#'but i'm not going to learn their names i don't have time to go down that rabbit hole' und jetzt schau mal wohin mich das gebracht hat

[mxrcielaguito]

Oh boi, I've been wanting to write Elliott x Farmer for a while so here we go:

Based off one of the comments of the original post

"I would suggest we make time for a little 'rendezvous' in my old cabin... But I'm afraid it's become rather... Musty... In my absence" Elliott says. I'd like to think he's being playful but I can't really tell. His words are mischievous but his eyes seem melancholic. I mean, well, he writes angsty stuff all the time, why would this be any different, he loves feeling melancholic. He's an overemotional drama queen, and that's pretty much why I fell for him in the first place. But something's off today.

I look at him, up and down. Wouldn't be the first time we escape a social gathering and make time for ourselves. I work relentlessly. He writes relentlessly. Our kids mess around the house relentlessly, too.

"Why not?" I suggest. "It's not like anyone's paying attention."

His green eyes widen, his face blushes for just an instant and I recognize his look. He bites his lower lip, grabs my arm and pulls me into the cabin so quickly I can't even react. As soon as I step into the cabin I understand what he meant by "musty". The air feels heavy, humid, and the wood is starting to decay. His old piano is still there; withering away.

He locks the door behind us and I can already feel his heavy breath. I can't help but find it cute. It's been three years and he still gets all hot and bothered. He's turning his back on me, his hand still on the door knob.

"Elliott? Are you all right?" I ask.

"I have really neglected this place, haven't I..." He murmurs. "It's- it's not romantic at all, I-..."

"Love, it's okay, I don't mind" I try to reassure him, rubbing his back. Something's wrong but I'm not can't put my finger on it. "It's been quite some time since the last time you came here, huh."

Elliott laughs nervously and forces himself to let go of the door knob. He turns around and looks at his cabin, his eyes scanning every corner.

"I really used to live like this, didn't I?"

"I didn't know this place brought you bad memories", I say, my voice soft, almost a whisper. I know we don't talk much; my words are usually rather scarce, I can't remember the last time we sat and spoke to each other. I'd rather listen, but Elliott doesn't speak too much, either.

He runs a hand through his copper hair.

"Once upon a time, there lived a man by the sea..." Elliott speaks quietly, absently. "He dreamed of fame and greatness; he dreamed of people remembering his name. However, that day never came, and his little cabin by the sea, he let it rot away."

I frown, trying to make a meaning off of this.

"My father bought this cabin a long time ago, we used to have our vacation here, when I was a kid. With time I guess we all forgot about it, then I remembered it when he kicked me out."

My eyes widen.

"He... Kicked you out? Why am I learning about this just now?!"

"Well, he wasn't happy when I said I wasn't pursuing a career in the family business." Elliott runs his hand through the dusty desk, then fidgets around with an old inkwell. The ink has been dry for a very long time. "I didn't have much money. I was running out when I met you."

"That part, I remember, yeah", I reply.

"It's not that this cabin holds bad memories, as you said. It just a reminder of almost everything that hasn't worked out in my life. All the scrapped manuscripts. All the arguing with my father. All the times I stayed up late, trying to come up with the perfect plot, the perfect words, the perfect... Everything" he closes his eyes and sighs. I look at him and take his hand in mine. I love it: it's so soft. "And then, one day, you showed up and took care of that old farm nobody cared about. And you took care of me..."

He leans his head over mine. His hair tickles my nose, and it smells like pomegranate shampoo.

"I can take care of this place, too" I suggest, trying to cheer him up. "Just like I did with the farm."

"No, no. This place is mine to bear, not yours. However I would like to take your example and make this old place something worth the effort. Something out kids will be happy inheriting."

I look up at him and smile.

"Yeah? You wanna do that?"

Elliott smiles and nods. I feel his hand make its way through my eternally sore back to my waist. I rest my hand on his, fidgeting with his wedding ring.

"It's not that musty", I tease, after a very long silence. "The bed's still in good shape."

When you're just trying to make some goddamn soup but Elliott wants to have sex in his mouldy ass cabin.

[sir3n-s]

Since Eddie came to live with him, Wayne has seen him bring home many things.

Mainly bugs or hurt animals.

One time he brought home a skunk. Sometimes Wayne thinks he can still smell it.

But this? This is something else.

"Wayne I can explain" he says standing in the doorway with a jar.

A jar that has a pixie in it.

"That jar better have holes in it, Edward.'" He's praying that his nephew didn't hurt the pixie.

Pixies have been around for centuries and helping them will bring good luck. As in the pixie will most likely bring you gifts.

Hurting a pixie though?

He has heard some stories that would be labeled as horror if they were movies.

"Of course, it has holes in it!" Eddie says like it was ridiculous of him to ask, "I'm not stupid" Wayne thinks that is debatable but now is not the time for that.

"Yet you have a pixie in a jar" he sighs, wondering why this kid can't give him a break, "knowing what they are capable of."

"I know, I know!" Eddie says, looking down at the jar. "I just wanted to say hi, and then he attacked me! I didn't want to hurt him, but he wouldn't leave me alone!"

"So you thought putting it in a jar would make it like you," he says while getting up.

"Well no but I tried runng but he followed me"

He's going to need a beer after this. 

"Give me the jar," he says standing in front of his nephew. 

Eddie doesn't hesitate to hand it over. 

Wayne walks out the door of the trailer and starts opening the jar, "I apologize for my nephew, he doesn't think before he acts. He's a good kid, please don't hurt him" he takes the top off and lets the pixie fly out.

It flies in front of Wayne’s face for a moment before smiling and nodding at him, then zooms off.

Wayne walks back into the trailer to grab a beer and start lecturing his nephew.

-

Over the next few weeks, Eddie sees the pixie, who he learns name is Steve, come by the trailer to give gifts to Wayne.  

Eddie has tried to get close enough to apologize but Steve always files away the moment he sees Eddie. 

But he also doesn't do anything to Eddie so he guesses that Steve likes Wayne enough to leave his nephew alone. 

Which is good because pixies can be terrifying. 

"Give him some fruit," Wayne suggests after hearing Eddie complain about Steve leaving once he saw Eddie pull up to the trailer. "He really likes peaches." 

So Eddie cuts up a peach and puts it on a plate. He takes it outside to the bench close by and waits. 

Steve does eventually show up but Eddie can tell he's still cautious of him because he doesn't immediately go for the peach like he would if Wayne was the one offering it.

Eddie smiles at him and pushes the plate towards him hoping to encourage him to eat it.

Steve must have decided to trust Eddie because he dives for the peach slices.

He watches Steve eat a really small amount of the the peach, but pixies are so small it was probably a lot to him.

Once it seems like Steve had his fill of the fruit Eddie sets a napkin down next to the plate.

Steve wipes his hands and face with it. Then he just sits there and stares at Eddie for a moment.

"Thank you" the pixie says. And honestly Eddie is surprised, he didn't know they could communicate with humans.

"You're welcome" he responds, tapping his finger on the table, "I am sorry about the jar thing, I really didn't mean to hurt you"

Steve reached for Eddie's hand and placed his tiny hand on top of his finger, stopping its movement.

"Its okay" Steve smiles at him.

[delopsia]

honey | bob floyd x reader

Word Count: 13,800 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Succubus!Reader, Virgin!Bob. Shapeshifting, elements of magic, blood, parties, first-time blow jobs, cunnilingus, first-time sex, virginity loss, vague plot twists despite the severe lack of an actual plot. This was a crack warmup that just became...this Brief Summary: "Rich, hot, and a virgin. What's wrong with you?" Or, Bob's coworkers jokingly summon you, a succubus, to take his virginity, but everyone gets a lot more than they bargained for. You included.

Well...

This is new.

"It wasn't me! I promise!" 

"Well, someone drew my symbol on the floor." Folding your arms in front of your chest, huffing. All that for this?

"It wasn't—" He freezes, teeth flashing through an awkwardly stretched smile. "I...my coworkers were playing a prank on me."

Lovely that you learn that after you've planted your ass in his lap. "So you don't want me here, pretty boy?"

Because he is cute. Floppy brown hair and the biggest blue eyes you've ever seen, hidden behind a pair of wireframes that perch on his freckled nose. His partner must be an incredibly happy person, having someone like this walking around their house. 

"N-no!" He blurts. His face falls. "—wait! Well-well, I...uh, I...I don't wanna be rude, but I mean I-I..." Your index finger presses against his thin lips, silencing whatever he had left to say. If history is anything to go off of, you wouldn't have been able to understand what he's trying to tell you anyway.

But...well, you are stuck here, so you'd might as well ask. "What's your name?" 

"Ro-Ro..." A short pink tongue darts out, wetting his lips. "Robert." 

"Well, Bobby," you can't help but say it, a little too eager to watch the blush in his cheeks deepen. "It's a shame that you didn't. You're pretty cute."

Even in the dark, you can see how his face reddens, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows his words. 

"But! I'll be on my way," lifting yourself from his lap before you can become too comfortable there. Something bumps into your ass; you think that may have been his cheek. "Do me a favor and tell your partner that they're a very lucky person, would ya?"

"Partner?" Squeaking.

Your feet freeze. There's no way he's... "Don't tell me you're single."

But Bob nods his head like it's the simplest confession he's ever made. "That's half of the reason why they went through the trouble of making you come here." He pauses, his left eye twitching as a thought visibly crosses his mind. Whatever it is, it's got him looking away from you entirely. "Said I'm...said I'm too old to be a—" 

"Wait, wait, wait." Holding your hands up. Need a moment of silence to understand what the hell you're hearing. "Your coworkers summoned a succubus to take your virginity?"

His lips flatten into a line. "...yeah."

"Well, that's shitty!" That's a new one. Finally, something to top the time a sorority summoned you to party with them for...some reason. Bragging rights, you think. "Do they pay you enough to put up with those assholes?"

It's been a minute since you've run into someone so nonchalant about a demonic creature standing in the room with them, never mind hold a casual conversation with you. 

But here Bob is, shrugging his shoulders like this happens to him every Tuesday. "You learn to deal with it when you're paid a hundred sixty-thousand a year."

"So you're a rich virgin." It shoots out of your mouth before you realize the thought crossed your mind.

Again, Bob is too calm about this. "I...guess?"

"Rich, hot, and a virgin." Modifying your statement. "What's wrong with you?"

Those blue eyes widen. Blinking rapidly. "Huh?"

"Well, there's gotta be a reason why you don't have a line of people out the door." You say, crouching back down in front of him. Sure wish he'd let you do something about that tent in his pajama pants. "If it's not the looks that reel the ladies in, it's the charm, and if it's not the charm, it's the money. And you've got all three, pretty boy."

It's not supposed to be a serious topic, not as if you're about to go and write an article about his non-existent sex life to publish in the weekly paper. But this guy is actually thinking about it. His brows furrowing as he mulls over his thoughts, mouth parting, only to fall closed once more. 

"I think it has something to do with the nature of my job and my severe inability to start a conversation," he concludes, with a little nod of his head. 

You wonder if you could put him in your pocket and take him home.

Now that you think about it, you're pretty sure you're standing on some a ship right now. Is he some kind of cruise captain? "That'll do it." 

Bob doesn't have anything else to say about that, awkwardly closing his legs before you can get another look at what he might be packing under there. Whether or not he caught you staring or he's just become aware of his current state, you're not sure. It's such a shame that someone else summoned you on his behalf; he would have been a fun one to toy with.

Hm.

"Do you wanna fuck with your coworkers before I leave?"

He blinks at you. Not a thought behind those eyes. "Huh?"

"Well, you've already got me here," an excited lilt in your voice, maybe a bit too eager to present your totally thought-out idea. "Believe it or not, I double as a poltergeist on Tuesdays and Thursdays." 

Or whenever you feel like, really. 

"That would be mean," shaking his head. What is he, some kind of saint? 

"They just summoned a demon to fuck you in a locked room," deadpan. 

For a moment, it's quiet, and then.

"...that's a fair point."

As it turns out, Bob lives on the world's shittiest cruise ship. A ship without a pool, a dimly lit cafeteria without a single Michelin-trained chef in sight. Long, narrow, colorless hallways. There aren't even individual rooms, just even smaller hallways stacked high with bunk beds. On the thinnest mattress you've ever seen, might you add. 

Worst of all, rather than allowing personal clothes, everyone is dressed in clothing provided by the ship. Whoever picked the color schemes needs to be introduced to a fucking color wheel. 

How do you trick the head of the United States Navy into summoning you? You have a few choice words about this place. 

You appear in the mirror first. A little flash of your face, and then you're gone, nothing but a figment of the imagination. Again, later in the night, those two coworkers of Bobs have convinced themselves that they had made it up. 

The plan was to end it there and to come back in the morning to turn it up a notch, but there's a chair sitting in the bunk room that's just so comfortable. So what if you lounge there all night, poking through a book Bob had on the foot of his bed? The room just dark enough to allow them to see your vague silhouette, air so quiet that every turn of the page seems to echo.

Not one of them sleeps, but Bob does, snoring away in his bottom bunk. He sounds like a little cat, tiny little noises that sound closer to grumbles than snores.

When morning comes, you show up in their showers right as they turn around. You appear on opposite ends of crowded rooms and in high-stakes meetings with fancy-dressed higher-ups just to get a reaction. Tapping on their shoulders when they think they're alone. Somehow, you managed to get away with swapping the labels on the mustard and hot mustard. Effectively ruined several breakfasts in one fell swoop.

One, this loud-mouthed blonde you forgot the name of, wakes up to you sitting on his chest. Who would have thought that he had such a shrill scream?

But you might take it too far when you chase them down the narrow hallway—five grown adults shrieking like they're in a haunted scream park and not a Navy ship. 

Or at least, you thought you did. 

"I can't-I can't believe you just—!" Bob's laughing into his palms, keeling over with it. His mouth is moving, but he can't get anything out. Bubbly, loud giggles that travel around the tiny little fan room, bouncing off every corner. 

"And here you said it would be too mean," gently mocking, unable to fight off the smile that works its way across your face. So big you can hardly speak through it. 

That should technically be the last of your encounters. 

You should be heading back through your portal and off on another job, but Bob doesn't utter the proper incantations to make that happen. He starts to, but then you ask about his book, and he squeaks at you for spoiling the ending, and then you begin to second guess if you're recalling it correctly.

Then the conversation starts, and suddenly, you've been bound to him for three weeks. 

If it were anyone else, you'd complain and force the portal to open by yourself. There's more than one way to break the spell and go back to where you came from, but there's something about Bob Floyd that keeps you lingering. Maybe it's the way he blushes when you get too close. Maybe it's because you can't remember a time when someone kept you around solely because they liked talking to you.

Maybe it's because he has a fantastic taste in literature. Anything he's reading somehow becomes glued to your hands, unable to be put down until you've reached the final page.

"I can't believe nobody has gotten bold enough to comment on the strange figure reading a book in the corner every night," you giggle, nothing but a misty haze hovering over his head. 

His lips curl into a smile, toothpaste spilling over as he fights not to bite his toothbrush. "I think they're afraid of another hallway incident."

"Are you afraid of another hallway incident?" Appearing in the mirror, if only to get your message across.

"Nah." 

If you had known that the Admiral would be the final person you would get to scare before Bob left the ship, then you probably would have gone all out on it. But at the moment, all you're thinking about is how unfair and rude it was to pin Bob for the mistakes that his pilot made up in the air. The guy can't even fly a jet. How is it his fault that the pilot confused their lefts and rights?

