#Can you tell I’ve almost never drawn a background

[graceful-simp]

Drawing her kindles joy

Some design changes from the last one, most notably she has prosthetic legs now

[breathlesswinds]

(Devlog) What We Learned Making A Trans Dating Game

Hello, Amelia here, the writer for Breathless Winds. It's been 250,000+ words, countless revisions, and three years since this game entered development, and I wanted to talk about what I've learned leading up to release.

The concept for Breathless Winds was actually sort of a joke between friends. I was talking with Doris about how there should be a dating game where you play as a trans woman and your dating options revolve around certain ‘tropes’ we’d both seen in trans fiction-- the totally accepting cishet guy who falls in love with the trans heroine before she even knows she’s a woman, the cool trans woman who the heroine doesn’t know if she wants to date or wants to be, and so on.

Doris wound up suggesting we make this game ourselves. We both like visual novels and want to tell LGBT stories. Still half-jokingly and half-seriously, we started fleshing out what the romance options would be and coming up with a setting-- and soon, we were fully committed to making this game real.

I was a fan of visual novels but had only ever written prose. I knew which visual novels I liked and which scenes stood out, but I didn’t know why they did or how to make my own. 

I read some great advice from visual novel developers, but a good amount of my knowledge came from just working on Breathless Winds. As our first project, this game has grown a lot with us and we’ve learned a lot while making it.

Learning How to Write Visual Novels

A bad habit I had to break out of was only using the ‘novel’ part of the game and not the ‘visual’ part. I would sometimes write “He smiled” or lines like that, and Doris informed me that we can convey this much more simply with a sprite change.

It sounds obvious in retrospect, but lines like that are often pretty invisible when you’re reading a non-visual novel. These lines change the sprite of the character inside your head (if that makes sense, haha). I realized that I’m so used to them being ‘invisible’ that I didn’t notice their absence in visual novels I liked, so I would accidentally include them while writing. 

I was also writing these routes in a word processor, so I didn’t have the visual portion to reference, myself. I wound up making a lot of ‘tone’ notes like, “Lantana should be smug here” so that the meaning would carry when revising and implementing these into Ren’py. 

So, while visual novels share a lot with prose, they’re an entirely different medium. On the subject of representing things visually, I’ve struggled trying to figure out how much can be visually represented and how much should be written. 

Every asset in the game has to be drawn by Doris, so if I want the characters to go to a new location for a scene, I have to keep in mind that’s another background that Doris has to draw. If I want a new character to show up, that’s another sprite she has to draw. I don’t want to overload her, but if I’m trying to avoid this entirely, characters sometimes wind up standing in one room talking for ages without anything significant changing on-screen.

I’ve learned that it’s recommended for something to almost always be changing on-screen, though, so sometimes I just have to ask Doris to make a new asset for a certain scene. I still try to stick to locations/characters that already exist more often than not.

Every single thing in a visual novel is deliberate. Another thing I’ve had to learn that I never even considered before is how to write each line so it fits in the text box. It sounds obvious, but when I’m playing a visual novel, I don’t usually think about how each line has to be carefully constructed so it doesn’t need to be split up into two or more text boxes. In my mind, if a visual novel is well-created, there’s not much that breaks a reader’s immersion.

Planning & Outlining

The previous section might sound really weird to some people, so let me elaborate.  I’m a lifelong ‘write by the seat of your pants’-er, so the biggest trial-and-error of creating Breathless Winds for me was planning out the game.

Initially, I created outlines for each of the four routes, and we agreed ahead of time on which CGs each route would have. That way, Doris could draw the necessary backgrounds and CGs while I was in the long process of drafting this game.  My original outlines weren’t great. I know a lot of people have different experiences with writing, but for me personally, a story is always shaping itself in my mind. When I started making the outlines for Breathless Winds, I knew the concepts we wanted to convey, but I didn’t know what each route (and the game as a whole) was really about yet. This might sound weird and unprofessional, but sometimes, I don’t know what a story is about until I finish the first draft.

So while I was writing, I would look at my outlines and I would think, “this doesn’t actually make sense, he wouldn’t say that” or “this plot point would work better if moved to this other section” or “there’s a plot hole here I didn’t notice”. The story wound up changing a lot in this way as I learned what it’s really ‘about’. 

And even after I finished the first draft, I’d get feedback from Doris and/or my editor and they would suggest fixes to problems that even I hadn’t noticed, and then I would revise the route some more, and later on I’d come back and need to redo part of the route to comply with something I wrote in a later route-- I haven’t really felt ‘finished’ with Breathless Winds at any point, and I think I’ll still feel this way after the game is released.

This means that sometimes, a background was created but would go unused because there was no space for the scene that would use it, or we’d need a new CG last-minute, or so on. 

When I’m figuring things out as I go while writing a non-VN, the only person that I can adversely affect is my own self… so I’m eternally grateful for all of Doris’s patience with me on this matter. I think Breathless Winds has come out a much better game for all the re-plotting and revision. 

I redid the outlines several times as I went. I think I’ve understood how to create outlines that personally work for me-- ‘living’ outlines that hit all the main points, but leave wiggle room for moments when a character does something unexpected, work the best for me.

Scope Creep

So, originally, each route was meant to be 40,000 words. “With four routes, that’s only 160,000 words!” I thought. “And some of my favorite visual novels are about that long, so I can write that much, too!” ← clueless

This is the most infamous mistake that new creators make, and I walked right into it. I should have known better since I’ve bitten off more than I can chew with past non-VN writing projects before, but I was starry-eyed and didn’t realize how much work it is to make a VN. Some of those favorite visual novels I referenced were made by much larger teams, writers whose full-time job was writing (I wrote all of these routes on the side while working at a day job). 

If I could have done it again, I would have asked Doris to start out with a really short VN. But, I don’t regret making Breathless Winds at all. It’s brought Doris and I a lot closer, for one. Every time I thought I wanted to give up on this, Doris would motivate me to continue. Without the two of us both and our strong friendship, Breathless Winds wouldn’t exist, and I think that’s beautiful. 

No matter what, we’re going to see it through to the end. (I hope people like it, though…)

Anyway, here I am talking about how much 40,000 words is. Each route now is about 60k to 70k words. The problem with having evolving outlines is that they can often evolve into double their original size.

We came up with the idea of the poachers really early in development, and then not addressing the poachers felt like a failing, but by that point it was too late to remove the poachers entirely… and so the game wound up a lot longer dealing with the poachers. 

I think that if we had an editor sooner on in the game’s development, then we might have had someone to tell us, “do you really need all of this in the game? Does this plot point really need to be there? Will you be able to write all of this in a reasonable amount of time?”, haha. But Doris and I were really excited about the possibilities of this game when we started creating it, and without anyone to reel us back in, we wound up coming up with more and more things we wanted to put in the game.

Did you know there was going to be an island full of talking rats who say things like “the big cheese” and stuff all the time in Breathless Winds? Yeah. 

The Core Design Philosophy of Breathless Winds

So, for anyone who’s read this far but doesn’t know yet-- the premise of Breathless Winds is that you play as a trans woman who doesn’t know she’s trans yet, and she finds love with one of four love interests as she discovers her gender identity. 

In real life, it can be a lot messier for a person to date when discovering their gender identity. To put it briefly and mildly, a trans person’s life and sense of personal identity can rapidly change during a gender crisis and the early stages of transition. 

However, we wanted to make this game a ‘wish-fulfillment’ type story-- a trans fantasy about acceptance, community, and love. During a gender crisis, it can be easy to feel as if one has lost touch with themselves and become isolated from others. A sincere wish shared by many trans people is to be accepted, loved, and even celebrated as their true gender, not just tolerated. 

Since many trans people don’t get love and acceptance in real life, especially with the ongoing transphobic moral panic, we wanted to create a game that would bring this feeling of trans joy and celebration to trans audiences. 

We also hope that cis players will still enjoy the story and characters, and maybe come away from the game with a new understanding about being transgender and other aspects of LGBT identity (although we never intended this game to be ‘educational’).

Making Characters that Celebrate Trans Identity

Although we went through several revisions, the core identities of each character stayed the same since the game was first ‘jokingly’ pitched. In another post, I discussed how each character is themed around a change in seasons. (I also wound up theming them around the four humors when I was initially concepting them-- I really wanted to avoid too much ‘overlap’ in the LI’s personalities, haha). 

