#2 entire years.. WOLFGANG!!!

[thankeywa]

Star-crossed | Lo'ak x fem!human!reader part 3/?

A.N: Omg part 3 finally, thank you for all your patience my lovelies, this story is still ongoing and yeah, I'm back baby. Also shh, shh, I've been reading a lot of Goethe, okay?

Warnings: once again, both Lo'ak and the reader are 20y/o, , MINORS DO NOT INTERACT with this or anything on my accounts. NSFW!!! mentions of smoking (don't do it, I'm begging), brief mentions of a/b/o dynamics (nesting), intense making out, heavy petting.

words: 3.3K

summary: reader is a human left behind on pandora, she grew up with the remaining humans who'd been aloud to stay on the planet after the war and has been friends with the Sully clan her entire life. She and Lo'ak were best friends until he began to pull away from her in their teen years for seemingly no reason. This story is about them reconnecting on the day of her twentieth birthday, and dealing with the feelings they have for each other and the obstacles that come with them being from two different worlds.

part 1 part 2 part 4 SEND ME LO'AK REQUESTS

tag list: @aleromania , @ghostjoohoney, @cherry-blossom34, @stephenandfiveswhore , @neteyamforlife, @mochi-yu , @halibanana @notquitehero @vanillacoffeeaddict @kitsune0077 @mara-brekker @sully-stick-together @luthien-naenderthal @phantomalex14 @vanillawhale @omiivr @barbii04 @grierpilots @itszzmoon @wavyteals

Na'vi words:

Ngaytxoa= I'm sorry

“I have so much in me, and the feeling for her absorbs it all; I have so much, and without her it all comes to nothing.”  ― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther.

Lo'ak had gotten himself into an infinite array of stupidly frightful and dangerous situations in his lifetime. He was more than used to the feeling of his life flashing before his eyes. But nothing, not even the very real threat he'd just escaped of being mauled alive by a Thanator had scared him quite as much as what y/n had just done. Eywa was the keeper of all life on Pandora, and that life hung on a very precarious balance. Everything that was taken will eventually be given back, and vice versa. What was the price that now hung over his own life?

"What have you done?" He hissed at y/n as she got up and turned away from him, her arms crossed over her chest. "Is everything a joke to humans? Eywa is not a friend you can simply ask a favor from-"

"I saved your life!" She snapped back at him, livid from being compared to the rest of the Sky people. But of course, y/n knew by now that was all she was to him. "I don't need you to lecture me, I knew exactly what I was doing and I'm ready to pay the consequences, whatever they may be. I'm not a child, Lo'ak. I can make my own decisions, I figured you of all people would understand."

"Understand?" Lo'ak almost laughed, completely dumbfounded by her words. "Understand what? That you're on a path to destroying yourself? Don't think I don't know what you were doing outside before." He gave her a hard stare, now standing up to tower over her. Y/n felt herself go very pale. She had never intended for anyone to find out about her smoking, and even though it was none of Lo'ak's business, she still felt deeply ashamed.

"So that's what you were doing out there. Spying on me-" Y/n decided to accuse him back, but Lo'ak wasn't going to let her get off that easy. "Nah, nah, we're still talking about you here. Kiri told us her mother was addicted to those things. You might think I'm some dumb savage and try to lie to my face, but I know exactly what they are and what they do to your body!"

Y/n was taken aback. Lo'ak was seething and physically shaking. She knew how much he loved his family, and understood why her vice would have been a slap in the face to his sister, but his reaction was still out of order. Little did she know that her already shorter life span compared to his own weighed on him more and more with each passing day, and discovering she was actively cutting her own life short was a blow to the heart.

"Oh look who's talking! When have you, Lo'ak Sully, ever stopped yourself once from being reckless?" She retorted. "You're right about Kiri, and none of them know, so let's keep it that way. As far as my well-being is concerned, I can hardly see why that would be any of your business." Lo'ak was about to cut her off again, but she continued. "And don't you ever put words like 'dumb savage' in my mouth again. I know we haven't seen each other in so long... but how could you-" A small sob escaped her lips and she was quick to wipe a tear from her cheek. "How could you think... that I see you in such a way...?"

Lo'ak looked down at his hands in shame. He'd just gone and made y/n cry. And he didn't even have the guts to look back into her eyes, which were now brimming with tears. Why had he come? Why couldn't he have just kept himself away like he'd promised himself he would have all those years ago?

"Lo'ak, you were my... entire world. Then you left, and I accepted that you had to grow up and take on your responsibilities. I always knew you had bigger things in your future, way beyond your friendship with me..." Y/n hugged herself, holding her arms around her middle. "And if somewhere along the way you decided to hate me, I accept that too. But I won't... I won't let you turn me into this demonized version you have of me now. I don't hate you. I will never think of you as a savage. I don't care if you're here trying to start an argument with me as a way to make you cope with your sudden guilt-"

"Then what else can I do?" He snarled, finally looking back at her. "Because I've tried staying away, and somehow, I'm shit at that too."

Y/n was at a complete loss. Lo'ak wasn't making any sense. He was the one who'd made the decision to walk away from her, not the other way around. She was certain she had never given him any indication of wanting him gone from her life.

"You still don't get it, do you?" He shook his head, an awkward grin taking over his features. Though, y/n noted, she had probably never seen him in so much pain. "I need you to tell me to stay away. I need you to tell me how much you hate me, how badly I make you sick." As he said this, Lo'ak began to make his way over to where y/n was leaning against the wall, her eyes wide and glued to his.

Y/n shook her head, forgetting about why she'd been so upset, now that Lo'ak genuinely looked like he was on the verge of sanity. "No. Lo'ak I'm not going to do that. Whatever it is, whatever's going on, it's going to be-"

"No?" He asked sardonically, a frown crossing his features again before he wiped a hand down his face. "How about I tell you the real reason why I had to keep myself away from you all this time? See if you don't hate me then..."

Y/n held her breath. Not because she was scared of Lo'ak or what he was about to say, but because he was so close she was forgetting how to breathe.

Here goes nothing, thought the Na'vi. Sure that it was the last thing he was ever going to say to y/n before she chased him out of her home.

"My stupid, useless heart... made me fall for you... from the day we first met..." Lo'ak shook his head again, almost as if he was telling y/n something shameful and disgusting. Meanwhile, y/n was certain her own heart had stopped beating in her chest. "And by the time I was sixteen... I realized... there is nobody else for me... and no matter how much I tried, I couldn't-I couldn't stop myself from thinking of you in a way that was... wrong." He got down to his knees, unable to keep holding up his weight on the low ceiling above him.

"Wrong?" Y/n managed to ask in a whisper. Lo'ak was telling her all the things she could only have hoped to dream of her entire life, but he looked like he was nothing but sick to his stomach as he was saying them to her. She reached out to him, trying to touch his face as she got on the tip of her toes. "Those are the most beautiful words anyone has ever said to me. And I'm hearing them from you, Lo'ak. How could any of this be wrong?"

Lo'ak retracted from her touch almost as if he'd been burnt and all of a sudden, his anger back with a force.

"Look at me!" He cried out, tail whipping back and forth, while his ears were drawn back and his fangs were on full display. "No, really look at me, y/n. Because I know you're smart, so please don't pull that naive bullshit on me..."

Of course, y/n knew what Lo'ak was talking about, but she'd always felt like the one who was wrong for him and not the other way around. "I'm-I'm not being naive, Lo'ak. I'm just saying... that I've waited my whole life to hear you say those words, even though it's selfish of me to even think you could be with me... I'll never be able to keep up with you physically, I'm the one who will never understand what it's like to make a bond. I can't give you a family nor will I ever pass all the hurdles to be a true Omaticaya."

Listening to y/n words made Lo'ak realize how wrong he'd been in thinking he was alone in his heartbreak. He pulled y/n in his arms, mindful of how small and frail she was compared to him. She laughed a little through her tears and held on to him, knowing that was his way of apologizing to her. "The way look has nothing to do with this... no actually, maybe if you weren't such a handsome skxawng, we wouldn't be in this mess right now..." She giggled and he hissed at her playfully, but his somber mood quickly returned.

"I don't care about all those things you just said... about the clan, about having kids..." He said, his voice now sounding raw. "And you're wrong... the way I am physically, compared to you, has everything to do with this. Y/n I can't even fit in your home without having to get on my knees..." Y/n pressed her forehead against his chest, listening to his heartbeat steadily rise. "You know, I hated when dad used to measure our height... every time it felt like I was getting further and further away from you-"

"But that's not true Lo'ak-"

"How are you not afraid? I could easily break you in my hands as you are now without having to try..." Y/n looked up at him, her face showing no signs of worry. Only absolute trust. "You don't know what it's like... I live with the fear of accidentally slicing your skin open with my fangs, of hurting you when I want nothing more than to be the one who makes you feel good and safe..."

Y/n felt her face go red, and she noticed Lo'ak's cheeks livening up with color too at the sound of his own confession. She felt somewhat guilty, seeing as he'd just confessed a very real and damaging fear to her, but now it was almost impossible to get certain scenarios out of her head. While she was aware the Na'vi mated for life, she'd come to know from Neteyam and Kiri that sex before 'bonding' forever with someone was pretty common. She was certain Lo'ak had already had his fair share of experience and being with him was not going to prevent him from someday finding his true mate. Y/n was safe in the knowledge she wouldn't be taking anything away from him if they tried, and she was willing to be a distraction in his life for as long as he would let her. It was more than she could have hoped for anyway.

"Ngaytxoa, forgive me, t-that was..." He rambled. "I shouldn't have-"

"Yawne..." Y/n cooed, immediately leaving him at a loss for words. "I know you're scared, but maybe you should let me decide what I can or cannot handle." She said, letting her small hands run down his neck and over the expanse of his chest as she gently pulled away from him to stand up.

Lo'ak gulped. Audibly. His eyes never leaving her once.

Y/n placed both of her hands on his face and leaned in to peck his lips softly.

Lo'ak felt at that moment as if he were floating on thin air. Everything that had been worrying him up until that moment simply ceased to exist. He hesitated, hands hovering at her sides as he wasn't quite sure what to do with them. No one had ever wanted to be this close to him before, and to be completely honest, he was touch starved. His tail, however, had a mind of its own, and it came to wind itself tightly around y/n's ankle, making her pull away slightly and giggle. "Old habits die hard, I see."

He gave her a bashful look and scratched the back of his neck nervously as he willed his tail to free y/n from its vice. "Sorry... I'm not- I'm not really used to this..." She frowned at his words, gently running her hands through his braids. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not exactly... considered to be attractive... by the rest of the clan, I mean..." Lo'ak fumbled awkwardly with his hands. "The only people who ever wanted to get close to me did it as a way to get to my brother, and... I could never bring myself to see them the way I see you anyway..." This came as a shock to y/n. How could nobody else see Lo'ak? He was a true warrior, through and through just like his brother. He could have flown circles around anyone else on his ikran. He had a good heart, one completely devoted to his family and clan.

And even more shockingly...

"But you're so hot!" She blurted out, genuinely confused and immediately regretting her words. The cocky look on Lo'ak face made her understand he was going to take his way out of having a serious conversation by teasing her. Some things never changed.

"Ah, is that so?" Lo'ak goaded her, before striking a pose to show off his biceps. "This doing it for you?" He asked, raising an inquisitive brow at her. Y/n shoved him, barely even making him blink. "You are so stupid." She huffed, leaving the room.

"No, wait, hey!" Lo'ak laughed. "What happened to me being so hot?" He called after her. Lo'ak never thought things between him and y/n would ever have gone back to being so simple, but somehow, at that moment, it felt like they'd never stopped being friends.

He followed y/n, stepping into her room. Lo'ak hadn't been there in a long time, but not much had changed. Y/n was in the middle of dragging two mattresses down to the floor to make a makeshift bed Lo'ak could fit in, and his immediate instinct was to help her. The scene before him stunted him, however. He knew Y/n was no stranger to having Na'vi guests over, but watching her neatly sort out a bunch of pillows and blankets she'd woven into a quilt for him, immediately made him of one thing: nesting.

Lo'ak had to immediately shake that thought out of his head before he seriously embarrassed himself just from having uncovered a new way of seeing y/n in his dreams. He was more than certain that she knew nothing of heat or rut cycles since they were pretty rare and something that his siblings probably hadn't told her about since it was a rather private matter.

"Oh please, just keep standing there looking pretty while I make your bed for the night, jerk face." Y/n teased him when she caught him staring at her. Lo'ak got a running start before jumping into the 'bed', pulling her down on top of him and making the walls of her bedroom shake in the process. "Skxawng! Do you want my entire house to come down on our heads?" She laughed with him, shoving at his chest playfully.

"You called me yawne." Lo'ak said out of the blue as he stared up at y/n, carefully running his fingers through her hair. "Before."

"And you've only just realized? My, I guess it's true what they say about beauty-" Y/n pinched one of Lo'ak's cheeks and he retaliated by giving her a not-so-convincing hiss. "Smart-ass." He name-called her, before softly pinching one of her thighs, making her yelp in surprise.

He snorted at her cute little sound, but y/n had the last laugh when she decided to shut him up with a kiss. Lo'ak was quick to respond this time, and everything felt different. Y/n's body melted against him as she lay across his chest, and his arm were quick to wrap around her: one of them securing itself around her middle while the other reached down to her thigh. Everything about her felt like a dream to him, and his hand roamed her body with nothing except the upmost reverence for her. "You know..." Lo'ak mumbled in between kisses. "I was actually... trying to say something..." He sighed against her mouth when she dragged her teeth across his bottom lip. "Just now..."

"I know..." She smiled against his lips, not really intent on stopping. "It just takes you... so long... to get to the point..." she mused, taking her chance when Lo'ak opened his mouth to protest, and dragged her tongue over his fangs. The Na'vi felt himself go cross-eyed, knowing for sure he was now sporting an obvious erection.

Y/n looked back up at him when she felt his excitement brush up against her, and Lo'ak didn't know what to do. Kissing, he'd just discovered, was more than okay. They could do it, and safely too. But mating was out of the question, it didn't matter how persuasive y/n thought she was, he would die before hurting her like that.

The human girl couldn't help herself, scooching back all the way down Lo'ak's torso until she was finally sitting up in his lap, her thighs straddling him at both sides as she let out a whine of relief at the friction.

Lo'ak's eyes almost bulged out of his head in arousal and alarm, hastily pulling y/n back to where she'd been lying on top of him originally with a grunt of frustration. "Nah, ke-he, we are not doing that." He tried to be firm in his words, but he definitely heard his voice break at least twice in that single sentence.

Y/n knew Lo'ak was only saying it because he was scared for her well-being, and while she wished to someday change his mind, her yawne had just told her 'no' and she was certainly not going to ignore his feelings, nor would she have ever questioned him in this particular scenario. "Okay, yawne, I'm sorry." She spoke to him lovingly and kissed the knuckles of his right hand.

"You called me yawne again." Lo'ak said, those deep feelings of inadequacy hitting him back in full force. What kind of lover even deserved that title if he couldn't even make the person he cared the most about in the world feel good? "And I can't- I can't even-" He couldn't even make love to her.

"Lo'ak, we don't have to go all the way right at this second if you don't want to... " Y/n placed both of her hands on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart as he sat up and looked down at her, not entirely sure what she was talking about. "Honestly, just rutting down against you felt... well, you felt big and-" She got flustered and momentarily forgot what she was supposed to say. Lo'ak looked like he was going to have a heart attack if she was ever to repeat the words 'you' and 'big' in the same sentence ever again.

"W-what I mean is... you can touch me, i-if you want." Y/n removed her top, exposing her top half to him. "And I want to touch you. If that's okay..."

Lo'ak realized then he might have stood a better chance outside with the Thanator.

[magnolia-sunrise]

while im wrangling with other parts for the short comic im trying to make, just like last time when i was starting work on the "first meeting 8 years ago" comic (you can read it here) (and the concept designs for the comic are here) im doing a little bit of design concepting of Wolf and Bastien about.. 1.5-2 ish years after that meet cute at knife point and i thought maybe it would be fun for you to see as well :')

it's always so interesting for me to go back and into a point where the two of them are starting to grow into the people they are at -present time - but not quite there yet and how that informs the way they dress or carry themselves.

here's Bastien circa freshly 30, in their Will Graham haircut era, tired as hell from trying to get the clinic going with no resources and no help. he's started to dress a little bit more casually, but he's clearly not very comfortable in his own skin or clothes - most of them picked out and bought for him by his boyfriend, they tend to be either oversized or a size too small but never quite right. they're still putting a lot of emphasis on layers and trying to hide their hips and body in general, just putting on whatever clothes rather than thinking about what makes him look/feel good.

Wolfgang is doing a bit better since the last time we saw them, they're a lot more confident in their body and after a long, arduous time they feel a real sense of freedom. their current fashion style is very much already emerging here, though they have still a few wounds/scars they want to conceal and ideally get rid of entirely. they're also very carefully experimenting with feminine elements of their presentation, not really wearing make up or a lot of jewelry at this point, and their wardrobe doesn't fully match their very selective and expensive taste yet.

a lot of how they carry themself and what they chose to wear here has to do with how they're trying to appeal to Bastien at this moment, since they have a lot to make up for in terms of their first impressions 🫣

edit: + together since i rarely ever draw them side by side facing forward and Wolf without high heels

[inquisitornocturn]

𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖆 𝖎𝖓 𝖗𝖚𝖇𝖊𝖔, 𝖘𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖔

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 2 - 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔢𝔥𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱

⫸ pairing: Cazador Szarr/f!high elf reader

⫸ tags: no y/n used etc, POV second person, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, dueling, canon-typical violence, smut, dubcon, vaginal fingering, PiV, creampie, getting caught during sex.

⫸ story summary: Accompanying your father, the General of Baldur's Gate, has always been a duty that bores you near to death, but for first time you feel completely unnerved as you come to Szarr mansion. The family's patriarch is a strange man and so is his wife and son. Son, who seems unperturbed by anything, until he's left alone with you that is. Then and only then, Cazador shows emotion and what kind of a threat he is. You realize soon - behind those dark eyes there's something dangerous lurking and your future soon becomes inescapably intertwined with his.

work contains illustrations, credit at the end

⫸ word count: 7,403

⫸ author note: happily presenting chapter two! have to say, the fight i wrote in this chapter was probably one of the best things i have ever written, really proud of that one :) enjoy♡~

⫸ chapter list: [link]

“None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free.” ― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

1044DR

23 years later

Quill in your hand, a parchment in front of you on the desk. You’re reading the lines slowly, trying to decipher them because this report came from a soldier who’s been sent out to scout for possible enemy ambushes and it’s important. But instead of it being a code it’s just his handwriting that is simply awful. You lean in and frown, trying to read one word that looks nothing more than a scribble and grit your teeth because you’re losing patience. You and Cazador have been going at this the entire morning with no end in sight. General Cradith set you both to this task because, like a father of two unruly children, he thought you two spend too much time parrying with soldiers and not enough time familiarizing with less exciting aspects of your positions. In this moment you start to doubt if you really need or want your rank as a Captain.

While you internally lament your less than exciting predicament, your attention is drawn to a scribble of a quill. Sat at another desk just like yours, Cazador seems to be tackling his task without issues. You watch him finish whatever he is writing, sign it, quickly read it again, then roll it up and put it to the side. With early afternoon sun filling the room through open windows and sounds of bird songs, you once again wish you were outside instead of being stuck here. Beautiful weather to test the mettle of some soldiers, alas, unless your father deems you done with your work, you’re pretty much nailed to the chair.

Cazador, on the other hand, doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He reads through the following report, his dark eyes scanning the paper with ease, the quill held gently in his fingers. You remember when he first arrived to the standing army encampment. It’s a small town in its own right with utility buildings, a fortress and some civilians, set between Sow’s Foot and Whitkeep. So when Cazador first showed up, you couldn’t help but notice how gentle his hands looked and you quickly assumed he might not be as good at actual fighting compared to the impression he gave you that time in his family’s home. Yet when he held a sword, his grip firm and unwavering, you quickly saw that he’s more skilled than you realized. Your first practice fight with him ended up with you on your back, pinned underneath his boot, the tip of his blade at your throat and your father laughing.

