#And then come back and continue the discussion

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Prologue

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?)

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Azriel had always liked Starfall. 

Even he could enjoy one night a year where they danced and were merry…where they pretended that everything was just fine. 

Just that this year…he couldn’t quite manage it. 

Feyre had invited Lucien. 

A year after that catastrophic Winter Solstice. 

And for the very first time, Elain…Elain seemed not just willing but genuinely happy to converse with her mate.

*Keep away from her,* Rhys had repeated his order that morning, making it very clear what he wanted his spymaster to do. And Azriel…well, he had acquiesced. 

Of course, he did. 

Nobody had even noticed when he had slipped away…Nobody had wanted to notice. Why should they? They were all content...they were all happy.

Mor's mating bond with Emerie had snapped just weeks before and that had...everybody was so very pleased for her.

*You are not going to ruin this for Mor,* Rhys had snapped into his mind. *She has been through enough.*

Azriel wasn't going to ruin it. 

So he pretended that everything was normal. And then he disappeared silently, and launched himself off the balcony and went flying. He didn't need to think when he did that. Even the shadows kept silent.

The night sky was a velvety black, speckled with countless glittering stars. 

Azriel loved to fly, loved the rush of the wind buffeting his body, the exhilarating feeling of power and freedom. He soared high into the sky, basking in the cool breeze on his face.

At least he had this .

As a child it was all he had wanted. And now...now it was...now it was seemingly the one thing that gave him something close to peace. The last few green sparkling streaks on the sky...Skyfall was nearly over, once again.

He basked in it for a little while. Until he felt the scratch of Rhys' mental claws against his walls.

*Azriel,* Rhys' voice was harsh, sharp, demanding. *Where are you?*

* Out. * Azriel answered simply. * Flying. *

*Come back,* Rhys ordered with a sigh. *Look, I get it. You are angry at me.*

Azriel didn't even bother answering to that, swooping lower and then pushing higher again, revelling in the cold night air.

*Elain and Lucien are figuring things out,* Rhys continued.

* Good for them, * Azriel replied, his tone still bland. * Is there anything else? *

Rhys let out an exasperated breath.

*Azriel...I am sorry,* his brother apologised. *Be angry at me all you like. This would have only ended in heartbreak for you anyway.*

*That should have been my decision to make,* Azriel's voice was cold, curt, brooking no argument.

Rhys sighed. *Not if the political ramifications could have upset an already strained peace,* Rhys snapped. *Be reasonable, Azriel.*

* Are you done? * he asked Rhys drily.

*Azriel... * Rhys' voice was exasperated. *Fine. Be angry with me, if it makes you feel better,* his brother snorted. *If you want to throw a tantrum like a child, be my guest.*

Azriel gritted his teeth. This was not a tantrum. *Great. Thanks.* he shot back at Rhys nonetheless.

*Elain is happy, Azriel,* Rhys said softly. *And you should be happy for her.*

* Fine, * he said, voice toneless. * I am happy for her. What else do you want from me, Rhys? *

*For you to stop sulking,* Rhys replied. *And to come back to the Party.*

*No,* Azriel said simply, making another loop in the sky, feeling the wind rushing past him.

*Azriel,* Rhys growled, his temper shortening. I mean it. 

*I think I'll go to that pleasure hall near the harbour instead,* Azriel said, his voice cold. * After all, if I want to fuck somebody, I should go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, right? *

*Azriel!* his brother snapped, clearly irritated. *That is enough.*

* What? I am just following your orders, High Lord, * Azriel gave back icily.

*You sound like a petulant child.* Rhys snapped.

* Go back to your party, * Azriel said drily. * I'll be just fine. *

Rhys let out a huffing breath. *Fine. Go and pout some more.*

Azriel ignored his brother, closing the connection and feeling his walls snap back into place.He would pout some more. Thank you very much.

Azriel flew higher, ignoring the party, ignoring everything. He pushed his wings faster, harder, revelling in the wind, in the silence, in the stars above him.

The only sound he could hear was his heartbeat, pulsing in his ears, matching the beating of his wings as he flew. He flew and flew and flew, until his muscles ached, until his wings felt heavy.

It was nice. He liked it. He loved it, in fact.

There was a reason he loved flying so much. It was freedom, it was a rush, but most of all it was quiet.

He did go back to the House of Wind…even when he had no plans to go back to that party. He would go to his room and pout some more. Maybe write some more reports.

Do whatever the High Lord expected the Spymaster to do. 

He landed one one of the many, many balconies, recognising the Priestesses’ herb garden with a start. 

"Spymaster."

Azriel froze for a heartbeat, closing his eyes, cursing mentally. He had wanted to come back unnoticed, to slip in silently. But apparently he wasn’t the lucky. 

One of the Priestesses was sitting on the balcony’s ledge. He wasn’t scared that she was going to jup, simply because the balconies were spelled to prevent exactly that. 

Sitting there, wrapped in a thick knitted blanket, with dark brown hair reached her waist was Irena. 

Clotho’s right hand. The one in charge of seemingly all the paperwork that involved the library. All the bureaucracy went over Irena’s desk, all the accounts and acquisitions… 

She was the daughter of one merchant of the midlands, married off to another richer merchant as soon as she had been barely old enough. 

Azriel had met her for the first time two centuries ago. There had been a string of disappearances of young girls in the surrounding areas and his shadows had very quickly found the culprit. 

Azriel had killed her husband…before he could kill Irena. Her husband had had a taste for violence…his young, beautiful wife had been one of his long-suffering victims. 

Azriel had brought her to the library. He hadn’t really thought that she would bloom here as she had…hadn’t thought that a girl raised with a silver spoon in her mouth would be content with in the library. But she was. 

And Irena turned out to be one of those scarily efficient people that could do the job of three people. In two hundred years, she had actually managed to make the House of Wind cost Rhys nearly nothing in upkeep anymore. Thanks to the gardens of the priestesses that kept them in fruits and vegetables and herbs…some of them sold to the vendors in Velaris, some turned into creams and potions in the stillroom, that were also sold…the library was just one thing the priestesses did. Some preferred the stillroom or the gardens or even needle work, knitted sweaters that were handed out to the needy in Velaris.

She had done that. Had bloomed and flourished here. 

"Irena," he finally brought out, his voice hoarse.

She turned to face him for the first time. She had just grown more beautiful over the years…with long dark hair and dark doe eyes sat in a delicate face. 

But all of that didn’t matter anymore. The moment their eyes met...suddenly everything changed.

His priorities were rearranged. All he cared about anymore was her. Was the priestess wrapped in her wool blanket sitting on that balcony ledge…

Irena. 

She was his mate .

" Oh ," she breathed, her brown doe eyes widening near comically large.

Azriel just stared at her, feeling as though even the world had stopped breathing.

His mate .

His mate was sitting in front of him. 

Irena .

Irena was his mate.

"Azriel," she whispered,  her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper.

 They just stared at each other for a long, long time. He stepped closer to her, wanting to touch her, wanting to feel her soft skin beneath his fingers, her soft lips against his. He wanted to pull her close...he wanted...

But Azriel didn't reach out. he didn't want to scare her. Didn't want to corner her. So he simply leant next to the railing a little bit away from her, still staring at her. "I..." he stuttered, trying to come up with he perfect sentence to tell his mate.

"I...I didn't expect that," Irena whispered.

"Me neither," Azriel said quietly, still slightly breathless, the information slowly sinking in.

"But it's not... unwelcome ?" Irena offered next.

"Absolutely not," Azriel said immediately. "I mean..." he said. She looked so small, sitting there on the ledge, wrapped into her blanket. One delicate shoulder poked out of it, only covered by white, near translucent cotton. She must only be wearing her nightdress, he realised suddenly. 

She looked…so young right at that moment. 

"Are you okay?" he asked her quietly, still staring at her, a soft, tender feeling spreading through him.

His . She was his .

Irena closed her eyes with a heavy breath, before nodding hesitantly. "I just....this was..." she said slowly, not daring to look at him. "It was unexpected."

"For both of us," Azriel said quietly, trying to read her expression. Was it...was she happy? Was she upset ?

She nodded, and then bit her lip. "I..." she started and his eyes lingered at that small, plump lip of hers, wishing that he would be the one biting it.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly and he instantly snapped his eyes back up to her face. "Sorry?" he echoed, frowning, because...what was she apologizing for?

"I mean," she continued, her dark brows knitting together as she bit her lip. Oh dear god, Azriel had never wanted to be a lip so much in his life. "I... I don't think I'm what you were expecting ."

Azriel took a breath, ready to assure her that he was positively delighted at the prospect of her being his mate but the words didn't quite leave his lips because...

"Are you dissappointed?" he managed, his hands clenching around the railing. He was scared what her answer would be.

She finally looked at him. Looked into his eyes and Azriel felt the world slow down for a moment, felt his throat tighten as she searched his expression, searching for something.

Whatever she was searching for, she seemed to find it though because she let out a sigh of relief, her lips quirking into a small, self-depreciating smile. "No," she said honestly. Azriel's breath caught at the Genuity on her face. "No, I'm not. But I...I don't know what...if I can ever give you..." Irena said weakly.

He shook his head. "We have time," Azriel promised her fiercely. All the time. They could figure this out at their own pace.

"Time," Irena echoed softly, looking towards the vast, twinkling night sky, the stars reflected in her eyes.

She looked back at him for a moment, and he could see an almost helpless expression in her eyes.

 "I...I don't want to disappoint you,” she said quietly. 

"You couldn’t," Azriel whispered, still staring at her, at the beautiful face of his mate. "Believe me, you never could disappoint me."

She gave him the tiniest smile. She didn't believe him, he knew that. Regardless of how ridiculous it was. She deserved more than him. More than scarred and battered and broken warrior.

"I will never...I will never force you," he promised her softly. "I will never..."

She nodded, but Azriel still saw something like relief flash over her face.

It broke his heart. "You are a good male," she whispered.

"No. I am not," Azriel immediately disagreed, because he knew he wasn't. He couldn't even begin to name all the things he had done, all the horrors he had committed. 

He had killed her husband. That was just one of the things on his long, long list. “You deserve better than me,” he said weakly. 

"You are my mate," Irena murmured softly. "There is nothing better."

"I...have...killed people," he protested. Killed her husband too. though he did think that that male deserved it.

"You did," she agreed. "You are a warrior. A protector. You were the one that saved me" she said quietly.

Irena took a deep breath, and then, slowly, reached out, touching his scarred fingers, running small, delicate fingertips over the back of his hands, and Azriel froze, completely still, hardly able to breath as she slowly traced the scars on his skin.

Her touch was light, but searing, making his skin tingle.

He slowly turned his hand, catching her fingers between his, squeezing gently as he intertwined their hands.

"I will never force you. I will never lay a finger on you. Whatever we do in the future, is your decision," he swore. 

She stared up at him, the stars reflected in her eyes, her cheeks a faint pink.

Beautiful . Azriel thought, mesmerized and completely enraptured.

"I believe you," she whispered and Azriel's breath caught.

From her...that had been hurt so much...to hear that...it was...

"I will protect you," Azriel promised fiercely and her breath hitched as he lifted her hand, carefully, gently pressing his lips to the tips of her fingers. "I will protect you with my life."

She smiled at him then, a real smile, and Azriel felt as though his heart might stop. He had thought her beautiful before, but now, with her face illuminated in all its delicate beauty by the starry night sky...she was breathtaking .

"I...I will need some time to adjust," Irena said softly. Azriel just nodded dumbly, still a little star struck by her smile. "I...I haven't..." Irena said and she turned her head, looking out into the night sky, her hand still in his.

She hesitated, clearly struggling for words, and Azriel felt his heart seize up in his chest. Had he overwhelmed her? Had he pressured her?

"I haven't been with anyone in a long time." she admitted quietly. Irena didn't look at him, but Azriel was still looking at her, taking in her soft, almost angelic features, the slight blush on her cheeks.

He swallowed."I understand," Azriel whispered, and he did. He understood her hesitation, her uncertainty. And he would be patient...he would wait for as long as she needed.

"But...if you wanted to...you know where to find me," she said softly.

Azriel felt as though he was dreaming. He had found his mate, his beautiful, incredible mate, and she had welcomed him, wanted him even, and

Breathe .  He told himself as he tried to calm the hammering of his heart. Breathe .

And slowly, carefully, he nodded, his fingers still interlaced with hers. "I will come to you," he said, his voice husky. "Whenever you want me too."

She was...a gift. A gift he didn't deserve but would treasure always.

Slowly...and so, so very carefully, Azriel stepped closer to her, still holding her hand, before lowering himself slowly down to sit next to her on the ledge. And this close he could sense just how much smaller she was than him, could feel the heat radiating from her body, smell her scent.

Poppies and something sweet and warm like…apple blossoms maybe?

Azriel wanted...gods, he wanted to kiss her.

But he didn't. He just held her hand, trying to memorize every small detail of hers. The curve of her cheek, the soft blush on her skin, her nose, the full lips.... The tiny flecks of gold in her eyes that reflected the stars above them.

She was breathtakingly beautiful

For a moment Azriel forgot where there were, forgot the cold air around them. For a moment there were only the two of them on this ledge, beneath the stars and a soft night sky. And it was...he felt peaceful .

It wasn't a feeling he had a lot. But here, on the ledge, his hand in hers, he felt at peace. And when Irena slowly rested her head on his shoulder, Azriel could feel nothing but utter contentment.

His heart swelled with affection for her, and he carefully rested his cheek against her head, taking a deep breath.

This was real. She was his mate.

She was truly, truly his.

His .

And nobody knew. Nobody had a clue. He could keep her all to himself.

And selfishly...that felt really good.

Nobody was going to have an opinion about them. Nobody needed to know now.

He wanted to keep her a secret. Gods, he wanted to.

She let out a soft, content sigh, her head still resting on his shoulder, and Azriel smiled to himself.

Notes:

If you liked this fic, then kudos, comments or constructive criticism are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!

[essektheylyss]

I love that Caleb does not ever seem to take opportunities to take any kind of "this might be the last moment I have" actions. No matter what, when everyone else is going around and making their desperate moves, Caleb doesn't. Even after he recommends otherwise to others, it is notable that he among the group doesn't do so, and this is consistent with his previous behavior.

I like to think that stems from the moment he opted against trying to work with Trent—which I think, at its core, was an attempt at such an action. If Caleb had died fighting the Somnovem, he had every reason to believe that Trent would continue in his actions. Though Astrid and Eadwulf were willing to subtly undermine him, they had made it clear that they were not willing to challenge him outright. Caleb tells the Nein, when they are discussing their last wishes at the Blooming Grove before returning to Eiselcross, that he would appreciate Trent being eliminated in the event of his death. I have to believe that there was a fear or regret that his dearest motivations would not come to fruition which spurred his interest in using an alliance with him in Aeor to trap and kill him.