Ultimately, characters are created to serve a role. The LIs in Breathless Winds were designed to be love interests, of course-- characters who would appeal to the hypothetical trans femme audience. As mentioned earlier, we modeled them after other trans fiction tropes because these types of characters have a certain tried-and-true appeal, but this left plenty of flexibility to put our own spin on it. 

A trans woman being loved as a woman by a cishet guy can feel like a high form of ‘passing’, ‘fitting in’ to the female gender role, and being validated by his orientation. He only likes women, and he likes you, so you’re undoubtedly a woman. As a cishet guy, he represents a sort of acceptance into a societal norm that trans women can desire to live to. (Lantana, as a cis lesbian, represents the sapphic counterpoint to this-- although there is of course a big gap between the ‘normalcy’ of a cishet man and a cis lesbian woman, and I don’t mean to say those two are equivalent.) 

But not all trans women want to live to that (cis) societal norm. Rue and Valerian, as a trans woman and a trans man respectively, are the t4t options. 

Rue’s route represents that trans/sapphic ‘envy’ (“do I want her or do I want to be her?”) as well as finding power in community aside from what society considers ‘normal’. We’ve always been pretty clear about what we wanted to do with Rue’s route.

We went back and forth a lot more on Valerian’s route. Initially, we were unsure if he should be trans. He and Rue are the two less-friendly love interests (at least initially), so I was afraid it would come across that t4t is a more hostile option, which is not true at all. But it also felt like a mistake to not have a trans man in the game-- but making Gallardia trans would have required a big overhaul of what we had in mind for him and his route. (Although, childhood friends t4t is a really good idea...)

Beyond that, Valerian takes a villainous role in any route that isn't his own. We were worried that it would be wrong to have a trans antagonist who represents unjust power. However, Breathless Winds is a queer game with other positive trans characters, and we've always approached Valerian as a hot anti-villain man that you can't help but like.

In the end, Valerian’s route is about breaking generational cycles and what it is that makes you a man, and I also managed to sneak in a scene where they dance at a ball in the royal palace, so in the end I think it all worked out great.

Wish Fulfillment and Catharsis

Doris and I both agreed that we wouldn’t depict on-screen transphobia in Breathless Winds. Poppy worries about not being accepted, but fear of acceptance can come with any change in identity. Rue was rejected by her family for being trans, but this doesn’t take place ‘on screen’ in the game. There exist certain metaphorical parallels for transness and transphobia, but every route has a happy ending. 

Following up on this-- it can be difficult to write about discovery of gender identity without writing about transphobia, considering how many trans people suffer from internalized transphobia during their period of repression.

Sometimes, repressed/closeted transgender people ‘hyper-perform’ their assigned gender as a form of denial. A trans woman might grow out a beard and join a gym, while a trans man might become very interested in makeup and feminine clothing. 

In Breathless Winds, Poppy often struggles with ‘strength’ and what it means to be a man. In several routes, she tries to prove her strength under the assumption that being stronger would make her happy. Afraid the world would reject her if she became who she really is, she preemptively rejects herself.

Not every trans person suffers from prolonged denial, internalized transphobia, or even gender dysphoria. I don’t think it’s impossible to tell a purely-positive story about trans joy. 

While Poppy never gets rejected for being trans, faces transphobia, gets called a slur, etc, she faces both internal and external (metaphorical) obstacles to realizing and accepting her identity. 

Gallardia represents a societal norm that Poppy can’t live up to herself as a man.

Lantana suffers from certain aspects of her identity as a woman, which makes Poppy feel guilt for wanting to be a girl.

Rue is isolated from town at the start of her route, a ‘punishment’ for breaking this societal norm.

Valerian has to hyper-conform to his masculine gender role at first in toxic ways before finding acceptance from within and from his loved ones.

These struggles are real to a lot of people, but instead of pretending they don’t exist, I hoped to tell a story about catharsis. Poppy is able to live up to her truth as a woman and finds love with Gallardia, Poppy and Lantana redefine what being a woman should and does mean to them, Rue and Poppy find community in others who don’t fit the norm, Poppy and Valerian stop seeking gender validation from a society that was never made to serve them. 

Although these powerful forces of oppression exist, loving yourself as a trans person- and loving those around you, protecting the natural world, and standing up for what you believe in- can save the day. That’s the kind of story we wanted to tell.

Wrap-up

There’s a lot more I could write, but this has already gotten really long (sorry!) so I’ll wrap it up here. 

Learning how to write a visual novel in terms of technical skill (how to depict events on-screen, how long each line should be) as well as in terms of writing skill (how to outline the game, how to plan visual assets) has been a massive undertaking for me. 

Writing Breathless Winds has been a big challenge but also deeply rewarding, and all of your support has made the experience even more wonderful. Thank you for reading and thank you for supporting the game!

[kindaasrikal]

Remember that rlly old Morro fanart i talked about but never posted the completed version of? Yh, i finished it today

Rant under the cut+a clearer morro picture

DUDE I HATE IT. LIKE MORRO LOOKS PERFECT EXACTLY LIKE HOW I IMAGINED HIM BIT EVERYTHING ELSE FEELS LIKE IT DOESNT LOOK RIGHT OR FEELS LIKE TOO MUCH BUT I TOOK SOOOOO MUCH TIMEEEE DOING IT.

It took me AGES guys you don’t understand and even after that you can barely see some of the details.

You can see morro better in this image, where i took away the background, chains, tentacles and a few other things.

When colouring his face i made a slight mistake before realising it could look like a sick scar so now morro has a scar that could be caused from whatever on his face.

I also forgot his green streak so that was quickly added too.

Morro’s clothes took a lot of time (Morro was drawn months ago, and i did the background today, so somethings I’ve forgotten) but i believe i used Pinterest to find i thinkkk Japanese male clothing to base it off of and then used my own twists to its actual design. Morro’s clothing consists of different shades of green and teal, and well as gold and yellow to represent Wu and his effect on Morro, such as the golden rope around his waist that was given to him by Wu. The silver-ish thing on his chest was placed there and inspired by the ones that men and women may wear on their chest, and on the cloth that lays between Morro’s legs (with the wind like patterns on top of the skirt-like garment (PLEASE someone tell me what it is actually named i tried genuinely)) at the bottom where it looks like am arrow is a skull like picture.

Morro also has a brown skin tone in this because i head canon him to be both east and south asian. Also I put Morro is very ‘flowy’ or baggy clothes because he’s the wind elemental and likes to freely feel the wind.

Overall the scenario if this image was Morro still being trapped by the preeminent, but as he is known as the second to only the preeminent, he us held in high standards and strength with all the other cursed ghosts, almost like a prince (Respected but is also someone who is constantly threatened, as expected). Morro is also depicted to be alive, showing him to be trapped and forever affected by her influence for the rest of his existence. But also show his innocence and naivety when this is before he ever died and was groomed to the person we know today.

And for the love of God, ignore the hands and feet i do not know how to draw them 😭

[redislazy]

Deadly Attachments, Chapter 02

<< Chapter 01　|��Chapter 03 >>

[EVENTUAL SMUT] - Minors DNI > ao3 <

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!Reader

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Summary: As a skilled mercenary, you've navigated countless high-stakes missions—until one job puts you in the crosshairs of Task Force 141 and the elusive "Ghost." Now forced into an uneasy alliance, you’re drawn into a dangerous game of shifting loyalties and hidden motives. But as the stakes climb higher, one question lingers: how close can you get to the man who was meant to be a shadow in your path?

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Content Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Military Action & Romance, Mercenaries, Soldiers, Non-Canon Antagonists, Eventual Smut, Military Inaccuracies, Slow Burn, Will add smut-specific tags later as the story goes

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Author's Note: i wrapped up proofreading the second chapter a bit earlier than expected! i may have missed a few things, but i feel good about posting it ahead of schedule. apologies if the action scenes feel a little fast-paced; this is my first time writing in this genre, and i tried not to go too deep so it wouldn’t come across as inaccurate given my limited background. i hope you enjoy it regardless!

The following morning, you’re in the indoor training area, the air thick with the scent of sweat and determination. The space is bustling, filled with the clatter of weights and the rhythmic beat of footfalls on the mats. You focus on lifting a barbell above your head, each rep a cathartic outlet for the frustration simmering from yesterday.

