structure, but he still seemed a bit top-heavy to make it work, so I had him take a knee instead. I also felt having him look at the food instead of staring into space would breathe more life and personality into him.

This pose looked really uncomfortable and forced to me (seriously, try standing like this while reading a book). Even if she were picking the book up from the ground, that’s a terribly awkward stance to do it from. Solution: Keep the upper body as is, but straighten up the spine and balance the torso over the legs, not in front of them (kinda the same problem Dawn O’ Deedle had). I also positioned her feet to keep a sort of pigeon-toed look without breaking viewers’ suspension of disbelief.

(Also why are the shins not just longer than the thighs, but SO much longer than the thighs? Maybe it’s a “”””style choice”””...or a clear case of an artist not thinking a pose all the way through before finalizing it.)

Finally, my personal favorite!

Here we have Mimzy performing for some slobberin’ wolves. What struck me about this image was how colorless it looked. Viv’s generally known for using lots of bright colors, but I guess she took a more subdued, monochromatic approach here. Problem is, the dullness saps the energy from what otherwise looks like a lively scene. Also, the lighting’s really confusing. We see lights coming at these wolves from all sides. Where’s the main light source? Is it the spotlight coming from the left? The right? The top? Is it the lights in the sign or the lights on the stage? Is it out of frame somewhere? I know working with multiple lights is hard, but if you establish one as the brightest, it really doesn’t have to be.

For my version, I used Color layers to paint over the original in Photoshop, using warm colors for lights, and cool colors for shadows. Mimzy stands out much more clearly as the focal point, with the main light shining on her, and with the wolves’ eyes changed from red to yellow so they don’t distract from her red attire. I also attempted to remedy the shadow situation by using a Multiply layer to paint new shapes on the wolves. This gives each one more consistent structure and conveys a stronger indication of which lights are affecting them.

I also thought the muzzle shape of the one at the top left made him look more like a rat than a wolf, so I took care of that as well.

So yeah, I hope y’all found this helpful or at least entertaining. Ever since @zpredraws went quiet, there’s been an unfortunate dearth of visual critique of Viv’s work. I don’t want this blog to turn into the ALL VIVZIEPOP ALL THE TIME zone, and of course I’ll still post original art.

But listen.

If you have any requests of Viv stuff you want me to look at, I’m here for it.

Critiquing others’ work is a fun challenge that helps artists exercise their own creative muscles, communication skills, and powers of observation. It can end up teaching you a lot, as well as your audience. And even though I animate and design characters for a living, I still have much to learn. So y’all can count on seeing more of these in the future.

#critique #art critique #art criticism #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop #redlines #redraw #anatomy #poses #drawing #alastor #angel dust #mimzy

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koutarousangel · 4 years ago

Note

I saw that you write for jjk and I was wondering maybe if I could get a gojo , itadori, megumi and inumaki headcannon of how they would take care of you when you’re sick , love ur writing so far ☺️

author’s note : aaaaaaa thank you for your request !! sorry it took a hot minute to put it up, but things have been all over the place. i hope you like it ! also yuji, megumi and toge are aged up !

gojo’s definitely the type of s/o who will tease you for getting sick

like you’ll text him telling him that you don’t feel too well and he’ll just tease the ever living shit out of you, for something you couldn’t really control????

“oh babe you’re so lovesick because of me 😍 that’s so embarrassing 🤭”

we all know he overuses emojis don’t deny it

you knew you should’ve listened to him and wore a scarf the last time you’d gone out together … so his ‘i told you so’ was completely valid

doesn’t mean you appreciate it though

for a hot second you think that that was going to be the extent of his care but the man proves you wrong when he just lets himself into your apartment and is just carrying a copious amount of bags filled with … well everything.

mans has medicine, different teas depending on what you’re coming down with, snacks and treats, movies to watch and most importantly, soup to warm you up and make you feel better

he thought about getting the ingredients to make the soup himself, but he just wants to cuddle you as quickly as possible, so making soup would put a wrench in that plan

you just about cry as he brings out the items and lists them off matter-of-factly

he didn’t think it was a big deal because he just makes sure that the people he cares about have everything they need and you were at the top of that list

gojo might be a complete ass and acts like he’s all too-cool for anything and everything, but he’s just a big sap who likes to spoil you

will cuddle and kiss you, asking if you feel better with every kiss, despite you telling him not to get close to you otherwise he would get sick and you know how insufferable he gets when he’s sick

( even though you still obviously take care of him, despite him telling you that he’s ‘the strongest’ while sniffling into his tissues )

he’ll coddle you for as long as you’re feeling horrible, not letting you get up from the blankets he’d bundled you up in, bringing you anything you wanted ( even though he complained slightly because he had to get up from the cuddle-zone ) but then he’ll encourage you to get up and walk a little and push you to go shower because it’ll make you feel better

don’t worry, he’ll join you in the shower to help and then dry you off after, before carrying you to bed and going back to cuddletown.

okay yuji is the epitome of sweetheart

he cares for people a whole lot, even if he doesn’t know them

so when you call him telling him that you don’t feel too good, just be prepared for him to show up in an instant, with anything you might need.

his grandfather taught him how to be a complete gentleman, and supplied him with cooking skills ( and in the latest episode ? we been known he made you that bombass meatball soup )

he’ll help you eat it if you’re feeling too crappy to move, but mostly he’ll just gently nudge your hand and encourage you to eat

after successfully getting you to get some food into your system, he’ll carry you back to the your place of choice, whether it’s the living room or your bedroom, and tuck you underneath the blankets, advising you to sit up for a bit so that the food doesn’t upset your stomach.

yuji will make idle conversation with you, playing with your fingers or hair until you start to show signs of sleep, which is when the conversation turns quieter and he occasionally hums a small tune

when you’re asleep, he’ll get up from next to you and head to the kitchen to clean up, before moving around the apartment and tidying anything that needs to be tidied

his grandfather’s teachings have always remained with him, so that’s why he’s such a gentleman

you’d think that he’d be a bit more chaotic, but he’s just a caring sweetheart who knows how to take good care of people ( pls im so soft )

when he finishes everything that needs to be done, yuji rejoins you and makes sure that you’re covered with the blankets and that you’re comfortable, before sitting next to you and putting on a movie or tv show, idly playing with your hair and making sure to keep his voice down even if there’s a funny or surprising scene.

eventually he falls asleep too ,,,,,, only to then wake up startled a couple of hours later because shit you were meant to take your medicine and you’d both forgotten

so he gently wakes you up, and after a lot of protests and groaning, manages to give you the medicine and makes you drink water because hydration is important

then depending on how you’re feeling, he’ll either let you get back to sleep, or let you rest your head on his chest as you continued to watch whatever’s on tv together.

you’d think that he’d be a little bit stiff, but mans picks up so quickly that something’s up

like you don’t message him at the time you usually do and suddenly his senses are tingling and he ends up messaging or calling you instead

the moment he hears your voice and it maybe sounds a bit hoarse or hears a couple of sick sniffles, he’ll question you about it and as soon as you confirm that you are indeed sick, he’ll tell you to wait up for him and despite your protests, he ignores them and a couple of minutes later he’s at your door

he doesn’t really show up with anything because he just wanted to make sure that you were okay ... he’d make do with whatever you have anyway

megumi’s quick to ask you if you need anything in particular and he will get it for you, warning you not to move from your comfortable position because you needed rest.

will definitely be the type of person to put his hand against your forehead to check for a fever, and then bring over a damp cloth to wipe your face with it

he’ll fix your hair so that it’s out of your face and not creating any heat or discomfort

usually he’d want to rest his head in your lap but since he’s taking care of you, he’ll switch up roles and let you rest your head in his lap and he’ll gently caress your cheek and draw lines down the side of your face and jaw and while this is comforting, this is also another way to keep himself informed on if you’re developing a fever or if it’s getting better if you already had one

he makes sure that you’re doing everything necessary to get better, so taking your medicine, drinking water, getting enough sleep, eating the right stuff ... all he wants is to see your lovely smile and to help you feel better.

you love his voice, and he knows this since you mention it whenever you get the chance, so he’ll grab a book or find something on his phone to read out to you, filing the silence with his voice while he’s holding onto your hand, pulling it away to turn over the page only to return it promptly after.

super caring, super observant, super patient

he’s not going to say much, but you best believe that he’s always going to keep an eye on you, especially if he can’t be next to you because he’s getting you something to make you feel better. he’ll keep checking in on you, uttering “leaf mustard?” whenever he hears you cough or shuffling around, waiting for you to calm his concern before returning to what he was doing before.

will pin you down with a glare if you try to move or get up for anything except the bathroom ; he’s there to help you, so that you could rest and get better quicker, so you getting up to do things would be counter-productive ...