I've mentioned elsewhere that I believe Essek's willingness to disagree with him was one of the factors in Caleb being able to trust him and his judgment, but I would also argue it was a wake-up call for Caleb—about letting himself be distracted; about not focusing in on the mission at hand; about, potentially, expecting failure in this goal, especially after he has watched his friends say their goodbyes as if they too expect to die. "Stay on task, Widogast," is a mantra he uses in Vergessen, but he does get caught up, to an extent, in enacting as much damage as he can to the place in the process, and regardless of whether this ruthless assault slowed or sped their discovery, Trent did catch up to them, and very nearly caught Veth and Jester as well as himself. Given Caleb's fears throughout the campaign that he will draw the danger that dogs him onto his newfound friends, and his later apology to Essek in the same conversation for drawing Trent's attention to him, it is not a stretch to argue that this is yet another guilt he shoulders.

It isn't lost on me that Caleb almost died before the Nein even met, he was perpetually aware of his fragility among the group, and he was the last member of the Nein to go down and need to be revived. So I just think it's very fun if he, who so often seemed to be on the verge of death, who in fact planned to step back in history and in the process erase the person he had become, found himself at some point determined to live, and firmly confident in his ability to do so.

He does not wrap up his affairs, he does not say goodbyes, and while he may acknowledge the stakes for the group, he does not entertain the idea that he personally will not make it out alive—because, as Dorian notes, he has a lot to live for. He has to get back home to his partner and his well-maintained garden; he has to make sure the Cerberus Assembly's nefarious schemes do not continue in Ludinus's absence, perhaps even in the absence of the Assembly itself, depending on what its members do in its wake; he probably has to go egg on his godson's shenanigans as payback for Veth threatening to shoot him out of the sky.

Caleb Widogast is an absolute cockroach of a wizard, and, in true Mighty Nein form, he is at all times thriving on unfinished business.

[vaya-is-dead]

Welcome to hour one of my delusional city

SO ABOUT JINX.... we have plenty to discuss. :))

*act three arcane spoilers under the cut don't read if you haven't watched it especially the last episode!!*

I have a theory.

Now many of you will point at me and call me delusional but I'm sorry. I think I might be right on this one for a change. (or at least it might be implied.)

OK, if you watch the final episode, you know that jinx made the sacrifice taking Warwick with her while Vi screams for her. This scene absolutely broke my heart and for about a good 15 minutes I thought she was dead.

Until I went back and watched the last couple of scenes.

Something that I found interesting is that Caitlyn was looking at the blueprint of the vent system, more specifically where Jinx made her ultimate sacrifice. We all know that arcane is not a show that would just throw in details all without reason. Everything has a point everything is calculated to either imply something or show something.

Why would Caitlyn be looking at the blueprint and why would the show creators specifically zoom in on certain airways? Well, of course, then none other to imply that Jinx could've escaped through one of these, therefore possibly surviving.

Now with that alone, it probably doesn't mean anything. It is nothing but a skeleton of what possibly could be, it needs flesh and muscle for it to actually be a Working theory.

But then, as I watched the final scene before the credits, tell me why an airship from Piltover airship very similar to the ones that we saw in episode one where powder said that she would be flying one of those one day. Why was it flying away into the distant sky, then followed by the classic Jinx glitches with the words the end?

Tell me why a show that is so focused on each, and every small detail, from micro expression to touches that linger just a second too long for it to be nothing, Even the drawings and graffiti around Zaun. why would a show so focused on those types of details do something like that if Jinx was not alive? It does not make any sense. It would not make any sense for the show.

Need more proof?

if you pay attention when Caitlyn and Vi are talking, specifically towards the end where Vi leans into Caitlyn, the expression on her face is not one of relief, but rather one of knowing something. She was the one looking at the blueprint, and she was the one who noticed the potential escape route that jinx would know better than anyone because it wasn't her sort of Home in the vent system? How could she not know how to escape?

it's also very satisfactory to her character arc, it was only in season two where we started to see her perception of death start to shift, it was only when Isha came into her life that she really started to understand her own mortality and not completely disregard her life like she used. the prison scene with Vi, where she's sort of regresses back to the mentality of everyone around me will get hurt because of me. while in act three she did begin to disregard her life again, I would like to think that her talk with Ekko might've snapped her back into place. So instead of losing jinx's character development in its entirety, she continues on the same path where she was while still keeping her goal of letting VI be happy the same.

Plus the pink streak coming up the side of the hex gate tower, it's similar to the way that Jinx charges at Vi in their fighting scene.

Now, this is the part where you go into the comments and call me delusional and make fun of my theory but thank you for comming to my Ted's talk

[wallabywhump]

Post Episode 8x08 CODA/Continuation

Content: Light angst, Buck spiralling, Buck's abandonment issues/running thoughts/(has ADHD), BuckTommy hints at the end.

Word Count: 1,965

Started writing this when the episode ended, please enjoy!

---

The sign goes out front of Eddie's house two weeks later, Buck helps to dig the hole. Buck helps talk to the realtor. Buck talks Eddie down from a three-bed home with an attic office in a HOA suburb and helps him find a respectably sized two bed that will leave him with money to renovate the bathroom and add a ramp up to the door.

Buck bakes a million cookies and eats them while Eddie has meetings with realtors. He sets out sweet breads and muffins when Eddie has an open house, and he happily serves them to people, "yes, there is a gluten free option! I was playing around with xanthan gum, so it shouldn't- oh, you're too kind."

All through it all, Buck focuses on Eddie, and he tries to ignore the ball of panic that's growing and growing and growing, as Eddie calls his mom and dad, and talks to Chris, and they're discussing going to view the home together and-

"I'll be there in two days, buddy!" Eddie says to Chris, a smile wide on his face while he put the autographed picture of the Hotshots cast into a wallet to keep it safe. "I can't wait to see you; we can talk without it lagging."

Buck takes a deep breath.

"Buck's not coming, LA won't survive if we both are off work."

Buck takes the butter off the heat, starts mixing in the sugar.

"I was talking it over with Grandpa, and we can go to the aquarium while I'm there. I'll even get to cheer you on in your chess match."

Chris groans. "You don't cheer during chess matches, dad, you have to be quiet."

Eddie laughs, and Buck needs to savor that sound. Needs to bottle up the sound of his best friend, and the kid he loves to the moon and back, teasing each other because he doesn't know how long he'll have this for. "Well, okay, you'll just have to teach me what to do, Mijo. I've never been to a chess match before."

The flour comes out of the microwave and Buck mixes that in, the soothing fold-fold-fold making his raging heart beat easier to ignore.

"You've never played chess before," Chris teases.

Buck spares a glance at Eddie, and he's fondly smiling at the tablet, and he says, "Well, you'll have to teach that too. Need to understand how you're winning, kid."

Buck is trying his best to be happy for Eddie, desperately putting his issues to the side, he hasn't even mentioned Tommy with all the baking he's been doing.

Eddie, graciously, hasn't mentioned how Buck has gone back to how he was the exact week after Tommy dumped him.

Or perhaps Eddie hasn't noticed with all the preparation and the legal jargon and clearing out everything to make the house look pretty for viewings, and Buck-

Buck really wants to talk to someone.

Eddie's leaving, Bobby is busy building a house, Hen, Maddie, Chimney-

Everyone's moving forward towards something happier. And Buck's stuck trying not to tie his best friend to a city with his sad puppy dog eyes and a pout, all while missing his ex so much that focusing on Eddie leaving drowns out that pain and fills it with something different.

"Buck?"

Buck jumps, dropping his spatula into the bowl. "Huh? W-What's-"

"Chris hung up, he's got school tomorrow."

Buck picks his spatula up, continues mixing his cookie dough. It's as he folds a third time that he notices he forgot the chocolate chips.

"More cookies?"

Buck forces a smile on his face, ignores the floundering puttering in his heart that tells him he needs to call someone before this becomes unsustainable. Baking isn't distracting him, it's not-

He wants Eddie to stay, he wants Chris to come home, he wants a barbecue in Bobby's backyard with his family-

He wants to call Tommy.

"It's for the viewing tomorrow," Buck says, proud of how even his voice sounds, how it doesn't even sound like a lie.

Eddie sidles up to the counter, looking into the bowl. "You don't have to try buttering up potential buyers with sugary goods. I know you set a precedent for the first one, but I don't want you to feel like you have to."

Buck puts the bowl and spatula down and bumps his hip into Eddie's as he starts greasing up the pan. "If I sweeten them up, maybe they'll actually buy, and you can leave quicker."

The free-sounding tease is easy, it's easy to fake, it's been easy to fake since that day he picked up the tablet and saw the houses. It's been easy to fake since Tommy dumped him, and he had to crawl out of his home and go to work and look somewhat put together, so no-one was scared on their calls. It's been easy to fake since Abby left him at the airport, and with a home that wasn't quite his, and an uneasy feeling in his heart that she wasn't coming back. It's been easy to fake since he was sixteen years old, and Maddie was leaving and-

Maddie, Abby, Tommy, Eddie.

People leave, and that's okay, and it's selfish to force them to stay. No matter how much he wished they would choose to stay.

Buck scoops out a glob of dough and drops it onto his pan.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Okay, bud, I'm gonna have a beer while you finish with...that."

Buck sets up the mixer to bake a cake after he puts the cookies in the oven.

---

Buck drops Eddie off at the airport and spirals.

The goodbye wave feels robotic, despite knowing that Eddie will be back in a week, even if it's just to start packing up his life to move it hours away. His phone sits in the dock on the dash, and Buck-

Buck doesn't have anything to distract himself from the yawning emptiness inside him.

Nothing to put his mind to, nothing to focus on, just a whole lot of nothing.

The nothing that has been eating away at every positive thought and coping skill he'd put into trying to ignore how much he missed Tommy. The way Tommy would rub his arm and pull him in for a hug when he was feeling low. How Tommy would sarcastically tease him when his anxiety spiked, until Buck couldn't even remember he'd been anxious. How they could sit in silence and not have to chat, and it was just peaceful, and it put Buck at ease, and Tommy wouldn't even mention when Buck's leg started tapping, he'd just put a hand on Buck's knee and lean his weight into-

Fuck.

Tommy would have been a rock through this, platitudes about Eddie not being dead, stop panicking. "I can fly a helicopter, babe, just say the word and you can visit."

Except, Tommy isn't his rock anymore. He's a hurricane that has Buck unmoored and swirling in an abyss of panic and loneliness and, fuck, shit, fuck, Buck has to talk to someone. Or bake something. Or go to the middle of nowhere, with no reception, and scream at the sky.

Everyone's busy. Eddie's on a plane. No-one...he has-

"Buck?"

Buck jolts, staring down at the phone now in his hand, Tommy's face filling the screen, his nose scrunched and looking confused, concerned and cold all in one expression.

So closed off.

"I-I didn't mean to call," Buck whispers, his voice weak and thready even to his own ears. "Hi. Uh, I'll just, uh, hang up."

Except Buck doesn't, he stares at Tommy and feels his heart stutter.

Tommy raises an eyebrow, and Buck watches the cold melt off Tommy's face, leaving only confusion and concern.

"What's happening, Buck?"

"I...just dropped Eddie off at the airport, and I'm sitting at the drop off spot in the taxi ranks, and-"

Tommy's confusion disappears, and his eyes soften, and he's openly concerned and it's like a knife in Buck's chest.

Buck lets out a hoarse laugh. "I've held it in for weeks, not calling, and my best friend leaves and it's like I can't help it- Jesus." Buck runs a hand down his face, he feels like a mess.

"Why did you call me, Buck?"

Because it was habit for six months straight, because every time Buck's been sad since the breakup he's had to physically remove himself from his phone to stop himself from calling Tommy, because Buck just wants to have Tommy as his, and he can't seem to move on despite everyone else seeming able to.

"Everyone else...is moving forward, making families and living their lives, but I'm-"

Buck should hang up, forget about this, say 'sorry, bye asshole', and block Tommy's number once and for all.

Except-

"I'm stuck, stuck on that day in my loft, wondering what happened and how that occurred, and all I've wanted since the day it happened was to call you and fix it or-or, I don't know...I just feel so incomplete here. Unsatisfied. Nothing-nothing makes sense."

Buck rolls on.

"And Eddie told me not to call, so I didn't, except then Eddie decided he wanted to move to Texas and I couldn't be selfish and ask him to stay, so instead I've been helping him, helping him leave my life, because then at least I helped control it."

Buck chokes up.

"Because he's an adult with different priorities, and he can make his own decisions and it's my job as a friend to support him, and I guess you'd know that too if you still talked to him, or hey, maybe he would have stayed for you." He's fucking it up, finally got Tommy on the phone and rather than giving Tommy all the reasons they could work, and he should stay, he's dumping all his fears about Eddie leaving. "And I- I'm not making sense, I'm all over the place, this is not what I wanted to say at all, I had a whole speech about how I love you, and I deserved better, and-"

"Are you safe to drive?" Tommy asks, his voice cutting through Buck's monologue.

Buck bites his lip and nods his head. Of course, Tommy doesn't want to hear about his problems, they're broken up.

"Yeah, yeah, I..." Buck sniffs, wipes at his face despite it being dry, and forces a smile on his face. "I'm just a little sad, sorry for calling."

Tommy shakes his head, and he looks like he's in physical pain, and God, Buck feels like an asshole. He's so selfish, and he should have just thrown his phone out and got a new number after the breakup if he knew he was just going to trample over boundaries.

"No, don't be s- I mean, okay, okay. This sounds like- Eddie left? No, this is a conversation for in person," Tommy sounds just as confused and lost as Buck, which isn't nice, because Buck expects Tommy to be a rock, to be steady, to be- well, that went out the window the night they broke up.

"In person?" Buck wonders aloud.

Tommy hums, and his nose scrunches up, and he puts a finger to the bridge of his nose. The video feed is shaking like the phone in his hand is shaking. Buck swallows and waits for whatever emotional turmoil Tommy is experiencing to pass.

"Drive yourself to mine," Tommy orders.

Buck stares at the screen in shock. "W-What? Tommy, I- no, I-" A taxi starts honking their horn behind him.

"Mine," Tommy repeats, sure, and despite everything it makes that emptiness in Buck feel a little smaller, like Tommy is filling it with just the promise of a conversation. "Sounds like you need to get going. See you soon, Evan."

Tommy hangs up, and Buck spirals, but he starts the car anyway and drives to Tommy's with a spark of something in his chest.