Just as you prepare for another lift, familiar footsteps approach. You glance up, expecting one of the soldiers, but instead, it’s Ghost, striding in with his usual intensity. He’s a sight to behold, still wearing his signature skull balaclava, and there’s something almost comical about his seriousness—especially with that bandage wrapped around his head.

“Are you lifting weights or trying to impress the floor?” he quips, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall, a shadowy figure against the bright overhead lights.

“Ha ha, very funny,” you reply, rolling your eyes as you set the barbell down with a clatter. “Just trying to build some muscle here. Not that you’d understand—you look like you came pre-packaged with intimidation.”

Ghost’s mouth quirks slightly, though his expression remains guarded. “You’ll need more than muscle to survive with us. Try not to get any bright ideas about taking on an entire squad next time.”

“Please, I’ve seen your squad in action. All I’d need is a handful of glitter to distract them long enough to slip out,” you retort, trying to mask the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

He raises an eyebrow, stepping closer, his demeanor cautious but curious. “Confident, aren’t you? But I’m not sure that’s a good thing. You’re still a merc, and I still don’t trust you.”

“Trust me, Ghost, the feeling’s mutual. You’re like a walking, talking enigma wrapped in a skull balaclava,” you reply, crossing your arms defiantly. “What’s next? Going to tell me about your deep, dark past?”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Careful. Push too hard, and you might find out more than you’re ready for.”

“Is that a threat or an invitation?” you ask, leaning back against the weights with a mock-serious expression. “I’m not exactly looking for a buddy-cop dynamic here.”

Ghost’s expression hardens, though you catch a flicker of something almost amused in his eyes. “Just remember, if you get caught again, I won’t always be around to bail you out. This isn’t a playground.”

“Relax. Doubt anything will be as rough as the day you caught me,” you reply, keeping your tone light to mask the grudge that lingers. “But I’d suggest you keep an eye out for the unexpected. You never know when you might need a backup plan—especially with me around.”

A charged silence falls between you, the playful banter shifting to an unspoken acknowledgment of your uneasy partnership. You know he doesn’t trust you, and you’re acutely aware that, to him, you’re still just a mercenary—not truly welcome here.

Refocusing on the weights, you ready yourself for another set. After all, in this line of work, you can’t afford to be anything less than prepared—especially with Ghost lurking in the shadows.

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The day drags on at the base, tension hanging in the air as everyone waits for an update on the status of the Kozlov mission. You’ve spent hours in the training area, doing your best to keep your mind occupied. Just as you’re about to head out for a run, a sharp voice cuts through the noise.

“Oi! You got a minute?” Ghost strides in with purpose, a folder tucked under his arm.

You set the weights down, wiping your brow. “Depends on what you want. I was about to go for a run.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not that I care about your workout routine, but we’ve got new intel on Kozlov. Grab your gear. We’re heading out.”

“Finally,” you say, your interest piqued as you follow him to a quieter corner of the training area. “What do we know?”

Ghost opens the folder, scanning the documents before nodding. “Kozlov’s been spotted in a small coastal town in Dagestan. Word is he’s trying to regroup, laying low with some of his men. But this isn’t a straightforward op; we can’t just kick down doors.”

You arch an eyebrow, curiosity getting the better of you. “So what’s the plan? We’re going in as... tourists?”

“Exactly,” he replies, his eyes narrowing slightly. “We’ll pose as tourists exploring the area. I’ll be your travel companion. We need to blend in, gather intel, and see if we can locate Kozlov without raising any alarms.”

You can’t help but chuckle lightly. “So you want me to play tourist with you? This should be interesting.”

Ghost’s expression remains stoic, though a flicker of amusement dances in his eyes. “Keep it professional. We need to make this convincing. The locals will be watching us closely, and we can’t afford any slip-ups.”

“Got it. Just lots of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ over the scenery, right?” you respond, trying to keep the mood light.

He narrows his eyes, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “More like ‘don’t get us killed.’ Stick to the plan and don’t go off-script.”

You nod, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. “And if we find Kozlov?”

“Then we’ll decide how best to proceed. But for now, let’s focus on getting into that town undetected.” He straightens, the weight of the mission settling back onto his shoulders. “We leave at dusk. Be ready.”

As he walks away, you feel a strange mix of anticipation and nerves. This mission could go sideways in a heartbeat, but the thought of working so closely with Ghost—playing a role so far removed from your usual life as a mercenary—has you buzzing with adrenaline.

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When dusk settles, you and Ghost make your way into the town, now dressed as two tourists in simple, unassuming clothes with lightweight packs slung over your shoulders. Despite the layers of this assignment, Ghost’s usual stoic demeanor remains intact, his balaclava replaced with a plain black face mask and dark sunglasses.

The town buzzes with life, locals and a few genuine tourists milling about; it’s the perfect cover, giving you both the freedom to explore while blending in. You maintain a casual pace, admiring the coastal views and winding streets, but an unsettling tension brews just below the surface—both from the shadow of Kozlov looming nearby and the prickling awareness of Ghost at your side.

At one point, Ghost mutters under his breath, “Could you look a bit more... like you’re enjoying this? You’re meant to be a tourist, not casing the place.”

You roll your eyes and flash a wide, exaggerated smile at him. “How’s this?”

“Less like you’re in a toothpaste ad, more like you’re on holiday,” he retorts, casting you a sidelong glance.

Not five minutes later, as you navigate a bustling marketplace, a local vendor enthusiastically approaches Ghost, rattling off in rapid Russian while gesturing toward a display of colorful woven hats.

“Oh, they all look like they’d suit you,” you say, barely holding back laughter as the vendor eagerly thrusts a gaudy hat into Ghost’s hands.

Ghost shoots you a scathing look, but before he can decline, the vendor secures the hat onto his head, admiring him as if he’s royalty.

You struggle to keep a straight face as he grumbles something unintelligible, adjusting the hat with clear distaste.

“Blending in,” you whisper, shooting him a smirk. “Remember?”

His deadpan stare nearly makes you choke back a laugh. “Watch it, or you’ll be next.”

You’re still chuckling when Ghost pulls you down a quieter alley. The joking fades as his expression shifts, all humor evaporating as he nods ahead. “See them? Kozlov’s men, about fifty meters out, by the café.”

Sure enough, two men linger by the café’s outdoor tables, scanning the street with keen, watchful eyes. One of them taps his ear as if receiving orders. Ghost’s gaze sharpens as he mutters, “They’re guarding something—or someone.”

The two of you fall into an unspoken rhythm, slipping into the nearest shop to maintain cover while Ghost keeps an eye on the café from the window. After a tense wait, a third figure emerges: Kozlov himself, surrounded by several bodyguards as he exits the café and heads toward an alley across the street. Ghost’s hand tenses on your arm, signaling you to follow.

Quietly, you navigate the side streets, trailing Kozlov from a safe distance, your pulse racing as you draw closer. This part of the town is quieter, the lively market sounds fading into silence as Kozlov and his guards disappear around a corner. Ghost raises a hand to signal a stop and leans in, his voice barely a whisper.

“This is our chance. We tail him down there, but quietly. You break formation, we’re done. Got it?”

You nod, barely breathing as you follow him, every step slow and careful. Turning the corner, you find yourselves in a narrow alleyway, shadows stretching long against the brick walls. Kozlov’s men have stopped, scanning the area while Kozlov speaks in low, gruff Russian.

Ghost’s gaze narrows. “On my mark,” he murmurs, fingers hovering close to the concealed weapon at his side. Just like that, you’re back on the mission, every sense heightened as the real work begins.

As the shadows deepen, you and Ghost press forward through the narrow alleyways, each corner and doorway a potential hiding place for Kozlov and his guards. Ghost’s voice is clipped, his movements taut and deliberate, exuding the readiness of years spent in the field.

“Stay close,” he mutters, casting you a sidelong glare as you glance around. “And stop wandering off like you’re on holiday.”

Rolling your eyes, you shoot him a mock salute and fall back in line behind him. The bustling marketplace fades as you move toward a quieter street near the café where you last spotted Kozlov. The plan is simple: tail him, track his location, and avoid drawing any unnecessary attention.