So you show up in the mirror, jump on him, and spiral about the room in a foggy haze before rustling down the hallway in such a storm that it creates a draft. There seems to be a growing trend with men having high-pitched screams on this boat.

If Bob ever catches wind of the incident, he never brings it up.

Hell, maybe he thinks he's left you behind because he sure is surprised to turn around and find you sitting on his kitchen counter one morning.

"Did ya forget about me?"

"Please." Clenching at his heart. "Knock first."

Wordless, you tap your knuckles against the cool marble. 

Knock. 

Knock. 

Knock.

Those pretty blue eyes roll, their color a little more vivid now that he's wearing that deep blue button-down, the sleeves pulled back just enough to reveal the thick muscle of his forearms. They're still swollen from his workout; you wonder if he knows you were watching.

"Got a hot date tonight?" Kicking your foot at him, brushing against his slacks. The last thing you're expecting is for his hand to wrap around your ankle, lightly squeezing, as if to test out the feeling. 

"I got invited to a party and can't get out of it," he hums, letting your leg slip free of his grasp. Then, after a moment. "Wanna come?"

"You're inviting a demon to a party?" Slipping off the counter, batting your eyes at him. 

All it takes is one step forward for him to stumble back, wide-eyed and stuttering. "Is that... am I not supposed to do that? I'm sorry." 

"Hey, I never said no," your hands find their way to his chest, gently pushing—his back thumps against the fridge. "What color do you like?" 

"R-red?" That cute mouth of his wobbles, the slightest hint of facial hair coloring his upper lip. It'll be gone by five, but it's nice to see it for once. 

Red it is.

---

You think this party was thrown by the same sorority who invited you up to party with them because this is...not what you were anticipating. Shot glasses, shitty beer, and flashing lights, the thump of the music so heavy that your bones really with it. You don't even know where the speakers are, lost to the swarm of people crammed into this tiny bar.

All of a sudden, your long, sultry dress has shed into a short little number that blends in with the rest of the crowd. You can't see him, but you can feel Bob's eyes jump onto your frame. 

"How did you do that?" Tilting his head to the side like that will somehow help him find an answer to his question. 

"Magic, I suppose," there's an actual explanation for it, but you've long since forgotten it. Something about manifestation and energy and a word too big for your tongue to pronounce. "I actually have zero idea how it works."

There's so much going on that you find yourself vanishing for a few minutes. Nothing but a misty haze lingering over Bob's head as one of his buddies shoves a drink into his hand and pushes him down into a cushioned chair. You haven't the slightest clue what kind of golden liquid is swishing around in that cup, but it's got a flavor that has Bob's nose wrinkling.

"Someone's not a drinker," observing aloud, a sudden presence in his lap, your knees caging his hips.  

"Was it that obvious?" Sheepish, with that little sideways smile of his. Whether that's from admitting to his inability to drink alcohol or from where you've chosen to sit, you're not sure. 

"Your little nose wrinkle gives you away," your little tap on his nose makes him blink. "You're almost a little too clean-cut for this place." 

There's nothing special or different that he's done about his appearance, but the aesthetics of the crowd make it look like he's walked into the wrong party. A little bit too put together when you compare his ironed button-down and perfectly gelled hair to the half-drunk faces, trendy, cheap outfits, and that group of shirtless men over in the corner.

At least you have the luxury of changing clothing at the drop of a hat. Otherwise, you would be in the same boat.

"He said it was only gonna be a dozen of us," Bob lifts the glass to his lips once more, his nose twitching at the bitter flavor that greets his tongue. He's trying to hide his reaction, but you can still see the disgust in his eye.

"More like twelve dozen," plucking the glass from his hand, setting it on the little table next to the chair. "You could've convinced me this was a high-end frat party."

Looking around is enough to make you question if 'high-end' was just you being generous because this is looking more like an average party by the second. A myriad of nameless faces lost to the flash of the lights: red, blue, green, purple, yellow, a cycle that never loses its pattern. But even the strain it puts on your eyes isn't enough to distract from the sloppy grinding of bodies against each other, hands in the air, writhing to a beat that definitely does not match the music. 

Something is starting to press against your inner thigh. An insistent pressure that almost feels—

Damn, how long have Bob's cheeks been bright red like that?

"Are you good?" Pressing the back of your hand against his forehead, clammy to the touch. "You're red as a balloon."

"Yep," his voice strained, so tight it may snap at the slightest hint of pressure. And he's looking over at the painting on the wall, one of those uninteresting things with only a few paint splatters to stain the pure white canvas. Not the kind of thing worth staring at so intently.

You shift forward, thumb swiping at the sweat beading at his temple—

"You sure get hard easily." Teasing. You hadn't even been trying, but that's definitely a heavy bulge pressing into you, straining against the thin fabric of his slacks. 

A muscle in his jaw flexes, swallowing hard. "Please don't say it out loud."

"I can fix that, you know." Perhaps curling your hand around his jaw is a little bit too bold, but he isn't making any moves to push you away or tell you to stop. "Some say I'm pretty good at that."

"No, no, that's okay," Bob shakes his head, gently dislodging your hand from his face. "I don't wanna make you do that."

"You're not making me do anything," leaning the slightest bit closer, tapping him on the chest with an index finger. "I'm volunteering. There's a difference."

He swallows again.

Someone calls out his name, waving a hand in the air as if to guide attention to himself as he emerges from the crowd, drink in hand, smile so big that it ought to blind someone. You vaguely recall seeing him back on the ship; name starts with an 'f'.

...shame that you don't remember anything more than that.

But Bob is uttering some Navy jargon that you don't have the capacity to keep up with, and your knees are starting to hurt, skin stuck to the cheap leather cushion. It's much easier to turn yourself around, back leaning against his chest, now free to scan over and watch the part of the room you couldn't see before. 

It's not that you don't feel him pressing into the curve of your ass; you just...well, you kind of forget about it. The moment you lay eyes on the game of beer pong happening behind the pool table, you're invested. Straining your neck to try and get a better look at who is winning, crossing two fingers as a lady in a little white skirt goes up against a guy who looks two beers away from a total blackout. 

Neither of them are good at it. Far from it, actually, but the girl's friends are cheering her on, and the man has missed the cup thrice now, stumbling over his own two feet. He misses. She scores two. He gets another point while she's trying to catch a ball that has rolled off into her crowd of friends.

You don't realize you've been squirming until Bob's forehead thunks against your back, shoulders rising with his inhale. 

"Where did your buddy go?" Chirping in the lightest tone you can muster. As if you're blissfully unaware of what's going on.

"Maybe we should get up," entirely evading your question.

It's a worthy idea that goes down the drain within the same minute it's suggested. What you couldn't see from the couch was how big the crowd actually is. It's a swarm that swallows you whole, someone's shoving into your back, and Bob's stumbling into you, and it's all you can do not to explode into a plume of mist. 

You're only distantly aware of his arm curling around you, cinching you to him as if to anchor you in before the storm can wash you away. Your leg slotting between his is far from intentional. But it happens, and you're nose to nose with him, and the corner of his eye is twitching, and you swear you can hear a dam breaking.

You don't entirely know how you wind up here. Squeezing into this sorry excuse of a bathroom stall, your hands greedily dipping beneath his shirt, chest to chest. Every little meet of your lips has him gasping against you. His tongue tastes like the honey biscuit he was nibbling on earlier, the one that dripped on his shirt and left little white crumbs all over his lap.

You could eat him.

"We shouldn't..." He's whispering. A secret meant for your ears only.

Everything screeches to a halt. "Do you wanna stop?"

Shaking his head. "No." 

He makes it so damn easy. Legs parted just enough to allow your thigh to slot between them, immediately squeezes down around it the moment he recognizes it's there, drawing you right up into—

A shiver wracks through him. So intense that you can feel it.

You don't need to worry about taunting him. He's reacting as if you've already made a remark. Nose scrunching as he tries to steel his face, warding off the softness that once lingered there, taken aback by the sudden pressure between his legs. Such a strong front. Shame that it folds the moment your hand curls against the bulge in his slacks.

"You're bad at this," a teasing lilt in your tone, lazily working your hand against him. No real rhythm or method to it, simply a shifting pressure that you can already feel his hips beginning to follow. 

"It's been a while," muttered like a confession—a sin of the past.

Now that has your attention. "You've done this before?" 

The bathroom door squeals open, the handle cracking against the tile so hard that some of it tears off the wall entirely, shards of ceramic scattering across the floor. A chunk of it rolls under the stall on a one-way track to strike the side of your shoe. You don't recognize the too-loud voices that enter the room, but Bob seems to, eyes rolling for a fraction of a moment. 

"Something similar...once," hardly audible over whatever the hell is being discussed by the sinks. 

You'll have to get the full story out of him when there aren't extra ears lurking mere feet away. Right now, though, you're tugging at his zipper, yanking it down as far as it will go, your hand darting through the gap. 

Good lord.

It's always the quiet ones.

"I'm surprised you can get through security with this thing," there's so much of him that you've got to use your other hand, fumbling to pop open his button. 

"With what?" Bob's brow furrows. You lightly squeeze the base of him. "...oh." 

One of the men shouts. Two laughs chime after it in hot pursuit.

There's a considerable weight to him that you hadn't anticipated until just now, his pretty, flushed cock throbbing in your hand. Muscle memory kicks into gear without much thought, gradually gliding up from his base to his tip—ruby red, almost angry in appearance, such a sharp contrast to your fingers.

His hips follow your motions, subtle little backs and forths that you nearly miss at first, keen on chasing your touch but too shy to allow himself to do it. Teeth sink into his bottom lip, pressing so hard that they leave an indent behind. Breathing hard through his nose, eyes screwing shut like he's fighting something back. 

You know what he's doing. Can't let a single noise escape for fear of it reaching the other ears in the room, but there's no way they can. Not with all that racket they're making. 

It's fifty-fifty if you still remember how to interrupt electricity, your one sure-fire method of making sure nobody can see what you're doing, but there's only one way to find out. 

Getting on your knees in a bathroom stall might be a new one for you, but here you are, blindly sinking lower and lower. Can't quite see what you're doing, your eyes hopelessly locked on Bob Floyd and his pink cheeks. Hasn't even realized what you're doing yet.

There's probably a good minute or two where you just hover there, waiting for the moment he realizes that you've moved. Eye-level with his cock, lazily thumbing each and every bead of precum across his plush head, a little routine to decorate the loose up-and-down of your hand. But his eyelids remain closed, and you're just so damn impatient.

The greet of your tongue has him jumping up onto his tiptoes. His head smacking into the flimsy stall wall. 

"What was that?" 

It's as if the room has morphed into a library. Complete, utter silence. Nothing but the faint breaths of the men gathered outside of the stall, Bob's, and your own. From the gap, you can see a black and yellow shoe taking a step forward. Silently inching closer.

The whites of Bob's eyes are so big that you can hardly see the color that decorates them. Drowned out and lost to a wave of fear that you can feel prickling through his body. If only those stupid yellow shoes would turn around and walk away; you wanted to play this card a little bit longer. 

The bathroom plunges into darkness. 

So you do still remember how to do that.

Someone screams. You're not sure who, but it was far too high-pitched to be the man right in front of you. Maybe it was the loser with the yellow shoes. Audibly stomping across the tile floor, shouting at each other as they fight for the door. The hinge squeals. Someone accidentally kicks the corner of it on their way out. 

And then it swings closed. The room falling quiet as the sliver of light peeking through the gap disappears entirely. 

Your mouth opens, gently drawing Bob into your mouth. Thicker than what you anticipated, uncomfortably stretching your lips around his head, but it's only a slight inconvenience. You can hardly think about it. Especially not when flicking the tip of your tongue across his slit elicits that sort of noise. Pitchy and drawn out, slipping out of him before he can stop it.

"That's—" his palm finds its way to your forehead. Pushes lightly. Jerks away. Lands on the side of your cheek instead. "A lot." 

You have very different definitions of 'a lot'.

You're actually moving rather slowly, gradually working your way down his length. He's only just beginning to touch the back of your throat, but Bob sucks in a sharp gasp of air as if you've just sprung this on him. You'd complain if he didn't taste so sweet. Just can't help but take him as far as he'll go, the tip of your nose kissing the cold metal of his zipper, throat so full of him that your head spins. 

He's trying to say something. Little fragments of words that might or might not be your name. Breaking apart the moment they fall into his mouth, shattered pieces raining down upon you and your eager ears. 

Maybe you're too quick about this. A fraction too eager to draw all the way back, only to fall upon him once more, lazily letting yourself gag around him if only to hear him groan low in his throat and to feel his thighs shudder beneath your palms. 

"I'm—I'm already, I..." Bobby's panting. Pawing at the side of your face. Doesn't know if he wants to pry you off or push your head back down. 

You expected this. You knew he would be a little bit quick, but all of a sudden, he's twitching in your mouth, a rope of cum decorating your tongue and...

Honey.

Why does he taste like honey? 

It feels like a fluke at first. Has you drawing all the way back, sucking gently on his spasming tip, but it doesn't change. Overwhelmingly sweet and thick on your tongue. It doesn't...since when did human men taste like this? Good lord, what took you so long to find one like this?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bob's abruptly pulling out of your mouth with a sharp 'pop,' the toilet paper roll audibly spinning as he grabs at it. 

The overhead light flickers back on. Damn near blinding. You nearly miss the shade of cherry decorating his cheeks. 

"Has anyone ever told you that you taste like honey?" 

---

"You can't be serious."

"No, something's gotta be wrong. I've picked something up somewhere," Bob doesn't seem to realize that he's started pacing again, striding back and forth across the room. "That doesn't...it shouldn't taste like honey!"

Your leg kicks off the edge of the exam table, taping him on the hip as he drifts past. "And what? You think a mystery STD will?"

"Maybe there's one I'm not considering," he stops dead in his tracks, looking you dead in the eye. "You should get tested too."

"Hard to catch a human virus if you aren't human," dragging your foot up the side of his thigh, "maybe it's just a succubus thing."

Bob's hand curls around your ankle, bringing it to rest comfortably against the side of his hip. "Huh?"

"I mean, like...maybe I taste it differently based on how much I like the person?" You're already grasping at straws as it is, but it's so hard to think when Bob is rubbing the back of your ankle like that. Diligent fingers pressing into strained muscle, drawing the tension away with every loose spiral.

"No," shaking his head as if to add emphasis to an already firm word. "I don't...no, that wouldn't make sense." 

That was your one and only theory, but, well, if he insists. "Alright, honey cum."

"Please, don't."

You're gone by the time the doctor decides to come back. Doesn't have a whole lot to say, but a few weeks later, there's a neatly folded paper on the counter with a whole bunch of negatives on it. 

Bob catches you looking at them, but he doesn't have anything to say about it. He's more intrigued by your appearance than anything else, brushing the pads of his fingers against one of your horns as he drifts past.

"Have you always had these?" He chirps, on a one-way track back to his coffee maker. His poor heart might stop if he pours himself anymore, but that doesn't seem to be stopping him.

"Technically, yes," it's a lazy reply, but you're not sure what else to say. "I didn't think to hide them today. What is that, your third cup of coffee today?" 

"Fifth," he corrects, unashamed about finishing off the pot. There's just enough left to fill his mug to the rim and then some. How he doesn't spill it, you'll never know. "Do all demons have horns?"