won’t use his cursed speech on you because you always warn him not to so that he doesn’t get hurt, but you know through his glare that he would do it if you tested him ... he only wants to see you get better

anything you’ll ask of him, he’ll get you and he’ll make sure to press a kiss to the side of your head when he leaves and then when he comes back

once you’re all settled and he makes sure that everything is done, he’ll come and sit next to you; at first he’ll sit on the ground next to your head as you lay down, ignoring you when you try to push his face away so that he didn’t get close. he’ll keep moving your hair out of your face and tracing little shapes, gently booping your nose to get you to scrunch up your face and let out a laugh.

at the sign of your first yawn, he’ll move up and cradle you in his arms, rubbing your sides, making sure that you weren’t cold or overheated, and that you were comfortable enough to fall asleep so that you can sleep off your sickness

he’ll watch you as you sleep, worry in his eyes as your reddened cheeks from the fever stubbornly don’t let up, but after pressing the cold cloth to your face a couple of times, making sure not to wake you, he realised that your heated cheeks are cooling off, and a small smile rests on his face because you’re slowly getting better.

toge will kiss the side of your head softly before resting his head back and turning his attention to either the television or to his phone, before he starts feeling sleepy himself and ends up taking a nap with you, his arms stubbornly wrapped around you, making you feel safe.

#jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen hcs #jjk hcs #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru headcanons #itadori yuji x reader #itadori yuji headcanons #fushiguro megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi headcanons

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scorchedhearth · 4 years ago

Note

5 + joe/nicky or 2 + andy/quynh?

Those prompts are really clearing up my writer’s block, so this got quite long. It also diverted a bit from strictly Joe/Nicky, hope you still like it!! And lastly, it’s found family appreciation 24/7 in this house, have some pre-canon fun.

Taken from this prompt list

5- “I think the edible glitter, might be a bit much.”

Joe hears the back door opens and a quick glance at the clock tells him he’s just in time. He’s just done with the cake decoration, the house is mostly set up, cleaned and aired and they even found the good meat to cook something nice for this evening. A meal that is already simmering on the stove and make the whole house smells divine, thanks to Nicky. Nicky who just stepped into the main room, a couple of bottles under his arm.

“What do you think?” Joe asks him, arms wide open and showing him the masterpiece that’s sitting on the counter.

“What do I think?” Nicky walks closer, puts the bottles on the counter and takes a good look at the cake. Well, technically cakes but they’re all stacked together and that makes it only one cake, and isn’t that beautiful?

“It is nice. I like the design.” Joe committed to the scene and used an ample amount of fondant and icing to draw as best a bear and a man on it as he could, completed with a forest behind and river on the side. “It is somewhat heavy in terms of decoration.”

“I think it’s the edible glitter. It might be a bit much.” He found out about the existence of edible glitter yesterday while shopping and he had to buy some to try it. About seven different colors and it is a delightful activity to layer glitters over a cake, it really is. It might have slightly gotten out of hand though.

“You think?” Nicky says, raising one eyebrow. Out of hand as in the entire cake is covered in them, making it shine like one big disco ball.

“Okay, maybe I had a heavy hand with it. But it’s edible glitter Nicky! Look at that.” He trusts one of the small glitter bottles into Nicky’s hand who carefully reads the labels.

“You know we can eat regular glitter, right?” He says offhandedly and yeah, technically they can.

“Come on, it’s not the same. Don’t be a killjoy, isn’t it a nice invention?”

“I guess so.” And then, like the huge sap that he is, Nicky looks at him with unblinking eyes and smiles. “If these make you so happy, then yes, I am grateful they were invented. If only for the way your smile shines.” It’s the way it’s unexpected that catches Joe off guard, even though he saw it coming a mile away with Nicky’s small and gentle smile, the honesty in his voice puts a lump in his throat.

“Nicolo, ya amar.” And now he’s smiling himself. “And you say I’m the romantic one.”

“I don’t go around and embellish the world as those romantics do. I simply state the truth.” And once again, those big, honest eyes turn onto Joe. “If it brings you joy, then it brings me joy too.”

“Come here.” Joe loops his thumbs into Nicky’s belt and tugs him closer to kiss him, something soft and slow, tasting like sugar and mint. It tastes like joy and everything he wants in the world. They have about half an hour before Andy arrives to clean up the rest of the house and lay the table, just enough. Joe steals one last kiss before they get to work.

“Happy anniversary!” They both shout at the same time when the front door opens to reveal Andy and Booker, one smiling and the other frowning.

“Anniversary?” She sharply turns her head toward Booker who’s standing by her right. “You were in it?”

“Yup.” He’s grinning like an ass, pumping his chest out like an overconfident rooster might. “And you saw nothing. Not. A. Thing.” He emphasizes each word, deliberately taunting her. “You gotta admit boss, I’m getting better at lying.”

“I’m just getting worse at seeing it,” Andy grumbles but she doesn’t even try to hide her smile, it’s there, on her face and in her voice.

“No, you’re not.” Joe grins as he walks up to her.

“No, I’m not.” She admits and bumps shoulders with him before taking him in her arms. He does a little waltz simply because he can and she’s there, just a few shuffling steps and she laughs in his ear. What a beautiful sound. She pushes away but keeps her hand on his shoulder a little while longer.

“So you’re saying I’m good at lying?” Booker pips up from behind and she rolls her eyes.

“I never said that.” She turns to Nicky who engulfs her in his special kind of hugs, more gentle but just as intense. Joe ears her ‘grazie Nicolo’ and sees Nicky’s smile. One of the world’s wonders for sure.

“Didn’t need to use words boss.” Booker keeps talking as he takes off his jacket.

“You read mind now Book?” She says as she and Nicky pull apart.

“I don’t. But I’m richer now.” He extends his hand toward Nicky. “Come on. We said two hundred if she didn’t see me lie and two more if she said I’m a good liar.”

“She never said you are good at lying Booker.” He retorts, reaching for his wallet in his pocket.

“She did!” Nicky pats himself for a moment before turning to Joe and getting his own wallet out of his back pocket in one smooth movement.

“She didn’t!” Nicky doesn’t take his eye off Booker as he counts bills and Joe’s heart swells with happiness, seeing how easy it is to love this family. “You only get two hundred.”

“You sneaky- I get four!”

“What is this even for?” Andy cut shorts the childish quarrel and throw her own jacket over one of the kitchen chairs. “I don’t have an anniversary.” She walks up to the counter where the cake is waiting for her, standing gloriously on its porcelain plate.

“You have one, it’s just that no one knows the date,” Joe says as Nicky and Booker keep bickering in the background. “You like it?”

Andy, standing over table, is slowly pursuing her lips, judging the enormous blue and white cake covered in glitter and those pieces of fondant Joe had so much fun cutting and styling into flowers, vine, and delicate leaves. The glasses and bottle of champagne are laid on the table next to it, everything you need for a nice party according to this decade.

“Not sure if I can pronounce myself yet.” She touches the fondant piece and seems to frown even more if that’s possible. “What are we celebrating?”

“Ah, you don’t remember?” Nicky is looking at them again and they all hear Booker’s gritting through his teeth ‘we’re not done yet.’ He walks up to them and stands by Joe’s side.

“What should I remember?”

“Today,” Joe, grinning from ears to ears, is already flexing his legs, prepared to start running. “Dear Andromache, today marks one century since you tried to ride a bear like a horse and got thrown into a river because of it.”

“Oh come on. It happened only once!” She looks at the cake again, the vines and nettles and human figure sitting in the midst. When she looks back at them her gaze bores holes in their skull. “Whose idea was this?”

“Not mine,” Booker says, the troublemaker that he is. “I only enabled it.”

“Nicky?” And Nicky, as kind as he is, can also be an ass when he wants to.

“I simply bought the champagne.” He says, leaving Joe alone to bear the consequences of his superb idea.

“Oh you’re done for Joe.” She kicks her heels but Joe was expecting it first and he flees ahead before she can start running.

“Not if you can’t catch me!” He throws above his shoulder.

“You’ll see, I’ll buy you a cake too the next time you do a stupid stunt.”

“Only if you remember it!” The last thing he sees before he escapes the main room into the higher floors is Nicky’s happy face and Booker already taking bets by his side. And Andy’s grin wild. Oh, he loves his family.