Ghost halts, signaling you to stop as he points down the narrow street ahead. Kozlov is in sight, moving quickly, two guards shadowing him as he heads down a side street. You and Ghost slip into a nearby shop, using the cover to watch Kozlov’s path through the doorway as he leads his men toward a small, unmarked building. Ghost leans close, his voice tense.

“There’s an entrance at the back. We’ll cut through there and get eyes on what he’s up to.”

Without waiting for your response, he moves out, and you follow, feeling your heartbeat quicken as you round the narrow alley. Just as you’re about to step inside, you hear footsteps nearby—Ghost presses you back against the wall, his hand firm on your shoulder.

“Keep your head down and follow my lead,” he says, his gaze intense. “One wrong move, and we’re blown.”

You nod, and he releases you, moving quietly into the building with you close behind. The hall is dimly lit, but you can make out voices further down—a blend of Russian and English as Kozlov gives orders to his men.

Together, you and Ghost advance in silence, inching closer to the room where Kozlov and his guards are gathered. Ghost raises his hand to signal you to hold as he peers around the corner, assessing the scene. His voice drops to a murmur, “Five guards. Keep to the shadows and don’t get spotted.”

You move to one side of the room, taking cover behind a stack of crates just as Kozlov’s voice cuts through the murmurs of his men. “The shipment moves tomorrow night. No mistakes.”

Ghost signals again, and with a silent nod, the two of you advance from opposite sides of the room, adrenaline rushing. Just as you’re within range, Kozlov’s eyes flick to a shadow cast by Ghost’s figure on the wall. His expression hardens.

“Get them!” he shouts, and chaos erupts.

You spring forward, catching one of Kozlov’s guards off guard while Ghost takes down another with swift, brutal efficiency. Shots ricochet off metal pipes and crates as you press forward, eyes locked on Kozlov as he bolts toward an exit.

“Stay on him!” Ghost shouts, dispatching another guard as you charge after Kozlov, your footsteps echoing as you close in. He’s fast, but you’re gaining, the distance between you shrinking with every stride.

Just as he reaches the door, you catch his arm, yanking him back. He stumbles, and Ghost appears at your side, his gaze cold and unforgiving as he levels his weapon at Kozlov.

“End of the line,” Ghost growls, his tone as hard as steel.

Kozlov glances between the two of you, his expression defiant despite the situation. For a brief moment, you think he might try to run, but with a resigned glare, he raises his hands. Ghost secures him without hesitation, his demeanor as cold and unyielding as ever.

As you regroup in the empty hallway, Ghost spares you a sharp look, his voice flat. “You almost blew that.”

You shrug, catching your breath. “Almost doesn’t count.”

Ghost gives a slight shake of his head, his gaze piercing. “Well, it’s done. We finally got him.”

You nod, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you share a glance of grim satisfaction. The mission is over, but you feel the weight of Ghost’s words—and the finality that lingers between them.

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Back at the base, the briefing room is thick with charged silence. Ghost stands by the door, arms crossed and gaze steely, watching as Captain Price outlines the mission’s outcome at the front of the room. You sit nearby, fingers tapping absently on the table.

“Kozlov has been processed for interrogation,” Price begins, his tone steady and authoritative. “Thanks to the intel you recovered, we now have a clear view of his network and the reach of his operations. His plan was to smuggle high-profile assets and weaponry across borders, destabilizing strategic sites in Europe. Allied intelligence agencies are moving to neutralize his contacts, effectively dismantling his resources.”

He flips through a few documents, pausing to make eye contact. “Kozlov himself won’t see a public trial. Due to the classified nature of his dealings, his future will be determined by allied command in a closed setting. For now, this operation is considered a success.”

The others nod quietly, exchanging looks of satisfaction. You glance at Ghost, but his face remains stoic, unreadable as ever, focused on Price's words.

When the room empties, you feel Ghost’s eyes on you. Without a word, he motions for you to follow him. He leads you down an empty hallway until you’re out of earshot of the others. Leaning against the wall, he regards you with a hardened look.

“Well, that’s that,” he says, his voice low but clear. “Kozlov’s done, his network’s down. You’re free to leave.”

It’s not unexpected, yet hearing it aloud feels strangely final. A beat of silence lingers between you, both aware this is likely the last time you’ll work together. You manage a wry smile.

“Guess that’s my cue, then,” you say. “Not that I expected to stay, but it was… well, eventful.”

Ghost’s gaze sharpens as he replies, “Don’t let yourself get tangled up with us again. If you cross paths with the SAS after this, there won’t be any negotiations.”

You cross your arms, meeting his stare with a slight edge of defiance. “Noted. But just so we’re clear, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here in the first place.” You let out a breath, your tone softening. “Though I’ll admit, working with you wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

He regards you in silence for a moment, a glimmer of something almost like amusement flickering in his eyes. For just a second, his hard expression eases, and something resembling respect passes between you both.

With a final nod, he straightens, his eyes lingering on you for a heartbeat longer before he turns and walks away. The partnership is over, but as you watch his silhouette disappear down the hall, you feel an unexpected sense of closure.

After a moment, you turn and head in the opposite direction, finally leaving the past events—and the shadow of the mission—behind.

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It’s been just over a year since you last crossed paths with Ghost, and the weight of your situation presses heavily on you. In the past, you operated with a certain level of confidence, but after your entanglement with the SAS and the fallout with Aegis, life has spiraled in unexpected ways.

Now, you find yourself in Istanbul, a city that feels both foreign and strangely familiar. You chose this place not just for its bustling streets and rich history but also for the promise of anonymity it offers. After a year of living on the run from Aegis, the private military company you once devoted yourself to, you came here hoping to evade their relentless pursuit. They’re hunting you for your perceived failure in the mission with Kozlov, and each day has become a careful dance of survival, forcing you into the shadows.

But that isn’t the only reason you’re in Istanbul. In the weeks leading up to your arrival, you received whispers of potential jobs—high-stakes contracts from private clients seeking someone with your skills. It’s a precarious choice, knowing that accepting such jobs could easily draw Aegis’s attention. Yet the lure of a better payday is hard to resist, especially when the alternative is scraping by on menial tasks that barely keep you afloat.

Here, in the heart of a vibrant city filled with life, you hoped to carve out a semblance of normalcy and reclaim a piece of yourself lost amid the chaos of your past.

As you navigate the winding streets and lively bazaars, your dual motivations of evading your pursuers and seeking new opportunities shape every decision you make. The thrill of the chase mixes with the constant fear of being discovered. Istanbul is a city of secrets, much like your own life, and you hope it will provide the cover you need.

Freelance jobs have become scarce; clients are wary of anyone associated with the SAS or Aegis, and even the most desperate will think twice before hiring a merc with your past. Your bank account dwindles as you take on smaller, riskier jobs that barely pay enough to keep you afloat. You’ve been reduced to accepting tasks that range from low-level security to errand running for local criminals—jobs that would have been beneath you a year ago. The pride that once surged through you has been replaced with a gnawing sense of inadequacy.

You sit in a small, dimly lit café overlooking the Bosporus, stirring a cold cup of tea. Your thoughts drift back to your time with Aegis—the camaraderie, the adrenaline of operations, and the sense of purpose that came with being part of a team. Now, that camaraderie feels like a distant memory, overshadowed by the knowledge that you are a target.

The café buzzes with laughter and conversation, but you find it hard to focus on anything but the weight of your circumstances. You pull out your phone, scrolling through unanswered messages. Old contacts have vanished, and the few that remain are either too afraid to reach out or have severed ties altogether. You realize you have no one to turn to, no allies left in your corner.

As you sip the cold tea, you notice a couple of men loitering nearby, their eyes darting around the café as if searching for someone. A chill runs down your spine. Are they here for you? Panic wells up, but you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain calm. You can’t afford to draw attention.

The life you once knew feels like a distant memory. As the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple, you wonder if you’ll ever reclaim that life. The prospect of rejoining a legitimate PMC is no longer an option; Aegis’s reach is too long, and their vengeance is unforgiving. All you can do is survive, one day at a time, in a city that holds both beauty and peril in equal measure.

Night falls, and the bustling markets give way to quieter alleyways where shadows lengthen and the air thickens with intrigue. You finish your tea and rise from the café, the warmth of the sun replaced by a cool breeze that sends a shiver down your spine. Without a particular destination in mind, the urge to move—to keep your blood pumping—pulls you along the cobblestone paths.