"Depends on the race, really," shrugging. "Succubi have short, narrow horns with vibrant colors, crossroad demons have horns similar to a Texas Longhorn, fallen angels don't have any at all..." You could keep going, but you would be talking for a long, long time.

You probably shouldn't be lingering around Bob's apartment, invisible to the naked eye as you lounge in the soft red couch and gaze out the window at every rise and fall of the sun. He seems to know that you're still here; hums something that sounds like your name when the cushion sinks beneath your weight. 

It's a cute apartment, really. A thrifted coffee table and an oversized bookcase that has already run out of room, excess books spilling over onto the shelves that were once reserved for figurines, and clever callbacks to movies. 

There's a stash of DVDs lurking inside of the TV stand, and in the ottoman, a pair of signed and framed Star Wars posters decorating the hallway. He thinks that he's spread out the anime enough to pass undetected, but you can clearly see the manga lurking in the smaller bookcase in his bedroom. There's a Naruto sticker hiding on the side of the fridge, a Pokemon in the bathroom cabinet, and so far, you have counted four Trigun figurines. 

Five, if you include the one you just watched him unwrap and place next to his model jet. This one kind of looks like him...

"Are you still in here?" Bob calls out from somewhere on the other side of the apartment. It might be the first time you've heard his voice rise above a mutter since he left the doctor's office. 

You're not entirely sure where he is. Haven't exactly moved from the couch now that the sun has fallen again, blankly gazing at the distant ocean as if it's a home you once knew like the back of your hand. 

He appears in the hallway. Fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt, his eyes squinting as he tries to scan the room without his glasses. You're still waiting for him to realize that he left them next to the stove again.

"Come out?" He tries again, ambling forward. "Please?" 

"Looking to terrorize your boss again?" Dissolving into solidity, the chilly air nipping unpleasantly at your skin. Invisible was better. You couldn't feel the temperature when you didn't have a body. 

Or...maybe you're feeling the temperature incorrectly because Bob looks like a shrimp mid-boil. Red in the cheeks, so flushed that it crawls down into his neck, and the sliver of chest showing through the collar of his shirt. 

"Bob?" Tilting your head to the side. 

"I wanna return the favor." Deadpan.

Blink.

Blink again.

Blink one more time.

You don't follow. "Pardon?"

"I mean, I..." his eyes skip around the room. Bouncing off of the coffee table to the poster behind your head, the miscellaneous figurine shelf, and the refrigerator. "You did something for me, and I...don't...like the idea of it being so one-sided?"

"Bob, I'm a succubus," there's supposed to be an underlying hint there because this is kind of the very reason for your existence, but Bob doesn't seem to pick up on that. Or maybe he does and just doesn't react. "Do you even know how?"

A beat passes. 

His head shakes. No.

"I'm a quick learner?" Offering it up like he's bartering. You wonder if you can get him to start offering crops and livestock. "Is that...okay?" 

You're not sure if it's the novelty of the idea or if it's because of that soft, doe-eyed expression he nails you with, but something has you agreeing to it. But just because you're on the same page together doesn't mean you'll be the very next sentence that he reads. 

You're gone the moment he's in front of you. 

"Where did you—"

"But you'll have to catch me first." Reappearing behind him. Walking your fingers up his spine. 

He turns. 

You're gone. Drifting behind his back again. Blowing at his nape. 

"Hey!" He squeals. So shrill and pitchy that it nearly throws you off. Only manage to dissolve into a plume of mist when he reaches for you. 

Bob is already spinning around. Blocks you from getting to his back again. And there must be some kind of 'tell' of where you are because his eyes follow you every which way. You'd might as well be fully human because this isn't working. 

You don't know how you get into the kitchen. But you're on one side, and Bob is on the other before you've even become solid. You stumble three steps to the right; he's already there. You go left. But then he goes left. You dart right—corner to corner to corner. Shit, you've put yourself in a corner. Either way you have to get past him. 

"Why are you so damn quick?" Giggling. Your feet slide against the hardwood. Not as fast as him. This will only last so long.

"Did you forget." He jumps left. "I'm in." Right. "The Navy?" Left again.

"I thought that meant you would be good at swimming!" You're slipping. Grabbing at the countertop before you can hit the floor. "Not—this!"

He breaks the pattern first. Shoots around the corner so quickly that you nearly don't have time to spin back around. His fingertips graze your back as you turn. You're tearing off around the corner. Dissolving bit-by-bit and—

There's a pressure around your waist, and the room is spinning, and you don't remember when or how your feet left the ground. 

"Bobby!" You're squealing, throwing your arms around his shoulders before you can slip. 

It's hard telling when or how things escalate the way that they do. All you remember is the coldness of the floor as he sets you back down, the heat of his arms around you, and the bump of his nose against your cheek. And melting. Fuck, you remember melting into him like snowflakes in July, meeting him halfway, his soft lips melding with yours so easily. 

You do remember when you fall against the couch. Nothing but ruby red cushions and the lingering pink in Bobby's cheeks, settling between your legs with such ease that you almost wonder if you've done this with him before. 

Christ, he could probably convince you that you've already had a few nights together. 

There's no reason why or how he should know that you're sensitive beneath your ear, mouthing at the skin there but never making a move to mottle it with bruises. Respectful. Irritatingly so. Never leaving behind a mark, not even when he bites at the collar of your shirt and grazes the skin that lurks beneath.

He wasn't lying when he said he was a quick learner. Is he sure that he's never done this before? Because he gets your lounge shorts off surprisingly easily. His waist dipping between your thighs, swollen lips finding your lower belly once more, working down, down, down...

"Shit," his tongue has you jolting, entirely caught off guard. "A little sudden there."

It's hard to feel any sort of annoyance when he peeks up at you from beneath his lashes, tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog. "'m sorry."

Your hand curls into the back of his hair, a fraction longer than it was when his so-called friends summoned you right into his lap. Only takes the slightest pressure for him to dip his head back down, licking a slow stripe against you. He misses your clit on the first try, pulls away a little too soon. But he finds it on the second, visibly perks at your sharp inhale, and retraces his steps until you do it again.

Learning should imply that he doesn't know what he's doing beforehand. You're gonna need to steal his dictionary off the shelf and look up the proper definition because you're pretty sure he was lying. 

There's no damn reason why he should know how to point his tongue and trace it around your clit, teasing until your hips lift off the mattress. Temporary relief comes in the form of the hum that rumbles out of him, vibrating through your nerves like electricity. He's settling into it now, laying flat on his belly, arms curled around your thighs as ifhe belongs there.

Fuck, and he's working his way down. Pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses into your dripping pussy, stopping to lap at your entrance before pressing inside. His tongue isn't even all that long, but the wet heat and the tip of his nose pressing against your clit yanks a gasp out of your throat, eyes snapping shut. 

Your thigh squishes against his cheek, leg looping lazily over his shoulder as if that could somehow possibly bring him closer. Fingers twist in his hair, nails scraping across his scalp—

"What the hell?" Your own voice sounds foreign. Detached from your body.

Bob lifts his head, and good lord, his lips are glistening. "Hm?"

"What is this little bump on your head?" Tapping your nail against it, uniquely bony compared to the rest of his scalp. Feels like a perfect circle.

"I don't know what they are," nonchalant, already dipping back between your legs, "'ve had 'em since I was born."

You can see them when you push his hair out of the way, little indentations beneath the skin, solid as can be. One on each side, a few inches above his ears. These kind of look like...

No, that's not right. 

That sweet tongue of his finds you again. Drawing lazy shapes that transform into shock waves on impact, rumbling up your spine and down into your fluttering thighs. Letters. He's drawing letters, and you can hardly decipher what they are, but the voice in the back of your head whispers that he's writing is name into your cunt. Over and over until he's certain that you'll never find pleasure in a name that isn't his. 

"Bobby, I..."

He hums, hands curling around your hips, pulling you in. Doesn't let go of that same lazy pace that he just set for himself, curling through an 'R' and into an 'O' so intoxicating that you find your own mouth mimicking it, too. You don't mean to cum so soon. You really don't, but your eyes unintentionally lock with his, that tiny smile curling the corners of them, and shit—

Your back twitches up off the bed. Crying out so sharply that it rips right out of your throat. Your head might just tumble off your shoulders. Floating up into the clouds, heaven-bound. Weightless. 

The hands on your hips tighten. Anchoring you back down. Bob's burning tongue working you through it like he's done it a hundred times until your body is tensing and jerking away from every little lick.

"Jesus," sucking in a breath, "Christ." 

Bob lifts his head, swollen lips twisting into a cheesy grin. "Wrong name." 

"Nerd," tapping him on the nose.

"Demon," biting the inside of your thigh. 

It's hard telling who sputters into a laugh first. Giggling like school kids as he climbs up the bed, his mouth clumsily finding its way to yours. It's so much easier to hold his face when his glasses aren't in the way; don't have to worry about smudging a lense or accidentally knocking them off his face entirely. 

If you thought that you were bad, then Bob Floyd is another monster entirely because once he's gotten a taste of you, he can't get enough. 

Because he's on you again in the morning, kissing at your shoulder and working his way down your naked belly before his final alarm goes off and forces him to start getting ready for work. His sweet tongue working over your clit, chasing down a vastly different zig-zag pattern as he eases a thick, curious finger into you. Lazily searches for a little spot that steals your breath away and has you babbling for another.

In the evening, he's nibbling and kissing at your thighs while you wait for the pizza delivery guy is on his way. Leaves behind sporadic little marks that gradually acquire a delicious tenderness that makes you gasp when you try to cross your legs later. 

You answer to the sound of your name on an average Tuesday afternoon. An unapproved presence in a top-security Naval building, perched up on the edge of a locker room bench like you belong there. Like you, too, are a pilot with a willingness to perform and just the right amount of crazy flowing through your veins. 

Bob doesn't utter a word about it, but you know that one of his superiors has chewed him out again because his cheeks are pale as can be, eyes only softening at the sight of you appearing before him. And maybe he's a little bit too eager to fall to his knees, peppering your skin with kisses that make their way to where you crave them the most. 

Again and again. An addict who seems to need his fix every time he's overwhelmed. It's your purpose, the very thing you were built for, but the invisible string that draws you into him is unlike any other you've been wrapped up in before. An undescribable something-else lurking behind the charm of those wireframes and his warm, dizzying voice. Never asks for anything in return, all too content with eating you alive.

Your favorite might be the night that he pulls a muscle in his shoulder blade. One little misstep in the gym is all it takes for a night and a half of overwhelming soreness, binding him flat on his back, minding his left side. But even the mix of ibuprofen, Tylenol, and a dash of pain isn't enough to keep him grounded.

"I have an idea." It's been forever since you last heard him speak. The last time you recall hearing his voice was last night when he asked you to pass him his toothbrush.

"Uh oh," not in any particular hurry to lift your head from his chest, naked and oh so warm to the touch. 

"What?" He's trying to act offended, but the attempt dies mid-air. Won't be making a living in acting any time soon, that's for sure. 

Tapping your finger on his collarbone, overtop a thin white scar you've yet to learn the story of. "Don't 'what' me." 

His laugh sounds like thunder. Deep and rumbling into your ears, a tune you didn't know you craved until just now. 

A familiar warmth settles against your cheek, diligent fingers tracing the edge of your jaw. "What if I told you I had another idea?"

One of these days, you'll learn to quit being surprised. 

Today, you're shocked that he asked you to ride his face. 

Shit, but here you are. Knees precariously resting above his head. Trying your best not to let your thighs clamp down around his face as he dips his tongue between your folds, half-lidded gaze fixated on your expression. You've long since lost count of how many times you've felt this. The soft whisps of his short hair tickling your skin, the way he hums when he hears you gasp.

"You've got," raking your fingers against his scalp, anything to distract from the calculated zig-zag across your clit, "a problem." 

"Maybe that's what's wrong with me," muffled. His every word rumbling through your core and reaching up into your chest. 

"Yeah, well..." drinking in a shuddered breath, "you being addicted to eating me out was not on that list."

It's his fault for laughing again. Should have known that the vibration would have twisted into your nerves and sent them firing, thighs impulsively clamping down around his head with no regard for him or breathing. 

Fuck, it takes a moment to remember how to move them again. 

"I'm sorry," and you're about to lift yourself up, let him get a full breath of air, but his hands find your hips, anchoring you into place. 

"'s okay," pausing to lap at your clit, wet and messy, and god, the sound. "I don't mind."

He'd say that if you accidentally suffocated him to death, too.

Your nails drift across his scalp. Dragging just enough to feel the shift of hair beneath your fingertips, disturbing the hardened bump lurking just a few inches above his ear. You know that it's probably because of the swelling, but you swear it feels bigger than it did a few days ago. And maybe it's sensitive too because, for the briefest moment, you catch the whisp of a gasp. A sharp little intake of air punctuating the way he drifts down to toy with your entrance. 

They're worse the following morning.

He's only just beginning to settle between your legs, diligently kissing down the inside of your thigh, when the brush of your knee sends him reeling. Pawing at the sides of his head. Wincing. Yelping at his own touch.

"Did I—"

"No!" He blurts. Pitchy. "I'm sorry, it's, I—it hurts."

Even the delicate pressure of an ice pack is too much for him to tolerate, hissing like a cat the moment the material touches his skin. You're not entirely sure what to make of them. Dissolving into the air around him for a better view, drifting around his head, twisting every which way as if discovering the perfect angle will reveal the secret.

It doesn't...look infected. Strained is the best descriptor you can come up with. As if something is trying to claw its way out from beneath the skin. 

"And you said you've had these since you were born?" Musing aloud, resisting the urge to reach out and touch them.

Hands find your waist as you settle into your human shape once more. "That's what I'm told." Then, tilting his head to look up at you, not making any move to get out of his chair. "Why, what did you see?"

"The same thing you're seeing," you can't help but push his hair back, watching the short strands gradually slip free from your fingers. "Must be a really odd birth defect."

He hums, blinking up at you without a word, perhaps not as concerned about his situation as he should be. Not a trace of worry clouding his features, though the corner of his eye twitches when you unintentionally drift over one of the bumps. 

It's the same kind of gaze that gets you into trouble three nights later. 

He doesn't seem to realize that he's doing it, drowning you in pools of ocean blue every time he looks your way. You don't understand how you make it through the night. He's just so damn distracting. Tapping his foot against yours beneath the table, legs tangling as a nameless mid-forties man in a fancy suit rambles on about the honor of working in the Navy and things you don't care to follow. 

You don't know how you get to the hotel bed. Only vaguely aware of the sensation of your feet leaving the ground, thighs clinging to the sharp bone of his hips. One of his hands is on your ass, and the other is smoothing up your back. Presses just hard enough to have you arching, chests bumping together hard enough to break your kiss.

"Bobby—"

"I know."

The room collapses into a world of pristine white clouds—or maybe you've just fallen onto the bed. You can't tell for sure. Can't be bothered to. Not when a familiar pressure appears against your lips, his firm body settling between your legs with a weight you can't possibly ignore. 

He tastes like the hot chocolate they poured into his cup when he turned down the champagne. Sweet and so warm that you can feel yourself melting, and you must be made of chocolate, too, because he moves as if he's going to eat you alive. Hands rising to cradle your face, settling into a lingering liplock that has you gasping for air.

Your head is spinning. One hand curling around his bicep. The other smoothing up the side of his burning neck. Hardly aware of how your hips lift up from the mattress, but all too aware of him meeting you in the middle. A new pressure forms between your legs. The not-so-subtle bump of a growing bulge against your cunt. 

