pleasantpirateturtle

[pleasantpirateturtle]

I was getting pretty fed up with links and generators with very general and overused weapons and superpowers and what have you for characters so:

Here is a page for premodern weapons, broken down into a ton of subcategories, with the weapon’s region of origin. 

Here is a page of medieval weapons.

Here is a page of just about every conceived superpower.

Here is a page for legendary creatures and their regions of origin.

Here are some gemstones.

Here is a bunch of Greek legends, including monsters, gods, nymphs, heroes, and so on. 

Here is a website with a ton of (legally attained, don’t worry) information about the black market.

Here is a website with information about forensic science and cases of death. Discretion advised. 

Here is every religion in the world. 

Here is every language in the world.

Here are methods of torture. Discretion advised.

Here are descriptions of the various methods used for the death penalty. Discretion advised.

Here are poisonous plants.

Here are plants in general.

Feel free to add more to this!

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Spot the difference

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Important update:

No, it seems like it sometimes but Misha had to come out as straight last year

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Hannibal 3x13 - “The Wrath of the Lamb”

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saw a similar meme a while ago but I couldn’t find it so I had to make my own.

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To all the authors who love to give us hot Daddy Characters and then fuck us over by introducing some dead male lead. Thank you for, no, I'm being honest. Totally not contemplating murder.

[pleasantpirateturtle]

The first time it happens he doesn’t realise exactly what that rolling, dangerous flutter in his chest is when Kang Yohan slams him into the bookcase; Gaon is already on edge from anxiety, his heart ricocheting against his ribcage and his breathing is laboured – all air leaves him on a gasp as Kang Yohan’s palm trails teasingly over his collarbones, over his throat settling heavy on his shoulder. His eyes are dark shiny pools filled with hunger. Gaon barely stumbles through his excuses, afraid to be caught, even more afraid of the little voice that whispers, asks, begs to see what would happen if Kang Yohan did catch him. He leaves Gaon alone, leaning against the bookcase and he sighs a deep chested gust of air before a full body shiver steals over his body, his hands are trembling too. Gaon writes that incident off as nerves being hyper attuned to the threat Kang Yohan had not so subtly implied.

This snippet has been hanging at the back of my mind for ages. Should I finish it?

[pleasantpirateturtle]

Blood Lust of Beasts Chapter 2

Fandom: Vampire Knight

Pairing: Kaname Kuran/Zero Kiriyu

Characters: Kiryu Zero, Kuran Kaname, Cross Yuki, Aido Hanabusa, Cross Kaien, Wakaba Sayori, Yagari Toga

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 1

The days passed much as they did in the Academy, mindlessly boring and awfully long. The weather had taken one look at Zero’s inner turmoil and said fuck you to you too; endless days of humid sunshine followed that terrible night, the accompanying breeze pitifully weak, and Zero felt the murderous rage within him boil over.

He made a habit of snarling at any unsuspecting victims who erred even slightly in his presence. It felt as if someone had pressed the on button for the jittery tenseness that followed him around like his own personal storming cloud and forgot to switch it off.

Yuki had done a blatant 180 degrees spin the second she spied him stomping in her general direction. In her defence, Zero had been particularly harsh when she’d dared take over his breakfast duties and nearly burned the whole kitchen down. It was a reoccurring happenstance, Zero learned to deal with it during that awful time when he’d had no other choice but to cohabit with two deranged humans. Dealing with it meant a disappointed sigh and an impromptu cleaning spree, not the screaming match that awoke Cross’ serious side – he had swept into the room decked out for a fight in an all-black outfit, long hair falling loosely over his shoulders only to pause in the doorway and stare at the pans raised high above their heads clutched like weapons. Cross rubbed his eyes, muttered something about never drinking with Yagari, and trotted back to his room.

It worked in his favour in a way because Yuki did not have the courage to bemoan his avoidance tactics; he skipped changeover duties enough times that Cross felt compelled to appoint Sayori as an honorary prefect. Sayori, a perfectly lovely girl by his standards, against a throng of crazy fan girls? She would turn into a wind chime, blown this and that way.

However, it seemed Yuki had had enough.

His duty, his little sister, the person he would not fail, not this time around, not like he had failed Ichiru. She stood over him, hands on her hips, a mighty scowl in place (she learned that from him, goddammit.)