As you navigate the labyrinthine streets, the cacophony of voices and laughter fades into the background. Your thoughts drift back to the past year—each failed opportunity gnawing at your resolve, each close call with Aegis sharpening your instincts. You’ve become adept at blending in, a chameleon in a city that feels both alive and perilous.

You pause near a bridge, the shimmering waters below reflecting the city lights like stars trapped in liquid. A sense of longing washes over you, and for a moment, you allow yourself to reminisce about the life you once had: the taste of freedom, the thrill of the chase, the exhilarating rush of being part of something larger than yourself—it all feels like a cruel joke now.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when a familiar figure appears at the edge of your vision. It’s fleeting, just a blur in the corner of your eye, but it sends your heart racing. You turn sharply, scanning the crowd, and the momentary thrill dissipates when you recognize the unmistakable silhouette of a man in tactical gear across the square.

It’s him.

Your breath catches in your throat as memories flood back uninvited. The last time you saw him, he had been the embodiment of authority—cold, uncompromising, and unyielding in his demands. The warning he gave you to stay away from the SAS rings in your ears like a tolling bell. But here he is, seemingly on a mission, and for a brief moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you, the crowded street fading into an indistinct blur.

He strides forward with purpose, his eyes scanning the area with the precision of a predator. There’s no mistaking the intensity in his posture, the way he moves as if he owns the shadows around him. You’ve never liked Ghost, and the feeling was mutual; the weight of that truth settles heavily in the pit of your stomach as you catch his gaze.

He stops abruptly, his eyes locking onto yours, and in that moment, time seems to freeze. His expression hardens, a flash of recognition followed by unmistakable irritation. You’re a breath away from each other, separated only by the thrumming pulse of the city, yet the distance feels insurmountable.

“What are you doing here?” he growls, his voice low and threatening, slicing through the ambient noise. The reprimand is immediate, laden with disbelief and annoyance. Ghost's anger hangs heavy in the air between you, an electric charge that makes you instinctively step back.

“Nice to see you too,” you reply, your tone dry, though you feel a spark of defiance igniting within you. His presence, however unwelcome, stirs a complex array of emotions—resentment, annoyance, and an undeniable edge of nostalgia. You stand your ground, refusing to show fear.

“You were told never to cross paths with the SAS again. What part of that didn’t you understand?” he snaps, the edge in his voice sharpening.

“I’m not here for you or the SAS,” you counter, crossing your arms defensively. “I’m trying to survive, just like everyone else.”

“By taking jobs in a city crawling with people who would sell you out in a heartbeat?” His gaze pierces through you, as if he can see the mask you wear. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

The truth in his words stings, but you refuse to back down. “You don’t know anything about my life now, Ghost. Things change.”

“Not for the better, it seems,” he retorts, his voice dripping with disdain. “Nothing good happens when you’re involved. You’re a liability.”

The anger bubbling beneath the surface is palpable, yet amid the tension, you feel a strange comfort in this confrontation. Here is the Ghost you remember—unyielding and resolute, a soldier through and through.

As the world around you continues to blur, you take a breath, your heart pounding in your chest. The instinct to flee flares within you, but you’re neither; you’re rooted in place, a combatant in a game neither of you wanted to play.

Before you can respond, he turns abruptly, casting one last look over his shoulder, eyes narrowing. “Stay out of sight, and for God’s sake, don’t let anyone find out you’re here,” he orders, his tone final.

And then he’s gone, swallowed by the shadows of the alleyways, leaving you standing on the brink of confusion and fear. The air is thick with unspoken words and the weight of a promise long broken. You watch him disappear into the night, your mind racing with uncertainty.

What now? The answer hangs unanswered, suspended like the shimmering reflections on the Bosporus, leaving you alone once more in a city that feels increasingly hostile.

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Hours pass, and Istanbul’s nightlife fades into a quieter, restless slumber. You navigate the winding alleys back to the dingy room you've rented for the week. With its peeling walls and narrow window overlooking a back street, it’s the kind of place that attracts no attention—a safe haven, in theory.

The mattress creaks as you sit on its edge, slipping your boots off and leaning back against the wall, exhaustion gnawing at your bones. Yet sleep doesn’t come easy. Every unfamiliar sound outside has you tensing, as if Aegis themselves might kick the door down at any moment. The tension from your run-in with Ghost also lingers, simmering like a slow-burning fuse.

You close your eyes, drifting somewhere between vigilance and uneasy sleep, the memories of Ghost’s cold dismissal playing through your mind on repeat. His words had cut through you as sharply as his warning, reminding you exactly how unforgiving he could be.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, you wake up with a start. A shadow blocks the pale light seeping through the narrow window. Instinctively, you reach for your weapon, your heart hammering against your ribs. But before you can fully focus, a familiar figure shifts outside the glass.

Ghost.

Your pulse quickens, a mix of irritation and wary relief grounding you as you slide the window open, the cool night air slipping inside.

“What do you want?” you whisper, trying to keep the edge of disbelief out of your voice.

He holds your gaze, his face unreadable. “I needed to talk to you. Couldn’t do it earlier.”

It’s not exactly an explanation, but you let it go. You’ve never known Ghost to make social calls, and the late hour only makes his presence more suspicious.

“And that couldn’t wait until dawn?”

“No.” He pauses, scanning the room as if assessing whether to stay. Finally, he ducks through the open window, settling against the wall near the door. “There’s information I’ve come across—some of it involves Aegis.”

His words send a shiver down your spine. Aegis.

“Go on,” you say cautiously, folding your arms as you try to gauge his intentions.

“They’re expanding their operations in Istanbul,” he says, voice low and steady. “Supposedly broadening their reach through unofficial channels, but I’ve reason to believe they’ve been in contact with others on SAS’s radar.”

You feel the implications immediately, the creeping sensation of being ensnared in something far larger than you ever thought. If Aegis was aligning with arms dealers or other organizations, it meant trouble for anyone in the city—especially for you.

Aegis may have been ruthless, but for a long time, they were all you had. When you joined them ten years ago, you had nowhere else to go—no other doors left open. It didn’t matter to you then that Aegis was feared, or that the jobs often veered into dark territory. They took one look at you and saw something others didn’t: your potential. They honed your skills, taught you things you’d never have learned on your own, and, in their way, recognized your talent. For once, you weren’t just surviving; you were valued, even in the chaos.

For years, you worked alone, taking jobs that kept you moving, untethered to anyone or anything. You’d convinced yourself it was easier that way—no one to rely on, no one to disappoint, no one to lose. But with Aegis, something shifted. It wasn’t the missions or the work itself; it was the feeling of being part of something, even if only on the edges. You didn’t have a team, not really, but there were moments—brief, fleeting—when it felt like you belonged.

It wasn’t camaraderie, not in the traditional sense, but a kind of unspoken understanding. Aegis offered structure, purpose, and, for the first time in your life, a sense that someone might notice if you didn’t come back from a job. It wasn’t family, and it wasn’t friendship, but it was something. And for a while, that was enough. It felt real enough to hold onto, a thread of connection in an otherwise solitary existence.

Now, though, all of it feels like an illusion. The jobs, the nods of recognition in passing, the unspoken trust in dangerous situations—it’s all hollow when you look back. Aegis had been your anchor, but when things went wrong, they cut you loose without hesitation, turned on you as if the years you gave them meant nothing. The belonging you thought you’d found was just smoke, vanishing the moment you needed it most.

The betrayal stings in a way you hadn’t expected. You’d known loyalty was just another currency in Aegis, but it didn’t stop you from giving it. You’d let yourself believe that, in some twisted way, you mattered. You’d invested a decade of your life into a place that, deep down, you thought saw you as more than a weapon for hire. But it seems you were wrong.

A twinge of regret gnaws at you, even as you push it down, swallowing hard against the bitterness that rises with it. There’s regret for staying as long as you did, for letting yourself believe in the idea of loyalty among people whose loyalty had always come with a price tag. And the worst part is that you can’t decide if you’re angrier at Aegis for the betrayal—or at yourself for trusting them in the first place.

You take a deep breath, pushing your thoughts aside briefly. “I don’t see how that involves me,” you reply, but even as you say it, you’re not sure if you believe it. “I’m not a part of this.”