#joe is andy's little bro and she loves him even when he's annoying <3 #apparently edible glitter were inveted in the 2010s but people already had glitter long ego there are glitter in cave paintings!#one more thing to add to my list of things i thought were new but are in fact old and humans are all the same #we all go OoO at things that sparkle #*myfic #tog #tog fanfic #kaysanova #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #andromache the scythian #sebastien le livre #andy & joe #immortal family

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lemontwst · 4 years ago

Text

crossing the line. ❤️ ace x m!reader

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: in which ace runs his mouth and then gets his cheeks clapped by an mc with immense big dick energy.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: ace trappola x m!reader

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 4.2k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: non-con to dub-con, revenge/hate sex, mentions of voyeurism, public sex, enemies to lovers, mc has magical devices he definitely should not be having, grim is not present in this particular scene.

“You don’t even know about the Great Seven?—”

His malicious voice bounces around your skull like thunder, drowning out the rest of the world like you've suddenly plunged into deep, cold water.

“Are you that ignorant?"

Tranquil rage licks at your insides, your stomach twists with nausea and your hands twitch with the impulse to wrap around his neck.

“Maybe you should go back to kindergarden before thinking of coming to this school.”

Don't punch him. You dig half-moons in your palms, inhaling a deep, shaky breath. Your muscles tighten from the strain of holding yourself back, from resisting the urge to punch this idiot's face in and drag him across the boulevard by the hair. Your heart thump thump thumps against your ribcage like it wants to jump out of you. Don't punch him.

"Aww I'm sorry, did I offend you?" The redhead's features morph into an expression of cheap remorse. His hands clutch his chest like he's so heartbroken, then the joke is over and that obnoxious smirk curves his lips once more, "—just kidding. Why don't you go cry about it to your mom? You won't last long in this place if you can’t stand up for yourself.”

Your reach into your pocket and your fingers brush against one of the slips of paper Crowley gave you before you parted. Paralyzers, he called them. They look pretty useless to you — just a bunch of small, fragile talismans cut from some yellowed paper, but according to Crowley, these things can subdue weaker magical beings for a limited amount of time. The headmaster gave them to you predicting that you would end up in less than savory situations, being the only ordinary human in a school full of wizards, shapeshifters and God knows what else.

“The immobilizing effect will last for about ten minutes,” Crowley had mused as he handed you the talismans, “Do try to escape the situation before the time runs out, would you? It would reflect poorly on our beloved school if one of our students were to die, after all.”

Escape. You snort, your eyes slowly appraising the other student who is still mouthing off. This place still doesn’t know you’re not one to go down without a fight. You’d much rather cling to the monster that’s tearing you apart, digging your teeth in its flesh even as you bleed out all over the pavement than turn tail and run. The carrion on your skin is a hard enough shield, the rot that stains your soul a powerful balm that turns the sting of your wounds into repugnant adrenaline.

"...Anyways, unlike you I actually have classes to attend to," The redhead throws you one last condescending smirk before turning around and giving you a half-assed wave, "Have fun cleaning the halls, janito—"

The words catch in his throat as you stick the Paralyzer to his vulnerable back, grabbing him by the hair and throwing him not so gently behind the obnoxiously large statues and out of the open street.

The student rolls a few times across the grassy side of the road, almost crashing into the flowerbeds that fence the statues off, then he finally lands on his back, coughing and spluttering more from the shock of the sudden fall than actual pain.

He quickly tries to hoist himself up, but his arms and legs feel boneless and he falls back down, eyes wide and panicked as a jolt of electricity runs him from head to toe. He tries to get up again, but it seems like the more he struggles, the weaker he becomes. The talisman saps every ounce of his energy in a matter of seconds, leaving him unable to do anything more than lay there, eyes to the sky as he tries to catch his breath.

"What—the fuck—did you do?!" He snaps, his crimson eyes filling with hate when you slowly enter his field of vision, blocking out the sunlight and hovering over him with disinterest written all over your handsome face.

His temples throb with the strain of his thoughts traveling at supersonic speed, his head hurts like he just slammed it against a wall, and the cold look in your eyes makes his stomach twist into tight knots in what he stubbornly decides to be fear—even as his skin starts to heat up like he's been sunburnt the longer you look down at him.

"Oh, you know…" You casually put one foot on his stomach and lean in, ignoring the long, pained gasp that scratches his throat raw, "Just thought I'd teach a cockroach in my path a little lesson. I was thinking of letting you go quietly, but all your whining really got on my fucking nerves." You step off of him and he twitches and coughs, trying and failing to curl into himself for some sort of comfort.

"...Ha...so what, are you just gonna beat me up?" He says, smirking through the pain as if he's used to it. You don't doubt it—his mouth has probably gotten him in trouble plenty of times before—but simply hitting him would be so boring. You kneel between his legs, spreading them apart with ease and his smirk falls, "Hey—what are you doing, you idiot?! Get off me!" You ignore him as he tries to squirm out of your grasp.

"Since you act like a little bitch..." You take his shoes off without untying them and throw them somewhere behind you, then you unbuckle his pants and do the same thing, slightly annoyed with the way he whines and struggles—as if he has any chance of wrestling you off when his body is about as responsive as jello, "I'm going to fuck you like one."

The redhead's breath stutters and he stops moving, looking at you like you just escaped the nearest psych ward, but the sudden flash of crimson that lights up his face and the subtle way his eyes fall to your crotch before quickly focusing back on your face betray just a smudge of confused desire—he's probably seen something like this in porn and he’s relieving it in his mind.

"W-we're in public, you bastard! Are—are you insane?! Get away from—" His brain slams on the brakes and his head empties like it's hyperspace.

A shocked gasp leaves his lips when you bring your index finger to the front of his boxers, lazily drawing a circle over the growing hardness beneath. His stomach clenches, ripples of pleasure seemingly falling from where you're touching him to pool in his belly like molten lava.

His breathing picks up the pace, loud and humid in his ears as his eyes stay on your hand like you've hypnotized him, "...H-hey, s-stop that—this isn't fucking funny—"

"Says you." You hum, stopping your slow circling on his now visible erection to finger the elastic band of his boxers. The intimate touch makes his muscles clench and his head fils with air, "I find the way you're sprawled on the grass with no pants on absolutely hilarious." He makes a sound between a shriek and a gasp when your fingers grab his cock and pull it out of his underwear.

This isn't happening. He looks at his cock standing out in the open with a horrified look on his face.

It's not happening—it's a dream—the thought of other students walking the boulevard and seeing him there, behind the statue of the Queen of Hearts, his erection out and his body unable to move makes bile pool in his mouth—and his dick throb, but he doesn’t have time to consider his fucked up reaction because you suddenly blow on his glans and his entire body spasms, his head hits the grass and his eyes find the clear, blue sky once again. He briefly registers the feeling of his underwear sliding off his legs. This isn't happening.

You ignore his useless protests and start unbuttoning his shirt, tugging it off his shoulders roughly but not quite taking it off -- the contrast of his pale, heaving chest and his flushed face as he lies helpless in front of you with his dick out almost makes you forget how irritated you are with him. Almost. But just because he’s cute doesn’t mean you’re not going to make him pay for daring to talk to you like you’re a piece of garbage on the side of the road.

You envelop his hard shaft with your hand and start pumping, slowly, letting him feel the soft texture of your palm and ignoring his pleas for you to wait. With every stroke his sensitivity increases, the thought of being caught flies away as if someone just blew in his skull and the redhead can only claw at the ground and pull at the grass with jerking fingers as a sweet voice starts spilling out of him.

It's just broken gasps at first, confused, scared and excited in equal measure—and then the world loses focus and it's full blown moans, little sighs that grow in volume the more you manhandle him. His shaft and your fingers become slick with precum and the movements become easier and smoother, the tingles in his crotch fly up his spine and he has to remind himself that this is wrong to keep himself from bucking up into your hand.

Stubborn as he is, he almost succeeds in resisting you. But you know just how to break him, allowing yourself a few seconds to listen to his cute moans while you wet your fingers, saliva dripping down your wrist as you methodically suck on the appendages as if they were the hard, leaking dick in your hand.

When you decide your fingers are wet enough, you bring them down to his ass and spread his cheeks to find that tight hole no one has ever touched before.

His entire body jolts when you start circling it, the sensation completely knew and so unexpected that he momentarily comes back to reality. "Wait—not there!" He tries to raise his head but his willpower leaves him when your middle finger draws a deep semi-circle around the rim.

It feels so fucking weird, he jerks his head this and that way as he tries to focus on the hand on his cock and the finger prodding at his hole at the same time. It's tingly and intense and he doesn't want it, his hot asshole parts under your push, welcoming you in a cavern of velvet, and the gasp that leaves him is the loudest one yet.

"Relax, you little moron." You stretch him carefully, briefly wondering if he's going to come from your handjob before you even have the time to reach his prostate. He's so fucking tight, unused, pure and yet vulgar as he moans and twitches under your skilled hands.

