#-several times that likes are practically useless? If you want others to see something

[lloydskywalkers]

drywall

went to go work on raising hell and ended up missing Skylor, so!! I will always have so many emotions about s8/9 and the aftermath of it, here's another gallon of them.

Two months after they’ve taken back the city and the street lights are finally starting to work again, Lloyd shows up at the restaurant an hour past closing time, sporting a spectacularly bruise and enough blood across his gi to make the Ninjago City Blood Drive team’s day. 

“Hi, Sky.” Lloyd waltzes — or attempts to, it’s more of a stumbling collapse — right in as if nothing’s amiss in the slightest. “Sorry, I’m, uh. Was in the neighborhood and I wasn’ sure…where else t’ go.”

Skylor, still frozen over a stained tabletop with her dishtowel in hand, stares at him. 

All things considered, she should be fully prepared for something like this. It should practically be in her restaurant’s training manual, that at some point you’ll end up confronted with a bloody, half-dead ninja in your door. But given how slow the past few weeks have been, coupled with the sheer exhaustion of dealing with the lunch rush and the dinner rush and the late-night somewhat-inebriated people rush, her guard is apparently down enough to leave her reacting with a simple, useless, “Oh god.”

“Tha’s my grandfather,” Lloyd says. There’s blood at the corner of his mouth — coupled with the bruising, Skylor thinks (hopes) it’s simply from split skin or a bitten cheek, instead of crippling internal bleeding. 

Crippling internal bleeding is enough of a concern to finally spur her into action, dropping her towel and rushing over to help Lloyd finish stumbling through the door. She spares a moment of thanks, that there’s even a door at all — repairs in the city have been slow, since Harumi’s brief reign of terror, and the insurance provider is still holding out on her. 

But the door was a good thing to prioritize, she thinks, bolting it firmly behind them. 

“Sorry, again,” Lloyd murmurs. His jaw is working in the tight way it does when he’s biting back pain, his bottom lip bruised and bleeding. Skylor’s stomach twists. 

You’d think, after all she’s been through, she’d be more accustomed to seeing the people she cares about in pain. That she’d be desensitized enough, to fight back the aching nausea and the gnawing desire to look away. 

Or maybe she’s just a coward. That would track, she thinks. 

“Shush,” she says instead, maneuvering Lloyd further into one of the nicer booths, careful of the blood that’s…everywhere. “What did you do to yourself this time, huh?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Lloyd grumbles, his voice steadier now that he’s sitting down. Unfortunately, he’s only paler under the yellowy restaurant lights, and the blood looks about ten times worse. “I just…slipped. A bit.”

Slipped. Skylor could smack him, if he wasn’t already hurt. 

“Lemme see, then.” She bends down to where she can tug the folds of his gi back, trying to trace the blood to a source. She finally finds it — an ugly wound in his left shoulder, several long gashes across his forearm. A knife, maybe. Possibly a sword, but it looks close-up and quick. It’d need to have been quick, for whoever was wielding it to land this many hits. 

Or Lloyd would have to be sloppy. 

Lloyd gives a stifled, shuddery exhale, a dangerous preamble to tears. Skylor pauses, just for a moment, and deliberates. 

She’s got Nya’s number, carefully keyed into her phone ever since she and Kai started visiting the noodle house. There’s no doubt in her mind that she’d want to know about this — and there’s less doubt that Kai would want to know. if anything, she’s surprised he hasn’t burst through the restaurant doors already, summoned by whatever sixth sense he has that goes off when Lloyd’s in danger. 

But Skylor also knows there’s got to be a reason that Lloyd came here, despite his claims. Just as there’s probably a reason he didn’t call Kai or Nya, or any of the others. 

And perhaps she feels just a little proud, that Lloyd’s chosen her to come to. 

It’s quickly lost in the blood that coats her hands as she begins patching the wound in his shoulder, but the feeling’s there nonetheless. 

It’s a nice feeling, being relied on. Being trusted. 

“Who got you this bad?”

She speaks up mostly to break the quiet. Lloyd isn’t quite like Kai, who likes talking simply to fill a space, but she knows he isn’t fond of silence, either. It’s one of the things they share in common. 

“No one.” Lloyd sucks in a breath as she draws the bandage tight across his shoulder, wrapping it beneath his arm and back over. His eyes close briefly as she ties it off, forehead scrunching up, before he lets out another shuddery exhale. “Some guy, uh — guy on the way home, near the subway. I had answered a call earlier, and I guess — ow, hey—” 

“Sorry,” Skylor winces, as she finishes dumping antiseptic across the slashes on his arm. “It hurts less if you aren’t expecting it.”

“That’s a lie,” Lloyd says, pointedly. 

She shrugs. “So, random subway mugger?”

Lloyd looks away, his cheeks darkening. It’s a relief, to see any color in his face at all. “Sort of.”

He leaves it at that, lapsing back into silence. Skylor looks down, focusing on the butterfly stitches she’s placing across his arm. Were it anyone else, she’d have panicked for actual stitches, but Lloyd heals with an uncanny quickness. She remembers Nya complaining about it, back during the Resistance — how Lloyd threw a fit when his skin healed over the stitches, and they’d had to cut him open all over again. 

She’d probably throw a fit of her own, to be fair. 

“Well, if you see him,” she says, reaching for the roll of bandages. “Point him out. I could use a punching bag.”

Lloyd’s lips quirk, a ghost of a smile. 

“Thank you.”

It’s quiet enough she might’ve missed it, if they were any further apart. Skylor doesn’t miss the meaning, either. She simply shakes her head, wrapping another layer around his arm. 

“I’m just glad you came to someone,” she says. “Instead of half-assing it yourself.”

Lloyd’s fingers twitch. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Uh-huh.”

She can’t pretend she doesn’t understand. Her childhood is filled with fun little memories of patching herself together, hiding wounds from Clouse or her father in an attempt to convince them she was better than she was.

Not that the people Lloyd is hiding from are anything remotely like her father, of course, but there’s an overlap between people you fear and people you love, and trying to convince them you’re stronger than you are. 

“That should do it,” she nods to herself, surveying her work. She feels unusually proud of herself — Skylor’s never really stayed with a team long enough to have many chances to patch people up. It’s rarer that people are so open to her touching them, once they’ve learned what her power is. The ninja are an exceedingly kind exception, but it still makes her feel warm, being given this kind of trust. 

She glances up, eyeing her patient. Lloyd’s still pale, but it’s far better than the ashy color from earlier anymore. “Anywhere else?”

“No.” Lloyd stares at the strip of bandages across his arms, shoulders hunched over on himself.

“I have Nya on speed dial, you know—”

“Its just a few scrapes,” Lloyd rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

Skylor sighs. “Lemme see.”

Lloyd grumbles, but he lets her grab his arm again, wincing as she dabs antiseptic over the smaller cuts. There’s nothing serious — just a few nicks and scratches, the kind you get from eating the ground mid-fight. He’s got one uglier scrape, but it’s about as nasty as a skinned knee, and easily eclipsed by the scar it bleeds through. 

Her fingers falter. She knows this scar — she was there when Kai struggled to patch the wound it once was, back on her father’s island. It’s an ugly, jagged scar, a testament to how Kai’s hands had shook as he’d tried to be gentle. 

In hindsight, it had been a terrible moment. Kai wasn’t sure if Lloyd had picked up the wound from the underground tunnels, Chen’s cultists, or his own brief slip into the madness of the staff. Lloyd wouldn’t say where it was from, even if either of them had been much for talking. And Skylor had been an awkward, purple-scaled fixture next to them, holding the medical kit while the others planned how to kill her father. 

And yet, it was the lightest she’d ever felt. 

Skylor bites her lip. 

She’s never told Lloyd, what exactly he’d meant to her. He likely has no idea, what he’d represented when she’d first met him. 

The son of one of Ninjago’s greatest villains — and people loved him. 

Kai loved him. 

If Lloyd could overcome the hurdle of his parentage and choose to live the way he wanted, if people could look past the dark stain of his legacy and love him anyways, then maybe—

He’d been hope, when she needed it most. And Kai had lived up to that hope, taking Skylor’s half-formed, frail dream and fueling it into a blaze.

Her eyes close, briefly, and she shivers. 

“Are you okay?”

Blinking her eyes back open, she comes face to face with Lloyd’s concerned expression. She shakes her head, looking away. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Embarrassment pulls at her. “Just a bit of…aftershocks. You know.”

Lloyd frowns, clearly not knowing. “Aftershocks,” he repeats. “From…”

His eyes go wide, only for his expression to immediately crumple. “Oh.”

Skylor waves her hands. “It’s not bad,” she reassures him. “I can barely feel him — his power — anymore. Just pins and needles in my hands sometimes, that’s all. Totally…totally normal.”

She hopes. Garmadon’s power had burned, in the way bitter cold feels against your skin, so a bit of numbness is pretty decent tradeoff, if she says so herself. 

Lloyd looks down, expression shadowed and hidden. Skylor could curse herself — she knows better, than to bring up—

“Here.” Lloyd’s suddenly holding his hand out, looking at her earnestly. It’s an almost childish expression of sincerity, one that makes him look much younger — a little more like the Lloyd she met on her father’s island, who beamed when his father ruffled his hair. 

Her chest aches fiercely, and Skylor holds out her hand before she can hesitate. Lloyd takes it carefully in his own, and she watches in fascination as the low shimmer of green engulfs her fingers. Lloyd’s power is as gentle as he is — nothing like the ravaging purple storm that was his father’s. 

“Oh,” she says. “That’s nice.”

Lloyd makes a humming noise. “I’ve been practicing. H-his power doesn’t get along with mine, that much. So it kinda…makes room. For whoever’s stronger, at the moment.”

Skylor fights back a shudder. Realistically, she knows she shouldn’t feel ashamed, that Garmadon overpowered her — he’s Garmadon. The reminder of how his power felt still stings, though. 

It’s a reassurance, that Lloyd’s power is stronger now. His element, if you can even call it that, is probably the one she’s the least familiar with — she’s never tried to copy Lloyd’s power. She isn’t entirely sure if she could, or if she should. Dipping into Garmadon’s power was dangerous enough. Skylor isn’t stupid enough to pretend she has the willpower to meddle with the power of the FSM’s family much more than that. 

“It feels like cheating, kinda,” she finally says. “That fighting fuels his power. How are you supposed to fight back?”

Lloyd shrugs, letting her hand go. “You don’t. You get really good at dodging.”

Skylor leans forward, propping her chin up in her palms. “That’s stupid.”

“Well,” Lloyd’s lips twitch, just the slightest bit. “That’s Garmadon, so.”

His expression immediately fractures, and Skylor can spot the battle in his eyes as he tries to grasp for composure. Her teeth worry at her lip.

She should really call Nya, now. Or try to track down Kai’s number. Or anyone else — it’s nearly two hours past closing, the kitchen’s still a mess, and Lloyd’s blood is all over her dishrags. Lloyd himself is hardly in better shape, the ghostly pale of his skin reminding her horribly of when she first saved them from the Sons of Garmadon, and Skylor is—

Not enough. 

She ought to know that, by now.

But the fact still stands, that Lloyd came to her. A part of her clings to that, and another selfish, awful part of her, the part that festered on her father’s island for so many years, the part that still flinches beneath the weight of her last name — well. 

Misery loves company, is probably the best way to put it. 

“I should…I should probably get going,” Lloyd says, uncertainly. He doesn’t make any move to get up, though, still small and weary where he’s hunched up in her booth. 

Skylor stares at him, and thinks of sitting for hours on the edge of her father’s island, staring at the sun on the water until her eyes ached. 

“Hey,” she says, a bit breathless, twisting her fingers together. “Wanna go skip rocks?”

Quite fairly, Lloyd stares at her like she’s lost her mind. 

They end up on the rickety end of one of Ninjago City’s abandoned docks anyways, a mismatched selection of somewhat flat rocks spilling out of a Chen’s to-go bag. Lloyd’s left arm is tied up in a mangled sort of sling they fashioned from Skylor’s old sweatshirt, leaving him to turn a rock over in his right hand awkwardly. 

“So, funny thing,” he says. “I don’t, uh. I’m not very good at this.”

“That’s okay,” Skylor says, sifting through the rocks they’ve gathered. “I’m not, either.”

“Yeah?” Lloyd sounds hopeful. “I mean, you at least know the trick to it, right?”

“I don’t,” she shrugs. “I’ve never…I’ve never skipped rocks before.”

Lloyd stares at her. 

“It’s not that weird,” she huffs, fighting back the urge to hide. “I mean, I never really had the chance, but I aways thought — I grew up near the ocean, and all these lakes, so I always thought it’d be fun to, y’know, skip rocks, since I didn’t really have…anyone else, to…”

The rest of the sentence is about to turn even more humiliating, so it’s a relief when Lloyd interrupts her. 

“I haven’t either.” 

He immediately flushes. “That’s why I’m not good at it.’Cause I’ve never actually skipped rocks.” 

“Oh.” Skylor looks at their bag, then back up at him. “Well, cool. We’ll both suck, then.”

“How hard can it be, anyways?” Lloyd says, sorting through their rocks. “You just find a flat one, right?”

“Yeah,” Skylor says. “Then you sort of just, frisbee it. I think.”

“Hm.”

“You haven’t thrown a frisbee either, have you.”

“Oh, like you have.”

Skylor presses her lips together, snorting. “Was wondering when your snark was gonna show back up.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you not remember half the stuff that came out of your mouth, back at the tournament?”

“You would’ve been out of your mind too, if you had to herd the guys around then — also, bold words coming from you, ooh, how dare you call me a traitor, even though it’s totally dead-on—”

“That wasn’t even close to what I said, and also—” Skylor snatches a smooth rock before Lloyd can, hefting it up. “It’s not like I was gonna admit to you all I was a traitor. That defeats the whole purpose of betraying. Lying my way out of a corner was the smart choice.”

“You’d be surprised,” Lloyd mutters, as Skylor flings her rock across the water.

They both watch as it splashes sadly, sinking instantly like, well. A rock. 

“Okay,” Skylor cringes. “That was a warm-up.”

Several warm-ups later, neither of them have made any progress whatsoever, save to torment whatever fish are hanging out on this side of Ninjago City’s harbor with relentless rock barrages. 

“This is ridiculous,” Lloyd huffs, watching as his rock all but torpedoes into the water. “What’s wrong with us, that we can’t get one stupid rock to skip?”

“Maybe it’s in the wrist?” Skylor flexes her hand, angling it one way then another. She winds ups, throws the rock out, and — nope. 

“I think we’re getting worse,” Lloyd remarks as Skylor sputters, wiping the seawater that splashed up from her face. 

She can’t help but agree. They’re down to a few rocks left, and neither of them have made any progress, much less skipped a single rock. At some point, they give up altogether, seeing who can throw their rock out the furthest instead. 

“This one’s going…” Lloyd raises his arm, closing one eye and squinting as he angles higher. He finally pauses with his hand pointing upwards toward Ninjago City. “Right through that weird oval thing on Borg Tower.” 

“Don’t hit it too hard,” Skylor says. “They just got it back up last week.”

“I’m not hitting it, it’s going through it, weren’t you listening?”

“To you? Nah. I’ve heard you suck at public speaking.”

“Wow, after you forced me into the live broadcast and everything—”

As if to emphasize his distress, Lloyd takes a running start, hurling the rock forward. They watch as it arcs across the skyline, before plummeting somewhere in the harbor. 

“So close,” Skylor murmurs. 

Lloyd flops on the ground with a dull thump, legs sprawling in front of him as he leans back on his elbows. Skylor’s makeshift sling isn’t doing much at all anymore, though it looks like he doesn’t need it to.

That, or he’s hiding pain stupidly well. Which wouldn’t be surprising, if disappointing. 

“Defeated,” he mourns. “Overthrown by rocks.”

Skylor dusts gingerly at the ground before sitting next to him. “They sure got the best of us, this time.”

“Maybe it’s a learning curve,” he says. “That or we missed, like, the optimal rock-skipping development time.”

“Mmh. Maybe we need to recruit a teacher who actually had a decent childhood.”

“If you find someone, lemme know.”

They both laugh, breathless and hollow, because they’re not much else they can say, to that. 

Lloyd sits up suddenly, pulling his knees to his chest. His arms wrap tightly around them, eyes glued forward. Instead of asking, Skylor follows his gaze to the skyline of Ninjago City, the darkened scars left behind by Garmadon and Harumi painfully pronounced this late at night. 

It couldn’t have been longer than two weeks, could it? Their rule over the city?

It feels like years.

She can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for the others — can’t imagine what it was like, ending it. 

It pains her, but Skylor doesn’t remember much of Garmadon’s defeat. She’d thrown everything she had into controlling his power, and when it had snapped back on her, ravaging through her like a cloying poison, everything had gone dark and hazy. 

It kind of sucks, because she’d done all that just to miss the most important parts, but…it is what it is.

What she does remember, besides Nya’s steady voice and Dareth’s panicked yelling, is the blazing warmth that was Lloyd carrying her.

That and his painfully bony shoulder digging into her stomach. 

“I was trying not to get us crushed,” Lloyd mutters, cheeks turning pink. “Sorry my shoulder wasn’t up to cushion-y standards.”

“And I’m trying to say thank you,” Skylor sighs. “But seriously. Put something on those bones.”

“Meh meh meh,” Lloyd mocks. There’s a lack of his usual energy in the action, the dullness to his eyes only made worse by the bruise-like circles beneath them. But it’s still very Lloyd — a flash of the friend she knows. 

“I really do mean it,” she says. “Thank you. For carrying me out of there. For saving me.”

Lloyd stares at her with dark eyes. Not as dark as they were, back when he’d lost his power, but the glow is almost entirely absent.

“You shouldn’t—” he bites off, frustrated. He tosses the rock he’s holding, up and down. “It was never a question.”

He glances at her. “Besides,” and there’s the closest she’s seen to a real smile. “You saved us first.”

Not nearly soon enough, she thinks. 

She should’ve told him, should have asked — should have let him know how it felt to watch her father fall deeper into madness, told him what it felt like to lose hope — what it meant, to move on. 

To cut ties, before they strangled you. 

“How are you,” she says, as gently as she can. Then, because gentle doesn’t always get you through the walls they build— “For real. Not how people want to hear you’re doing, or the answer you think they want. How are you.” 

Lloyd stiffens. There’s a flicker of fear in his expression, his mouth moving on instinct. 

