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

[gamecubiee]

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.

[247-diaperboy]

Diapered Team Captain

He thought an innocent picture on a random site would keep him safe that no one would find out. Unfortunately for 18 year old Kevin when he went to school the next day to get ready for baseball practice he would find himself in a very different situation.

Kevin had ruled the team and was very strict and very forceful, he had forced several team members out for not performing up to par. He wanted the team to win big his last year in high school. In most cases he was considered a jerk to many and today was the day that they were all going to take him down a peg.

So now almost a very minute Kevin walked into the changing room to meet his team was he jumped, but before he could even say anything a gag was shoved in his mouth and tied around his head. He felt a large nipple fill his mouth and realized that the gag was just a giant pacifier and he really had no choice but to suck on it.

He then saw a lot of the other guys cheering and laughing, he knew then that this all had been planned then a thought crossed his mind about the picture that he posted last night. He realized that obviously someone on the team found it and now they were all going to come after him. Kevin did his best to try to fight the other guy’s off of him but with no luck.

“You know so many of us thought of you as a tough guy, all of us were too worried to even challenge you. But that’ cute picture you posted shows us that you’re just a little boy and it’s time for you to learn how to be a good boy” Paul Kevin’s second on the team and former best friend stated holding up his phone to show off the picture.

All Kevin could do was whimper around the pacifier as the guys that were holding him began to strip him of his clothes. For the last few months Kevin had always worn his practice shorts underneath his regular jeans and now the secret that laid underneath was going to be revealed. His button-up shirt and undershirt were ripped away, his jeans followed suit leaving him just in his shorts which were also ripped away.

The guys froze for only a second or two before they all started laughing. You underwear that Kevin was wearing looked like little kids training pants with police cars and fire engines on them. They were very thick and to the looks of them damp. Kevin had started wearing these in secret, it helped give him comfort, this only proved that he wasn’t a big man but very much a little boy in need of being taken care of.

 I guess little Kevin has been having some accidents, and by the looks of it your training pants need to be replaced with a proper diaper” Paul stated looking at the obvious wet patch on the training pants

Kevin was fully picked up then and taken to the shower stalls and there he saw a couple of the guys that he kicked off the team just a couple weeks ago standing there in just their boxers holding would look like shaving cream and a razor. Kevin tried his best using everything he had to get out of the situation he knew what was coming.

But it was useless he wasn’t strong enough to break away then he felt his training pants get removed, then received a hard smack to his bottom. He looked to see that Paul had taken off his belt and was going to use it to fully punish Kevin like the little boy they now realize he is.

Kevin moans trying to say something anything to make it all stop, but it’s no use Kevin has smacked a few more times with the belt and laid over Paul’s knee naked. Kevin was already in tears but not from the spanking but by the utter humiliation of what he was suffering through.

“Bad little boys who don’t share get spankings like you’re getting right now Kevin” Paul stated spanking Kevin’s bottom between every word.

“this is also what bad little boys get for wetting their training pants, you obviously are far from the 18-year-old man you’re supposed to be but we will change that everyone out on the field will see it too” Paul continued until Kevin fell limp sobbing in pain.

Kevin had no time to register or ask what he meant by “everyone on the field” he was in just too much pain. Now that Kevin was submitting to what was happening to him Paul stood him up and with the help of a few of the ex members of the team they began shaving all of his body hair off. Kevin cried and sobbed with every part of it as he was completely left hairless as a newborn. It’s also revealed to all the guys how small of a manhood Kevin actually had and they just giggled.

“Very good little Kevin nice and smooth like the little boy you are, now I think it’s time for us to talk about your accident. You see you can’t be a big boy and have the accidents like you just did. Those training pants are ruined and think if you accidentally made a poo poo in them” Paul said speaking to Kevin like he was a little kid.

“So me and the rest of the team have decided that the best thing for you is to be put back in a diaper until you’re ready to be a big boy and learn how to use the toilet but that’s probably a long way away”.

Kevin wanted to fight again but the very way Paul was talking to him and even bringing up a proper diaper just made Kevin hard. His now hairless manhood stood completely upright proving how badly he wanted this treatment and that diaper.

“Look everyone looks like baby Kevin does want his diaper!” A couple of guys called out.