Curse the layers of fabric separating you from each other. Can't do anything but meet him halfway. Mewling into his mouth like a cat in heat. Legs curling around his hips. The heels of your ankles digging into his ass, urging him closer, closer, closer.

Something trickles across your fingers. Smearing across his neck. 

"What is that?" It's sliding down your palm, scurrying past your wrist and beyond. Water? No, where would it have come from...

Bob draws away, an unusual chill filling the space he once occupied. "What is what?" 

Your hand is crimson. 

Why is your hand...?

"Oh my god." Reeling back. Hands held high as if that can possibly stop the blood that drips from your fingertips, so fresh that you can still feel the warmth of it. 

It's everywhere. Staining the fresh sheets, smeared across the back of Bob's neck, pooling at the shoulders of a brand new uniform that will never be the same again. It's on the shell of his ear and in his hair and—

"Oh my god," you sound like a broken record, but it's all you can say. "Bobby, your head."

---

Looking back on it, you're thankful Bob booked a room with two beds instead of one. 

There's no salvaging or rectifying the utter disaster going on in the bed that he claimed as his when you first got here. The sheets and comforter torn clean off, lying in a messy pile, waiting for the front desk to call back and tell you what to do with them. From here, they look perfectly fine, still the same shade of pure white, as if nothing has ever happened. 

Your attention meanders across the floor, tracing the lines of geometric shapes, following them on their journey between the beds until they disappear beneath the mattress. Bob's foot still hangs off the edge, a smidge too lazy to try and readjust himself now that he's found home here on your chest.

It's almost strange being here. Snuggling on a hotel bed with a man who didn't even summon you wasn't on the job description. Hell, the last time you even set foot in a place like this was probably years before you realized what you were and fully committed to the whole demonic entity thing. 

"Why don't you ever leave?" Bob's voice rumbles into your collar, a smidge deeper than it was the last time you heard it. 

"You never said you were satisfied with me," darting from your mouth before you can realize what you're about to say. A script so rehearsed that your tongue needs no instruction to utter it.

The room is quieter than it was before.

Which...is odd because nothing about it has changed. The cheap air conditioner still rattles to its own mechanic tune. You can still hear the girl talking on the phone in the hallway. Through the wall behind your head, the neighbor's television still plays the rerun of what sounds like a football game. 

Bob's eyes are open. Can feel the flutter of his lashes against the side of your neck. If you didn't know any better, you would mistake it for the dustings of tiny butterfly wings.

But he doesn't say anything. 

"I'm sorry, I...that may have come out the wrong way."

"'s okay." Says it so quickly that you wonder if he's listened to your apology at all. 

Antsy, you reach for his hair, fingers coming through the still-damp locks. A little bit fried after two full washes, but it was the necessary sacrifice to get all of that blood out. 

You've got to crane your neck to see the culprit, but it's still there, in the same state it was the last time you laid eyes on it. Scabbed over. No longer as swollen as it once was, but there's still something solid lurking beneath the surface. You could have sworn you saw a flash of white in there before it had closed up again, but looking at it now, there's nothing. 

"I think I just like being around you," concluding, after a long moment. 

'Like' may be an understatement, but...

The corner of his mouth is turning upward. You know it is because you can feel it against your chest. "I like being around you, too."

---

And here you thought you'd figured out what Robert Floyd defines as a party. 

Bubbling glasses of golden champagne, the same shade of the delicate chandelier sparkling overhead, crystals cascading down like a spiral staircase. Enchanting. Beginning three stories up and only ending mere feet away from where you stand, you could probably touch it if you tried. 

Such a stark contrast to the midnight peeking through the windows, twinkling city lights of every color in the rainbow drowned out by the blinding white and gold palette you've found yourself in. Unfamiliar faces and dresses worth more than a car fresh off the lot, wrapped up in the whimsical tune of a live orchestra off to your left.

So many things to look at. Luxury desserts and vivid red couches cozied up beside the fire. There's more to be discovered, entire rooms you have yet to venture into, a custom theater, a cocktail bar...yet, your eyes continue to drift to the only familiar thing here.

And his appear to do the same.

Locking from opposite sides of the room, the buzz of the crowd melting into a distant hum, as if you've just plunged into the very crystal oceans that color his irises. The heat of his gaze is the only thing keeping your head above water, burning across every inch of your skin. It's a wonder you don't go up in flames right here and now.

Glass shatters somewhere to your left. A lady yelps. Someone swears. But you can't bring yourself to look to see what just happened. Captured in a never-ending trance as you move about the room, only able to look away for milliseconds at a time. 

One of Bob's friends are talking to him, mouth moving a mile a minute, but Bob doesn't seem to be listening—Fireball or...something. The name should come to you easier than it does. Bob's told you so many stories of them together, but you fear you've spent too much time lingering on the sound of his voice to actually store and remember the fine details. 

The music swells. 

Heads turn toward the melody, and with it, feet begin to move. It's as if one-half of the party has vanished, opening up the floor enough for you to walk without worry of bumping into anyone. You wouldn't even be in this position if filtering through different forms was socially acceptable and not the quickest way to give someone a heart attack. 

It's like drawing too close to a fire, the flames so bright that you can hardly look at them without being blinded. Except the flames are the open buttons at the very top of his long sleeve, milky white skin peeking through the gap. He's grown a bit since this was fitted, the fabric hugging a little too tightly around his chest, straining already weakened seams. Two of the buttons have already snapped off, unveiling more than he would ever willingly show off. 

He would catch your staring if he weren't already doing the same damn thing. Knows he's been caught, too, cheeks dusting a cherry red the moment he tears his attention away from the slit in your dress, showing off your upper thigh. 

But Fanbase is still talking, rambling on about the subplot of a movie that you've yet to see, and you're simply not interested enough to linger any longer than you have to. Gliding past Bobby as if you hadn't just made eye contact with him, your hand trailing up the side of his arm on your way past. 

The door couldn't come quickly enough, and you disappear through it with nothing more than a wayward glance over your shoulder.

He's still looking at you. 

It's so much quieter in the hallway, all that noise and music vanishing the moment the door swings shut behind you. You're not sure where you're going; didn't plan this far ahead, but you can already see a floor-to-ceiling window that looks interesting enough. A decorative fountain rests in front of it, the water sparkling with the city lights.

The view is better at night. Still breathtaking during the day, but...god, something about the velvet black and twinkling shades of neon really bring out the charm of a city like this. Though you've still yet to figure out why a Navy event is all the way up here, in the tallest building they could find. One of their own venues would have sufficed; then they wouldn't have had to rent all these hotel rooms. 

"Your dress looks awful familiar." Maybe Bob is hiding magic powers of his own because there's no way he could have snuck up on you without floating here.

But there he is. Shoulder resting against the wall, arms folded over his chest. The rolled sleeves are struggling with his forearms, fabric so tight that the threads silently scream. 

"Does it?" Coy. You entirely stole this idea from the front cover of the magazine he had sitting on the kitchen counter. 

You don't mean to step forward at the same time he does, but you do. Nose to nose in the blink of an eye, so close that your vision goes a little blurry and out of focus. 

A door slams down the hall.

The invisible string snaps.

Your hands are in his hair, and his are on your waist, and mouths are clattering with all the grace and elegance of a car crash. The back of your leg hits the fountain. Sends the thing jumping as you all but slam into the window. It's a wonder you don't go crashing through it, plummeting through miles upon miles of midnight neons. 

Because it certainly feels like you did. 

Head spinning as if you're in a free fall. Fingers twisting in his hair before unspoken forces can peel you away, sloppily falling into tune with the bold dance of his lips. Fuck, it's so much more than what you've spent the past fifteen minutes picturing in your head. He tastes like cola and honey, so dizzyingly sweet that a sugar rush buzzes through your veins.

What is it with you and this human? 

It's as if you're one half of a magnet, hopelessly bound to him by forces that you can't quite identify. Yielding to the subtle pressure of his hands, allowing him to gather you into his chest as if you aren't close enough as it is. Heaven, Hell, and Earth could collapse right here and now, and it still wouldn't be enough to drive a wedge between you. 

"And here I thought you weren't the PDA type," that thought was supposed to stay in your head, but it's far too late to do anything about it.

"I think this is a little beyond PDA," Bob's mouth twists into a smile too soon. Teeth smash together with a sound that makes you wince. 

There are voices down the hallway, familiar, but you don't care to try and identify them. Whoever they are, they don't get a chance to see you here because Bob's taking hold of your wrist, and you're falling into the clumsiest run imaginable. Arms awkwardly tangling together. His boots too new to grip the floor. Giggling to yourselves as you slide to the right, fighting to get around the corner before he can be recognized. 

You're already crashing into each other again. And again. And again. Stealing kisses as if you need one for every few steps taken. Can't function otherwise. Winding through the hall, no regard for where you're going or if it's even the right direction, barging through a door and racing up the stairs. You trip on one. Bob falls on his ass on another.

It's a damn wonder how you find the correct door. 

At least, you assume it's the right one because your back all but slams into it; don't even hear the noise that rattles down the empty hall. How are you meant to pay attention to such meaningless things, when a soft pressure appears at your lips? Greedily leaning into it as you all but melt into one another, his breath running ragged.

The key. You need the key. 

It's somewhere on him, your hands blindly smoothing over his chest, searching for the outline of that thin plastic key card. And so what if you momentarily hook your fingers into the top of his shirt? It could have been hiding there, for all you know.

Bob finds it just before you do. Plucking the hunk of plastic from his front pocket, and you can feel the heat of his arm as he reaches past.

Beep.

Gravity tilts on its head. Falling backward. 

Toned arms loop around your waist. Force you to remain upright. Pulling you close like there's a risk of you blowing away. Stumbling backward. Through the door. You don't know how your arms got around his neck, but you're not making any move to let go. Clinging to him like it's the only thing you know how to do. Nose bumping into his cheek as you find your way to his mouth once more. 

One fleeting, accidental brush of his teeth against your lip has electricity bolting up your spine. Shades of gold explode in the depths of your frenzied mind. Fireworks. Tongues tangle for the briefest of seconds. But then he's licking at your bottom lip, and it's parting with a gasp, a little too eager to let him in. Twisting together in a fashion entirely unfamiliar to you, an exquisite dance that has you melting like snow on a summer day.

The mattress greets the backs of your knees, a gentle nudge that has you falling backward without ceremony. He's on top of you within a second, forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head, chests pressing together, and—

"Mmh."  His legs spasm around your thigh, only to push it up into him again, pressing against the growing tent in his slacks. Heavy. 

"What was that?" In the lightest tone you can conjure up, rubbing your thigh against him once more. 

His face flushes red. Eyes darting away like he'll catch on fire if he keeps looking at you, but there's no hiding the way he twitches at your touch. And he knows you've felt it because, somehow, his cheeks get even redder. 

"What, don't like being teased?"  

"I might die if you keep talking." 

You'd like to see how true that statement can be. But that's an experiment for another night; you can only take your mind off of the throbbing heat resting against your thigh for so long. 

Fuck, and it seems he's on the same page. Spit-slicked lips find the corner of your jaw, one of his hands smoothing down your side as he works his way beneath your ear. One kiss after the other, only lingering long enough to lightly suck on the skin there. Teeth scrape against you, and you absolutely shouldn't shudder at such a simple feeling, but it happens anyway.

Just like how you wander to his shirt, perhaps a bit too eager to start fumbling with the buttons. They're just as stubborn as you thought they would be, angrily wedging themselves in the gaps designed for them to fit through. Stupid things. Who ever thought these were a good idea?

Bob reaches past you, his wrist bumping your hand away—

Buttons scatter. Rolling across the floor. Bouncing across the bed. One strikes your chin. Another thunks against the headboard.

"I didn't know you had it in you," giggling. Only have a handful of seconds to admire the broad expanse of his pale chest before he's on you again. Picking up right where he left off, somewhere beneath your ear, where you're most sensitive. 

His hum sounds like it's wrapped around the shape of your name, vibrating up your neck, rattling around in your skull like an earthquake. It's a wonder you don't fall apart. Fingertips biting into his shoulders, squeezing them as tightly as you can. And he just keeps kissing on you. Working down, down, down to your collar, only stopped by the fabric of your dress.

You can make it disappear.

He knows you can make it disappear.

And yet his hands slip behind your back, tugging down the tiny zipper that runs parallel to your spine. 

Takes the time to ease the soft material off your body, impossibly slow, as if he's afraid of ripping it. Past your hips and over your knees. Folds it in half and sets it off to the side. And for a moment, he pauses. Lips shining with the same light that reflects off his glasses, hardly distracting from the sparkle of his eye. 

Kisses find the inside of your knee. Working across the joint and delving into the delicate territory of your thigh. It's a tune he's played so many times that you already know where he's going and what thoughts are lurking in the back of his quiet mind. Tempting, but...

The dog tags hanging from his neck are too perfect not to grab. Why he's wearing them, you're not sure, but they reel him back in so damn easily. 

But Bob freezes the moment you're eye to eye with him, not entirely sure how to tread this newfangled path he's found himself on. And that must be what makes it so easy to push him around. Flipping your positions with a skill you forgot you had, your ass snug in his lap, knees straddling his hips.

The back of his head thunks against the headboard, unnamed shades of red rising to tint his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

"You're sure?" He croaks; for a split second, you're on the ship again, meeting for the very first time. 

"Are you sure?" Countering. The bridge of your nose bumps into his. 

You don't necessarily remember what happens after that. 

It all melts into a blur. Starts with you bouncing a button off his bare chest and ends with the sound of his pants hitting the floor next to you. You don't know who got the lube out. It must have been him because you still don't know where it even came from, but it's the sensation of his slick fingers pressing into you that catapults you back into reality. 

"You remember that I'm a succubus, right?" The intended sarcasm doesn't so much as reach your vocal chords, nothing but a breathy whisper of the obvious. 

A smile is all that he gives in return. "I know."

It's been too long since the last time you felt this. The pressure of thick fingers slipping into your already drooling cunt, knuckles catching on your entrance as they drag past. Coarse fingertips drag against your walls, crooked, running across a bundle of nerves that he has no business knowing about. Knows he's found it too, the corner of his mouth twitching upward at the sound of your whine. 

Yeah. 

It's been too long. 

That's why you're so sensitive all of a sudden.

It's certainly not because of the heavy cock resting against the swell of your ass. Has nothing to do with the pools of blue that lurk in his eye; you reckon you'd drown in them if you were to fall forward. No, you only feel like that because of the never-ending city view that sits just past his head. Broad and expansive, just like...just like his shoulders...

You don't realize what your hand is doing until you overhear his sharp inhale. His body jerks, shocked by the sudden trace of your fingers running up the underside of his cock. 

Impatience will be the undoing of both of you. In such a sudden hurry that lube spills onto the bed in your rush to slick him up, and it's only after that he realizes he's forgotten about the condom. Doesn't matter. The damn thing flies out of his hand when he tries ripping it open with his teeth, landing somewhere on the floor.

"Again," lifting your hips, lazily smacking his blunt tip against your cunt, "succubus."

"I'm sorry," he's yet to realize you're merely messing with him. Condom, no condom, you don't care either way. "I don't wanna make a mess of you."

"Maybe I want you to make a mess of me," countering. And it's the last thing you can say before the pressure of his cock shuts you up. 