“Don’t underestimate your enemies, I told you that before, Captain.” He chastised you, making you feel embarrassed that you lost against this Szarr brat, only because his hands and long, shiny hair misled you, making you think he’s just another pampered noble.

Cazador is good at magic too, you soon learned, making your father take him on a year-long assessment journey and by the end of it, he quickly offered this elf the same position you have much to your chagrin. Not only he put you on your back in front of General and your own soldiers, he also quickly gained the same rank as you. In a matter of mere couple years, to be precise. And yet only you seemed to have been annoyed by it. Soldiers that were assigned to Cazador appeared to be happy with his leadership because he is strict, but clear and proved himself already. A year and a half later, General Cradith sent out Cazador to a battlefield as his first test when a group of orcs threatened to pillage Rivington, a small settlement outside Wyrm’s Crossing. You haven’t seen him command and fight with your own two eyes, but your father sounded most impressed by Cazador once the dust settled.

So the years went by and while you both were clearly fit for your positions, General still was unhappy that you and Cazador seem to spend more time practicing fighting with your soldiers than doing paperwork that needs to be done. And you haven’t forgotten the humiliation you felt during that fight when Cazador won, but father didn’t let you get back at him. Two nobles fighting, according to him, will only sow discord among the soldiers. However, when your father was away you found ways to do it without anyone seeing and reporting back to him. And the truth is – Cazador seems to get better with each battle he comes back from, so you never know what to expect from him when on a rare occasion you two parry.

“Hey, pay attention.” Cazador’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you blink couple times to see that he’s looking at you with a bemused expression. “You’re ruining it.”

“What?”

With the end of a quill he points at something in your direction and you look down, then immediately frown. While you were too absorbed with your unhappiness of being stuck in the office, the ink from your quill dripped on the parchment you were trying to read just earlier.

Annoyed you put the quill into the inkwell and lift the paper to your eyes, inspecting how bad the damage is, realizing it’s just couple drops and seems none of them are obscuring the scribbles that are meant to be words.

“You should be better than this. I thought you were raised to be a General.” Cazador taunts with a chuckle and you glare at him over the paper, putting it down so that he can see your angry expression.

“Captain Szarr the Perfect speaks up.” You mock and he raises his eyebrows at you with a smirk.

“I consider myself more avid than perfect.”

“Fine, Cazador the Avid, why don’t you do all my work then if you’re so avid.” You mock again and notice that despite his arrogant smile his jaw clenches.

“Captain Sylven the Impatient.” He snaps back, somehow making it sting more because he didn’t even use your first name, as if he’s talking to a stranger despite the fact that him and you have been taught and trained by your father for years. “Or should I say Captain Sylven the Inferior.” You watch his smirk become a grin, somehow looking so sharp as if it’s meant to cut you.

You lose your patience in a matter of a second.

You jump from your chair and clench your fingers into fists as you look at Cazador with fury. Your heart is beating fast and you try not to forget to breathe while he leans back in his chair, arrogance in his face promising more mockery to come.

After a moment you lift your chin and coldly glare at him while you relax your fists. A small smirk even appears on your lips now. A moment passes, two, a silent standoff between you and him.

“I wasn’t the one living in a barn before General scooped me up like a frail dame.” You finally speak and watch Cazador’s face immediately become furious, but he doesn’t move. Usually you manage to provoke him into same angry responses you experience, but not this time it seems. He just stares at you with silent outrage that you can nearly feel scorching your skin, burn into your eyes.

But before anything else is said, the door to the office opens and you hear someone in armor entering. Recognition of your father’s voice comes before comprehension of his words.

“Get your armors on, the Duke is here and he wants a demonstration of our best in a fight. You will fight each other.” General walks deeper into the room as he speaks and you look at him, your anger forgotten.

“Me and Cazador?” You ask, surprised, and he nods, then looks at the Szarr, with you doing the same. Elf looks unbothered by these news, just stands from the chair and nods curtly to your father.

“Understood. I will report to the courtyard after putting my armor on. Swords?” He asks and General Cradith thinks for a moment, stroking his chin with his fingers, then nods.

“Greatswords. Duke is not a military man, but even he will be impressed.” He turns to you now. “Go, don’t keep him waiting.”

You nod as well and turn on your heel, leaving the room but a grin appears on your face as you walk out of the office. After insults like that you are going to love proving to Cazador once and for all that you’re a better fighter than he is, you are sure of it. And it’s simply because while you’re proficient in greatswords – he isn’t, preferring longswords because he delights in fighting on a horseback.

Not this time.

You know the victory is yours, you can almost taste it while you quickly find yourself in your room. You have a squire girl and after you inform her what needs to be done, she helps you put on your armor. It’s heavy plate but the weight of it feels familiar and comforting. After your helmet is placed on your head, the one that is adorned with black feathers, you pick up your sword and head for the courtyard. The sound of armor as you walk, the heaviness of your weapon as you carry it leaned against your shoulder, you feel confident, in charge. When you pass soldiers they salute you, when you pass servants they bow their heads. And you remember with joy – you are their future General.

A smile on your lips and assertive steps – that’s how you exit the fortress, squinting at the sun that shines to your eyes through the visor but only for a moment. Cazador is already waiting for you, his own armor polished, his helmet bearing red feathers, his sword stuck in the ground with his hand on the hilt.

While you walk towards him, you notice your father not too far off, Duke at his side, not to mention several dozens of soldiers who were quick enough to show up for the spectacle. You can’t contain your grin as you walk and finally stop in front of Cazador, keeping some distance as is per etiquette.

Silence.

You can almost hear flies buzzing, as if nobody is even breathing. Your eyes meet Cazador’s, dark inkwells that consume near all your attention. And then you hear a command, spoken in General’s voice.

“Ready!”

You move into position, moving your legs apart for balance, gripping the hilt of your weapon with both gauntlet-clad hands and narrow your eyes as you watch Cazador move in very similar fashion, his tall form that always towers over you, now getting into attack position with a grace of a cat. His armored hand gripping the greatsword and for a moment you notice his long hair, untied, being gently moved across the armor plate on his back, looking almost like a cloak.

Another moment pass, your muscles are tense while you ready yourself to move first, waiting for only one word, the permission. You can win this, you know it, you feel it in every fiber of your being.

“Begin!”

You move at the same time as Cazador, dirt spraying from your sabatons as you charge each other. The rush of a fight takes over.

With gritted teeth but still with a smile you lift your sword over your head for a smite, using its weight to aid you in bringing a shattering blow that Cazador barely avoids, turning on his heel to the side at the last moment. When your blade strikes the ground he moves in response, his own weapon swung not from above, but from the side and you see it coming, but know you can’t avoid it, so you duck. While there you use one hand to support yourself on the dirt and deliver a heavy kick to Cazador’s right greave, seeing it bend under your boot when he staggers backwards before he can swing his sword at you.

Quickly you jump to your feet, gripping the sword with both hands again and barely manage to block the incoming blow, metal colliding with a shrill noise as Cazador now tries to use his height and weight of his sword to push you back. Your eyes meet again and you can already feel the sweat on your brow. You dig your heels into the ground and grip your sword tight, but Cazador still manages to push you backwards, you feel your sabatons tilling rows in the dirt as you are slowly but surely pushed backwards. Your jaw is clenched so tight you can taste iron.

“I’ll win, Szarr.” You tell Cazador and see his eyes through his visor, it looks like he’s smiling.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” He responds and it sends a shiver down your spine. In this moment – you are absolutely fulfilled, in your element, and with a worthy opponent to boot.

“But I am.” You respond.

And then you let go of the handle with one hand, letting Cazador push your blade against your shoulder plate, leaving indentation in the steel and looks like it throws him off guard because he doesn’t see what your intentions are before it’s too late. With a steel fist you deliver a blow to the underside of his jaw, unprotected by metal, and Cazador makes a sound at the moment of impact, then he staggers backwards, the tip of his blade sliding off your shoulder and falling to the ground. Next moment you watch blood drip from under his helmet onto the front of his breastplate and your eyes meet his in which you see surprise.

You don’t waste a moment, you attack again and swiftly. You use all the might you have in your arm and swing your greatsword at him, making him jump backwards from you, yet the tip of your blade scratches loudly across his breastplate. You pirouette, and when your sword comes around, you quickly strike your foot to the ground, stopping your spin as you bring the blade towards his neck, a blow that would decapitate him, but you know he’s better than getting himself killed and you’re correct, as Cazador pierces the ground with his sword for balance and lifts his armored arm right before the impact. The sound of metal against metal reverberates across the courtyard but you’re not done, this is your moment, this is your win.

You let go of your sword now, watching it fall as if in slow motion, but with now free hands you know you can finish this fast. A punch to Cazador’s forearm makes him release the grip on his own sword and yelp in either pain or surprise, then you move your other hand upwards, again to the unprotected part of his body that is the neck and you grip it, making Cazador let out a choking noise, before you deliver another punch to his side, were armor is thinnest, making him bend forwards.

That’s all you needed.

Using your own weight, enhanced by your armor, you bring Cazador down, making him drop on his back with a heavy thud, with you on top of him, straddling his armored form. With your hand still on his neck, you use free one to grab the bottom edge of his helmet and you tear it off with a near manic glee. His hair is disheveled and now splayed on the dirt, the bottom half of his face covered in blood and his eyes beginning to radiate with growing fury. He lets out another choked noise at the attempt to speak and finally grips at your gauntlet, trying to pry your arm away, his armored fingers slipping on metal.

“Let… go…” Cazador manages a strained growl, but you ignore him.

Victorious you use your free hand to grip the edge of your own helmet, pulling it off your head and letting it clatter to the ground in a cloud of dust while you grin at Cazador, now pinned under you. Finally, your fingers relent and he breathes in deeply, his eyes wide even if they are full of anger. But he looks beautiful, with his bloody chin and flushed, sweaty face.

You lean over him, still the same arrogant smile on your face. He doesn’t fight you anymore, he knows it is over as cheers and clapping suddenly erupts like an explosion.

“Red suits you, Cazador.” You tell him, seeing his cheeks flush even harder now, his chest heaving while his fingers remain gripping your gauntlet tightly. He says nothing, making your victory all the sweeter for it.

“Come now! Both of you! Duke wants to talk!” You hear General’s voice boom over the noise of soldiers still cheering and you chuckle slightly, then lean even closer to Cazador’s face.

“What are you doing?” He suddenly asks, his voice slightly coarse from the choking he received and while keeping your eyes on him you allow yourself a taste of his blood on his chin, letting the tip of your tongue drag against the point of his jawline, making Cazador’s eyes widen in utter shock. “What-“

“The taste of victory.” You tell him and straighten your back, grin on your face, while he stares at you in disbelief.

Without another word you get off him and when you stand on your feet you offer him a hand. Cazador still looks at you with utterly baffled expression but finally he frowns, then suddenly smirks and takes your hand, getting to his feet as well.

“Well fought.” He comments and you nod arrogantly at him.

“You too.”

You shake hands, as it is mandatory to finish friendly fights like this, then you both pick up your weapons and helmets. You tuck yours under your arm while Cazador carries his in his hand, heavy swords hoisted up and leaning against your shoulders in same fashion.

When you both stand in front of the Duke and General, you try to listen alertly but you can barely hear their words as you relish the victory, scarcely able to resist another glance at Cazador’s bloodied, flushed face like it’s a proof that you’re capable just as he is. Not that you ever doubted it, but his quick rise to rank of a Captain still slightly irks you. Not anymore.

Today - you are victorious. Today – you proved not only to yourself, but to your father and Duke too, that you’re a fighter, a warrior, a true soldier, worthy of General’s title when the time comes.

These thoughts spin in your head, making pride swell in your chest like never before and when you are finally dismissed you glance at Cazador, seeing his dark gaze studying your face with intensity. You allow yourself a smallest smirk, then turn and leave the courtyard.

Passing the soldiers who cheer on you, you smile as you walk back to the building, climbing the stairs and crossing the main war room until you suddenly hear a sound behind you, the unmistakable clinks of an armor. You stop and turn your body to look at who it is because the room is empty, wondering if it’s your father but no, you see that it’s Cazador, his waist-length hair draping around him and his eyes narrowed as he walks towards you with firm steps. You notice that somewhere along the way he lost his sword and helmet. You grin as you watch him quickly approach you.

“Don’t be sour, Cazador, you know that-“ You don’t get to finish as his hands move unexpectedly fast, grabbing the back of your neck and clasping leather clad palm of another right over your mouth.

Your eyes widen in shock at the moment of fear from his attack, not having a chance to even resist as the tall elf quickly drags you to the side, your helmet and sword falling to the floor. He pulls you to the door that leads to a smaller room where your father sleeps. Just as quickly you hear the door close and find yourself being slammed into the wall chest first. You watch the icon of The Red Knight drop to the floor as your face made it slip off the nail it was hanging on. A hand from your mouth is removed and you inhale deeply.

“Cazador, what in the hells are you doing?” You want your voice to be loud and strong but instead it comes out in a strained whisper, you didn’t have a chance to gather your bearings yet, caught completely off guard.

“Claiming my compensation.” A reply comes from the behind you, then you immediately hear something metallic drop, probably a gauntlet because soon your neck is released and you feel Cazador’s hot, sweaty fingers grip the same spot again, then another sound, another gauntlet.

“Compensation for what?! I won fair and square, you bastard!” You say louder this time and try to push off the wall but his grip tightens and your narrow your eyes from pain with a huff.

“You humiliated me.” More sounds of metal being handled and you are clueless to what Cazador is doing while you bid your time, thinking of how you can escape him.

Suddenly you feel his breastplate push heavily against the back of your armor, squeezing you inside of it as leather straps on your sides lose their tautness with pressure. And then there’s a breath against your ear.

“You did quite a number on me in the courtyard. I ought to claim a small compensation for that, surely. Not every day those who make me bleed keep their lives.” A low chuckle and hot air against your skin makes you blush. You try to move your eyes, to catch a glimpse of his face, but you can’t, the angle is impossible because of how he has you pinned against the wall.

“Just accept you lost, Szarr!” You hear a rustle, more metal noises and the hand on the back of your neck disappears. Cazador is sure you’re still trapped as he keeps squeezing you against the wall with his chest.

Then – a strip of fabric over your mouth. Caution forgotten you try to protest, only allowing the piece of cloth to slip between your teeth, muffling your words. And then it tightens around your head, preventing you from closing your mouth as it becomes clear to you now that Cazador is holding both ends with one hand to keep you silenced, like reigns on a wild horse. It’s probably his handkerchief, you think to yourself, a useless fact to know in this situation.

"I can accept defeat, what I can’t accept is you making a fool out of me in front of General and the Duke.” Cazador whispers against your ear and you feel his hand under the chainmail covering your rear, caressing it through your pants that you wear below your armor. Your cheeks flush harder but you don’t want him to have this victory and you angrily slam an armored fist against the wall, making him chuckle. “You are good with your sword, I can commend at least that. But I still want to teach you a lesson that no one spills my blood and walks away unscathed.” You pause, your breath catching in your throat as dread pools in your stomach. “And I always get what I want.”

You make a sound, close to an angry scream only muffled by your gag and sweat begins to bead your forehead again. You don’t know how far Cazador wants to take this, maybe he will stop here, after showing you that he can still overpower you, but you’re not as hopeful. And then you whine when his fingers grip your ass with firm possessiveness. Dread you felt just earlier dissipates and is replaced by something you wish it wasn’t – desire. Men are generally either scared of you because of who you are and because of who your father is, or they hate you. Cazador… Cazador is neither. From the moment you met him, this man treated you different than all the rest.

And now you wonder how many times he thought about fucking you, looking for an excuse to do so. In this moment you have to admit to yourself – you wondered it too, how it would be if you two ended up in the same bed, the thought making your insides burn not with dread you felt just a moment earlier, but with need. Yet your pride won’t let you admit it and once more you try to push away from the wall, only making him push his armored body against yours harder, squeezing the air out of your lungs.

“It will hurt more if you struggle.” He taunts and you make another sound, one that’s supposed to be angry, but it comes out more like a pathetic whine instead of a growl as your teeth clamp on your gag, it makes Cazador chuckle again, then the gag over your mouth tightens as he pulls at it, making your head arch backwards. “Look at me.” Cazador demands and you finally can see his face, so close to yours and with his chin still covered in dried blood, but his eyes are near shining with dark excitement. “Good, very good, I knew a soldier would follow orders.” He grins, making rage boil in your chest and you frown, trying to show him just how angry you are, but he only lifts his eyebrows at that. “I guess you choose pain then.”

The hand that’s on your ass slips up your lower back, finding the hem of your pants underneath your armor, inspects it, then moves to the front, finding the knot there meant to hold the garment in place. With one pull he undoes the string, then his hand moves to the back again and Cazador begins peeling your pants down. You protest as loudly as you can but all of it is muffled and his hand grips the ends of the handkerchief tightly before he presses the side of your face against the wall.

You growl around your gag in frustration, trying to move but being unable to, you can barely breathe as is and you bite down on the cloth with rage and then suddenly - embarrassment as Cazador’s fingers work your pants down your hips, as much as your cuisses allow, and then you feel his index finger slip between your legs, rubbing your folds as if testing how wet you are. The embarrassment you feel comes from shame because you realize - you are wet already.

Cazador chuckles and you can see his arrogant smirk in your mind’s eye as he keeps feeling wetness on his fingers, smearing them. Then he leans in closer and with his teeth playfully nips at the gag pressing deep into your cheek.

“I knew you wanted me deep inside you.” Cazador whispers in your ear, there’s a hint of malice in his voice and you are not sure if he meant the double meaning of his words or not, but they are still making you blush from shame and anger.

But then you whine, your eyelids droop as Cazador’s finger nudges at your clit, making your body shiver. Gods, you don’t remember the last time you were touched like this and you want this, you know you do, but no, you can’t let him have his way with you, not like this. So you slam your fist against the wall again in protest, except this time it’s weaker, less powerful and that makes Cazador laugh silently against your ear.

Suddenly you feel the gag around your head loosen but before you can even think of spitting it out, Cazador’s hand clamps over your mouth, securing the already drenched from your saliva fabric in place, muffling your voice even further.

“Quiet now, soldier, I don’t want anyone to hear you scream.” He murmurs in your ear before Cazador begins to rub your clit slowly, as if he knows exactly how to make your knees weak.

His palm muffles the words you’re trying to speak, the ones meant to tell him to back off, to stop, that he will pay for this, that you will kill him, but soon you give up, letting out only small pants against his hand as your body easily responds to his ministrations. Your palms grasp at the wall for purchase but you know you can’t move, how hard you are pressed against the wall makes your breaths more shallow, making your head begin to feel fuzzy, and combined with increasing pleasure you begin to feel like you’re in a dream. A nightmarish one or a pleasant one – that’s up to Cazador, you realize with distant dread.

Seeing you give up your struggles, Cazador arrogantly chuckles, his palm is slick with your saliva but he doesn’t let go.

“I knew you would like that.” He whispers in your ear, feeling how tips of them now blush together with your face, then his hand leaves you, giving your gently trembling body a moment of reprieve as you once more hear armor being handled.

The next moment you gasp as you feel scorching heat of his cock against the cleft of your ass, grinding against it and you whine again, not knowing if your whine is of despair or desire. You don’t know what you want anymore, Cazador is muddying the lines between desire and pride, making your head swim. Then his hand navigates between you and him, two fingers finding your increasingly wetter slit and he slips them inside, testing you.

His test pays off because your hips involuntarily buck against his fingers, making them push even deeper inside of you and you whine in despair of your own body betraying you. You’re now sopping wet and your cunt swallows his fingers with hungry ease, making you a shiver run down your spine. You feel Cazador press his lips against the side of your face and you feel his smirk as you hear his own breath slightly hitch when he feels wetness of your walls clench around his digits. You start feeling the elf to begin pumping his fingers slowly and steady inside of you, his hard cock still pressed against your ass. And then, a whisper.

“You want more, don’t you, soldier?” Cazador whispers, arrogance oozing out of every word and you bite on your gag again, not wanting to admit it. You shake your head in last attempt of defiance and it makes him laugh. “I don’t think I believe you.”