[mantis-lizbian]

this is very much just a tangent springing off of your first paragraph - absolutely no disagreement with the actual points you're making here - but i gotta step in to give my obligatory defense of "3e D&D actually did monsters the best out of any TTRPG ever (30% joking)" because while yes it does drop things like reactions and morale that results in making it easier for the GM and players to view monsters as mere challenges to overcome for loot and XP, at the same time, it is one of the only (at least crunchy) systems i have ever come across that builds monsters with the exact same underlying rules as PCs.

while i'm not discounting that critical discussions of the treatment of "savage races" are pretty much as old as the hobby itself (if not older, when one digs into its origins in pulp fantasy novels), i do certainly get the impression that these discussions started to get mainstream during 3e, and i can't help but think that a contributing factor might have been the fact that the way the rules handle and interact with monsters (including hit dice, ability scores, skills and feats, and even class levels) are absolutely indistinguishable from how those things interact with PCs to the extent that, setting aside relative power level, a player is - as far as the mechanics, if not strictly speaking the rules, are concerned - just as capable of making a human character as they are an orc, ettercap, stone giant, dragon, or literal bear.

the fact that it is, again, 3e's focus on encounter balance that is the only meaningful thing that stands in the way of this at least makes it so that the players are more able to see NPCs and (at least intelligent) monsters as not being fundamentally different from their own characters. and by extension, it's possible that this made it easier to relate to those characters within the fiction, as well.

if i were to let myself get too absorbed in this theory, i'd also think this could be related to why, after going back to handling monsters fundamentally differently from PCs and doubling down on treating them as loot piñatas, 5e continued to treat gnolls and the like as demonic monsters, while Pathfinder was simply an extension of 3e and after putting out a variety of books over the course of its first edition that expanded on the cultures, ecology, and other mechanic-independent elements of various monsters and "savage races", its next edition wound up putting goblins among the core playable races, and they've worked diligently since release to double-down on fleshing out those races as actual inhabitants of the world with their own cultures and customs just as real and vibrant as those of elves and dwarves.

So there is a pretty clear shift in playstyle between TSR D&D and WotC D&D: for better and for worse, D&D 3e introduced the idea of encounter balance, de-emphasized mechanics that had previously encouraged the GM to think of the monsters as real living creatures (reaction rolls, morale, etc.), and it had the effect of making D&D a much more combat-focused game. D&D has always been a game that's opinionated about combat, it's basically the most expressive and detailed form of play regardless of edition, but combat in the TSR editions was not exactly zoomed in and tactical. The WotC editions purposefully made combat zoomed in, granular, and tactical.

And this has had an effect on playstyle: since combat is now the main form of player expression what players actually want is for their characters to get into combat. Because combat is the most fun part of the game. But the game has also changed from the largely amoral dungeon-crawling game into a game of fantasy heroics (even though a lot of the trappings of the amoral dungeon-crawling still remain, which contributes to the dissonance), so you can't just have the player characters going into combat for the sake of it. That would frame the player characters as kind of Fucked Up, and we can't have that in our supposedly heroic fantasy.

What you end up with is a variety of contrivances like "they're bandits," "they're cultists," or, my all-time favorite, "they attacked first" to make the action seem morally justifiable, even though gameplay is still motivated by a desire to fight. The monsters fight to the death and, importantly, can often not be reasoned and negotiated with, partly because combat is supposed to be the fun, engaging part everyone is here to do, but also because if they actually acted like reasonable people it could cause dissonance with the whole "the player characters are the goodest heroes."

As my friend @tenleaguesbeneath once called it: what is actually going on is that the player characters are hunting people and monsters who have been programmed to fight to the death and never negotiate for sport, while justifying it as self-defence.

It's a simple power fantasy, and I don't think there's anything wrong with it. Sometimes you want to play a morally uncomplicated game about killing guys with cool magic swords. But I think it's also fun to think about what the specific types of monsters players end up fighting reveals about Society the invisible, unexamined ideology lying under the surface that the designers of even modern D&D have failed to examine. And to me it often reads like a frontier justice fantasy. None of that is to detract from anyone's joy of the game, and for me it's just fun to think about and post about this stuff while Still Enjoying the Game, but if someone expressing that opinion makes you feel uncomfortable, why? That's pretty silly imo.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Rise August: Secrets

Story included under cut!!!

Draxum was in his apartment sorting through a box of old potions and scrolls and loose mystical items left over from when his lab was destroyed for the third time, during the Shredder's invasion. He'd been putting this off for far too long. Amidst the chaos of his collection, there were medical files on his past experiments, DNA samples of the turtles, a couple ancient relics he'd managed to keep ahold of during the whole 'banished from the Hidden City' fiasco, and... a doll. Small, scorched, threads and yarn coming loose from where time had worn them out. It was a small item, inconsequential upon first glance. But it was possibly the most precious possession Draxum owned, if only because it was the last reminder he had of a former life. The doll, stitched and crocheted with care, resembled a miniature turtle. Draxum pressed the doll close to his chest as he'd done countless times before, holding it by his heart and silently praying to any god that would listen to him. And he sat, hoping his prayer would be answered, and a single message could be relayed to the spirit of the one who'd made the doll for him all those years ago.

He was so sorry.

It was then that his phone began to buzz, bringing him back to the present. He tried ignoring it, but the infuriating noise continued.

BZZZ. BZZZ. BZZZ.

He growled, admitting defeat in the battle of wills against the irritating little machine, and picked it up. Leonardo was calling. Had BEEN calling him repeatedly. Along with Michelangelo, who'd called a total of three times within the last minute and a half. Hmm, odd. Donatello had called once, too. What could they want? It wasn't a training evening, or one of those cumbersome 'family bonding nights'. But it must be important if they were willing to call SIX TIMES IN A ROW. He cautiously pressed the little green button.

"Baron Draxum speaking--"

"WERE YOU GOING TO TELL US THAT WE HAD SECRET SIBLINGS?! OR WERE WE JUST SUPPOSED TO LEARN THAT ON OUR OWN?!"

Draxum pulled his ear away, flinching at the noise. It was Leonardo, all right.

"What?" Draxum groaned, trying to combat the sudden deafness he just received in his left ear. "What is going on--"

"Dad just told us about our secret SISTER and secret BROTHER!" Leo yelled again. "Did you ever plan on bringing this up?! Where will the secrets END with our family?! Do you have ANYTHING TO SAY?!"

Draxum grumbled angrily.

"That conniving actor... I can't believe he..." How dare that former action star spill all his secrets without telling him he even KNEW those secrets! How did he find out?! "Put the rat on," he demanded. "I will discuss this breach of trust with him."

"I..." silence. "....I can't."

"Why not?" Draxum asked, noticing the sudden change in Leonardo's voice.

The mutant slider turtle took a good long while to answer. In the background, Draxum could make out the sounds of weeping and wailing. Michelangelo. He'd recognize the youngest's voice anywhere. Leo's breaths were shaky as he struggled to string together a sentence.

"...Draxum... Dad can't... he isn't...." a pause, a deep inhale. "He... he's dead," Leo whispered hoarsely. "He died half an hour ago."

Dead...?

Barry knew the rat was old and weak, and had been growing sick... but... And he'd told them. On his deathbed. He'd planned this, a dramatic reveal for the king of drama. One last spiteful incursion against the great Baron Draxum. He'd told the boys about their 'secret siblings'. How could he have known?? How did he ever find out? The how and why hardly mattered now. He'd told them. And... it was about time they knew.

"...I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Draxum stated before hanging up abruptly.

Baron Draxum spent the first five minutes just standing in the middle of the room. Thinking. Contemplating. This was going to be a very difficult conversation. For a multitude of reasons. Draxum spent the next five minutes gathering all the supplies he would need. Reports on the mutagen and ooze. Scans of the experiments. DNA samples, tests, any information on the two subjects he had left. Receipts of their existence. Proof.

The doll, the last remnant and possession of the most precious thing he'd ever lost.

And then Draxum spent the last five minutes rehearsing. Going over every little detail and thinking the history through. He could guess what they would say, what they'd ask, and how they'd react. There was no way he was ready for this.

His fifteen minutes were up. It was time to go.

Draxum stood stone still, arms full of documents, in the center of his apartment.

It was now twenty minutes. Draxum opened a magenta portal and stepped through.

The lair was darker than usual. And quiet. Usually there were string lights and neon signs illuminating the halls, but they'd been turned off. And there was always something playing in the background, a tune from the radio or a movie left on in the living room. But it was eerily silent, apart from the sound of people crying. Draxum followed the sounds of grief into the living room, Splinter's favourite space. It was dimly lit by candles, a scene of mourning like something from a film. Of course, that was how he'd want to go out. Dramatically.

The children were all surrounding his favourite armchair, Leonardo standing at a distance and tapping his foot impatiently as he stood guard over the room. Donatello was sitting in a corner, looking unsure of how to feel, or how to process what he was feeling. Michelangelo was sobbing in Raphael's lap, crying uncontrollably into his shoulder as the eldest rocked him back and forth, trying to comfort the youngest while also holding back his own tears in an attempt at false bravery. April O'Neil -- who was also here, among others -- had taken the initiative to drape a long white sheet over the body, out of respect.

Seeing this... seeing the outline of Splinter's body laying still... the scene became all too real all at once, and Draxum's planning and pre-prepared speeches were lost in the realization. His sons just lost the man they called 'father'. The person they loved most in life. And now, he was all they had left. And that terrified him.

"You're late," Leo growled, turning to look the sheep man in the eyes.

"Apologies," Draxum sighed. "I needed to prepare. Sit down, I'll try to explain it all."

Leo and April gathered the rest of the family into the kitchen, where Draxum began to pass out the papers and documentation.

"Okay, Draxum," Leo spat, sitting himself down at the table. "TALK. What did Dad mean by a secret sister and secret brother?"

Draxum inhaled deeply, readied himself, and began.

"You DO have a brother and sister. That is true."

"Why didn't you ever tell us?" Mikey asked, voice wet and wobbly from crying. "Why didn't Splinter??"

"I can't say why the rat --" he paused, cleared his throat. They dead deserved more respect than that. "...Why Splinter didn't tell you beforehand. I didn't even know he knew. But I hadn't told you because I saw no reason to."

"No reason?!" Donatello gawked. "They're our secret family members!"

"Yeah, do you have ANY IDEA how many family members we have?!" Leo added. "Zero! And now we have two?! This is kind of a BIG DEAL, BARRY!"

"Technically, we always had two secret family members but --"

"Not the time for grammatical correction, Dee."

"Would you allow me to continue?" Draxum yelled over the argumentative boys.

The room fell silent.

"Thank you. The main reason I never told you was... because they are... dead."

Leo's hands, which had been folded together and holding his chin up, fell to his sides as his eyes widened.

"Dead? How?"

"It's a long story," Draxum began, taking one of the many sheets and passing it around the table. "When you were first mutated, I also mutated a fifth turtle, though she was contained in a separate tank. During the destruction of my lab, I managed to escape with her while your father escaped with you. Three years later, with my lab restored, I began my research again and decided to try mutating a sixth turtle."

"Our... brother?" Raph asked, pretending to read a sheet full of medical notes and toxicology readings he didn't understand at all.

"Yes," Draxum nodded. "Though, technically, he is your half-brother."

"How does that work?" Mikey asked.

"I didn't have any DNA remnants of Lou Jitsu left, so I had to find the next best warrior to use," Draxum explained, gesturing to himself. "So I used my own DNA for the recreated formula. I called the two turtles Venus De Milo and Machiavelli."

"But what happened to them?" Mikey asked nervously. "How did they..."

Draxum cleared his throat as he went over the old memories. Even after all these years, they still hurt.

"I was not in the good graces of the public. The Council of Heads disapproved of my illegal genetic experimentations, and as such my work was in danger. The two experiments were in danger. That was when Big Mama showed up."

"Of course she did!" Leo groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "That woman! Pizza supreme, I swear she preys on opportunity like... like a... like a creature that prowls or... something..."

"Do you mind if I go on?" Draxum growled. "As I was saying, she promised to help smooth things over with the council and the public eye if I let her take custody for one of the experiments."

"Why would she want that?" Donnie wondered as he looked over Venus' paperwork. "And why would you agree?

"She said that if she were to truly be in league with me, she'd need an equal share of the project. She argued that it would only solidify her standing with me and make us equal partners with equal footing. And an equal portion of responsibility and investment in the project. And I had no choice, I needed her sway with the community. She took Venus from me, and I never saw her again. Big Mama was only meant to keep her for three years, but when the time came she told me that Venus had died from complications due to the mutation."

"Was that true?" Raph asked.

"I don't know, I never found out. If it was false, Big Mama made her virtually invisible. I've no idea of what became of Venus. But after that, I became far more protective of Machiavelli. I trained him, schooled him, kept him safe from prying eyes. And as time went on, he became very important to me. I was invested in his wellbeing, and... and..."

Michelangelo perked up, seeing a familiar but rare side of Draxum show itself. A softened expression, a gentleness in his voice. A deep and harrowed regret.

"You... you loved him, didn't you?" the box shell turtle asked. "He became like a son to you, didn't he?"

Draxum nodded sadly.

"But I was a warmongering fool back then. Afraid and angry, I projected my frustrations out onto Machiavelli. I tried to mold him into a warrior, but he... he wasn't like that, he was kind and... you all would have liked him." Draxum smiled, turning to look at each of the boys. "He was creative, smart, loved playing games and making jokes... And despite my ignorance, he saw me as a father."

Leo glanced from a sheet containing science-y mumbo-jumbo back to the disgraced baron. He looked so old, so tired. In his hands, he clutched a secret and sacred doll. Leo's gaze rose from the hidden treasure back up to Draxum's face, which was clouded over with old grief.

"What happened to him, Barry?" Leo asked cautiously. "What happened to Machiavelli?"

Draxum squeezed the handmade doll. His brow furrowed, his jaw hardened. His voice was low as he forced the words out.

"...It was a few years ago. One night, we had an argument over training. I don't remember exactly what was said, only that we fought over his purpose. I was adamant that his destiny was to be a soldier, nothing more, and I said as much. I told him we'd discuss it further in the morning. But that night... the lab... there was an explosion, and... his bedroom was right beneath... he didn't make it out."

The room was silent. Draxum sat, twiddling his thumbs as he thought of his son's face. There were no pictures, no images, no drawings left to depict him. Only this doll, made in his image as a gift for his father. But he didn't need any reminders. He remembered him perfectly. He remembered it all.

"...How long ago was this?" Donatello asked.

"...Almost three years ago, by now," Draxum whispered.

"An explosion in your lab that occured over two years ago," Donnie repeated. "This... this wouldn't have happened to be during a stand-off between you and four mutant turtles, would it?"

Draxum stayed silent. He knew this was coming. Hence why he never brought it up. He felt every eye on him. He couldn't answer. Yet they needed one. He slowly nodded.

"...So it was... our fault?" Raph asked, voice low and hushed. "The lab explosion we caused... it was because of us he died?"

"No," Draxum assured them, finally looking up. "It was my fault. If I had not been so stubborn and had let go of my irrational hatred of the humans, none of that would have happened. I would never had created the oozesquitos, nor kidnapped the agent Mayhem, and none of the events that followed would have come about. It was not your fault. It was only mine."