If you asked, you're certain he would humbly refer to himself as average, but this is...this is so much better than average. Thicker than usual and wonderfully curved, fitting that a man so intent on pleasing you would also have the perfect cock, too. Stretches you just enough to make your jaw go slack, his fat tip dragging against every little nerve it can find. 

Bob tilts his head back, his chest rising with a heavy inhale, and that may be a whine that you hear. His lashes flutter, visibly fighting to keep them open as you sink down on him. Inch after inch, and it's been so long since you last felt this full. 

And maybe they've sucked all of the oxygen from the room because neither of you can seem to catch your breath. 

"That's..." his eyes drop down, fixating on the sight of him disappearing into you, "shit, that's..."

He doesn't get to finish that thought, and you don't get the chance to bother him about it, entirely distracted by the overwhelming sensation of him bottoming out. Your ass flush with his thighs, so damn full of him that your heart has risen into your throat. 

You've already found the strength to lift your body again. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, using him for leverage as your hips lift, the city lights seeming to twinkle when he rubs into those soft nerves. Can only manage to raise yourself by an inch or two before collapsing down into him once more. 

The warmth of Bobby's gaze crawls up your naked body, slow, like he's trying to take his time before he meets your eye. And when he does...

"You still in there?" Winding your arms around his neck. Can't seem to get him close enough.

His tongue darts out to wet his swollen lips, dry from panting, "uhuh." 

You suppose he's telling the truth because he's present enough to remember how to tilt his head up and catch you with a kiss—breathing hard through your noses. His hands squeezing your hips. Holding them through every rise and fall. 

Lube squelches between your legs. His cock head driving directly into that bundle of nerves again, your pussy helplessly spasming around him. You fear you're going to shatter into a million pieces if he does that again, but there's no attempt to shift your angle. Chasing that sensation again, crying out as a shock bolts up your spine. 

"Bobby," it slips out so easily. Riding on the coattails of a gasp. 

Foreheads knock together. So close that the sight of him goes a little bit fuzzy. Noses bumping when his hips twitch up, snapping into yours so swiftly that it knocks a whimper out of you. Just makes him do it again, and you are not living up to the whole succubus thing by collapsing into his shoulder. 

"Fuck, I can—" he grunts, punctuated by the lewd slap of skin against skin, "can feel you clenchin' around me." 

And you can feel him twitch inside of you. Such a simple feeling that has you getting wetter around him, can only imagine what kind of mess is forming between your bodies right now. You'd look, but it's hard enough pulling yourself back, thighs burning, desperate to work back into the rhythm you just...built up...

Is...that...?

"What's wrong?" Bob has stopped moving at...some point. You don't know when that was. The concept of time passing is a little bit irrelevant right now.

Words don't necessarily come to you. Fleeting chunks of vaguely related sentences that you can't quite stitch together. You don't...that's not...when did...?

The only thing you can think of is to touch one of them. 

His back jerks off the headboard. Sucking in a gasp. Eyes going wide. But then, twitching at the corners, pretty blue irises rolling back, his cock spasming despite your lack of movement. For a moment, not a sound seems to escape him, but then it's all shattered by a barely muffled whimper. 

"So that's what's wrong with you." Deadpan. 

Touching them made him cum. That's... somewhat familiar, actually. 

Bobby's eyes can barely tear themselves open, fighting against them as he blinks up at you. "What?" 

You're almost hesitant to touch them again. Two tiny horns, no more than an inch tall, poking out from where those pesky bumps once resided. 

Horns. Of course. Why did you think you were wrong when you considered that earlier? They're identical to yours! A few inches above the ear, wide at the base and growing narrow as it nears the tip. Jet black for the time being, but they'll develop their color with time. 

The one upside to being a succubus. Uniquely colored horns. 

"Not to bring up family while all seven and a half inches of you are inside of me," because you're not sure about how to start this conversation, jumping on the first half-baked plan that comes to mind. "But are you entirely sure your folks are human?"

His head tilts. "Why?" 

The only thing you can think of is to take a picture. Those two tiny horns poking out like they're part of a cute headband, so ridiculously small in person and even smaller on his phone. As you pass it off to him, you catch yourself wondering if he'll see them at all. 

"...huh." Is all that he can say. 

They're far too sensitive for him to touch, not after what mess you just caused, but he tries. Winces the moment his fingertips make contact with the fresh new bone; you can only imagine this is how you reacted the first time your horns made their appearance, too. 

You wonder if there's anything behind them. You've seen a few variations where a second pair sprouted behind the first, but you can't see anything from this angle. If you just lean a little further to the right—

A whimper twists through the air. Pretty blue eyes squeeze shut.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no, no, don't," his hands are back on your hips, pulling you back down into his lap before you've even moved an inch, and oh, you can feel his cum beginning to spill out of you. Fuck, there's so...there's so much of it. It'll make a mess of the bed if you're not careful, but you can't move. Not with those big hands anchoring you down. 

But he's not done talking. 

"Keep going," he blurts, his chest shuddering with a breath. Horns be damned, those aren't on his mind right now. "Please, I just, I want, I want you to—" 

A swivel of your hips shuts him up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, already too late to stifle the pitchy little noise that sails out of his throat. God, that's a hell of a sound. Combined with the way his half-hard cock twitches in you, it's almost too much to bear. He can hardly handle it himself, squirming, not sure if he wants to push into you or away from you. 

"There!" Stardust twinkles behind your eyes. "Right there. Don't move."

It's as if the room has exploded into a galaxy. Midnight black and the deepest shades of navy, decorated in a rainbow of distant, twinkling stars. You and him and this big, oversized hotel bed. Weightless. Floating round and round, further and further away, until you're lost to the Milky Way itself. 

The fat tip of his cock drives up into those nerves again. Space nearly swallows you up once more. "Bobby..."

Your eyes must have been closed because you don't remember his head tipping back. Dazed, flushed cheeks, so entirely focused on you that the rest of the world ceases to exist at all. Pitchy whimpers, stumbling off his drooling tongue, overstimulated but making no move to push you off of him.

His lips seal. Hardly manages to muffle his noises, but it's already too quiet for your liking.

One of your hands curls around his cheek. Thumb pressing against his bottom lip, hardly takes any pressure for him to give way, allowing you in. And his poor tongue is right there, practically begging you to pin it down, and who are you to deny such a request?

Heat twists in your belly. Pussy clenching tighter around him. Your motions growing jerky. Sporadic. Sparks of color flash behind your eyelids, growing heavier by the second. And it's so fucking loud in this room. Whimpers. Cries. Blending together so seamlessly that you can't tell who makes what noise. Every motion punctuated by an all-too-loud squelch of cum and lube, fuck, this bed is going to be ruined after this.

"I-I'm—" Bob whines, tongue flexing beneath your thumb. Eyes glassy, one blink away from tears spilling over the brim. 

"Close." Don't know if you're finishing his sentence or speaking for yourself. 

It washes over you with all the strength and violence of a tidal wave. Hips stalling. Head falling back. Cumming on his cock with an unexpected cry, heat racing through your veins, skin prickling, breath hung up in your throat. You think your eyes cross. Can't really figure out how true that is, too busy floating through the cracks in the universe to think about anything but the spasm of his length inside of you. 

And you're vaguely aware that he's cumming, too, his cries vibrating through your thumb and deep into your bones. 

"Still in there?" You find yourself asking after a moment. 

Bob hums and you're only now realizing that his glasses are gone, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. Where they've gone, you don't know; don't think you could get up and look for them if you tried. 

All of the strength has left your legs. Thighs trembling as you lift yourself from his lap. And they can only hold you up for so long before you find yourself collapsing next to him, greeted by the significantly cooler sheets. 

Those horns are still there. All too present as he tries to snuggle down onto a pillow, inconveniently brushing against the fabric. You're both a damn mess. His lower belly glistens in the light, and you can already feel his cum beginning to spill out of you onto the sheets. 

Sheets that you don't want to change for a cleaner set. 

But the shower is so far away...and Bob is curling his arm around you. Pulling you closer to him as if the six inches of space between your bodies is too much for him to handle. Your nose bumps into his chin, the slightest hint of stubble growing there.

You should hide his razor and see what happens.

"How do I make them disappear?" Bob's voice cracks in the middle, sporadically skyrocketing in pitch. Water might do him good, but...damn, the fridge is by the bathroom. 

"I'll teach you, eventually," your voice isn't doing much better; you can hardly get it above a whisper. "I wanna see them on you for a little longer first."

His eyes roll, shaking his head all the while. Almost like he expected you to say that. But he doesn't call you out on it, content to tilt his head down and shut you up instead. Swollen lips crashing together, lazily tangling. A small explosion would be less messy, tongues licking into each other's mouths and teeth clacking so hard that your even bones recoil at the sensation. 

...but there's pressure on your shoulder, and you're rolling onto your back, his comfortable weight settling on top of you. Half hard against your thigh. 

"Satisfied?" You murmur, though you suppose you already know the answer to that.

His lips curl into a smile. Devilish, even. "No."

You're beginning to think you've swapped roles in this relationship.

[bookishdaze]

Noah's Ark for Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes

You know how the story of Caesar is inspired by Moses? Freeing his people and taking them to the promised lands?

Well, to continue this trend of using events and figures from the Bible as inspiration, Noa from Kingdom is based on Noah. They're not subtle about it at all.

Our main ape is named Noa, he saves his people from a flood, and there's a very big boat in the background for good measure. In case it wasn't obvious enough!

However, I believe we are not done with the similarities to Noah from the Bible. The story of Caesar as Moses happened in both Rise and War, actually. So if the similarities to Noah will continue in this new trilogy...what will that look like? Time to speculate!

First things first...we need an Ark, right? What will that look like? For this post and speculation, I will use other movies for inspiration!

Note: I'm not saying these movies were purposefully based on Noah's Ark. This is mostly for ideas and inspiration.

I've thought of bunkers, planes, and boats.

Bunker as the Ark

Okay, this idea came to me after watching Greenland with Gerard Butler. In Greenland, we follow John who has to take his family to a bunker in Greenland because an asteroid is going to hit earth that will wipe out all life. I know a bunker is not a big method of transportation like a boat, but here's why it could fit!

The flood from the Bible was a world-ending event that wiped out everything, right? Well, bunkers are built to withstand world-ending events! Maybe there's a big danger like a virus or bomb that the apes will need to escape from by hunkering down in a bunker.

Even in Kingdom, the apes have to climb deep within the bunker/vault in order to save themselves from the flood. Maybe foreshadowing that a bunker will save them from another "flood" event in the future?

In Greenland, the humans leave the bunker once the dust has settled after nine months of living underground. One of the first things they see are birds, a sign that there is still life on earth. This reminds me of how Noah used birds to see if the waters from the flood had receded enough for it to be safe to leave the Ark. This also makes me think of how Noa's clan raises eagles...

The POTA franchise has always used bunkers in in its story, all the way back to the originals with the mutants from Beneath the Planet of the Apes that lived underground.

Aircraft as an Ark

Some movies/shows that come to mind that use aircraft, planes, and even spaceships as an Ark are Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3, Thor Ragnarok, and The Handmaid's Tale.

In GotG Vol. 3, the movie ends with a bunch of animals escaping an exploding spaceship by getting on Knowhere, a spaceship/planet. This reminds me of how Noah had two of each animal on the Ark.

In Thor Ragnarok, Thor gets the people of Asgard on a spaceship in order to escape the destruction of their home world, Asgard.

In season 3 of The Handmaid's Tale, June and other rebels create a plan to get a bunch of children out of Gilead by having them escape on an airplane.

Even before this, when June learns how many others agreed to help, she jokingly replies, "We're gonna need a bigger boat."

I did create this post earlier this year where I discuss how Kingdom could be foreshadowing Noa taking flight in an aircraft. Where would the apes get a plane? Where would they go? And if it's a plane, what would they be escaping? The humans? Maybe it's both apes and humans escaping something? Other humans? A bomb? A virus? A natural disaster?

Boat as an Ark

This one is very on the nose, lol. I don't have other movies as examples for this one, but the story of Noah uses a literal boat, so I don't think I need to find other examples to prove this as a possibility. I personally don't think it would be a boat, but it could be another neat way to show how apes are advancing. And considering how apes die by drowning a lot in Kingdom, and how other movies like the 2001 POTA shows apes being afraid of water, apes getting on a boat could be a neat way to show how they're no longer afraid of the water?

Soooo that's all I got. A bunker is the one that makes the most sense. I also really like the idea of planes and apes advancing enough to understand flight. Boats I'm not very confident on, but I'm open to all possibilities. Feel free to share your thoughts and ideas!

[cherryswisherz]

triggered

jana x oc

warnings: oc is going through a breakup

get it the fuck together jaz. lock. in. 

staring into the mirror, i study every aspect of my face. my curls flow down my back. my face is beat to perfection. the jewelry i have on costs more than my rent. 

i should be ecstatic.

i'm living every girls dream. 

there are 5000 people outside this bathroom door, chanting my name, waiting for me to give them memories they'll die with. 

and yet i'm in here, staring at myself, fighting the urge to say fuck this shit and go home. 

my phone dings, and i ignore it, thinking it's my manager, telling me i need to haul ass and get on stage. 

but then it dings again. 

holly never texts twice. 

i pull out my phone and it's paige. 

i forgot she's here. 

paigey be you. be great.

oh fuck her for that. 

now i have  to go on. 

with a sigh, and a quick tune up in the mirror, i open the door, march to the stage entrance and wait for my que. 

the music starts and i walk with all the confidence i can muster and smile at the deafening screams of my name. 

jazmin! jazmin! jazmin!

paige is front and center, with all her teammates and azzi. 

i used to be the number one pazzi shipper. i fought for this relationship to happen. i practically shoved paige out of the closet myself so that she and azzi could be together. 

and now here they are with my face on their shirts and holding each other in their arms and i want to throw up. 

not because i don't want them together, but because seeing that makes the loneliness in my chest seem bigger. 

i don't even really miss her.  i just miss having someone to call at 3 am when i can't sleep. i miss having someone to call first when i get news. i miss having someone to hold. 

i guess you could say i miss being in a relationship, rather than the person i was in a relationship with. 

"hey guys !" i yell into the mic, and everyone screams. "thank you all for coming out today, i love you all so much!" the crowd is deafening. "i wanna give special shout out to my sister, paige and the other members of the UCONN womens basketball team for being hear today!" the camera pans to paige and the girls, and i do a double take when i see a girl around my age, towering over everyone else. "i love you paigey!" the crowd goes wild. 

the concert began and i used my show to work through all the mixed emotions i was feeling, bringing my audience with me through them. 

we danced during my verse on my type. laughed during b.s. . cried during none of your concern.

and after an hour and 30 minutes of singing, dancing, crying, and yapping between songs, the concert was over. 

and i could a breathe again. 

until i was bombarded by my 6'1 sister and her ginormous friends. 

everyone told me how amazing i look and sound and how they listen to my music everyday. these are things i hear everyday so i say the same response i say everyday. 

"thank you so much." 

"aye we're boutta go to a club, you trynna roll with us?" paige asked, rubbing her hands together and looking at her girlfriend, who i'm just now realizing is wearing a semi-skimpy outfit. 

so is everyone else, actually. 

and now they're looking at me like i can't say no. 

so i don't. 

"uh yeah!" i chuckle uncomfortably. "just let me change real quick."

*luh time skip*

i'm actually glad i came out. 

we got a section. bottles galore. music is booming. 

the vibes are actually immaculate. i'm two shots in and kk is twerking in my lap as big boogie talks about taking caramel colored baddie to poundtown. we vibing for real. 

i've learned the beautiful girl from earlier is named jana. she doesn't really talk, and i guess she'd too young to drink because she's been babysitting ginger ale all night. 