His gaze sharpens, the intensity behind his mask making his frustration palpable. “You’re here. They’re already looking for you; you think this will end without them hunting you down?”

You grit your teeth, refusing to show any weakness. “Why should you care, Ghost? You wanted me out of sight, remember?”

He watches you in silence, weighing his response. “I don’t. But if Aegis gets a foothold here, it’ll only make things worse for all of us,” he mutters, voice hard.

The weight of his words sits heavy between you, thickening the air with an unspoken tension. You clench your jaw, digesting what he’s saying, but something about it doesn’t quite add up.

“So Aegis is SAS’s target now?” you ask, disbelief laced in your tone. “Since when did they move up the list to be considered a threat on par with terrorists? Last I checked, they’re just a PMC, not some extremist group. Morally bankrupt? Sure. But that’s nothing new.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow, assessing you carefully. You can see he’s weighing what to reveal, how much he’s willing to tell you. Finally, he exhales, his gaze hardening. “This isn’t about Aegis being a PMC anymore. They’ve been expanding, taking on clients and contracts that are skirting dangerously close to lines most PMCs avoid. They’ve overstepped, gotten involved in black-market weapons trafficking, intelligence operations—things that put entire populations at risk. And if they gain a foothold here, it’s a stepping stone for something bigger. SAS can’t ignore that, no matter what banner they hide under.”

The words hit you harder than you want to admit. Weapons trafficking? Intelligence operations? Those weren’t the kinds of contracts you’d been part of in your time with Aegis, at least not directly. Your assignments had always been targeted, strategic. You knew there was a darker side to Aegis, but to think they’d escalated to a point where even Ghost and the SAS would prioritize them as a threat…

You swallow, steadying yourself, trying not to let him see the storm of emotions crashing beneath the surface. “So they’re using the skills they once called ‘necessary’ and ‘valuable’ against them now. Typical,” you mutter, bitterness seeping into your words. “Aegis used to tell me they were just staying ahead of the game, but I guess the game’s changed. Or maybe I was too blind to see it then.”

Ghost’s expression doesn’t shift; his gaze remains impassive, but there’s a flicker of something there, a recognition of how close you once were to them. “That’s the nature of the business,” he says, his voice low. “People think they’re untouchable…until they’re not.”

He continues, his voice even lower than it already is. “I don’t trust you, but I can’t ignore the fact that you have information I don’t. If we’re both after the same end, then maybe, just maybe, you’d do something useful.”

The offer—or demand—hangs in the air, wrapped in cold resolve. It’s far from friendly, and the tone in his voice tells you this isn’t a proposition up for debate. You glance at him, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you both.

“And what exactly are you asking me to do?” you almost want to scoff, but the gravity in his voice keeps you serious.

He tilts his head slightly, considering. “Stay close. Feed me what you know. You keep out of trouble, and maybe you’ll live to see another month.”

The message is clear: comply, and there may be a way out of this mess. Resist, and you’d be a thorn in his mission—a liability he wouldn’t tolerate.

A heavy silence fills the room after Ghost’s last words, pressing down on you like a weight you can’t shake off.

You stare at him, the mask, the cold eyes, and you realize—yet again—you’re just another pawn in someone else’s mission. Your life, a series of moves on a board controlled by people with power, people who decide whether you’re useful enough to keep around or if you’re better off discarded.

The thought cuts deep, reigniting the anger that had been quietly smoldering beneath your skin. Ghost may think he’s giving you an option, but it feels hollow. When you first joined Aegis, you were under the illusion that your choices mattered, that you were part of a team, even part of something significant. But as the years passed, you saw the truth—Aegis wasn’t any different. They used you for their ends, and the second you failed, the second you became inconvenient, they turned on you like you were nothing.

You feel that familiar burn of resentment starting to swell, but beneath it lies something colder, an exhaustion that you can’t quite shake. It’s been months of this—running, hiding, clawing for survival, all to escape a fate someone else deemed fit for you. You’ve lost the sense of autonomy you once cherished; every move you make feels dictated by someone else’s agenda. And now here’s Ghost, offering yet another deal cloaked in threat, making it clear that, to him, you’re nothing more than a reluctant resource to be squeezed dry.

A bitter smile twists your lips as you meet his gaze, trying to mask the vulnerability you feel. “Of course,” you murmur, the words almost choking you. “Another mission, another deal. That’s all I am, isn’t it?”

He shifts slightly, his posture stiffening, but he says nothing, which only fuels your anger further.

“You don’t get it, do you?” your voice is low, but it trembles with barely controlled frustration. “I didn’t end up here for the thrill of it. I don’t run through back alleys and change my name every other day because I enjoy it. I’m here because people like you—people like Aegis—don’t know how to see beyond your own damn goals.” Your fingers tighten into fists, and you take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to keep steady.

For a brief second, you think you see something shift in his eyes, a flicker of understanding, maybe even regret. But it’s gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by his impenetrable mask.

“You have a choice right now,” he says quietly. “It’s more than some get.”

The words settle heavily between you, a reminder of the harsh reality that even this supposed choice is a luxury, one forced on you by circumstance, not desire. You shake your head, the fatigue seeping deeper into your bones, your voice softening.

“You say it like it’s simple,” you whisper. “But I know what it’s like to be used, to be thrown away when it’s convenient. And right now, all I see is another cage waiting to close around me.”

He doesn’t respond right away, the silence stretching on until it feels almost unbearable. But finally, he speaks, his voice low and devoid of its usual harshness.

“Then don’t let it be a cage.” His tone isn’t sympathetic, but it lacks the usual edge, almost like an acknowledgment. “If you don’t want to be a pawn, make your own play.”

He leaves the words hanging, a challenge wrapped in the cold, distant way he’s mastered. And just as quickly as he’d appeared, he slipped out the window and into the shadows, leaving you alone to grapple with the choice he’s forced into your hands.

You watch him disappear into the early morning haze, and something inside you hardens. Maybe it’s the challenge in his words, maybe it’s the weight of months of running and hiding, or maybe it’s the realization that no one else is going to offer you freedom. Either way, as the first hints of dawn begin to color the sky, you make a decision.

Whatever happens next, it will be on your terms.

[genericpuff]

I’ve seen some people try and defend Lore Olympus by saying that movies like Hercules and such aren’t accurate to Greek myth, yet they’re still loved. And I somewhat get where they’re coming from, i really do.

BUT- I feel like part of the problem with LO is the fact that if you replace the names, you’d almost be right to assume it takes place in a completely different setting. Meanwhile, if you take away the names from the Hercules movie, you can still tell where it’s supposed to take place. (And who’s who, if you know your myths). Plus the writing of Hercules is 100% better than LO.

The difference between LO and Hercules is that Hercules clearly has respect for the source material put into it. It might not be accurate to the source material - because it's being retooled as a Disney movie for children - but you can tell there's still a lot of thought, love, and effort put into it. The team behind that movie did research on the art and culture of Greece, and adapted it into a movie that was entertaining and recognizable as a Greek myth adaption.

They put our home boy Heracles/Hercules in a tunic! Do you know how shocking that must have looked to American viewers who didn't know a shred of Greek myth and wondered why the big buff hero was being drawn in a skirt? Still accurate though!

LO, meanwhile, writes Greek myth as if it hates Greek myth for existing. It comes across more as a white woman using these stories purely for profit and colonizing it with American-esque culture. The outfits have become noticeably less Greek since the beginning, the characters never eat Greek food anymore, and the locations are left as vague as solid color backdrops to indicate "The Underworld" and "Olympus" without actually showing any set pieces or understanding of how these locations would look and feel in a modern setting.

All of these examples I gave are things we saw a decent amount of in S1. But since then it's just become talking heads on top of flat color backgrounds, eating Chinese food and dressing in American-style clothing. When was the last time we saw a mortal? There's just nothing Greek about the comic anymore because either Rachel has gotten so complacent that she just defaults to what she knows without any research (so what she watches on TV and in movies) or she only bothered with her research in the beginning to get people hooked and convinced that she's a "folklorist" so that they'd keep reading the series and giving her money on good will alone.