“I’m doing okay.”

Tremors lace through his hand where he holds the rock, shuddering fingers tracing over the rough surface. 

“Okay as I can be.” He looks down, the rock slipping from his fingers as his arms wrap around himself. “I know that isn’t the answer you want, but I don’t…”

He looks back up, the lights of Ninjago City misty in his eyes.  

“I don’t know what people want me to say,” he whispers. 

Skylor wishes he’d screamed it. Wishes he’d snap, wishes he’d find the anger where it simmers inside him and turn it outwards against the world, rather than violently projecting it inwards like a masochistic missile all the time. Anything at all, instead of this hollow brokenness. 

It reminds Skylor a bit too much of—

Well. 

“I know I — things are—” Lloyd swallows. He pauses, raising his hand to scrub at an already-bloodshot eye. “Everything happened so fast. It was like — like getting hit with a bus, then another bus, then she — put the bus in reverse and ran me back over, and I never really had the chance to…to…”

“To get back up?”

Lloyd nods. He picks absently at a bloodstained patch on the leg of his gi. “And I know that’s just a stupid metaphor, but getting back up is…it’s really—”

Lloyd’s pulling threads loose now, tugging hard enough that he’s likely to start unraveling holes in his gi. 

“Can I tell you something? Something that’s not…not so good.”

“Hey, you know me.” Skylor elbows him. “I’m an expert at not-good.”

Lloyd’s eyes are a little too knowing. “You’re really not.”

And she’d turn a mirror on him, if she could. “What is it, then?”

Lloyd looks away, one unusually-sharp tooth gnawing at his lip. 

“I know my dad — my dad I used to have — he loved me. I know he did.” Lloyd sounds, rather devastatingly, like he’s trying to convince himself. “But now that he’s…now that he’s like this, and after everything that happened, I almost wish — I almost—”

He cuts off, covering his face with his hands. “Never mind.”

Skylor stays still, her gaze fixed ahead on a dark spot in the city skyline. If it were her, she’d want—

Lloyd’s voice is a muffled whisper. “I wish he’d never loved me at all.”

Skylor lets out a long, shaky breath. 

Lloyd gives a dry, horrible kind of laugh. “That’s terrible, isn’t it? It’s so selfish, it’s — I’m a horrible person, for thinking that way. But it — it hurts now, to think that — that maybe, now that I’m different — and her — that even my dad—” 

“It hurts,” she murmurs. “To lose it. To think that it’s your fault.”

Lloyd brings his arms over his head, the bandages on his left arm a stark white in the dimness as he buries his face in his knees. Curling up, as if he can make himself small enough the world will finally forget he exists. 

Skylor’s…familiar. 

But then again, is she? 

She swallows. Her father was one thing, but if — if he came back now, after she’s worked so hard to move on — at the height of his madness, what would she do? 

She’s out of her depth, as she’s always been.

But there was a reason she answered the call so fervently, a reason she followed Lloyd without hesitation. Skylor doesn’t put much stock in the Green Ninja, doesn’t put much in any kind of prophecy. But she does care, very much, about Lloyd, and she thinks that’ll take her a bit farther.

“You know.” She looks down, running her finger over their last rock. “You were one of the first people that gave me any hope that I could change. That, uh, someone could love me.”

Lloyd startles, emerging just enough that she can see the green of an eye. “Huh? Me?”

She nods. “Back on my father’s island, during the tournament. I was convinced that…that after everything I’d done, with who I was, there wasn’t a chance I’d find someone who loved me.”

Lloyd frowns, lowering his arms so he can look at her fully. “But I didn’t — Kai was the one who reached out to you. He was the one that saw you. I didn’t…I didn’t really do anything.”

“Yeah. He did. But he reached out to you, first.”

Lloyd stares at her, eyes wide. Skylor smiles at him. “You were good. No matter how bad your family had been. And it…it had been okay, for you.” 

The mistiness returns to Lloyd’s eyes as he looks back to the skyline, his lip caught tightly between his teeth. 

“We’re doing okay, right?” Skylor pulls her own knees up to her chest. “You and me. I mean, we helped, a lot. We fought back for the city. You did a lot more than me, obviously, but—”

“Don’t say that,” Lloyd sounds pained. “Don’t compare it, like I’m — I do a lot more harm than good, sometimes.”

“You don’t say that,” Skylor snaps. 

Lloyd flinches. She bows her head, staring down at her feet. 

“We’re good,” she says, hating the way her voice wobbles. “We’re different.”

It’s occurring to her, how cold it is out here on the water. She hopes Lloyd doesn’t get home with a cold, on top of everything else. 

“We’re different,” Lloyd echoes.

“Yeah.” Skylor swallows. “That has to count for something, right?”

Lloyd makes a small noise, but it isn’t one of disagreement. There’s a rustling as he reaches for the bag, then holds out their final, sad rock. 

“Wanna give it the last try?” He gives her a crooked, half smile. “Make it count?”

Her fingers close over the rough surface, cold against the warmth of his hand. 

The brightness of the sun against water on her father’s island in her eyes, Skylor flings the rock as hard as she can, far enough that it’s swallowed entirely by the harbor darkness. 

If she tries, she can imagine it skipping, just once, across the freezing waters. 

She tells herself, it counts anyways.

[shapeshivvter]

i think oc askblogs need more love. like come on. someone went out of their way to show you their blorbo they made in their mind, and all you give back is a feeble little like.. SPREADDD that shit NOW.. oc askblogs are literally JUST like media character askblogs YOU JUST GET TO DISCOVER THEIR STORY.... YOU LIKED DISCOVERING A MEDIAS STORY OVER THE EPISODES OR VIDEOS OR BOOKS, ETC ETC.. Cant you enjoy the same thing in askblog form? Show love to OC askblogs. Reblog to get it out there. Send asks to them.

[oatmilk-vampire]

Steve Harrington needed hearing aids.

He wasn't born needing them. In fact, he was just about as healthy as a young man in his social class could be. But numerous head injuries eventually led to gradually worsening hearing loss, leading him to needing mostly useless hearing aids.

His damage was so severe he actually needed cochlear implants but his parents kicked him out of their house and off of their insurance plan when he got caught kissing his teammate back in high school. With his minimum wage job and splitting rent with his roommate Robin, he currently did not make enough money for such a luxury.

So he did the next best thing: he learned ASL.

It was free, other than his time invested, and Robin was the one to suggest it. After all, she was already fluent in five languages and had been in band for twelve years. If anyone could teach herself and a hard of hearing person to sign, it was Robin Buckley.

The only bad part was, they were the only two who seemed to know the damn language, leaving Steve to strain to hear or read lips lest he get (mostly) silently yelled at by some deranged customer.

So when he spotted a guy around his age with long, dark curly hair and perfectly round black glasses with side shields, he knew he had to act.

He knew what it was like to have people gloss over the fact that you exist, or even berate you for it; so he took a page out of Robin's book.

He learned braille.

Sure, technically Steve could still speak to the boy, but wouldn't it be more special if he could read what Steve wanted to say?

So he practiced and practiced until he was happy, bringing the card to work where his crush appeared to be a regular.

As Steve sees him walk in, he knows today's the day.

⠓⠊ ⠊ ⠁⠍ ⠎⠞⠑⠧⠑ ⠎⠕⠗⠗⠽ ⠊⠋ ⠞⠓⠊⠎ ⠊⠎ ⠺⠑⠊⠗⠙ ⠃⠥⠞ ⠊ ⠚⠥⠎⠞ ⠺⠁⠝⠞⠑⠙ ⠞⠕ ⠎⠁⠽ ⠽⠕⠥ ⠁⠗⠑ ⠗⠑⠁⠇⠇⠽ ⠉⠥⠞⠑ ⠁⠝⠙ ⠊ ⠺⠕⠥⠇⠙ ⠇⠊⠅⠑ ⠞⠕ ⠁⠎⠅ ⠽⠕⠥ ⠕⠥⠞ ⠕⠝ ⠁ ⠙⠁⠞⠑

Hi I am Steve sorry if this is weird but I just wanted to say you are really cute and I would like to ask you out on a date

Steve is giddy when he wanders over to the boy in dark clothes. He had on black jeans that are ripped at the knees, a Metallica band tee, a leather jacket, and a denim battle vest. He's perfect. He's hot.

Steve's footsteps must be louder than he expects because the object of his affection immediately turns in his direction.

"Hi," Steve greets as he presses the thick stock paper into his hands.

The boy angles his head down with a frown as he traces an index finger over the raised dots, before looking right at Steve behind those dark frames.

He takes them off, and Steve learns after so long that his eyes are brown.

"I'm sorry," his crush says, Steve recognizing those syllables easy enough, "But I can't read this. What is it you're trying to say?"

But now that response is too much, Steve can't keep up. All he knows is the card he worked so carefully punching little holes in with a special tool he had to buy was now being pushed back into his hands.

Steve doesn't try to answer, he just wants to get the hell away before his tears spill over, but a hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks.

He tenses, squeezes his eyes shut and braces for impact, but when a familiar hit doesn't land on his face, he cautiously opens his teary eyes to find him staring right at Steve.

"Are you okay?" He asks, but Steve can't be quite sure if he's checking on him or asking if he's gay.

Steve's own frown appears on his face as he points to his ears.

"Can't hear too good."

His mouth drops open, rushing to spiel something Steve doesn't catch. He must realize this because he's taking Steve's card back from him now as he mimics writing something with raised eyebrows.

Steve nods his head, more confused that the guy he thought was blind seemed to be understanding him perfectly.

He fishes out the little pad of paper and pen he keeps with him for moments not quite like this, passing the two items over.

He scribbles for a moment before letting Steve read what he's written in big loopy letters.

Hi, I'm Eddie. Sorry, I can't read braille. What did you say?

Steve furrows his brows.

I thought you might know it. Aren't you blind?

Eddie shakes his head with a little smile.

The glasses? I have killer migraines. Never go anywhere without them.

Steve smacks himself in the face. He's been such a fool!

Eddie taps him to gain his attention once more before handing him the notepad and pen.

What did you say? I'd like to know :)

Steve worries his bottom lip.

Hi I'm Steve. Sorry if this is weird but I just wanted to say you're really cute and I would like to ask you out on a date

He's nervous as he hands it back, but Eddie's wide grin and eager nod does wonders to knock back those worries.

I thought you'd never ask, Steve.

[textmel8r]

HOLY RETRIBUTION. geto

(3.5k) non sorcerer bitches’ only use is to choke on pp or something like that

↝ cw . fem reader , reader def mentally unwell , extremely dubious consent , sadism , blow job , extreme degradation , cult leader geto , condom stays on because geto doesn’t wanna touch you lowly non sorcerer ew , facial , gagging , he legit almost kills reader with cock like,, chill girl

↝ an . this is so embarrassing guys im still taking time off but i was looking through my drafts and i wrote this so long ago for @inciseleviathan and i just never posted it so here are crumbs because you all are so nice to me. this is my first stand alone oneshot(n like first time i’ve ever written a sub reader…. i was shaking the entire time) + it was written so longgggg ago its so bad im sorry levi i suck butt at writing geto

↝ join my discord server! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

“Welcome, F/n L/n.”

You stand there, letting the heavy door to his room swing shut on its own. With a curt nod, you offer a gentle reply. “To be in your presence like this is an honor.”

Geto sits before you, spread-thigh and wide on his personal throne. A large, cushiony loveseat crafted from royal purple leather, its seams stitched in yellow twine. Resting an elbow on its arm, the man cradles his chin in the dip of a palm and regards you with an uninterested gaze. A stark contrast to the ways in which stars inhabit your eyes when you look toward him. Like you love him or something. Utterly pathetic. 

You move, bending a knee toward the ground, but Geto halts you. “Not yet.” So you rise back up to your feet. The obedience is appreciated; Geto enjoys this dynamic, holding the reins to your useless body. You’re the type to relinquish control in the face of high beings, he can practically smell the submission that permeated your aura. Geto smirks behind the fingers that cage his jaw. “So eager to sing praises.”

As if it was the most obvious thing in the world, you nod. “To you? Of course.”

“So I’ve seen. Your latest donations have been entirely too generous.” Cheekily, he giggles. “Does my cause really mean that much to you? Or were you just hoping to catch my attention?”

“I am just a humble follower looking to support,” you reply, bowing your neck. “I don’t want my actions to be misconstrued, this hasn’t been some sort of attempt to get in closer with you. I swear it.”

The devotion is so potent, it sends his nose wrinkling. “Raise your head. I told you it’s not time to pay obeisances yet.” Your head snaps forth, Geto can see the lump get swallowed down your throat. The hand he held to his face drops, and up the man sits, straightening his shoulders. Widening himself in all the ways similar to a predator intimidating its prey. “You’re not a sorcerer.”

You avert your eyes, bearing the shame in all its glory. “That’s right.” 

“You’re not much of anything, are you?” Not much besides a wimpy money bag he could suck dry. 

Again, you wilt. “No, Master Geto.”

It’s unbearable, the way you crumple so easily. Geto expected more, expected a little banter. Maybe a sweet smile, like all the other women liked to flash him with. A lame attempt at flirtation, to be likely shrugged off without a hitch. But this? This is utterly pathetic. 

Geto’s grin is forged in desolate disgust, eyes lidded and neck craned forward. “Step forward, will you please?” That sullen face, he must see it up close. Such a familiar expression, depression carved into the permanent frown lines that hang near the corners of your chapped lips. He knows them too well. Knows the dark circles and the permanent pout. “Look at me, and tell me what’s been troubling you.”

You stand closer, before his throne with awkwardly stiff posture. He awaits your answer patiently, calmly, giving you time to take several wet, wavering breaths of courage. “Do you see room for someone like me in your ideal world?” The question quivers with diffidence, those fingers of yours clawing restlessly into the hem of your worn sweater. “Someone… Someone as…” You struggle to find the word. “Unusable as me?”

He bites his lower lip. He has to, to stave off the cacophony of cackles knocking at the back of his teeth. “Unusable?” From an objective standpoint, you are wholly purposeless in his blueprint for the new world. A non sorcerer would only serve to poison the bloodline, it would never work. So he lies: “Please mind your tone. I don’t appreciate you speaking about my most faithful and devout subscriber like that.”

There is a moment of disbelief that glints happily in your somber, little eyes. The ghost of a smile echoes against your lips, weary, like you refuse to let yourself relish in feeling good. “Do you mean that?” There is a lilt of desperation lacing your words, like you need them to be true for your life’s sake. 

“I mean everything I say.” Oh, the irony. “Put your worries to rest, my dear. Your Master will always find a place for you.”

“I’m—uhm, may I bow now?” You sniffle and—here come the sweet tears, collecting in glassy beads, pulling down your lower lashes. “I’d like to bow, please.”

Still smiling, Geto shifts in his comfortable seat. The wooden zori sandals on his feet scrape against the traditional wooden floorboards as he widens his thighs graciously. A vacant space between his open legs that he points to; “kneel.”

There is a handful of seconds you spend hesitating, but you comply. You always do. 

“You’ve come to worship.”

“Yes.”

Your head blooms up towards him, as if Geto was the very sun. He studies, finding a deranged eroticism in the way your cheeks glisten under the warm, golden light of his room lamps. They’re sodden with tears of gratitude; gratitude towards him. Geto touches himself, a hand flattened against his own hulking thigh. Rubbing down towards his knee, then back up near his hip. A subtle gesture indicating the change in mood. 

“You know how I accept reverence.” That roaming palm of his dips down to swipe along the inside of his thigh. “Show me your glory and your love.”

Fatigue thrives in your movements. Slow as molasses, you shimmy your sweater up your torso, then over your head. Your undershirt comes off next, and his nods. “Bra too.” Your glory. Your love. You look pained, but strip nonetheless, discarding the underwear to the pile of clothes behind you. Geto makes a pleased grunt, subjecting your bare chest to his own minute of silent examination. He lets you stew in a pit of humility, glancing away while he strokes his sensitive spots to your frigid nudity. “You’re gorgeous.”

Embarrassed and short, “thank you, Master Geto.”

“There has never been a non sorcerer as beautiful.”

You wither, curling deeper in on yourself. With what? Discomfort? Or maybe chagrin, Geto muses. For such a useless bitch, you had a decently quick mind. He has no doubts that you sense the bullshit he hawks with all this sentimental beautiful garbage, as if he doesn’t sell every spineless broad that line. “Thank you, Master Geto.”

You know this, and still you donate. Still, you come back to service him. 

Thick robes bunch up around the circumference of his waist. Geto’s erection was prominent, even though the bagginess of his bontan pants. It’s a visible hard-on, stiff and poking out towards you. He massages his rod through his clothes, still watching you. The way you sit there and take it, let him beat off to your pitiful tears because this is how he’s trained his members to properly worship… “You must enjoy this,” he poses, breathy. 

“I… do.” Hesitance again. 

“Don’t you?” Geto presses, constricting the clothed head of his cock in a bruising grip. “This is a privilege. This is sacred.” He reaches for his pocket, nabs the tin package and fishes it out. A condom—he expected this from you today. Ever the greedy slut, or so he’d make you feel like you were despite your apprehension. “You should be grateful to receive my love.”

“You don’t love me…”

Truthful, he could never love something as insignificant as you. But he’d never say that aloud. “I love you,” Geto lies so easily it nearly scares himself. He loves you, he loves the troubled non sorcerer who came to him yesterday, he loves the one that came the day before that, and so forth. The man splits golden foil with his teeth, plucking out the condom and tucking the litter back into his pocket. “I love you,” Geto reiterates, reaching into his pants and pulling his hardness out over the waistband. “I love you,” he says one more time, while holding himself firm in one hand, rolling a sheath onto himself with the other. It’s purple latex, strangulating his shaft all the way down to his pulsing balls. The appendage hangs heavy between his legs, and you gawk at its every minute twitch. 

“You…” You flounder, stumbling over words. “Are we g-going to have…?”

“Have sex?” You nod, and Geto casts a scornful gaze upon you. “And disrespect the sanctity of my clerical celibacy? I should bleed you for thinking something so ridiculous.” Geto took an oath, a vow of abstinence and truth be told, he upholds that vow. Though, perhaps it’s his aversion to touching ordinary people that is the reason he’s made good on his sacred promise thus far. He can’t stomach the idea of flesh to non sorcerer flesh. 

“I’m sorry. I just assumed, w-with the protection.”