"i'm gonna go get a bottle of casamingo!" i annouce, bouncing up from the counch and stomping down the stair of our section. 

when i reach the bar, i pay the bartender and wait for my bottle. but while i'm waiting i hear my name being called and i assume it's a fan, so i turn around with a huge smile, only to be slapped in the face with the sight of my ex-girlfriend, kristen.

she looks exactly the same as she did three weeks ago when we broke up. and for some reason that pisses me off. it makes my blood boil and my breath quicken. 

i'm ripped out of my trance when i hear the dj yell, "WE GOT JAZMIN INNA HOUSE!!!" 

fuck. he's gonna make me sing. 

"COME UP AND GIVE SOMETHING GIRL!" he shouts and everyone screams in agreement. 

in a daze, i walk to the stage and grab the mic. 

everyone chants, 

freestyle freestyle freestyle

and then the dj, who i'm beginning to really fucking hate, plays a beat i've never heard before, leaving me not knowing what the fuck to do. 

i look to our section, and see my sister with her phone up, recording. i see azzi giving me thumbs up like the sweetheart she is. i see kk clapping and cheering with everyone else. 

i see jana, with a look of fear in her eyes. 

like she can tell that i'm freaking fuck out, so she is too. 

but i can't go out like this. 

so i catch the beat, and sing whatever comes to mind. 

saying everything that's been on my mind for weeks now. 

"go figure you were the trigger you brought me to an obstructed view when you knew the picture was bigger who am i kiddin? knew from the beginnin you'd ruin everything you do it everytime you are my enemy, you are no friend of mine, muhfucka"

the crowd is loving it, swaying their flashlights to the music. paige looks so proud of me. she knows how i've been struggling since everything happened so i think she knows what a release this is. 

i look over to kristen who looks delectable, like always and it's pissing me off because the sex was great, but everything else sucked. but it's been so fucking long and i know that if i had 5 minutes to talk to her earlier i would have been back at square one in that toxic cycle of fucking and making up. 

"wanna fuck you right now i just turned the light out know and you know when the sun go down that's when it would all go down been a minute been a while ain't let nobody hit since you hit it i know you always know what to do with it but ain't no me and you without you in it damn i'm boutta burn this bitch down think i need to lie down cause i'm not trynna wild out now. but right now..."

i think of the screaming matches. the broken phone. the hole in my wall.

"don't know what i'm capable of might fuck around and go crazy on cuz might fuck around have to pay me in blood this ain't the way that you want it might catch a case in this bitch don't let m catch you face t face in this bitch trying my hardest not to disrespect you but after what you did, man what you expect? you muhfucka"

i find jana in the crowd because her face is so calming to me, and i don't know why. her eyes are closed and she's just vibing with a small smile on her face. 

she's not recording or anything, she's just enjoying the moment, and that warms my heart. 

"trynna let the time fly trynna let the time go by trynna let the time heal all trynna let the time kill all of our memories all you meant to me all that's history i'll calm down eventually fall back into me maybe i'm overeacting baby i don't know what happened you know all of my bad habits you know it's hard for me to control that shit man cuz when i get mad i get big mad shoulda never did that, get back in my bag in my feelings i'm a bad lil bitch and uh-"

i look back to kristen, who's wearing a pained expression on her face. 

good.

she know it's about her. 

"i'm triggered, when i see your face triggered when i hear your name triggered, i am not okay you need to stay out my what triggered when i hear your name triggered i am not okay you need to stay out my way." 

and then it's over, and the crowd cheers, and i hurry off the stage, back to my section where my friends all hug me and tell me that it was beautiful. 

and when the crowd settles, and i've taken another shot, because i felt entirely too sober, someone taps me on my shoulder. 

it's jana.

"can i get your number?"

"huh?" i ask confused as to why she'd want my number. 

"uh..." she looks around for a second. "i just wanna pay you back for the bottle."

jana hasn't been drinking.. why would she need to pa-

a light bulb goes off in my head and it all come together. 

"here." i hold my phone to hers and our contacts share to each other. 

am i ready for this?

probably not.

but.... we gotta start somewhere right?

niyah speaks lawd they got me writing a seriessss

taglist: @patscorner @riyahtheballer @mattslolita @thaatdigitaldiary @janaelalfysblunt @mrsengstler @kmoneymartini @sageworld

@darkskinchristiandiorpostergirl @justliketoreadsowhat @pboogerswbb @pb524830 @dnftpn @sierrale8ne @ohbueckers @mrsarnold @wbbgetsmewetter @paigesbabygirl @ch12334

@pppaaiiiggggeeeeee @uwupaige @paigeluvvr @colorthecosmos444 @authentic-girl03 @makethemhoesmad

[callum-23]

just discovered ur acc, who's ur fav character? (and yeah, this is me asking for u to rant abt ur fav)

L A N C E !!!

Lance is my favourite!! For many reasons, but mostly because I relate to him on a lot of levels, mainly with

- self recognition issues, aka what happened when Lance doubted his skills as a paladin, and was thinking about stepping down.

I struggle with this, mostly as an artist, as I've seen my friends, and other people I know in life, have better skills, and most of the times doubting myself about my artist skills 😔 But I've gotten better at just focusing on my own art and in turn I felt like it helped me get better!!

- value in relationships, platonic, family, romantic even. I love how he values his relationships with the other paladins, about how he's always willing to take steps for others, comforting his friends, and always willing to step up as a person, even though he's cocky and can be full of himself (mostly in the earlier seasons) he's got a heart of gold underneath all that!!

Lance tends to put up this persona of himself being a "ladies man," the cocky flirt even. But there's so much more to his character than just that, he's not just the love interest, he tends to be the emotional support of others, a hard worker, he's also a pretty good well rounded character, he has his own flaws and insecurites, which help him become a better paladin throughout the show. Honestly, though, later, seasons mainly treat him as the "love interest," and I don't think that's really a way to describe him, as he's just SO much more than that!!

I love his dynamic with other characters, SO SO MUCH!

There's Hunk and Lance. They're basically best friends!! Best friends since the garrison, I love their moments together, even though it's not much, and mostly joking and small banter, but in the end they're really close friends who've always got eachothers backs, and knowing how close they are, makes them a really good team. They show their best values and bring out the best in each other!!

There's Pidge and Lance, who are more like a brother/sister duo, with Lance being like a second brother to Pidge. A moment that really stood out to me was Pidge dragging Lance along to help her find enough GAC to purchase a video game from the space mall, I love how Lance just simply went along with it, spending time with her as if she was his own sister, and in return, Pidge traded away a video game so that Allura could get a dress for her date with Lance, as Pidge knew how much this meant to him, even though she was reluctant at first!

Coran and Lance, having a father-son bond, similar to Shiro, being the guide for the paladins, acting as a father figure (space dad)

And then there's Keith and Lance, Keith and Lance, the "rivals" who compete for Np reason, who grow to accept eachother. A good example of acceptance shown between their bond is when the Black Lion had chosen Keith as the paladin, while at first, Lance was jealous, he learned to realise and proceeded to comfort Keith about his new position, showing that yes its going to he difficult, but he says to Keith that he is the one for the job, and gives him a fond look, stating that even though no one can replace Shiro, Keith can lead the team, and that he'll always be there with Keith. (Kinda cute as Lance sorta becomes his right hand man!) And the fact that Lance trusts Keith enough to get some words before his date with Allura, Lance going to Keith of all people when he was unsure about his place as a paladin, Lance even comforting Keith, and helping him during missions, being by his side, the jokes, the playful name calling. Everything, I love their dynamic!!

I love Lance as a character, sure, I'm still SUPER upset on how his life is after the events of the series, but in short, Lance, Lance McClain is my favourite vld character.

Literally the best sharpshooter ever !! ⬆️

[robotmechagirl]

A text conversation with my parental figures:

Me: “Got a bread machine at a thrift store with my girlfriend 😌

Found myself a love for making bread

It brings me back to watchin' you bake bread and make pizza dough. I remember you would freeze the dough to have an easier time makin' meals later.

It's such a vibe and it makes me feel happy because I can express my care for other people with fresh baked bread now.”

Aunt: “That's great [DEADNAME]. It's really good to know you have some good memories”

Me:

-Image depicted is a drinking glass-

“"Oh look! Sand!"

It's what you sound like right now :/“

Aunt/Uncle:

“I don't get it”

Me:

“Maybe pictures don't show for you via text.

Sent an image of a glass, the type you would hold drinks in, such as water.

Calling me by "son" and my dead name is like calling this glass sand. :/“

Aunt/Uncle:

“[DEADNAME] you didn't die. You have always been [DEADNAME]. You can't make me believe in a fairytale. Something you made up in your brain.

If you told me I have to start calling you Andre and Start looking at you and treating you as such, because you are an 8 foot tall giant I couldn't do that either. I refuse to get down on the floor and look up to you like you are a giant. You are no more an 8 foot giant than you are a girl. I cannot see you that way. I cannot treat you that way. I don't know how far you are planning on going down this rabbit hole. But you better be damn sure you have done all the research. Once things get cut off there is no going back! I raised 6 boys and 1 girl.”

Me:

“The fairytale is thinking that I'm this image you've built for me based on your own misconceptions about the world. 😩

There's a butt load of medical research, literature, and history that you could read to understand the phenomena that is the existence and validity of transgender people. It would benefit you to learn it because ya clearly don't have an inkling about the subject given your piss poor analogies.

But I can't expect y'all to read it because y'all have told me ya can't even be bothered to read your own holy book. The hypocrisy at tellin' me to reread it is wild to me.

Y'all are so trapped by your ignorance ya can't even see I'm thriving over here and how much good it's done for my mental, emotional, and physical health.

I wanted very much to have a healthy relationship with my parental figures, to let y'all be part of my life, but y'all are proving to be toxic as fuck. Quite frankly I don't need it and am content to disconnect to leave ya to your own business. This grown ass woman has her own life to live ✌️🕊️”

Aunt/Uncle:

“We have read the Bible. And even your "research" isn't in the Bible. We will always love you [DEADNAME]. We just don't agree with you. You are the only one disconnecting from us because we don't agree.

And my analogy isn't any more piss poor than yours”

Me:

“"I know you are, but what am I?"

Is what you sound like

And nah, you don't get to be hateful and say that you love me. It doesn't matter your intentions, you're acting shitty. I'm disconnecting because you're acting shitty towards me and I have way too much self respect to accept this treatment.”

Aunt/Uncle:

“I am not being shitty to you. I am allowed to disagree with you. It is a free country. We do love you whether you believe it or not”

Me:

“You're not acting like it 😩

I'm okay with you believing differently. What I'm not okay with is the shitty behavior stemming from those beliefs and I reserve the right to disassociate from the toxicity.

I'm not gonna pretend to be someone or something I'm not just because you can't unpack your own biases.

If y'all want to still be a part of my life you're gonna have to meet me where I'm at with this. Otherwise, señora”

Aunt/Uncle:

“We will pray for you [DEADNAME]. We love you”

Me:

“Lies and pettiness

I don't need your prayers

Focus them on yourselves”

Aunt/Uncle:

“Good bye”

Me:

“Bye”

Below is the image from earlier:

[primus-why]

I Feel TFOne Could've Handled This Better...

Hot take but I feel like folks have been really generous with the take that OP was unable to find ~the perfect words~ in the heat of the moment (and thus should be given some grace) when he told D to stand down and "not be like Sentinel"... namely cuz I don't feel that the narrative supports this?

Like-- after all is said and done, OP doesn't reflect on that part of their split. He doesn't have a moment where he seeks validation or voices his regrets over the choice of his words, it's actually cut-and-dry. The narrative (as it stands) supports that OP saw D-16 acting up, so he called him out and stood on business, down to the last scenes where he's basically like "yeah it's a shame but y'all knew I had to do it to 'em."

It didn't have to be much! I'm not saying to absolve Megs, just show OP looking at things from a different perspective/contemplating a bit on that tough choice and the morality of the moment. Some examples of what I wish we had:

B-127 straight up blurting the obvious by later chatting with Orion like, "Wait so you told your best friend that he was acting just as bad as the guy who enslaved us for our entire lives and was torturing him like an hour ago? Oof. Seems kinda harsh." Then have some of OP's regret show on his face.

OP asking Elita-1 after Megs is banished if he did the right thing. Have Elita back his choice up, saying, "You should have seen what he did after you were... gone. It was terrifying. I know it was tough, but you made the right call." OP is grateful for the support, but a conflicted look still flashes across his face before he steels himself to look out towards the horizon... and the future.

Have OP walk past other mechs/former miners who didn't go with the High Guard saying stuff like, "Wish I could've given Sentinel a piece of my mind!" "Yeah, but I'm glad he's gone for good." "Ugh I miss everything." "Oh, it was crazy! Megatron picked him up and then he rrrrriiipped-- oops, hey there, Mr. Optimus... Prime... sir?" And have OP wave hello, looking a bit sick when they leave.

Post-credits scene with Starscream going on and on, asking Megs when they'll be back to teach the upstart Prime a lesson. Megs grabs his face to shut him up. "Patience, Starscream. The Prime thinks I'm no better than Sentinel... but I'll show him. He wants Iacon? He can have it. In the meantime we'll take the rest of the planet! Then I'll come back, crush Prime under my heel, and we'll take Iacon too. Sentinel's reign will barely be a footnote, because I'm about to become Optimus Prime's worst nightmare." The vocal performance would really need to sell this-- like picture Megs saying something like that from a place of anger and hurt, not so much a place of genuine evil or malice.

Basically instead of Orion's assertion being backed up as black and white/good vs bad, I wish we had some different opinions/reactions from the characters sprinkled in there. Like you can't tell me out of allllll the miners who weren't strong enough/willing to go with the High Guard and ended up sticking around that NONE of them were like "eyyo honestly?? Kiiiiinda glad Sentinel is dead. Wish I could have helped, tbh." like come onnnnn...

And you can't even argue that he's not an active threat-- I don't think everyone would see things that way! It's not just about the threat he physically has, but the threat he represents and is very likely to act upon if given the opportunity! He has a proven track record of not only being sneaky and conniving, but also capable of dealing some serious damage/killing people bigger and stronger than him, plus he has the backing of the Quints. All he'd need to do is wriggle his way out of jail and run off to his sponsors, then he'd probably be back to hurt more people! (If the Quints didn't just kill him out of incompetence lmao). There's a lot of "ifs" here, but I think it's a valid argument that not everyone would agree on what is the right or wrong way to handle Sentinel once he was down long enough to, like, do something about him.

I feel the situation needed a bit of nuance. In some way I wish they had kicked the can and had D and Orion bicker while Sentinel escaped, then have D get frustrated enough by the loss of Sentinel to point fingers (and his fusion canon) at Orion, who then falls and becomes OP. (Megs could still show some of thar emotion/remorse right after he does it too.) Not only would this open the door for a sequel, but tbh the Quint might have just killed Sentinel anyways and sought to deal with the miners uprising themselves lol. (Maybe that could have been an after credits scenes too instead of the B-127 bit??)

Would love to see a moment in a sequel where they have a calmer moment after arguing for a bit. Have OP mention how Megs was out of line, that it hurt and even scared him to see him act that way, and Megs can quietly point out "you said I was as bad as Sentinel... is that really how you see me? After everything we went through?"