Using Hercules as an example of "well it's not accurate to Greek myth either!" completely misses the point of what people are getting at when they say that LO is a bad Greek myth retelling. Guess what else isn't completely accurate to Greek myth? Hadestown. Hades (the game). God of War. Stray Gods. They all take creative liberties with the source material in order to adjust it to the medium and audience they're creating it for, but none of those adaptions are quite as disrespectful as LO's. And God of War literally has little angry man going around and brutally murdering the gods. It still respects the setting of Greek myth more than LO, but unlike LO, it doesn't try to constantly sound smart with its inaccuracies, it knows fully well that it's a video game first and foremost.

And that's the beauty of myths. They can be adapted across generations and used to tell new versions of the same stories. So it begs the question, why bother writing a Greek myth retelling if you're going to make it so non-Greek that you could have just as well just written a normal soap drama and have it still be virtually the same?

Compared to all of the other examples, LO is the definition of confidently incorrect. It should have stuck to just being Greek myth inspired, not a retelling.

[lady-october]

Pairing : Oli Sykes x Female Assistant Genre : Romance, Smut (18+ Only) Previous Chapters : Available on Ao3 & Tumblr

Story Content : Smut, Drama, Choking, Power dynamics, Romance, Rough sex, Sadism/Masochism, Dom/Sub, Mentions of addiction & self harm, Degradation, Praise kink, Exhibitionism, Orgasm denial, Breath play, Dirty talk.

Summary :

“Don’t you see what a dangerous game you’re playing? Why did you have to look so fucking delicious tonight, I couldn’t stop undressing you in my mind, thinking of all the twisted things I want to do to you.” She had only worked on the touring team for three weeks, but her mind had been hijacked by dirty thoughts of a man she barely even talked to. Sure, he was very attractive, but were there other reasons she was so uncontrollably drawn to him? This is a filthy story of pain, self discovery, and love.

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Chapter 25: Now my demons, they got demons

Chapter title is lyrics from "Underground Big"

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My heart was racing out of control as I watched Oli walk away from me, down the long corridor leading back into the busy club.

On one hand I was beyond overwhelmed by everything he had dumped on me tonight, making me want to run away, go hide in the van and have a full blown mental breakdown in peace.

On the other hand I was absolutely livid.

The audacity of this man to drop all that bewildering information on me right before going up on stage, only to leave me anxious and confused for hours, and then never even tell me why he did it in the first place.

And how fucking dare he say ‘I love you’, only to essentially give up on me in the next breath?

Searing hot rage shot through my veins, pushing me away from the cold metal door of the exit I’d been leaning against, ready to fight him with everything I had left in me.

“You’re a fucking coward!” I yelled before my steps in his direction turned into a sprint.

Oli stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned around, appearing quite offended by my outburst.

“You’ve dropped so many bombs on me tonight, it’s insane! You’re insane!” The fury inside me made the words flow out of my mouth in a way I didn’t quite feel in control of, with no thought behind them beyond needing him to know exactly how mad I was, “You think this is easy for me? I’ve never worked this hard for anything in my life. I’m pushing myself to the point of constant panic attacks– and after everything I’ve been through before I started this job, I wanted to–”

Kill myself.

It was as if I’d choked on the words, and for a second I couldn’t seem to inhale a full lungs worth of air as I struggled to get my mind back on track.

But I focused on how enraged I was, on why I was confronting him in the first place.

I looked up at Oli, who I’d now positioned myself right in front of, and despite the anger in his stare, there was also worry, and for a moment I could have sworn he knew exactly what I’d almost let slip from my mouth.

Pushing that ridiculous thought aside entirely, I pressed on.

“I, I w-was struggling with so many things, and all you’re doing is testing me endlessly because you’re so fucking determined to not trust me, even though I’ve been nothing but honest with you, doing everything I can so we can–”

Be together.

Another bout of panic flooded me, throwing me off once again. 

I felt myself begin to shake, but I refused to give in – refused to let the anxiety take over and win.

“Trust is a choice, a leap of faith–” The anger was no longer in my voice, deflated by all my mental missteps.

Which might be why he felt comfortable cutting me off. 

“So is commitment.” He bit out, low and guttural.

I was stunned, because he wasn’t wrong. 

And just because something was simple, doesn’t mean it was easy. 

The music beyond the corridor was thumping away in the background as we searched each other's faces, and we’d clearly come to the same conclusion.

Oli huffed out a breath, “We’re not that different now, are we?” He asked, a sadness present in his voice, before taking a step backwards, ready to continue his walk away from me.

But I was not ready to stop talking to him, still annoyed that he seemed so intent on not being with me all of the sudden, after having worked so hard to convince me of the opposite.

“You know, Mat might be able to.”

Oli visibly tensed, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

“Be able to what?” He asked slowly, postponing his escape for now.

“Make it hurt as good as you do.”

The glare he pinned me with was swift and severe, fury radiating off of him as I’d chosen the same words he’d used just moments ago to accuse me.

“It’s why I can’t see him anymore, why I don’t want to see him anymore.” I continued, which immediately shifted Oli’s outrage to confusion.

I swallowed, knowing I needed to elaborate on my reasons for turning Mat down, so he’d understand why I did it, regardless of my worries – regardless of how much it sounded like I was ready to be with Oli.

“I realised I was only using him to… to avoid committing to you.” And as I’d feared, the softness in Oli’s eyes, the slight bewildered tilt of his head, confirmed all my worries. Yet I knew I needed to keep explaining, “Mat is great, but he’s not you. And if I’m going to be with anyone, it’s not going to be Mat.”

He studied my face, his emotions shifting, unreadable. 

After a moment he settled on a slight smile, “Even though I’m insane?”

I couldn’t help it, I felt the hints of a smile on my own lips.

“Maybe because you’re insane.” I said before I let my head drop out of shyness, “I’m not exactly the sanest person myself.”

When I looked back up, Oli was running his fingers through his hair, a sense of panic flickering in his eyes, causing unease to build and settle in me.

“We need to talk. Can we get out of here?” He asked, cold and serious.

My eyebrows knotted into a frown, “Sure. We can go back to the van if you want.” I said, as it was the only private place I could think of.

“Yeah.”

We started walking back down the corridor I’d just ran through, twice, this time pushing past the heavy door at the very end of it, my anxiety doubling as we made our way through the loud, drunken crowd surrounding the back entrance of the club before we got to the parking lot. But the further we walked, the less we could hear their chatter, the music from the club fading into the background with it. They were instead replaced by the tapping of our own footsteps on the pavement, the city traffic, and the sound of distant sirens. 

Somehow these subtle noises were more deafening than the bustling activity we’d left behind, as if the calm only made more room for the tension between us to expand, intensifying it the closer we got to our destination.

After I unlocked the van and got into the back seat with Oli, a heavy silence fell once he slid the door shut, only the faint light from the nearby street lights illuminating us as we sat next to each other.

I’m not sure how much time passed as I was preoccupied with my own racing thoughts, but I noticed Oli’s leg bouncing anxiously in the corner of my eye, which in turn made me take note of how nervous he seemed overall, with his head down and poor posture. The vision was so similar to our very first serious talk on the flight to America – he was only missing a hoodie to hide in. Instead, he was now shrouded by the darkness of the van.

I found myself remembering how poorly that discussion had ended, how much crying I’d done in the hotel once the flight was over, and I hoped this talk wouldn’t lead to a similar outcome.

“You’re right.” He said after what felt like an eternity, before throwing me a quick glance, “I’ve just been testing you, haven’t I? Test after test after test…” His words trailed off, “And you’re not the only one who’s been using Mat. To make matters worse, he’s supposed to be my best mate.” Shaking his head, he leaned forward, bracing himself on his arms before muttering the next words leaving his mouth, “You’ve not given me a reason to not trust you, Alice. It’s all just my own bloody demons.” 

There was a short pause before he angled himself towards me, taking a deep breath in the process, pinning me with his glowing eyes, “Listen, I’m really fucking messed up, you don’t even know the half of it–”

“I wanted to die before I got hired.” I cut him off, my trembling hand immediately covering my lips in shock over actually having said the words out loud.

The thought had been looping endlessly in the back of my mind, torturing me ever since he’d shared what happened to his late girlfriend from his teenage years, right before he got on stage earlier tonight. 

Which is probably why it had almost slipped out back in the corridor as well.

Or maybe I’d finally lost the last of my marbles from having pushed myself this far out of my comfort zone for such an extended period of time.