“Zero Kiryu, you will get your lazy butt up this second or so help me I will find that secret stash of manga you think I don’t know about, and I will distribute it. Then I will insert a note in each book that will give up your identity and you will have no choice but to suffer the admiration of – “

Zero was up within seconds. He pressed his hand to her mouth to prevent other rubbish from escaping the airheaded mess. Honestly, she should have been born blonde, then Zero could have teased her with so many horrible references, just as he had teased Ichiru (never mind they were identical twins).

“Fine, but if I hear even a word – “

“Yes, yes, you will end me and all I hold dearest. But Zero, you cannot harm Mr Cat.”

She clasped her hand around his wrist, dragging him. Zero deliberately slowed down, Yuki grunted at the increased weight. She soldiered on, placing his arm over her shoulder for a better grip. Zero admired her grit, he really did, if only it had been directed at a more productive endeavour.

“He’s a cactus.”

Oh, almighty god, what terrible sin did he commit to have this nonsense in his life? He just wanted to kill vampires, was that too much? Perhaps taking on the duty of protecting one Yuki Cross had been his misstep.

“Zero you mustn’t judge.”

He sighed, long suffering. Somewhat done with this nonsense he slapped a hand over his face to shield his eyes from the world; if he can’t see it, it cannot see him either. Although, Zero still heard the buzzing conversations of the honeybees loitering outside the gates. If he had to rate the things he hated in life, then this aspect of his duties had to be at least third on the list. Above it, the second and first place would be staunchly taken over by Shizuka and Kuran. Maybe he should reserve a special place for Ichiru too – the backstabbing little bitch, he could have at least warned Zero he was going to let a bloodthirsty, crazy ass vampire into their home. If Yuki turned out anything like him, Zero would just say a giant fuck you to the world and hide his sorry ass in a hut in the middle of the woods.

Yuki patted his head, but Zero ignored the pinched mouth and creased eyes silently asking for his wellbeing. If she truly cared, she wouldn’t subject Zero to this hell.

The volume of the shrieks increased tenfold as they noticed not only his presence but the dramatic procession of vampires strolling out of the Moon dorms. Zero glared at his side made up of screaming, overly excited, sexually frustrated girls; blissful silence fell over them.

“If I hear as much as a peep from any of you, I will gladly inform you that I’m hosting school wide detention camps.”

Not even the day students have been spared from Zero’s ire. They looked down or over his shoulder nervously, shuffling in place but not daring anything that could enrage Zero. He smiled. Tilting his head to indicate the other side of the path, where Yuki’s charges were making nuisances of themselves, the girls quickly caught his meaning and laboured to shush their counterparts.

The vampires glanced around either side at the morose girls but did not comment. Hanabusa Aidou couldn’t count, he was a waste of brain cells.

Zero hoped against all odds that Kuran would be absent. He was not. In fact, to his growing horror, he had stopped to chat with Yuki, who blushed bashfully (what the fuck). Sometimes, when he really looked, Yuki transformed from the cute little sister he had raised with an iron fist to one of the many girls idolizing Kuran. She lost herself in him in a way that terrified Zero and he was helpless to it.

The girls were filtering out, most of the night class had gone too. Zero could not use them as a shield! If he were to leave now, it would be too obvious that he had in a way been evading the pureblood. Avoiding his gaze would do - Zero wouldn’t have to acknowledge him, Yuki’s admonishments be dammed.

He turned his head, using his hair to cover his eyes. Kuran’s light footsteps were too close for comfort – Zero had the sinking feeling that he was heading for him. But he only passed by, closer than expected, yes, still he kept walking. Zero could practically feel his eyes burn a hole into him. He dared a peek, the vampire’s head was turned, his brandy brown eyes dissecting Zero with the careful inspection of a serial killer. Zero blanched.

His pride can eat shit!

Zero power walked, the quicker the better.

“Kiryu.”

Zero sped up.

“Kiryu,” his tone hardened.

Zero was close to sprinting. Just give him another damn minute.

“Kiryu, if you do not stop – “

He’ll start at the border to patrol the perimeter of the academy, better there where the chances of bumping into nefarious vampires – oh look a lovely vampire! Kuran had followed him. Zero glared at the hand wrapped around his wrist pointedly. Kuran did not get the hint. He used the sudden momentum of swinging Zero around to pull him in, too close for a public venue.