Everyone laughed knowing this was exactly what Kevin deserved since he obviously wasn’t a man like they were. Kevin was led back to other lockers were he saw a changing mat laid out with a very thick very babyish diaper was waiting for him.

To Kevin’s surprise the gag around his mouth was undone and removed but he was still told not to speak. “Now that we have made sure to punish you and remove your big boy hair we want you to do one thing and say that you want your diaper” Paul stated.

Kevin looked at Paul and everyone else in the room but instead of trying to run away he just froze and Paul continued. “We have established that you are just a little boy, you wet your training pants and your baby weiner is hard from the very thought of wearing that diaper. Now admit it or you’ll be spanked until you do”.

Kevin turned back around looked down at the plastic changing mat but more so the diaper, he had seen those diapers online and fully wondered what it would feel like to be put in a diaper again a real diaper. Somewhere beyond the humiliation and his pride all he wanted was to really wear that diaper but more importantly be put into it like the baby boy he wanted to be deep down.

“I’m ready to be a good baby boy and wear my diaper” Kevin stuttered out sounding almost like a real little boy.

“Why do you need your diaper Kevin?” One of the guys who shaved him asked.

“Cuz I wet my training pants and I’m not a big boy like all of you” Kevin lisped out sounding every bit as a 3 year old but the team wanted him to be.

There was more laughter but most of all there was acceptance and they knew full well that they brought Kevin their former team captain all the way down. Without any further hesitation Kevin laid on the mat no longer covering his soon to be diapered weiner, as Paul slipped The pacifier this time without the gag part back into his mouth.

Kevin let the process happen as Paul lifted Kevin’s legs by the ankles like you would do a real baby and the diaper was slid underneath him, when his sore bottom touched the diaper, he just felt more excited. Baby powder was heavily sprinkled over Kevin’s soon to be diapered area and the diaper was closed. Kevin didn’t care about the eyes on him he just felt like he was in heaven.

Kevin was completely lost in the feel of a diaper the smell of the baby powder, he felt like a real baby, a real baby boy something he truly wanted to always be. Yes his team had taken away his manhood and his ability to run the team the way he wanted to, but they gave him something better in return.

Most of the team had dispersed realizing that this really wasn’t a true punishment for their captain, but also they gave him something he was missing. The few guys that remained finished getting ready for practice leaving Kevin happily laying on the changing mat enjoying his diaper and sucking away on the pacifier.

Paul just looked at the big baby with a big smile, Kevin was now fully a baby. Now it was time to show everyone at the school and Kevin’s family exactly what he was…

[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.

[grayskies2525]

Inevitable (male sneezing, contagion)

Just wanted to write something super self-indulgent with minimal plot.

CW: This fic includes detailed contagion! It’s gross and I spare no details — we’re talking snot strings and things of that nature. If you’re not into that, absolutely do NOT begin reading this or you’ll have a very unpleasant time. If you do, however, like contagion and messy sneezes, I hope you enjoy this 😊

Part one is just set up, but I plan to continue it with Evan spreading his germs everywhere (unintentionally).

Here are the links to all parts:

Part two Part Three Part Four

*** 

Part One

It’s a sneeze — a single sneeze. A simple bodily function. There’s nothing intrinsically bad about a sneeze.

These words run through Evan’s mind as he picks at his cuticle while his eyes dart to the man across from him. The elevator’s been stuck for several minutes already and there’s an unease settling in Evan’s stomach as he looks at this man. They’d walked on together, smiling awkwardly the way two strangers tend to do. Then the man had immediately snapped forward in an uncovered sneeze. 

It’s probably allergies.

This is a rational thought to have, Evan thought. It is March. There’s definitely pollen in March. But then the elevator got stuck and the man started letting out chest rattling coughs. 

So he’s definitely sick. But maybe he’s not contagious? It could just be a lingering illness — one of those that hang on for weeks but are no longer as easily transmissible to other people. 

“I’m sor — heh — sorry — HHHH! I woke up with an awful c—hh heh! — cuuhhhh hh —  cold. HH hh hhhhh HH! I’ve been sneezing all  — heeh hehhhh — day,” the man says in a trembling voice before reaching up to rub his reddened, swollen nose. It makes a horribly audible squelching sound.