Elf’s fingers now leave you, making you exhale with small relief, but then his palm leaves your mouth and once more, before you can think of it, he secures the gag around your head again with one hand, pulling at it so that he can look at your face. He sees your heavy-lidded eyes and you, in turn, see his taunting grin. You gave up fighting already, you both know that, he won.

“I’m going to enjoy this.” Cazador promises and with other hand he pulls at your hips, making you arch your back uncomfortably because your cuirass is unyielding but he still positions you just as he wishes and you get to watch his face when his eyes dart down, then a moment later you feel the tip of his cock nudging at your cunt.

You swallow and you’re not sure yourself if it’s from despair or anticipation. Cazador’s eyes snap back to you and he smiles, but his smile has no softness in it, just a mocking edge. And then he watches as he begins pushing his length into you, he watches your face as the near forgotten pleasure claims your mind, showing itself clearly through your expression, through how your eyelids droop even more and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Hm.” Cazador sounds pleased while he takes your body with his cock, pushes it into you inch by inch until he’s fully buried within you. He leans to your face again and your world fills with his smirk and the malicious glee in his eyes. “Submission suits you, little soldier.” A taunt, callback to one of your own in the courtyard, and you moan with shame and anguish, but it’s only for a moment, only until Cazador begins to thrust. You forget your humiliation when lust takes over your mind.

You try to remain silent at first, but his thrusts quickly pick up the pace and all you can hear is his armor slamming against yours with a ringing loudness while you feel him deeply in your core each time he drives his length to the root. By your ear you hear Cazador’s restrained grunts without noticing how you are moaning in response, your voice still muffled. He keeps your head turned to him so that he can watch your expressions and you see the sadistic joy in his eyes be replaced with pure passion, elf’s expression losing the sharp edge and his parted lips betraying the pleasure he’s feeling in this moment.

“Just like this, do not dare moving.” He commands and you don’t even think of disobeying him, your palms and chest still firmly pressed against the fall while the Szarr heir pounds into you as if nothing else matters in the world. “This is… what you get… for making me… shed… blood…” Cazador’s words are punctuated by his groans that he releases with each snap of his hips and you whine at that.

You feel hot, almost melting from heat, as you feel trapped in your armor but you don’t even think of trying to move away anymore. Finally your eyes close and you submerge in the feeling of satisfaction. Then with sudden realization you spit out now limp cloth from your mouth, at which point Cazador released it you have no clue, but now you notice that he’s not squeezing you against the wall with his chest anymore, instead you feel his hand under the front of your cuirass, gripping your right breast and fondling it with authority, as if every inch of your body belongs to him.

You wet your dry lips with your tongue and press the side of your face against the cool wall as you moan, not having a single thought to speak, all of this is too much in the most wonderful way and you hear a low chuckle rumble inside Cazador’s chest.

“Didn’t expect you to enjoy this that much.” He says with bated breath and coarse voice, but despite his words he can’t hide how much he is enjoying this himself. You let your chest slip down the wall just a little bit, making Cazador grip at your breast as if he’s anticipating you to try and escape, but when he realizes what you’re doing, adjusting your body for him, he lets out a breathy groan. “Yes, just like that.” It sounds like he’s speaking through clenches teeth and his fingers pinch at your nipple through the fabric of your undershirt, making you yelp a little louder.

Then suddenly you realize he’s close and you wish for him to go on for longer, to fuck you a little harder, you are not far behind him in this chase for bliss and it’s as if Cazador reads your mind. His hand disappears from under your breastplate and now he grips your hips with both hands as he begins pummeling against you with enough force to make your head spin.

“Gods, yes!” You cry out with sweat dripping down your face and your eyes closed as you begin to feel first waves of pleasure pool between your legs as his cock strokes you in the most delicious way. You don’t think you ever had this much pleasure with a man.

“That’s it, little soldier, you are mine.” You hear Cazador’s strained chuckle but you don’t care.

With a gasp and a moan you come, your body contracting and stiffening in waves as your orgasm surges through you. Somewhere distantly you hear Cazador near growl when your cunt clenches over his cock, making him climax too and milking him for all he’s worth.

“Fuck!” You hear him exclaim in a moment of bliss, something you very rarely hear him say, and you mewl while he uses his length to pound into you until your pleasure begins to fall.

Finally Cazador stops and you hear him panting heavily behind you, then chuckle despite his state. You can barely comprehend what just happened, needing a moment or two to gather yourself back together so you both stay as you are, letting seconds pass.

“If it were a battlefield you both would be dead.” A voice comes from behind you and it feels like a slice of a razor through your mind.

Immediately you become alert and straighten your back, pushing Cazador off you, then turn to see who intruder is. A moment, then two, and finally you recognize the face: long grey hair with white streaks, sharp features and eyes that left a lasting impression even from the small miniature you saw couple decades ago. This man, who you only saw a tiny painting of, now stands by the open door, his arms crossed on his chest and his red eyes focused on Cazador who moved the moment you pushed him off.

Both you and him quickly pull up your pants, the task not done as fast as either of you wish with armor and chainmail in the way but done nonetheless while the grey-haired man seems to be patiently waiting. Cazador doesn’t wait, while still trying to tie the string of his own pants underneath his cuirass, he glares at the intruder with so much hate you don’t think you ever seen in him before.

“What are you doing here, Vellioth.” Cazador demands to know and the man grins, his smile sharp and predatory.

“What do you think Donnela would say if she saw you like this? Tsk tsk tsk.” Vellioth chastises Cazador and you finally finish with your pants, pulling your gauntlets off as you stare the man down.

“Who let you in?” You ask in a commanding tone, now stepping forward. Not only barely anyone is allowed into the main war room, this man also invited himself into your father’s quarters. You realize that the noises and the voices probably made him look, but you can’t justify a civilian like him trespassing in the first place, no matter the reason.

“General Sylven. I asked him where to find Cazador.” Vellioth replies and you glance at Cazador, seeing how his expression is twisted with anger despite the sweat and post-coital blush still present on his face, making you realize that you must look exactly the same.

“You had no right to-“

“I didn’t interrupt, did I? I let you both finish this little display of honorable nobility.” Vellioth interrupts, making you even angrier with his rudeness.

“Get out, now!” You point at the open door and the man just raises his eyebrows at you, obviously not intimidated by you whatsoever.

“I need to speak to Cazador first.” Elf says calmly and Cazador finally moves, bending down to pick up his discarded gauntlets.

“Then speak.” He demands but Vellioth just laughs.

“No, I need to speak to you in private.”

You glance at Cazador, seeing his clenched jaw and his eyes focused on Vellioth, then he finally smirks.

“Very well then, wait for me in the courtyard, I need to finish here.” He gestures to the door in a relaxed and dismissive manner, but Vellioth grins wider.

“I thought you were already finished.” Vellioth replies with snark dripping of the last word and you raise an eyebrow at his insolence.

“Go, unless you want to be removed by force.” You respond calmly, finally with your anger and embarrassment under control, and Vellioth looks at you for a moment, his scarlet gaze taking in all of you.

Finally he nods and unfolds his arms, pushing his hands into the pants’ pockets before he looks back at Cazador.

“Don’t keep me waiting, boy.” He says and with that he departs, his footsteps quickly vanishing as he leaves the war room.

But you do wonder why he called Cazador that and you remember him mentioning that this Vellioth is somehow important to his aunt, or his mother, or whoever she is to Cazador. You get a feeling that this man is Lady Szarr’s lover because what other reason he would have to address Cazador this way, the way his own father did when you saw them in their family home, if not because some sort of upper hand. Vellioth doesn’t look much older than either of you, you have to admit, maybe six decades older, maybe even less and yet he acts like he can command Cazador around. This puzzles you.

You snap out of your musings when Cazador turns to you and you pay attention to his furrowed brows and cold expression, but after a moment of looking at your face his features relax and he smirks, stepping closer, grasping your chin with his fingers and making you upturn your face to him.

“Well, we may have been interrupted, but I am not done with you, Lady Sylven.” He speaks to you in a low, seductive voice and it catches you off guard, making you raise your eyebrows at him.

“I thought that was payment for bloodying your face.” You reach up and rub your thumb against his chin, flakes of blood coming off easily now and Cazador chuckles.

“My blood is expensive, more than you would think.” He responds and leans closer, you think he’s about to kiss you, but instead he leans to your ear into whisper. “And I think I need another compensation from you for that.” A pause as your breath catches in your throat. “And you did enjoy it, did you not?” Cazador’s face returns in front of you and you swallow dryly, new blush beginning to color your cheeks. Was he always this flirty? You can’t recall, but you can’t recall many things right now, not as you look deep into his dark eyes.

“Yes.” You hear yourself respond and Cazador smiles, victorious.

“I thought you did.” He pauses as if thinking and his gaze darts to your lips, then back to your eyes, and seems he makes up his mind because he kisses you, pressing his lips heavily against yours.

You feel yourself melting and you gasp ever so slightly against his mouth, allowing him to slide the tip of his tongue past your lips and run it alongside your upper front teeth before he pulls back.

“I’ll find you later. I have to deal with Vellioth first.” Cazador promises and you swallow heavily, your heart beating at the back of your throat then you nod, completely captivated by him in this moment and that makes him smile. “Good, very good.” Elf’s thumb rubs against your bottom lip for a brief moment like he’s considering another kiss, but this time he decides against it and steps back, releasing your chin and turning his back to you.

Without another word Cazador leaves the room, carrying his gauntlets in one hand and you watch him go, wondering what in the hells just happened and what does this mean for you from this point on.

But you can’t deny the pull you feel. When Cazador leaves the war room, you exit your father’s quarters closing the door behind you, and pick up your sword and helmet still littering the floor, while you feel Szarr’s seed seep out of you, soaking your pants, making you bite your lower lip. Lost in your thoughts you head for your own room, passing through the door that is one way out of three to lead you to officers’ personal rooms and you can’t help but wonder – for how long you have been blind that this was coming? A moment of unleashed lust transformed the dynamic between you two nearly completely, making you feel like you have been a fool to the obvious this entire time.

Still, you know this complicates things, very much so, despite how excited you feel to see Cazador later. You two will need to keep this secret, of that you are sure.

But you are both good at keeping secrets.

For better or for worse.

⫸ end note: thank you @sadist69 for wonderful illustration♡~

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

For the fanfic questions thing:

Are there any writers that inspire you?

What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

Which character(s) do you find most difficult to write?

for 1. @pointsfortrying 🫵 rye you have altered my writing style in UNSPEAKABLE ways....... honestly everyone from the 'recent' dst rp scene (recent being since around 2021 onward. which sounds CRAZY when i say it out loud. that's amost 3 years ago) has been SO fun to engage with and everyone's styles are so silly and awesome... its so much fun having other people's writing methods slowly rub off on me.

for 2 that is. a really good question honestly. going off of exclusively the ones i've published on ao3 (not only for convenience's sake but also because those are all probably some of my best work to begin with) i would say it's a tie between Such Lovely Feathers On Your Turncoat and I Owe You One (or two, or three...), both ieytd related works.

i really like the former because it's one of my slim few fics that are simultaneously self indulgent, but also polished enough that i don't feel embarrassed to reread. it's also my most popular modern fic by a landslide, which makes a lot of sense- everyone loves a good torture fic. but the latter i really like because everything just flows so unusually nicely for it being as long as it is. honestly i surprised myself with just how smoothly everything felt. i took out several scenes that i only realized in hindsight didn't even really need to be there at all. i felt like it really taught me something about where i want to take my writing style in the modern day

as for 3. and just to keep this simple i'll stick with the dst cast. but characters that don't frequently get a lot of screentime from other artists are usually the ones i find harder to write. in feed the roses, for instance, i'm writing with the entire pre-dst cast, and characters like webber and wolfgang have been really giving me a run for my money. wicker would have been too but thankfully @zestinator5000 has been there to fill my mind with visions of gramma grandeur and it has become inordinately easier. ty zesty mwah mwah

[tallmantall]

#JamesDonaldson On #MentalHealth – #Boys Experience #Depression Differently Than #Girls. Here’s Why That Matters

Photo by Victoria Rain on Pexels.com Surveys of #teen #mentalhealth may underestimate boys’ despair By Sujata Gupta #Teenagers in the #UnitedStates are in crisis. That news got hammered home earlier this year following the release of a nationally representative survey showing that over half of #highschool #girls reported persistent feelings of “sadness or #hopelessness” — common words used to screen for #depression. Almost a third of #teenage #boys reported those same feelings. “No one is doing well,” says #psychologist Kathleen Ethier. She heads the U.S. #CentersforDiseaseControlandPrevention’s Division of #Adolescent and #School Health, which has overseen this biennial #Youth Risk #Behavior Survey since 1991. During the latest round of data collection, in fall 2021, over 17,000 #students from 31 states responded to roughly 100 questions related to #mentalhealth, #suicidalthoughts and #behaviors, #sexualbehavior, #substanceuse and experiences of violence. One chart in particular garnered considerable media attention. From 2011 to 2021, persistent sadness or #hopelessness in #boys went up 8 percentage points, from 21 to 29 percent. In #girls, it rose a whopping 21 percentage points, from 36 to 57 percent. Some of that disparity may arise from the fact that #girls in the #UnitedStates face unique stressors, researchers say. Compared with #boys, #girls seem more prone to experiencing #mentaldistress from #socialmedia use, are more likely to experience #sexualviolence and are dealing with a political climate that is often hostile to women’s rights (SN: 7/16/22 & 7/30/22, p. 6). But the gap between #boys and #girls might not be as wide as the numbers indicate. #Depression manifests differently in #boys and #men than in #girls and #women, mounting evidence suggests. #Girls are more likely to internalize feelings, while #boys are more likely to externalize them. Rather than crying when feeling down, for instance, #boys may act irritated or lash out. Or they may engage in risky, impulsive or even violent acts. Inward-directed terms like “sadness” and “#hopelessness” miss those more typically #male tendencies. And masculine norms that equate sadness with weakness may make #males who are experiencing those emotions less willing to admit it, even on an anonymous survey. Consequently, screening tools, such as the one used by the #CDC’s survey, may miss #depression in about 1 in 10 #males, research suggests. “We need to have more of a recognition that #boys and #men, some of them, not all of them, are suffering,” says clinical #psychologist Ryon McDermott of the University of South Alabama in Mobile. “And we miss them. We miss them in our assessments, and we miss them in our discussions.” Diagnosing #depression in #boys and #men The idea of overlooked #depression in #men is not new. Take what happened on the Swedish island of Gotland. In the 1960s and ’70s, #suiciderates were high. So in 1983, health officials launched an education program for Gotland #doctors on #depression treatment and #suicideprevention. At first, the program looked like a resounding success. The island’s overall #suiciderate dropped from roughly 20 out of every 100,000 people in 1982 to roughly 7 out of every 100,000 people by 1985, researchers reported in the 1992 Acta Psychiatrica Scandinavica. But a subsequent, deeper analysis showed that the decline was almost entirely among #women. In the 2½ years before and after the program, the number of #women dying by #suicide decreased from 11 to two, while the number of #men dying by #suicide mostly stayed steady, seeing a marginal decline from 16 to 15. #Men struggling with #suicidalthoughts appear less likely to seek help and more likely to have #doctors ignore their depressive symptoms when they do seek help, Wolfgang Rutz, then a #psychiatrist at a Gotland hospital, theorized in 1996 in the Nordic Journal of Psychiatry. #Doctors observed, for instance, that #men who were depressed often didn’t present with classic symptoms, such as sadness, but instead presented as hostile, impulsive and aggressive. Rutz suspected that this #gender disparity in diagnosis and treatment might underpin why, at the time, #men in Sweden were being diagnosed with #depression half as often as #women but dying by #suicide five times as often. Without obvious signs of #depression, Rutz noted, to the outside observer, many #male #suicides occurred seemingly without warning. “The criteria of #depression that are taught in psychiatric textbooks and diagnostic manuals today and which also have been used in the Gotland project seem insufficient in detecting the typical masculine way of being depressive,” Rutz wrote. Rutz went on to develop a screening tool for #male #depression, which paved the way for more recent male-specific tools. They include the #Male #Depression Risk Scale, developed by Simon Rice, a clinical #psychologist at Orygen, an Australian nonprofit research, clinical and advocacy institute focused on youth #mentalhealth. The scale focuses on emotion suppression, anger and aggression; #drug and #alcohol use; somatic symptoms, such as concerns about sleep and sex; and risk-taking. Participants rate various statements, such as how often they bottle up negative feelings, have difficulty managing anger or use #drugs for temporary relief. None of the questions ask about sadness or #hopelessness. Better screening The #Male #Depression Risk Scale asks individuals to rate how often over the last month various statements (some shown below) apply to them. - I bottled up my negative feelings. - I had unexplained aches and pains. - I needed #alcohol to help me unwind. - I overreacted to situations with aggressive #behavior. - I stopped caring about the consequences of my actions. - It was difficult to manage my anger. - Using #drugs provided temporary relief. Research shows that some #men meet the criteria for #depression on the #Male #Depression Risk Scale but not on more traditional scales. In a recent study of 1,000 Canadian #men, Rice and his team found that 80 respondents, or 8 percent, met the criteria for #depression only on a traditional scale that includes a question about how often the respondent has felt “down, depressed or hopeless.” In addition, 120 respondents, or 12 percent, met the criteria on both scales. But 110 respondents, or 11 percent, met the criteria for #depression only on the men’s scale, the team reported in 2020 in the Journal of #MentalHealth. The results suggest that had the #CDC’s #Youth Risk #Behavior Survey included a #male-specific question about #depression, there might still have been a #gender gap but perhaps a smaller one. Too many #boys and #men are suffering in silence, says Rice, who is also a principal research fellow at the University of Melbourne. Ten or 11 percent of missed cases “might sound like a small percentage,” he says, “but at the population level, that is huge.” Is it #depression or something else? The idea that acting out and aggression could, on occasion, constitute symptoms of #depression remains controversial. The #CDC, Ethier says, has relied on extensive research in formulating its survey’s #depression-related question, which reads: “During the past 12 months, did you ever feel so sad or hopeless almost every day for two weeks or more in a row that you stopped doing some usual activities?” “That item is actually quite good at predicting who has depressive symptoms,” Ethier says, adding that such accuracy holds true for both #girls and #boys. That’s not to say that #boys aren’t struggling, Ethier says. Anecdotally, for instance, #teachers are reporting a spike in #behavioral problems in their classrooms, particularly among #boys. But rather than indicating #depression, Ethier says, such #behavior is emblematic of the broader #mentalhealthcrisis among #teens. That might sound like splitting hairs. If #boys are distressed, why not label them as depressed? Providing the proper diagnosis matters for appropriate treatment and future health outcomes, Ethier says. “We know that depressive symptoms in #adolescence have long-term implications for health and #mentalhealth. I don’t know that the research is as conclusive about that for #behavioralissues in the classroom.” For McDermott, who studies the difficulties of measuring #depression, such #behavioral problems could indicate other disorders, chiefly #attentiondeficithyperactivitydisorder. But he has no doubt that some of those #boys are depressed. “It is hard to say with 100 percent certainty that all #boys who are acting out are experiencing #depression, but it is a good bet that many of them are,” he says. Depths of despair Over the last decade, a national survey of U.S. #highschoolstudents called the #Youth Risk #Behavior Survey has consistently found higher levels of persistent feelings of sadness or #hopelessness in #teen #girls compared with #teen #boys. But some experts say the survey may not offer a complete picture of boys’ #mentalhealth. Percentage of #highschoolstudents reporting persistent feelings of sadness or #hopelessness C. CHANG The core symptoms of #depression, whether internal or external in nature, are the same in #men and #women, McDermott says. But on a #depression scale focusing on internalizing symptoms such as sadness or #hopelessness, a depressed man would, on average, score lower than an equally depressed #woman. Why those baselines vary by #gender isn’t entirely clear, McDermott says. But when it comes to #hopelessness, evidence suggests that #boys might sometimes suppress those feelings in adherence to #male norms that discourage vulnerability. Consider the results of a review of 74 studies with a total sample size of more than 19,000 mostly U.S. participants published in 2017 in the Journal of Counseling Psychology. High scores on a scale measuring conformity to Western masculine norms, such as emotional control, self-reliance and power over #women, were linked with poorer #mentalhealth, including #depression, and a reduced likelihood of seeking help. Gender norms become entrenched during the #teen years, says Leslie Adams, a #behavioral researcher at Johns Hopkins University. That’s when #boys are really absorbing messages around masculinity from friends, family and #socialmedia. “Endorsing feelings of sadness and #hopelessness kind of goes against these learned, general scripts,” Adams says. Those #male scripts are poorly understood, say Adams and others studying #male #mentalhealth, because most #gender research focuses on #girls and #women. For instance, take research into #socialmedia use. Ethier points to the popularity of #male #socialmedia personalities espousing harmful attitudes toward #women, such as TikToker Andrew Tate, who was recently arrested in Romania on suspicion of human trafficking. Anecdotally, Tate and influencers like him are one way #boys come to understand the world, but data on the influence of #socialmedia on #boys are sparse, Ethier says. “We focus a lot on the ways that #socialmedia might be impacting #girls in terms of body image,” she says. “I don’t think we focus enough of the conversation on what is being portrayed to #boys.” The resulting knowledge gap about #boys’ lives affects all of society. “It is difficult to see that we can effectively address the health of #boys and young #men, achieve gender equity for #girls and young #women, or achieve rights for #lesbian, #gay, #bisexual and #transgender #youth, without tackling the masculine identities adopted by #boys in #adolescence,” a group of pediatric health experts wrote in a commentary in 2018 in the Journal of #Adolescent Health. #Depression’s link to #suicide Just as Rutz observed on the island of Gotland, missing #depression in #boys and #men can come with high stakes. “#Depression can manifest in many ways … beyond sadness and #hopelessness,” Adams says. “When we don’t assess the other ways that #depression can manifest, there are implications. One is #suicide.” Adams suspects that the same tendency to frame #depression as an internal emotion also influences how researchers ask about #suicide. For instance, asking about who has considered #suicide or made a plan, as the #CDC does in its #youth survey, reflects the belief that the respondent is both ruminating and thinking ahead. “For #boys, may not have that linear path,” Adams says. “We’re missing … impulsivity.” That could help explain why, in the #CDC survey, #teen #girls reported higher levels of suicidal thinking, planning and attempts than #boys, despite the fact that #boys die by #suicide at higher rates. Provisional federal data show that, in 2021, roughly 6 of every 100,000 girls ages 15 to 24 died by #suicide. That’s compared with roughly 24 of every 100,000 #boys of the same age. From 2020 to 2021, the rate of #suicide in that age group increased 5 percent in #girls compared with 8 percent in #boys. #James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleFind out more about the work I do on my 501c3 non-profit foundationwebsite www.yourgiftoflife.org Order your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife: From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy   www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com #Suicide stats  The latest data in the #UnitedStates show that the overall #suiciderate for #males is much higher than for #females. That gap holds across most age groups, even though #teen #girls report higher levels of suicidal thinking and planning than #boys. U.S. age-adjusted #suiciderates in 2021 #Male and #female #suiciderates in 2021, by age SOURCE: NATIONAL CENTER FOR HEALTH STATISTICS CREDIT: C. CHANG Access to guns might factor in here. For every 10 percent increase in household gun ownership in a state, the #youth #suiciderate increases by about 27 percent, researchers reported in 2019 in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine. And #boys are seven times as likely to kill themselves with a gun than #girls are, according to a 2022 report by Everytown for Gun Safety, a #gunviolence prevention organization. Missed #depression in #boys could help explain a long-standing research question, Adams and others say: Why do more women get diagnosed with #depression, the most common precursor to #suicide, when more #men die by #suicide? One path forward is to look beyond sadness and #hopelessness as proxies for #depression, Adams says. What about impulsivity, conflict with others or social withdrawal? Perhaps those symptoms serve as better proxies for #depression — and suicidal thinking — in #men, she says. Understanding other proxies could protect not just depressed individuals from harm but also broader society, another line of research suggests. Seena Fazel, a forensic #psychiatrist at the University of Oxford, and colleagues began examining data from Swedish #patient registries to investigate if #depression links to violent #behavior. Their participant pool included about 47,000 #adults diagnosed with #depression from 2001 to 2009 and nearly 900,000 people without such a diagnosis. People with #depression were three times as likely to commit a violent crime, such as assault, arson or a sexual offense, as individuals without depression, the team reported in 2015 in Lancet Psychiatry. To attempt to rule out genetic or environmental differences, the team looked at siblings. A person with #depression was twice as likely to commit a violent crime as their sibling without #depression. Fazel and another team reported a similar link between #depression and violence among #teens and young #adults in 2017 in the Journal of the American Academy of #Child & #Adolescent Psychiatry. The link between violence and #depression has been found for both #men and #women. But since #men commit most violent crimes, missing #depression in #men is a concern, Fazel says. But he stresses the importance of keeping such findings in perspective. His earlier work, for instance, found that over a 13-year period in Sweden, there were 450 violent crimes committed per 10,000 people. Of those, 24 were committed by people with severe #mentalillness. “With guns and #mentalillness,” Fazel says, “you are much more likely to kill yourself than kill somebody else.” Shifting views on #depression The idea that #depression may look different in #men and #women — not to mention differences based on other demographic factors (SN: 2/11/23, p. 18) — is gaining traction. For instance, a 2022 revision to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of #MentalDisorders, or DSM, the #AmericanPsychiatricAssociation’s reference book, acknowledges the #gender differences in #depression. The revision’s authors note that, compared with depressed #women, depressed #men tend to report “greater frequencies and intensities of maladaptive self-coping and problem-solving strategies, including #alcohol or other #drug misuse, risk-taking and poor impulse control.” Even before the revision, the DSM included “irritable mood” as a feature of #depression in youngsters. So teenagers’ age and #gender both potentially influence how they express #depression. Even if the idea that #depression looks different in #boys and #girls gains wider acceptance, changing the #Youth Risk #Behavior Survey will take time. If enough experts express concerns about how questions related to #mentalhealth are posed, then the earliest the #CDC could amend the survey would be for the 2025 round of data collection, a #CDC spokesperson told Science News. But the experts I spoke with are hopeful that such changes will trickle into other mainstream research. Even adding a single word to questions, such as asking about irritability in addition to sadness and #hopelessness, could identify a huge number of depressed #boys who might otherwise appear fine, these researchers argue. Tweaks of this nature, Rice says, “could be a game changer at identifying #depression in #boys young #men.” Questions or comments on this article? E-mail us at feedback@sciencenews.org | Reprints FAQ Photo by Victoria Rain on Pexels.com Read the full article