You insert another finger in and his voice turns high-pitched, then you brush against that little button inside his ass—barely, just the ghost of a touch—and he falls off the edge, convulsing like he's been electrocuted and cumming all over himself.

His semen lands on his chest and jacket and as he slowly comes down from cloud nine, eyes glazed and drool on his chin, he briefly wonders how the fuck he's going to go back to his dorm with cum on his uniform. Then he feels you crawl on top of him and that thought too seems to dissolve into thin air.

No one can blame him for being unable to think, unable to act and, somewhere in the deepest recess of his mind, unwilling to move when you start stroking his sensitive dick again, your hair tickling his chin. He can feel how warm your body is and how nice you smell now that you're so close. If you weren't such a fucking demon it would almost feel nice.

"What's your name?" You exhale next to his ear and he shivers, feeling sick to his stomach when he realizes it's because he wants your lips on him.

"A-Ace…" He mutters, tilting his head away from you as much as he can. The white expanse of his neck is right there and you place a few slow, open-mouthed kisses on his vulnerable skin. Ace's heart does a fucking pirouette, little sparks of pleasure run down his abdomen and he lets out a soft moan, one he wishes he could stuff back in his mouth as soon as he hears it.

He feels the sudden urge to cling to you as he lets you kiss him everywhere. He wonders how it would feel to have your mouth draw a line from his collarbones to his stomach before you take his cock in your mouth and the thought alone makes his entire body tremble with need, little gasps leaving him as you lick the curve of his jaw and then blow on it.

"Ace." You growl his name against his skin and the vibration threatens to destroy the rickety dam that keeps his sanity in place. You're doing something unforgivable to him, fuck, Ace knows it and he hates you for it, but the way you say his name makes him so fucking glad to be born, glad to be lying in the grass like a slut with his pants discarded somewhere and your hand slowly stroking his cock.

"Fuck—don't say it like t-that…" He practically wheezes, squeezing his eyes shut as he focuses on the scorching waves of pleasure that pulse through his abdomen when you chuckle against his skin. This feels so fucking nice, one of his hands reaches down to grab your wrist while you continue to stroke him and he absentmindedly caresses your hand as you pump his cock.

He curses loudly as he takes in the hard curve of your knuckles and the wetness of your fingers. Your touch is different than what he's used to, rough but with a regular rhythm that pushes him closer and closer to his orgasm with every flick of your hand. You lazily nibble at his jaw and he suddenly finds himself overrun by the universally irresistible urge to come. Fuck, he's gonna come so hard in a hand that's not his own—

"S-so—sensitive—fuck, gonna cum all over your fingers—" His other hand grabs your shoulder in a way that almost feels too romantic given the situation, but Ace doesn't give a damn. The only thing that matters right now is your hand jacking him off and the trail of stars that dances behind his eyelids as you shatter his galaxy.

So close—so close—his moans become loud and shameless as he bucks up into you, ignoring how useless his body still feels because right now he really fucking needs to come again.

The muscles in his abdomen tighten, hot white pleasure flashes in front of his eyes and Ace is so fucking ready when he arches his back, but instead of feeling relief, a tidal wave of frustration and disappointment crashes into his electrified body and his loud voice trails off in a pained whine as you suddenly take your hand off his dick, denying him the sweet mercy of orgasmic bliss.

The disparity between what he’s feeling and what he expected to feel is so vast it takes him a minute to realize what happened, the dam in his head breaks and he’s left gasping and sobbing and twitching, hands flying and grasping at the grass beneath him as he struggles to catch his breath.

"—What the fuck?!" He basically screams, looking at you with teary eyes and a face that screams betrayal, "W-why did you s-stop?! I told you I was close!" His chest heaves and he looks almost possessed when his own hand reaches for his abused, throbbing cock, fully intent on finishing the job one way or another.

You stop him before his fingertips even reach the shaft, meeting no resistance when you pin his hand back against the grass.

Ace glares at you but it's feeble and pathetic, the last remains of his rejection completely snuffed out by the shock of being denied an orgasm for the first time in his life. He doesn't look proud and hateful anymore; he’s now just a brat naked from the waist down, this close to crying because he didn’t get fucked the way he wanted.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I thought you wanted me to stop? Did you change your mind, Ace?” The voice that whispered his name almost lovingly in his ears now drips with venom, almost as if you’re imitating the way he talked to you just a handful of minutes earlier.

Ace flinches, his heart sinks and he looks fucking crushed as he takes in your cold expression. You’re not going to stop, are you—? Not now that he actually wants you to touch him—?

“No...that’s not—I didn’t—” He splutters, flushing up to his ears when he realizes he doesn’t even know what he wants to say. Do you want him to beg? Because at this point Ace doesn’t really care enough to even object to that. He just wants you back on top of him. He wants to feel your warmth and have your scent fill his head while you bring him to his release again.

“Dont...be like that...come on,” He groans, letting his head fall to the ground. His dick hurts. His back hurts. Fuck, everything hurts, even his heart for some fucking reason. He doesn't like it when you look at him like you hate him. If anything he should be the one looking at you like that, not the other way around.

"Y-you want me to beg? Is that it?" Ace scoffs and weakly spreads his legs, leaving his cum-stained self complete exposed to your scrutiny. He has the decency to look embarrassed, but when his glazed eyes slowly go from your face to the tent in your pants, what you see in them is not disdain or shame, but pure, unbridled lust.

"You'll beg without me having to ask for it." Ace follows your hand as it goes to your belt, and when you unbuckle it, the soft, erotic click makes his body tremble and his heart flutter.

It's not like he wants to see it—his eyes stay on your crotch as you slowly pull your pants down, revealing the black underwear beneath.

Are you—are you going to pull it out? Out here where everyone can see?—Ace momentarily forgets that he's had his dick out in public for more than it's considered appropriate in every fucking country across the world. Every one of his thoughts comes to an abrupt halt, like he's suffered a concussion.

Except he hasn't, he's just drooling in his mouth at the thought of your cock.

"You don't get to come again, I told you you're going to be fucked like the little bitch you are." You finally pull your dick out, hissing when the air hits your feverish skin and Ace thinks he’s going to spontaneously combust.

The rush of heat that flares beneath his skin is unlike anything he’s ever felt and his slow mind has trouble comprehending whether he suddenly feels on fire because he can see your erection right in front of him or because of the sound you just made. Both. It’s probably both.

“Is that right…” He probably sounds as dazed as he feels—his breath catches in his throat when you lean down again, hovering over him but not quite touching him, the ghost of your breath on his lips threatening to turn him delirious.

You teasingly drag your wet erection across his stomach and Ace moans, his eyes falling shut when your dicks touch. He grinds up against you without thinking and suddenly his body is weightless and he's on the verge of coming all over himself. It feels like every nerve he has is experiencing its own little earthquake, the sound that leaves your lips makes his mind fall apart at the seams and the only thing he can say is a long, desperate "Fuuuck."

His eyes flutter open and he finds you smirking down at him; the sight is so surprising and so beautiful that Ace’s heart lodges straight in his throat.

"Turn around and raise your ass." You chuckle and he goes redder than his hair, but ultimately doesn't protest, waiting for you to give him some space before complying.

The sleeves of his uniform are completely ruined at his point, wet with dew and mud and grass as he pulls himself up on his elbows and gives you an expectant look from over his shoulder.

What he doesn't expect is to feel your thick fingers push into him again. He almost falls face first into the dirt as he gasps, waist shaking as he's once again wrecked by the feeling of his rim being teased.

You stretch him more insistently then before, the saliva and cum on your fingers aiding you in your preparations. You try to avoid his prostate, because Ace is already shaking like a leaf and you know how close he is to his climax, but your redhead seems to have had enough of being edged and insistently grinds back into your fingers until you touch that sweet spot inside him that makes his dick leak precum like a faucet.

He's still not used to it however, and the shock of such an intense stimulation makes his elbows give out as he falls unceremoniously on his face. But he doesn't seem to care, cheek pressed against the grass and eyes squeezed shut as he experiences having his prostate massaged for the first time.

Fuck, he’s sure his legs are going to give out soon too. If just your fingers feel this good, what’s going to happen when you stick your dick in—? Is he going to lose his mind—? Somewhere along the line he seems to have completely forgotten that he's outside in broad daylight with his ass in the air. But even if someone were to see him getting fucked like a slut, would it really be so bad—?

"Hold on tight, stupid," You take your fingers out and he whines softly, sounding surprisingly disappointed for someone who has never had their ass played with before, "I'm gonna make sure you can never come just from touching yourself ever again."

You line your hard cock against his opening and Ace shivers from both anticipation and fear. You’re so big—is—is this gonna hurt? I mean, after everything you've done to him this should be a walk in the park, right—?

It isn't.