Mikey stood up and rushed over to Draxum's side, wrapping his arms around him and crying into his robe.

"I'm sorry," Mikey whimpered. "I'm sorry that happened..."

"And I am sorry I did not tell you about your sister and half-brother sooner," Draxum sighed. "I wasn't sure how to bring it up. And... I was not ready to reopen old wounds."

"I guess it's okay," Leo grumbled, waving his hand at Draxum. "I'm glad you told us now, at least."

"It would have been cool to have more siblings, though," Raph smiled. "I wonder if I'd still be oldest..."

"According to these, 'Venus' was older than you," Donatello read aloud. "And Machiavelli was born three years after our mutation--"

"Wait, this means I have a younger brother?! I'm not the youngest??" Mikey exclaimed.

"You're still the youngest, Mikey," Donnie explained.

"Nuts."

"This might be a dumb question, but are you sure that they're dead?" Leo asked, scanning the sheets over again. "I mean, plot twists seem to be a running theme in our family. Could they still be alive?"

"It's possible that Venus might be alive," Draxum shrugged. "Big Mama is nothing if not a swindler and a liar."

"What about Machiavelli?" Mikey wondered. "Could he have made it out?"

"I don't see how," Draxum answered dejectedly. "I barely made it out alive. With no warning, and his room directly underneath... no. If he had survived, I would have found him by now. And... it's too late. Three years have weathered away any hope I had."

"You never know," Mikey offered. "I mean... it's possible, right?"

Baron Draxum knew this was a vain hope, one he didn't have the strength to allow any indulgence in.

"I do not wish to give myself false hope for what I know to be a fantasy," Draxum scolded. "But..."

But... he could hope, nonetheless. And perhaps one day, he really would see his son once more.

@sariphantom

(While I don't actually accept the whole Splinter's death from the anniversary comic as canon, I only accept it in this AU universe because it allows for Draxum to finally tell his kids about his other kids)

[humanelemental]

Ok but picture this, Agatha goes on a life death?changing field trip with Billy. Probably they find Tommy and Wanda, and Wanda restores Agatha’s body since she kind of saved both her kids.

Rio expects Agatha to run as soon as her feet physically hit solid ground again, but she just…doesn’t. Like Rio shows up and is all, “what’s it going to be? Where are you going to run this time coward???”

And Agatha just looks at her, looks around, looks at her and is like, “did I not tell you to fix my damn yard?”

Rio is stunned. Like of all the responses. And Agatha is being (mostly) serious. She clearly expects Death (capital D) to do her damn landscaping. And before Rio can figure out how to react, Agatha is like, “that includes my door and sink. Who tf throws the actual kitchen sink at someone. It’s supposed to be a figure of speech, you overgrown hipster!” And just throws her hands in the air and starts towards the house. Rio is so flabbergasted that she just leaves for a bit. But not before fixing the door. Every time she comes back she expects Agatha to be gone, but nope, there she is, inexplicably hanging out in New Jersey. Sometimes she’s teaching the boys. Sometimes she and Wanda are having philosophical arguments (aka she’s also teaching Wanda but neither is willing to admit it. Rio refuses to leave until Wanda does on those occasions.)

Occasionally she takes trips to other places for various reasons. She nails a note to the door specifically for Rio with detailed instructions for Señor Scratchy and a plea to leave her damn azaleas alone. (Rio does not, and Agatha often comes home to a well fed bunny and man-eating flowers. How one makes azaleas man-eating is anyone’s guess, but Agatha’s money is on semi-divine spite.) Every time she returns to find Rio sulking on the porch. Which is odd because sometimes she has to rush out of the house to get in position. Like Agatha has started to walk up her driveway and seen Rio fling herself out the door and onto the front steps to glare at her. (Señor is a very relaxing bunny and sometimes Rio loses track of time ok.) Neither of them discuss this beyond Agatha rolling her eyes and inviting her back in for a drink or dinner or what have you.

This continues for a truly obnoxious amount of time until Rio finally decides that Agatha is done hiding from her and decides to become the biggest nuisance in existence. Agatha is always annoyed but she never sends Rio away. The worst she does is bitch and moan, and occasionally throw something at her ex-maybe current-wife. If she’s doing something truly important, or, more often, if it looks like Rio is thinking a little too hard about murdering the twins, she’ll tell her to go play somewhere else for a bit. Rio always snarls and growls but she usually heads off for a couple of days. The problem is almost always that she’s either bored or stressed. She always finds herself back in Westview to annoy Agatha eventually. (Sometimes if she’s in a very good mood, Rio will help with the twins’ lessons. But don’t tell anyone.)

Eventually they settle into what everyone else can tell is a relationship, but which they both firmly deny is anything more than a convent arrangement. They make this everyone’s problem, in true agathario fashion, but no one seems to really mind.

Idk, just something I have rattling around in my head.

[owlespresso]

dogged pursuit. dr veritas ratio. part 6 of ? / other parts summary: you’ve been appointed as the bodyguard of one doctor veritas ratio after a failed attempt on his life. he’s easy to get along with, so long as you learn when to plug your ears and focus on his washboard abs. tags. violence. filth below the tag. not beta'd.

When they assigned you the post of Veritas Ratio’s bodyguard, you expected a light workload. But it’s still been kind of boring. You can’t outright say you want your charge to be attacked by the enemy, but you feel like you’re missing out on chances to impress him. He lets you into his bed but the truth is, you are at your core a slavering beast. There’s no higher privilege than to commit violence in his name. In his honor.

So, when the chance does come, can anyone fault you for being a little too enthusiastic?

It’s a bustling night on Orchestron-IIV. The pleasure district is the last place he wanted to go, but you badgered him into it. The luxury villas and safe streets of the expat district are stagnant. They don’t hold a candle to the chaotic thrumming of the Magnolia–the part of the island where locals and tourists alike come to get in touch with their inner animal. 

It’s also a valuable opening for the opportunistic little weasel that’s been eyeing your villa for the past few weeks. You’re not sure who sent him. You don’t care. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he’d show himself tonight. 

He does, of course. You’ve got good instincts. The blood in the water can be miles away, but you’ll still hone in on it. 

It happens in a dark, cramped alleyway. You taste the metal of the knife on the air before you see him, hear the slight twitch of his boot against the gravel. The fight lasts for less than thirty seconds. Ratio watches you kick his blade far into the dark with an air of practiced neutrality, languid in the way he inspects the cretin you’ve pinned to the wet pavement. 

You wallop him twice on each side of the head for good measure, watch his eyes roll like water spirals down the train, feel the softness of his temple against your eager fists. Then you get him turned over with a few good kicks to his ribs. He shouts, but it’s cut off as you force his face into the cold concrete. Once you’ve had your fill, you stand with one of your boots on his wrist. You’re kneeled over him, his other arm caged by your knee. The fine silver of your hidden blade kisses the unblemished skin of his throat. Maybe you should have choked him for good measure. Given him a good shake. 

“I assume you’ve learnt your lesson?” Veritas’s voice breaks you from your careful contemplation. “...So, who sent you?”

“Call off your dog,” the man chokes. 

“Mm, no, I don’t think I will,” Veritas answers, the coldest you’ve ever heard him. You grind your heel into the man’s wrist, feel the bone creak in protest under your boot. He hisses out in pain, fingers curling, legs twitching as he debates whether a continued struggle would be worthwhile. “I’ll ask again—who sent you? Think very carefully before you answer.”

“Fuck you,”

“Incorrect. Zero points,” Veritas sighs, “If this is the best they could send, I doubt we have much to worry about,” He looks at you meaningfully. You give him a smile full of teeth, wind your leg back, and sail the metal tip of your boot into the bastard’s skull. Not enough to break his neck. Just enough to render him an unconscious, bloodied heap. You like it when you communicate without words. It makes you feel closer to him.

You absentmindedly kick some pebbles around while Veritas dials a number and has a quick discussion–probably contacting his IPC goonies. They’ll come collect this poor scrap of a man and work the information out of him real quick. Nothing you couldn’t have done, but you like to think he’s sparing you the effort. 

The encounter is over but your blood still rushes in your ears, and your hands twitch. Veritas is wearing a darker number, today. 

As soon as he hangs up, you’re on him. You cage him up against the wall, lips attached to the pale column of his throat and he sighs, like he’s annoyed. His big hands find your hips, but he doesn’t push you away. He only squeezes in warning.

“Control yourself,” he says, and you know he’s grimacing even though you can’t see his face. You lovingly retread old ground with your teeth, gnaw a new bruise into his skin. He makes a shaky sound at that, hands gripping you tighter. “You are not some rutting animal and we are not doing this here!” 

“Doc, c’mon,” you whine, desperate fingers tugging his shirt free from where it’s tucked into his belt. You don’t like him in suits. You like him in the flowy, free things from his homeland. “Didn’t I do good for you?” You shove your hands beneath his shirt and feel the strong wall of his abdomen twitch under your greedy ministrations. He exhales. You nose the spot where his jaw meets his ear, draw the smell of him deep into your lungs. “Tell me I did good, Veritas. I don’t ever ask for anything.”

His cock springs free from his trousers, flushed and pink and perfect. He’s already erect, the slight curve of him standing tall against his clothed tummy. The broad head already weeps with precum and you coo, hopelessly endeared. You cup him in your hand and he hisses, but doesn’t try to stop you. 

“You insatiable beast. If you’ve done any good, you are ruining it with this behavior.” He glares, but it’s a watery kind of look that’s just for show. A token show of resistance because his pride won’t let him admit that this is what he wants. That’s fine, because you know how to read him by now. As close as a bodyguard can be. 

“Wow. Did you get hard watching me beat that guy up?” you ask, and don’t wait for an answer before putting your mouth on him. Maybe, if you were more patient and less single minded, you could have teased him a little. Pressed kitten-soft kisses to his tip. But you aren’t possessed of a delicate touch.

You pull half of his length into your waiting mouth and hollow your cheeks. He gasps, hips making an aborted little thrust. His fingers curl into your hair, desperate for any form of purchase. Your eyes flutter shut as you taste the salt and sweat of his skin, humming low in your throat as you work him deeper. He’s weighty on your tongue–you have to really open up to fit him. 

If you were in a better place, you’d hold him there for a few minutes, maybe. Just to see how whiny and desperate he’d get. But the evening crowds are still milling around only a few yards away. 

“Hurry up!” he hisses, and you reward his brattiness by hollowing your cheeks. He makes a helpless, punched out sort of noise as you work him, wet mouth milking his thick, throbbing cock for all it has. His inner thigh is warm against the flat of your palm. You want to feel his skin. You want to shove his trousers down and feel the soft backs of his thighs over your shoulders. 

He’s getting impatient, though. He’s kind enough to keep a steady, mild pace as he fucks your mouth in earnest. You slick your tongue along the underside of him, coo and hum around his erection like you’re praising him. Like you’re proud of him. His back arches, nice tailored suit grinding into the wall behind him. 

You look up, and admire the forming, shapeless blues and pinks that mottle his skin. You just barely hear his nails scratching at the exposed brick behind him. He starts to lose all that good sense he’s so proud of, hips jerking helplessly into your waiting mouth. The muscles of your forearms flex as you pin his hips in place. You take him in deep, take him in relentlessly and press the flat of your tongue hard against his cock. The friction has him bucking, smothering soft sounds into his sleeve.

You can’t see it, but you imagine his stomach tensing and feel his knees begin to shake. It’s so cute, cute, cute–you can’t stand it. You want him cumming, you want him ruined. White hot adrenaline seizes you as you grab his hips and drag him forward. He nearly toppled, his shout ringing down the length of the alleyway. He catches himself with a hand on your head, gritting his teeth as he starts to fuck your mouth in earnest. 

His pace loses sync as he gets hot on the heels of his orgasm. That scholarly composure shatters. He cums with a pathetic, watery keen. Rivulets of warm release fill your mouth and stream down your throat. You swallow around him, let him fuck your mouth through the thick of his peak despite the way your throat aches and protests. 

You only let him go once he has nothing left to give. You pop off of his flagging cock with a lewd, wet sound and rise to look at him close. There’s a visible sweat along his brow, his pupils blown wide. He’s dazed. It takes him a full second to realize you’re here, and you’re lookin’ real close at him. He presses his back against the wall and schools his face into that irritated glower. The typical dignity associated with that expression is lost, considering the obvious flush painted across his pale cheeks. 

“T-there. Are you satisfied now?” he harrumphs, but his voice shakes. like you didn’t just give him the best blowjob of his life.

You’re not annoyed. You feel feverish, kind of, looking at the handsome planes of his face with a newfound, and perhaps manic kind of concentration. And oh– “Are you cryin’?” you ask, incredulous. ‘Cause there are tears on those pretty lashes of his. Pretty as morning dew. He opens his mouth, likely to deliver some sort of fuming retort, but you shove even closer, pinning him bodily to the wall. He could toss you off if he wanted, easy as cake. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you with rabbit wide eyes. “Seriously,” you whine, hands coming up to cup his cheeks. “When did you get so cute, Doc? It’s not fair, it just ain’t!”

“If I am crying, it is because I’m mourning all the time we’ve wasted here!” he fumes, finally finding the gumption to give you a hearty shove. You stumble backwards as he redoes his belt and fixes his slacks, unable to suppress a slight shiver. It takes a saintly amount of patience and restraint to not surge forward and put your hands on him again. “The pickup will be here for him in a few minutes. Wait for them. I’ll meet you back at the villa once you’ve finished.” He kicks off the wall, stomping down the alley. To the unaccustomed passerby, he might look undeniably upset, peeved even. But you’re not too worried. 

You can tell he’s not mad, ‘cause the tops of his ears are totally flushed. 

[crystallinekitties]

hello graha artists and scholars: graha's hair discussion! (partial hc in here)

i simply noticed his braid was thicker and longer in enw than the character creator hair he had in arr so i needed to discuss why.

the arr hair and the exarch hair are the same hair, but for whatever reason the exarch was given a different highlighting pattern than the CC hair, which would make you think the hair model itself would be different but it is not!

arr graha:

a note i didn't make on the image was the fact that because the arr braid is more one whole polygon, i'd say it is more akin to a fishtail braid. how he did a tight fishtail himself, good question, man's dedicated to making his hair much more complicated than it needs to be if his oh-so-cool warrior of light will see it. he makes it tight for bow/arrow retrieving practicality.