Then OP can fumble the bag again lmao like "D, I... I'm sorry, that didn't come out right... but you still took things way too far..."

"Why am I not surprised-- your opinion is what matters the most! Maybe that's why you became a Prime, since you're so good at acting like the world revolves around you--!"

*gets interrupted by someone else before another yelling match ensues*

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: Valicer In The Dark -- Fun With Special Abilities

We're back with my beloved Blades In The Dark trio again today, this time to discuss the fun special abilities they pick up during their time as scoundrels! I've touched upon this topic before, when I did the initial post on the group's playbooks, but I wanted to explore it in more detail now that I'm actually posting fic for the verse. Because there are a LOT of fun special abilities that these three can snag, both from their own playbooks and others. :D Here are the ones I've gotten locked down so far:

-->Alice: Alice, as per previous posts, actually starts with two special abilities -- Not To Be Trifled With, which allows her to perform superhuman feats of strength or take on a gang of up to six people on equal footing (like, say, a certain Bluecoat squad), and The Devil's Footsteps, which allows her to perform superhuman feats of agility (like a real-life double jump onto a carriage roof) or dance around her enemies so they attack each other. These two I think cover her Wonderland abilities in AMA and A:MR very well, and given that she starts with a trauma, Haunted, it felt only fair. As for the abilities she'll pick up as a member of the Three Pillars, we have --

A) Vigorous -- she heals faster from harm! In game-mechanical terms, this means she permanently fills in one quarter of her "healing clock" (a four-segment clock where you have to fill in all the segments to reduce all your accumulated harm down a level) and takes an extra die on healing rolls. This goes well with my headcanon that Alice heals exceptionally well (to explain how she survived a massive house fire with no visible burns on her character model) and just makes the whole process of healing easier for the person most likely to get in a fight (because it's fucking TOUGH in this game).

B) Bodyguard -- she's better at protecting her teammates from threats! She gets an extra die on resistance rolls (which allow her to avoid or reduce the consequences of an action) to protect Victor or Smiler from something or someone, and gets extra effect (aka better quality info) when she researches potential threats beforehand. This felt like a good one for Alice because I imagine she wants to make very sure that nothing horrible happens to Victor or Smiler during their time as scoundrels -- they're her new family, and she doesn't want to lose them! And it goes very well with a trauma I want to give her in the future -- but that's another post...

C) Ghost Fighter -- she can imbue her hands, melee weapons, or tools with electroplasmic power, giving her an edge against supernatural foes! Specifically, she gains potency against them (which improves the effect of her rolls against them) and can actually physically grapple with ghosts and other electroplasmic creatures to restrain them. This is just cool, and I think it would be something Alice would want, especially if and when they tangle against more supernatural creatures -- but this one actually comes with a prerequisite: Victor's gotta know the Ritual special ability first (see his section below the read-more). Because as Victor is the "magic guy" of the group, I feel like this is something they'd work on together. (Maybe after they turn Alice's knife into a electroplasmically-charged weapon by tying it to his lightning hook during their fight against the Jabberwock?)

D) Savage -- she is fucking scary when she unleashes the physical violence. Meaning she can frighten anyone who sees it, and gets a bonus die on rolls to then Command a terrified target. I see this as just a natural consequence of her getting better at real-world violence and the gang's reputation as a trio not to be messed with growing as time passes. Think of it as Alice basically entering real-life Ragebox Mode or Hysteria Mode -- that'd be pretty scary, wouldn't it? (And it also ties in well with that trauma I'll be talking about later...)

-->Victor: Victor starts with the Ghost Mind special ability -- he is always aware of any ghosts or other electroplasmic entities in his vicinity, and he also gets an extra die when he researches the supernatural. This felt the most appropriate for him given that I had him get dragged into the ghost field -- the supernatural echo of the city where ghosts actually live -- for an entire day as part of the process of adapting Corpse Bride for this setting. I mean, that would have to have some sort of side effect, right? As for what he gets as time goes on, we have --

A) Strange Methods -- he's better at inventing and making stuff that is a little arcane (like magical potions and odd spirit-related gadgets)! Game-mechanically, he gets a better result when he makes these kinds of things, and he automatically learns how to make one particular thing for free (instead of having to learn about it and figure out the process for making it during play). This special ability is going to cover Victor learning how to infuse insects (specifically moths and butterflies) with electroplasm to turn them into little radiant energy generators (radiant energy being the closest thing this setting gets to sunlight -- as you might imagine, it's pretty important for growing crops and thus important for making sure their greenhouse actually works!). It felt like the closest match for that project! Plus it might be fun to figure out what else he can make going forward...

B) Ritual -- he knows how to do ritual sorcery and can study or even invent his own rituals to call upon arcane powers! Much like Strange Methods above, he also gets one ritual that he knows for free when he takes this ability. This was another contender for the whole "how Victor figures out how to make radiant energy butterflies" thing above (though I obviously decided Strange Methods fit better), and I knew I wanted him to get this one regardless because come on, it's cool and dangerous magic. Who doesn't want cool and dangerous magic? XD And, as indicated above, it feels like a good prerequisite to some of the abilities he and his friends get, both as individuals and as a team -- I mean, Ghost Fighter feels like something you would need a ritual for, right? That being said, I'm not planning for every magical spell Victor gets through this ability being a straight-up ritual -- instead, this will also cover him learning the demonic language of sorcery, a concept briefly mentioned in the book that I found very cool and wanted to use more. Victor will still have to pay a stress cost to speak things into existence using the language, of course, and learn what various words mean and how to pronounce them, but he just has to say them to trigger the effect. I'm not sure what his first ritual or spell will actually be, mind, but I'm looking forward to finding out!

C) Warded -- he has special armor that allows him to deal better with supernatural nonsense! Specifically, he can "expend" the armor (check off the box on his playsheet) during a score to avoid supernatural consequences coming his way as a result of something he did, or to push himself (generally means picking up an extra die for your roll) when dealing with arcane forces, without having to take stress. I think this is a cool thing that Victor would very much like to have while dealing with the supernatural beasties he might encounter inside the city (as he can already tell that they're there) -- I picture his "special armor" as a coat he enchants with Elder Gutknecht's help, covering it in strange glyphs and suchlike to imbue it with arcane-busting power. (...actually, maybe he's inspired to make the coat after his ghost-busting score with Bonejangles. Must keep that in mind.)

D) Ghost Veil -- he can shift himself back into the ghost field for a few moments, becoming as shadowy and insubstantial as a ghost! In game terms, he takes two stress to do this, plus one extra stress if he wants to make it last longer, make himself fully invisible, and/or give himself the ability to float It's very cool, and it felt like the sort of thing that Victor would be able to do after his little trip into the ghost field courtesy of Emily -- it just takes him a bit to properly "unlock" the power. I was originally thinking that Ritual would have to be a prerequisite for it as a result (as Victor wouldn't figure it out until he got deeper into studying spellcraft and sorcery), but if it's something that's another side effect of his "ghost bride" adventures, maybe it's just something he stumbles on accidentally -- like, he does it on reflex during a fight, and the trick is figuring out how he triggered the effect so he can do it deliberately. I mean, it's probably still going to come after Ritual, simply because I plan for him to take that early, but -- yeah.

E) Tempest -- he can push himself to unleash a bolt of lighting as a weapon, or summon a storm (rain, fog, high winds, heavy snow) in his immediate area! Costs him two stress in game terms, but I think it's worth. This is just downright cool, and I love the idea of Victor being able to do something so powerful. He is more dangerous than he looks with this! This one definitely does have Ritual as a prerequisite, though, because I picture this ability as being tied to the demonic language of sorcery (hell, the book itself implies that it is). So Victor has to be able to use said language before he can fry people with lightning. Small price to pay!

-->Smiler: Smiler starts with the Alchemist special ability -- they're good at brewing up anything with alchemical features (drugs, non-magical potions, things like that), and get one formula that they already know for free. Since my concept for them in this verse is "cultist drug dealer," and I've always pictured them as an excellent chemist regardless of the universe they're currently occupying, this was a no-brainer as their starting ability. And as you might expect, their free formula is their signature Joy Serum -- after all, you can't be a drug dealer if you don't know how to make the drug. XD Anyway, as for what they get while running around with Victor and Alice, we have --

A) Physicker -- they gain enough medical knowledge to serve as the team doctor! Specifically, in game terms, this lets them Tinker with people's bodies to treat wounds and stabilize the gravely injured; Study maladies to see how to treat them and corpses to see how they died; and gives everyone in the crew an extra die when it comes to healing rolls. This is something that I think Smiler would like to pick up just to help keep their partners safe and healthy -- being a scoundrel is a dangerous job, after all, and hurt or sick friends are unhappy friends! Plus it's just good in practical terms, because, as I mentioned before, healing is tough in this game, and any advantage you can get is a good one!

B) A Little Something On The Side -- they get extra money after every score! In game terms, this means that at the end of every "downtime" phase (time after scores when characters work on projects and acquire assets and relieve stress and suchlike), they get two extra "stash" (how the game tracks each scoundrel's personal finances -- how much stash you have determines how good your character's lifestyle is and if your character ends up destitute on the street or in a halfway-decent home when they retire). I think this is a good one for Smiler simply because it feels like a good way to represent mechanically them still continuing to sell Joy Serum when they're not doing scores with Victor and Alice. They may not be living with the Advocates anymore, but that does not absolve them of their responsibility to bring chemical joy to the masses! Though, given that Smiler canonically sells their Joy Serum for cheap, maybe I'd reduce this to one extra stash. We'll see.

C) Mesmerism -- they have the ability to not only talk someone into something, but also make them forget that they were ever talked into it! Specifically, when they successfully Sway someone, they can also choose to have the person forget that it happened -- at least, until they next time they see Smiler, at which point they are like "HEY!" XD This one just feels like an appropriate one to me because it fits well with the actual rollercoaster's theme of hypnosis and mind control. And I did give Smiler a little hypno-wheel as one of their starting gadgets -- maybe they use that when they're using this ability? Or maybe this is an additional blessing from Mar-Mal that they get for helping the Advocates out with something...hmmm. I'll have to think about it. Point is, it's thematically appropriate, and could make for some interesting scenes.

D) Functioning Vice -- they're better at indulging their vice in a way that does not cause them to overindulge -- and can help Victor and Alice do the same! In game terms, this means whenever Smiler indulges their vice (which is how you reduce stress after scores -- you roll dice equal to your lowest attribute score and remove the highest number from your stress tracker), they can adjust the roll up or down by one or two to prevent overindulgence -- and any allies who indulge with them can do the same. I saw this in action in Oxventure Presents: Blades In The Dark with Johnny's character Kasimir in the second season, and holy fuck is it useful. Like, this is the ability to get if you want to make sure your scoundrels can reduce their stress quickly and safely. And Johnny was using it on a character whose vice was Obligation and involved Kasimir tending his busted knee -- Smiler's vice is Pleasure! Do you know how much easier that is to pair with another vice? Alice has an Obligation to keep an eye on the children of Houndsditch? Take 'em on a picnic! Victor has a taste for the Weird? Go on a shopping trip to a bookstore to look for occult books! Want to do something all together? Take the kids out and have Victor demonstrate some of the safer magic tricks he's learned! :D Seriously, this is going to be like their best special ability --

Which is why it's kind of a shame that I've already come up with a score revolving around them overindulging their vice at the Golden Plum restaurant and then having to help Chef Roselle there get ingredients for a new dish. XD So yeah, Smiler can only get this ability after that happens. Probably inspires them to be more careful when indulging their desires!

E) Trust In Me -- they're better at anything they may choose to do against a target who they already have an intimate relationship with! Basically, in any roll against someone whom they already know well, they get an extra die -- and no, it doesn't have to be a social roll, nor does the relationship have to be that kind of intimate -- they just have to be close. I think this one fits Smiler simply because they're the most extroverted of the three, and probably have all sorts of friends scattered around the city that could be convinced to help the Three Pillars on their various scores. I do picture them using this mainly to help Sway friends to their various causes -- Smiler's a lover, not a fighter, and wouldn't want to damage the friendship by doing something mean. Though if someone they like decides to be an ass to them first -- well, all bets are off. Smiler may not be good at throwing a punch, and not want to hit a friend, but if they have to...

Whew! Quite the lists, huh? And this isn't even getting into the special abilities the trio can pick up as a crew! Not to mention the upgrades I have planned for their lair... I think telling you all about that will have to be a separate post, though. This one's long enough already. XD

[jewishbuckley]

"was there a reason you didn't cancel this" honestly I thought I had so no there wasn't a reason but also if clients are going to have Your personal number and reach out to You about canceling (when they Should be reaching out via email per our cancelation policy) then You should be canceling the appt anyway imo. all the other trainers cancel their appointments AND add their appointments to the system 🤪

[sparkly-skies]

Simon (Bass, oder auch der im Rock mit bmth shirt) von Lonely Spring sah mal so aus?! Also vor 6 Jahren, aber was?

Ja. Okay. Dann halt noch ein Chamäleon. Kann ja nicht nur Aleksi so sein.

Sehr nett, dass du "von Lonely Spring" dazu geschrieben hast 😂 erkennt hätt ich ihn wahrscheinlich nicht, aber ich hätt mir dann gleich gedacht ah ja, muss einer von den neuen blorbos/the boys tm sein.

[classicintp]

Goddammit I miss that cat.

[pibsboots]

I've always had chronic fatigue. I remember being twelve, and an adult mentioned how I couldn't possibly know how tired they felt because adulthood brought levels of exhaustion I couldn't imagine. I thought about that for days in fear, because I couldn't remember the last time I didn't feel tired.

Eventually I came to terms with the fact that I was just tired, and I couldn't do as many things as everyone else. People called me lazy, and I knew that wasn't true, but there's only so many times you can say "I'm tired" before people think it's an excuse. I don't blame them. When a teenager does 20 hours of extracurriculars every week and only says "I'm too tired" when you ask them to do the dishes, it's natural to think it's an excuse. At some point, I started to think the same thing.

It didn't matter that I could barely sit up. It was probably all in my head, and if I really wanted to, I could do it.

When I learned the name for it, chronic fatigue, I thought wow, people that have that must be miserable, because I am always tired and I cannot imagine what it would feel like if it were worse.

Spoiler alert, if you've been tired for a decade, it's probably chronic fatigue.

Once I figured that out though, I thought of my energy as the same as everyone else's, just smaller in quantity. And that might be true for some people, but I've figured out recently that it absolutely isn't true for me.

I used to be like wow I have so much energy today I can do this whole list for sure! And then I'd do the dishes and have to lay down for 2 hours. Then I'd think I must gave misjudged that, I didn't have as much energy as I thought.

But the thing is - I did have enough energy for more tasks, I just didn't go about them properly.

With chronic fatigue, your maximum energy is obviously much smaller than the average person's. Doing the dishes for you might use up the same percentage of energy that it takes to do all the daily chores for someone else.

If someone without chronic fatigue was to do all the daily chores, they would take breaks. Because otherwise, they're sprinting a marathon for no reason and it would take way more energy than necessary. We have to do the same.

Put the cups in the dishwasher, take a break. Put the bowls in, take a break. So on and so forth. This may mean taking breaks every 2-5 minutes but afterwards, you get to not feel like you've run a marathon while carrying 4 people on your back.

Today, I had a moderate amount of energy. Under my old system of go till you drop, I probably could have done most of the dishes and wiped off the counter and then been dead to the world for the rest of the day.