You slowly push your dick inside and Ace's first instinct is to scream.

His mind shatters into oblivion as he takes in the feeling of your thick cock stretching him like he's a fucktoy. But this is still nothing, you haven't done anything yet and he's already broken. You pull your hips back and thrust into him hard, your dick scrapes against his prostate and Ace falls into a state of euphoric delirium.

He was made for this, he thinks. Born with the sole purpose of being your slut, ass up and legs spread as he invites you to plow him harder, to mess up his head until your cock is the only thing he can think about.

And he doesn't even know your name, Ace realizes as his body bounces back and forth against the grass with the force of your thrusts, his tongue lolls out and he tries his best to match your movements with his exhausted body, his hole squeezing your dick like it doesn't want to ever let go.

"Fuuuck—can we do this like…..every day from no—ah!—now on?!" He'll let you do anything you want if you promise to keep fucking him like he's your girlfriend. On his bed in front of his roommates, in class, on the headmaster's desk, anywhere you want him, Ace will be a good bitch for you.

In response to his nonsense you griiind into him and the explosive pleasure that flashes in front of his vision is almost seismic, devastating like nothing he's ever experienced as he breaks and cries and cums all over the grass, eyes rolling back when you roughly grab his hair and thrust a few more times before painting his insides white with your own release.

You make sure to fill him to the brim and Ace doesn't pull away. Instead he remains obediently glued to your crotch as the feeling of hot semen running down his legs completely obliterates his sanity.

Your nasty temper placated for the time being, you pull out in one swift motion and let his boneless body fall to the ground.

Ace groans and curses you under his breath, then he very slowly rolls onto his back, still dazed by the fact that you just came inside him.

If he thought everything hurt before, now he thinks he might actually need to pay a visit to the nurse's office. The effects of the Paralyzer have worn off by now but he's so fucking tired—he startles out of his drunk reverie when something like a curtain falls on his head.

Except it's not a curtain, but his pants. He takes them off his face and gives you a weak glare as you adjust your belt.

"Wear a skirt next time," You throw him a smirk over your shoulder and Ace hates the way his heart quivers, "Like a good girl."

You barely have the time to dodge the shoe that comes hurtling towards your head, Ace quickly reaching for the other shoe when you start running back towards the school building.

"Fuck you!—"

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #ace trappola #ace trappola x reader #citrus #scenario #m!reader

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dumb-dumb-mander · 3 years ago

Note

For the OC in canon scenes could I request Mikhail in the Departing, the one where Balthazar kills the Commander? It’s angsty but I think it’s interesting to see how peoples commanders deal with dying

From @commander-coppercogg

Hello hello ! Thanks to pass by !! Oh boi that one─ Okay I won't rewrite everything yet so have just what happened before the "Domain of the Lost" (I mean, if you want my rambling about it, you can ask) it just... Got out of hand flezfn

-"Balthazar !"

-"Expecting someone else ?" Joked the God with a smile, which grew even more when he noticed he was facing the poor Sylvari alone "What's this? Have your friends abandoned you?"

-"At least I have some" Answered the blue with a brat smug.

-"... What do you say we take things a little more slowly this time...?

Saying this fight was relaxing would be a big lie. Mikhail was well known to be reckless, jumping headfirst into danger and fighting a lot alone.

However, he wasn't that stupid. When facing a strong enemy, he was using his longbow to keep them at distance...

But Balthazar had none of it and was closing the distance everytime. At some point, it was too much annoying and dangerous to try to fight him that way anymore.

-"FINE !! You want to fight─ Let's fight" Growled the Commander, drawing out his Branded hammer.

He knew how strong he was. Yet, he knew he couldn't win this fight... He was the Champion of a baby Elder Dragon, yes, but he was facing a God─ a God used to war and fight.

Nevertheless...

Mikhail was ready to die for what was right. He was ready to give his life to protect the persons he cared about. If he could at least weaken or wound the God for the others to finish the job, this is all that mattered.

He was ready to die. And he was ready to kill.

Or this is what he thought.

He was more wounded than Balthazar but he was... Wining...?

The God was sentient. They could talk. They did when he was faking be Lazarus... "All things have the right to grow". Maybe... He should give him a chance─

-"It's your last chance Balthazar... ! I shouldn't need to kill you...!"

-"Oh, you won't" Almost sang the God before everything turned around.

Before he could understand the blue Sylvari was on the ground in pain and confusion.

-"How sad for you to die so far from home"

Oh... This is how he would die. Well... It was expected. He always knew he would die by curiosity or in a fight. Or both. He was ready.

Until he heard and saw Aurene flying in to save him. No... ! She was too young ! She would die... ! He couldn't let that happen... ! He couldn't die now─ He still has someone to protect... !

Mikhail grabbed his hammer and tried to stand up. His barked skin cracked, sap's taste on his tongue... But he couldn't. He needed to fight more─

-"Aurene─ leave... !"

-"And now, you die"

Everything got so fast, but so slow. Balthazar looked down at him with a sufficient smile. The fire. Aurene's terrified scream. Mikhail's fear turned his sap cold.

But he couldn't─

He clenched his teeth and swim his hammer to strike one last time in a raging cry. If he could just hurt him─

Pain. Wood cracking under high fire. the scent. The lack of oxygen.

He failed.

And he died.

#ask game reply #balthazar #gw2 #guild wars 2 #the tale

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intergalactic-zoo · 4 years ago

Link

If you've been in comic circles for some time, chances are pretty good that you're familiar with "Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex," the essay Larry Niven wrote in 1969 on the subject of Superman's potentially lethal sex life. If you haven't read it, then you might have gotten the jist of it from that scene in "Mallrats."

It makes sense to me that such an essay, crass and silly though it is, would be written in 1969. That's the tail-end of the Silver Age, where Superman's power-creep had reached such levels that his hair was indestructible, he could break the time barrier under his own power, and he could juggle planets like helium balloons.

So it was a little surprising to learn this week that Vladimir Nabokov wrote a poem with a similar sentiment way back in 1942. Nineteen forty-two! Six years before Kirk Alyn would bring the character to life, submitted in between the release of the seventh and eighth Fleischer cartoons, back when Superman wasn't consistently flying in the comics, the guy who would go on to write Lolita was speculating about the impossibility of relations between humans and Kryptonians.

The letter he wrote when he submitted the poem to The New Yorker has big "uwu pwease pay me if it's not too much twouble" energy.

I am sending you a poem on the troubles of Superman of the Funnies (with, if necessary, apologies to his, or rather its, makers). I should like to repeat that I experience most horrible difficulties and distress in wielding a language new to me – after 25 years of good old Russian. If, however, the poem is acceptable – not too ungrammatical as a whole and not too risqué about the middle of its favours – might I perhaps humble [sic] request a honorarium as adequate as possible to my Russian past and my present agonies?

The story of how Nabokov's poem, "The Man of To-Morrow's Lament," came to be rediscovered after all these years, and how it ties into his son's love of the character at the time, is a pretty interesting one, which you can read about at the link (if you have a subscription). But the poem itself, well...read on.

The Man of To-morrow’s Lament

I have to wear these glasses – otherwise, when I caress her with my super-eyes, her lungs and liver are too plainly seen throbbing, like deep-sea creatures, in between dim bones. Oh, I am sick of loitering here, a banished trunk (like my namesake in “Lear”), but when I switch to tights, still less I prize my splendid torso, my tremendous thighs, the dark-blue forelock on my narrow brow, the heavy jaw; for I shall tell you now my fatal limitation … not the pact between the worlds of Fantasy and Fact which makes me shun such an attractive spot as Berchtesgaden, say; and also not that little business of my draft; but worse: a tragic misadjustment and a curse.

I’m young and bursting with prodigious sap, and I’m in love like any healthy chap – and I must throttle my dynamic heart for marriage would be murder on my part, an earthquake, wrecking on the night of nights a woman’s life, some palmtrees, all the lights, the big hotel, a smaller one next door and half a dozen army trucks – or more.

But even if that blast of love should spare her fragile frame – what children would she bear? What monstrous babe, knocking the surgeon down, would waddle out into the awestruck town? When two years old he’d break the strongest chairs, fall through the floor and terrorize the stairs; at four, he’d dive into a well; at five, explore a roaring furnace – and survive; at eight, he’d ruin the longest railway line by playing trains with real ones; and at nine, release all my old enemies from jail, and then I’d try to break his head – and fail.

So this is why, no matter where I fly, red-cloaked, blue-hosed, across the yellow sky, I feel no thrill in chasing thugs and thieves – and gloomily broad-shouldered Kent retrieves his coat and trousers from the garbage can and tucks away the cloak of Superman; and when she sighs – somewhere in Central Park where my immense bronze statue looms – “Oh, Clark … Isn’t he wonderful!?!”, I stare ahead and long to be a normal guy instead.