[onward--upward]

I posted 3,507 times in 2022

That's 3,296 more posts than 2021!

340 posts created (10%)

3,167 posts reblogged (90%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@lucydonato

@hattalove

@princessfbi

@letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

@kitkatpancakestack

I tagged 3,158 of my posts in 2022

Only 10% of my posts had no tags

#911 fox - 1,842 posts

#911 spoilers - 363 posts

#q’s queue - 291 posts

#911 spoilers  - 176 posts

#hockey tag - 153 posts

#roswell nm - 112 posts

#sr - 52 posts

#hockey au - 43 posts

#scream - 39 posts

#scheduled - 38 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#he’s gonna tell taylor about lucy and she’s gonna kick him out of the loft and he’s gonna go to eddies only for eddie to have his breakdown

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

steppin' into fate

chapter 1/?

Buck/Eddie, rated M // read on ao3

“What the hell is this?” Evan Buckley storms into the office without knocking, tossing his phone onto the desk.

“The LA Kings have signed forward Eddie Diaz (@EDiaz82) to a five year contract” it reads. Buck doesn’t need to see it to know. He’s stared at it long enough already. There’s a graphic of Eddie Diaz and his stupidly pretty face beneath it, in his old Dallas Stars green and white, mouth open as he skates the puck up the ice. He’d looked at the replies, all of the “omg”s and heart-eyes emojis and 280-character amateur analysis of Diaz’s skills. He’d scrolled until he’d hit the inevitable “so when are we trading buckley?” tweets, and then he’d stormed into Bobby’s office without thinking about it twice.

“Management got you a centreman,” Bobby says, perfectly calm. “I thought you would be happy.”

“Well, I’m not,” Buck says. “I don’t need a center. And even if I did, I don’t need Eddie Diaz."

or, the 9-1-1 hockey AU

read chapter 1 on ao3

129 notes - Posted April 13, 2022

#4

RAVI!!!

132 notes - Posted November 29, 2022

#3

i think one of my favourite things about wolfgang is that despite being very quiet (and almost pensive in the rare times we see him unguarded) he seems most drawn to loud, colourful, passionate people. felix, kala, lito — they’re all such vibrant personalities. it’s like he gravitates towards them. i love it so much

236 notes - Posted November 13, 2022

#2

this is worth forever to me

Buck/Eddie, 1.7k, rated Gen

“Oh, right,” Buck nods, punching in the digits on autopilot. “Thanks.”

“God,” Eddie mutters, “it’s like I’m your husband.” And Buck’s entire being freezes, for just a moment. The machine beeps at him, and all he can do is stare blankly at it for a moment before flushing and yanking his card out. “Or – wife?” Eddie muses. Buck isn’t even looking at him, but he knows exactly what face he makes. “No, I’m gonna go with husband.”

The cashier is watching them like they’re a particularly riveting television show. All Buck can think to say is, “You’re not hot enough to be my husband.” Lie. The biggest lie in the world.

read on ao3

fun fact: this one-shot is based on a real-life interaction i once witnessed as a cashier! shoutout to those guys, hope they're doing well, wherever they are.

351 notes - Posted October 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

stop i love them so much

353 notes - Posted August 2, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[donttouchtheneednoggle]

33 andd... 50?

33. Come up with the best way to ask someone out, right now!

.....yeah i got nothing 🤣

50. Any arospec headcanons?

*SLAMS heavy folder down on table* RIGHT

1. Dani from Sense8 - Aroace

daniela my babyyyyy i have literally no words problematic fave she is an aroace person who is VERY sex favourable and she’s in a straight up qpr with lito and hernando in canon and she’s so fucking important <333

2. Sir Leon from BBC Merlin - Aroace

literally what is there to say... that is a man. he is aroace. i’ve seen him be called straight before even tho he’s literally the only knight where attraction/relationship to a woman or anyone else is not even slightly suggested ik he’s boring but that’s entirely separate to his orientation xx

Tahani Al Jamil from the good place - Grayromantic Bisexual

my ICON the way her romantic relationships are usually a way for her to feel valued and she recognises this and works on it and she has a happy ending that does not involve a partner in any capacity and it’s so SUBVERSIVE whether she’s arospec or not but i gotta project xx

Kala Dandekar from Sense8 - Demiromantic Demisexual

kala didin’t want to get married bless her. kala went on several long rants about amatonormativtiy and was EXTRMELY salty about the notion of giving up a career to marry and have children. girl fell for wolfgang fairly quickly bc of their instant deep emotional connection thank you sensateness then the finale is her realising she’s actually in love with her husband too and having a massive poly demi crisis darling im so sorry i love you but it is fucking HILARIOUS 🤣

The Doctor - Aromantic Asexual Aplatonic spectrums (also genderkdsfklglhl) (but none of it bc they are an alien!!!!)

I HAVE DECIDED. mayyybe they are varying degrees of each depending on regeneration or maybe it's just how they show it but just... the way they experience relationships and how they will leave people behind and not think to pop back.... they like having company and spending time with friends and depending on regeneration are very affectionate and some people they do bond more deeply with and they don't like being left (it's the rsd) and they NOT do well on their own but... they just need someone? idk they tend to move on quickly and not look back and as long as they've got the tardis and the freedom to travel and at least one nice person to run with them show them the sights, they're all good <3

Morgana Pendragon from BBC Merlin - Aromantic Lesbian

it feels so wrong to hc her like this when she’s the literal embodiment of the aromantic stereotype - cold, beautiful, suggestive demeanour, her lack of capacity for love emphasizing her evilness- but at the same time i can’t leave her off this list, and she’s very much an aromantic lesbian before she ‘turns evil’. i can’t see s1 or any other season her being interested in romance, even if she’d stayed ‘good’ she just wanted to be able to be herself and for her friends to be safe.

Samantha Carter from Stargate SG1 - Aromantic... Heterosexual? maybe??

this is a recent one i galaxy brained the other night and the reason why samjack always felt a bit beyond just ‘they’re in love’ finally fell into place *checks notes* ten years after they became my first otp. n e way yeah she’s aro and doesn’t know it and ends up with an increasingly shitty series of men when she already has a perfectly good qpr she’s very happy with and i will make a full post about this bc she deserves it <3

All the female royalty in BBC Merlin bc they deserve an aro club <3

SORRY but this mithian quote in particular just... SCREAMS pining aro struggling to accept themselves under amatonormativity <3

Michael from The Good Place- Aroace (+Agender!!)

which is GROSS 🤢 by the way, kissing is GROSS 🤢🤢You just mAsH yOUr foOd hOLeS tOGeTheR, they're not 🙅‍♂️ for that!!

he makes me feel seen 🤣💚🤍🖤

[dweemeister]

All Dogs Go to Heaven (1989)

When Don Bluth and eleven other animators resigned from Walt Disney Productions in 1979, the defection was so stunning that the development was headline news in Hollywood. Bluth’s group (also including Gary Goldman and John Pomeroy) had been with Disney through the 1970s, working on the Winnie the Pooh short films, The Rescuers (1977), and Pete’s Dragon (1977). The defectors chafed under producer Wolfgang Reitherman’s leadership on The Fox and the Hound, accusing Reitherman (one of the Disney’s Nine Old Men, employed by the House of Mouse since 1933) for exerting too much control over artistic decisions cutting costs for training newer animators. Within a year, the defectors’ breakaway studio, Don Bluth Productions, was at work on The Secret of NIMH (1982) – a financial failure for various reasons little to do with the quality of the film itself. With funding from businessman Morris Sullivan and artistic collaborations with Steven Spielberg, the studio reformed as Sullivan Bluth Studios (often referred to without Sullivan’s name). Two animated features later (1986’s An American Tail, 1988’s The Land Before Time) and fatigued with Spielberg increasing control over all creative aspects of these movies, Bluth inked a deal with independent British studio Goldcrest Films to craft three animated features almost entirely free of outside interference.

All Dogs Go to Heaven is the first of these three movies, and the first Don Bluth movie where almost all of the animation took place in Ireland. The film, with a screenplay by David N. Weiss (1998’s The Rugrats Movie, 2004’s Shrek 2), is Bluth’s directorial vision unvarnished, without an esteemed producer there to overrule him. As such, All Dogs Go to Heaven boasts animated sequences unlike anything seen in prior Bluth movies, but suffers in its second half due to narrative indiscipline.

It is 1939 in New Orleans. German Shepherd Charlie B. Barkin (Burt Reynolds) and Dachshund Itchy Itchiford (Dom DeLuise in a fantastic performance and the film’s second best – more on the best later) explosively escape from a dog pound to return to the bayou. There, they head straight for a casino riverboat owned and patronized by dogs. The owner of the establishment is American Pit Bull Terrier/Bulldog Carface Caruthers (Vic Tayback), who orders his assistant, Killer (Charles Nelson Reilly), to intoxicate and execute Charlie. After a macabre execution – the fateful moment thankfully not shown – Charlie, despite his vices, finds himself at the pearly gates of heaven. He learns from a Whippet angel (Melba Moore) that all dogs, regardless of their life’s sins (and because dogs are naturally good and loyal), are guaranteed a place in heaven. But Charlie attempts to cheat death by stealing a special watch that allows him to return to Earth. The angel warns Charlie that this gambit may cost him his heavenly entitlement and that, when the clock stops ticking, he might find himself in hell. Charlie does not pay this much mind and reunites with Itchy, and soon hatches a plot to exact revenge on Carface. Their lives (but not necessarily their plans) change when both of them encounter a seven-year-old orphan girl named Anne-Marie (Judith Barsi), a human slave to Carface.

Just skimming the above synopsis make clear that this is not a children’s movie in the strictest sense. All Dogs Go to Heaven ends as one might expect, with Charlie’s earthly redemption. But the route to that final destination is abound with terrible moral choices from our canine protagonist and grim moments not appropriate for the youngest of children. The film’s first half illustrates the morality play that follows with clarity and narrative flow. Bluth and Weiss wisely keep the focus on Charlie and Itchy and their selfish, materialistic, and hedonistic ways. Even after coming into contact with Anne-Marie, there are aspects to their treatment of her that directly echo Carface’s. Can the audience forgive Charlie and Itchy for their behavior, given the rough-and-tumble (or perhaps, “dog-eat-dog”) reality of the bayou? The value of kindness and reciprocity is foreign to both. Abuse and exploitation are the near-sum of their life experiences. Credit to Bluth and Weiss for not allowing Charlie any simple redemption, even though one could credibly have questions about how the character arc transpires. Without the first half’s emotional and moral intimacy, All Dogs Go to Heaven might otherwise lose its way in its final stages.

A major factor keeping All Dogs to Heaven from crumbling due to its narrative cracks is Anne-Marie. In American animated features and television from the 1970s onwards, too many of these works have their child characters appear too cloying and cute, their eyes and usually-upturned mouths taking up far too much space on their faces, overdone cheek colorations, bodily movements exaggerated to an excessive degree – sometimes averted if the animators intentionally wished to provoke such a reaction (see: Elmyra Duff in Tiny Toon Adventures, Dee Dee in Dexter’s Laboratory). Anne-Marie feels like a throwback, a suggestion of Snow White from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937). Her rather limited movements, slight hesitations in her bearing, and smooth transitions from one expression to the next (whether radical or subtle in emotional change) is a masterstroke of animation. From the moment Anne-Marie appears on-screen, the viewer empathizes with her – a tribute to the one of the best-designed characters on Bluth’s roster of characters in his filmography.

Much of the genius of her character lies in Judith Barsi’s voice performance, which quivers with youthfulness and vulnerability. Described by Bluth as a natural voice actor who could intuit complicated voice direction and having starred as Ducky in The Land Before Time, Barsi delivers the performance of the movie. For Barsi – abused and later murdered by her father at home – this is her final film. With the foreknowledge of what happened to Barsi before, during, and after her recording sessions on All Dogs Go to Heaven, it paints her turn as Anne-Marie in an agonizing, but soulful light. A heartbroken Don Bluth had Anne-Marie’s physical mannerisms based on Barsi to cope with the loss.

For the remainder of the cast, All Dogs Go to Heaven has some of the most expressive canine anthropomorphisms not seen since arguably Robin Hood (1973). The dogs quaff beers out of glasses, wave their paws in frustration as their rat race bets lose them their steak bets, and hold submachine guns like a person trained in firearms. But unlike Robin Hood and several other films from that period in Disney animation history, Bluth and his animators did not recycle any animation effects from a previous film. Directing animator John Pomeroy (character designer of Fievel from An American Tail and Elliot from Pete’s Dragon) designed Charlie, Itchy, Carface, and King Gator. And with Charlie, Itchy, and Carface in particular, Pomeroy sets the balance the canine and anthropomorphic. That style defines almost the remainder of character animation in All Dogs Go to Heaven – never off-putting, and supremely engaging.

Pomeroy also happened to design King Gator, a character who, despite their comedic value, threatens to steer All Dogs Go to Heaven off-course, also representing another glaring weakness to the film – a poor soundtrack. All Dogs Go to Heaven, with music by Ralph Burns (music supervisor on 1972’s Cabaret and 1977’s New York, New York) and lyrics by Charles Strouse (the musicals Bye Bye Birdie and Annie), T.J. Kuenster, Joel Hirschhorn (1972’s The Poseidon Adventure, Pete’s Dragon), and Al Kasha (The Poseidon Adventure, Pete’s Dragon), makes the mistake of having Burt Reynolds sing four times in this movie. This is not saying that Reynolds is terrible (“inoffensive” and “vocally limited” are how I will describe his singing), but he is no one’s idea of a musical star, despite what King Gator says about his howling. With no disrespect intended towards Ken Page as King Gator, King Gator’s song, “Let’s Make Music Together” is a momentum-stopper, screeching the brakes on the narrative at an inopportune time. Yours truly is no opponent of diverting (perhaps even time-wasting) Esther Williams homages, but not when they appear at critical dramatic junctures in the plot. The few songs of note include “Soon You’ll Come Home” (the most organically-placed song in the soundtrack; sung by Lana Beeson for Judith Barsi after the latter broke down during her audition) and the end credits’ “Love Survives” (sung by Irene Cara and Freddie Jackson, composed after Barsi’s death and dedicated to her). Otherwise, too many of the soundtrack’s numbers are plagued with dull melodies that neither do narrative or musical justice to the film at large.