Evan reaches for strength somewhere deep within to will himself not to wince as he stares at the man. Evan has seen him around the college before, and is pretty sure he’s an instructor, though he doesn’t know the subject he teaches. He has dark skin, looks to be in his early-mid thirties and most notably — he’s tall; Evan would estimate him to be somewhere around 6’5. He has a nice build — muscles visible through his tight long sleeved shirt. His silver eyebrow piercing glints under the elevator’s dim lights. On any other day, Evan would find him to be attractive — exceptionally so. It’s clear, however, that Evan is not seeing this man at his best. 

“Oh, uh, it’s okay,” Evan says, sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He would rather this guy didn’t talk — that he didn’t do anything that could result in more droplets entering the air they’re sharing. Can talking spread droplets? He imagines they probably can.

“I thought it was allergies yesterday, but I woke up today and I —” He breaks off coughing, holding a fist out weakly. Evan can hear the phlegm rattling around in the man’s chest, and again he has to suppress a wince.

“Sounds rough,” Evan says, giving a strained smile as he taps his fingers against his thigh. This elevator usually only stays stuck for a few minutes. He can last a few minutes without catching something off this man, surely. Maybe the germs from that first uncovered sneeze won't take.

“I probably shouldn’t have come in today,” the man says, shooting Evan a smile that would probably be charming if it weren’t for how tired it looks. “But I didn’t realize how bad this bug was going to be. I don’t think I’ve ever sneezed so much in my life,” he says, sniffling thickly. “And my nose is running non-stop. It’s a faucet. I’m not exaggerating —I’ve gone through an entire box of tissues already.”

With these words, Evan finds himself suddenly regretting his choice to go back to school for a second Bachelor’s. Yes, his creative writing degree has been practically useless for the six years he’s had it, and yes, he does want to pursue psychology and therefore needs to continue his education. But, right now, that all seems unimportant as he looks at the sniffling man, whose breaths are beginning to hitch again.

Maybe the sneezes are stuck? Like this damn elevator. Please, please, please stay stuck until I can get off this thing, he thinks to himself while digging his nails into his palm. 

“I hate this elevator,” the man says, giving a nervous chuckle. Evan suppresses a groan as he realizes this man is clearly one of those people who are incapable of sitting —or in this case standing — in silence.  “Breaks down almost every day. I don’t even know why I risk taking it, anymore,” he says, giving another thick, slurpy sniffle. By the way the man scrunches his nose and closes his eyes, Evan suspects the sniffle produced a particularly intense tickle.

“Yeah, I get stuck on it probably once a week,” Evan says, giving another strained smile. 

“You’d think someone would do something about — heehhh —” The man trails off, his eyelids fluttering.

Evan can see the man’s glistening nostrils begin to flare. 

“Do you — do you happen to have a ti — hih — tihih — tihiiiihhhissue?” the man asks, his voice shaking.

“A tissue? Sorry, wish I did, but no,” Evan says.

He truly does wish he had a tissue because this man’s going to sneeze. Not only is this man going to sneeze, it’s going to be a messy sneeze. Rarely does Evan know something with such certainty, but this is one of those times. This man’s sniffles aren’t the soft kind that can be taken care of with a soft blow. They’re desperate sniffles — the “holding back an entire tide of mucus” type.

It will be fine as long as this elevator starts up soon. He needs it to start back up soon, then he can walk off and go home and everything will be fine and — 

“HhH—hHRGG’sschhHHHHEEW!!!”

Evan closes his eyes and holds his breath. He slowly opens his eyes, reluctant to see the inevitable aftermath of the absurdly loud and forceful sounding sneeze. Evan’s shoulders relax, though, as he sees the man lower his arm. He’d clearly managed to cover. There’s an obvious wet spot on the man’s sleeve, but still, it was contained. Evan lets himself breathe. That first, uncovered sneeze when they’d walked in must have been a fluke. This man is clearly polite and understands the value of keeping germs to himself.

Evan allows himself to smile sympathetically as he looks at the man and gives a polite “bless you.”

“Thanks,” the man says with another tired smile and thick sniffle. “Like I said — all day. I don’t think I’ve ever been sick like this. It’s just sneeze after sneeze. I’m sure my students must have been tired of blessing me. I can’t wait to just go home and sleep this thing off. If only this elevator would HH’REEHH’TSHOOO! HRR AHHHH-T’SHOOOO!”