Vladimir Nabokov June 1942

It's kind of wild just how much Superman discourse is presaged here, how many story and character beats we'd see play out over the next eighty years.

It's been an increasingly long time since I did any kind of regular poetry analysis, as evidenced by the fact that I needed to Google "thing where a poet ends a line in the middle of a sentence" in order to talk about how much enjambment there is here. Honestly, I do like a good rhyming couplet, and I appreciate Nabokov's commitment to using them throughout here, even if it means overusing that technique.

The references to the war in the first stanza are interesting; Andrei Babikov's commentary in The TLS suggests that this is an attempt to compare the character with Hitler, emphasizing the comment about the forelock (and drawing comparisons to Chaplin's "Great Dictator"), but Hitler's forelock—if you can really call it that—has very little in common with Superman's trademark s-curl, which doesn't merit mention in Babikov's discussion. To me, this reads more like an acknowledgement that Superman may be selling war bonds and punching Nazi ships and even hoisting Hitler up by the scruff of the neck, but he's a character from the realm of Fantasy, not Fact, and he's powerless to do anything about the real issue. Even in the comics, they might show Superman knocking around tanks on the front lines, but Superman's only encounter with Hitler himself notably came in the pages of Look Magazine two years . Superman's service in the war was limited to four-color fictional Nazis.

But as much as I like the imagery of the dark-blue forelock, calling to mind the coloring of classic comics, I'm more than a little disquieted by "young and bursting with prodigious sap." The earth-shaking imagery in the rest of that second stanza got a laugh from me. I appreciate that it's less graphic than the Niven essay, "blast of love" aside.

Stanza three predicts so many Superbaby stories, particularly from the Silver Age, but even "Letitia Lerner, Superman's Babysitter" has these same elements of an indestructible toddler causing mischief and mayhem. But also it speaks to Nabokov's own anxieties as a parent.

The closing stanza, though, is where things get a little eerie. "No matter where I fly, / red-cloaked, blue-hosed, across the yellow sky, / I feel no thrill" might as well be "I can't stand to fly / I'm not that naïve." The desire to be normal, in part to have normal relationships, is a major character trait in "Superman II" and "Smallville." Honestly, almost every instance we've seen of Clark Kent being morose and brooding over the last eight decades is predicted right here in this unpublished poem.

Overall, it's an interesting artifact. It shows that some ideas, some sorts of discourse around this character, are older than we might realize.

And, I suppose, so is erotic fanfiction.

#IFTTT #Blogger #TheFortressOfSoliloquy

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Mixtape

A/N: Here is my fic for A Very Harry Potter Summer so wonderfully organised by @the-hufflefluffwriter and @kalimagik! My prompt was summer songs/mixtape. I loved writing this - I got to create a playlist and think of my favourite place in the world. The playlist will be at the bottom of the fic. There are a LOT of flashbacks in this, they’re bordered by asterisks and in italics! I have removed the taglist for this fic as there is content in here not suitable for those under the age of 18. If you are under 18, please read the warnings. I cannot stop you from reading but I will do my bit by warning you all. The smut starts with a boat scene, so that’s my warning for you all. As always, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: summer holidays and anniversaries.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of food and alcohol, allusions to sex as well as a smut scene so under 18s, do not read.

Word count: 3.3k

The September wind is cold and brisk as it wraps around you on your way to work at the Ministry for Magic.

Summer had come and gone in a rush of sun, sea, sand, and Sirius Black.

The build-up to the holiday was something else; he wouldn’t tell you where you were going. It didn’t matter how many times you guessed or argued; he would not crack. He even went to the extent of enlisting Lily to pack your things.

“It’s our first holiday together,” He said one night, his fingers trailing up and down your arm. “I’d like to keep it a surprise for as long as I can.”

The sincerity in his voice was reflected in his eyes, and you couldn’t remain angry at him, “Okay, I’ll just have to wait.”

He flipped you onto your back; pressing the right amount of his weight on top you, enough so you couldn’t wiggle away. He pressed kisses all over your face, “You’re going to love it.”

“I know I will, I’m with you.”

“Sap,” he mouthed before kissing you, effectively distracting you from your inquisition.

-------

Clocking in, you think back to the moment you arrived on the small Greek island:

******

The warmth of the sun settles over your skin as you step off the plane; Sirius close behind you. You tilt your face into the light, feeling all the tension make its way out of your body. Sirius’ hand is a steadying presence as you take in your first sight of the island. You had seen it from the sky; had gripped your seat in fear and anticipation as the plane made its awkward landing – the island being too small for a traditional landing but seeing the island from this level has you breathless from its beauty.

Your leg bounces up and down for the entire coach transfer to your hotel. Sirius chuckles as his hand grips your knee to keep it from bouncing. Your eyes are wide as you take in the full beauty of the island; the constant views of the Aegean Sea as well as the greenery of the trees. Even through the windows of the coach, you can hear the unrelenting chorus of the crickets – their song heavier in the mid-July heat.

The coach stops outside your hotel; Sirius pulling you off by hand and picking up your suitcases. It’s a small family run establishment – as is every hotel on the island. And from your first look of the whitewashed walls and terracotta tiles, you were in love. The eldest son walks you to your room for the next two weeks; he hands you the key with a kind smile, explaining that the attached restaurant is open until eleven that night, but the bar is open until the early hours of two.

He departs with a goodbye and a thank you, leaving you and Sirius to explore the medium-sized room you would call home for the next fortnight.

Upon sight of the bed, Sirius drops the suitcases and promptly jumps on the mattress, landing on his back. His hair fans out around him, resembling a halo. You snort at him in amusement, grabbing your suitcases from where he had dropped them to place them on the small bench across the room.

Flinging open the balcony doors, you leave your lover on the bed to see more of the resort. You hold your head up to the sun, enjoying the feel of its rays of your face. You sigh happily, opening your eyes and scouring them over the resort. The pool looks so inviting as does the restaurant area by the bar.

Arms wrapping themselves around your waist make you jump but you soon relax into the familiar touch of Sirius. He chuckles as he shifts a piece of your hair so he can kiss your neck. You lean into his touch, enjoying the feel of his lips on your already overheated skin.

“It’s so gorgeous here, Sirius, thank you,” You gush, turning your head to press a kiss to his jaw.

Sirius’ hand pats your waist, “Anything for you, my dear.”

You hum, turning in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck. You kiss him for a minute before pulling away. You grin up at the love of your life, “How about we take a shower then go get some food?”

A wicked smirk takes over his face as Sirius drags you back into the room. “I think you read my mind.”

--------

The both you decide that for your first night on the island, you shouldn’t travel too far from the hotel. Instead, ambling down to the restaurant on the beach, hand in hand as you breathe in the night air.

The food is delicious; as is your company. Sirius keeps your gaze as he clinks his wine glass against yours; the conversation between the two of you flowing effortlessly.

Leaving the restaurant, your tangled hands swing between your bodies. You grin at Sirius as you stop outside a heavily populated bar. He beams in earnest before leading you inside.

The wine had gone to your heads; topped off with the cocktails you down at the bar. Sirius drags you into the centre of the dancefloor where other couples are pressed tightly to each other; so tightly you can’t see where one ends and the other begins.

Sirius spins you before drawing you back into his arms. You laugh as your wrap your arms around his neck. His hands find purchase on your waist. You dance together; bodies wrapped up in each other as the upbeat song from the eighties washes over you – the artist singing about an invisible touch.

You fall back into your hotel room; groping at each other. Sirius pulls off your shirt as you undo the buttons to his. Your hands run over the sculpted muscles of his stomach, not missing the way his breath hitches at your touch.

The sex isn’t hurried, but from the alcohol running through your systems it’s sloppy and full of laughter.

It’s perfect.

*******

You groan at the pile of folders perched precariously on your desk. Removing your coat and setting down your bag, you eye the heap with a venomous glare.

The pile of folders has you wishing for the sun of your holiday and the closeness of Sirius.

Opening the first folder, you think back to one of your favourite nights of the holiday:

*******

The young couple clearly fancy themselves the latest duo to hit the charts with the way they belt out the song. You see Sirius’ shoulders shake as he tries to quash the laughter building up inside him.

If only the young couple knew how they were butchering the song about not breaking hearts. Sirius leans over to whisper in your ear, “They won’t be breaking hearts, but they are breaking ear drums.”

His comment has you snorting into your drink, spilling it slightly.

The couple at the karaoke machine finish their rendition of the seventies hit, bowing as they leave the stage. Sirius doesn’t hold back his laugh as he stands up, drawing you up with him. For a moment, you think he’s going to pull you up on the small stage which would be nothing short of a disaster since the karaoke machine would not hold any magical singers.