(and a personal hc is that he also goes for a braid instead of a ponytail because a braid can be a lot less tension on the scalp/ more evenly distributed tension, being a reliever for his chronic migraines) -- ((im sure i will eventually make a text post just going in depth about all three grahas' disabilities because i feel people see it obviously in the exarch but forget the invisible disabilities enw and arr graha have as well)

moving onto his bangs though, why keep them long if he's a bowman? he says he was bullied for his odd colored eyes, hence he covers the more jarring color with his bangs.

enw graha:

looking at the way his enw braid is sectioned off more and looser makes me think it's a standard three strand braid. it makes sense he's being a bit more practical, he doesn't have time to do a fancy braid but still wants to look nice. he doesn't need to worry about a bow and arrow anymore so he grows his hair out a bit more, likely puts it in a ponytail on lazier days.

he puts his hair into fancy little pins and pushes it from his eyes: this is more a character design choice to show he's opened up more since being a cloistered scholar. he looks wide awake! in universe though (hc) it was absolutely a tataru fashion choice that he adopted.

exarch graha:

now do i think the exarch is doing a fishtail braid in the morning? no not really. i don't think he honestly has the finger dexterity for it in his crystal hand. it's visually the same as the arr braid though, so what? fishtail on days lyna helps him cause he needs to look cute for his warrior -- twist or ponytail any other day. he doesn't need to worry about it being tight or short, i think he just leaves it short because it's easier to manage and stay under a hood.

why keep the bangs long if he's trying to keep his hair from coming out under the hood? that's a good ass hood tbh he's good at keeping it from peeking. but beyond that, i believe it's still his attempt to hide. he covers his eyes so if anyone peeks under the hood they see white hair first, not the blaring red eyes. he's supposed to be a warm and inviting (if not mysterious) figure to his people and to the scions. looking back at arr graha, he covers his red eye because it's jarring, so he continues to cover his eye even after losing the hood to maintain some of that warmness.

ok thanks that's all - add your own HCs i would love to hear them <33333

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 14

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

WARNING: TW/Mentions of past Suicidal ideations

First - Prev - Next

CH.14

“You’re just going to give him free reign of the house?”

“I did not think you of all people would have a problem with this, you were the one who expressed the most disapproval with keeping him in the containment unit.”

“Yes, but wasn’t your main concern that he would leave?”

“Fiddleford, he was homeless. Where else is he going to go?”

“Well there is that Rick character he keeps mentioning…”

“You sound a bit on edge, do you remember him from Backupsmore?”

“Remember him?”

“Do you remember Diane Sanchez? He’s her husband- well, he was her husband.”

“I’m afraid the name doesn’t ring a bell…”

“Hmm, I’m not surprised, engineering wasn’t her major. Regardless, you’re better off having not met him. I don’t believe we have to worry about him. He is… very far away.”

“And Stan has no hard feelings towards you?”

“On one hand, he tells me he believes I’m only keeping here as part of an elaborate, delusional grieving process, and he will ‘play along’ however long that process takes. On the other hand, he wrote ‘Look what I did to your other hand’ on my hand in marker while I was asleep, and on quite literally the other hand he drew a turkey. Fiddleford, stop laughing.”

“I wouldn’t call that malicious, but it certainly explains why you decided to keep your gloves on outside of the lab. And he agreed we could continue to study his memory loss?”

“Yes, he did - I assume that’s what you two were discussing earlier?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You were up in the attic with him for at least an hour this morning, I assume you were conducting another interview? Locking the door was a bit excessive but without a neurology or psychology degree myself I am in no place to question your methods.”

“Interview-? Oh, um, yes. Interviewing. That’s exactly what we were doing. And nothing else.”

“Of course. Now- do you know where he is? I need to talk to him about an upcoming Cryptid Hunt.”

“You’re going to take him with you?”

“I was hoping both of you would accompany me actually. But if he will not, I’d need you to stay back here with him if you wouldn’t-”

“I wouldn’t mind none.”

“Thank you for your patience and understanding Fiddleford, I’m glad I was correct in my assumption that you’d be the best suited to assist me.”

“Any of our other colleagues woulda called the cops on your presumptuous behind.”

“...I know, and I am grateful you didn’t. Now, where is he?”

“Last I saw him was in the attic trying to cover up the window with a sheet - some type of paranoia? And I heard him come downstairs a few minutes ago but I haven’t seen him. If I were to take a guess though, he most likely went through that hatch leading to the platform on your roof - it’s still open.”

“What? Stanley can’t be on the roof, he’s afraid of heights.”

*Stan abruptly drops from the hatch, landing on his feet*

“Guys you won’t believe this but some dude in a giant moth costume just flew by- woah, you alright there PhD? You look like you already saw a ghost.”

(...)

*a series of clicking noises and hoots*

“Antenna curling! That's his tell! I fold.”

“Sorry, Stanley, but it appears Mothman was bluffing.”

“What? I had 4 aces! That moth is a wizard! Guess it’s up to you to win this for us, Doc.”

*Mothman takes a bite out of a wool cardigan, Fiddleford nearby with no chips angrily crosses his arms*

“...He's mocking me.”

“I was cheating the last 8 turns, too.”

“Stanley, for shame.”

“What? I already folded. This cheater didn’t prosper.”

(...)

“Good on you for winning, Stanford.”

“Of course, I’m just sorry that I couldn’t win before he took more bites out of your cardigan.”

“Good thing I had this flashlight to distract him, he really is a moth.”

“...Did you steal that from my coat closet?”

“Yes.”

“What else did you steal?”

“Well it’s a good thing Mothman didn’t have any money on him ‘cause you wouldn’t have anywhere to put it.”

“Give me back my wallet, Stanley.”

“Poor sport.”

(...)

“D-E-F-P-O-T-E-C”

“Now use both eyes, what’s the smallest line you can read?”

“Line ten. L-E-F-O-D-P-C-T.”

“Oculus dexter and oculus sinister are both 20/20, but your oculus uterque is 20/15.”

“Look we’ve been at this snail chart-”

“Snellen chart.”

“Whatever, we’ve done this like five times. What’s the point? I already told you I don’t need glasses.”

“It just doesn’t make sense… We’re identical, your visual acuity should be 20/40 or above because years of straining would make your vision even worse than mine.”

“I dunno what you want me to tell you PhD, my eyes are fine.”

“...Did Sanchez have something to do with this?”

“Sanc-.”

“Rick Sanchez. I know that’s the Rick you’ve off-handedly mentioned several times.”

“How can you be so sure? It’s a pretty common name.”

“Because you would be familiar with that egotistical, destructive, jaded, cynical-”

“Okay so you do know Rick. And yeah, we ran in the same circle for a bit, what about it?”

“He was always doing morally questionable experiments-”

“That’s funny coming from you.”

“-but altering physiology was something he had a special interest in. Did he give you some form of eye surgery or technological implant?”

“You think I’d let that nihilistic asshole near my eyes while I was passed out… or awake? Hell no. I don’t remember ever having vision problems. The closest he ever came to ‘altering’ me or whatever the fuck you’re tweaking about was help me steal a bunch of pills from the Galac-the government.”

“You- Why did you steal pills?”

“I couldn’t get decent sleep, and after getting my stomach pumped it’s not like any doctor was ever going to give me ambien or anything stronger ever again. Also, to stick it to the man.”

“... Stanley, did you- did you overdose on ambien?”

“Twice.”

“... Was it on purpose?”

“... Once. Only once. Don’t-. Don’t look at me like I’m a kicked puppy. I know it’s messed up. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I did it to myself, it isn’t anyone else’s fault. And I dunno what the fallout of your separation ten years ago was like, but no matter what happened this definitely wasn't your fault.

Look, if it makes you feel better, whatever you and specs have been spiking into my food and water has been working pretty great. I’m getting way better sleep here than I have in years.”

“We have not been putting drugs into your food or water.”

“If you say so, Doc.”

To be continued…

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - Pride

Summary - She confesses her impending marriage, but he won't let her go easily. To prove his claim, he unleashes a relentless pursuit of pleasure, his lips and tongue determined to make her forget. As his touch consumes her, she's left breathless, torn between duty and his passion.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (oral f!receiving)

Word count - 2130

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"I am to be married," I whispered, my voice barely audible, but the confession did nothing to deter him.

His lips continued their relentless journey down the side of my neck, his breath hot against my skin.

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the sensations he coaxed from my body with such ease as if he knew every secret path to my desire. My pulse quickened, betraying my attempts at resistance.

"To whom?" he asked, his tone calm and almost disinterested, as though we were merely discussing trivialities like the weather or idle gossip.

"Cregan Stark," I managed to murmur, barely able to focus as his fingers deftly worked at the laces of my gown, loosening the ties that kept me covered.

"A northern brute," he scoffed, his hand slipping around my waist with a firm grip that both thrilled and unnerved me.

In one swift motion, he turned me to face him. His gaze burned into mine, dark and possessive, leaving me breathless as he laid me down onto the bed behind us.

His movements were deliberate, almost agonizingly slow, as he peeled the dress from my body, layer by layer, exposing more of my skin to the cool air—and to him.

"Does he know you're already spoiled?" His voice was a low, teasing growl, filled with mockery.

The words, sinful and heavy, came as his teeth grazed the tender skin of my inner thigh, sending jolts of pleasure through me.

I gasped, my fingers tangling in his silver locks, pulling him closer.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," I murmured breathlessly, my defiance dissolving under the heat of his mouth as he descended between my thighs.

The moment his lips met my core, I could no longer hold back the soft moans escaping my lips.

He moved with expert precision, his tongue and lips working together in perfect harmony—licking, sucking, tasting.

I could feel the tight coil of pleasure building inside me, overwhelming me with each stroke of his tongue.

My fingers raked through his hair, clutching tightly as the sensations coursed through me, a wave of heat and need.

His hands gripped my thighs, preventing me from closing them, holding me open and vulnerable to his every move.

My legs rested over his shoulders as he devoured me with such skill it drove me to the edge of madness.

I bit down hard on my lower lip, struggling to suppress the sounds of pleasure spilling from my mouth.

My back arched off the bed, and I felt myself unravelling, the pressure building inside me unbearable as his mouth moved deeper, hungrier.

He was merciless, and I was lost in the storm he created within me, no longer caring about promises, duties, or the name I had whispered earlier.

All that existed was the pleasure, the undeniable pull of his touch, and the way he claimed every inch of me.

His mouth was relentless as it moved between my thighs, claiming me with an intensity that made my entire body tremble.

His tongue teased and coaxed, stroking me to the edge of pleasure again and again, while his lips sucked at my most sensitive spot, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my core.

My hands fisted the sheets, my breath coming in shallow gasps, my mind clouded by the overwhelming sensations he dragged out of me.

Each flick of his tongue, every teasing suck, was another step toward losing myself entirely.

My legs trembled, barely able to stay over his broad shoulders, but his firm grip on my thighs kept me open and exposed to him.

He wouldn't allow me to hide from the pleasure he was giving me.

I moaned loudly, my back further arching off the bed as I struggled against the onslaught of sensation.

There was no mercy in the way he worked me, his mouth intent on nothing but my undoing.

The world around me disappeared; there was only him and the fire building inside me, threatening to consume me completely.

His tongue moved deeper, his pace quickening as my body shook beneath him. I was on the verge of shattering, my mind lost to the pleasure that seemed to roll through me in endless waves.

Just when I thought I couldn't take any more, when the pleasure teetered on the edge of unbearable, he pulled away, leaving me gasping and trembling on the brink of release.

His breath was hot against my inner thigh as he chuckled softly, a low, dangerous sound that made my pulse quicken.

He lifted his head, his silver hair wild from where my fingers had tugged at it, his eyes dark with desire.

He pressed a final, lingering kiss to my thigh before raising himself over me, his body hovering inches above mine.

He smirked, his thumb brushing across my swollen lips, swollen from biting back the screams of pleasure.

Without warning, he pushed it past them, his eyes darkening as I instinctively sucked, the taste of his skin mixing with the lingering heat that pulsed through me.

My breath hitched, and he chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating between us.

His fingers trailed down my body, teasing my folds, stroking me with maddening gentleness.

I trembled, my body betraying me as I arched into his touch, desperate for more. He watched me intently, a predator savouring his prey.

"Tell me," he whispered, his voice a mix of command and seduction, "how do you think your northern brute will feel when he discovers his bride-to-be has already been ruined? Or perhaps he won't care."

I moaned softly around his thumb, unable to form words as my body responded to the pleasure he expertly coaxed from me.

His fingers played with my most sensitive parts, keeping me on edge, just out of reach of release. His thumb pressed deeper into my mouth, silencing me, owning me.

"Maybe he won't even notice," he mused, his thumb slipping free from my mouth, wet with my saliva, "or maybe you'll just lie there, thinking of me, wishing it was my mouth on you instead of his."

I trembled beneath him, my body aching with the need he had so expertly awakened in me.

His words were like a challenge, daring me to deny the truth of what was happening, what I was feeling. But I couldn't deny it.

Not when my body still hummed with the pleasure of his touch, and the taste of him lingered on my lips.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against my ear.

"But if you asked," he murmured, his voice dark and seductive, "if you begged me to take you away from all of this... from him... I would. I'd make you my wife. I'd claim you completely, and no one—least of all that northern fool—would ever touch you again."

The weight of his body hovered above me, and I could still feel the pulse of my racing heart in my ears, the remnants of his earlier touch leaving my skin hot and flushed.

His offer, still fresh in my mind, lingered like forbidden fruit—dangerous, tempting.

He could take me away, make me his, and destroy everything I was bound to. All I had to do was surrender, to let myself fall completely.

But I knew, deep down, that I wouldn't. And neither would he—not without my permission.

"You know I would never ask that," I whispered, my breath catching as the words left my lips.

I looked into his eyes, their depths filled with a mixture of lust and something darker. His body remained still, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him, his lips hovering just inches from mine.

"And I know," I continued, my voice soft but steady, "that you would never do it without being asked. We're both too proud for that, aren't we?"

His expression shifted slightly, and then a low, deep laugh rumbled from his chest.

It was dark, full of amusement and something rawer, more primal. His eyes gleamed with desire as his smirk widened, lips curling into that wicked grin that made my stomach tighten.

"Too proud," he echoed, his voice rich with irony. His fingers ghosted over my bare skin, trailing from my collarbone down to the curve of my waist, sending shivers across my body.

Every touch felt deliberate, calculated to make me want more. "Pride can be a dangerous thing. It keeps us from asking for what we truly want."

His words were like fire, igniting something deep inside me, but I wasn't ready to give in so easily.

My lips curved into a teasing smile of my own, defiant and playful.

"Maybe," I purred, my voice daring, "depending on how good you make me feel tonight... I might consider it."

I watched the shift in his expression, the way the playful amusement in his eyes darkened, replaced with raw, unfiltered hunger.

It was as though my words had sparked something inside him—a challenge he intended to meet head-on.

He arched a brow, his smirk still in place as though my offer was insignificant, but the tension in the air said otherwise.

Without a word, he shrugged nonchalantly, as though my challenge didn't faze him in the slightest.

But the glint in his eyes told me differently—he was more than ready to prove me wrong.

Without hesitation, he buried his face between my thighs once again, his breath hot and teasing as it brushed over my sensitive skin.

A sharp gasp escaped me as his lips found my core, soft yet commanding, every touch sending sparks through my body.