Evan remembers seeing something on the news once about the amount of distance a sneeze can travel and how many droplets a single sneeze can potentially contain. It was something like 20 feet and thirty-thousand droplets. While this was distressing information, it hadn’t exactly been believable to Evan. People sneeze all the time.  He sneezes everyday and it certainly doesn’t seem like sneezes can be that powerful. So, he’d frowned at the information, but ultimately moved on, mostly forgetting it. 

This information now, however, crawls along back to the surface of Evan’s mind as the stranger blasts him with sneezes that can only be described as soaking wet. 

They erupted from the man with absolutely no warning and through the harsh lighting of the elevator, Evan can nearly see each and every droplet — some fine, some large and clearly mixed with thick mucus. With only six feet between them — at best — Evan can now believe without any doubt that sneezes can, indeed, contain thirty-thousand droplets. 

And he’s just been hit with two sneezes full of them — entirely unrestrained. 

Evan wants to wipe himself off, but he doesn’t know how. Every exposed part of him has been doused in infectious spray — his neck, his hands, his face…. He decides he can at least wipe off his lips, so he finds a dry spot of his hand before bringing it up to his mouth.

The man’s head is still bent forward, which seems to be a poor decision because his nose is dripping terribly. Evan watches in something of a morbid type of fascination as the droplets hit the elevator floor before the stranger gives a thick sniff and looks back up at Evan.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his expression looking genuinely apologetic, though there’s also something about it that’s decidedly sneezy. His nostrils begin to flare again, but this time he brings a hand up before snapping forward.

“HrrRIIHHHGG’shuuuhhhh! HRR’EHHHTSHOOOO! IhhGT’SHOOOOO! MPFFX’TSHOOOO!”

Evan grimaces as the contents of the man’s nose pour out into the man’s hand in thick, visible strings. To the guy’s credit, he does try to contain it, but the sheer amount makes it impossible. He presses his hand firmly against his nose, but Evan can see moisture seeping through the cracks of his fingers. Evan is certain he's never come close to seeing someone lose control of the contents of their nose in such a dramatic way. Usually adults have a handle on containing the more unpleasant aspects head colds usually bring, but clearly this specific virus is a special case. 

Evan averts his eyes because the situation is gross beyond description, but also, this must be the most mortifying moment of this stranger’s life and he doesn’t need someone staring at him.

Evan feels his own cheeks heat in embarrassment for the man.

Mostly, though, Evan is consumed by apprehension. There’s no possible way he can expect his body to fend off the innumerable germs that are surely trying to invade him right at this moment. Even if it could fight off some of them, there’s far too many to hope he can escape them all.

Evan is surprised to find a sort of peace in accepting this as fact. There’s nothing to be done now. He is coated in germ-infested spray, so he’s going to get sick. In the same way he can’t change how tall he is, he also can’t change this. In a few days time, he’s going to come down with this absolutely monstrous looking cold because it’s as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning.

Part 2

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

Top Six Arcane Characters ranked in reverse-order of how much silly fucking nonsense they have to put up with throughout the runtime of the show

6. Cassandra Kiramman (daughter became a cop [I'm so sorry girl], daughter randomly goes missing for several days and breaks into her own house shot in the leg with a fucking homeless lesbian, gets killed by Zaun literally four seconds after being convinced to grant them sovereignty, and if there is an afterlife she had to watch her daughter crash out spectacularly using her very own initiative to gas the poor. Embarrassing.)

5. Ekko (every single Topsider he meets is next-level stupid and he has to hold their hand like a baby even when they are a literal genius. Had to watch Cait say "The enforcers aren't oppressing you guys that's not true :( !!" with a straight face, had to watch Jayce say "Oh yeah we put the hexgate here so that if it blew up it would only release dangerous arcane-gamma rays upon YOUR people so nobody who actually matters would die" with a straight face, had to find out the founder of the city that oppressed him his entire life was literally just a stupid old man with a banjo, Jesus fucking Christ. He is low on this list because of the amount of silly nonsense he subjected other people to, especially in the AU. Also he threw a time-machine bomb at God which wasn't so much something that happened to him but felt worth mentioning)