Geto takes his dick, pumping slowly. “You understand my caution. I don’t want our skin to meet, it’s unnatural.” Still masturbating himself, he huffs, “Tell me you understand.”

You nod absentmindedly, maybe even a little hurt, he thinks. “I understand.”

Geto smiles kindly, puffing out a cute chuckle. “Good.” He shakes his cock, wags it around in your face like he’s teasing a puppy with a piece of meat. “Go on, then. Idolize me with your mouth.”

He doesn’t moan—Geto never moans when he gets licked by useless bitches. It’s unexcitable, your perturbed kitten licks, nervously laving around the crown of his cock head like you’re afraid it’ll grow teeth and bite back. Brilliantly ordinary, and his jaw tenses in sexual irritation. 

“I said to idolize me.” 

“I’m trying!” And there you go, crying again. He throbs at the lowly mess of tears and snot and humiliation you wallow in, jaw shivering in quiet sob. “I’m trying, I promise!”

“Maybe you really are unusable…” He mutters as though he hasn’t already come to that conclusion thirty minutes prior. “Cannot even lick right.”

You plummet into a deeper bow, clammy forehead sticking to the filthy ground at his feet. It’s an abhorrent sight to see, and he watches with stone-face stoicism as you grovel. “I’m sorry!” Your shoulders stutter with each cry wracking your lungs, “I’m sorry, Master!”

He lets you spill tears, watching and waiting with his cheek perched against his balled fist. For fuck’s sake, he curses himself for overestimating your brittle psyche. Had that morose little visage you wore not been so devastatingly provocative, so worth salivating over, he’d have given you the boot already. Finally, Geto yields, nudging the back of your skull with the sole of his sandal. “Sit up.”

As always, even in your worst states of mental stress, you abide by his words. His law. Bare chest presented to him again, and Geto sighs, pleased. You really were a sexy thing, all squishy and damp and so very sick. The struggle will be worth it. “Good,” he praises loosely, “good.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, voice reduced to a wet, little whisper. 

Geto is quick to shake his head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But I can’t make you…” 

“Make me cum?”

You fluster at his bluntness, but nod sheepishly. “Not today.” Your eyes, they scamper to your top, forsaken to the floor. He sees the way you long to grab your sweater. “I don’t think I can today.”

“Today is as good a day as any.” Geto will not accept your retreat. Not now, not when his crotch yearns for the warmth of an esophagus. That plastic smile never wavers; it sticks to Geto’s lips like tar, mouth corners sharp as shards of glass. He cinched the muscles at his waist, his groin, and made his dick jump. It bobs, up and down and up, and the man sighs. “Can’t you see how it aches for you?”

You bear a grimace, looking past the swelling thing to regard Geto with empathetic eye contact. “It… Does it hurt?” 

“So much, I can barely stand it.” And the way you show your guilt so transparently has Geto’s intestines whirring. Because you wouldn’t do anything to cause pain to your Master. So sweet of you, honest. Still, he siphons your half assed consent by challenging that unshakable compassion within you. “Do you want me to hurt?”

“No,” the answer is abrupt, eager. “No, never.”

So easy. “Then you must wish to remain useless to me.” Geto laughs dryly. “That must be it, isn’t it?”

Distress oozes in the way you lunge forward, a shaky hand quickly finding purchase around the girth of him, and he sighs one more. “No,” you protest again, “no, no I’m sorry. We can do this today.” Lips purse against his cockhead; Geto lets you press your stupid kisses to him, even if the stimulation is hardly good enough to consider it worthwhile. 

“Settle down,” he commands gently, showering you in his pitying stare. “Do you need some help?”

“Yes, please, Master Geto.”

“Okay,” he softens to you. You’ll need every ounce of softness he decides to grant. He can feel that numbing chill torment his spine; despite the layers, Geto shivers with the weight of the chill. It’s a customary routine that has been written into his genetic code—to summon a curse was as easy as breathing. It’s an ugly thing, dispelling into the air, levitating above your crown like a fucked up halo. Vivid hues of sickly greens and oceanic blues meshed together in an amorphous, amalgamated fish-like curse. It blinks at him with one large, bloodshot eye, begging to be manipulated. 

“Take a deep breath, and put me in your mouth.”

The trust you’ve invested into Geto must be researched. You complete his every whim, inhaling a gulp of oxygen before ducking down to take his thick head. It sits in your mouth, against the plate of your twitchy tongue, bracing for something to happen. Geto has you right where he needs you.

The curse sinks through the atmosphere, plummets down to latch onto the nape of your delicate neck. You don’t miss its noticeable weight, and your eyes widen comically as your skull begins the slow descent down his shaft. He feels the tip of himself prod the webby back of your mouth; you feel it as well, lurching upwards with a strangled gag. 

He doesn’t feel sympathy. He doesn’t feel much of anything towards you besides twisted lechery, seeking rapture in every excruciating retch you shed on the impalement. It sickens him—when had he begun to seek release over women’s tears like this? At what point in his miserable existence did sex become a syrupy conduit to sadism? 

“Do not vomit on me.”

Nails bleed into the meat of his shins. You clutch at them, scratching for mercy through a layer of cotton. Another disgusting gag vibrates his dick when your chin meets his balls. He breathes ragged, uneven breaths, watching with parted lips as his cursed spirit forces your nose into the wiry tuft of his pubic bush. 

Visceral revulsion stickies Geto’s mouth. Your skin, your drool, it touches him. Rivulets of saliva and tears and sweat collect in the pit of his groin. “My love is in your throat.” The mess is hard to overlook, but Goddamn it, he can’t focus on anything past his own pleasure. A malevolent smirk is what Geto wears as he hunches forward. Chest heaving from over your head. “You’re turning blue.”

He giggles in excitement like a school boy, fixating on your struggle. Poor nostrils flared, and the frenzied inhaling tickles his sopping pubic bone. The claws in his legs grew weaker, your pupils rolling backwards and—oh no.

“Hey.” He lifts his hips, a quick and sharp thrust that knocks the consciousness back into your stupid brain. You choke violently, windpipe seizing so fucking nicely around him. “Hey. Wake up.”

Unintelligent babble fizzles out of you, and along with that, more globs of soapy spit. You’ve been shoved down for so deep, for so long, that Geto could actually get charged with battery assault. Or perhaps animal cruelty is more fitting for such a situation. As much as having your neck bulge like this really, really turns him on, Geto also needs you alive. Needs your income, your impressive donations. 

 “I’m ready to finish.” You must be so relieved, because you burst into tearful nods. “Let me have my way with you for a minute longer. That’s all I need.”

The cockwarming was a good preemptive to get the juices building, but Geto needs more to grab onto that climax. He needs more noises, and more struggling. He needs that repetitive back-and-forth of plunging a hole, the primal motion of pumping and pumping and pumping until he explodes. Leaning back and getting comfortable, Geto hoists his bulky thighs up and slides them onto the shelves of your bare shoulders. The angle is orgasmic like this, perfect trajectory to carve into the innermost core of your throat. Geto digs the heels of his stiff shoes into your upper back, and now, he points two lazy fingers towards the curse. A signal.

It grips your head, slimy body leeching between hair follicles, sucking onto your scalp. No warning permitted, the thing begins to oscillate in sporadic up-and-down movement. “Yes,” he cracks, infatuated by such a flawless display of submission. Your head gets bounced in his lap, mouth teeming with man and just giving in. Every single jolt and gasp and gag and sob and sniffle makes him preen, ass lifting to meet your vigorous throat with rough humps. “Fuck. I’m…”

It was a hasty in-the-moment decision when Geto exploits his curse, using it as a vestige for his impatient hands. The fish rips you from his cock, and you scramble to take in a glutinous gasp of spit-soaked fresh air. He’s on the edge, toeing the line of his orgasm, and in his lust, he kicks you back to the floor with his foot to your chestplate. Drained and malleable, dumb from his meat, you fall. Tits bouncing sluttily on your strident impact, and Geto wants to spank them ‘till they bruise. 

He’s already doused in you. Your saliva coats him like a second layer of skin, soaking his pubes so grotesquely that he feels compelled to reciprocate. His knees slam down hard enough to creak the floorboards, bracketing your head as it lolls back limply. “You impressed me,” Geto murmurs, swallowing his repulsion to wade his fingers through your DNA as he strips that futile tube of latex from his erection. He splats it lusciously against your forehead where it lays almost as useless as you. “I’d be a fool to question your loyalties after that display."

“Ngh…” It’s a small chirp, a barely-there sign that you’re still alive. He coos, sitting upright to kneel above your fucked-out skull.

“I thought I was going to dislocate your jaw,” Geto laughs breathlessly. You don’t return his laughter. He masturbates himself, one hand stroking your spit down his length in rough tugs, the other resting below to palm his sack. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t reply. Hell, you barely move. That’s alright, Geto enjoys this visual all the same. He’s fucking his fist, choking out stuttered breaths, aiming himself inches away from your wet face. “I accept your reverence,” he pants, “this is your purpose. This is what you m-mean to me.”

Your purpose in his new world is no greater than a Kleenex. A rag for him to spend his seed on and then toss behind the bed. He cums with an obscene groan, thumb pushing down on his throbbing tip to funnel gooey semen into the sliver of openness between your dry lips. Geto’s jaw hangs for the entirety of his orgasm, massaging out every last drop of his essence to feed you. It spurts, some whipping out over your cheek, down your chin, into your nostril. You whine in exhaustion, not even trying to combat the cock spraying your face. He bites his lip. 

“This is what you wanted, right?”

“...”

He shakes himself off, harvesting one last drip of cum that splashes against your upper lip, before tucking his ruined, slimy prick back into his pants. The urge to bathe bored into him; he was never a fan of that sticky post-sex grime, especially not a non sorcerer’s grime. “Well, this is what I wanted.” Geto stands in a smooth motion, despite his trembling thighs protesting. He cringes at the way his dick sticks to the fabric of his briefs. 

“A-Are you l-leaving?” You ask, still lying unmoving in a puddle of fluids, shivering against the cold wood. Your words come out croaky and soft, and Geto suspects he might’ve bruised your voice box.

“I am.” You flinch at his shortness. “You should clean yourself up.”

And then he leaves, sliding the door to his room shut. Geto could’ve stayed. He could’ve found a towel somewhere around the estate, he could’ve held you in his lap and stroked your hair and wiped away the remnants of his orgasm from your ruddy cheeks. But why would he waste his time? None of that bullshit will change the fact that, aftercare or not, you’ll still come to him at the same time next week for your holy retribution.

You’re addicted to receiving his love, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[lightless-flame-official]

gerry keay (classic flavor):

skinny. not in a way most people notice off the bat, because he's quite tall and very good at looking big, but leitner hunting burns a lot of calories and he's been chronically underfed for most of his life

eye tattoos on each of his joints, placed there by supernatural means as a protective ward against other powers

his hair always looks like shit for several reasons, including but not limited to:

- he doesn't like to dye it when his mother is around, both because of the vulnerability of the position and because he doesn't like to be Perceived by her while doing anything he actually. ya know. enjoys. this means that it has a lot of time to fade and his roots grow out.

- if she's around too often for a stretch of time, he has to find a local business he hasn't already been banned from and rinse it out in one of their sinks. this leaves it looking understandably patchy and rushed.

- the dye he uses is cheap as hell -- having his own money is an occasional luxury which cannot be taken for granted.

- he just. generally doesn't take care of himself and his hair suffers overall as a result. he doesn't shower often enough and when he does he uses precisely one (1) type of soap. and it's like. if they have irish springs bar soaps in england then it's that and if they don't then it's the closest equivalent.

he isn't actually like. goth. as we would think of it.

black clothes don't show bloodstains and they made him feel safe edgy and dangerous as a teenager.

we're talking thrift store jeans purchased when he was 16 an never replaced. maybe some band tees. boots for marching into a den of hunt avatars.

the leather jacket is also secondhand and while yes he does feel very badass and cool in it it's also a practical piece. good for fighting. especially when the people you're fighting might have claws or want to set you on fire.

sewing needle piercings with visible scarring around them.

he just generally looks. kinda sick all the time? again, not something that usually registers because he's also good at being intimidating but if you're looking for it there's all kinds of evidence of chronic sleep deprivation and malnutrition. he looks unhealthy, concerning.

gerry keay (tmagp):

goth. like, real goth. like buying from thrift stores still but more often and having fun with it now.

we're talking fishnets. we're talking eyeliner. we're talking black lipstick. we're talking absurd and impractical jewelry. we're talking dabbles in lacy skirts and definitely owns a corset. and yes he still wears a leather jacket but exclusively because it feels cool and badass. he's goth babey!

no longer skinny. precise body type is whatever your heart tells you is true but three square meals agree with him and he's gained a very noticeable amount of weight.

the hair dye is still not professional, his roots grow in occasionally and it's still a bit patchy, because he's still doing it at home, but also. he's doing it at home. it's fun, and he has fun with it. the dye is better quality. gertrude helps him with touchups. black is still a favorite but he's dabbled in other colors, dark purples and greens and blues.

loves to be covered in stuff. when he's baking, he will intentionally smear flour on his black pants and make it look accidental, and when he paints he doesn't wash his hands. this is partially so he can see the evidence himself, and partially because he wants people to notice it and ask. he wants to say, "oops, i was baking earlier, i must've wiped my hands on my pants."

he still has shitty irresponsible piercings from when he was a teenager. the more recent ones are more professional.

his tattoos are pretty and useless. he designed most of them himself.

there's color in his face. sleeping gets a little easier every night.

[shan-yee]

𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗 + « 𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚔 » [ 𝗔𝗻𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗹𝘀 ; 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗻 5 ] ๏𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𖦹𝘧𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𖦹𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 = Sexual allusions, misogyny, arranged marriage, occ Bi-han ?. 𖦹𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 = 1081 𖦹𝘈/𝘕 = i'm sorry for the wait anon- but here you go !! I had practically no info for Dark!Bihan so I tried something, hope you like it. 𖦹𝘈/𝘕 2 = English is not my first language, please let me know if you see any mistakes ! Enjoy ✨

——— 𝐒 𝐎 𝐌 𝐌 𝐀 𝐈 𝐑 𝐄 • • •

𝐈 :: 𝘽𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝐈𝐈 :: 𝙈𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 ��𝙞𝙛𝙚

◌◍┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈⿻*.·

┏━━───━━━༻✍︎༺━━━───━━┓

╰─► 𝐈 ･ ｡ﾟ☆ 𝘽𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜

┗━━───━━━༻✍︎༺━━━───━━┛

⇰ Dark!Bi-han is actually not that different from Bi-han in some aspects, well almost, just like Bi-han, Dark!Bi-han would surely marry to obtain power or in other words, lands, men and a possible heir although he is not a fan of thinking that one day he will no longer be able to lead the Lin Kuei.

⇰ I don't really see him falling in love, he would be far too obsessed with the desire to lead his clan to victory, those feelings are useless for him. His role as leader pushes him to put aside his humanity and, he never complained about it.

⇰ He doesn't care what his wife looks like, as long as she is faithful and fertile, for the future, he has nothing to complain about. He is neither looking for a sidekick nor a partner.

⇰ He is not affectionate or kind, he wants respect and submission from everyone, he will also want his wife to stay in her place and listen to him wisely. But, to be sure not to be betrayed, he will still be gentle at certain times, making sure to have influence over his betrothed.

⇰ He will not want to have sex before marriage, in fact, he has never really been interested in sex or anything related to it, too busy with his responsibilities.

⇰ Dark!Bi-han is also quite old school, wanting a good little woman who stays in his place and knows how to take care of their house and him even though he doesn't really need it.

⇰ He believes that he is old enough to take care of himself but he will never say no to a massage or a good dinner.

➽─────❥ Fear was the only emotion that had guided her actions for several days now, her fingers were trembling constantly and she could feel cold sweat running down her spine. She had the impression that everything she did was being closely observed and judged by a force that she was unable to describe, except for coldness, sometimes.

Everything had happened very fast, « too fast » she would have said if anyone had asked for her opinion.

Several men had arrived and requested to see her father, he didn’t make himself wait and the young woman had never seen him so terrified in her entire life. And yet, he had seen many things in his life...

A few hours later she learned that she was now engaged, sold, to the leader of the Lin Kuei, a group of ninja, or rather assassins whose name she had frequently heard.

She had not even been able to see her future husband, having been sent directly to her apartments after the announcement of their arrival. Great.

┏━━───━━━༻✍︎༺━━━───━━┓

╰─► 𝐈 ･ ｡ﾟ☆ 𝙈𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚

┗━━───━━━༻✍︎༺━━━───━━┛

⇰ Firstly i have some things to say about the wedding ceremony. I think there are two scenarios, the first, Dark!Bi-han wanted a big wedding to show the extent of his wealth and everything he managed to acquire without the help of people. Although the people invited were not relatives and only important people, chancellors, kings of foreign countries and other clans, I can assure that some people ended up freezing at the end of the ceremony.

⇰ Second scenario, a simple and traditional wedding, simple in the guests and location but he will not hesitate once again to show off his riches and you will find only good quality, whether in the clothes, food and others. There will only be the very close family of his wife and some of his men, and the ceremony will finish quickly, without speeches or other dispensable things.

⇰ during the ceremony he will not let any emotions show, a bit like usual. He will also not wish to honor the famous tradition of « you may kiss the bride ». But I can say that his lips are cold and slightly cracked, he is not the type to really take care of himself —except for his hair which is very precious to him— having been naturally born with an advantageous physique —he knows it— i don't think that he would have been the type to really take care of himself if he hadn't been spoiled by mother nature anyway.

⇰ I can see him coming home in the evening and being delighted to see that his perfect housewife had prepared a magnificent meal for him. He will sit at the table with her and listen to her talk about her day in silence, responding with a simple nod or word.

⇰ A few years later when everything is stable he will agree to start talking about inherited potential. He doesn't particularly dream of being a dad, in fact he never thought about it until now.

⇰ In the bedroom Dark!Bi-han doesn't really think about his partner's pleasure, he is dominant and will never let himself be dominated by anyone, especially not a woman.

⇰ Once or twice he will tie his wife's hands with his ice, preventing her from touching him —he will do it because she tried to touche him without his permission before—.

⇰ Temperature play ! Dark!Bi-han is cold, his whole body, but particularly his hands and his tongue. He will have fun running it over his wife's stomach and chest, looking for reactions here and there.

⇰ His hands will hold the young woman's hips and in the process he will let frost spread on his partner's thighs and hips, don't worry it won't stay !