“For once in your life Kuran, leave me alone.”

“People are watching,” Kuran hissed.

He pushed past Zero’s boundaries, within his very actions a mask to hide as much of their conflict as possible. His nose almost brushed Zero’s cheek.

“Just fuck off,” Zero snarled.

Kuran seemed to take that as an invitation to further invade his space, his cold breath caressing the skin under his jaw. Zero turned his head to the side, hoping to increase the distance but the vampire just slotted into the empty space, his breathing a heady thing in his ear. Zero pushed at Kuran’s chest.

“Like you said, people are watching. Let me go.”

This day was becoming a surreal nightmare, or a practice in patience. Whichever it was Zero was so done with it. He was tired of Kuran and his bullshit.

Zero jerked his arm, Kuran strengthened his grip; like a tango, one written by a fucking teenager. He took a step back, opening his stance, it gave the impression of a wider space between them. In a way it worked to avoid the suspicious eyes following their movements. This was a terrible place to have this sort of confrontation. Even Yuki was watching them intently.

“You are avoiding me.”

Zero whipped his head around, brows furrowing, he could feel a headache building underneath the bridge of his nose. He scowled. Fucking Kuran.

“Given the situation last time, yes I thought that was a normal reaction,” Zero said, voice lowered but still loud enough that at least a couple of his inner circle did a double take.

“Do not make a repeat of it, you have a duty to fulfil.”

Kuran’s thumb rubbed gently over the blue veins showing on his pale wrist. Zero startled, a curse dying swiftly as the pureblood crushed it until bones creaked and the skin turned a deathly pale. Before he could find the right words to hurl at him, Kuran swiveled away, his inner circle trailing after him like puppies. He ignored the obvious stares they kept throwing over their shoulders; if they had questions they could very well ask their lord.

Fucking Kuran.

[pleasantpirateturtle]

Blood Lust of Beasts Chapter 1

Fandom: Vampire Knight

Pairings: Kuran Kaname/Kiryu Zero

Characters: Kiryu Zero, Kuran Kaname

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 2

It all came down to this moment, this moment in time where they were suspended in a vortex, isolated, and lost.

He never expected this, never expected things to spiral so strangely.

But here they were.

The damp chill drifting from the bricks seeped through his limbs, humidity clung in the air, uncomfortably spreading across the length of his trousers. Zero ripped his shirt when the first urge appeared, in a vain attempt to claw at his chest – long gashes adorned pale skin – not healing, no. There was no blood. He was starving.

The cell was well hidden in the depths of the academy, and they aired it as much as possible (Cross had explained morosely), yet a mouldy, stale smell of something that he knew died in this very cell hung thickly.

Zero loathed it.

His vision was fuzzy at best, atrocious at worst, at some point he thought the shadows came to life. The mad frenzy within flared again.

His heart stuttered. There was a scent in the air, sandalwood and pine and chocolate; dark, inviting and terribly tempting. His insides squeezed around nothing. Zero screamed in hopes of relieving the worst of it, for if he could not do it through the tangible, the intangible would do. For a second, he thought of Yuki, but she would have no business here or access, her scent was syrupy, cloying on the tip of the tongue, so unlike this dark mixture.

The footsteps, light and calculated, drifted in the near periphery, close but distant. Zero’s inner voice screamed and ravaged, a hunger and anger so deep it threatened to drown him until he was only a creature chained in the basement, nothing human left of him anymore.

That man, he could recognize him. Always.

Kuran Kaname.

The second bane of his existence. The man he hates most, more than cruel, cold, terrible Shizuka, the woman who stole away his life and family.

Zero stared at the wall blankly, rather that than the pureblood’s cold visage, he thought. Kuran stepped closer, his voice muffled, only distorted consonants reaching Zero; he was too far under the thrall of insanity. A word made it through…Yuki. Ah, that name. Why was it Yuki repeatedly? What could be so special about that clumsy airheaded girl? Even now, on death’s doorstep the world still revolved around that dammed name. Zero gritted his teeth, biting the inside of his mouth. The pureblood would tire and Zero could go back to his misery, alone, and all would be well with the world again.

“Your consciousness is still intact, how strange.”

Kuran loomed over him, apathetic voice clearer, wavy hair a curtain hiding the twist in the corner of his mouth he no doubt had in place.