All Dogs Go to Heaven possesses some of the most beautiful animation in the Don Bluth filmography. A vibrant waterfall of colors, the film’s classical backgrounds recall the mastery of earlier Disney animated features. The scene where Charlie dreams he is in hell (the provided link provides a rough cut of the entire scene; MGM/UA trimmed the scene for its theatrical release to avoid a “PG” rating from the MPAA – the film should be rated “PG” anyways) outdoes the demonic art Disney cooked up for The Black Cauldron (1985). Those few minutes are unadulterated nightmare fuel – a breathtaking demonstration of animation effects to flaunt the techniques that Bluth accused Disney of abandoning.

After handily defeating The Great Mouse Detective with An American Tail at the 1986 box office and with ongoing turmoil at Disney, it seemed – for a brief moment – that Don Bluth might become the premier name animation in the United States. Upon the release of All Dogs Go to Heaven and The Little Mermaid to American theaters on November 17, 1989, that possibility became undone. Bluth, who had left Disney after justifiably accusing the studio of deserting its creative foundations, was correct in his assessment when he left Burbank ten years earlier. The Little Mermaid was an instant classic; critics, comparing the two, eviscerated All Dogs Go to Heaven. In the following years, Bluth was regarded as a foolhardy Judas to the House of Mouse – harmful hyperbole that has not helped the reputation of his movies. Interestingly, the legacy of All Dogs Go to Heaven is mostly thanks to home media. The film had one of the highest-selling VHS releases of all time. Its success there and repeat showings on cable television (Bluth films aired on Cartoon Network with regularity in the ‘90s and 2000s) prompted a 1996 sequel (Bluth was not involved, Dom DeLuise was the only cast member reprising his role, and there is no Anne-Marie) and a TV series.

With the exception of Anastasia (1997), All Dogs Go to Heaven – a film that beautifully, though imperfectly, reflects Bluth’s represents the last commercial success in Don Bluth’s filmography. Animation in the 1990s belonged, once more, to Disney, despite the mostly-dismissed incursions from Japanese animation into international markets at this time. One wonders how Bluth perceived the irony of Disney returning to its origins of innovation and cut-no-corners artistry during that decade – a change that might not have happened if Bluth and his fellow eleven other animators never left the studio in protest. Of course, the Disney Renaissance did not last, and Disney shows no indications of returning to hand-drawn animation. Once more, Don Bluth’s vision of hand-drawn animation is dormant at the studio he idolized during his El Paso childhood. Yet his vision persists, shared by more people than he might have realized. Perhaps not in the form or in the places (Cartoon Saloon’s Tomm Moore, Nora Twomey, and Paul Young may never have made The Secret of Kells or Wolfwalkers without first meeting at an animation program set up by Bluth in Ireland) he imagined, but that belief in hand-drawn animation’s expressiveness, versatility, and timelessness survives.

My rating: 7.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

[hitmanfanfics]

Chapter Update!

TheDarkHellwalker posted a new chapter of Ozymandias (927 words):

Chapter 2: Tobias Rieper and The Reveal of Mr. 48 (483 words) by TheDarkHellwalker

Chapter Summary:

Agent 47 gets his first contract in almost a year, coming from a man he's been saving for his entire career.

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Hitman (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Agent 47/Diana Burnwood, Agent 47 & Victoria (Hitman), Diana Burnwood & Victoria Characters: Agent 47 (Hitman), Diana Burnwood, Victoria (Hitman), Lucas Grey, Carlton Smith, Cosmo Faulkner, Other Character Tags to Be Added, Lenny Dexter, Blake Dexter, Benjamin Travis, Otto Wolfgang Ort-Meyer, The No. 48s (Hitman), Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Assassins & Hitmen, Clones, Emotions, Family Dynamics, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Hitman: Absolution, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Hitman: Blood Money, Post-Hitman: Contracts, Post-Hitman: Codename 47, Post-Hitman 2: Silent Assassin, post-hitman 3, Reminiscing

Summary:

After killing Benjamin Travis, Agent 47 decided that, no, he would not simply ignore Diana and Victoria, and would instead help Diana raising her. In the background, unbeknownst to either of them, they begin to develop feelings for each other. During the Absolution incident, 47 began to feel emotions for the first time. Real emotions, not determination, that was pre-programmed, but sadness, regret, hatred, joy and even fear. These feelings were different. This is the aftermath of The ICA's dissolution.

[splittlipped]

Is that JULIAN NOTT, the PUREBLOOD working as an UNSPEAKABLE? Some say the TWENTY-SIX year old is DEBONAIR, METTLESOME, GUILEFUL but they’d argue they are MERCURIAL, RECKLESS and PRIDEFUL. They look an awful lot like ARON PIPER. 

[ pinterest. ] [ playlist. ]

bruised knuckles, split lips, not needing your wand to get your point across, ‘goddamn right you should be scared of me’, not caring about your work, feeling at home in the shadows, a vault full of gold, ministry ambitions, false smiles, blood on your hands, a talent for duelling, quick with a wand and even quicker to anger, sleeping around, relishing a challenge, ‘may the bridges i burn light the way’, spending hours on a broom, a well worn bat and calloused fingers, shattered glass, scars you refuse to talk about, a smirk as sharp as a knife, thestrals in your vision, ‘anything you can do i can do better’.

[ UHHH PHYSICAL, EMOTIONAL, CHILD ABUSE CW, PARENTAL DEATH CW, SIBLING DEATH CW, SUBSTANCE ABUSE (ALCOHOL, DRUGS) CW ,VIOLENCE CW, MAGICAL BODY HORROR CW ]

Full Name: Julian Theophilius Nott Gender/Pronouns: Cis man | he/him Age: Twenty-six Birthdate: October 23rd Parents: Atticus Nott & Cordelia Nott (née Rosier) † Siblings: Felix Riordan Nott † Birth place: St. Mungo’s Hospital, England Height: 6″1 Weight: 88 kg Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Bisexual Demiromantic Body Alterations/Marks: An Augury with its wings spread tattooed on his right bicep fighting with an Occamy that twists and wraps in a spiral down that side’s forearm most of the time, a young Hebridean Black Dragon on the left guarding a shield emblazoned with the Nott family crest. These were done with magical ink and often move around his skin. Strings of runes tattooed across his collarbones, a sun and a moon, roman numerals XIII.IX.MCMXXI. 

Occupation: Unspeakable, Department of Mysteries Blood Status: Pureblood Hogwarts House: Slytherin Wand Arm: Left  Boggart: His younger brother, just as Julian last saw him, blaming him for everything. Pet: A crup named Montague but mostly calls him Monty Patronus: Grey wolf Wand: 12 1/2 inches, Red Oak, slightly yielding, Dragon Heartstring

You will often hear the ignorant say that red oak is an infallible sign of its owner’s hot temper. In fact, the true match for a red oak wand is possessed of unusually fast reactions, making it a perfect duelling wand. Less common than English oak, I have found that its ideal master is light of touch, quick-witted and adaptable, often the creator of distinctive, trademark spells, and a good man or woman to have beside one in a fight. Red oak wands are, in my opinion, among the most handsome.

CHARACTER PARALLELS: Prince Zuko (ATLA), Tommy Shelby (Peaky Blinders), Harry Bingham (The Society), Lip Gallagher (Shameless), Trevor Belmonte (Castlevania), Edward Elric (FMA), Daryl Dixon (TWD), Kaz Brekker (Six of Crows), Finnick O’Dair (The Hunger Games), Christopher Schistad (SKAM), Dean Winchester (Supernatural), Neil Josten (TFC), Diego Hargreeves (The Umbrella Academy), Jess Mariano (Gilmore Girls), James Cook (Skins), Ronan Lynch (TRC), Garrett Hawke (Dragon Age 2), Wolfgang Bogdanow (Sense8), Regan Abbott (A Quiet Place), Patrick Verona (10 Things I Hate About You?)

PACEM, SED CORONATAM PACEM 

FAMILY&BIO

The Nott estate, Ebongrove, is in a hidden valley northwest of Hollow Meads in the Lake District. Craggy mountains and hills filled with caverns bordered by beautiful lakes were the backdrops to his childhood, he has an extremely complicated relationship with his ancestral home. 

Cordelia, Julian and Felix’s mother, was a part of the infamous Silver Spears duelling club. She was very considerate of Julian’s sometimes volatile temper but was overall rather cold and distant. He isn’t entirely aware but she would take a light sedative potion most days to cope with being a pureblood trophy wife who was pushed to manage their estate rather than pursue a further career and drank a bottle of wine minimum most evenings. Cordelia was a talented potioneer and herbologist, their gardens boasting all of the native potion ingredients as well as being beautifully landscaped. 

Felix, Julian’s younger brother, was sickly from the moment he was born. He showed no signs of magic until he was almost eight years old, when it did manifest it was completely chaotic and uncontrollable. The lad could never live up to his father’s expectations no matter how much Julian tried to shield and protect him. Despite this, the kid had a keen mind and a voracious appetite for knowledge that bemused his older brother into helping him fuel it. He taught him the precise notes you had to play on the harp above the mantel in the library to gain access to their Father’s private study which held many ancient, rare and sometimes dangerous texts.

Atticus is an eccentric academic, a foreign guest lecturer which is a cover for his criminal activities across Europe. The man is extremely neglectful and abusive but shows to the world a collected, charming and sophisticated genius. He held a post for forty years in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement under the Department of Intoxicating Substances which is how he knows so much about substances. Horrific anger issues. Teaches Alchemy. Julian would take the brunt of the abuse from a very young age, knowing that of the three other inhabitants of the house that he was the strongest, even then. Deliberately attempted to soak up the damage that his father’s rage and cruelty wrought behind closed doors. He was often scared of the fury that raged inside of him reminding him as it did of his Father and for many years, believed that he deserved the scorn he received.

A month before Felix’s ninth birthday and mere days from his Mother’s, Julian was asked by his younger brother to help him get access to both of his parents’ laboratories and experiment spaces. He agreed on the condition that he’d be with him the entire time, chest puffed up with pride at already heading into his second year of Hogwarts in a few weeks and so knew more than Felix about safety. They argued, Julian can’t even remember what started it anymore but it ended when he stormed out, locking Felix in the labs. 

Julian was gone for less than seven minutes, he counted, seeking their Mother and having to walk the length of the west wing to the main body of the house to find her. He hadn’t seen the tome that Felix had hidden under his perpetually baggy shirt, unknowing of the alchemical drugs his father had been experimenting with, refined down to extremely high potency. The majority of the equipment contaminated, not yet properly clean. Cordelia unsealed and opened the door less than two and a half seconds before the explosion which rocked the very foundations of the Estate.

The only clear memory he has was of peering around his Mother’s hip into the room, a tiny form’s silhouette bent low over a cauldron just a dark outline consumed by light and roaring blue, glittering fire. His Mother screaming as she ran to Felix. All of the windows shattered, the apparatus was hurled to the walls, some drifting strangely in the air but each were warped and mangled beyond use. Julian was thrown twenty feet from the doorway back into the wall at the end of the corridor. Their house elf was the one to discover the scene. One young master dead, utterly unrecognisable from the myriad of volatile substances catalysing causing a multitude of thoroughly gruesome magical effects. A few metres away, their Mistress had crawled mortally wounded and cradling a barely conscious Julian. 

Cordelia died leaning over him, blood and tears dripping down onto her eldest son’s cheeks. Atticus never forgave him and Julian never saw that House Elf again. In fact he didn’t see anything for two weeks, blinded by the blast and in a coma for forty-eight hours then a magically induced one for a further three days. Julian was left to navigate this completely on his own at the age of twelve and has a lot of worry about one day losing his sight again even though Healers were amazed at his recovery. Both hands and the majority of his forearms had the skin severely burned, quartz-like crystals jutted from his wrist and knuckle joints, fingernails turned to wood as just a few of the many injuries he sustained. Mentally, he was experiencing effects not unlike a beffudlement draught.

Over the course of the next few years Atticus’ abuse and ‘testing’ of Julian reached all new lows, especially when he began using his best product after years of abstaining. Julian spent most summers after fifth year carefully plotting so that he would return home as little as possible. However, he used to freelance for his Father under threat that he’d be cut off. At the time he started he still believed that his father was merely selling high quality, time sensitive potions ingredients to people from the house’s grounds and orangery when in reality his ridiculously quick flight times on his broom were being put to use for dealing. 

He found out the truth after being jumped, somehow still coming out as the only one conscious despite serious injuries. Atticus pulled him into the fold after that, for the first time ever insisting he was proud. At nineteen Julian orchestrated surveying his father, pulling strings where he could and using the man’s own shady tactics against him until he could leverage a rocky peace treaty by blackmailing him. 

MISC&PERSONAL

Julian is very intelligent, though he worked hard to appear otherwise at Hogwarts. He seems quite easily irritated by helpless and meek people having been the only one to have his own back for many years. In reality he will bleed himself dry for you if you’re important to him. Chosen family takes precedence over real family even if he has to hide it. Probably would have been a pro-Quidditch player or worked with Magical Creatures if it wasn’t for the whole... family legacy thing. 

He was always cheeky and full of energy as a small child but he’s been carefully manicured down to a smouldering coal of roguish charm and quick wit, carefully holding the seams together to mask his anger. Less confrontational than when he was in his teens and channels a lot of that energy into Quidditch. Perfectly trained in your standard pureblood etiquette, had some of the best tutors before Hogwarts, money has always been a given in his life. 

Genuinely enjoyed being seen as a ‘bad boy’ type, seeming a little rough around the edges tends to ward people off commitments and he hates the thought of anyone getting tangled in with his Atticus mess. Whilst he will do what he can to not upset the status quo, he thinks Muggles are annoying in that they get so much of the world now but isn’t really invested in blood purity the way people hope he is. He will sleep with anyone and show them a good time, mixed blood or not. His Dad is as pure as they come and clearly, that did nothing to alter how he turned out. Not saying that he won’t pipe up with it, when prompted, to save face. 

Trains and does Quidditch drills four to five days a week, sometimes hosts a friendly league at Ebongrove. Still an extremely strong player, it’s the only way he can make himself exercise aside from duelling and the game is still pretty much the only thing that makes sense in his life, if he could he would be flying all day every day. He keeps up with fighting and duelling training out of begrudging respect that this routine his father instilled in him has technically helped him survive thus far and keep people he cares for safe since Felix’s accident. 

Julian sometimes struggles with impulsiveness, hedonism and putting himself at risk. He likes adrenaline, what he can do with it. Has been banned and then mysteriously unbanned from many venues for fighting, he is intimidating enough that it rarely escalates to all-out violence anymore but his fuse length varies day to day. 

He owns a flying motorbike, which he argues isn’t quite as thrilling as being astride his broom but he enjoys the power the engine provides. He has a dislike for flooing and apparition, he can do both with ease but prefers to take ‘the long way’ in most scenarios.

Montague, Julian’s Crup, is about five years old and was bred from the old purebred stock of the Notts. He has not docked the twin-tail from Monty, he thinks it’s fucking barbaric and instead concentrates extremely closely on glamour charms whenever Muggles are nearby. Monty often rides in the custom sidecar Julian created for his motorbike, when he was younger he would take Monty everywhere with him. Monty is a red tan, black & white-coated dog, with less white dominant in the fur than you’d expect from a Jack Russell. ( x. x.)

Even though he knows how attractive he is and uses it to his advantage and to his detriment frequently, Julian is usually covered from neck to toe in public. He has a beaten-soft pair of dragon skin gloves that he wears all the time apart from the height of summer, high collared robes that sweep the floor, everything sharply tailored to the contours of his form. It’s easier to keep up appearances that way and not show his extensive scarring. 

Riddle is nothing yet, just a kid but there’s potential. Maliciousness. Julian is a man of action and needs proof before he will believe anything anyone says, even Dorian. He finds the whole: one of his minions, little sycophant thing extremely entertaining though and he doesn’t give a single shit if laughing about it gets him in trouble. Dance Lestrange, dance. 

Trying to avoid staying directly under the watchful eye of many of his Father’s colleagues at the ministry, he decided to strike out entirely on his own by securing a position as an Unspeakable within the Department of Mysteries. He tells most people that he works in the Magical Games and Sports department. Even though the subjects that do cross him at work sometimes push him, he finds himself apathetic and having lost a lot of the drive that saw him impressing everyone six or seven years ago. 

Pledging allegiance to any cause isn’t something Atticus finds tasteful but under pressure he would have sided with Grindelwald, despite his son’s talent for all kinds of martial magic Atticus isn’t a particularly talented duelist. 

PEACE, BUT CROWNED PEACE

carefully spinning the sovereign ring around your little finger, thunderous skies, fingers combing through thick dark curls, draping yourself dramatically over a loveseat then peeking from behind your arm to see if anyone is watching, the sting in your nose from whiskey splashed tea, a sure hand hauling you out of windows to sit on cold roof tiles, righteous fury clenching your knuckles white, a dear friend slinging their arm around your shoulder, remaining standing through the agony of crucio, the half-cool touch of a chain dangling from your lover’s neck against your racing pulse.

ESTABLISHED&CONNECTIONS

eileen prince: a little afraid of julian, used to go to school together.

dorian lestrange: julian respects, follows his lead.

tom riddle: julian doesn’t really think he’s all that yet.

miranda goshawk: intrigued by, amused by her hidden spark.

lucretia black: enjoys winding up, used to be friends.

charis black: schoolmates, she’s totally irritated by him 

alistair mckinnon: former quidditch rivals, dislikes julian alot

nicolas mulciber: good friends, they hang out often

[lokigodofaces]

I realized this while I was writing one of my fics, but it doesn't really work into any of my current fics and I still want to scream about it to people, so that's what I'm going to do here.

In Endgame, Pierce tries to stop Thor from taking the Tesseract and Loki to Asgard. Thor tells Pierce that Loki will answer to Odin for his crimes, and Pierce says Odin can have "what's left" after Loki answers to S.H.I.E.L.D. That specific line got me thinking, because it sounds ominous. "What's left" implies that Pierce intends to torture Loki or something similar. Which got me thinking, because we know that Pierce is actually Hydra.

From our knowledge of Hydra in the movies and Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., there are a few trends we see. 1) Hydra has an obsession with anything alien (Tesseract, scepter, diviner, Inhumans, monolith, Hive). 2) Hydra has an obsession with experimentation with the aim of creating super soldiers or some other form of enhanced individuals or anything similar (Red Skull, Bucky and other Winter Soldiers, Centipede, Deathlok, Scorch, scepter, Maximoffs, Jiaying, Whitehall, diviner, Lincoln, Inhumans in general, Ruby). 3) Hydra does this experimentation to create human weapons they can control to some degree (Bucky, other Winter Soldiers, Maximoffs, Deathlok, Centipede, Scorch, Inhumans, Ruby).

So there's a very high chance that Pierce intended to send Loki to be experimented on. While we can't know for certain what would happen, I can give a few guesses.

From AoS and the films we learn there are a few main people in Hydra that are particularly connected to human experimentation. Arnim Zola, Raina, Ian Quinn, Daniel Whitehall, Doctor List, and Wolfgang von Strucker.

Zola is dead at this time, but his mind was converted to an AI. Zola was the main person involved in the Winter Soldier program. We don't know much about most of the Winter Soldiers, but it looks like they weren't really used on any missions because they were unstable, and we don't entirely know who was involved in the experimentation that made them. Because they were ineffective and we don't know their names, I'm going to assume they don't matter much anymore. Zola would then be involved with Bucky and Project Insight. In Winter Soldier we learn he made the algorithm for Project Insight (which would launch in just two years), and if we treat What If...? as canon*, there is a Zola unit in the same building Bucky was kept at. Since those are the only two things we really know Zola was involved in with experimentation, and he's kind of dead at this point, I would say him being involved with anything with Loki is a low possibility.