➽─────❥ His cold hands wandered over the young woman's flesh, he felt her skin roll and quiver under his frozen palm and fingers. A slight moan escaped [Y/N], not yet used to the touches of her, usually, distant husband.

She then felt Dark!Bi-han's cold and slightly damaged lips, her stomach contracted under the sensation as her toes retracted. The black haired man chuckled discreetly, moving closer to her lower abdomen and soon towards her pubis.

The young woman spreads her thighs, without really thinking about it, her body reacted on its own to her husband's kiss, which seemed to satisfy him. He finally reached her pubis and his fingers grabbed the edges of her underwear to pull it down and throw it on the floor.

Grabbing her thighs, Dark!Bi-han placed them on his shoulders to immerse his head between them. He wasn't the type to take care of his partner but she was a good wife and she deserved a reward from time to time.

[shadeysprings]

On the Lookout

—Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: The excitement rolling through your veins as a new ranger in Jackson County turns into fear when you realize the true intentions of your partner.

Warnings: This is a dark fic. Noncon, unprotected sex, age gap (about over 20 years, reader is over 18), breeding kink, implied use of drugs, somnophilia. There may be more but kindly proceed with caution.

A/N: I know I promised something else but the pull of Joel is just too strong. As part of my sleepover, this is my second gift to all you amazing people. Might be a bit sloppy but oh well. Maybe some sort of spoiler if you haven't seen/played the game.

Your likes do nothing but your feedback and reblog are everything. Support content creators. Enjoy! ❤️

Purple and pink hues paint the sky, the beautiful sight making you smile as you peek out from the window of your garage home. The spring chill blows through the open pane, signifying a new day and the beginning of your new community duty as a ranger in Jackson County; a task you’ve been wanting since you and your dad joined the settlement. 

The conversation you had with Maria two days ago is still fresh in your memory, how she pulled you aside while preparing lunch for the residents, looking at you with a worried expression while she explained the dangers of patrolling the perimeter. But such concerns didn’t dampen the excitement rushing through your veins, giving the county’s leader a smile of gratitude for giving you such a great opportunity to help the community along with a promise to do your best. 

But doubts soon began swimming in your head as you watched the rangers take off that same evening. It made you think why, after several times asking Maria to switch your post, it’s just now that she agreed to the change. And your thoughts immediately shifted to Joel and Ellie finally having enough of your rambling about your distaste for working in the kitchen.

You don’t even question if Ellie caught on to your envy of her. That a kid of fifteen was already being one of the first picks amongst the others your age or older when going out to clear the area of infected and clickers alike. Though you try to reason with yourself that you’re good with a gun, Joel and Tommy said so themselves when you would tag along with the brothers and Ellie to go target practice at the edge of the county. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re ready.” Joel said when he caught you that night and asked if you were finally told the good news. “Your daddy would be very proud of you.” He added and that was enough for you to believe in yourself.

You take your dad’s old revolver and run your thumbs against the cylinder. They were empty of bullets when Joel gave them to you, rendering the weapon useless. But still, you keep it safely beside you in your bed, a small trinket to feel his presence and to give you a sense of safety despite his absence. 

A breath of surprise escapes you when a knock resounds on your door.

“You up yet, sweetheart?” Joel calls from the other side. “We’ll be on the first group to ride out.”

“I’ll be right there.” You call back, placing the gun back under your pillow and checking your pack, making sure you brought everything you need before zipping it close and heading to the door. 

Joel greets you with a smile when you open the door. “You ready?” He breathes.

“More than you know.” He chuckles at your response and gives you a playful wink. He then cocks his head to the side and you follow him after setting the locks of your door in place. 

As the morning light shines down from the heavens, you can’t help but notice the difference in Joel’s features. His hair is combed back and his beard looks freshly trimmed, far from the usual unkempt look that you’re used to seeing. There even seems to be a spring in his gait, a sense of ease washing over him and in extension, bleeding over to you. 

The chatter at the stable takes your attention off of Joel, a nervous smile grazing your lips as the reality of your first day as a ranger begins sinking in. You follow Joel and group up with the others around Tommy, Ellie standing at your side and greeting you a ‘good morning’, one you return with the same exuberance.

“You ready to kick some infected butt?” She grins and you nod.

You can’t wait to learn the ropes and do something meaningful for the community that took in both you and your dad, to prove to them that you’re worth more than mixing stews and setting out plates at the mess hall. 

You can’t wait to make your father proud.

“Ellie, you’ll be partnered up with me,” Tommy announces and you startle in surprise when Ellie cheers in excitement. “We’ll take the route east. The last patrol said they saw some infected scattered around the area.” 

You tense slightly but make to hide it amongst the others. You didn’t want anyone to think you were weak and faint-hearted. That it was a mistake giving you a spot within the rangers.

You try to latch onto Ellie’s energy, keeping your morale high yet take some of Joel’s gravitas to give the impression that you’re serious about your job. 

Once Ellie calms down, you scoot a little closer to her. “You’re not scared?” You whisper while Tommy continues giving the other pair their assignment.

“Scared of the infected?” She scoffs and then glances at Tommy. “A little, but Tommy will be with me and he’s a much better shot than Joel.” The grin on her face is mischievous, looking at your other side and sticking her tongue out at her surrogate father who only rolls his eyes at her. 

“Aren’t you usually partnered with Joel though?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately.” She sighs playfully then stares ahead at the big wooden gates of the county. “But you’re here and he’s always partnered up with the new recruits.” She says matter-of-factly. “But don’t worry, you’re in safe hands. Tommy may be great with a gun, but Joel—he’s better at surviving.”

You suddenly stand in attention when your name is called, your heart pounding in nervousness as Tommy checks his ledger before facing you. 

“You’ll be partnered with Joel.” Tommy nods to his brother and you look to your side to see Joel already looking at you. “You both will take the lookout tower by the west ridge. It may be the farthest but it is the safest.” He states, flipping another page in his notebook. 

“Updates on infected in the area?” Joel inquires.

“None for three weeks now. Though Dylan mentioned he saw some at the next ridge over.”

“They’d have to fall off to get to us, so I’m not worried.”

“You’ll be able to spot them from the tower. You’ll just have to keep watch though if you can get rid of them, that would be better.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Joel assures.

“Alright,” Tommy shouts and the chatter in the barn quickly dies down, seriousness waving over in the atmosphere. “Y’all know the drill, children. Run your routes, mark your log books, and clear any infected you see along the way. And if you run into something you can’t handle, you come back home. Am I clear?”

A resounding ‘yes’ echoes through the stable.

You look around when the others disperse from the group, feeling a little lost on what to do next. But a hand on your shoulder takes your attention, looking up to see Joel standing close, his fingers drumming over the strap of your pack. 

“You wait for me up ahead. I’ll grab our horses and guns.” You nod in agreement at his words and leave him to stand by the open gate.

Slowly, the settlement begins to wake up, the sun peeking out from the mountains on the horizon and shining its light from the sky. You still can’t fathom how normal everything feels living in Jackson as you watch the residents greet each other with happiness, that somehow, you’ve gained some semblance of your old life before the pandemic struck. 

From where you stand, the threat of the outside world feels distant, and that nothing could go wrong as long as you stay within the walls. But since that night your dad came home after a night patrolling the area, his body laying lifeless in the arms of Joel, you became a cynic. 

His luck eventually had to run out and the bite marks that decorated his body along with the bullet lodged into the side of his head only proved it to be true. Joel tried to explain what had transpired, apologies spilling from his lips while he stayed with you to mourn for your father. But you knew well enough to piece things together, that what Joel did saved him rather than kill him. And for that, you were grateful. 

Though you can’t help but think when it’ll be your turn. 

“Seem to be digging deep there, sweetheart.” 

Blinking away your thoughts, you turn to face Joel as he nears you. The reins of two horses clasped in one hand while the other carries two rifles.

“Uhh, it’s nothing.” You smile and reach for one of the horses. “Just—just thinking about my dad.”

He stays silent but gives you a nod of understanding, thankful for the lack of questions or explanations others usually give when you talk about your father. But with Joel, you don’t feel obligated to show a strong facade, to lie about being okay because out of everyone who showed you sympathy, he’s the one who understands you the most.

Pushing the thoughts of your dad at the back of your head, you take a firm grip on the saddle and lodge your foot into the stirrup, a strenuous groan erupting from your chest as you struggle to hoist yourself up. You fail a couple of times, dropping back to the ground yet you only push yourself to try harder. But each attempt leaves you frustrated, only successfully slinging your upper body atop the animal before you slide back to the ground once again.

“Here,” Joel nears you and you huff out a breath. “Let me help you, baby,” You startle slightly when his hands find purchase on your waist, his face only a breath away from your own when he speaks. “Grab tightly on the pommel and at the count of three, you push your foot and pull yourself up, okay?”

“Okay,” You mumble, your face heating up in embarrassment. 

“One, two—” You do as he says, fingers gripping tightly on the pommel as he continues to count. “Three.” Kicking off the ground, you grunt as you pull your weight forward. “Straddle, baby.” He instructs and you carefully lift your other leg to stride over the horse, a blush creeping up your cheeks when you feel his hand caress the curve of your ass, only pulling away when you successfully take a seat. 

“Good girl.” He praises and you look down at him when he gives your thigh a light pat, the heat on your face spreading down to your neck. “You know how to work one of these?” His question comes all of a sudden, holding out the rifle for you to take.

You reply with a shake of your head.

“Best I show you when we get to the tower.” He hums but still lets you keep the weapon, gesturing for you to sling it over your shoulder. “You got a gun?” He asks.

“Only my dad’s but I kept it at home.” You frown. “No bullets.”

He nods then reaches behind him and holds out a small pistol. “Feels like it weighs nothing.” You comment as you grip the gun, amazed at how light it feels in your grip.

“That’ll help you move and attack faster.” He notes. “An infected comes running at you, it’ll only be seconds from when you take it out and pull the trigger.”

“Got it.” You stare back at the gun before stowing it in your pack.

“Now, here are a few things you have to remember.” The seriousness in Joel’s tone makes you tighten your grip on the reins, keeping your focus on him as he lays down the rules. “Stay close to me. If something feels wrong, or you hear something that didn’t come from either of us, you tell me. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good. You’ll be okay,” He smiles, his hand resting once more on your thigh. “I’ll keep you safe.”

You smile back at him. 

Without it being said, you trust Joel with your life. He’s taken it upon himself to look after you since your dad passed, even after insisting that he shouldn’t bother. But his persistence was impeccable and slowly, Joel became a constant entity in your life. And if there is anyone you could rely on to save you from any danger, it’s him. 

If he and Ellie survived traveling all the way from Boston to Wyoming, a ride to the lookout tower would be nothing but a walk in the park. 

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You try to hide your discomfort as you glance at Joel, huffing out your pain as the horse continues to jog you on his back. You and Joel have been riding for almost two hours and it was after the first stop that your lower back began to protest getting back on the horse and riding further up the incline of the ridge.

You thought you’d be okay, that you came prepared for the intensity of being a ranger. But with each step the horse takes and even with just a small bump on the dirt path, your back screams for you to stop. 

“It’s my back.” You admit, frowning to yourself as you try to keep still to at least alleviate any of the pain. “It’s my first time riding.”

You hear him sigh and it’s enough to make you feel worse. You broke a rule; you didn’t tell him that something was wrong when he specifically told you to do so. 

“Do you want to stop?” He asks, concern laced in his voice.

“How far til we get there?”

“About twenty more minutes if we keep this pace. Five if we run.” He confirms, moving his horse closer to yours before pointing up ahead at the tower that grows larger by the second. “Can you hold up til we’re there?”

“Yeah,” You agree breathlessly. “I can manage.”

A sigh of relief escapes your lips as soon as you arrive at the foot of the tower. You steer your horse by the stairs and grip tightly on the saddle as you try to ease yourself down. But Joel is quick, his hand already reaching for your hip while the other makes to grab your hand and free your grip on the pommel. 

“Nice and easy, sweetheart.” He says softly. “Arm around my shoulders.”

You do as you’re told and wrap your arms around his neck, allowing your legs to freely slide off the back of the animal. Though before your feet could even touch the ground, Joel hooks his arm under your legs, effectively carrying you as he makes his way to the steps of the tower. 

“You don’t have to, Joel.” You tell him, feeling awkward to be carried like some child. “I can walk.”

“Can you?” You blink in surprise at his sternness. “It’s four flights of stairs.”

Four? You look up at the tower and swallow thickly upon seeing how high it is up close. You want to say no and agree to have him carry to the top but you’re unsure if Joel would even make it himself. He’s not that old, and the strength he shows is usually unmatched for a man his age. But you’d rather be cautious than selfish and the last thing you want is to injure the both of you and have the others come to your rescue—that is if the infected or raiders don’t get to you first.

So, you gauge the pain that radiates from your pelvis and throughout your lower back, determining that if you pace yourself properly, you’ll be able to make it without much hassle.

“I’ll keep up.” You tell him earnestly. “If I fall, I’ll call for help.”

You think for a split second that he would agree with you and put you down but from the way his mouth slants and his forehead creases, you can already tell that he’s made up his mind. 

“I promised your daddy I’d take care of you before he died.” He says as he begins climbing up the steps, your eyes suddenly stinging with unshed tears at the mention of him. “So that’s what I’ll do.”

You acquiesce to his decision and stay silent on the way up, keeping your arms locked around his shoulders while looking toward the trees scattering over at the next ridge over. The small ranger’s cottage takes your attention and your mind flutters into a daydream, thinking how peaceful it would have been to stay there alone and pass the time enjoying the scenery before the world went to shit. 

You gasp in surprise when a couple of infected appear out of the blue, their screeches and grunts echoing throughout the vast clearing. You sense Joel stop from his ascent and you look up to meet his eyes, the worry ever-present in his hazel orbs. 

“Infected.” You whisper and look back to the cottage, Joel following your line of sight, grunting before resuming his climb. 

“We’ll take care of them.” He drones, his breathing slightly labored. “But we’ll take care of you first.”

The lookout tower is larger than you’ve anticipated, cleaner, and very much intact than the ones you’ve come across before. With the tower being the farthest checkpoint from Jackson, you’re certain that some of the night patrollers camp out here when the sun gets too low and the ride back is too dangerous to take. The single mattress lying in the corner is enough to prove your theory. And the cabinets lined on one side of the wall and locked shut with chains, you don’t doubt that it’s stocked full of supplies.  

“You get comfortable,” Joel says as he takes you to the bed, a groan escaping his lips when he bends his knees and gently sets you down. 

He makes quick work of you, hands taking hold of the straps of your pack and peeling it off your shoulders along with your leather jacket. Setting your things aside, he kneels in front of you and takes his bag next, flipping open the flap of a pocket and taking out an orange bottle with several pills sitting inside.

“How painful is it?” He asks. “From one to ten with ten being the highest.”

“A six?” You answer him, unsure.

You watch him hum in thought while he stares at the bottle, popping off the cap soon after and slipping two round white tablets into his palm. 

“Better to take two, just to be sure you’ll be okay on our way back.” He states, taking your hand in his and placing the medicine in your hand. “Though you might get a little incoherent with it so best to lay down.”

Without hesitation, you toss the pills in your mouth and take the bottle of water he offers you to wash them down. You’re caught off guard when he suddenly places his hand on your cheek when you finish, your spine tensing as he runs his thumb across your lower lip—the gesture feeling too intimate—before pulling it down and urging you to open your mouth. 

“Let me see.” He commands.

And you furrow your brow in confusion as to why he has to. You keep your mouth close but the tick in his jaw startles you. Doesn’t he trust you taking the pills? He wouldn’t be angry over that, would he? But nonetheless, you choose to disobey and part your lips for him to see your empty mouth.

“Good girl.” He grins and moves his finger under your chin to close your mouth again. But he keeps his hand on your face, his thumb rubbing light circles on the apple of your cheek before he pulls away, seeing the reluctance swimming in his eyes. “I’ll take care of the infected and keep guard while you rest. The medicine should kick in soon.” He says before taking hold of your shoulder and giving you a gentle push to lay down on the mattress. 

You frown up at him. You should be helping him guard the tower and keep an eye on the perimeter yet here you are, first day on the job and you’re already a liability. Joel seems to notice your distress and places a hand on your hip, his fingers tickling the exposed skin.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“You’re supposed to be teaching me how to patrol the area.” You hiccup. “But you’re taking care of me instead. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be.” He coos and scoots a little closer to you. “This is all part of learning and we’ve learned that you need more practice on horseback.” He chuckles lightly but the mirth in his voice doesn’t penetrate your melancholy. “I’ll teach you how to ride when we get back home, but for now, rest. I won’t be able to defend you when you’re in pain.”

“Okay. Thank you, Joel.” You mumble and then groan when you start feeling light-headed. “I’ll just close my eyes for a bit.” You tell him, blinking your eyes several times when your vision goes blurry. 

His response comes out muffled and you think it’s because the meds have finally entered your bloodstream. You don’t fight the drowsiness that consumes you, instead, you give in. The feeling of your shirt riding up your torso is the last thing you feel before the darkness completely takes over.

The sound of gunshots fills your dreams as the darkness continues to keep your consciousness at bay. A cool sensation kisses your skin, a groan which you cannot place coming from the void. You think it's you but you’re certain it’s someone else, though all thoughts fly away as you feel your body being moved, a tickle trailing from your calf and up to your inner thighs. 

Your core burns and you mewl at the weird feeling building in the pit of your stomach. You try to move your hands, wanting to put a stop to it but your arms feel heavy, effectively pinning you to the bed. The fire grows stronger, heat prickling your entire body and you hear yourself once more, moaning softly and then loudly all at once. 

You wake in a jolt, your eyes bursting wide as you pant heavily against the mattress, your hips trembling and your heart pounding wildly in your chest. You stare at the ceiling, dumbstruck as you try to piece together where you are. But you have trouble forming your thoughts when you feel your skin tingling once more.

You look down to see what’s causing it but your heart constricts when you see that you’re naked from the waist down, the top of Joel’s head resting against your stomach while he plants wet kisses on the length of your hips. His hand is unseen but your feel it caressing your inner thigh, a strangled groan escaping your throat as his fingers run up the folds of your wet cunt. 

“Joel!” You shout and try to move your arms to push him away but you grunt instead, your body still too heavy for you to even move an inch. 