Zero had no choice. He acknowledged the vampire, who crouched down on one knee, intruding past personal boundaries even a highly sociable person would cringe from. Suddenly, a scent so sweet and tantalizing shrouded the fuzziness in his eyes entirely to pitch darkness. Zero never felt subject to anything so enthralling, richly deep but flowery light. Saliva filled his mouth. He leaned in. His fingers touched cold skin and Zero snapped back, slapping the bleeding hand with the shredded remains of his power.

“Interesting, to refuse the very thing you crave.”

Zero bit his lip raw, the pain like a splash of water clearing his mind. He pushed back, for once not resenting the chilliness. That detestable voice! Had he died and faced his eternal punishment in the terrible form of Kuran Kaname? Damn him and his kind.

Kuran snatched the edge of his open shirt pulling Zero up until the back of his head hit the wall none too gently. He winced, scowling at that stupidly impassive face.

“My blood will save you,” Kuran hissed.

A wheezy pathetic gasp bounced off the walls, his to own. Zero bit his lip. He twisted his head to the side refusing to meet the pureblood’s eyes. It was in vain, a large hand clasped over his chin turning his face back. Zero glared. Kuran crowded his space, cold air brushed Zero’s lips.

“I’m not doing this for you,” he said softly.

Of course, Zero couldn’t not have known he would only offer his precious blood for the sake of his precious Yuki. God-forbid she missed her favourite pet, he thought bitterly.

Kuran took the opportunity Zero’s distraction offered, his hand curled around Zero’s nape pulling his limp body to a cold, heartless chest and pressing his head into the hallow of Koran’s own throat. Zero stared blankly at the expanse of pale skin. Was it marble hard or as inviting as it looked?

“Do it.” Kuran mercilessly commanded.

Zero flinched. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t dream of breaking that line – Zero only ever thought of that kind of intimacy in the dark recess of his mind, the depths not privy to another soul. To do…to bite Kuran and take his blood would be insane because then Zero’s defence, his only defence, would be obliterated. He couldn’t possibly look at the vampire and spin the same story knowing….

But it called to him. The blood called to him. For a second, Zero forgot the cruel words and the chill that clung to his clothes, he forgot the terrible ache in his body, solely tempted by that beautiful concoction.

A taste. He would only have a taste.

Zero squeezed his eyes, dived down and sunk his fangs into smooth skin. The first sip sent tingling webs down his spine, the taste a heady, sweet, tangy something that made his toes curl and his back arch, obscene moans echoed, Zero scrambled to find a good hold on too broad shoulders, hands tightening in Kuran’s shirt, his legs trembling. His body slackened, Kaname wrapped an arm around his waist, the only anchor keeping him afloat. Heat nestled in his bones, creeping low in his gut.

Zero lost his grip, flopping against the stone wall with as much grace as a twittering bird twirled in dizzying circles. Kuran hissed, rubbed the bridge of his nose and muttered under his breath. He stood, offering Zero his hand.

Zero snorted.

If he could barely stand upright while kneeling, did the stuck-up vampire think Zero would do much better on his feet?

Kuran Kaname defied the natural order of all sorts of things, as expected.

He gripped Zero’s arm hauling his weak body up. Promptly, his knees gave in, his body lurched forward, Kuran caught him around the waist pushing him back until he hit the wall, he pressed their bodies intimately close, to keep Zero in place.

Of course, Zero scoffed, weakly batting at the vampire’s chest to get him away but Kuran easily took hold of his wrists and pinned them above his head. A sudden jolt of electricity passed over his back – if he had been human, Zero was sure to have broken into a cold sweat by now. He turned his head to the side. Kuran leaned in, speaking directly in his ear, with a low voice that felt strangely inappropriate considering their positions. Zero wandered what lovely Yuki would think of this if she were to walk in? How ghastly shocked she would be?

“We are not done.”

One of those little sounds left him again - he was out of breath, there was no other reason. Zero was hesitant to dive back into the hazy pleasure that was brought by the pureblood’s blood…a sip should have been enough to abate his descent, for now. Should he really risk…

But Kuran was so close and lovely scarlet droplets trailed down, the punctures healed – he could not resist it. Zero licked tentatively, following their path until the collar of Kuran’s well pressed dress shirt became an obstacle. He hissed, struggled to free an arm to tug the material aside. Kuran tensed. Zero could feel it. He hummed resting his lips there contemplating whether it was worth listening to the protesting inner voice of his that sounded a terribly lot like Cross having a one-sided screaming match with an imaginary slouching Zero happily napping.