Instead, Sirius leads you out of the bar to walk by the harbour. He pauses by the war memorial dedicated to the second muggle war; pulling you closer to him, arm settling around your waist.

“Hey, Sirius?” You ask.

Sirius hums in answer; grey eyes bright in the moonlight.

“Don’t go breaking my heart,” you sing, laughing as Sirius’ face lights up.

In his gravelly voice that reminds you of a rock singer from the eighties, he sings back, “I couldn’t if I tried.”

Underneath the moonlit sky, you sing the words back to one another – adding the song to the list of promises made to each other through the years of your relationship; first starting on your first anniversary in Seventh Year.

The waves crashing onto the harbour provide the backdrop to your duet and promises.

*****

Lunch isn’t a big affair; something simple brought from home so you can eat at your desk as you catch up on the paperwork. You pause with a forkful of food on its way to your mouth; another memory gripping you in its clutch:

******

The speaker system attached to the hotel resort plays on a loop for the majority of the day. It’s both a dream and a curse. A dream as you get to know the latest muggle chart songs, but a curse as it’s repeated on a loop.

You sit on the bed, running a brush through your hair. You bark out a laugh as Sirius shimmies around the room, thrusting his hips in time to the beat of the Donna Summer song that was playing for the third time in two hours.

“What do you say, babe? Am I ‘hot stuff’?” He asks, thrusting his hips again in emphasis.

You continue to laugh, fanning yourself, “The hottest stuff.”

Sirius dances across the room to you, laughing along with you.

With a tug of your hand, Sirius is sprawled out on the bed next to you. In a second, he has you pressed into the mattress as he straddles you. His hands run up and down your body as he presses kiss after kiss to your face – your eyes, cheeks, lips. He kisses everywhere.

Soon, the kisses become longer and more insistent. Hands start to pull at clothing; discarding them across the room.

The reservations at the restaurant are forgotten as Sirius’ hands find that spot at the apex of your thighs, and you throw your head back into the pillows with a moan.

For the rest of the night, Sirius reminds you just how hot he really is.

******

As the day continues, your thoughts consistently hark back to your holiday.

The September weather has taken a turn for the worse; the rain battering the windows of your office at the ministry.

Balancing your chin on your hand, your desire for the warms beaches of the small Greek island grows stronger. With a longing-filled sigh, you think back to one of the many days spent on the beach:

*****

You run your hand gently down Sirius’ arm, enjoying the goosebumps that rise in your finger’s wake. Through the tinted glass of your sunglasses, you watch the man you fell in love with way back in Fourth Year. His chest rises and falls in a slow motion; he’s utterly relaxed in this place – he has no worries here.

Sirius’ hair is tied up in the leather band he keeps around his wrist. It elongates his neck and reveals more of his face. You bite your lip at the sight of the fading bruises on his neck, knowing you were the one to put them there on your first night here. Your stomach flutters as you know your neck looks something similar… as do your inner thighs.

The tattoos painted on his body stand out in the sun; the magical symbols and the memorial pieces litter his chest and arms with a fair few on his legs.

He really is something else.

He had always been handsome; had always had the attention of boys and girls alike through Hogwarts. It was expected that you had fallen for him too; realising your feelings in Fourth Year but not confronting them until Sixth Year.

Through your relationship, you had witnessed him transform into the man he is today. A man who will always have a glint of mischief in his grey eyes, but a man who loves you fiercely and will do so for the rest of his life.

A sing from the hotel plays in your mind; a Swedish band singing about kisses of fire, and Sirius’ really were.

The feelings for this man had you burning from the inside out; and you had been burning since you first kissed in Sixth Year.

Your hand runs over a scar on his arm; received in a duel through the wizarding war. That night had been one of the worst of your life; using the entire bottle of Dittany on his arm in panic whilst trying to stem the bleeding. Losing him would be a nightmare unto itself; a thought that you couldn’t even comprehend.

The song continues to play in your mind and the lyrics settle deep within your bones. Never before Sirius had you felt like this; you were entirely infatuated with him, and he you.

As your eyes run over his body; from his tied up hair to the tips of his toes, you felt even more in love with than you were before the holiday.

*****

Instead of apparating home, you decide to take the tube, letting the menial aspects of your job leech from your body as you rest your eyes.

The rocking of the carriage hauls you back into another memory:

*********

The waves lap against the boat. The azure blue of the Aegean looking as if it spans for miles and miles. You hold your hand to your forehead, shielding your eyes from the sun as you sunbathe on the deck of the boat.

It was Sirius’ idea to rent the boat; deciding to see more of the island from the ocean and simply spend the day just the two of you where you couldn’t be bothered.

It was a surprise to learn that he could drive boats, but with a sheepish grin, he explains how he was taught by his grandfather when he visited the family villa in Italy one summer.

The tinny noise of the radio sounds quietly in the background; an upbeat muggle song becoming the theme of the boat ride. The singer croons about how love really hurts without his lover. Sirius surprises you once again by knowing some of the words; he shrugs at your questioning eyebrow.

Sirius anchors the boat just off the coastline of an empty beach. He switches off the engine, letting the boat bob in the water.

The heat of the midday sun changes the atmosphere. Sirius’ touch starts to linger; first on your shoulder, then as he thumb pulls down your lower lip. He taps your bottom lip once before pressing a kiss to your mouth. You gasp into his mouth and Sirius takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

His hands undo the fastenings to your bathing suit; dropping it to the side with a salacious grin. With a light chuckle, you pull him back down to your mouth, humming at the feeling of his hands roaming your chest. You draw away from the kiss, instead, moving your mouth across his jawline and down his neck, sucking hickies on the way.

Your hands slip into his trunks; he inhales sharply at your touch before pouncing on you with a laugh.

The weight of his body is enough to keep you pinned underneath him, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him further into you if that was at all possible. He braces a hand above you as he rolls his hips into you; you arch your back wanting him as close to you as possible. Sirius sucks hickeys wherever he can reach – your neck, your collarbone, your chest. He takes his time with you, eliciting drawn out moans and groans from your mouth which he swallows with his own. You run your fingernails down his back, leaving behind red marks on his shoulder blades.

In a small boat anchored by the beach, you lose yourselves in each other until your skin is slick with sweat and you’re panting into each other’s mouths.

*******

The holiday defined so much for the both of you. It was needed; the both of you beginning to feel the stresses of everyday life starting to pile up on your shoulders.

The holiday helped you reconnect as a couple, bringing you closer together than ever before. The island would always hold a special place in your heart for that very reason.

-------

The house is quiet as you unlock the front door. Toeing off your shoes, you hang your coat on the rack and drop your bag next to it. The smell of food wafts to you from the kitchen and you follow the mouth-watering scent.

Two pillar candles are lit in the centre of the table. Two plates filled with food are settled on either side, and the love of your life grins as you enter the room.

“Darling,” He greets, “How was work?”

“Long,” You sigh, pecking his lips in hello.

Sirius pulls you back in for another before letting you settle at the other end of the table.

For a minute, the only noise between the two of you are the scratching of knives and forks on plates. You take a sip from your wine glass, letting the crisp taste settle on your tongue before swallowing. You beam at Sirius, “Happy Anniversary, my love.”

He raises his wine glass to you in a toast, “Happy Anniversary to you too, darling.”

Sirius reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, silver rectangular box. He stares at it for a minute before sliding it across the table to you.

“I thought we weren’t doing gifts this year!” You cry, “I haven’t gotten you anything!”

Sirius chuckles, “Knowing you love me is enough.”

“Sap,” You mouth across the table, picking up the small box.

“I didn’t want to forget it.” He whispers, watching you unwrap the small box.

“Oh…” You whisper as the wrapping reveals a tape nestled in the small box.

“It’s a mixtape… of the songs we heard on holiday.”

“How did you do this?” You ask, picking up the tape in your hands.

“Well I made a note of all the songs I knew and then if I didn’t, I asked the wait staff when you went to the bathroom. They’re all songs from my favourite parts of the holiday, though I did love it all.”

“Sirius, this is wonderful.”

“Remus explained how to make the mixtape.”

“I’ll need to send a thank you gift to him.”

“You like it?” He asks, insecurity lining his voice.

“Like it? Sirius, I love it. I love it so much, it’s perfect. I’ll listen to it always.”

“There’s a note underneath.”

You look down to see a small folded piece of paper nestled among the tissue paper. You sit the mixtape down carefully before unfolding the note from Sirius.

There, written in his elegant script are the words: “For the best summer I’ve ever experienced. I love you. Happy Anniversary, my darling.”