“Sweetheart—” He drones and lifts himself to his knees, your eyes growing wide in fear when you see him stripped off of his pants, leaving him in only his shirt and boxers briefs. “You’re awake.”

“Wh-what are you d-doing?” Your voice trembles when you meet his hazel eyes. “What’s g-going on?”

A smile forms on his lips, one that looks kind and unassuming. But the way his jaw tightens and his nails digging painfully into your flesh, you immediately know that his sentiment is the complete opposite.

“I’m fulfilling my promise, baby.”  Joel hums, taking both your hands in his and lifting them to his lips to press a kiss on your knuckles before pinning them on both sides of your head. “I’m taking care of you.” Tears slip from your eyes when he leans down, his lips pressing on the crook of your neck before trailing them up to your chin and finally capturing your lips with his own. 

He starts out soft and gentle, exploring more than taking as if trying to savor the moment with you. But he becomes demanding all too quickly, forcing his tongue into your mouth and devouring your hungrily, swallowing your moans of protest as you try to struggle against him and free yourself from his grasp. Still, his grip on you is too strong and your efforts are useless as your body refuses to cooperate with your head. 

You try to bite his tongue, to at least gain a sense of control of the situation but he pulls away just in time, a low and dangerous growl rumbling from his chest that has you cowering in dread. He furrows his brows and releases his hold on you, only to wrap his hand tight around your neck, panic driving you to move your hand and grab onto his wrist but your lack of strength leaves you helpless to his anger. 

“I’d be good if I were you, baby.” Joel taunts, releasing your other hand and reaching down to cup his crotch before pulling himself free from his boxers. “We’re far away from Jackson and who’s to say you didn’t accidentally fall down the stairs and hit your head or that you were reckless and got a little too close to an infected and got yourself bit, huh?”

You gasp in shock at his words, fear running up your spine that he would insinuate such things blatantly. 

“You wouldn’t—” You choke.

“You don’t think I can, sweetheart?” He laughs darkly, a reluctant moan escaping your lips when he begins rubbing the tip of his cock against your cunt. “You think Michael was stupid enough to get himself bit?” 

It's as if the world stood still when you hear your father’s name come out of his mouth.

No.

He must have been jumped while patrolling the area, the infected outnumbering him and eventually leading him to his demise. But he had a partner then, surely they would have helped him right? You try to wrack your brain for information, something you missed while you were grieving your father’s death. 

Then it hits you. 

He was with Joel that night. It was him that brought his body back to the settlement. 

It can’t be—Joel couldn’t have—

“Don’t worry yourself, baby.” Joel pulls you away from your thoughts, a devious smirk painted on his lips. “I promised him I’d take care of you, remember?” 

“You murderer!” You shout but your voice dwindles down when he suddenly thrusts his cock in you, pain flaring on your hips as your walls stretch around him, his size too much to handle that you feel like you’ll be split in half. 

He groans when he sits himself to the hilt, your pussy walls fluttering around him when he pulls back slowly only to push in once more, your body rocking against the mattress as he begins to roll his hips against yours, thrusting at an easy and languid pace. 

“It’s just gonna be you and me, baby.” He drawls, a low grunt mixing in his voice with each thrust he makes. 

His hand leaves your neck and moves to grab your tit through your shirt, fondling and squeezing while his other hand presses down on your stomach, his thumb rolling against your clit. Your body writhes from the unwanted pleasure that slowly crawls up your skin, your back tensing, and your cunt fluttering around his cock when he begins to quicken his pace, the sound of your skin slapping against each other taking over the silence that fills the lookout tower and echoes loudly in your ears.

Joel doesn’t relent and you lay weakly on the bed, succumbing to his strength and torturous depravity. Your tears roll down your face as you think of how it came to this. He killed your father for reasons you don’t know and now he’s taking advantage of you, betraying the trust that you have willingly given him and tainting the way you saw him, how you treated him as family. 

He snaps his hips at a merciless rhythm, his pace growing erratic and desperate as he pulls away his hand from your waist only to grab onto your hand and pin it once again at the sides of your head. He growls and presses his forehead against yours, his musky scent mixed with the smell of your arousal wafting in your nose. 

“Your mine, baby.” He groans.

A whimper leaves your lips when you feel his cock slide deeper in you, your mouth hanging open as you try to gasp for air, the intensity of his lust suffocating you, squeezing you tight. You let out a cry once your core begins to burn, the coil within tightening further and further that your mind goes blank from the bliss that wants to escape yet fight hard to keep your release at bay to not give him that satisfaction of bringing you such pleasure.

He whispers your name and you moan when he kisses you once more, sloppy and wreckless, teeth clashing against each other then yelping in pain when he bites down on your lower lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood scattering on your tongue. 

“You feel so amazing, baby.” He groans as he presses his nose against your temple, his warm breath fanning over your face as you cry out once more when you feel yourself getting closer to your peak. “You’re so perfect—so mine.” His voice is low and possessive, his hand leaving your clit and hooking his finger into your mouth, pushing it down to keep your mouth agape. 

You move your arm to wrap your fingers around his wrist, gripping it tightly as your spine arches and your body stills, a wave of sheer pleasure consuming you, drowning you when the coil finally snaps and you fall apart around him. Your pussy walls flutter around him and you moan incoherently, your juices coating his cock, lubricating him further and allowing him to thrust even faster, deeper. 

But he doesn’t take long, stilling his hips and burying himself deep into your core, whimpering when spills his seed inside you, mixing with your own essence. Your name flows from his lips like a prayer as he keeps his face pressed on the side of yours with his lips sloppily moving against your cheek.

You're breathless and limp against the mattress, your body void of strength, and your mind slowly giving up and giving in to Joel's desires. You think of running away, of leaving Jackson and getting away from him. But you know such attempts are a suicide mission and without your dad, you're unsure of how far you'll make it before you get killed or before Joel catches up with you.

“I’ll take care of you, baby.” He repeats once more, unhooking his finger from your mouth and trailing his hand down to your breast, stopping to rest it over your stomach with his fingers lightly caressing your skin.

Your body shivers from his touch the implication bringing you dread. “And pretty soon, we’ll have a family of our own.”

I no longer keep a tag list but if you want to be kept updated on my fics, follow my side blog @springlibrary and turn on notifications.

[hyufucks]

STARBOY .ᐟ

★ STARRINGS: choi yeonjun and fem!reader. ft choi soobin

! cw – jealousy, possessiveness, yeonjun is aggressive, fingering, unp. sex.

playlist while your read this (click on 'playlist')

2ND PART OF HOW MANY SECRETS CAN U KEEP?

yeonjun's lifestyle is not the typical cliche where he's a bad boy and his life depend on fucking every girl and living from party to party (the latter may have been a bit cliche, but trust me, he dosen't go out every weekend).

you know his reputation, and you know it all too well.

you know he's a top student with outstanding grades, a star athlete, the favourite of the teachers and, above all: a jealous boy.

he has a thing about being the centre of attention, your centre of attention. if you're not with him, if you're not seeing him, if you're not talking exclusively about him and how hot he is, he'll get jealous (too much, i'd say).

several times you met his dark eyes and chilling gaze, almost so sharp that he would effortlessly slit your jugular for the simple fact that you were talking to a boy other than him.

he can't stand not being the starboy, a nickname that echoes through the hallways and teacher's room, but which he only prefers to hear from you.

but what he hates the most is seeing you next to choi soobin: his rival.

soobin is a friendly, smart, shy and funny guy. you don't understand why yeonjun hates him so much and why he wants to keep you away from him all over the coast.

but yeonjun knows things that you might not, and maybe those things are the reasons why he spits shit at soobin.

right?

yeonjun's soft kisses on your neck made you lose your sanity, his cold hands provoking a thousand sensations on your warm skin as he caressed your thighs and waist. his fingers nimbly unbuttoned the buttons of your shorts, and just as he was about to remove your underwear, your phone started ringing.

you reluctantly pushed the dark haired guy away to pick up your phone, quickly sitting up in bed when you saw who was calling you.

'who the fuck is calling you?' your partner asked, somewhat annoyed that you had interrupted what you were about to do.

'oh, it's soobin. i'm supposed to do investigation work with him, remember?' you said with total impunity, as if you had completely forgotten yeonjun's feelings for the poor blond boy.

you saw him tense his jaw and close his eyes as soon as he heard his name leave your lips 'why are you doing it with him? weren't there other options at that stupid hippie college?'

you laughed before quickly picking up the phone, motioning yeonjun to silence.

'hi! soobin, it's so good to hear your voice again' you looked at the dark haired, looking provocation.

and you've done it, because never in your life have you seen him settle between your legs so quickly, taking off your underwear and looking at you like a ferocious animal stalking his prey.

'yes, hello, i say the same thing' his soft voice provoked a certain tenderness in you, unlike yeonjun who's voice only made you wet.

oh, and speaking of the king of rome; his fingers didn't miss the opportunity to caress your clitoris in a circular way. you saw him wet his fingers with his own saliva before inserting two of them into your sweet spot.

you muffled a moan, but it was useless as the boy on the other the line quickly noticed that something was wrong.

'hey, are you okay?' he asked confused and somewhat worried 'i thought i heard something' how cute.

yeonjun brought his face closer to your neck, biting and sucking gently 'put him on speaker' he said with his characteristic deep voice when he was in that mood.

and of course you did it.

'y-yeah, it's just that i'm a little shaken up from today's practice, you know, cheerleading stuff' you lied mercifully, because clearly you wouldn't say that there's a guy fingering you and that guy just happens to be choi yeonjun.

'on a saturday at ten at night?' you heard him laugh softly. looks like he's caught you red handed 'anyway, 'i wanted to know if we could get together monday morning to discuss about the work'.

'of course, at my house or at yours?'

'in mine. it's closer to your college, so i could take-' you couldn't hear him finish. yeonjun took your phone and ended the call suddenly, throwing it angrily on the bed.

before you could say anything to him, he grabbed your wrists with both hands and pushed them over your head, pressing his body closer to yours, preventing you from moving.

'what the fuck do you think you're doing?' you've seen him angry before, but he never got physical like now.

'what are you talking about? he just wants to be nice' he clicked his tongue and sighed heavily.

'yes, of course, and i was born yesterday' he replied with notorious sarcasm 'for you that's being nice, but for me that means he wants to fuck you in his flat and in his damn car'.

you widened your eyes in surprise and almost shocked, feeling a pressure in your chest that you had never experienced with him before.

'what the hell is wrong with you, yeonjun? you can't just think the worst of others. not everyone wants to wet their dick like you'.

'and you can't always think the best of others and believe that i'm the only one who wants to push you against the mattress, damn it' he spat angrily.

he quickly released you and moved away from you, walking away from your bed, walking out of the room. you got up and followed him to the front door.

'where do you think you're going?' you asked behind him, placing a hand on the door.

'finish this on your own, maybe thinking about soobin will help you cum quickly' he pushed you almost roughly and left your flat, slamming the door shut.

'damn son of a bitch'.

almost a week since you and yeonjun last saw each other. you only exchanged glances in the hallways. sometimes you would see him train secretly, and you knew that he did it too.

but no one dared to approach.

throughout that week, you were with soobin and practicing tonight's performance together with your team. tonight, yeonjun and soobin were going to play on different teams.

and you were just afraid.

you looked in the toillet mirror one last time before heading out to the basketball hall, noticing that your ribbon was scruffy and your lipstick was not applied correctly.

the sound of the door opening and the familiar voice caused you to jump a little in place.

'what do you want, choi yeonjun?' you asked without even looking at him at all, you only saw his body resting comfortably on the cubicle doors in the mirror, arms crossed and with that gigantic smile of a mischievous cat.

he looks so attractive like that, that for a moment you forgot what an idiot he is.

'i just wanted to know if you were going to cheer for me tonight' he replied calmly, moving closer to you.

'and what if i don't? are you going to corner me like that day?'

he bit his lips lightly and then licked it. his big hands took your waist and he forced you to turn around, being face to face.

'come on, doll, we can't spend our whole lives pretending we don't exist'

he leaned down to your neck and placed little kisses there, just the way you always liked 'you're so hot when you're angry'.

you sighed and leaned your neck to give him better access, surrendering to him and his charms.

his lips touched yours, joining in a needy, hungry kiss. your hands tugged at his hair, making him moan against your mouth.

he lifted you over the sink and you quickly wrapped your legs around him, feeling the bulge of him pressing against your pussy.

you moved as best you could, trying to create friction between you and him. yeonjun laughed in between the kiss.

'you're itching to fuck already, mmh?' you nodded 'ask me and i'll grant you the wish'.

you squeezed your eyes and sighed 'please, fuck me'.

he laughed again against your lips 'wish granted'.

you gasped when he practically ripped off your underwear and pulled you even closer to him. he removed his shorts and boxer, stroked his base a few times before fully entering and thrusting inside of you with a single thrust.

you heard him moan in relief once he hit rock bottom 'god, i missed this pussy so much'.

you leaned back a bit, touching your back against the mirror. you grabbed his hair again and pulled him close to you, connecting your lips against his.

you bit his lip as his fingers moved in a circular motion over your clit, pushing three fingers inside.

kisses distributed on your collarbones and chest almost make you explode.

the way he would go in and out would drive you crazy, how he would go deep and then not.

yeonjun held you tightly, hugging his body to yours. that is what definitely made you start moving desperately, chasing your orgasm.

'aw, are you about to cum?' he gently caressed your cheek as if you were an adorable little animal 'tell me, did you cum thinking about that idiot the other day?'

you denied 'no, i thought of you'.

he half smile, satisfied with your answer 'who makes you cum?'

'you' muttered.

'say it louder' he grabbed you again and pushed himself hard 'I'm not listening, baby'.

'you' another push 'you' another one 'god, you'.

and you clung to him as if your life depended on it, moaning in his ear, feeling safe.

as it has always been.

the heavy eddies and knots appeared, the approaching heat and the familiar feeling in your belly took you over.

and he kissed you like he never did before.

and you felt something you had never felt before.

he hugged you tenderly and you could feel his heart beating like you had never heard it before, smelling his perfume in a new way and from a different point of view.

and when he moved away, you were already missing him.

'make yourself pretty, but not so cute because you're going to distract me' he laughed coquettishly, winking at you before leaving.

another time you would have rolled your eyes, but this time your heart jumped and your cheeks turned pink and filled with an unknown felling.

you also went out into the hallway and saw him leave, turning his back on you.

from not-so distant you heard his faithful devotees who were waiting for him, who received him with his characteristic nickname and insane applause,

starboy, starboy, starboy!

and you just smiled, knowing that that name would never be the same for him if you weren't the one who told him.

and you knew that it will never change.

© hyufucks, 2023.

[scribblestatic]

Sheepzun Posting~

----

Luo Binghe was frustrated.

He'd left his Shizun behind on Qing Jing Peak to see what was happening. As his Shizun had noted, indeed, there was something amiss.

Demons infiltrated Cang Qiong Mountain.

He rushed forward toward Qiong Ding Peak since it seemed the demons intended to isolate those disciples the most. On the way, he slayed a few smaller demons, carefully using the techniques his Shizun instilled in him. After all, it was different to practice something and to actually use it.

Despite his inexperience combatting something so human-shaped, he was able to dispatch them fairly quickly. He had yet to strain a muscle as he continued on his way.

He eventually arrived at the main hall of Qiong Ding, a crowd of disciples from a few peaks struggling against the might of the main hoard of demons. Luo Binghe quickly jumped into the fray, saving one disciple from having his head bashed in. Several were already wounded, cornered and unable to escape.

Though he didn't have his spiritual sword yet, he did his best to beat back the incoming demons. These ones were larger than the imp-like demons before, just as tall or taller than his comrades and clearly more shrewd.

How dare they strike! These demons really were despicable!

But, as he kicked a demon back, a gust of wind suddenly began pressuring the demons' side. A flash of light flickered, and a familiar sword stabbed into another demon trying to kill a different disciple.

Before he could say anything, some of the Qing Jing disciples that arrived with or before him began calling out.

"It's Immortal Master Shen!"

"Martial Uncle Shen!!"

His...Shen Qingqiu landed gingerly on the ground, looking as unflappable as he always did, loftily looking down on others. His presence felt stronger than before, so he surely broke through at least one stage. It hadn't taken very long for him, despite the immortal not breaking through a realm since the time Luo Binghe became a disciple.

Luo Binghe's senses triggered, and he moved out of the way just in time to avoid Ming Fan rushing past him, relief extremely evident in his ecstatic expression. He watched as the boy spread his arms to present their master, grinning in the direction of the demons.

"Demon girl! My Shifu is already here, see you if you dare to be arrogant anymore!"

Finally, the tide returned to the side of righteous cultivation, the disciples no longer cornered as they all sidled up to Shen Qingqiu for support. Luo Binghe finally sheathed his sword once the sides were cleanly split, the demons on the defensive with the disciples and master now standing in the way of an easy exit.

And so, Luo Binghe made the mistake of thinking himself safe.

He was swiftly reminded he wasn't upon hearing the immortal master call his name to face the largest, most fearsome competitor of all three trials.

Shen Qingqiu wasn't aware that he'd been training with another teacher. That his Shizun was present on Qing Jing Peak. Or, if he was, he never said anything about it. Besides, few, if any, Qing Jing disciples were aware of Shizun's presence. He kept himself carefully concealed.

Regardless, Shen Qingqiu likely knew he was barely trained in Qing Jing's martial arts. After Shizun pointed out the uselessness of his cultivation manual, Luo Binghe could only assume this sabotage was intentional. And now, the immortal had him facing a demon that would be a struggle for some of Qing Jing's instructors to handle.

Did... Did Shen Qingqiu want him dead? Why?

But Luo Binghe didn't have the luxury of time to question the immortal's reasoning. Instead, he put his whole body into dodging the swing of the large demon's sledgehammer, watching as the ground cracked under the pressure of its collision.

Getting hit by that once, he could probably handle with a few injuries. Getting hit several times...

This was a fight to the death.

So, using everything he learned from hunting animals closer to the base of the mountain for food and from training with his Shizun, he sought to bring death upon his opponent. If he tried to do anything less, he'd die instead.

Fleeing would definitely be the best course of action here. But with everyone's eyes on him, he couldn't flee. He was cornered.

Dodging as much as possible, he looked for a gap in the elder demon's defenses, but it was all covered with that dastardly poisoned armor. If he could at least find the straps keeping it on him, he could, essentially, break the tortoise's shell.

He had to keep himself from becoming a splatter on the pavement first, though--

"Ughh!!"