Raina and Quinn are actually not Hydra. Raina worked with Hydra for a bit as a means to her own ends, as was Quinn. They were working primarily for John Garrett. They worked on the Centipede project and Deathlok project mainly. They both would have been very interested in Loki I feel. But Quinn doesn't really have the background to do anything with Loki or the scepter. With Raina, she wouldn't be interested in experimentation. She worked with Hydra specifically to learn more about Inhumans. She knew Inhumans were created by aliens that were described as blue angels. Perhaps Loki would know something. But, as I said, neither are actually Hydra, just consultants. I don't think Hydra would send over an alien weapon with the power of mind control and an alien from legend to two people that can't be trusted in the same way as an actual member of Hydra.

As for Daniel Whitehall, he has a very specific thing he's looking for, something not connected to Loki. He found the diviner and Jiaying, now he's mainly interested in Inhumans. Since Loki isn't Inhuman and there isn't any known connection between him and Inhumans, I don't think he'd particularly care about anything related to Loki, other than to maybe ask for some reports if any connection is found by anyone else.

Which leaves List and Strucker, who work together a lot. We do know from Winter Soldier, Age of Ultron, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., and Endgame that they are connected to the scepter. The scepter was sent to List, and he worked with Strucker on the scepter and on the Maximoffs, who were experimented on with the scepter. Since they had the scepter, it would make sense they'd get Loki. We also know that they didn't really have an area they were more focused on than others. You're enhanced in some way or alien? Congratulations, you caught their attention. They experimented on the Maximoffs (as well as several others that went through the same experiment and didn't survive), Lincoln (who they didn't know was Inhuman at the time), Mike (some guy with lots of prosthetics), and on the scepter. Why not throw Loki in as well?

As for their track record, like I said, most of the people we know about that they experimented on died. If it weren't for Daisy, Lincoln would have died. And Mike was not in good shape when S.H.I.E.L.D. rescued him. So, I can't say exactly what would happen, but I can confidently say that Loki dodged a bullet.

[sevenseasbulletin]

PORT VALE’S SECOND EVENT -

  HAUNTS ON THE HARBOR HALLOWEEN FESTIVAL+ THE MAYORS WEDDING

The annual Haunts on the Harbor festival has always been highly anticipated by the locals, and despite the recent storm and it’s following of disaster, the town is ready to celebrate the spooky season together. Perhaps a good small town party is what they all really need to get back into the swing of things in Port Vale, and it’ll be the last chance to enjoy the fading good weather before the bitter winter sets in. 

Festivities can take place all over town, but it’s centralized mainly to the harbor, and Port Vale never skimps on the decorations. You find some scary fun just about anywhere; a haunted trail through the woods & campsite (made even more eerie by the fallen trees from the storm), a scavenger hunt for the kids to spice up their trick or treating, and plenty of booths with games and vendors lined up and down the harbor. Beyond that, many businesses go all out in their celebrations, offering Halloween specials and treats for the entire day. This year, however, Victoria Wolfgang is trying to get a dated tradition back into the mix; The Mermaid Costume Contest. In her highschool days 25+ years ago, getting crowned the winner was as big of a deal as winning prom queen; but it’s fallen out of style in more recent times. Rumor is, there is a special prize for the winner; but there is great debate on what this could actually be. 

If dressing up isn’t your thing, no worries! You can enjoy live musicians & art, support the local businesses, play some games down at the beach, and socialize while enjoying the free food, booze, and sugar rushes. It is not uncommon for the festival to last long into the wee hours of the night, and this year, everyone is buzzing a little extra. Mayor Xander Blackmore and his newly-introduce bride-to-be Siobhan Waters have scheduled their wedding to take place at 9pm Halloween evening - right in front of the historical mermaid statute in front of the city centre. The whole town is invited, and judging by the gossip coursing the streets, there isn’t a soul in town who would want to miss out on this. The festival activities will continue both before and after the wedding ceremony, and the Haunts on the Harbor itself will be the reception. 

this event will kick off the festive season at port vale! though the festival will only be a single day in-game, our in-game event duration will run from the october 25th-1st november. your threads do not have to be event related, and you can continue non-event threads. take advantage of the fact that the whole town has gathered throughout the day to connect with everyone! stay tuned for a special character development challenge that is related to the event! at the conclusion of our this event, part 2 of the plot drop will release. the tag for this event will be #portvalehalloween! please tag all event-related posts with this tag.

THIS EVENT WILL GO LIVE MONDAY, THE 25TH.

[zankivich]

An Unexpected Romance: Chris Evans x Black! Female Reader Part 2

a/n: this one was really fun to write. I’m back in my bag tbh. These are some cute characters if I do say so myself. Like everything I write I feel like  this could be a fully blown multi-chapter fic. Also it’s finna get smutty so I hope you’re prepared for that. Let me know what you think? K bye. 

WARNINGS: Smut, softness, too much cuteness? 

Part 1 Part 3

The call comes two days later. Not that he leaves any room to be forgotten. No, Chris had texted you bright and early the next morning to thank you again for giving him a chance, and to apologize if he’d been in any way aggressive. You were quick to reassure him there’d been no aggressiveness on his end, certainly not any that was unwanted. He was a good texter, happy to provide details about himself, and to notice the details you, yourself, provided.

Chris: What are you up to this morning anyway?

Y/n: I had an early meeting with the company I just signed on with for a project I’m spearheading, and now I’m in my office preparing the debrief on that meeting which will be presented at another meeting.

Chris: Wow. Sounds intense. What do you do for a living?

Y/n: I’m a senior level consultant at a consulting firm. I basically just get hired to tell folks what they’re doing wrong and how to fix it. Then I leave before they fix it.

Chris: Ah so you liked to be in control huh?

Y/n: I...trust my gut, and my gut has yet to lead me astray. I only make decisions I believe in.

Chris: And what is your gut telling you about me y/n?

Y/n: It’s telling me to keep texting you even when I shouldn’t. Even when I’m busy. I like the things you say.

Chris: I like that. My gut is telling me you’re important. I can’t really explain it further than that. I just think we could be really good together.

You bit your lip, eyes roaming over the words in the message a few times. It was sweet. Damn him all to hell.

Fast forward to the next day where you’d spent all day outside of the office meeting with clients. He caught you in the middle of your lunch break between bites of sandwich that wasn’t very good. You’d put his name in your phone as just Chris, and yet when his name flashed across the screen the letters may as well have been hieroglyphics. It took you ten seconds just to get your shit together.

“Hello?” You swallowed into the phone, trying to manage an up-beat cadence.

Chris was like honey through the phone, as if the weight of the conversation was nothing to him.

“Hello. God, I gotta tell you it’s good to hear your voice. I thought I was starting to lose it in my memory for a second.”

You chuckled. “I’m sure it’s been exceptionally trying for you.”

“It has, it has. So perhaps you won’t think I’m being too pushy by asking you out tonight?”

You moved the phone just far enough away from your ear to wordlessly praise the lord to the air. Or whoever was up there.

“Um...tonight, huh?”

“Yea do you already have plans?”

“No, no. I just have a pretty long day ahead of me. I might not be able to make an early dinner.”

“Well that’s okay. Dinner isn’t even what I had in mind. What if I picked you up at, say eight-thirty? Would that be enough time?”

You bit your lip. “It would...Can I ask, if we’re not going to dinner, where are we going?”

“Now that....is a surprise. Send me your address, I’ll be there at eight-thirty sharp.”

“Oh lord. Okay I guess I’ll see you then.”

“I look forward to it.”

It took you a moment to remember to put the phone down. Men were usually very simple. Dinner, usually somewhere they can order a steak. They like to do dinner on the earlier side, give them ample time to order drinks. The more drinks they order the higher they believe their chance of sleeping with you goes up. In all your years of “grown up dating”, you could count on one hand the amount of men who had offered to take you somewhere other than dinner on the first date, and never had that place been alcohol free.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was more that understanding men; their preconceived notions, their inadequacies, their mentality etc. was about safety for yourself and for others who may fall victimized. The patriarchy was toxic afterall and perhaps no one knew this better than Black women.

And yet Chris seemed to be evading your expectations, and not for the sake of keeping you on your toes. It was as if his aura existed outside of your expectations all together. He didn’t need to trick you, or convince you. He was just himself, and that self was perhaps better than the vast majority of men you’d met in your life. Could that be? Was it really possible? It seemed like you’d find out regardless.

***

Large hoop earrings are truly a staple piece for any iconic outfit. Without the dread of a formal dinner, you were excited to play with your wardrobe a little bit. There was a beautiful pastel pink camisole that matched a floral set of pumps quite perfectly. The slicked back ponytail and the knitted cardigan are simply added bonuses. Ya girl looked good as per the usual is the moral of the story.

By the time he knocks on your door there’s a giddiness to you. Grownup dating seemed to lack a certain excitement at that point in your life. Oftentimes priorities didn’t match up, men didn’t say what they really wanted, or truly were after. But it really did seem like Chris just wanted to show you a good time. And as much as you were trying to keep the walls up and stay smart, you couldn’t help but be hopeful that he might prove you wrong.

“Hello.” He smiled warmly at the threshold. “You look beautiful.”

Your brain had short-circuited. This was basically nuclear warfare and you were not having it! He was wearing a thin black sweater that stretched tightly across the firmness of his chest. There was a level of scruff that was absolutely tantalizing, and the way his eyes were one step away from twinkling like an anime character was a reality that suffocated you with the weight of it. It was truly too much. This man looked straight out of a factory. The wind had been zapped from your sails. Dammit.

“You look...really good yourself.” You hummed. “Like, unnaturally good actually.”

He only laughed wild and carefree arms coming up into a shrug.

“I gotta keep up with you somehow, right? So you ready to go?”

“Yes actually, let me just shoot a quick text…” You mumbled, swiping your fingers across the screen.

y/n: Okay we’re leaving the house. Remember if I don’t text back for an hour without stating why to track my phone.

Raya: don’t worry girl ain’t nobody gone call the police on captain america. Yo black ass wouldn’t make it a second

Jesse: Me and my cousins will ride up there swinging if need be. You just say the word mija

Tanya: or not word….cause the girl might be dead????

Jesse: Oh...you right

Y/n: okay BYE NOW

Usually the group text for dates was centered on safety and precaution. You had a feeling this one was going to be fully for them to clown your ass for the rest of the night.

Chris gets the door for you, and it’s easy to note immediately that you’re sliding into a tesla. The fact that it looks like a spaceship on the inside is a dead giveaway. But the car is warm and the second he slides into the driver’s seat, his large frame takes up precedence in the vehicle. His non-driving arm lands on the middle console sending parks of heat over to your seat with stark intensity.

“So, you’re still not gonna tell me where we’re going? You know that’s like prime serial killer talk right?” You noted.

He smiled again, this wide grin that seemed to transform his entire face. It seemed infectious just to look at him.

“Gosh you’re totally right. I’m so sorry. If it makes you feel any better, we’re heading towards the city and not away from it. It’s a public place, I promise.”

“Okay Chris. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt...for now.” You teased.

He looked over at you instead of the road.

“I like the way you say my name.”

Oh chile….

“Mmm. Noted.”

There had been a certain energy the night you met. It had existed in the non-existent space between your bodies as he held you against his chest. A sort of aura that pulled you, pulled the both of you in. It had felt a little overwhelming then, but to know that it existed now within the small confines of the car was another thing entirely. Your body tilted in the direction of his unconsciously, your elbow propped on the console directly next to his. You were drawn to him. And the good news was he seemed to be too.

You were both confused and happy to see him steer clear of the usual Beverly Hills or Hollywood spots. Where does one such movie star as Chris Evans take a woman on a date anyway? Your girls had discussed everything from WolfGang Puck to the Rosevelt. The sun was sinking low and heavy in the sky as night began its arrival. As he navigated you to the Santa Monica Pier you felt the giddiness from early wreck havoc in your belly. It was so far from anything you could have ever expected in the best way possible. All the nerves of being with this guy you really liked sort of melted away and gave way for excitement.

“The boardwalk huh?” You grinned out the window.

“Yea. There’s great street food, games, views. I figure it’s pretty tough to have a bad time here. Increases my chances of you agreeing to a second date.” He smirked.

You laughed a little louder than your flirting giggle and turned to face him straight on.

“Oh so you already plotting the second date now!”

He laughed right along with you.

“Sweetheart I’m on date number four up here.” He pointed to his forehead.

“Sheesh! Well I don’t want to disappoint, but I played point guard in high school so if we find some hoops I’ma have to put your ass to shame.”

“Oh she’s trash talking me already ladies and gentlemen!”

You were already taking your seatbelt off and reaching for the door handle. It was the most excited you’d ever been on a date, couldn’t even remember the last time someone took you some place to be goofy and play games. You typed your destination into your group chat and told your girls not to bother you. It was finna be a night.

It comes to no surprise that you end up at the arcade. He buys the tokens, you buy the beers. And then...it’s on.

“I want to start by saying that I am firm in my masculinity. Basketball is not my game, and I stand by that.”

You rolled your eyes around your beer and quickly took off your cardigan to free your arms.

“Boy, put the tokens in the machine and quit playing.”

He only grins at you so sweet it makes your teeth hurt.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Side by side in front of the basketball arcade game, you each take shots at the swinging net. Unfortunately there are no bonus points for fine looking biceps while missing shots. This leaves you to crush your opponent--date, whatever--by over twenty points. Though Chris was “firm in his masculinity” this did not stop him from being competitive, so he quickly threw more tokens into the machine and tugged the sleeves of his too-tight sweater up his arms. He makes a shot while you just stared at him, a little dazed. You only beat him by eight that time. Rude.

“Okay,” Chris panted. “I lied. I do play basketball. I like to think I’m pretty good at it too, but you definitely just kicked my ass.”

“I was MVP all three years I played. It’s not your fault.” You giggled.

“You play in college at all?” He asked as you took your beers and moved on to a new game.

You shook your head. “I went to Howard for both undergrad and my masters. We’re D1 and I wasn’t that good. I got an academic scholarship instead.”

“So brains and a killer arm? Anything else I should know?”

“Hmm...I have an irrational fear of mice? I found a mouse once in my kitchen when I was a little girl. I got so scared that I literally fainted.”

“Brains, killer arm, faints at the side of mice. So, I guess Cinderella for date number two is out.”

You placed your arm on his shoulder as you laughed. The sheer volume of muscle was not lost on you, nor the way your mouth salivated in response. Woops.

“I’d be down to watch Ratatouille. That’s my favorite food movie ever, I think. I guess animated equals not so scary.”

He smiled and let you keep your palm on his shoulder for much longer than was necessary.

“Duly noted. Shall we?”

Chris beats you in skee ball, and you beat him in some random zombie shooter game. Eventually he lets you lean on him to take your shoes off so that the two of you can do a dance revolution game. It’s silly and awful, and you laugh the entire way through it. There’s more arm touching and at some point he finds an excuse to touch your waist again. The way you bite your lip and stare up at him is only interrupted by the squeal of children’s laughter. There’s an increase in your heart beat that can’t be explained by the physical activity of the game alone, and the heat in his eyes is not nearly PG-13 enough.

“Should we uh...go get a snack or something?” You mumbled still peering up at his lips.

His grip on your waist only grows tighter, and you swear it’s past them kids' bedtime.

“Sure, why not?” He grins before slowly letting you go.

Sweet jesus.

It’s only when there’s a foot of space between the two of you that you can breathe normally again. But then he reaches for your hand and intertwines your fingers. Breathing is clearly overrated.

You buy two different flavors of icecream to split and find a bench tucked away in the lights of the pier to keep talking.

“So what about you?” You asked between globs of cookie dough.

“What about me?”

“I know what you do for a living obviously but like...Where are you from? Do you have siblings? What’s your favorite food? How do you take your coffee? That kinda shit.”

He beams at you and holds a spoon of his rocky road to your lips. You hold eye contact as your lips wrap around the spoon. His lips part just barely and you know you’re not the only who can’t get a grip tonight. Good.

He clears his throat. “I’m originally from Boston, but I grew up in a town like thirty minutes away called Sudbury. I have two younger siblings, a brother and a sister, and an older sister. They’re all much smarter than me I promise. My uh father remarried so I’ve got some half-siblings too. I can break out the family tree sometime if you want. I really enjoy seafood. I think it has something to do with where I grew up. I take my coffee black.”

“Boston, eh? LA must have taken some getting used to.”

He chuckled. “I still don’t think I’ve gotten used to LA. I have a place in Massachusetts. It keeps my mom happy, and makes it easy to go home. I’m between projects for now, but its easier sometimes to just be here for the talk shows and the meetings and what not. I’ll be honest it’s been looking up lately though.”

Damn him and his ocean eyes and his dumb dumb smile and his stupid facial hair. And...now he’s putting more ice cream in your mouth. Diabolical.

“What about you? From DC to LA?” He asked.

“Ugh it does feel pretty cliche, I know. I never in a million years though I’d live out here. It’s tough cause all my family is east coast as well. When I was fresh out of grad school I got offered a job at a firm out here. The salary and the benefits were some of the best of my class. I couldn’t really say no. And now I mean...you saw me and my girls. I found community out here. It’s scary to think of losing that.”

“Hey that makes sense. You’ve made a life for yourself here. That’s really admirable.”

“Yea I guess. It helps to live away from the worst of it all. And I suppose LA does sometimes come with perks.” You smiled in his direction.

“I could not agree more.”

*Meanwhile in your phone*

Raya: what do we think? Is she still alive?

Tanya: Girl please. The only thing that girl is at risk for is a good dicking.

Raya: sljgdlkfgjkl you goin to hell

Jesse: Should we take our bets now?

Tanya: I’m putting five on the captain throwing her back out TONIGHT

Raya: I’m putting ten on y/n holding out just to be stubborn af

Jesse: I’m with Raya on this one.

You walk through the sand together with his arm wrapped around your shoulder. There’s everything from playful jabs to probing questions to heavy flirting. At some point it transcends the innocence of a first date. Perhaps it's the moment when he offers to carry your heels so you can feel the sand between your toes. Or the moment when you tell him something funny and he laughs into your neck till all you can feel is the rumble of his chest and the warmth of his skin. Maybe it’s the feel of his fingers untangling your hair from your cardigan when the wind traps it. There’s a softness to him in all his overt physicality. He thumbs at your chin playfully and smiles down at you. It’s not just softness then. It’s tenderness too. And you melt into him.

“Hi.” he whispered till you smiled.

“Hi.” You whispered back.

“Can I kiss you by chance?”

Your arms slide closer wrapping firmly around his neck.

“Absolutely.”

If his chest is rock-hard muscle then his lips are the antithesis of that. The kiss is soft and yearning when he wraps them around your own, and his hands ain’t bad either. Before you know it you’re wrapped up in him and he in you until there’s no clear discernment of where one begins and the other ends. But it doesn’t matter when his tongue is just as teasing and probing at his personality, and you fingers scratch roughly through the strands of his hair.

The only thing that could possibly bring such a perfect moment to an end is the need to breathe. You pull away with a stuttering gasp, and he hides his face in your neck with a whine that awakens a whole new fire with you.

“Wow.” He sighed.

“Yea...Wow.”

You blinked a couple of times to try and bring yourself back to reality and out of...whatever the hell that was.

“I should uh--I should get you home right? You had a long day.”

He squeezed at your shoulders before pulling away and you swore it was colder without him near. As the night suddenly hurdled towards a close, you felt a sense of longing. You weren’t quite ready to let him go yet, and the anticipation of being without him was already wreaking havoc on your nerves. The only good news is he holds your hand the entire walk back to the car, and his shoulder makes for lovely resting space.

The car ride feels like a fraction of the time it took to get there. Perhaps it's because you know each other better now, have a taste of what it’s like to be next to one another. Like a junky you were hooked. White, Black, or green, there wasn’t anything that could stop you from wanting to be near him. He was infectious, and he’d gotten himself directly under your skin.

“Could I walk you to the door?” He asks.

“Please.” You nodded.

You take smaller steps as if that will make it all go slower. And a grin forms slowly on your lips when you notice his much lengthier legs attempting to do the same. It’s the kind of PG-13 shit you’d never really experienced before. How pathetic that the second you got just a tiny bit of it you were practically begging for more.