“Sirius… I love it. I love it so much. I love you. I’m going to play it right now.” You say, standing to pop the tape into your stereo system.

You gasp as the first song begins to play – immediately recognising the opening bars to one of the many songs you and Sirius had danced to on your holiday.

“Oh! It’s the song from our first night when we fought tiredness and went out. We were at the restaurant down the road from the hotel and then danced to this song we had drunk too much wine and cocktails.”

“One of the best nights of my life.”

You hold your hand out to the long-haired man, “Dance with me,” you whisper.

He takes your hand without question, spinning you before drawing you into his arms, holding you tightly. You sway to the beat of the song; letting the memories of your holiday wash over you in a tidal wave of emotions.

Sirius keeps his eyes on you, holding your gaze through it all. He dips his head, pressing his lips to yours for a long, sensuous kiss that has your toes curling and your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him pressed close to you.

Summer had come and gone in a haze of sun, sea, and sand.

But Sirius Black would always be a constant.

*********

MIXTAPE:

Genesis - Invisible Touch (first night on the island)

Elton John and Kiki Dee - Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Karaoke scene)

Donna Summer - Hot Stuff (hotel room scene)

ABBA - Kisses of Fire (beach scene)

Billy Ocean - Love Really Hurts Without You (boat scene)

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firemblem-fics · 4 years ago

Note

Hello, If you are still taking requests, could you write any of the prompts for Yuri please, anything is fine lol. Thank you! I love your blog uwu

betrayal. | yuri

50 Wordless Ways to Say I Love You: Giving them a tight hug that makes them lose their breath

-> Pairing: Yuri x Female!Reader

-> Warnings: Cursing, Violence, MAJOR CINDERED SHADOWS SPOILERS

-> Genre: One-Shot (1.3k), Some Fluff, Mostly Angst

-> A/N: This is like as canon-compliant as I could make it with the addition of the reader idk, I’m sorry it’s not quite “original” as much as it’s me rewriting the scene

“Finally, you’re all awake. Good morning, sleepyheads. Or is it a good evening?”

Yuri’s voice pierced through your skull, making your head throb. You heard the other Wolves talking to him- they sounded angry- but you were too weak to even open your eyes.

“You- you scoundrel!” Constance yelled, “You are unfit to speak with us, liar that you are!”

Yuri waved her off, seemingly uncaring about whatever the hell he was doing. You tried to keep quiet, fighting off a groan of actual pain, as you opened your eyes and peered up. Yuri was standing tall above the four of you, his sword in his hand. You, Constance, Balthus, and Hapi were tied up, lying on the ground in a chamber. What the fuck?

“What exactly are you trying to do here?” Balthus pressed.

“Aelfric intends to reenact the Rite of Rising.” Yuri sighs, then explains. “By offering up the blood of the four Apostles, you can bring someone to life. Saint Seiros attempted the ritual 995 years ago, but not enough blood was given, so the ritual was a bust. And now, through extreme persistence, Aelfric has found and gathered the four of us, with our Crests.”

“Okay, but what does that have to do with Y/N? She doesn’t even have a crest.” Hapi asked.

You were more awake now, gently sitting up as memories came to you. That’s right- Yuri had betrayed everyone. The Wolves, the professor, you… Your eyes burned with tears. The little bird certainly was only a rat. Yuri looked at you, a bit too long to mean nothing, and walked to the side, twirling his sword.

“She’s simply too strong. To have her go free is to risk too much. Aelfric can’t let this ritual fail. He spent his years raising us in the Ashen Wolf house all to ensure that the Rite of Rising was successful.”

“You mean to say that he intends to drain our blood? To kill us?!” Constance’s voice raised.

“Yeah, no, count me out.” Hapi joined in, “Wait- the number four includes you too, right? You’re gonna die too?”

“Yep. That’s the idea.”

You’d had enough of this talk. Yuri- Yuri wasn’t like this. You refused to believe it. He had been nothing but sweet to you, was it all really just a lie? Struggling to find your voice, you finally cried out.

“I can’t believe you!” Everyone’s head snapped towards you. “You- you filthy liar! You’re risking your life and everyone else’s for what? Some dead bitch? You’ve spent your whole life with these people to stab them in the back?”

“Y/N-” Yuri opened his mouth, but you cut him off.

“No, no! Fuck you, Yuri Leclarc. Or are you lying about your name too? I can’t believe I trusted you- or any of us. You took advantage of everyone’s kindness and now you’re throwing everyone’s life away.” You spat at him. If you weren’t avoiding his gaze now, you would’ve seen hurt flash in his eyes.

That hurt hardened quickly as he saw Aelfric watching from the corner. “Shut it. I've lived through Hell and worse. After clawing my way here, you really think I wanna die?”

“Then why throw your life away for the likes of Aelfric?” Asked Balthus.

“Some things are more important than my own life.” Yuri’s eyes shifted back to you for a moment, “Some things are worth protecting.”

“You’re not making any damned sense-”

“It would seem that you want to be punished severely, Yuri.”

Suddenly, Aelfric revealed himself, walking to Yuri with a threatening aura. Yuri only scoffed, defiantly speaking back to him. You couldn’t understand much, now, your vision was spotty with your migraine. You felt like throwing up, but that didn’t seem quite appropriate right now.

“-If I must, I will kill your mother alongside your dear people.” Aelfric finished his little speech as you focused on soothing your nausea. You kept blacking in and out between the conversation, missing bits of it. To focus on staying awake, you tried to grab the dagger that was strapped to your waist in order to cut yourself free.

“The whole ‘evil villain’ outlook doesn’t look good on someone as pious as you, Aelfric.” Yuri laughed. You paused, wondering why he would insult his boss.

“Yuri-bird, I could-”

“Not yet,” He hissed at Hapi. You continued to fidget, getting your ropes to the blade and beginning to saw through them.

You were about halfway through when three figures, coated in masks and dark outfits came forth and took hold of the three downed Wolves. A fourth walked in front of you, raising his hand to knock you out once more. You flinched back, awaiting for the impact, but it never came. Opening your eyes, you saw Yuri holding the man’s wrist.

“You will not touch her.” He threatened, “Or else.”

The figure left and you could only sit back and watch as Aelfric sliced the four Wolves, spewing some goddess-awful monologue to Yuri. Bells chimed and Aelfric began to look panicked, much like you were. You said you hated Yuri, but that was far from the truth.

In the past time that you had gotten to know him, his sly, cunning antics had begun to grow on you. A lot. Before you knew it, you had found yourself becoming quite fond of the house leader, wanting to fight alongside him and spend your time conspiring with him. With as big of a crush that you had on the boy, it was only normal that you would feel so betrayed by him. Hell, you weren’t even going to die (yet, probably), and yet you were still just as upset as the other wolves.

“Oh, and just so you know, I’ve been working for Lady Rhea since before I ever began working for you.”

Your utter surprise at Yuri’s words made you snap the last bit of rope that you had to cut. So, he was on your side the whole time?

“It matters no longer. The ritual is almost done. Just a little bit longer…” Aelfric tried to reason- with Yuri or himself, you couldn’t tell.

Yuri scoffed and you began to stand up, drawing your weapon. “Don’t think for a moment-”

“That I’ll let anything happen to them!” You yelled, suddenly charging towards the man. Your fist collided with Aelfric’s jaw, knocking him to the ground as the other Wolves stood up.

“Seriously, Boss, did you have to tie us up so tight?” Balthus complained, rubbing his wrist.

“Sorry, Balthus,” Yuri laughed, “I figured those little tears would be enough for you to break through the rope.”

“I hate to interrupt the relief party,” You walked up to the group and shoved the blade of your weapon against Yuri’s throat. “But I’m still quite angry, and I’d like to take it out on some people I actually can beat up.”

Yuri gave you a watery smile and gently pushed down the blade, tilting his head at you. “I’m sorry.”

You scrutinized Yuri for a moment before dropping your weapon and rushing towards him, knocking him back a few steps as your arms wrapped around him. You heard him grunt a little and you smile, squeezing him even tighter. Yuri eventually relaxes and wraps his arms around you as well, resting his head on top of yours. “Don’t fucking do that again.”

“Do you still hate me? I think you do, because you’re squeezing me so tight I can’t breathe. Not complaining, though.”

You looked up at him, ignoring the professor and the other knights as they filed into the chamber, ready to fight. “No, I could never. Even if you really had betrayed us…” You looked away from his gaze, but he tilted your chin back up.

“I couldn’t betray you all. That would mean never getting a bone-crushing hug from you again and now that it’s started, I don’t want it to stop.”

You laughed and tip-toed up, pressing a light kiss against his cheek. “Whatever, you sap. Let’s go kick some ass.”

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