Luo Binghe barely had time to prepare before the sledgehammer slammed into his side. He could immediately feel his arm bruise, but he leaned with the force pushing him, then helped the energy leave him by rolling, quickly returning to his feet.

'You don't have horns, so instead of confronting force head-on, you should try to lean with it. Help the energy escape so it doesn't act entirely on your body.'

It hurt, but he was still standing. With a dash, he avoided another slam from the sledgehammer.

However, his energy was starting to wane. Usually, a prey animal would have much more room to move and to find an escape. He could not escape, and so, it was a battle of stamina and interest. As long as he could keep moving and avoid death, he could wear down on the elder demon's patience, leading him to make mistakes...

But Luo Binghe had less stamina than his opponent.

He was starting to get hit more and more. Blood was crawling up his throat as he felt bruises purple under his clothes.

Panting, sweat dripped off his face. If he let himself hesitate for too long, he'd start to lose focus, his vision swimming. His heart beat frantically in his ears.

He could distantly hear the disciples behind him call his battle a one-sided beating, bemoaning his inevitable loss. The demons were starting to laugh and ridicule him, telling him to dance, dance, and dance more.

How frustrating...

How frustrating...

If he was to die here, it would not be the demons that killed him.

Shen Qingqiu... His blood would be on Shen Qingqiu's hands.

Although he had loosely clung to the idea that the immortal master would one day treat him like he was worth the same time and effort as any other Qing Jing disciple, at this moment, he finally laid those hopes to rest. Instead, heady resentment, barely held back by his reverence, began to burst through and cloud his mind.

The hammer was moving. He needed to dodge. He needed to--

A forceful voice interrupted his thoughts. It echoed in his mind like a gong, clearing out all the noise, save for that single line.

'Luo Binghe, you will win.'

...

Shizun?

That was definitely his Shizun's voice.

Then, that meant he was watching him. Somewhere behind him, his Shizun was watching over him, voicing his thoughts only to him.

And though he couldn't trust the words of anyone else, he could trust his Shizun.

He said he would win. That meant his Shizun truly believed that he would.

There came a warmth to his chest, spreading to his other limbs, enough that his eyes burned with the urge to cry tears of happiness. Oh... Oh how good it felt, for someone to believe in him despite all odds! To care about him!

It was all he had ever wanted from anyone, and it was something his Shizun gave him so freely.

But now was not the time to cry.

A cool calmness washed over him from his head to his feet. His once wavering vision focused as he managed, barely, to dodge the swing coming at him, leaning backwards before flipping, landing back onto his feet.

His body ached. He turned his head to spit out loose blood before licking his teeth. He was against an opponent with decades of experience on him. The demons were still cheering for his demise, for him to lose. Shen Qingqiu was still waiting for him to mess up and perish.

But he would win.

His Shizun commanded it.

---

There was a shift in the energy around the battle.

It started slowly, with the demons continuing to jeer at Cang Qiong for their inevitable defeat.

But then, Elder Tian Chui's hammer missed again.

And again. And again. And again.

The disciples, once disheartened and restless, began to perk up.

Luo Binghe dodged another swing, his gaze strong and serene. It was as though he simply moved out of the way, like dodging a mere stick instead of a hammer. At one point, he merely tilted his head a few scant cun away as the hammer's head passed it. It didn't even scratch his ear before he twisted away.

At this, the demons began going silent, and like before, the tide returned to the cultivators of Cang Qiong, and instead of mourning a loss that had yet to happen, they began cheering for a victory they could now see in the horizon.

Frustration began to color Elder Tian Chui's movements as he struggled to hit the boy. But Luo Binghe carefully avoided each swipe, looking for a good opening.

Everyone could see that the elder was completely covered in spiked armor, save for his face and fists. No one was sure how Luo Binghe could combat that, but his newfound confidence influenced those watching.

Even Sha Hualing began watching the cultivator boy closer, humming under her breath as she inspected him. This little bud could prove very troublesome in the future if allowed to grow. Unless Elder Tian Chui ended him here, she'd need to employ some more subtle tactics.

Luo Binghe avoided another swing, but then he stood firm, bearing his sword.

Had he found it? An opening? But no one could see it anywhere!

Enraged, the demon elder held his hammer firmly and thrust it forward with a bellow.

But, much to everyone's surprise, instead of dodging, Luo Binghe's qi began to flow off of his skin. Then, it disappeared, condensing into his sword--not even a spiritual sword, but one intended for training.

A flicker of light appeared at the tip, and the tip of the sword and eye of the hammer collided.

A beat of silence. Then, like lightning, Luo Binghe's qi shot through the hammer's eye, up the handle and grip, and burst into the meridians in Elder Tian Chui's hand, up his arms.

The clear, whitish blue qi polluted his meridians and cracked through them.

Elder Tian Chui, who had several hundreds of years of cultivation, cried out in pain as the meridians in his hands stung, like thousands of bees and hornets stinging him from the inside. The pain was enough for him to drop his hammer, much to the shock of the demons behind him.

Although Luo Binghe's sword now had a prominent dent in the tip, he still ran forward, gathering qi around him. He swung his sword toward the elder's other hand, slashing through the skin of his knuckles as more painful qi found and bled into him.

Luo Binghe swiftly backed away as the demon cried out again.

From his short move forward, he was able to see the slight gaps in the armor.

From then on, instead of a mouse facing a cat, a snake was circling a pheasant it had already poisoned.

With careful slashes and stalking, Luo Binghe cut the straps keeping much of the armor on his body. Cut by cut, Elder Tian Chui's vambraces and greaves fell to the ground, leaving his arms and legs exposed to the open air.

Luo Binghe didn't waste a single moment, slashing incessantly at the demon as he channeled more painful spiritual qi into his demonic body.

Finally, he gathered his qi into his left hand and, with a burst, shot it at the demon's chest. It flew forward, then exploded right in front of him.

The elder demon cried out once more, then fell onto his back, disarmed and almost fully disrobed. His helmet fell off his head, rolling on the ground.

For a few moments, both the demons and disciples went quiet.

Then, Cang Qiong's side began an uproarious applause!!

Amazing! They just witnessed something one would never see in hundreds of years! A single disciple, not even the head disciple, managed to win against an elder demon with hundreds of years of cultivation under his belt!

Qiong Ding disciples ran up to him first, applauding his success and praising his technique as Luo Binghe's adrenaline finally calmed. He took their praise in stride, though he seemed to look a bit out of place, like he was unsure of what to do about them. Instead, he was looking around as though in search of someone.

Of course, most would assume he was looking for his Shifu, so one disciple pointed in his direction, Luo Binghe looking over.

Shen Qingqiu's expression was outwardly impassive, but now, the boy could see the underlying rage in his darkened eyes. The spine of his fan was cracked from the force of his clenched fist.

Luo Binghe looked away, still searching for someone else as the cheering increased.

A little further off, Liu Mingyan gazed at Luo Binghe with a mix of awe and envy. Neither of them had their spiritual swords, but Luo Binghe's results were so much more outstanding than her own. She quietly decided that he could potentially make for a good rival, someone to look to in order to improve her own cultivation. She'd have to look out and encounter him more often, if only to see what he did to train.

Sha Hualing's opinion that she couldn't leave the boy alone did shift, though it was mixed with anger at the situation. Of course, this 'Luo Binghe' was quite powerful and handsome. If only he wasn't a cultivator... But perhaps there was something more behind his power. She'd need to investigate it, and she knew just the demon to consult.

But first and foremost...

“...The Central Plains people of the Human Realm have talents as expected, for such a young hero to come out. Ling-er really admires," she pleasantly gritted out, her gaze sharp.

Shen Qingqiu turned toward her with a scoff, eyes narrowed.

"We've accommodated your tryst and tolerated your unannounced presence for quite some time now, Young Miss. You would be wise to withdraw, since we were so underprepared to facilitate your family's curiosity. Surely it's been sated, and you all have learned well."

The disciples, drunk on victory, jeered at the demons, Sha Hualing's eye resisting the urge to twitch.

Eventually, she gave in. It was clear that her demons were outmatched. Unless the tides turned once more, they were going to return empty-handed. And that was if they could return at all. Surely the disciples were upset at their visit and the injuries they wrought on the sect. Now believing they could win, they would surely be out for blood!

This all should've worked out, if not for...

Sha Hualing finally chose where to direct her anger, grabbing Elder Tian Chui's hair as he sat up, wounded and bleeding sluggishly from many cuts. With his hair in her firm grasp, she smacked him across his bare face several times.

“To lose to such a young disciple under Elder Shen in a fight and in such an ugly manner! You’ve lost face for all demons!”

"This one is incompetent!" the elder cried out, interrupted by the scratch of her nails across his cheek. "Begging the saintess for punishment!"

"Wretched cur! To think you would humiliate us like this! How dare you call yourself an elder!"

"Begging Saintess for punishment!!"

Shen Qingqiu sniffed at the display, fanning himself leisurely.

"This master finds your behavior incredibly uncultured, Young Miss. If you wish to discipline your subordinates, do so off our esteemed mountain. You all have long overstayed your welcome."

After a few more biting words, Sha Hualing did an about-face, forcing herself to smile. "Elder Shen's words are right. This Ling-er lost herself for a moment after seeing the inexplicable talent of your sect's young gentleman, comparing him to the waste under her own command. Elder Shen, please excuse this one."

She turned her back to them, her expression chilled as ice as she stared down at the dishonored elder.

"Elder Du Bi fighting and losing to Elder Shen is a matter of course. For you to also lose your trial, against a sect disciple no less... You don't need me to say anymore. See to yourself."

Elder Tian Chui understood her order immediately, feeling his heart sink. This invasion was only supposed to be a time for them to rough up and kill a few cultivators, humiliating them for their own honor.

But now, he was the one humiliated, the only one who truly lost against Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. But it wasn't against Immortal Master Shen. No, it was against that little doll of a boy who he beat around until he spat up blood! But instead of ending the play, he was the one on the ground instead!

Malice fueled him, pushing through the pain still tingling in his limbs from the spiritual qi that polluted them. while he was mostly disarmed, he still had his breastplate, the spikes coated in Without A Cure.

That little weedling... He'd see the end to him today!

He moved as though he was going to kneel in shame, watching that curly-haired human boy stop looking around, surrounded by his peers as they inquired about his health.

Instead, he steadied himself, grabbing his hammer.

Then, with a burst of physical power, he shot up, running full-tilt toward the boy. His arms raised, his hammer prepared to strike, as he bellowed with all the fury he felt in his heart!

Luo Binghe had calmed down, fatigue bleeding into his body, so his senses had uncharacteristically dulled. As such, he was somewhat sluggish when he heard the incoming demon, looking up too late as he approached. The disciples, once around him and praising him, quickly scattered, leaving him standing alone as his vision blurred with exhaustion.

'Ah...' he thought, 'Shizun did tell me about this, didn't he...'

The pain shooting through the elder demon was too much, causing him to stumble. He was going to fall too quickly for Without A Cure to make contact with the boy. But it was clear he was dazed! His hammer would complete the job for him!

He would be well worth his own name!

As though time slowed, the demon's hammer approaches the top of Luo Binghe's head.

But before it reached, some invisible thing rushed forward, shoving disciples aside.

Its body was a blur as the qi obfuscating its appearance and presence diminish.

Its head was low, an ivory white coming into view, as the smell of fields and grass emanated from it.

Then, it pushed its front legs off the ground, its head high. The curled horns attached to its skull slammed against the incoming sledgehammer.

Instead of the hammer continuing its downward motion, it yanked up so quickly, it was as though a rope was attached to it, the other end hidden somewhere in the heavens. The sudden move stretched the demon's arm to its limits, delaying his fall.

There was a sharp crack, a pop, unlike anything those present had ever heard before.

A moment later, the sledgehammer, from its face to its handle, wavered--

Then shattered like glass.

Only the grip remained, which Elder Tian Chui clung to as he finally fell chest-first on the ground.

His right arm...the bones in it felt wrong. Were they...broken?

Broken from the vibrations the grip of his hammer couldn't withstand?

His left hand, which had let go, bleeding from his poor grip before, helped him as he tried to look up.

A ram stared back at him.

But it wasn't like any ram he'd seen before.

Its gleaming eyes focused on him, horns curled and vicious, without a single crack. Wavy wool, more akin to hair than cotton, hung off its body, similar to a yak. A single red spot stood out on the ram's forehead.

The sheep began stepping backward, but from the focus on him, the demon could tell it wasn't to retreat.

"Wh-Wha--"

Before he could say what he wanted, the ram rose up on its back legs, stepping forward with its front ones bent.

Step, step, step, step--

Just as Elder Tian Chui attempted to speak, the ram's steps shifted into a thrust, its horns angled downwards.

The ram's head collided with the demon elder's.

With it, a flash of spiritual qi--

And a burst of red.

[cinnanamii]

Ganjis 3rd year birthday letter and the heavy mischaracterization of the characters in game 3/just ranting about the birthday letter

(⚠️⚠️‼️THIS POST WILL BE DISCUSSING LEAKS/SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR GAME 3 OF IDV!! IF YOU DONT WANT TO BE SPOILED ON GANJIS 3RD YEAR LETTER OR GAME 3, SCROLL AWAY PLEASE! AND ALSO KEEP IN MIND, I AM NOT A GAME 3 EXPERT! IF I GET ANYTHING WRONG FEEL FREE TO CORRECT ME!!‼️⚠️⚠️)

Ganjis 3rd year letter was leaked recently (you can probably find post about it on tiktok and on discord servers) and I am so far beyond unimpressed and disappointed.

To start out this yap session/rant, I’m going to list the characters serial numbers, so that you can know who I will be talking about so that you can get a grip on what I will be discussing.

• 3-1-2 is anne

• 3-?-1 is aesop

• 3-1-4 is ganji

• 3-?-3 is Victor

The fact that netease decided to fill the letter with shock value racism, ruin annie as a character, and just ruined Ganjis character arc, and basically made Victor useless is so BEYOND me. This is a a lot, so I wanna start by talking about the blatant mischaracterization of annie and ganji in this letter.

To start off, they made annie so unnecessarily, hateful and racist towards ganji. It would make sense for annie to be afraid of loud noises, as they did introduce her as a timid woman, but making her afraid of ganji and becoming violent to him because of his accent is so beyond me. The whole reason why annie attacked ganji was originally because aesop manipulated annie into hurting him, not that annie got scared of the way he spoke? Plus, due to her timid and sweet girl type personality i could never see annie physically fighting/attacking ganji, it’s just not something that would happen. How could she ever have the confidence to do that, when she was literally scared of ganji? Then, on top of that, annie wouldn’t be provoked by his accent so easy? In her trailer, she was literally described to be like her mother, who was very nice, that being a trait annie had. So for her to just go attacking him so so EXTREMELY out of character for her.

Then, next screenshot I’m showing right now is the shock value racism randomly put in this for god who knows why?

“unfavorable impression” caused by 3-1-4’s accent? This is so ooc for annie, it feels like a poorly written oc/au. The antagonization of annie feels so unnecessary and just not needed. Game 3 might not have had a Hunter, but it did have an antagonist, that being aesop. The whole antagonization doesn’t feel right for her at all.

Then now, I wanna talk about Victor. One of the main things in game 3 is that they were not able to talk or communicate with each other. if they were able to do that, what’s the point of him even being here if they could already speak verbally? His writing was already kinda not the best, but this entire letter takes whatever relevance he had to the plot away. He needs to get something consistent, or else in this case his character is just useless. It’s completely unfair that aesop is able to get clear motivations and goals, but the other characters goals and aspirations just get handled horribly.

Game 3 was so unique in the way it functioned, and with the characters that were so similar, but so different at the same time. What could have been a group of compelling a deeply well written characters now feel like a dumpster fire or mischaracterization and the severe lack of coherence. All just from one letter too. This feels like a big fat slap in the face for me as someone who loved game 3, and all of the characters for game 3, ESPECIALLY annie, and if you loved game three, also this should feel like a slap in the face for you too.

**im aware that this is a leak, and it could be potentially false, but this has been on my mind practically ever since I heard of it, and everything is just so absurd.**

edit: the letter was updated and changed, a few things did change (examp; annie isnt racist anymore) but that dosent mean I don’t have issues with the letter, I’ll probably make an updated post eventually if people r still interested in this

[romana-after-dark]

Tell Me (Repost)

Dark!Miguel O'hara x fem!reader

Masterlist : Taglist

I posted this months ago and by the morning it only had like 6 likes by the morning lmfao and this was during the peak of Miguel days and I thought "wow this must be terrible" so I deleted it. However, it did well on AO3 so i decided to just report it.

Miguel tries to extract information from you via any means necessary DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

OH MY GOD DO NOT EAT IF YOU DONT LIKE DEAD DOVES

This is not like The Wrong Way where Joel alternates between horrific and soft. THIS IS JUST PLAIN DDDNE.

WARNINGS!!!!: DDDNE!!! Rape, non con, torture, verbal humiliation, degradation, forced anal, biting (fang baby), literally idk what got into me here, it's literally porn with no plot. I almost always have so much plot. Victim blaming, psychological torture, I want to reiterate its literally rape. I wanted to write for Miguel bc he's a hottie and spiderverse was amazing but lets be honest, its pretty popular on tumblr rn. However, I refuse to write without inspiration, so I won't just write something just bc it's popular. Besides, this may have gotten so far on the dark side it's not even gonna be liked XD anyway, i had genuine inspiration and I went with it. All apoligies.

700 words

*****************************

“Tell me.” Miguel O’hera grabbed your throat as you hung from the ceiling. He had been trying for hours to extract the information he wanted, using multiple forms of torture and you were exhausted, but refused to tell him what he wanted. When his hands began trailing your body, you knew the next method would be psycho-sexual.

“I’m not…” You gasp as a finger grazes over your tit. “I’m not telling you anything…”

“Hm.” was his non committal answer before cutting your ropes, watching you tumble onto the concrete. “I guess we’ll see.”

Only taking a moment to breath, you try to scramble away, but to where you aren’t sure. There’s nowhere to go, and a large man climbs on top of you hold your wrists together in on fist as his other undid his pants. You writhe underneath him, but screaming is useless.

“Get off me!” You kick and twist and scrape up your whole body that's exposed in the bra and underwear you were left hanging in, the cold floor ice against your skin. “GET OFF!”