4. Jayce Talis (literally on a constant mission to keep his very fragile partner from killing himself through sheer scientific negligence and is consistently thwarted by either Viktor's impulsivity, the narrative, or him-fucking-self. Had to go to the shadow realm while Heimer and Ekko partied in Utopia playing the banjo and dancing to silly little songs and the first person he has the absolute misfortune to see when he gets back is fucking Salo I would kill myself)

3. Mel Medarda (practically runs a counsel full of idiots twice her age at like 25, himbo situationship's twink almost dies every time they try to fuck, has to deal with her mother ravaging twinks with her eyes right in front of Mel's salad, got kidnapped by witches for literally no reason)

2. Silco (Girldad who somehow, despite being one of the least mentally hinged people in the undercity, has an even less hinged daughter who so regularly blows things up and kills people that he scolds her about it as though she'd just snuck out past curfew. Has to work with a gaggle of dumbasses to produce and distribute his sterocainoin I mean Shimmer who regularly plot to kill him but are legitimately too stupid and useless to pull it off, his factory got randomly busted up and a bunch of his employees killed by an angry twenty-something with pink hair and also The Guy From The Fucking Posters [imagine Niel DeGrasse Tyson and a twenty-two year old homeless lesbian blow up your job like tell me you wouldn't have a stroke] and had to deal with a TREMENDOUS amount of nonsense in the AU where Ekko out of nowhere reminds him of his Most Traumatic Memory Ever and also the founder of Piltover blows up and his teenage stepkid is the only one who saw it happen.)

1. Sevika (Literally cannot ever catch a break for one second. Just wanted to help Zaun be free from Piltover and gets absolutely bodied by one or the other of Felicia and Connol's cursed fucking daughters every other episode in season 1, loses a combined total of like four??? arms, is forced to clean up the typically VERY bloody messes of her boss's unhinged daughter because he's such a pookie-wookie that he refuses to discipline her in any way, becomes the unwilling parent of two (2) mentally ill orphans, is subjected to Jinx's constant jokes at the expense of her missing arm (which Jinx is responsible for, by the way) gets given a political position as some form of shitty reparation when she is NOT a politician she is the guy who backs up the revolutionaries like miss girl just wanted to gamble punch people and fuck whores can you let her live her life??? Is one of the few people to survive and probably hates every minute of it)

[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 spectacular 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.

[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 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚

◌◍┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈⿻*.·

┏━━───━━━༻✍︎༺━━━───━━┓

╰─► 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.

[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.

[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

[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.

[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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[thecubspeaks]

majra has THREE fans now

[part 1]

Leaving that complete nightmare of a conversation, Nicander sidled up to Majra and asked sweetly, “How’s your leg, auntie?”

“I’ll take it off and beat you with it,” she replied. “Come on, we’re getting a drink.”

The Upper City was useless for that kind of thing at the best of times, and certainly moreso now that it was also half rubble. Strange, nostalgic pangs struck her now and again as she walked through this city she thought she hadn’t missed. But she’d see a burnt-out building here, a shattered shop there, and think I’d meant to go there again– but now they were gone. 

Majra was quartered in Wyrm’s Rock, so she knew the Elfsong was still standing and serving. Nicander spent what felt like half an hour complaining to the bartender about the lack of some kind of plum liqueur, while Majra just watched the other patrons. 

Several groups of builders, no surprise– and quite a few conversations that seemed to be planning and business rather than just pleasure, the Elfsong perhaps replacing some other ruined meeting place. No Fist to be seen: with their numbers so badly thinned and so much to be done about the city, that was no surprise. Every officer she’d spoken to was working around the clock. Convincing Marshal Ravengard to let her stay would be impossibly easy. 

She’d only met him a few times, but suspected her reputation preceded her anyway, which was unlikely to endear him to her. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he’d certainly appreciate the spirit behind an offer to come help whip the ranks back into shape. Liara had named Majra her temporary replacement as commander of Fort Beluarian, so she likely wouldn’t stand in the way of this, either… well, she’d be a damned hypocrite if she tried, given neither of their records were particularly up to Duke Ravengard’s spotless standard. 

“I got you one, too,” Nicander said brightly as he returned with two strangely purple drinks. Majra took a polite sip and immediately set it back down. Alcohol didn’t much agree with her these days, and beneath the fruity flavour, that thing tasted like it would knock her flat. 