“Remember, this is for Yuki.”

Zero might have bitten into him a little more aggressively than intended then, warm chocolate filled his mouth, filled his being, blood trailed down his chin and throat. Zero lost sight of all things except the fullness in his belly and the fire that surged deeply within, licking upwards from his toes to his legs to his gut. Zero pressed closer to the vampire, a broken gasp escaped his lips as he released his fangs instantly. However, the fire had been started and nothing could douse it. Zero sought the comfort of the wall again. He had expected the vampire to be cold as all others were; Kuran Kaname defied that too. His skin was blisteringly hot and where his hands cupped Zero’s chin imprints were left.

Something was very wrong.

Zero’s breath came in short bursts – he could barely take in air. He was choking. He shouldn’t. He was a vampire.

Kuran murmured something into his hair, somehow, he had pressed in yet again in the span of seconds until they were pressed flush together from their chests to their hips. Zero’s hands fisted his blazer. Wait. When had Zero wrapped his hands around the vampire’s middle?

Brown locks blurred his eyesight. Zero chased after an errant drop of blood, it made his skin itch. He blinked and mahogany eyes were right there, their irises dilated until almost all the brown was taken over by black. Zero flinched. There was nowhere else to go. He was boxed in from all aspects, pinned in place like a butterfly on display. For all accounts, he should be in a frenzy to get the vampire away. Instead, Zero was loathe to lose the warmth.

And then there were soft lips, slowly opening his up, teasing at his core, Zero melted into the feeling, hands wildly trying to find purchase on anything.

Rough hands wrapped around his thighs, the grip just shy of painful, until he was up and up, his legs parted for the vampire to slot in perfectly and they curled around Kuran’s waist seamlessly. Zero’s hands slipped under the confining dress shirt, exploring taut muscles that shifted under his touch.

Their lips parted. Zero’s filled the room with soft moans; Kuran’s peppered a trail of blistering kisses over his jaw, down his throat, until he found a pulsing vein. His teeth played with the skin, no doubt leaving hickey upon hickey on Zero’s pale skin. Zero’s toes curled at the hint of fangs grazing –

Zero startled.

“Kuran?”

The vampire hummed, only raising his head at Zero’s insistent tugging on his hair. He looked up, his now deeply red eyes dazed, an unseeing film covering them.

Zero called out to him again.

Slowly, awareness returned to the pureblood. He blinked once, twice, and the red irises were supressed.

“Kiryu?”

Confusion clouded his face; horror struck him too. He dropped Zero like he was coal from the hearth, dashing across the cell and pressing his back to the opposite wall. Zero fell abruptly, his head banging against the stone.

“Fucking hell, can you be any rougher?”

They exchanged wary glances.

Zero mulled over his words, there had to be a way to salvage the situation. The vampire flashed away, leaving him to stare blankly at the wall. A sour taste invaded his mouth, a bitter laugh echoed in his ears.

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“I’m not sorry.” Geralt had said one night, the camp fire flickering over his hardened features.

There was something in the way the witcher had avoided his eyes, twiddled with a stick in the fire and turned slightly sideways, away from Jaskier, that broke a fine cord in the bard that night. A torrent of hurt and pain and absolute misery had stirred in his mouth, burning like acid down his throat. He allowed himself a moment, a split second to feel it before he shut it all behind a carefully constructed mask of witty remarks and humour.

Sour taste, Yen said later in the solace of a numb mind.

From that day, he laughed and laughed until the eyes following him found other interesting facets, other things to focus on rather than the annoying bard who spoke too much and then when the time came and he set his bedding further from Geralt, the kind of distance he only enforced with strangers, he hoped no one noticed. A part of him wanted them to, wanted him, the white wolf of Rivia, to notice the petty way he’d chosen to show his hurt – tired of laughing off every time Geralt jilted his axis without a care.

He never did.

And so Jaskier learned to shut off his heart in the witcher’s presence, made more abhorrent jokes to cover the sudden apathy and the terrible anger simmering in his throat.

Sour taste indeed.