“Oh, I’ll get off alright…” Miguel mumbles as he rips your bra off. “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll stop.”

You weren’t sure you believed him, but you didn’t want to give up the information. Even as he strips off his pants, his insanely large frame keeps you pinned to the floor. There is no escape.

Miguel mumbles and scoffed ‘fine’ and two hands rip off your underwear, tossing the scraps aside. You scream as he pushes his fat tip into you, ripping you open slowly, slowly… allowing you to feel every inch, every vain, every hard and warm and pulsing part of him. “You can still stop this, carino.”

“No!” You whimper, deadset and determined to stay strong. You wouldn’t let him break you.

“Have it your way.” Dragging his hips back, Miguel pauses before he thrusted into you band fucks you mercilessly, you can feel the raw pain of him sliding in and out of you as you cry out, initially dry. The most humiliating part, however, came after several minutes of hm trying to coax the information out of you, slapping your face until your mouth bled, when he began laughing. “Oh my god, are you getting wet from this? So fucking pathetic.” 

Miguel looked down on you, your body wracked with pain and jolting with each thrust, he could practically feel your will breaking. “You probably enjoy this, do you play out scenarios like this with some pathetic little dicked man? Does it turn you on, knowing you have no choice? Little whore been fucked so many times she needs to feel like she’s being forced just to get wet?” His chuckle was dark and cruel as he continued to taunt you, your tears falling down your bloodied and bruised face. 

“You’re lucky I’m even touching this used up cunt.” Miguel leans over, licking at the tears and blood and spit on your face. “Tell me, and I’ll stop fucking your pussy. TELL ME!” He screams, painfully loud in your ear.

You break, telling him what he wanted. There wasn’t a part of you that really believed he’d stop, so you were surprised when he pulled out.

When he rolled you over, you began to ask. “What are you-” but are cut off by him ramming his cock up your ass. “FUCK!!!” You scream. He wasn’t lying, he did stop abusing your pussy, only to rip our asshole open.

“God, look at you…” Miquel sat back to admire his work, smirking at the way your ass contracted and spread around his thick cock. “I’d say you were made for me, but…” Chuckling, he slaps your ass. “But I can see how much you’re struggling to make room for me. No ones ever fucked you like this, have they? You should be thanking me.” Fangs dug sharply into your shoulder, drawing out more blood. “SAY THANK YOU!” Your ears rang with his screamed words, before another bite. “SAY IT!” He bit and screamed and bit and screamed until you finally cave.

“Thank you!” You sob, and he cums inside your ass with a loud, strangled groan.

Only when you shudder from the cold do you realize he’s gotten off you, his impossibly wide frame no longer covering you. Miguel tosses you a blanket, muttering something about how he may just have to keep you now.

******************

Eeeeeep well if you like it, please consider rebloging or leaving a comment!

[worms-in-my-brain]

Having affective empathy deficits because you have ASPD and cognitive empathy deficits because you have autism is wild. Especially when you have a high need for cognition and a high cognitive capacity. It’s like constantly playing 4D chess.

Someone telling me a story about something I have zero personal experience with? I am SO useless. Usually I refer to past situations I’ve been in so I know how the other person might be feeling and what advice I would give but when I have 0 context and I’m already bad at cognitive empathy. And I can’t even relate to how they feel or ‘feel for them’ even if they directly tell me. It’s like idk what do you want me to say. That sure is a situation. Do fuck all for all I care. Except I can’t say that, because I know people are expected to care about that stuff… and on some level, if it’s a friend, I do care—but the barrier to my understanding is so huge that I end up only caring from a, like, theoretical standpoint. Like yeah in general if my friend gets hurt I care. But also. I have no emotions regarding how you respond to this specific situation. And then my ability to engage on the topic starts to slim down to frantic attempts to engage social scripts so that I don’t show what’s going on in my head.

It’s also insane because like. I always think that I have good cognitive empathy (for an autistic person) until the end of the day. And then I drop my mask and I realise how tired I am. Or when I’m at a social gathering for a while and I use so much energy I wind up practically hiding behind a friend so nobody talks to me. And then I realise that, yeah, I might be able to use it to function to some extent, but every time I do I’m using all of these mental functions that I barely even realise I’m using anymore that it just nukes me.

AuSPD is a pretty intense combo in that it really severely damages your ability to relate to other people. Especially when the impacts they have on your thoughts make it so that, often, your perspective is only understood by yourself. (Its why I enjoy online communities sm—somebody out there is BOUND to relate EVENTUALLY and I like seeing that I’m not alone).

[gabessquishytum]

Dream really do be having that previously neglected shelter dog rizz and y’all be putting him in Situations 😭. Please all I can see him doing is laying pathetically on the floor letting out occasional heaving sighs of sorrow as Hob just carefully steps over him (because Dream somehow always manages to be on the floor directly under where he’s about to step and Hob’s one more tumble away from just investing in a ceiling made of monkey bars).

So now all I can imagine is Dream post-divorce with Calliope (because let’s be real that man came out of the celestial womb divorced and mopey) who finds solace in Hob’s flat and Hob’s occasional attempts to heave him up both physically and emotionally. When Hob’s not frantically almost stepping on his dear friend and braining himself as a result, he’s just sort of resigned himself to the reality that Dream just kind of…lives on his floor now when he’s not in The Dreaming, so he’s like fuck it I’m just gonna keep going about my days. So Dream gets to watch Hob’s daily routines from a brand new perspective, maybe even catch a glimpse of Hob changing in his bedroom when he forgets (read: he did not forget) to close his door, and how he sings awfully in the shower, and loves burnt toast that’s practically char and makes Dream watch terrible human shows and movies all of a sudden Dream’s like oh no I’m in love with him

I just love the idea of Dream moping around looking like a lost dog caught out in the rain for so long that Hob just accepts him as a permanent fixture in the flat. He makes some room in the closet for all of Dream’s nonexistent clothes (he buys him some anyway), he gives him a cupboard in the kitchen and a drawer or two, he gets drunk and tells Dream about all his own failed relationships over the centuries. And when Hob finally snaps and tells Dream that he’s not unloveable and proves that to him by giving him a big sloppy drunk kiss, well Dream’s always wanted more than he’s got, and he can’t stop himself when he doesn’t let Hob pull away, hands gripping the thick meat of his upper thighs, teeth against teeth and gasping into each other’s mouths and suddenly Dream can’t even remember why he was so sad to begin with

I need you to know the phrase "shelter dog rizz" is sending me absolutely wheezing. Iconic.

And honestly? Yeah.

It takes a little while for Hob to get used to the man shaped creature who apparently now lives on the floor, but he figures that Dream has been Going Through Something for the last several thousand years so he probably deserves the opportunity to express his depressive episode in a relatively harmless way. He's still willing to talk to Hob, which is nice. Hob tells him about work and the pub and how he's in a hyperfixation over The Sims at the moment, which happens to him for a few week every year without fail. Dream sometimes talks about the goings on of his realm, and Matthew's shenanigans. A lot of the time he talks about how useless he feels and how, despite the fact that he ought not to feel fatigue at all, he's so tired.

Dream is surprisingly welcome company for Hob (who is lonely, though he would never ever dare to say that word to Dream again). Despite acting like a very strange rug, Dream is present and calming and when Hob lies down beside him on the floor, he feels absolutely peaceful.

Kissing Dream is absolutely the best drunken decision Hob has ever made (and there have been many). Dream melts against his body and the flicker of a smile starts in his eyes before finally quirking at the edge of his mouth.

Suddenly he's quite willing to spend less time on the floor... and more time in bed.

[sixpennydame]

North Star ✶ Chapter 10

A Levi Ackerman x oc slow burn

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | AO3

Just one kiss, can change everything between you and Levi.

My dearest Martin,

Remember when we were small, and I’d follow you around everywhere? I used to trail behind you like a lost puppy, but you never scolded me. You’d just smile, take my hand, and lead me to wherever you were going. 

Throughout my whole life, whenever I reached out my hand, you were there. 

These past three years, I wondered how I could go on without you, knowing that when I reached out, you wouldn’t be there. The world felt colder, and I felt so alone.

But you told me I have more to do, more life to live, so I’m going to do that. This past year, I’ve learned that I’m not alone and that I’m stronger than I thought. 

Thank you for always having faith in me, when I didn’t have faith in myself. 

I’ll see you again, in another time, another place.

Love, 

Catherine

——- ✶ ——-

Your hand was warm in his, your lips even warmer as you kissed one cheek, then the other. Levi thought his heart would jump out of his chest, it was pounding so furiously. He’d looked at your face hundreds of times in the last several months, but right now, with the light of the early dawn on your face, he thought it was the most beautiful he’d ever seen you. His eyes glance down at your lips - he wants to feel them on his skin again, he yearns for it. 

You don’t move. He doesn’t either. The most he can manage is a light caress of your face, but it’s not enough. There’s an energy between your two bodies, urging him to move closer, to press his lips against yours.

All he has to do is move.

His head inches forward. First, a brush of his nose against yours, but then he tilts slightly and he’s kissing you like you are the most delicate porcelain. 

And you don’t back away, you simply lean in, your other hand moving up to press lightly against his chest. His free hand moves to your waist; he wants so badly to pull you against him, to kiss every inch of you.

When your lips finally separate, he doesn’t know if seconds or minutes have passed. 

It’s the sharp pain shooting through his knee that pulls him back to reality. He blinks once, then twice, and sees you there, in front of him, your eyes flitting open. 

What have I done?

“Levi..” Your voice is soft. Sweet. But the way his name hangs in the air, he’s not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse.

Say something, you idiot.

His head is spinning, his heart pumping. He needs to take a step back and reevaluate what is happening here. Afraid of what you might say next, he speaks.

“I…”

I think I’m in love with you.

I have never felt this way before.

I need to know if you feel the same way.

“...I should go check on the horses. Who knows if Mathieu is even sober enough to do it.” He backs away from you. “And you should get some rest.”

He walks to the washroom and while splashing his face with cold water, he hears the door to your room click shut. Maybe it’s the cold, but his knee has been bothering him more lately; it probably didn’t help that he was on his feet practically all night. Wiping his face with a towel, he looks at himself in the mirror; the deep scars running down his cheek, his useless and clouded eye. And then there are the scars not visible on the surface, the feelings of loss and pain. His body and heart have paid the price for his sacrifice, broken in so many ways beyond repair.

He touches the jagged, uneven scar on his lips and wonders why you’d returned his kiss. Maybe you felt sorry for him. Maybe you saw it as an obligation, after all he’s done.

Because really, who would want someone so broken?

——- ✶ ——-

Your lips are still warm and tingly from the kiss as you fall onto your bed, your mind ablaze with thoughts that you know will make it impossible to go to sleep. There’s a door in your room that leads to the washroom and you can hear him there, just on the other side of the wall. 

What would happen if you just opened it and told him how you felt? That slowly throughout the months, your feelings of friendship have turned into something more. Something that you haven’t felt in years, and you can’t imagine feeling with anyone else but him. 

Is this love?

It’s a strange sensation, opening your heart to another; there’s a tinge of guilt there as you think of Martin. He told you to love again, but this…

…is that what this is?

It’s almost too terrifying to think about. Martin was the first and only person you’d ever loved, and it had never even crossed your mind that you could care for someone else to the same degree, much less fall in love again.

You laugh. Listen to yourself - it was just an innocent kiss, probably nothing more.

But oh, how wonderful it was. Slow and soft, and when his hand went to your waist you’d wanted him to pull you in tighter. You’d leaned in, lips slightly parted, inviting his tongue to mingle with yours. Why did he pull away? And if he hadn’t, what might have happened next?

A heavy sigh escapes your mouth. You feel like a schoolgirl again with a first crush. Everything feels newer, brighter.

There’s a shuffling and then you hear the door open and close, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he walks to his bedroom. There’s still time to tell him how you feel.

Your feet pad silently down the hallway as you stand in front of his bedroom door. You take a deep breath and just as you raise your fist to knock - 

– There’s a loud, abrupt pounding on the front door.

You rush to the door and Annika stands before you, hair disheveled and makeup smudged from a night of holiday revelry. But you can tell from the look in her eyes that she’s not here to drunkenly wish a Happy New Year.

“Annika, is something the matter?”

“Is Levi here?” 

Levi joins the two of you in the entryway, limping slightly. You both look down to see that he’s wearing a brace of some kind around his knee. The thick material wraps around his leg, held together by leather laces. 

Annika frowns. “What’s going on there?”

“An old war injury. When it gets bad, I put this on.”

“You should let me check it.” Annika moves towards him curiously.

“No thanks,” he counters, then rushes to take the focus off of him. “What did you need me for?”

Annika’s face turns from curiosity over Levi’s leg to worry.

“It’s Mathieu.”

——- ✶ ——-

“Dumbass…” Levi says, arms crossed.

Looking down at Mathieu, sprawled out on a sofa in Annika’s family home, you’re prone to agree with Levi. “How exactly did this happen?”

“Well, Oleg said he could race me down to the town square. Perhaps I’d had too much to drink…I slipped and fell forward…”

He lifts up his two bandaged arms, both in makeshift slings.

“...and he broke both of his elbows,” Annika cuts in. “He’ll be unable to use his arms for at least six weeks.”

Levi pinches the bridge of his nose. “Six weeks…I suppose that puts me in charge of the stables for the time being.”

“Or longer,” Annika interjects again. “It really depends on how quickly he heals. And he’ll need help with other things, like getting dressed, cooking..” she looks away to keep from laughing at the whole ridiculous situation, “...relieving himself.”

Mathieu has no immediate family, no next of kin, no one to help him through this time. But Mursa’s a tight-knit community and people look out for each other; you’d be happy to help him out.

“Why don’t you come live at my place for a while?” you ask. “I have an extra room, and then I can help with whatever you need.”

“And leave the stables? The horses? My home?” Mathieu’s face becomes defiant; you imagine he’d cross his arms in frustration, if he could.

Annika rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so stubborn. You can’t be by yourself.”

“I’ll look after him,” Levi says as he helps Mathieu off the sofa. “Let’s just get you back to your place and we can figure the rest out.”

It’s a realization that you’ve slowly come to these past few months: that beneath his harsh words and intense scowls, Levi is incredibly caring. It’s not necessarily something he tries to hide, but it’s also not apparent to all. It’s a special part of his character that you really love about him.

Love…that word is becoming easily relatable to Levi these days.

“I can come and help out too.” You get on the other side of Mathieu.

“I’m perfectly capable of walking, thank you very much,” he huffs, shaking you both off of him. A bit of a loner, Mathieu’s a man who’s prided himself on his strength and independence. A bit headstrong too. You wonder if that’s why he had Annika bring Levi over. The two men are truly one of a kind.

Mathieu looks at the brace on Levi’s leg and his heavy limp. “Look at us – like the blind leading the blind.” He laughs.

“Don’t test me, old man,” Levi warns, “you don’t need any more broken bones.”

 ——- ✶ ——-

By the time you and Levi get Mathieu back to his home, the morning sun had moved over the mountains and was now shining brightly over the valley. The old, creaky home is cold and quiet, and you get a fire going while Levi helps the old man out of his clothes.

“Oi, did you bathe in alcohol all night? You reek.” You can hear Levi’s voice from down the hall.

“I guess you’re gonna have to help me bathe then, Nurse Levi.” Mathieu cackles.

It makes you laugh too, listening to them bicker. “You two argue like an old married couple,” you yell their way.

“Ow! Be gentle!” Mathieu whines. “Married? If this is your tender touch, Levi, then I pity any woman you ever marry.”

You’ve felt Levi’s touch, and it is tender. You can still feel his calloused fingers running across your jaw, lifting your lips to his. You wonder what it would feel like for him to take your clothes off, to run his hands over your body as you lay in a bathtub.  

“Just stop talking and get in the damn bathtub! Keep your arms above the water!” Levi’s tone is strict, but you can hear the care in his voice, as if he’s reprimanding a child.

Even his stern voice is turning you on right now.

Catherine, pull yourself together!

It seems that one little kiss has set your mind and heart ablaze. You wonder if Levi feels the same.

There’s no knowing until you get a free moment to talk to him.

You busy yourself with making breakfast while Levi bathes Matheiu and helps him get dressed, desperate to do anything to get your mind off the kiss. Yet, as the three of you eat, Levi barely looks at you. In fact, he’s barely acknowledged you at all this whole morning. 

Once Matheiu is in his bed, Levi helps you with washing dishes, still in awkward silence.

“I better get out to the stables. There’s lots to do now,” he says on his way out of the kitchen.

“Let me help you.”

“No. I don’t want you exhausting yourself. You’ve worked too hard to recover this past week, and I don’t want you getting sick again. Go get some rest.”

There’s that stern but caring voice, now directed at you. You know there’s no arguing with him once he has that tone.

“Alright, but can we talk later?” You attempt to keep your voice cool and neutral, but there’s no hiding the expectation in your eyes.

He looks over his shoulder at you. “Sure. Later,” then turns to leave.

 ——- ✶ ——-

Levi knows exactly what you want to talk about. He could see it in your eyes all morning. But these romantic feelings - the whole situation - is such foreign territory to him. Not that he hadn’t had experiences with women before; there’d been stolen kisses in dark alleys in The Underground, and desperate make-out sessions before a mission, just to feel alive. But this was different with you. It was the first time in his life that he wanted more. 

He hadn’t thought any of this through clearly yet; kissing you wasn’t exactly in the plans, and yet..

And yet, it had felt so right at the time, he can’t deny that. 

It also felt selfish. He doesn’t deserve you. 

You deserve someone who can make you truly happy, who can protect and take care of you. At his age and with his injuries, it’s more likely that you’d be taking care of him. 

The pain shooting through his leg reminds him of his inadequacies as he puts clean hay in the horses’ troughs. It’s a constant reminder of the strength he once had, now long gone. 

And he’s made peace with that. He knows he’s not Humanity’s Strongest anymore - he doesn’t want to be. But who is he now? And when you look at him, what do you see?

Probably just some pathetic, old soldier, he thinks. And you’re so beautiful, and young, with so much more life to live. 

Demon whinnies at Levi, breaking him away from his thoughts. “Feeling restless too, are you?” he asks, petting Demon along the bridge of his nose. “What do you say we burn some frustrated energy in the indoor arena?”

Levi harnesses Demon and gets on his back, careful not to put too much pressure on his knee. He can feel Demon’s need to zip through the snow and across the frozen meadow, but his firm grip on the reins keeps the spirited stallion in control. 