The light beneath your door illuminates the movement of your bodies. You turned with your back to the door to face him, aware for the first time that you’d been smiling for a while, that you had no idea how to stop smiling.

“I gotta say I had a really great time.” You murmured. “Thank you for the effort and the fun and...the kiss.”

“That means the world to me. All I wanted was for you to have a good time. Honestly I think that was the best first date I’ve ever been on.”

“You know, I think that was the best first date I’ve ever been on as well.”

He smiled widely at you. “Good. So now we’ve set the bar so high that it really only makes sense for us to go on another date right?”

“I think I could be up for that, yea.”

“Could you be up for another kiss?” He teased.

“Could you be up for coming inside?” You countered.

His eyes widened at that, the intricate game of you both keep each other on your toes unfolding. You weren’t even sure where the idea had come from. You certainly hadn’t planned it. At some point you realized you had to go inside, and the thought of him being on the other side of the door just didn’t feel right.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose if you’re tired. I know your work day was long.”

You nodded eyes skimming from his ankles to his hair.

“Suddenly? Not so tired.”

“Me neither. Let’s go inside.”

That’s what you thought.

You unlocked the door to your place leading him into the living room.

“Um make yourself comfortable. I just gotta let my girls know I got home alright. Do you want anything to drink?” You asked.

“I better not. Still gotta drive home.”

There was something about his lack of confidence about getting laid that had you pausing in the kitchen. Few men had ever made it past the threshold on the first date. The threshold may as well have been a neon arrow towards your vagina. Not that you’d decided to have sex with him. Of course not...

Y/n: I know y’all are not placing bets that center around my pussy. Get a life.

Raya: Girl I’m married with two kids and you just went out with Chris Evans. Your life is my life. Don’t take that from me.

Tanya: Now sis, why are you texting us when there is some red, white, and blue DICK to be had.

Jesse: djdflkjgdf

Raya: lmao. She got a point. Did he drop you off?

Y/n: He did.

Tanya: Annnnnnnnnnnd?

Y/n: Annnnnnd my date ain’t over. I simply must be going. Night night!

Your phone began to erupt with buzzes in your palm. You quickly set it to silent to ignore the peanut gallery and headed back to your date.

Chris was in your living room staring at a photo you had set up on the wall. It was you, your mother, and your little brother all wrapped up in each other from your graduation the second time. The fact that his ass was poised like a piece of fruit begging to be plucked from the tree is a secondary detail.

“Is this your family?” He grinned. “You look just like your mother.”

You stalked closer, ready to be in his space again, and smiled.

“This was for degree number two. I’m the first to ever get a master’s, and my mom couldn’t stop crying the whole day. This is the only picture I had where she wasn’t obviously in tears.” You hummed.

“That’s beautiful. She’s got so much to be proud of. You’re clearly an amazing woman.”

Most may have tilted their head in shyness, maybe looked at the ground and ignored the compliment. Such a cliche. You had learned long ago that the most radical, most self-loving thing you could do was believe your own hype. Others will rarely do it for you. Chris seemed to be the exception to many rules.

You raised your chin proudly. “Thank you. Every ounce of it, I get from her. I can assure you of that.”

“I believe you. Mothers really are the superheroes of the world, no pun intended.”

You reached for his hand slowly, heart warming at the way he instantly went to intertwine your fingers. He was truly nestling himself inside your head, your walls coming down one by one. Silence pursued as you led him towards the couch, his eyes raking over every inch of you as you moved. As his back hit the couch, you stepped out of your heels. His legs were deeply parted and the thickness of his thighs looked like the perfect seat. It didn’t help the way his hands were gripping his thighs like an invitation. That knot that sometimes appeared in your belly when he was around tightened.

“Can I sit with you?” You hummed.

“You can sit anywhere you’d like.”

His voice had suddenly gone husky and deep, your eyes fluttering wantonly at the sound. You were mostly definitely going to take him up on that.

You placed your foot on the space of the cushion right next to his thigh, and used the leverage to climb yourself into his lap.  His hands immediately came to rest on the small of your back pulling you close, close, close.

This kiss is better. Much better.

Whatever gentlemanly urges he’d proudly displayed throughout the night, quickly gave way to a new urge, a hunger that boiled hot for each of you. It was the same feeling you’d felt when he first caught you at the bar, multiplied by a million. His facial hair rubbed tantalizing along your jaw as he kissed and bit and marked you with reckless abandon. Your fingers turned to fists in his hair and tugged sharply. The moan he released in response had your hips bucking up against his.

“God, come here.” He muttered against your throat.

His too-large palms went from your back to your ass and suddenly he was tugging you rougher, firmer, right against something firm of his own.

“Oh shit.” you whimpered thighs tightening around his waist. “Touch me.”

His lips began a trail from your neck down your cleavage, beard scratching up the flesh until your back was arching in lust.

“Take this off.” He demanded with a tug to your cardigan.

No problem there.

“You next.” You whined and reached for the bottom of his sweater instead.

Your camisole joined the rest of the pile on the floor and suddenly his tongue was finding the patch of skin right between your breasts. Wet didn’t begin to describe what you were experiencing in that moment.

“You’re fucking gorgeous you know that?” He huffed.

Your fingers gripped at his knee for leverage and you leaned back just enough to give your hips room to breathe. And move.

“Fuck.”

You giggled at Chris, your hips sliding against his in the most amazing rhythm.

“I like it when you lose that little nice-guy thing you got going on. What else do you got hidden from me, Chris?”

His hands moved to the thick of your thighs and squeezed hard until you lost your own grip of self-control.

“I think you like to take the reins. I think every part of your life is carefully constructed to your liking. But I’m starting to wonder what it might look like if you lost a little control, y/n. Do you think I could make you do that?”

Your eyes, though hooded with the overwhelming emotions he was making you feel, found a way to burst open at his words. Because in just one single night he saw you. Saw you in a way that you had not willingly given out. There was an armor that you put on to walk out into the world, something intentionally crafted to keep you safe. How had he disabled it in just one night? As sexy as it was, it was also scary. Were you ready to let him take control?

“Look if you wanna make me lose control? You better have something damn good to show for it, sir.” You grinned.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay.”

And just like that you were being lifted into the air like a spaceship taking launch. A man had never lifted you with such ease since you were a child. A grown ass woman of your size wasn’t just thrown around like a rag-doll. Dainty had certainly never been used to describe you. And yet, Chris had managed to stand with your legs and arms wrapped around his like a kola to a tree. His hands on your lower body only throw you further out of whack.  This shit was insane. And your pussy was transcending physics with how wet he’d manage to make you.

“Can I take you to bed?” He panted, breath harsh against your lips.

You groaned. “God, yes, boy scout. Please take me to bed.”

Your bed seems perfectly crafted for two, or maybe that’s just the feel of him sucking at the skin of your pulse point. His tongue is suddenly everywhere. On your neck. Below your sternum. At the jut of your hip. He strips you of your jeans and falls victim to the slim space between your thighs. His palms now work on mapping them expansively but not without exploring the thin piece of fabric that separates him from the wetness of your inner folds. All it takes is the tip of his nose to rub against the pubic mound, right above your clit, and you just kind of lose it.

“Holy shit! Please. Just please.” You whined, hips bucking closer to his mouth.

A grin descended upon his face that held all of the cockiness of a man who was sure of himself. It was the first time he’d ever looked like that to you. And lord was it hot.

“Sweetheart listen to me.” He said smoothly. “I’m gonna make you cum now. But you gotta be good for me. Can you do that?”

Your lips parted in shock. What does one say to such a thing?

“Okay.”

He’s not interested in torturing you, at least not this time. As soon as you promise to be good, his tongue snakes out of his mouth and he’s on you. Firm flicks of his tongue and hard sucks of his lips quickly leaves your underwear sodden. It appears he has no interest in taking them off, and you might just care if it weren’t for the way he was rocking your body. Most men couldn’t find a clit if there was a neon sign pointing to it. Chris finds it like it's his damn address. He sucks and licks and drools until your thighs pulse, until your back arches, until your body feels poised like spring begging to break.

Your fingers dig into the meat of his shoulders trying desperately to pull him closer. You’re not gonna make it.

“I--I gotta...I gotta cum.” You huffed.

He nods while he’s eating you out and takes your statement as a direction to slip his fingers between the soaked material of your underwear. You’re so wet that there’s barely any hit of tension as his finger slides deep inside of you. You can hear it now right beside the desperate pants of your mouth, the crude slip of his fingers digging into you, searching and pumping. He curls it just right, touches that place, until you can’t breathe,  until your bursting for him like an overripe fruit.

Your body throbs and pulses as the orgasm rocks its way through you and he never moves, just licks away your release with the same intensity. When you collapse, he lays his head against your thigh and grins up at you with wet lips and a wet beard and eyes completely void of anything but tenderness.

“Oh fuck off.” You whined pushing your hand tiredly against his face.

He chuckled but absolutely did not fuck off. Instead he took to placing kisses along the skin of your inner thighs as if he was rewinding the coil inside of you so that he could make you come loose all over again.

“You done?” He hummed nosing at your pubic bone. “We can be done, just let me know.”

“Really?”

“Of course, really.”

You bit your lip and watched him for a few minutes. His fingers were drawing patterns on your leg, his lips feeling like they shot sparks all across your skin. You wanted him bad. Whoever said consent wasn’t sexy hadn’t had Chris Evans in their bed obviously.

“Come up here.”

His eyes finally left the dream of your thighs and locked with yours. He trailed slowly up your body, thighs and arms bracketing either side of you. Your back arched involuntarily until your chests touched. He kissed you long enough for the taste of yourself to get lost in your own mouth. His facial hair still scratched hotly at your flesh.There wasn’t anything you wanted more than for him to destroy you in that moment. So that’s exactly what you said.

“Chris?” You mumbled against his lips.

He immediately backed away. “Yea?”

You reached over to the drawer of your bedside table and grabbed aimlessly for protection. The condom wrapper fell into his hand and your legs came naturally around his waist.

“I’d like for you to wreck me...please.”

It didn’t sound like a question. It was much more a demand than a plea. But your boy scout aimed to please. And please he did.

“I can do that.”

Suddenly when Nicki Minaj said You’ll never catch me in a light-skin nigga’s bed, it took on a whole new meaning. Surely she meant light skin like Drake, and sis definitely had a point. But... surely Nicki couldn’t hate you for the choices you made that night, and all the ones you’d go on to make for this man in particular. After-all, it was technically your bed.

buy me a ko-fi? 

[narrativestringtheory]

On Screen: What post-apocalyptic movie would I want to live in?

by Christian B. Long

When the pandemic started, I started watching a lot of dystopian and post-apocalyptic movies. About a year later, I signed an agreement with an academic press to write a book on infrastructure in dystopian and post-apocalyptic movies. Returning to dystopian and post-apocalyptic movies helped me to convince myself things could certainly get worse, let me perform a kind of penance for the relative comfort I experienced during lockdowns. The pandemic saw a brief moment when one of the most hackneyed shorthand descriptions of a post-apocalyptic world, “a Mad Max world,” gave way to other movie examples, such as Contagion (dir. Steven Soderbergh, 2011) or Outbreak (dir. Wolfgang Petersen, 1995). Serial apocalyptic narratives like Station Eleven, Squid Game, Yellowjackets, Daybreak, the canceled The Last Man on Earth and the seemingly unkillable The Walking Dead and its variants in their pervasiveness testify to the sense of dread that looks set to tip into apocalypse any day now. Rather than a binge-watch of contemporary serials, I want to look back, to return to movies from throughout my lifetime (more or less) to find a vision of the post-apocalypse that terrifies me the least. I’ll start with a return to the world of Mad Max (dir. George Miller, 1979), not just because the effects of climate change haven’t gone away or even slowed during pandemic life, but also because according to The Road Warrior (dir. George Miller, 1981; aka Mad Max 2), I live about 120 kilometres away from a post-apocalyptic paradise: Sunshine Coast, Queensland.

In The Road Warrior, Max finds a small enclave with its own oil supply, just the sort of thing he needs to fuel his vehicle. After a couple of violent battles over a gasoline supply, the small enclave decides to make a run for it, and the enclave’s leader, Wez, asks Max to drive their tanker full of gas for them. He makes a simple pitch to Max: “You don’t have a future. I could offer you that. Rebuild our lives. Max, buy a ticket for two thousand miles.” At this point, the Curmudgeon (Miller always has great names for his characters), an old man dressed in a shirt with military badges and wearing an old military helmet, says, “You have to come, sonny. This is where we’re going: Paradise! Two thousand miles from here. Fresh water. Plenty of sunshine. Nothing to do but breed!” He produces a series of postcards showing the Sunshine Coast, what was at the time a small metropolitan area in Queensland, a holiday spot known for its beaches.

Even in a place as big as Australia, driving two thousand miles to paradise seems to be an odd plan, given that a 2000-mile drive would almost entirely cross the country. Sydney to Perth, a coast-to-coast trip, is about 2300 miles. Maybe the Wez and the old military man and Max are somewhere in central South Australia and plan to go via Melbourne rather than the more direct route. Maybe they’re in north-central Western Australia and they know the Northern Territory has somehow been rendered impassable and uninhabitable. But there has to be somewhere closer. Questioning the practicalities of travel and distance might be my killjoy instincts taking over, but I don’t think it’s unfair to see this choice of paradise as an ironic engagement with life in Australia in the late 1970s and early 1980s. The ribbon of population along the coast from Brisbane to Sydney to Melbourne and then to Adelaide, within which more than three-quarters of Australians live, tilts the national centre of gravity significantly, making a shorter drive to the Perth area (lovely Mediterranean climate) and Darwin (tropical) an unlikely option. When The Road Warrior was released, Queensland was close to a police state, but one with a vigorously growing economy, which makes the Curmudgeon’s military-costumed excitement a bit of a comment on the sort of people who might consider the Sunshine Coast paradise. Would I want to live in Sunshine Coast? There are worse places. Maybe after the apocalypse, I could be convinced. But it’s not on the top of my list.

To simplify matters, I’ll consider the rebuilt worlds that win out, operating under the assumption that the filmmakers treat those options as the most desirable or the most likely or the most powerful. I assume that locations that appear early in the film, if we don’t see them blown up or in some other way foreclosed within the film’s world, will exist at film’s end. So please indulge me as I consider whether I would live in the places at the conclusion of a few post-apocalyptic movies.

The Mad Max movies’ vision of post-apocalyptic life do not hold much appeal for me, as I don’t drive, and The Road Warrior and Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (dir. George Miller and George Ogilvie, 1985) conclude with Max once again on the road, the only place that makes sense to him. The Girl with All the Gifts (dir. Colm McCarthy, 2016) has room for one lonely teacher in London, but only in a residence completely sealed off from the outside world. Snowpiercer (dir. Bong Joon Ho, 2013) and The Road (dir. John Hillcoat, 2009) reveal that the best that I might hope for is another day of survival borne of incredible amounts of toil. I could come to accept a life of toil if there were a chance of it sometimes turning into useful work, but the snowbound world of Snowpiercer and the dead planet of The Road render toiling in the fields to establish a liveable corner of the world impossible; the best-case scenario is a solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short life of scavenging and scrounging. In all these cases, surviving the apocalypse seems like the worst possible option. Surviving hinges on believing in a go-it-alone—or go it with a couple of others—fantasy of self-sufficiency. Fuck all that.  

Another group of post-apocalyptic movies feature an appealing option or two amongst the bad. The Citadel at the end of Mad Max: Fury Road (dir. George Miller, 2015) has an extensive water provision system and well-developed hydroponic horticulture. Dry land in Waterworld (dir. Kevin Reynolds, 1995) has plenty of plants, which would be a nice change from the scurvy diet of the watery world, fresh water, and what appears to be a lovely climate. But a population in the single digits. The same problem of no sociality presents itself in 28 Days Later (dir. Danny Boyle, 2002). Getting rescued after a few months in a cottage in the north of England would be a welcome development, even if it meant going to the not-terribly-appealing London of 28 Weeks Later (dir. Juan Carlos Fresnadillo, 2007) (about which more soon). Divergent (dir. Neil Burger, 2014) presents a strange case: it would be nice to live where they’ve obviously kept the University of Chicago library nice. But the rigidly maintained boundaries between factions seems a little too invested in eugenics. Also, everyone seems like a massive dork. 

Then there’s all the Planet of the Apes movies. The ape city in the 1968 version (dir. Franklin J. Schaffner) has a couple of things in its favour: They have a strong agricultural sector in place and there’s obviously a cultural life. But it’s a theocratic, racially stratified society, which makes it not entirely appealing. In Tim Burton’s 2001 version, ending in a Washington DC where it’s more of the same militarism takes it off my list of possible post-apocalyptic homes (although I endorse arresting Mark Wahlberg). I guess we’re all living in the global pandemic conclusion to Rise of the Planet of the Apes (dir. Rupert Wyatt, 2011), minus the cool part of talking chimpanzees. I wouldn’t be interested in the impending human-ape war that concludes Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (dir. Matt Reeves, 2104); a have a similar lack of interest in living in the nascent ape society as seen at the end of War for the Planet of the Apes (dir. Matt Reeves, 2017). In toto, the trio of Rise of the Planet of the Apes, Dawn of Planet of the Apes, and War for the Planet of the Apes progressively push humans out of the picture; I wouldn’t begrudge the apes taking over the world. 

In all these cases, I wouldn’t starve and most of them offer a larger group of people/apes with whom to build community. But still, I’d give them all a pass. Post-apocalyptic movies like to destroy well-known places. In this thought experiment, that destruction opens up the possibility of living in the big city, with the place to yourself. If I were to stay in The Girl with All the Gifts’ London, I would have a nice three-room solar-powered apartment, but I could never leave it, as leaving would mean inhaling the spoors that would turn me into a zombie. Let’s say I’m an Erudite in Divergent’s Chicago, with a place in Hyde Park. What else is there to do besides whatever technocratic job they have? In Dawn of the Planet of the Apes San Francisco is already being reclaimed by the forest. The apocalypse erases the things that make urban life in major centres desirable, not just the stuff to do, but the people do it with. The city exerts an appeal even when survivors escape to a lovely rural cottage. 28 Days Later begins with Jim wandering around London screaming “Hello!” and ends with Jim, Selena, and Hannah running out a massive “Hello” sign, eager to flag down any passing plane or jet so they might escape their Lake District cottage for the companionship of more than each other.  

The worst-case scenario of urban living appears in the sequel, 28 Weeks Later: Militarized, CCTV’ed London and Paris overrun by rage zombies. This barely qualifies as post-apocalyptic; it’s the status quo, just with zombies. Zombieland (dir. Ruben Fleischer, 2009) shows that if you survive the apocalypse in Los Angeles, you can have entire amusement parks to yourself and your pick of mansions. For as much entertainment as cities offer during a post-apocalyptic movie, those movies tend to prefer leaving the city to offer hope of a happy ending. At the end of The Omega Man (dir. Boris Sagal, 1971), a few young adults and a half-dozen or so children who have survived the plague leave the city for somewhere more defensible and able to provide food and water. I Am Legend (dir. Francis Lawrence, 2007), adapting the same source material, repeats the move away from the city into a rural, self-sustaining settlement, this time leaving New York for a walled agricultural compound in Vermont. Columbus claims that his ersatz family at the end of Zombieland: Double Tap (dir. Ruben Fleischer, 2019) is at home wherever they are, so long as they’re together. It may be the suburban child and adult city-dweller in me, but home as an in-motion pink Cadillac with five people in it is even less appealing than a back-to-the-land post-apocalyptic world. The same misgivings I have about an in-motion home as imagined in Zombieland: Double Tap applies for Land of the Dead (dir. George Romero, 2005): I don’t believe it’s possible to escape to a better life in a heavily armed and armoured RV. 