Ciri became a distraction, Yen too if it weren’t for the blasted knowing looks she kept throwing him or the pity so poorly hidden. He had no doubt she knew he hadn’t truly forgiven Geralt, his longing had been a cavernous monster that often kept him wide awake at night and so when Geralt had stepped into that piss-poor prison cell the beast had won, Jaskier had launched himself at the white wolf before he could suppress it.

At least he’d gained a true friend in Yennefer. The kind that would follow him - misery liked company after all.

He heard light footsteps encroaching on the tight little alcove he’d sequestered himself into for the past couple of days they’d been at the keep – with a drink in hand, of course, alcohol was the cure for heartbreak they said – the footsteps paused an inch from his back, a deep chested, heavy sigh bounced on the cold walls, the wind picked up on cue.

“You’re being a miserable sod, Jaskier.”

“You are one to talk,” he muttered, “how’s life without your magic?”

“Touché.”

A heel pressed into his lower back viciously, he took a long swing from the flask, the rum was the sort he’d turn his nose up at even in dire straits but Jaskier, well, he was well past that stage and between the lovely company the keep had to offer and the terrible rum he’d made his choice.

“And you’re being a spoilsports, witch.” He replied drily.

At last, he twisted at the waist enough to glare over his shoulder. The witch flicked an eyebrow up, imperious in her disdain. Jaskier wagged the flask and her disapproving frown deepened, he shook it harder, some liquid sploshing on his hand and sighing again with all the weight of a witch without magic Yennefer took his offer, roughly stumbling and fidgeting into the tight space. He offered her the flask and she took a long – drawn swing. They sat there, staring at the dreary weather for a long time, when their fingers became numb with the bitter chill Yennefer’s gaze pinned him down; clever woman, Jaskier would have bolted if she’d bothered any sooner, not now when he was too weary with the cold and the heat of the rum low in his guts.

“Spring has come but the bird is yet to sing, Bard...”

Jaskier went for the flask again, never mind that it was empty. The witch did always notice the most unpleasant of truths Jaskier hid from the world at large, she had a talent for it, and if he hadn’t so passionately disliked her very existence upon their acquaintance he might have been quite besotted. As it stands, he can see in her no more than a friend or if he felt particularly sentimental a sister...

“Spring may come and the bird may sing, it is only the inattentive who do not –“

The witch interrupted him, exasperatingly calling out his name. Jaskier’s hand twitched, the white bandages stark in the dusk of evening; the wound was long healed, the skin raised and an angry red that will never fade despite the many healing salves. He could use the limb well enough, had no trouble when he completed his share of tasks around the keep, or when he helped Ciri wash her long pale waves.

“You are not composing.”

“You don’t have magic.”

The alcove fell quiet, the harsh winds screeched, louder than ever, their breathing terribly loud, a heavy bank of snow had fallen around the keep, pristine, white and glittering. Like the witcher’s hair. A question hung heavily between them but neither dared to voice the doubts swirling in the void, to confront that which had made them whole once was no more. They could get it back, with proper time and healing. Probably. Jaskier could not find joy in patience though, he’d lived long enough that the notion had lost all its shiny gloss and became a mere botherance.

Perhaps it was one of the many reasons he and the witcher were not compatible.

He doesn’t speak with the witcher much these days. Geralt only ever addressed him to shut him up from one of the many illogical rants he uses to take the heat off of Visemir’s knowing looks. There was tension between them and Jaskier couldn’t quite tell if Geralt was oblivious to it or simply ignoring it. He did not know anymore, after all Geralt had proven Jaskier wrong when he assumed he understood the witcher better than anyone.

This wasn’t the first time someone came to Jaskier to fix the Geralt mess – why they came to him and not the root of the problem will always baffle him – they explained, begged, threatened, all sorts of tactics to make him forgive Geralt. What was there to be forgiven? Geralt himself had stated there was nothing to apologise for. Why should Jaskier lower himself for the sake of their feelings? If they couldn’t stand to be around Geralt and Jaskier without feeling awkward they should fuck right off. Jaskier had zero fucks left to give.

“Well, I would like to say that this has been lovely, but that would be lying. I will let you to your misery witch, I for one have a date planned with a hot tub and some peace.” Jaskier said as he wiggled free.

The witch reached for him, calling his name out. He wrenched free and leisurely walked out of the room because, goddammit, he could be petty if he wanted.