His mouth closed over me, his tongue flicking out with a precision that made me moan instantly, my fingers reaching down to grab at his silver hair once more.

But this time, there was no mercy in the way he devoured me.

He wasn't teasing, wasn't playing with the idea of giving me release—he was determined to make me fall apart, piece by piece.

His tongue moved in long, deliberate strokes, each one hitting perfectly, drawing sounds from me that I could no longer control.

I arched my back, my thighs trembling as I fought to keep still, but the pleasure was too intense.

His hands gripped my hips firmly, pulling me closer to his mouth, holding me in place as his tongue swirled and flicked with expert precision.

He knew exactly how to touch me, exactly where to press, exactly how to make me unravel beneath him.

The heat between my legs grew unbearable as his tongue traced every inch of my most sensitive spot, sucking and licking with such skill that I couldn't hold back the moans spilling from my lips.

Each sound seemed to fuel him, his tongue working faster, harder until the pressure building inside me became too much to bear.

"Gods," I gasped, my fingers tightening in his hair as my body trembled uncontrollably.

He didn't stop—his mouth only became more insistent, his tongue delving deeper as his lips wrapped around me, sucking with a hunger that left me breathless.

I cried out, the sound raw and desperate, my back arching off the bed as my legs shook.

My body was on fire, consumed by the pleasure he was dragging out of me with every flick of his tongue, every press of his lips.

My mind was a blur, my thoughts drowned out by the raw need he had unleashed.

I could feel the tension building again, higher and higher, threatening to tear me apart.

My legs trembled on either side of his head, my hips grinding helplessly against his mouth, seeking more, always more.

He was relentless, his grip tightening on my thighs as he held me open, his tongue never stopping, never slowing.

I was on the edge, teetering between control and absolute release, and he knew it.

He could feel the way my body was trembling, the way my breath came in short, desperate gasps. He pushed me further, his tongue delving deep inside me, his lips sucking at my swollen heat until—

I shattered.

A scream tore from my lips as the pleasure finally broke through, my body convulsing as the orgasm crashed over me in waves.

My thighs clamped around his head, but he didn't stop.

His tongue continued to work me, drawing out every last drop of my release until I was left trembling and spent beneath him.

My chest heaved, my entire body still tingling from the intensity of what he'd done to me.

He lifted his head slowly, his lips glistening with evidence of my pleasure, his eyes dark and filled with satisfaction as he looked down at me.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, both of us knowing there was nothing left to say.

He had made his point. And I had felt every bit of it.

Then, with a final smirk, he leaned back in, as though ready to do it all over again.

A/n - This is a tad bit choppy but the concept for this was too good not to put out, I might fix it when I have time because I was pretty proud of the idea!

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Chapter 2

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Azriel’s shadows liked to spoil his mate rotten.

Not that Azriel could find anything wrong with that.

She deserved more for putting up with him. 

More than new tea from the Dawn Court and her favourite chocolate covered, wafer thin cookies from a small bakery near the Sidra…more than the occasional embroidery thread they snuck her…More than whatever animal he went to go hunt, to cover his bed in even more furs just for her. 

He nearly had enough Sable furs to have a blanket made for her for Winter Solstice…

Azriel also had half a mind to go sneak in her office later that day. 

Just as a treat for not killing either of his brothers. For being civil. 

Rhys had come over for sparring, unnannounced. 

Azriel had hoped to have some peace and quiet today, but it seemed like Rhys had other plans. 

Currently Cassian and Rhys were wrestling with less sense than they had had when they were just kids, and Azriel was cleaning his weapons, watching from the sidelines.

Azriel couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight of his brothers roughhousing. It was typical of them to turn a simple sparring session into some kind of ridiculous competition. He focused on sharpening his knives, trying to ignore their antics.

"You know, we could also actually train properly," he called out, his tone dry. "Instead of wrestling like a bunch of children."

Cassian looked up from his grappling with Rhys, grinning. "Oh, come on Az. Don't be such a stick in the mud. Loosen up, have a little fun for once."

Azriel's expression remained impassive. "I'm perfectly capable of having fun, Cassian. But I prefer to do so without rolling around in the dirt like a wild animal."

Rhysand chuckled, standing up and clapping Cassian on the back. "It's good to let loose every now and then, Az. You should try it sometime. It might make your brooding sessions a little less depressing."

Azriel just grunted in response, not willing to engage in a verbal sparring match with Rhys. He continued to clean his weapons, hoping that the training session would end soon so he could escape his brothers' teasing.

“When did you even come home yesterday?” Cassian asked him.

Azriel looked up from his work, his expression neutral. "Around 11," he said simply.

“You didn’t come to dinner,” Rhys pointed out. “You were missed.”

He highly doubted that.

And maybe he had made that mission in Dawn just a little while longer, so that he knew that dinner would be over and when he came home, he wouldn’t need to be alone.

Azriel just shrugged. "I was busy," he said, offering no further explanation. He knew his brothers were just trying to rile him up, and he wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

*Are you still pissed of at me?* Rhys asked him mentally with a sigh. *I get it. But you don’t need to avoid everybody else, just because…*

*I’m not avoiding anyone,* Azriel replied, his mental voice tight. *I’m simply choosing to spend my time how I see fit.*

“I was busy,” he repeated aloud.

Cassian rolled his eyes. "You're always busy, Az. You know, there's such thing as taking a break once in a while. Spending time with your family."

Or he could spent time with his mate. He could spent time with his mate, who let him brush her hair and even braid it …who pressed kisses to his horrible scarred hands and smiled at him. 

If it was a choice between Irena or a family dinner where he didn’t want to stay longer than an hour or two, because he was still too fucking pissed off at Rhys…the choice was easy. 

“Or is there a special somebody?” Cassian teased him.

Azriel glowered at him. "It’s none of your business." He went back to working on his weapons, his expression tense.

*You can’t keep panting after Elain for the rest of your life,* Rhys said mentally. *Look, I know I didn’t…I am sorry. But she’s happy with Lucien and…*

*Don’t worry, I’ll go to a pleasure hall and pay for it if I want to fuck somebody,* Azriel shot back viciously.

Or his own hand would suffice. More than suffice, especially if…especially if Irena had let him kiss her the evening before…sometimes he waited until she disappeared into her room, and he buried his face in the pillows that smelled like her, fisted his cock and rutted like an untried boy for seconds before he came all over himself. 

It was still better than any other sex he ever had had before.

Cassian raised an eyebrow at him. "It sounds like you need to get laid," he said, chuckling. "Maybe that'll help with your bad mood."

Azriel shot him a glare. "Mind your own business, Cassian. My love life is none of your concern."

Rhysand gave him a sympathetic look. *We just want you to be happy, Az. You deserve happiness.*

“Ohhh, touchy,” Cassian said with a snort.

Azriel just gritted his teeth, his temper rising. "Cassian, if you don’t shut your mouth right now, I swear to the Mother, I’ll shut it for you."

Cassian just grinned at him. "Come on, Az. I’m just teasing you. Lighten up."

Azriel's grip on his weapons tightened. "I don't like your teasing, Cassian. And I certainly don't appreciate you making assumptions about my personal life.”

Mostly he just wanted his brothers to leave him the hell alone.

And then...then before he could say another thing...he felt the shaking.

And then the sound came. An eardrum shattering explosion, the very foundation of the House of Wind shaking. It was terrifying him.

Irena was down there in her office. Nesta was in there. 

He was moving before he was even thinking. 

*Merrill's office, Master!* the shadows screeched.

Azriel was already running.

Cassian hot on his heels, so was Rhys.

Azriel was faster, heaving shadows around his limbs as he rocketed down the spiral stairs of the House of Wind.

Level Two, Straight to the right. Clearly...Clearly the epicenter of the blast. Of the explosion…of whatever had happened.

He pushed as hard as he could, legs burning as he hurtled down the hallway to Merrill's office.

He wasn't the only one. "Merrill!" He could hear Gwyn's shrill voice screaming, coming to a stop in a hallway of what had once been Merrill's office but now was just...

It was a mass of wood and rubble.

He barely slowed down, scrambling into action. Gwyn was already digging through it, so where Nesta and Emerie. Cassian landed behind him, immediately moving some of the debris.

His shadows swarmed as he and the others quickly dug at the rubble. Looking, desperately looking.

He moved another piece of rubble out of the way...a piece of blue cloths. The same blue cloth that he knew covered Irena's body, the scent of poppies clinging to her...Without a thought, he grasped and then dragged, a hoarse shout that was her, that was her...

He felt as if he were choking, as if he were drowning as he dragged out her body. Bloody, bruised, broken but still...still there was a faint flicker, a faint, thready heartbeat.

His heartbeat pounding in his ears, he tried to pick up on her heart. There was barely a flicker. Too fast, too faint, she was barely holding on. Barely hanging by a thread.

There was blood pooling on her abdomen, dying the blue dress she wore bright scarlet red, He put pressure on that wound immediately, leaning on her with nearly all his weight, his fingers slick with blood. "Damn it, stay with me, love," he demanded sharply.

Azriel felt like he could barely breath. Like he was falling, tumbling down as he tried to will her to stay with him. Stay. Stay. Stay. Please stay. Stay...

Rhys was there suddenly, checking her pulse. "Breathing is erratic. She's in shock," he told Azriel with a grimace. "Mor is getting Madja..."

"Az..." her voice was so weak, but he turned to see dark brown eyes watching him, brows furrowing.

"Just keep breathing, Love," he told her, trying to stop his voice from shaking.

He could barely hear what was going on around him. It was as if he were in a bubble, a world of just himself and her and the desperate beat of her heart under his fingers.

"I am sorry," she whispered.

"There is nothing you need to apologise for her, Irena," he promised her sharply. "Absolutely nothing."

Irena's eyes drifted shut. Azriel felt like something was dying inside him as her heartbeat fluttered against his fingertips. His world was collapsing, shattering into pieces as her breath stuttered.

"Stay. Just stay..." he was barely aware of what he was saying, his eyes frantically searching hers. She had to stay. He would do anything to keep her here. Anything.

"I am still owing you that flight," he told her. She hadn't let him take her flying yet. They had snuck away in the library...in the rooftop garden...in her office. But he had never gotten to take her flying. He had never gotten to take her out into Velaris. They had never had a date at a fancy restaurant, had never gone to see the symphony. There were thousands of things that he hadn't yet gotten to do with his mate, because they had all the time in the world.

Irena just stared at him, her eyes pleading, as her heartbeat slowed, fluttering weaker and weaker. Azriel felt a sharp pain in his chest as fear clawed at his spine. "Just hold on a little longer, love," he whispered. "Please."

And then there Madja. Thank the cauldron. There she was.

Azriel could barely manage to let go of her, his mind consumed with the singular thought of Irena's laboured, erratic heartbeat as he moved back. Madja immediately set to work.

He lunged for her head, lunged to pull it on his lap, to touch her with blood slick fingertips, her normally rosy red lips pale, her skin even whiter than usual.

"Hurts," she whispered, as Madja set to work, barking orders.

"I know, I know, love," he whispered, touching her cheek with his fingertips as Madja got to work.

His eyes searched hers as he murmured those words over and over, as if he could somehow hold her in this world through sheer force of will alone.

"We haven't had enough time," he whispered desperately, leaning his forehead against hers.

She was slipping away. He could feel it. Feel her slipping, feel her heartbeat slow. Feel the thread that tethered her to this world fray, fray, fray...

No. He couldn't lose her. Would not let her leave him. He had waited far too long for her. Far, far too long to let her slip through his fingers.

"Stay with me," he pleaded. "Please stay with me."

But her eyes were slipping shut, her head lolling to the side. He gently patted her cheek, trying to urge her back to consciousness, but he didn't think he was even really aware of what he was doing, where he was. The world had boiled down to a desperate litany, in his head. Stay...stay...please...don't you dare...

“I am going to be so furious with you if you die. We may have our first fight,” he told her fiercely.

He needed her to know that he would be there to be furious with her if she dared to die, that she couldn't die. Couldn't. That she had to stay. Had to keep fighting. There were too many things ahead of them...a wedding to plan, children to have, years and years of life to live.

“Az,” she breathed his name, her eyes not even open anymore.

“Open your eyes, Irena,” he demanded. “Look at me, love,”

Her eyes finally fluttered open at his command. It was barely more than a slither of brown, but he latched onto it, taking it for what it was. A chance. A moment to get through to her.

He wasn't sure what he was saying, but the words spilled forth from him, a litany, a desperate prayer. "Please," he breathed, "don't go...don't you dare..."

He was dimly aware that the others had gathered, but he didn't dare look away. Didn't dare look away from her as he cradled her head, trying to pour all of his prayers into those words. All of his hope and desperation.

"You can't go." A statement. An order. An absolute certainty in his voice. "I will not let you go."

He wouldn't. Would never, ever let her go. Would drag her back from the Cauldron's grasp with bloodied and broken hands if thats what had to be.

She didn't speak. Didn't need to. He could read her answer in her eyes, the determination in those brown eyes as she tried so, so hard to stay.

It was as if she were holding on for him, because he had asked her to. Because it was him there with her. Like she would fight until her last breath because he told her too. He didn't deserve this beautiful creature, who was willing to fight for him, willing to live for him.

It was something primal, something desperate, something fierce as he whispered those words over and over, like a prayer. "Fight. Fight. Fight."

And she listened. She did. He could feel her hold on, just barely grasp hold of that tether that kept her in this world. Just barely keep her eyes open.

Just look at him.

And she did, those dark eyes unfocused but open, staring up at him, watching him. Trying so, so hard. It nearly made his heart stop in the most terrible way that she was struggling for him.

And he was so proud of her. Of the way she was fighting like she was. Of the way she was grasping, hanging on to life like she was.

The seconds stretched too thin, feeling like eternities and only the slightest of moments. But her eyes were open, if only barely. She hadn't given up. Hadn't let go.

He was dimly aware of the others, Gwyn hovering with a worried expression, Madja murmuring quiet instructions to the others, Rhys kneeling not far away. But he barely glanced at them, barely dared to take his eyes off Irena.

He was certain that if he looked away, if he let this tenuous thread sever, that she would die. That as long as he kept her here, she wouldn't slip, wouldn't let go.

He had one hand on her cheek, her skin still clammy and pale, as her eyes slipped open and shut. But everytime, they would find his face. His eyes, like he was the only thing tethering her to the world. It hurt. Hurt so much to see her barely holding on, only that last sliver of determination keeping her here.

"Please," he pleaded, whispering those words like a prayer, like he would be praying to a vengeful god. Those moments felt like eternities, stretching on and on with only his desperate whispers. "Please..."

The world felt so still, so silent as if the world was holding its breath. Azriel's eyes locked on Irena, silently begging her, asking her to please, please...

Live, live live... he whispered those words over and over, a desperate plea to the Mother, the Cauldron, to anyone who would listen. To Irena, the only person in the entire world who truly mattered in that moment.