After eliminating some options, I have to ask, could there be anything redeeming about living in a post-apocalyptic world? Clearly there must be, given the appetite not just in film audiences but across media. As the person who dismissed a bunch of post-apocalyptic futures for their violent macho individualism a few paragraphs back, I’m part of the group of people who sees the appeal of imagining post-apocalyptic worlds as informed by the chance it gives us to re-examine our priorities. It goes without saying that I would not rush to live in any post-apocalyptic world, but some would at least offer the potential for a pleasant life by organizing their worlds differently. I have five in mind. The interstellar travel at the end of The Quiet Earth (dir. Geoff Murphy, 1985) might mean leaving earth entirely, but would that be such a bad deal in the wake of the apocalypse? If I had to stay on earth, I would begin my list of preferred options as imagined by movies with Warm Bodies (dir. Jonathan Levine, 2013). The city is perhaps a bit insular and over-militarized, but through what can only have been a concerted common effort, they have a solar-powered electrical grid and urban agriculture. I’d hope that the peace dividend of coexistence with the zombies would mean a turn away from the armed walled city approach of the early post-apocalypse. At least they’ve got bike paths that people even use in a downpour.

The Book of Eli (dir. the Hughes Brothers, 2010) would offer more straitened circumstances, but a relatively appealing set of priorities. The tiny settlement on Alcatraz may not have a lot of options for socializing, and the diet would be about as varied as that in Waterworld, but escaping the amoral violence of Carnegie’s world to aid in retaining the religious and cultural traditions of the world that’s been destroyed would make post-apocalyptic life not a first step on a return to consumer capitalism but instead a first step toward an alternate path out of a new Dark Ages (I know they weren’t that dark, it’s metaphorical). In other words, rather than a fantasy of a wandering mighty hunter, The Book of Eli offers the fantasy of monastic life.  

Tank Girl (dir. Rachel Talalay, 1995) stands out as an enthusiastically hedonistic post-apocalyptic world. Not only would I not have to move, as it’s in Australia, but there’s a lot of horticulture already in place as well as a poetry scene (I would hope that it would eventually stop being a pseudo-Beat one). I could have a somewhat varied vegetarian diet and enjoy a limited cultural life, whether I lived with the human-kangaroo Rippers or in the share house where Tank Girl lives when we first meet her—the first line of dialog inside the house finds Tank Girl’s boyfriend telling a roommate, “I’m gonna go water the vegetables.” If The Book of Eli sees a better future in the form of a monastery, Tank Girl looks to re-make the world along the model of a squatted building. 

To my eyes the most appealing post-apocalyptic world, if you can believe it, appears in the almost uniformly maligned Kevin Costner movie The Postman (dir. Kevin Costner, 1997). Sure, the movie is over-long, wooden in parts, and earnest to the point of painful corniness (although I would argue it’s not that bad). But it appears that in the time between the Big Climactic Battle and the film’s conclusion, they’ve taken a slow-and-steady approach to rebuilding society, and it worked. Consider the world he meets when he makes his fake-postman rounds: an archipelago of small settlements like Pineview (Population 132), Benning, Colville, and Fredericksburg, connected by a reconstituted postal service, powered by renewable energy (both hydro and wind) that makes it possible to have town dances with multi-coloured fairy lights.

Thirty years after these first steps towards reconstituting something larger than just a town protected by palisades and a gate. The statue unveiling that closes the film shows cameras recording the event; they’ve restarted either television or have returned to the public exhibition of newsreels. Would I love every moment of living in this Cascadia-like place? No. The people look like they’d get along well with the dorks in the Divergent series. But it’s a world where the written word has been a driving force in its creation, and small autonomous communities reach out to each other to achieve more together. St Rose, Oregon at the end of The Postman looks not unlike the cozy catastrophe settings Brian Aldiss first named and Jo Walton and Tim Majors have analysed. It’s such a modest vision for rebuilding that I find myself drawn to it. I won’t get it. We won’t get it. But if I had to pick, I’d live in the world The Postman imagines. And if that doesn’t show how much we’re already living in the end times, I don’t know what does.

[polyamoryinfandoms]

Monthly Fic Roundup!

Hey gang! I’m posting the fics that were recommended on our last surveymonkey poll; thanks for everyone who recommended fics. Please note I did not get to read every fic on here and depended on your responses and the AO3 tags to mark for any triggers or story notes, so please read with caution if you’re worried about any content warnings!

If you want to recommend more fics, I’ll be posting another roundup poll later in the day today! 

Under the cut are 32 fics from: 

Agents of Shield (1) 

Bill & Ted (1) 

Castlevania (1) 

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (1) 

DCU (2) 

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (4) 

Game of Thrones (1) 

Harry Potter (1) 

Leverage (1) 

Mission Impossible (1 -- series) 

Sanders Sides (1-- series)

Sense8 (1)

Sherlock (1-- series) 

Star Wars (1) 

Stranger Things (8) 

The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (1) 

The Untamed/CQL/MDZS (2)

Teen Wolf (2) 

White Collar (1) 

Agents of Shield: 

is it chill that you’re in my head? by lazyfish 

Pairing: Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse/Alphonso Mackenzie

TW/TAGS: PTSD, Referenced Torture

Summary: It doesn't take long for Mack to realize he's in love with Bobbi and Hunter and has been for a while. Other realizations take slightly longer.

Bill and Ted (movie):

Our Home, Our Family, Our Love by CaptainWeasley

Pairing: Bill/Ted/Elizabeth/Joanna

TW/TAGS: slurs, implied/referenced child abuse, internalized homophobia, self harm

Summary: A series of firsts in Ted's life, as he slowly comes to terms with his sexuality and learns how to handle being in love with both his wife and his best friend. When Billie and Thea come out as trans, each in her own way, he does everything he can to help them be who they are.

Castlevania: 

Deliverance by cricketsong1985

Pairing: Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades/Alucard

TW/Tags: Blood kink, explicit sexual content,  gore, trauma, angst

Summary: Adrian is beginning to think that Wallachia will be a smoking pile of ash long before he, Trevor, and Sypha can stop Dracula’s war on humanity. They’ve been chasing the castle for months, but each time they get close, it vanishes. Traveling with such genuine and trustworthy allies has been unexpectedly pleasant; Adrian doesn’t mind that Trevor and Sypha are involved with each other, but he is taken entirely by surprise when they open their relationship to him one evening. Hopelessly in over his head, his heart keeps urging him forward, even when he’s forced to confront the darkest aspects of his nature. Adrian must learn to swallow his pride and let himself be vulnerable if he wants a chance at happiness. Unfortunately, there isn’t much time for looking within when the world is drenched in blood and magic, and the path to victory may destroy him completely.

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina: 

We will be judged by the courage of our hearts by MagicClem

Pairing: Harvey Kinkle/Sabrina Spellman/Nicholas Scratch

TW/TAGS: mention of an abusive parent 

Summary: It's been a month since the 13 almost destroyed Greendale. Now a full Witch, Sabrina tries to move on, with the help of one Nicholas Scratch.But one night, Harvey arrives at the Spellman's house and everything becomes complicated.

DCU: 

not for the faint of heart by pasdecoeur

Pairing: Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent

TW/TAGS: Explicit Sexual Content 

Summary: Clark opens a door that was meant to stay closed. Things spiral. or, What Not To Do When You’ve Fallen in Love with Batman: A Guide by Hal Jordan & Clark Kent.

All Good Things Come in Threes (Legends of Tomorrow) by IncendiaGlacies

Pairing: Gideon/Rip Hunter/Miranda Coburn

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

Summary: “Two is a couple, three is a crowd,” Gideon stated. In which Gideon navigates her polyamorous relationship with Rip and Miranda. Domestic slice of life goodness.

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off:

Pairing for all of these are Pairing: Cameron/Ferris/Sloane and are written by @fbdo1986

it’s enough to be whiplash

TW: death mention (no character death), drowning

A/N: To put it plainly, I took a few tricks from John Hughes’s earlier scripts of the film, which were more surreal and up-front with discussing death and end of the world scenarios. It was inspired by a concept that I couldn’t seem to shake after I thought of it: what if the pool scene was just a bit more high stakes?

all the things I never told you 

Summary: It’s Sloane, Ferris, and Cameron’s first afternoon alone at the Bueller residence in months. The busy twenty-four year olds who’ve struggled to find time together as their lives unfold in front of them try to think of what to do for the day when Cameron decides to let them in on what he’s been keeping from them.

bye bye love 

TW: Death mention (none of the main characters)

Summary: A hopefully angsty number that details Sloane’s, Cameron’s, and Ferris’s journey through heartbreak and loss after their Sophomore year in college. The title is named after a song by The Cars by the same name!

firestarter

Prompt #5: Where it doesn’t hurt with the OT3

Game of Thrones: 

Constellatory by blueandbulae

Pairing: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell/Robb Stark (polycule, NO incest) 

TW: Some canon typical violence

Summary: It’s strange and messy and maybe nobody else will ever understand them but it works. It’s theirs, and theirs alone, and nobody can take that from them.Or: Robb and Theon storm King's Landing, rescue the princesses, and save the kingdom. Then comes the hard part.

Harry Potter: 

Unconventional by silver_fish

Pairing: Harry Potter/Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger

Summary: A few years, now, have passed since Hedwig’s death, and Hermione thinks it’s time Harry got a new pet. What sort of pet, though, neither she nor Ron know. Not until Harry himself offers her the perfect solution, that is.

Leverage: 

for better or worse (we change together) by idkimoutofideas

Pairing: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer

TW/TAGS: Canon typical violence

Summary: The moment Parker saw the stranger standing by the elevator, a dozen alarm bells went off in her head. She froze, and Hardison nearly walked into her as he entered behind her. It took her a moment to realize that while half of the alarm bells were telling her to get the fuck out of there, the other half were telling her to look closer. Or, Eliot Spencer is a recent war veteran who just moved to Portland in an attempt to lead a calmer lifestyle. He ends up with some weird neighbors, but it's Portland, everyone's a little weird.

Mission Impossible: 

Polyamorous Spies (series of 2 fics) by MagicClem

Pairing: Benji Dunn/Ethan Hunt/Ilsa Faust

TW/TAGS: Blood & injuries (2nd fic) 

Sander’s Sides: 

Love and Other Fairytales by SoDoRoses (Fairychess)

Pairing: LAMP/CALM (Logan, Roman, Virgil, Patton)

TW: violence, major character death, no NSFW in the main fic but there is a side series with NSFW, animal death, description of rot, nonconsentual control of another person, 'like death' state of being

Sense8: 

Crazy Life by MagicClem

Pairing: Kala Dandekar/Wolfgang Bogdanow/Rajan Rasal

Summary: Rajan would admit that this past few years had been crazy and life seems determined to make it crazier and crazier.Or: This is "Amor Vincit Omnia" from Rajan's perspective.

Sherlock: 

Lorem Ipsum by Saathi1013 (series) 

Pairing:  Sherlock Holmes/John Watson/Sarah Sawyer

TW: Abduction

Star Wars:

so just pull the trigger by Darnaguen

Pairing: Han Solo/Qi'ra/Lando Calrissian

TW/TAGS: Alcohol use 

Summary: “Oh, don’t pout Haan.” Lando lounges back, licking his newly berry-tinted lips with a lazy grin. “You know all you have to do is ask.”(Qi’ra’s eyes are glinting and her smile is dagger-sharp. Han knows the look: it’s one she wears whenever she has a winning hand.The dice on the table are mediocre at best. He shakes his head and drinks deep.)

Stranger Things: 

All pairings are Steve Harrington/Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler

The Hawkins Three by nonymos

TW: Some canon typical homophobia and slurs

Summary: It's two weeks after the Snow Ball, Nancy's officially with Jonathan, and Steve is trying to move forward. If only he wasn't on a path that keeps circling back to the both of them.

lovers in a dangerous time by diogxnes

TW/TAGS: Briefly: panic attacks/PTSD, parental neglect

Summary: “So,” says Robin, sitting back in her chair, “what’s the deal there, anyway? With the whole you-Nancy-Jonathan thing.”The question makes his mouth run dry. Why would she ask that? Can she tell, possibly, how much he’s been thinking about Nancy these past few days? How starstruck he was when Nancy showed up at his house? Does she know about the mysterious warmth in his stomach when he thinks about Jonathan? “What do you mean, the whole me-Nancy-Jonathan thing?” “Come on, Steve. She’s your ex and he famously beat you up two years ago and now they’re dating each other and all three of you somehow ended up a part of this weird little monster-fighting club together. There’s gotta be a story there.”“I don’t know, Robs,” says Steve, rolling his eyes, relieved beyond measure that that’s all she meant. “You pretty much just covered all of it. There’s not much more to tell.”

Have Happened by cortexikid

TW/TAGS: Homophobia

Summary: "I overheard you. You were talking in your sleep.”Steve's heart fluttered nervously.“It was a little funny at first,” Nancy admitted, her tone a mix of teasing and apologetic, “you were moaning my name and I thought it’d be kinda funny if Mike accidentally overheard you having a sex dream about his sister—”Steve couldn’t control the guffaw that escaped him. “But then you said Jonathan’s name. Right after mine. All in the same breath.”

it’s a risk, it’s a gamble by nondz (pinkjook)

TW/TAGS: NSFW

Summary: “I think we should pretend to date,” Robin says. "What?" Steve answers.

still turning out by scoutshonor

TW/TAGS: Homophobic language

Summary: Steve knows senior year's supposed to be tough, but seriously?Not only does his dad want him to take over his business, but he lands himself into a fight with his best friend leaving him friendless and booted out of his inner-circle, gets stuck watching a bunch of kids after school because of a missing credit, has to repeat eleventh grade history, and, oh yeah. He has the minor issue of having no idea what he actually wants to do with his life.But it's not all that bad: not the kids he has to watch, and certainly not Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers, two friends from his history class. Friends. Just friends. Yeah, he and you both know that's bullshit.Steve's got a lot of figuring out to do.(or: HSAU Stoncy with Steve as a senior, doing his best)

(Following Stoncy fics are by @pterawaters​) 

Now and For Always 

TW/TAGS: Explicit, Sex where one party is drunk and the other isn't

Summary: Between graduating from college, starting new careers, and planning a wedding, the summer of 1990 is a busy time for Nancy, Steve, and Jonathan. When a war starts in the middle east, Jonathan gets called away just three weeks before the wedding. He’s determined to make it back in time, no matter what it takes.

It's not like people live like this

TW/TAGS: Car Accidents, Period-Typical Homophobia, NSFW

Summary: Concerned that Steve's less-than-stellar grades might have been making them look bad, his parents hired him a tutor, Jonathan Byers, they were sure he wouldn't find as distracting as his last one. Sure, Jonathan had good grades in school, but he really wished he didn't have to take the extra work to help his mother put food on the table. After all, everyone knew Steve Harrington was a jerk. Right? It turned out, not so much. After an impromptu study-session-turned-party and a game of spin the bottle, Steve and Jonathan both found themselves dating Nancy Wheeler. And that wasn't even the strangest thing that happened to any of them that week.

Mr. Sandman (series) 

TW/TAGS: Canon-typical violence, Explicit scenes

The Man from U.N.C.L.E.: 

Simmer On Low by canardroublard

Pairing: Illya/Napoleon/Gaby

TW/TAGS: semi-implied consensual voyeurism, whump

Summary: Scenes from five kitchens.

The Untamed/CQL/MDZS: 

inclusions by keiyashi 

Pairing: Sòng Lán | Sòng Zǐchēn/Xiǎo Xīngchén/Xuē Yáng | Xuē Chéngměi

TW/TAGS: NSFW

Summary: “I guess I feel left out. And I’m asking you to show me how not to?”“Show you?” Xue Yang laughs, easing the tension the only way he knows how. “Daozhang, if you aren’t careful, I might think you’re implying something quite forward.”Xingchen blinks at him. “Xue Yang, I feel like you’re trying to embarrass me, but that is what I was implying.”

melting the glacier by keiyashi 

Pairing: Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén/Mèng Yáo | Jīn Guāngyáo/Niè Míngjué

Summary: Wanting to be with Nie Mingjue is something Lan Xichen accepted about himself long ago. He wants only happiness for his friend, no matter what form it takes. Even if that form is quite lovely and possesses an enchanting mouth.

Teen Wolf: 

Feels Better Biting Down by callunavulgari, hiza-chan (callunavulgari)

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale/Lydia Martin

TW/TAGS: Blood

That I See You by FiccinDylan

Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski/Jordan Parris

TW/TAGS: NSFW, abo, m-preg (non graphic), werewolves, triads are normal

Summary: Deputy Jordan Parrish and Chef Derek Hale are in the prime of their lives and ready to take the next step in their relationship by courting an omega. Everything seems to be progressing smoothly until the new omega (aka Stiles Stilinski, the sheriff’s son) surfaces some unresolved tension from Jordan’s past. Jordan originally had the benefit of amnesia to block out his harried background, but now with his amnesia behind him, will he be able to resolve his past before he ruins his future?

White Collar: 

Always Starts the Same, with a Boy and a Girl by lightgetsin

Pairing: Neal Caffrey/Peter Burke/Elizabeth Burke

Tags: AU 

Summary: Summer, 1998. Neal Caffrey robs the gallery where Elizabeth O'Dell is working late, and comes away with a lot more than art. Agent Burke has no idea what's about to hit him.

[mason-beck]

MASON BECK | CUTLASS

nicknames: call him puppy and he’ll probably come birthdate: july 28, 1989 age: 32 years birthplace: port vale gender: cis male (he/him) sexuality: always questioning

appearance.

height: 6′2″ hair: black eyes: brown markings: severely callused hands from lifting/thorny flowers. tattoos: tons

lifestyle.

occupation: florist residence: apartment 

connections.

friends: all enemies: the becks current flings: steph ex-flings: steph, emilia emotional flings: open heartbreakers: steph

bio.

The Beck Mariners business and family helped build Port Vale into what it is today. Closely associated to the Wolfgangs and deeply protective of their investments, the Beck family is an intimidating force lingering over the coast. The fishmongering family owns almost every commercial ship in these waters and they have the wealth and power to prove it. Some of their side dealings might be known to the town but are spoken of only in hushed voices. Loose ends tend to get tied up quickly, all except for Alice Chen.

Born to Chinese immigrants, Alice Chen grew up in Port Vale without making too much of a name for herself. Only when she was seventeen and a youthful fling turned into an unexpected pregnancy - then everyone knew who she was. The entire town, and the Beck family especially, waited patiently for her to dismiss the rumors about the baby's father so that the tension in Port Vale would be lifted. Rather than give in, Alice Chen did what no one expected. When her baby boy finally arrived, the birth certificate clearly read Mason Beck. 

Mason was never officially acknowledged by his father's family, nor did he benefit from any of the wealth or power, but he loved the life he lived in spite of it. His mother worked hard to start her own business to support them both, eventually founding Star Struck Bouquets and Port Vale's own little haven. They never struggled too much for money and Mason grew up learning to be as hard-working, respectful, and resilient as his mother. She gave him all that she could, though she could never control the way the townsfolk looked at her son.

...

Mason grew up under scrutinous eyes, but when he looked back at them he only smiled and offered his hand. He only ever wanted to make people smile back. He grew used to the fact that there were plenty of people that were going to look at him differently. Some were going to think negatively: that was dumb, that he and his mother were reaching for fortune, that he was a bad egg… He knew he couldn't make everyone happy, but as long as he did his best and treated everyone with the utmost respect then he could at least see the strength in himself and carry his mother's pride. It is only his mother's opinion that ever matters to him. He works at her side to run Star Struck and helps the town in any way that he can. Much to the Beck family's dismay, Mason has put in the work to really win over many of the townsfolk and make himself a staple in the town. 

Mason's father eventually did marry and start a family of his own. Mason knows of his half-siblings but has always been very disconnected from them. While he doesn't care to be a part of the Beck family's fortune or his father's life, his main regret amidst this situation is that he never got to be there for his younger siblings. He knew he would have been a great big brother. To know that they were out there but that he was still so isolated and alone was the worst feeling growing up and he carries it with him to this day. He would never wish that feeling of loneliness on anyone and will go out of his way to provide company to those who need it.

personality.

Mason is the hype man, the support friend of everyone's dreams. He only wants those around him, especially those he cares about, to be happy. As long as no one is hurting anyone else, he's happy to go along for any ride. He doesn't really believe in the mermaid myths and all that surround his town, but he loves his town and so he is happy to partake in all of the fun. In addition to being overly-sociable, Mason also tends to be extremely flirtatious. He will always happily respect other people's boundaries after the initial approach if rejected, and friendship is easily always on the table for him. He was raised by a strong and independent woman and has a deep admiration for any woman like her.