But it was Nicander she needed to loosen up anyway.

“So what’s this about a fiancé?” she said. Nicander grinned coyly over the rim of his glass.

“We can’t all be married to the service, auntie,” he said. “I’m handing in my resignation once we’re finished with this bereavement leave. He wants to go adventuring.”

Majra couldn’t suppress a groan. “An adventurer, Nic? Must you? They’re all so– stupid.” 

“Oh, that’s just those treasure hunters you deal with in Chult,” Nicander said, waving a dismissive hand. “Not all adventurers are like that. Mine isn’t.” 

“And you’ll really leave the Fist for him?” 

Nicander shrugged. “Why not? It was only ever a means to an end for me. Being nothing more than Yannick Sashenstar’s baby brother is good fun, but gets rather pathetic by the time one is– oh, say, your age. But now I have something I like much better. He’s rich, you know,” he added with a smirk.

“Good for you,” Majra said dryly. Despite the utter lack of sincerity in her tone, Nicander preened. “If you’re sure it’s what you want, I’m happy for you.” 

“You’re Flaming Fist through and through, auntie. It’s not like that for me.”

For good and ill, she thought. 

“Oh,” Nicander said brightly. “You should go talk to Yvandre Rillyn. She left the Fist to look after the family estate a few years back and has done terribly well with it. And she’s single, you know. An excellent duelist. That’s probably your best bet for meeting someone, just sort of beat them into submission…”

“It’s been a while, I’d love to practice my beating technique, if you’re offering.” 

“You’ll need to, if you’re going to be stationed in the City. Throwing out the odd beating to a passer-by is the Fist way here.” Majra leveled him with a flat look and he flinched. “Sorry. But it is true.” 

Majra passed a hand over her forehead. “Gods, but I don’t want to have to deal with these city bastards. I know how to deal with all the bastards out in the jungle.” 

Nicander took a long sip of his drink. “You know you don’t have to do it, auntie.”

“I seem to recall you joining right in back there.”

“Well, yes,” he conceded. “But that was only because I didn’t think you really cared. If you really don’t want to…”

“Then what? You’re right, you can’t do it, charming as you are.”

“Uncle Ulder has always liked me… oh, did you hear Wyll’s not dead after all? Maybe he’ll come to the wedding…”

“Who the hells is Wyll?”

“Oh, never mind…” He taps one of his many rings absentmindedly against the edge of his glass. “But I mean that neither of us has to do it. Just… go back to Chult, let my father find some other way to elevate the family or what have you. After all– I mean– it’s not as if the family has ever done much for you. You’ve been off making your own way in the jungle. I’d prefer that, too, in your place. Well, no,” he amended. “Chult sounds wretched. Just look at you. You have that awful fever you get and– everything else.” 

Majra snorted. “Which part, the eye or the leg? Yvandre Rillyn lost an arm. These things happen to the Fist.”

“And that’s why I’m getting the hells out,” Nicander sniffed. “I want my husband-to-be to be able to appreciate all my limbs. You know, now that I’m thinking about it, maybe it would be good for you to come back to the city...” 

She almost laughed. He couldn’t know how close it was to things his own mother said to her, years back when she got sent to Baldur’s Gate to recover from the accident that took her eye and her leg. The Fist has taken so much from you already, Destra fretted as she fluttered about. Are you sure it isn’t a good moment to just– come home?  It hadn’t seemed like a suggestion worth dignifying with a response. Nicander didn’t want to just be Silifrey Sashenstar’s youngest grandchild; Majra had even less of a place than that here in the city. It was only at Fort Beluarian that she was somebody, knew her place. Where people knew her, didn’t look twice at old, old injuries or think they meant a single thing about what she could and could not do. 

She had no doubt at all that was in Uncle Rewis’s mind, too: the battle-scarred Sashenstar, who gave so much for the Fist, who bore the marks of her courage and experience. Gods above. 

She'd come here thinking there might be a way to persuade Nicander to take this on somehow, but hearing him actually say it-- being given someone else's permission to just refuse, to give up-- it just made her hear how impossible it was.

“I can’t just run away,” she said. “I’m still a Sashenstar.” 

And if she did all this, maybe she'd actually feel like one.