Her eyes were growing glassy, slipping closed only to jerk open again. Stay he demanded. Keep looking at me. Please.

She tried. Mother, she tried. Her eyes drifted to him, the smallest hint of life, of a spark there in those dark brown eyes.

He hardly dared to breathe, hardly dared to move. Afraid that any wrong move could tip her over the edge, could pull her into that chasm of non-existence that she was desperately clinging too.

He felt something pricking at his eyes, felt something in his chest cracking, breaking at the sheer intensity of emotions thrumming through him. It hurt. Hurt so much to see her like this, so pale, barely holding on, barely conscious...

“Alright,” Madja said quietly. “Good girl. You were so very brave.”

"Will...will she be alright?" He asked, voice hoarse.

He didn't let his eyes drift from Irena's face, her half lidded eyes staring at him. It filled him with such an intense pang of relief and fear at the same time. Relief, because she was alive...and fear, because they had been so close to losing her.

"She's not out of the woods yet," Madja warned. "But she'll make it. She lost a lot of blood. It will take some time to get her vitals stable again."

He felt like he could breathe for the first time. It was almost dizzying, the sheer, intense relief that flooded through him. Irena was here. Irena would live. It filled his veins with an almost drug like euphoria, that made him light headed, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

He barely managed to keep that feeling in, the pure euphoria from showing as he smoothed a strand of hair back from her face. "Thank you," he whispered, voice hoarse, eyes finally dragging away from Irena's face to look at Madja. "Just...thank you."

He looked back at Irena, taking in her face. Alive. Still alive. Still here with him, not gone. The tension seeped from his shoulders, a strange sort of exhaustion taking over. As if all the adrenaline that had fueled him, the fear, was slowly draining out of him like water.

“Merrill,” Irena whispered, her voice near silent.

Azriel felt his fingers brush her cheek, just the gentlest touch as he tried to keep it together. It had been too close. Too, too close. He couldn't stop the overwhelming feelings flowing through him of elation and fear as he looked down at her as he looked down at her, alive. Alive and breathing and whispering soft words. "Shhh," he whispered softly. "Save your strength. Don't strain yourself."

He looked up finding Cassians gaze who just shook his head. Merrill was dead.

Azriel couldn't quite process that information, not in that moment. His eyes were still drawn to Irena, still unable to take his eyes off of her for more than a moment. His fingers brushed her cheek again, just the faintest touch as he pressed a small kiss to her forehead. "Rest," he instructed softly. "I'll be right there.” He promised.

“Being here to her room,” Madja said quietly.

“My room,” he corrected.

The priestesses dormitory was locked from males. If he even tried to get in there it would’ve end well for him. And he wouldn’t leave her side.

“Your room?” Gwyn asked sharply.

“Gwyn,” Rhys said quietly.Azriel didn't even acknowledge Gwyn's words, didn't have the energy. All he could focus on was the way Irena's eyes had drifted shut, the steady rise and fall of her chest. She would be alright. She was going to be alright. She was alive. Right now, in that moment, thats all that mattered.

“Az, how long have the two of you…” Cassian asked hesitantly.

Azriel just shrugged, his hand resting on Irena's hair, smoothing back from her face. “Two years. She’s my mate,” he said flatly as he gathered her up. 

“Mate,” she rasped. “Mine.”

“Yours,” he agreed softly.

[acknowledge-reigns]

Rivals With Benefits | Jey x Black!fem OC (18+)

Description: Jey and Jax discuss what happens now following their steamy night together

Chapter: 3/5

Face Claim: Ariana Debose.

Warnings: Daddy kink, teasing, playful bickering, fluff.

This is set in an AU in which the og bloodline reunited before wrestlemania 40 and Roman retained. This is the Jey x Jax sequel to Swipe Right. As always my stories are NOT about real people and does not reflect their character. While there is not smut in Chapter 1, there will be in others. This is very much an 18+ BDSM based romance with some comedy thrown in there. This particular story features Jey as a Daddy Dom (Not Mysterio, you fucking nerds 😂) google if necessary and if this isn't for you, please scroll. You have been warned.

Word count: 2,352

My masterlist can be found here

🏷 Taglist: @xbriexx @acute-crashout-jeyuso @romansvrse @justazzi @vampygomez @mselenalovebug @lov3rla03

As the morning sun filtered through the windows, Jey and Jax lay in bed, their bodies tangled together. Jax let out a contented sigh, enjoying the warmth of Jey's toned body against hers.

Jey chuckled at her sigh, holding her close as he looked down at her.

"Last night was fun," he said with a smirk.

Jax smiled up at him, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Just fun?" she teased.

Jey raised an eyebrow at her comment, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, it was definitely something," he replied, his voice dripping with innuendo. He trailed his fingers down her side, enjoying the feel of her skin against his.

Jax shivered at his touch, a thrill running through her body. She knew exactly what he was implying, and the memory of their passionate night together flashed through her mind.

"You're insatiable," she teased.

Jey chuckled again, his fingers continuing to trace patterns on her skin.

"Only when it comes to you," he said, his voice low and seductive. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, his lips lingering on her skin.

Jax's heart fluttered at his words, a sense of excitement building within her. She couldn't help but feel a spark.

She knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't deny the way he made her feel.

As the morning wore on, Jax and Jey continued to lounge in bed, their bodies still tangled together.

They chatted casually, discussing the previous night's events and the future.

But there was an undercurrent of tension between them, an unspoken desire that neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

As the conversation continued, Jax and Jey both found themselves grappling with their feelings.

They knew that they couldn't deny the attraction between them, but neither wanted to commit to anything. Especially not when they don't even truly like each other.

After some back and forth, they came to a decision: they would agree to be friends with benefits.

It was a simple solution, and it allowed them to satisfy their physical needs without the complications of a relationship.

"Except we're not friends. We literally don't even like each other, remember?" Jax said, her tone full of sarcasm and smartassery he'd just love to spank out of her.

Jey rolled his eyes at her comment, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Oh, trust me, I haven't forgotten," he said, his voice dripping with just as much sarcasm.

He leaned in closer to her, his face just inches from hers. "So maybe we're more like.. Ion know. Rivals with benefits." Jey said.

Jax chuckled at his suggestion, the word "rivals" causing a spark of excitement to run through her.

"Rivals with benefits," she repeated, her eyes glinting with amusement. She loved the sound of that. It sounded so naughty, so scandalous.

Jax reluctantly got out of bed, the sheets falling away from her body as she stood up.

She stretched her arms above her head, feeling the ache in her muscles from their previous night's activities.

Jey watched her with an appreciative eye, his gaze lingering on her curves as she gathered her clothes and began to get dressed.

Once she was dressed, Jax turned to Jey, a sly smile on her face.

"Walk me to my car, pretty boy?" she teased, knowing that he wouldn't be able to resist.

Jey rolled his eyes again, but he couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Fine," he said, climbing out of bed and grabbing his shirt from the floor.

He quickly put it on and followed her out of the room, his steps matching hers as they made their way to the front door.

As they walked outside, the morning air was cool against their skin. Jax took a deep breath, enjoying the crispness of the morning.

She could feel Jey's presence beside her, his body heat radiating towards her as they continued towards her car.

They reached her car and Jax turned to face him, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"So, that's it, then?" she asked, leaning against the car door.

Jey smirked and took a step closer to her, closing the distance between them.

He leaned in, his face just inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin.

"For now," he said, his voice low and seductive.

He reached out and traced a finger along her jawline, his touch sending shivers down her spine.

Jax got into her car, feeling a sense of dread wash over her as she tried to start it, but to her dismay, the engine refused to turn over.

She tried again, her heart racing as she realized that her car was dead.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, hitting the steering wheel in frustration.

Jey chuckled as he watched her struggle to start her car.

He leaned against the door, his arms crossed over his chest as he observed her attempts to fix the problem.

"Looks like you're stuck here for a bit," he said, his smirk growing wider.

Jax shot him a glare, her annoyance clear in her expression."You find this funny, don't you?" she asked shooting daggers with those pretty brown eyes he adores.

Jey couldn't help but laugh at her reaction, finding her irritation adorable.

"What can I say? It's entertaining to watch you struggle," he said, his smirk still plastered on his face.

"Fuckin' sadist" Jax rolled her eyes.

"Nah, that's Roman." Jey joked.

"Can't you just drive me home? And I'll have someone come look at the car later." Jax requested.

"On one condition" Jey responded.

Jax raised an eyebrow, a mixture of annoyance and curiosity in her expression.

"What's the condition?" she asked, already dreading his answer.

"Spend the day with me first, and I'll drop you off after dinner." Jey says.

Jax hesitated for a moment, weighing her options.

On the one hand, she didn't want to spend the day with Jey, especially after what they had just agreed on.

But on the other hand, her only other option would be to call Iris or Lele, and she damn sure didn't wanna explain why she was at Jey's house in the same clothes she wore to the engagement party the night before.

She let out a resigned sigh and gave him a nod.

"Fine, I'll spend the day with you," she agreed reluctantly.

Jey's smirk grew even wider as she agreed to his condition.

He pushed himself off the car door and stood beside her, his body close enough to touch hers.

"Good girl," he said, his voice low and smooth.

Jax felt a shiver run down her spine at his words, a mix of annoyance and desire stirring within her.

She hated how easily he could rile her up, but at the same time, she couldn't deny the way her body responded to his proximity.

Jey seemed to notice the effect he was having on her, his smirk growing even more cocky.

He took a step closer, invading her personal space even further.

"You're so responsive," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

Jax couldn't help but let out a soft gasp as he spoke, his voice sending a jolt of electricity through her body.

She tried to maintain her composure, but the feeling of his body so close to hers was overwhelming.

"So what, you tryna spend the whole day fucking?" Jax asked somewhat amused.

"I thought we'd fill up on junk food for lunch and watch some movies, cuddle on the couch if you down. Then I'ma cook you up some dinner." Jey explains his plan.

"Oh? Main event Jey Uso can cook?" Jax quirked a brow trying not to smile too hard.

Jey chuckled at her surprise.

"Believe it or not, I do have some talents outside of the ring," he said, feigning mock offense. "But yeah, I cook."

"if ya smell..." Jax started to joke, "Yeah no, that's too corny even for me." she said making Jey chuckle.

"you'll like it, I swear." Jey assured her.

Jax raised an eyebrow skeptically, but she couldn't deny that she was intrigued.

"We'll see about that," she said, trying to keep her tone neutral. But deep down, she was curious to see what he had in store for her.

Jey chuckled again, sensing her reluctant interest.

"You'll see, ya boy can throw down," he said confidently. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of her face, his fingers lingering on her skin for a moment longer than necessary.

After raiding the kitchen for a variety of snacks and bickering about what to watch...

Jax sat on the couch, curled up against Jey's side. They were watching a horror movie, and despite his protests, she had managed to convince him to sit through it.

Jey was not the biggest fan of horror movies, but he found himself surprisingly comfortable with Jax nestled against him.

Jax smirked as she saw the look of discomfort on Jey's face.

He tried to hide it, but she could tell he was not enjoying the film.

She couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction, knowing that she had him wrapped around her little finger in more ways than one.

As the movie progressed, Jey found himself becoming more and more tense.

He kept flinching at the jump scares, and he was subconsciously tightening his grip on Jax.

Jax couldn't help but notice how tightly Jey was holding onto her as the movie continued.

She felt his muscles tense every time there was a sudden noise or movement on screen. She looked up at him, noticing the look of fear on his face.

She couldn't help but laugh at his reaction, finding his fear amusing.

Jey shot her a glare, feeling embarrassed by his reaction.

"Hey, stop laughing," he protested, trying to sound annoyed.

But his attempt at irritation was undermined by the fact that he was still holding onto her tightly.

"Or what? You'll spank me, Daddy?" Jax teased with her signature sarcasm.

Jey's expression softened slightly at her sarcastic comment, but he couldn't help but feel a spark of desire at her words.

He leaned in closer to her ear, his voice low and sultry.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, princess?" he whispered.

Jax felt a shiver run down her spine as he spoke, his words igniting a fire within her.

She tried to keep her composure, but was failing desperately. "Don't get too cocky, Mr. Uso," she said, trying to sound unfazed.

Jey chuckled at her attempt to maintain her cool, enjoying the effect he had on her.

He ran his hand down her back, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her body.

"Too late for that, babygirl," he said, his fingers tracing gentle circles on her skin.

"Mhm. Watch the movie. Unless you too scared."

"Shit, don't nothing scare me for real, baby." Jey says trying to sound tough.

"Now you know good and well yo' ass ran from the wyatt sicks on live TV." Jax pointed out.

Jey chuckled again, his confidence faltering for a moment as she brought up the incident.

"Okay, okay, I ran from howdy and them," he admitted, his voice betraying a hint of embarrassment.

"But that's different. I was acting," he added quickly, trying to save face.

"Uh huh. If Abby the witch popped her creepy ass up right now, You'd piss your pants." Jax jokes

Jey couldn't help but let out a laugh at her joke knowing she was so not wrong.

"Alright, alright, you got me there," he said, admitting defeat.

"But it's still not the same as me being scared of some cheesy horror movie," he protested weakly.

"Aight tough guy. Lets watch.. The Exorcist." Jax suggested.

Jey's eyes widened in horror as she suggested The Exorcist.

"Oh, hell nah," he said immediately, shaking his head vigorously.

"There's no way I'm watching that one," he protested, a mixture of fear and disbelief on his face.

Jax couldn't help but laugh loudly at his reaction.

"You're such a scaredy cat," she teased, her laughter echoing through the room.

She leaned back against him, still chuckling, thoroughly enjoying the way he was reacting to her suggestion.

"It's cute though" She added.

Jey rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but smile at her comment.

"I'm not cute," he protested, his tone a mix of annoyance and amusement.

He was a tough guy, a professional wrestler for crying out loud, and here he was, being called cute by a woman who could reduce him to a mess of desires with a single touch.

Jax smirked, sensing his protest was half-hearted. She reached up and ran her fingers through his gorgeous curls, enjoying the way he melted into her touch.

"Yes, you are," she said firmly, her voice laced with affection.

Jey couldn't help but close his eyes and lean into her touch as she played with his hair.

The feel of her fingers on his scalp was soothing, and he let out a contented sigh.

He tried to keep up his tough guy facade, but it was getting harder and harder to maintain. This girl was gonna have his heart, and quick.

Jey was practically putty in her hands at this point, his body responding to her touch as if it had a mind of its own.

He let out a low groan as she scratched his scalp gently, the sensation sending shivers down his spine.

"Damn, you're good at this," he murmured, his voice betraying his pleasure.

"I know i am, Daddy." Jax hums, a smirk on her face.

Jey's breath hitched as she called him "Daddy" again, the term igniting a fire within him.

He pulled her closer, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

"You're such a tease," he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

Jax smiled as she felt his warm breath on her skin, his body pressed against hers.