The indoor arena wasn’t far from the stables and was a considerable size - perfect for keeping the horses healthy and energized during the long, snowy winter. Mathieu was once one of the best racehorse breeders and trainers in Southern Marley, as he often bragged to Levi, and it was his dream to have his sons take over the business someday. But when his sons were conscripted in the Marleyan army to fight in one of the many battles against the Mid-East Allied Forces years ago, they never returned. Still, he kept the training facilities clean and ready, as if he was prepared for them to return at any moment. 

That refusal to let his grief overtake him, even in the most difficult of circumstances, was something Levi respected in Mathieu.

He and Demon start at a slow walk, working in and around some barrels placed in various parts of the barn. They weave in and out, Demon snorting impatiently.

“I know, but let’s get warmed up first.” Levi says to Demon as they go into a trot, then finally, a canter. 

The arena is big enough for Levi to run Demon at a full gallop, and soon they’re racing around the perimeter. The cold air whips at Levi’s face, waking him up and making him more alert. He empties his mind and lets his body work with Demon’s; he’s ridden him long enough that it seems they both read each other’s minds, each muscle twitch a tell-tale sign of what the other is thinking. 

Riding horses is one of the few times Levi feels whole again, the adrenaline coursing through his body as he works purely on instinct with the animal. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel like he’s flying through the air with ODM gear again.

Energy sufficiently spent, Demon slows to a prance as horse and rider return to the stable. The other horses neigh, anxious for their turn. “Ok, ok, you’ll all get a chance,” Levi concedes, unsaddling Demon.

When Levi returns to the house, he finds Mathieu up and sitting in front of the large picture window overlooking the stables. “You should be resting, old man.”

“This is resting, and it is driving me crazy,” Mathieu whines. “It’s gonna be a long two months.

“For you and me both.” Levi warms his hands by the fire, the flames’ illumination showing a deep contentment on his face.

“You didn’t have to ride every horse today, you know,” Mathieu says.

“I know that. But I enjoyed it, and they all needed to stretch their legs.”

“Speaking of legs…” Mathieur looks at the brace on Levi’s knee, “...you gonna be ok?”

“I’m fine. Or as fine as I’m ever gonna be.”

“And you can ride with that brace on?”

“Yeah, it’s not too big a deal. And it’s not like I need it all the time.”

Suddenly there’s a spark in Mathieu’s eyes. He leans forward. “Have you given any more thought to letting me train you and Demon for racing?” Levi is silent, contemplative. “I’ll make a deal with you: I’m obviously going to need someone here with me ‘round the clock while I’m,” he looks down at his arms, “incapacitated. If you’ll stay here and help me out, I’ll provide you a room, training, and even sponsor and pay for your first race.” Levi still doesn’t say a word, just crosses his arms and looks at the man across from him. “Come on…that’s a pretty good deal,” Mathieu smiles, “and I know how much you love riding.”

The fire crackles as Levi thinks on it. Mathieu does need constant care right now and he would be here practically all the time anyway. But to be away from you..

Maybe that’s what’s needed right now, though; some time for him to step away and let things cool off. Without him constantly there and bothering you, you’ll see that the kiss was all a mistake, if you didn’t see it that way already. After the rescue on the mountain and all that time spent together, of course feelings of friendship and romance would get misplaced. What you and he need is some space; it’s the best thing for both of you.

The best thing for you.

“Well,” Mathieu smirks, “what do ya say?”

 ——- ✶ ——-

When you arrived back home from Mathieu’s, you immediately dove onto your bed and fell asleep. It was one of those deep sleeps where, upon waking, it feels as if days, maybe weeks have gone by. It takes a few moments for you to remember where you are and what time it is. Only until you turn your head and see the picture of you and Martin next to your bed do you remember you’re back at home. For over three years, the photo of you and he on your wedding day has stood vigil on the altar next to your bed. Looking at the two smiling faces, your heart warms. 

…you should allow yourself to feel love again. Martin had told you on that mountain top. Did he really mean it?

 Love makes this whole world worth it.” 

“He’s nice, Martin. A little rough around the edges, but I think you’d really like him.”

There’s that guilt again, rearing its ugly head. Guilt that you’re moving on, that you’re finding happiness without him.

“But it’s just a crush. I’m not looking to fall in love,” you say out loud, less to Martin and more to yourself.

Because surely, this isn’t love.

It’s the rumbling of your stomach that finally gets you out of bed. The days are slowly getting longer but the winter sun has already started to set, making you realize that you need to start on dinner before Max, Albert, and Luka return. 

You’d just started on a potato soup when you hear the door open and the voices of the three young men filling the empty space around you. Although you had loved the time with only Levi, you’d missed their energy and smiling faces.

”Happy New Year!” Albert says gleefully, barreling into the kitchen and giving you a big hug. 

“And to you all as well!” you answer back as you give them each a light hug and kiss on the cheek. “It was so quiet here without you.”

“I’m sure it was. I doubt all that alone time with Levi was very exciting. Did he even come out of his room?” Max asks, a hint of jealousy in his voice.

”I had a wonderful time with Levi. He..”

He kissed me. It was amazing. You want to cry out from the rooftops. 

“He helped me clean and accompanied me to some New Year’s Eve parties. It was fun.”

The heat of your blushing cheeks makes you turn your back to the three. “But other than that it was a quiet week.” You busy your hands with cutting potatoes and carrots. “Enough about me. I want to hear all about your time back home.”

While you cook, they tell you stories of their towns and neighborhoods: the friends they saw and their family traditions. Their tales continue as you eat, and you listen intently, but all the while noting that Levi hasn’t yet returned home.

It’s late into the evening when you finally hear the doorknob to the front door turn. You’re reading in the sitting room and listening to music on the gramophone with the others as he enters, giving a nod when everyone wishes him a Happy New Year.

“I hear you’re taking care of Old Man Mathieu for a few weeks,” Max says.

”Yeah. It’s not like he has anyone else.”

”He has all of us,” you remind him. “I can go over with you every morning and help out.”

”About that,” Levi says, shifting his weight off of his knee and running his hand through his hair. “I’ve decided I’m going to live at Mathieu’s for the time being. At least until he recovers.” The record has stopped playing and it’s suddenly become quiet in the room. “If I’m having to work double time at the stables, I might as well just stay there and help him with other things too. I mean, the man can’t even shit by himself.”

“Oh..” the word escapes your mouth before you know it. Did Levi notice how sad it sounded? 

You reprimand yourself for your reaction. Mathieu needs help, and Levi is willing to do that. It’s admirable. “That’s good of you to do that, Levi. Of course, it’s the right thing to do.”

“Well then, I should pack a few things and get back over there.” He nods again and walks to his room.

You wait expectantly for an invitation to join him. You’ve been imagining the conversation all evening:

“Catherine, can we talk in my room? Privately?”

The three younger men look at each other, before Albert speaks up. “We should probably be getting to bed anyway.” 

You follow Levi to his room, your heart thumping loudly. As you stand in the doorway, he closes the door, brushing so close to you that you can feel his breath move across your neck. He stands to face you.

“I’ve wanted to talk to you…about this morning,” you say.

“We don’t need to talk about it,” he’d reply, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close to him. He kisses you again, this time, fully and confidently.

Perhaps you don’t even make it to your room that night.

It gives you butterflies just thinking about it. But as minutes pass, you realize that he’s not going to call for you. The minutes inch by, until Albert, Max, and Luka say their good nights and retire to their rooms. Only then do you decide to take the initiative. You can’t keep wondering any longer.

You walk over to his door and knock. “Levi, can I come in?”

He opens the door and gestures for you to enter. You do so, nervously. 

You wait, but he continues to pack his bag.

Time to be brave, Catherine. 

“Levi, I want to talk about…” your hands are sweaty and clutched at your sides as you take a quick breath, “...about this morning.”

“Right…” Levi takes his own breath. 

You can do this. You can tell him how you feel!

He stops packing to look at you. “There’s no need to talk about it.”

Your heart is beating fast, wanting him to move closer, to touch you.

“It was a mistake,” he says, bluntly.

Levi isn’t one to mince words; he gets to the point, you know that. But the way he says it - so coldly, it makes your stomach drop.

And all that excitement, that expectation, comes crumbling down around you.

“You’re my friend, Catherine. Nothing more. That kiss…was a lapse in judgment.” He looks away. “I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise.”

A mistake. A lapse in judgment. The words cut like a knife.

“Right,” you finally reply, after a few stunned, silent moments. “Right…a mistake. It absolutely was.” 

A part of you actually believes that. The other part, however…

You mask your feelings with a smile. “There’s no harm done, Levi. We’re still friends.” You pat his arm, lingering there just a little bit before pulling back. Everything feels awkward now. “Let’s just pretend like it never happened.”

There’s no point in telling him how you feel now; he’s made his feelings known loud and clear, and you’d obviously read everything wrong. What a fool you’ve been.

He looks into your eyes again, as if he’s trying to read what you’re really saying, how you really feel. “Right.” His own eyes soften, and it looks as if he’s going to say something, but stops himself. “I should get back over there,” he finally says, “Mathieu can barely wipe his own ass now without my help.”

You stifle a breathy laugh. “You probably should.”

The two of you walk to the door and Levi hauls his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll come by later for the rest of my things. You can rent out my room during that time, if you need to.”

You clutch at the sweater over your shoulders as he opens the door. The outside air suddenly feels colder, crueler.

“That’s your room, Levi. It’ll be waiting for you to return.” You search his face for some kind of reaction, but it’s only cold indifference. “You are coming back, right?”

“Yeah. Of course,” he answers, but there’s a tone that makes you feel like he’s unsure. 

Everything feels so unsure now.

“Goodnight, Catherine.” He walks into the darkness of the snowy night, leaving you standing in the doorway.

You thought the kiss was going to change everything for you and he, and it did. Just not in the way you’d wanted.

You blink away tears and close the door.

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[pianocat939]

What would happen if the boys target of obsession was a diamond mutant? Like they were working in a jewellery store and got stung with an oozquito and mutated into a diamond mutant, her skin is which ever diamond you choose and almost impervious, they can also turn other things to diamonds like flowers or Rose's. She just gives the turtles they like best a diamond rose.

Tw: Mikey being delusional, Mikey stealing thing from MC (like unused things), Leo slight angst

ooh ooh- interesting

I think Leo would def ask you to change any jewelry he happens to find into pure diamond just cuz he wants to flaunt it. But otherwise, I feel he would think he's more useless than ever because of the fact you practically don't need any protection on the defensive side. Still, he'll try to fight any enemies to show he's capable. If you give him a diamond rose I personally say something clicks in his mind and he becomes more open about his softer feelings.

Donnie I think would be fascinated by your abilities, oftentimes asking you to turn random things into diamonds. After he's inspected his subjects, he might ask to incorporate some of your abilities into his battle shell to upgrade his defences. If you give him a diamond rose he'll think it's just another item you're letting him observe and experiment on- but once you tell him or he realizes, he gets all happy bcs he feels special.

Mikey will constantly praise you for your shiny looks and honestly makes his delusional all the more severe than to a normal person. If you accidentally transform something or just do it for fun and then leave it around somewhere, he will definitely take it to his shrine. Also, he'll be more interested in drawing diamonds in his art, even just a little one in the corner or something. It makes him feel closer to you. If you give him a diamond rose he'll freak out and handle it so carefully you would think he's overreacting (yes and no considering his delusions)

Raph will find it so cool he's amazed every time you do change something into diamonds. He will definitely photograph each one he sees and puts it in a scrapbook and writes the date and even a title for each one. If he ever feels like making his weights heavier he'll ask you to turn it into a diamond just to make it harder for him to lift. If you ever give him a diamond rose he'll be so touched he'll hug you tight you would think he wants to shatter you. He saves it in a glass case like the one from Beauty + Beast.

[intheticklecloset]

Tickling on Ice (Yuri on Ice)

Summary: After practicing his latest routine, Yuri finds himself out of breath for several different reasons.

A/N: HAPPY (belated) BIRTHDAY, @dokidoki-muffin!! Since you left your wish pretty open-ended, I decided to take inspiration from this fabulous art and write a fic for it! You did tell us we were free to speculate, after all! I hope you enjoy it! ^^

And yes I'm aware this title is incredibly lame but it made me laugh and I couldn't be bothered to come up with something better so lame it shall stay lol

Word Count: 1,145

~~~

Yuri Plisetsky was gasping for air.

The performance was over; he’d held his final pose the required amount of time. He was done, and that meant he could finally breathe. This routine was by far the hardest he’d ever performed to date. It was spectacular, but it took a lot out of him.

He propped himself up on his elbows, the cold of the ice burning his skin. From across the rink, another figure glided over to join him.

For a moment Yuri forgot how out of breath he was. If anything, seeing Otabek Altin only took his breath away again. He could hardly believe he’d just done what he’d done – having his friend help him with his routine by first catching the pink jacket he discarded early on and then by ripping his glove off his hand with his teeth.

Yuri tried not to blush as he got to his feet.

“Well done,” Otabek congratulated, nodding his approval. “That was the smoothest practice yet.”

“I still have some things to work on,” Yuri replied, eyes darting to the fingerless gloves the taller man offered him. He took them and stuffed them in his back pocket.

“Yes, but you have time for that.” Otabek scanned him briefly. “Not too cold?”

“Please,” the Russian scoffed, though he was pretty certain he was incapable of feeling anything other than an intense warmth when standing so close to his friend. Yes, just a friend. “If a little ice is enough to make me shiver then I’m clearly in the wrong profession.”

The Kazakhstani smirked. “Hmm. I have to admit, I’m impressed with how bold this routine is, even for you.”

“Bold? You think this is…” Yuri’s comeback trailed off when Otabek got right up into his personal space. He forgot what words even were for a moment. “…bold?”

“Yes.”

“Y-You…you don’t have to bite the glove off if you don’t want to—”

“I do.” Otabek leaned down to touch their foreheads together, a clear invitation, a clear question. “That blush looks good on you, by the way.”

“Wha?” Yuri yelped when his feet were suddenly not holding him up anymore, his skates sliding across the ice when Otabek swept his own beneath them. The blonde frantically reached up to grab him for stability, and the next thing he knew he was being suspended in the air, kept aloft only by the darker man’s hands on his hips and Yuri’s fists clenched in his black leather jacket. “What – what are you doing?!”

“I would like to kiss you, Yuri,” Otabek murmured. “Please tell me I can.”

Yuri shivered, eyes wide, but he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Suddenly, having the Kazakhstani bite his glove off his hand no longer seemed like the boldest move they’d made recently. His kiss was gentle but passionate, making Yuri see stars behind his eyes, and he didn’t protest in the slightest when he realized he was being pushed back down onto the ice, the cold against his bare back contrasting sharply with the warmth of the man above him.

Okay, so maybe he was more than just a friend. And maybe Yuri was completely fine with that.

Hands began to wander, Otabek’s fingers brushing gently over skin as he slipped under his shirt, and Yuri shivered again, inhaling sharply, tensing up.

Otabek broke their connection and met his eyes, a playful sparkle in them that made the blonde nervous. “Oh?”

“No,” Yuri said immediately, but it was useless. Fingernails scraped gently against his sides, making him squirm. “No, don’t do that!”

“Are you ticklish?”

“I’m – no! Nonono! I mean—” He tried again. “Please don’t, I’m…I’m really t-tihiheahahahahaha! Wahahahahait!”

Otabek chuckled, scribbling all over his lower torso, and Yuri squeaked and squirmed and tried to push him away, but it was all for naught. The older man was also much, much stronger, and the Russian felt a chill shoot through him from more than just the ice when he realized how stuck he was like this.

“Plehehease, I’m really tihihihihicklish! Dohohohohohon’t! Otahahahahahaha!”

In a sudden flurry of movement, Otabek pushed Yuri’s hands above his head, pinning one with his left arm and maneuvering the other into his left hand, freeing up his right to wiggle under the smaller man’s shirt and tickle freely. Yuri jerked beneath him, still stubbornly holding back his laughter despite how red he was getting from the effort.

The Kazakhstani carefully lifted his leg to half-straddle the blonde, pinning his hips in place, and that was when the dam finally broke.

“Plehehehehehehease! Ahahahahahaha nohohohohohohoooo! Otahahahahahaha!” Yuri giggled helplessly, blushing furiously under the other man’s kind, intense gaze. “Dohohohohon’t! Lehehehehet me up! Dohohohohon’t tickle – EEEK!! Nononono not thehehehere, not there!”

“No?” Otabek teased, dragging his fingers up and down the grooves of his ribcage like he was playing a xylophone. “Not your ribs?”

“STAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Yuri pleaded as he tossed his head back and burst into shrieking laughter, trying desperately to move any part of his body, bring his arm down, anything. None of it did any good, though, and that only made it tickle worse. “NAHAHAHAHAHT THEHEHEHEHEHERE!! PLEASE, BEHEHEHEHEHEKA!!”

For a moment the darker man slowed to a stop, allowing Yuri to gasp for breath a second time that day, and their eyes met for a long, quiet, intimate moment.

“Beka?” Otabek murmured.

Yuri’s eyes widened. He hadn’t meant to call him that; in his ticklish haze he hadn’t been thinking clearly and it just slipped out. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Say it again.”

“W-What?”

Otabek began tracing his ribs with his fingers. “Call me that again.”

“Eeep! Okahahay, okay! Beheheheheka!” Yuri squealed, giggles spilling out of him uncontrollably at the gentle touch.

“I like that,” the Kazakhstani said in a near whisper, leaning down to kiss him again, still tickling softly.

Yuri whined, still snickering at the light, teasing touches along his body. Between the playful tickling and the way Otabek was looming over him and pinning him down, the blonde was suddenly beginning to feel all kinds of different ways about the turn this skating practice had taken.

“All right,” Otabek said after another minute, slowing his teasing fingers to a stop and beginning to sit up, releasing Yuri’s arms as he did so. “You’re going to freeze if you keep lying here—”

“Wait,” Yuri protested breathlessly, wrapping his arms around his neck to keep him from moving away, tugging him back down on top of him. He swallowed nervously, blushing and averting his eyes as he muttered, “You can keep going.”

“Oh yeah?” Otabek chuckled again, bracing himself with his arms on either side of Yuri, one hand moving back down to scratch at his belly and sides. Yuri broke into another round of giggles, and the taller man crushed their lips together once more.

Yuri Plisetsky was gasping for air again before he knew it.