Under the new system, I scooped litter boxes, cleaned out the fridge, took the trash out, cleaned the stove, and wiped off the counter and did all the dishes. And after all that, I still had it in me to make a simple dinner, unload the dishwasher, and tidy the kitchen.

It was complete and utter insanity. Just because I sat down whenever I felt myself getting more tired than I already was.

All this to say, take fucking breaks. It's time to unlearn the ceaseless productivity bullshit that capitalism has shoved down our throats. Its actively counterproductive. Just sit down. Drink some water. Rest your body when it needs to rest.

There will still be days where there is nothing to do but rest, and days where half a load of dishes is absolutely the most I can do. But this method has really helped me minimize those, which is so incredibly relieving.

[in-class-daydreams]

Imagine ex-husband Gojo and your son, Sen, getting into the nastiest fight to date.

"Doman expansion: Infinity Castle!"

You feel yourself floating right side up, then everything shifts and you're suddenly falling upside down. You hit the tatami mats with an "oof!"

Sen's domain is a Japanese-style castle with infinite rooms he can manipulate at will. The domain is infinite and some rooms can lead to nowhere, reminiscent of Satoru's domain. When he and his best friend Naoki overlap their domains, one could find themselves isolated, battling shikigami in various parts of the castle.

Sen and Satoru land on their feet not far from you.

"Yikes," Satoru says. "Pretty crude, if you ask me."

"Good thing I'm not asking!" Sen would say, powering up his next attack. Satoru would move to counter and by now you have a headache and a bruise, and you've had it with the bickering.

"Domain--"

"Enough!" You put your hands together. "Domain expansion: Thousand Heavenly Gates"

The scene shifts and you find yourselves standing on water with a clear sky above you. One thousand torii gates stand tall all around you. Your ex and son feel the rage inside them start to fade away.

Pointing an accusing finger, you scold them, "You two are two of the strongest sorcerers who ever lived. Using your gifts to bicker with each other is some of the most blatant disregard for your stations I've ever seen! I don't want to see another domain used for this kind of stupidity again. Am I clear?"

"Yup."

"Yes, mama."

"Now," you say slowly. "When I drop this domain, you two are going to spend some civil father-son time together. Go get lunch. I don't care where, but on the way back, pick me up an ice cream. Double scoop. Satoru?"

You ex-husband grimaces and has the decency to look chastised. "Yeah, I know what flavor. That swirly one you like."

"Good. Don't come back until you've learned to play nice."

~

Imagine ex-husband Gojo picking you up from girls' night.

Sen goes back to the school dorms at night, so you figured you go out for a few drinks with your friends to catch up. Satoru heard about the event from Shoko and offered to take you home. You agreed and on the way took a detour to your favorite arcade from when you and Satoru were teens.

"Ugh! I swear these things are rigged!" you groan in frustration when the claw game drops the plushie you were aiming for.

"My turn," Satoru says. He scoots you out of the way and focuses hard on the white one-eyed cat you've been trying to get.

In the reflection of the plastic, you notice a slight glow behind Satoru's blindfold.

"No way you're using the six-eyes for this!" You whack his arm playfully, trying to stifle your laughter.

"Don't hate the player, babe, hate the game," he replies. With that, he presses the button and the claw drops. It hits the toy dead center. Closes. Lifts. The two of you hold your breaths.

And drops right into the chute.

"Yes!" you squeal while Satoru retrieves it. His face screws up in a look of contempt.

"Ew, it's even uglier up close."

You snatch it from him and hug it close to your chest. "Don't say that! He didn't mean it, Gege, don't worry."

"You named it already?"

"I named him."

"His face makes me mad for some reason."

"Your face makes me mad for many reasons."

Satoru lightly punches Gege in the face, which leads to you chasing him all the way back to the car, brandishing your new friend like a weapon.

~

Imagine ex-husband Gojo walking you to your front door.

You thank him for the ride and for taking you to that arcade. He doesn't need to know this, but being there with him made you feel like you were seventeen again.

Many things about Satoru remind you of how happy he made you. Even now.

"I'm sorry I acted like that," he says. Your reminiscing means you didn't catch the first part of his apology but you nod like you've been paying attention the whole time. "We're not together any more and I haven't been good about respecting boundaries and I'm sorry."

He blabbers on some more but all you can think about is how this whole apology is exactly the kind of communication you'd been wishing for throughout your marriage.

"So if you're seeing someone now, I get it. I mean, it doesn't matter if I get it or not because it's none of my business but--"

"Oh, shut up, Toru!" Fisting a hand in his shirt, you drag him to your level and kiss him like you’d never get to again.

~

Thanks for reading!

Click [here] for more of Sen being mean to his dad | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt. 5

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

“So you’re that dead kid everyone’s talking about.”

Danny smacked a trash bag into the purple clad vigilante. “You can pick up the glass.”

“Wait, I’m just here to-”

“Bother me when I’m working? At least the litterer brings me cash. You can help clean or you can leave. Plastics go over there.”

Danny pointed at a pile of plastics, ignoring Spoiler’s bemused look. Hard to tell, really, considering her mask.

“I’ll help clean if you answer some questions!” Spoiler chirped, already moving to pick out the glass in the general trash pile Danny’s managed to gather. He nodded.

“Alright. At least you’re helping. The other one just bothers me and leaves his stuff on the beach.”

Spoiler snorted. “I’m Spoiler. Is the litterer Batman?”

“Sure. I don’t really care what his name is,” which was a complete lie, Danny was a fan. It’s just that messing with Batman (especially after he couldn’t clean up after himself, honestly!) overrode his fan behavior. “But if I catch him leaving shit in the waters again…”

Danny frowned, eyes glowing. He could feel- even with his partial tangibility, the muck of Gotham's waters seeping into his boots. It was not giving 'Live, Laugh, Love' to Danny, and he needed it gone.

“Whatever. They dropped a lot of guns down here. You can deal with those too, yeah?”

“I'm pretty sure that's evidence?!”

“If you could call it that.” Danny plucked away the Styrofoam and the hazardous (more than regular, anyways) materials away from the trash pile so Spoiler could dig through with her gloves without contracting sixteen different sorts of illnesses.

“So, what brings you to Gotham?”

Danny pointed at the water. “Came for school. Stayed because you losers polluted the water with dead bodies and gross chemicals.”

“You go to school?”

“Hey, that’s discriminatory.”

“Oops! No, sorry! I meant-”

Danny waved her off, irritably separating a bottle cap from the crushed bottle. Seriously, what’s the point of putting the cap back on if you were going to throw it in the bay anyways?

“It’s fine. How else am I supposed to learn about the advancements made in the scientific industry otherwise?”

Even if Danny wasn’t too sure that science could sure stupidity, but a halfa could dream, right?

"So... do you just... listen in on lectures?"

Danny stared at her. "What else would I do in a class??"

"Oh. I just thought since you're dead and all, you'd do something more... fun?"

"I mean, I could terrorize the local villains for kicks, if that's what you meant."

Spoiler brightened. "Actually, yeah! That would be helpful! If Mr. Freeze keeps bringing the cold during my latte Thursdays, I'm gonna snap and wring his cold little chicken neck."

Danny snorted. "Alright. I will keep an eye out for this Mr. Freeze." Danny paused. "Hey, tell your friend to come down and help us."

"What- oh. Black Bat!" Stephanie waved her partner down. Black Bat gracefully slipped down towards the bay, casually knocking out two goons gunning for Spoiler.

'Careful,' Black Bat signed.

"Thanks!" Spoiler bounced on the heels of her feet. She swept an arm out. "Wanna help?"

Black Bat tilted her head and, after placing Danny under quick but thorough scrutiny, nodded.

'You can get the salvageable stuff. Anything you can't lift, leave to me.' Danny signed clumsily, placing emphasis on can't.

"You know sign language?"

"I'm not too good at it, I just learned this version."

He knew ghost-sign first, after all.

"Chop, chop. I don't have all night."

----

Danny learned that Black Bat had the skill to knock cans into their designated piles if he threw them in the air so she could kick at them.

"You two can come back anytime."

Spoiler whooped while Black Bat leaned back, smug.

"Wait, tell the litterer he owes me $200. He was short last time."

"...Are you telling me Batman owes you money?"

"Yeah. He might be in financial straights, so I gave him some lee-way."

Black Bat and Spoiler looked at each other.

----

"Hey, so guess what I learned about sea boy!"

Bruce's head swiveled to her with startling intensity. The rest of the clan tuned in.

"He knows sign language! Maybe he even knows ancient sign language! And goes to school, but since he's like, dead, he could only listen to the lectures."

"Bruce, Bruce, do not start a ghost-education plan. Stop. We don't even know if he even-" Dick tackled Bruce, who was already writing a petition as Bruce Wayne to give partial credit to students that diligently goes to class.

"Oh, yeah!" Stephanie shouted over the unraveling chaos. "He promised to fuck with our Rogues for a bit so we can get a break! And we also got a bunch of guns!"

"Where? Gimme!" Jason demanded.

"Do not give Todd more firearms!" Damian cut in.

"Also!" Stephanie grinned as Cass shook with laughter. "Batman's a debtor! He owes Phantom $200!"

"Ain't no fucking way." Tim cackled. "Hear that Bruce? That's karma! For not defending me when he called me broke!"

[thelostconsultant]

Not a gold digger

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: Fans think you only want Max's money. But as it turns out, you were wealthy before he came into your life--you just don't make it obvious.

warnings: No smut, but there's a part that makes me say MDNI.

note: So... I'm kinda back? Idk, I'll see if I'll stick around.

The toxicity of the fandom was becoming quite entertaining, really. It was the third time since you and Max had made your relationship public half a year ago that someone started an anti gold digger campaign to protect your boyfriend. They truly believed they were doing this for a greater good, and they all begged Max for his attention.

It always began after they sniffed out he had given you something expensive as a gift or took you shopping to a luxury boutique. While there were some people who tried to protect you by pointing out that maybe he enjoyed showering you with gifts, the rest didn't care about that. 

You lived in a small apartment back home, you were driving a five years old Renault SUV, and no one knew what you did for a living. This was enough to enrage them and make them believe all you wanted was Max's money at the end of the day. Just think about the way she's looking at him, one of them wrote about two months ago, she's so clearly not in love with him. Poor Max, someone please save him. 

Ridiculous.

“Is everything okay?” he asked when he got home and kissed the top of your head. 

You were sitting in his sim rig, using the time while it was free to practice, because you wanted to play with him when you weren't here together, and he was more than happy to show you the basics. “Someone started another campaign to cancel me,” you replied casually as you got out with his help. 

Even when you were standing in front of him, he didn't let go of your hand, instead he raised it to his lips to place a soft kiss on its back. “Gold digging?” You nodded with a sad look on your face, but less than five seconds later you were both laughing. “Look, I know you're having way too much fun with this, but–”

Without waiting for him to finish, you raised your hand to make him stop. “I'm not stepping out of the shadows, Max. I've been hiding for years, even fucking Forbes doesn't know my real name or face,” you told him.

Back in the old days, when Bitcoin appeared, your geeky uncle had gotten into mining and trading it. He knew the potential, so he put most of his savings into buying them, then he held onto them, and by the time he got sick years later, he knew they were valuable and would be worth a lot more in the upcoming years. In his will, he left his savings and his wallet to you, giving you the chance to use them as you wished since you had learned everything about crypto from him.

So now you had Bitcoin as well as old fashioned investments, and you had used your money to help out an up-and-coming tech company for a forty percent share, and it was later sold to a tech giant for a lot of money. But despite your wealth, you chose to stay under the radar, because you loved your small apartment, and you weren't about to trade it for some fancy penthouse. 

You had met Max the year before in Las Vegas. F1 was a sport you watched with your uncle while he was still alive, and you were hell-bent on getting a VIP pass for the weekend. If you asked your boyfriend, he would say it was love at first sight, but in reality he was just annoyed by you. For a solid ten seconds, he would correct you every time you talked about it.

You agreed that you would hide in Max's apartment until this latest campaign died down, which gave you some time to spend together in peace. Every now and then you checked the tags to see how things were going, and after the silence of the past few days, today your name was trending again. Ready to have a good laugh, you opened the tag, but the most popular post gave you a minor stroke.

“Oh, fuck me,” you yelled as you launched your phone into the couch.

Max pulled the headset down to his neck as he looked over at you. “Is everything okay?” You raised your finger to your lips as if you wanted him to stay quiet, but luckily he got the message. “I'm muted. So?”

You grabbed your phone and went over to him. “They know. One of those idiots from the company I helped back in the day posted a tweet to protect me, saying that if it wasn't for me being an angel investor, they wouldn't be millionaires now,” you summarized as you gave him the device.

He scrolled through a series of tweets, and found a post from a journalist of Forbes in which he promised a proper investigative piece based on this info. He handed you the phone, then wrapped an arm around your waist. “It's okay, schatje. I know that's not what you wanted, but maybe they'll stop with the recurring hate campaign now,” he tried. “And if you’re worried about the article… Don’t be. There is nothing compromising about you. Yes, you inherited the money, but you have proven you know what to do with it.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you admitted with a sigh. 

“I’m usually right. C’mere,” he said as he reached out to pull you closer, but you glanced over at the camera. Rolling his eyes, he quickly turned it off, then gave you an expectant look. “Will you hug me now? And I want a kiss too.”

With a laugh, you leaned down to wrap your arms around his neck and gave him a soft kiss. But he wanted more, his hand slowly sneaked under your shorts, his fingers running over your clothed cunt before he decided to pull your panties aside and dip a finger between your folds. You moaned into the kiss, but he pulled away a second later to lick his finger clean. 

Shaking your head with a chuckle, you patted his shoulder and walked back to the couch. You could feel Max’s eyes on you the whole time, and when you looked at him again, he flashed a devilish smile at you. “I should quit the stream. Now that I had a taste, I want more,” he told you. 

“I’m not going anywhere, just try to be patient.”

He looked back at the screen, then put the headset back on his head and unmuted his mic. “Sorry, I have to go. See you next time,” he told the others, then logged out. You couldn’t remember the last time he left the sim rig this fast, and only a few seconds later he was kneeling in front of you, eagerly reaching up to pull your shorts off you.

liked by user1, user2 and 947,896 others

f1gossips: Breaking news! Turns out Max Verstappen's girlfriend isn't a gold digger after all as she has her own fortune according to the investigative article published by Forbes. Will the fans apologize?

view all comments

user2: And here I was, thinking she's just a greedy airhead...

user3: Easy to be wealthy with your uncle's money.

↳ user4: Have you read the whole thing? She invested the money and helped out several startups--that later became pretty successful--as an angel investor. Yes, maybe she inherited a lot of money, but she knows what to do with it.

↳ user5: May I remind you how many F1 drivers started their careers with their families's money?

user6: Told you she wasn't a gold digger. Suck it, haters.

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 1,577,353 others

maxverstappen1: If you don't buy your girlfriend gifts every once in a while, you're a bad boyfriend. I love to spoil her, it's not a crime. I love her, I'm proud of her, and you can send us as much hate as you want, it will only make us stronger.

tagged: yourusername

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yourusername: I'd be perfectly fine without the gifts, I already told you.

↳ maxverstappen1: I don't care.

landonorris: You're absolutely right!

↳ maxverstappen1: You're single, how would you know?

↳ landonorris: Just FYI, I've been in relationships before.

danielricciardo: You're so disgustingly smitten with her. (I love you both.)