She could feel the tension in his muscles, the desire that was building up within him.

"You love it though," she purred.

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[unavailableapple]

Excuse me for coming to your askbox, I am not a radfem and don't agree with a lot of it's principles, yet I find radfem spaces are the only place where discussion of nonbinary identity has any nuance. Personally I have no problem with people doing whatever they want with their own bodies/minds/labels but I did struggle to wrap my head around just how many people started IDing as nonbinary during the last few years. Now recently it's been a bit of the opposite, with a noticeable amount of previously out and proud nonbinary people dropping the label. I've heard some people discuss it like it was just "in fashion" for a while, while others insist it's a result of gender experimentation or having to go back in the closet due to the political climate. But it's not just the young, I noticed that includes some of the first nb people I knew, who were nonbinary before 2020, hell, before 2015. I know you had a similar experience, so I just wanted to hear your opinion on this whole phenomenon, why it's happening and why now, and if you expect the trend to continue?

So I’ve been thinking about this a lot and honestly the short answer is: I’m not sure.

The long answer:

I think that these things come in waves. Think about BBL surgery (Brazilian butt-lift surgery). When that surgery was really popular, I’m sure it felt like a very real need to the women who got it. Similarly, my nonbinary identity felt very real to me. But once you apply any amount of pressure to either of these, they start to break. Because really what does it mean to be nonbinary? Why do I NEED to express myself as nonbinary? Why does she NEED to have a large posterior? Eventually you realize, it is misogyny. That’s all it is. And then the whole thing falls apart…Aside from that, even if you don’t acknowledge the misogyny, these things are ultimately superficial and, as such, fall away once one reaches a certain point of adulthood.

I don’t mean adulthood as in becoming an adult human I mean adulthood as in a certain level of struggle that makes fanciful discussions of pronouns seem taxing. Eventually real life catches up and you don’t feel like wasting your precious free time thinking about whether you use they, she, he, or meow pronouns. I think the lasting effects of COVID have meant terrible things for the general public and a lot of people are struggling to pay rent or afford food. I know that what first made me stop caring about pronouns was when I was homeless and thought a lot more about finding a safe place to sleep than making sure everyone calls me he/meow/it pronouns.

Then I think there’s the climate of the trans community right now. When I was younger, there was an idea of, “Being trans is equally hard for males AND females”. But now the dominant narrative seems to be that trans identified males have it a thousand times harder being trans and trans identified females face no oppression at all. I do think this drives more trans identified females out of trans spaces and leads them to find more community with other women. This was the case for several of my friends. Once the trans community told them, “You don’t face any oppression” even though they did (by right of being female), they stopped feeling aligned with a nonbinary identity and suddenly realized they felt more aligned with being female, on the basis of shared experiences.

Finally, it could genuinely just be that it’s falling out of fashion. I’m of an era where I, like a lot of young women my age, was the froggy jumper round glasses meow/it pronoun using boyflux aligned aroace nonbinary person and that was in style. Nowadays kids on TikTok make fun of that and it’s much less “in”. Recently Mitski cut her hair short and people started calling her “theyfab”. For the uninitiated, theyfab is a rude term the trans community uses for a female person who identifies as nonbinary, especially if she doesn’t do anything to express this nonbinary identity beyond cutting her hair. They were not trying to “affirm” Mitski, they were making fun of her for being a gender nonconforming woman, and they were making fun of the women who identify as nonbinary. No matter what, it’s always “in” to make fun of women so if a lot of women are identifying as nonbinary, it’s going to be “in” to make fun of them and it is. On pinterest, Nonbinary identities are already being relegated to “2010s nostalgia” the way moustache tattoos on pointer fingers are “2000s nostalgia”, these things come and go.

So yeah, I ultimately don’t know, and these are only a couple among my many many MANY different theories. But based on my own experience and the experiences of people I know, this is what I’ve been thinking.

[cherrysurf]

Metanoia | Atsumu Miya X Reader

chapter 12; slow dancing in the dark

you and ushijima had an amazing dinner together, as you were both on the ride back to his house. You guys make it and He opens the door and you find a cute set up of an indoor picnic with fake lit candles and fairy lights, “I thought he should continue the date..” he says looking down at you a bit nervous “i think that’s a great idea.” you say smiling, the night was filled with laughter and discussing futures and small memories of when you two first met. “yn?” he says looking at you, “i don’t know if you have anyone else in your heart right now, and i don’t expect anything to come out of this but if you want me too just know i’ll always be here.” he says looking at you with those olive green eyes, you couldn’t help but melt away at his words “thank you for being so sweet and understanding ushi” you say smiling caressing his hand. The night ends with him taking you home and you leaving him with a kiss on the cheek, “thanks for everything ushi” you say “anything for you yn, goodnight” he says then drives away. leaving you alone with your thoughts and the sweet scent of his cologne

-angst for poor atsumu but not yn, at least not rn.

-yn and atsumu’s spark will be lightened again JUST WAIT PLS

-cute moment with ushijima BUT AT WHAT COST.

-the person who texted yn was atsumu if that wasn’t clear

-kiyoko ended up agreeing to reschedule because she heard yn scream abt not knowing what to wear on her date with ushijima

-akaashi and osamu did bet to see if yn was ever gonna meet up with ushijima again

Taglist; @heartmaddie @liquidcatt @toorusfangirl @akaashislovee @saintcosette @twiishaa @w2mini @from-mae @exclusiverinaa @gumims

[xxkiller-muffinxx]

Eye to Eye

Pt 1

The encounter

1714 words

Alright chat let’s do this,

I had one semi completed one but then I needed cute dividers so it deleted itself

Also creds to @sister-lucifer for the dividers.

I know I know I know, it’s pretty crazy right? Another bill cipher’s daughter fic, not surprising. However it’s bill ford and it’s silly.

This godforsaken fanfiction was helped by my friend and for legal reasons alibi @dandelion-tea7 so yeah. With all the love I can muster thank you.

Also, side note yes this is a test run for my last post :3

Anyways let’s get to the bit

Stanford was never one to want children.

In fact the very idea perturbed him to an acceeded extent. Children of his running around his lab and ruining the space with glitter and or snot, it was revolting to say the least. His great niece and nephew were enough children. Particularly with what’s been going on for the past 30 years, Him getting trapped in the portal and leaving his child to be raised by…

Stanley.

That was the worst punishment of all in his opinion.

However, children are good for a few things: Memories, smiles, and laughter, sure the occasional adorableness but his children would probably be too focused on school work to be “cute.” He’d be sure of it. He didn’t want kids though, never has never will.

Yet here he was, discussing it with 14 year old Mabel Pines.

“Awe! Why not?! Kids are adorable, sweet, and adorable!” Mabel’s high pitched voice squealed at him, causing Ford’s ears to hum uncomfortably.

Stanford rolled his eyes at her young charm. He always thought she burned brighter as a star. “Mabel, i work too much to give children the time of day, for god's sakes I barely see you two!” He cut up some carrots to put in a soup he’s working on. He’s very proud of himself.

Dipped groaned softly covering his ears. Poor puberty was eating that boy away faster than termites in a food littered apartment. “Mabel, can you stop talking about Grunkle ford having kids? Besides, he's too old!”

“Precisely, Dipper, my boy!”

Mabel pouted, pulling her knees up to her chest while looking over at Dipper. “So? What if college was an exciting ti-“

Dipper let out a high pitched wail. Silencing Mabel almost immediately. Stanford laughed heartily, a part of him enjoying the banter despite how improbable the conversation was. College? Exciting? Hardly. Learning about the the brain's response to psychological torture was quite invigorating, however.

A familiar voice piped up. “Oh no, are we talking about Sixer’s love life again?” Stanley walked in holding a blender. He seemed oddly cheerful today, his eyes sparkling with the same mischief he had as a child.

Ford turned to him curiously. His eyes glancing at the blender, old torn up pieces of plastic in the bowl connected, Stanford looked back up at Ford. “Why?”

“Why not?”

“But why?”

“Why not?”

“Stanley.” Stanford groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose while Stanley softly chortled. Mabel gasped, jogging over to interrogate him.*

Mabel grabbed onto the side of the counter pulling herself higher to look at the old blender. “Is that going to be the blender squirrel?!” Mabel shrieked, reaching for it, Stanley pulled away.

Dipper raised a questioning brow. “Blender…squirrel?”

Stanley rolled his eyes in offense, was Dipper, Little Dipper really judging him? “Alright, yeah, Squirrel blender, it was Mabel’s idea. I mean I don’t know it’ll be fun to see someone try to understand how it works.” Stanley looked at it, fixing all the gross chipped pieces.

Dipped sighed, he’d never understand his Sister and His Grunkle’s brains when they’re choosing such weird ways to bond. He didn’t mind it though. “Sure, a squirrel blender will be great!” He dripped with sarcasm.

Stanford fixed his glasses before turning to Stanley. “Stanley, come try this.” He lifted a spoon of carrot soup to his mouth. Stanley would always speak his mind, so he continued to count on it.

The moment Stanley smelled it he dropped it to the ground. Ford’s face falls flat. Stanley sputters for a few moments before coughing and grimacing. “You trying to poison me Sixer?!”

“It’s just carrot soup-“

“It’s rabbit shi-“

“Woah!” Dipper suddenly jumped out of his chair as he saw something outside. “I saw something!” Dipper got out of his chair while Mabel gasped “what?! I wanna see!” She quickly followed. Stanley sighed as the kids ran out. Turning to Ford. “Not it.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Are you a child.” Ford said with a soft affectionate laugh. Stanley pouts a finger on his nose.

“Nose goes.”

“I hate you.

-~-~-~-~-~

The forest air was warm and cozy like a blanket on the warm bed with its holder squished between. Ford sighed happily at the familiarity of it all. For the first time since he actually came home, he felt at home.

Dipper wrote in his own journal, walking only but a few feet ahead. Mabel very happily skipped along. So far ahead seemed like pleasant searching for the creature that caught Dipper’s eye.

Dipper seemed a bit stiff so Ford placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” He’d ask voice full of care and warmth.

Dipper glanced up at his grunkle Ford. With a hint of familiar admiration to the older male. “Hm? Oh…uh…yeah.” he coughed softly. He wrote things quickly in his journal. As if trying to fill it with every last thing he thought.

Ford raised an eyebrow at this and sighed “Dipper you may be a fast thinker, but it helps if the ideas were clearer and more concise. Try slowing down and enjoying the moment?” Ford said with a soft smile on his face.

Despite the urge to keep writing, Dipper reluctantly put the journal down. “Youre right Grunkle Ford…” Dipper muttered earning an elbow in the side from his twin. He looked at her and elbowed back. Soon they were play fighting all over again.

The humor in their sibling rivalry caused Ford to let out a laugh. “Alright- alright that's-” A twig snaps behind them.

Ford spins around gun already ready to be pulled. Dipper and Mabel stare for a moment in the same direction. Ford looks down to see if there's any sign of life. There's a torn piece of fabric on a tree. The old man approaches it.

“Strange.” He mutters. Grabbing the fabric and rubbing it between his fingers. A leaf falls in front of him, followed by soft tree rustling. He waves the kids back further, looking up.

“…hello? Who's there? I know you're up there!” he shouts in a stern voice. Causing even Dipper to flinch. Mabel looks up gasping softly.

She runs to the tree earning a yelp from her brother. “Mabel wait-” he reaches for her arm but falls flat on his face instead. Ford looks down at Mabel, a minor glare for having disobeyed him. “Its a girl!” Mabel points. “Its a teenage girl!”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “How do you-”

“Just look!” Mabel grabbed a stick, climbing on top of Ford’s shoulders really quickly (his back would regret that later.) she poked whoever was in the tree.

There's a soft “ow” from in the tree.

Ford’s eyes widen taking the stick from Mabel. “Come out.” he said a little softer as to not startle her. The girl, fed up, grabbed the stick and threw it away. “Come on, you have to come down at some point.”

Stanford had to surpress an eyeroll at the quiet “Nuh uh.” from the tree.

“Yuh huh, now get down!” there was a tearing sound from the tree. “Or gravity will force you.” The girl struggled to hold herself up.

“Well I guess that's why everyone calls this place gravity fa-” The twig gives way under her, sending her crashing to the ground, it would be devastating if only shed actually hit the ground.

Mabel watched in awe as the girl hovered in the air. “WOAH!” She exclaimed before Dipper pulled her away. Ford furrowed his large brows stepping closer. “Fascinating…”

The mystery girl opened her eyes looking up at Ford. His eyes widened the moment he saw it. Not two, but three eyes on her face, one of the in the dead center of her forehead that glistened an uncomfortably familiar yellow.

Ford glared slightly. “Who are you.” The girl flinched, finally succumbing to gravity’s tricks and crashing down into the mud. She groaned in pain putting up her hands.

She closed her third eye. “Hey listen, I didn't mean any harm…i just-” She frowned looking away, as if thinking. “Which twin are you?” She asked the man standing over her.

“Which twin?” Ford tilted his head to the side, glaring even harder. “Whats your name first.”

The girl seemed to curse softly. “…uh…(Y/N)…”

“Where are your parents.” He steps closer slowly. His imposing figure getting more and more intimidating as he grew near.

(Y/N) frowned standing up and dusting herself off while backing up. “Well that's actually funny you say that! Because they are-” she was cut off by a tree hitting her back.

“Answer me.” Ford said with a soft huff. He's fed up with lies. He's worried this girl is somehow related to demon they killed two years ago. That yellow eye all two familiar.

They were up close when the girl finally decided to speak, “Stanford right? Well uh-” She flinched when he raised an eyebrow, she knew she probably shouldn't have said his name when she seems to be a stranger.

Theirs a silence that passes, followed by a gulp from the girl. “…if you're Stanford pines…then…Oh jeez this is weird-” She squeezes her hands together. “…im Bill cipher’s kid-”

There it is, he's never whipped out his gun so fast. The girl shrieked “WAIT WAIT WAIT!”

“WHY SHOULD I WAIT WHEN YOURD THE VERY THING IVE WORKED YEARS TO DESTROY!” Ford yelled back looking back at the kids. “Kids close your eyes this is gonna get messy.”

“NO WAIT IM HALF HUMAN!” (Y/N) screamed bloody murder putting her hands up. Ford lowered the gun while the kids tilted her head.

Dipper stepped closer “half human? Like Bill-” Mabel stepped up to interrupt him. “How is that possible? Does he even have-” Ford put his hand up to silence them.

“What do you mean? You're half human? Who's your other parent?” He asks pushing the gun into her neck. She gagged softly grabbing the barrel. Tears pricked her eyes.

“You?”

Ford’s world shattered in that moment, silence broke out and a million questions flew through his head. He'd never danced Bill’s devil’s tango. Nor has the thought passes. So how could this happen? What in the world was going on?

He didn't know, but he was determined to find out.

(Not edited or revised)