Regardless of the reasons behind my absurdly timed admission, I hadn’t meant to cut him off; hadn’t meant to make the moment about myself. 

I wanted to apologise, yet I couldn’t seem to speak another word as I stared into his surprised face.

He opened his mouth, a concerned frown making an appearance on him, “Actually, I already knew that.”

This wasn’t the first time I’d found myself puzzled over how Oli magically seemed to know personal details about me.

My hand fell away from my mouth, “How?” I asked quietly.

“Shelley used to talk a fair bit about a friend from back home that she was worried sick about – a friend she then recommended to take her old position.” 

Oli bit his lip in what seemed like yet another anxious gesture while he watched me digest the information.

I didn’t quite know how to feel about the fact that my friend had been sharing such intimate things about me, but I knew I didn’t like it.

Fleetingly I wondered what else she’d mentioned, before returning my focus to the present conversation.

The man next to me readjusted nervously in his seat, taking yet another shaky breath, “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

My heart sank further, my fingers mindlessly playing with the light fabric of my dress.

“Alright, here we go.” He said under his breath before he began sharing what had clearly been weighing him down, “When my girlfriend killed herself I nearly joined her, cause I didn’t know how else to deal. Being a teen you’re not thinking too clearly, or ahead or anything, you know? Instead I ramped up the partying at gigs, which is how I got so stuck on drugs.”

As he spoke his eyes would wander aimlessly, darting from place to place, only sometimes coming to meet mine, “Once I’d decided to not off myself, I got very angry with her – as if she’d somehow chosen to kill herself just to punish me. Which of course is ridiculous, but that’s how I felt at the time. Then eventually all that faded away, and I was just left blaming myself for her death, thinking of all the little ways I might’ve been able to stop her if I’d tried harder.” 

He sighed deeply, “That’s when the dreams started. I’d dream that I tried to save her every night for a long time, but I was never able to. Before the dreams would start to turn on me,” Shaking his head, he seemed almost annoyed by what he’d just said, “No that’s not quite right; she turned on me, like she was cross with me for not saving her. So I’d go from trying to save her, to being maimed by her – sometimes in the same bloody dream.”

I watched his hands as they fidgeted in his lap, his thumb rubbing over the black ink on his fingers, akin to how someone would try to remove a stain, “I think… I think I’ve been drawn to a lot of women who are a bit troubled because of what happened with her.”

His darting eyes finally settled on mine, a faint, bashful smile on his lips, “I was interested in you very early on actually, and if you weren’t an employee I would have asked you out pretty quickly.” The smile suddenly died and fell away entirely, “But once I learned you’d been suicidal, I went from interested to completely obsessed. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, dreaming about you, watching you, imagining all sorts of filthy things – things I had no way of knowing you’d be into, but turns out you are.” He huffed out a laugh, “Crazy that, innit?”

His gaze fell to the floor again, his features turning starker as the light hit him from this angle, immediately adding a couple of years on his face, “I knew how unhealthy it was; to get that obsessed with someone just because they’re struggling. It’s why I tried so hard to stay away from you at first.”

I got the distinct impression that he was ashamed of his reasons for being attracted to me, but since my own reasons for having pined for him were so similar, I only found a sense of comfort in learning his side of things.

“I think I was drawn to you for the same reason though.” My words came timid, being exhausted from all the adrenaline that had flooded me on multiple occasions tonight. Despite my soft tone, his eyes shot to mine immediately as I opened my mouth, “Not cause I thought you were suicidal, but because I could tell you were struggling too.”

“That makes sense.” He muttered.

For some reason I’d thought that at least some of the visible tension on him would’ve melted away from my understanding reaction to everything he’d shared, but nothing changed, making me wonder if this wasn’t the part he’d dreaded sharing.

Making me wonder where this conversation was heading.

I mentally braced myself, sitting up a bit straighter.

Oli once again dipped his head before reaching over to claim one of my hands, holding it gingerly in his own.

“The more time I spend with you Alice – the more I get to know you – the more I want to be around you.” He looked up at me through his unruly locks, eyes burning with contained passion, subdued by an uncertainty and shyness that I didn’t get to see much of on Oli, “And not to save you or anything like that. I just want to experience life with you. Tour life is wild, and while that’s my life a lot of the time, I’d also very much like to experience the other part of it with you. The part that’s not so crazy; the lazy days on the sofa watching old movies, you know?”

It occurred to me as Oli was speaking that he was saying all the things that would usually make me want to run for the hills, yet I felt surprisingly calm being here with him, having an intimate conversation while holding hands, not long after he told me he loves me.

Oli’s eyes flickered to our intertwined fingers, bringing attention to how I was clutching him, my nails digging into his skin, letting us both know that I was, in fact, not as calm as I’d thought.

Having noticed my very obvious discomfort with the intimate topic, he cleared his throat and moved on.

“I really want to trust you Alice, I just don’t know how yet. Just like I don’t want to keep testing you, but the truth is I barely notice I’m doing it until it’s too late.”

“What if I point it out?” I asked, wanting him to know that despite how uncomfortable I was, didn’t mean I wasn’t trying to figure things out.

“We can try that.” He said with a flash of a smile, “But that’s just part of it. There’s some things we really need to talk about.”

A chill ran up my spine as I watched the panic make a reappearance in Oli’s eyes.

Right as he opened his mouth to speak, the van door suddenly flew open, causing Oli to rip his hand away from mine as he whipped around to look at whoever had interrupted our deep conversation.

Liam and Mat were looking back at us with their arms around Lee, which appeared nearly passed out as his head hung low, gently bobbing, drunkenly.

“There you are, love!” Liam proclaimed loudly, his voice dripping with annoyance before they draped Lee’s incoherently mumbling body over the row of seats in front of us, “I’ve been calling you. Lee here thought it was a good idea to do shots with the 20-something group next to us, and now everyone's night gets cut short.”

I rummaged through my purse to find my phone, only to see seven missed calls from Liam.

“You’re usually a bit smarter than this, Lee.” Mat muttered, his eyes quickly scanning me and Oli, clearly trying to assess what we’ve been up to.

“I-I’m so sorry Liam, I must’ve still been in the club when you called cause I haven’t heard a thing.” I apologised before standing up and awkwardly pushing past both Oli and Mat in order to take quick steps around the van and get into the driver’s seat.

While the long drive to the hotel was mostly quiet, with only two necessary stops for Lee to retch by the side of the road, my mind absolutely refused to shut up, catastrophizing every potential scenario of what Oli might have disclosed to me if our alone time hadn’t been so rudely cut short. But even though the drive was long, I knew I would get to talk to Oli as soon as we arrived, so there truly was no point in overthinking.

Or at least so I told myself while my thoughts completely ate me alive.

What else could Oli possibly need to share that had him this riled up? A million answers came to mind, but only two of them fit quite right; either he was falling back into drugs, or he’d decided that me and him were doomed from the start, and despite all the things he wanted to experience with me, he was readying himself to walk away for good, knowing we were going nowhere when our damage clashed this fundamentally.

The latter thought was the one that would occupy my mind the most, messing with my emotions in ways that I didn’t feel equipped to handle. All my fears around being rejected by someone that meant something to me on such a personal level were distracting to a degree that I’d completely missed Liam’s last instruction.

“Alice, I said turn left back there, are you even paying attention?”

“Shit, sorry.”

Since we were only a couple of turns away from the hotel at this point, the remote roads were entirely empty, allowing me to stop the car and start doing a three point turn on the spot.

As I drove up the final winding road to the hotel, it hit me that while my thoughts had been consumed by fears and worries the whole drive, at no point had these been centred around the dread of being in a relationship with Oli.

And somehow that revelation was the one that caused the most panic to stir in me.

Everyone except me and Oli seemed exhausted as we wordlessly walked into the hotel lobby, Liam and Mat once again dragging poor Lee along. 

And while the rest of the guys disappeared through Lee’s door to help him out, Oli and I selfishly continued to Oli’s room together.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hiya! For a multitude of spoilery reasons that I don't wish to disclose, I decided to split up my original, extremely long chapter, into two. So this is just the first part. The "second part" (aka the next chapter) is also ready, and will be posted very shortly.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

... Subscribe to the story on Ao3 for future updates

[apatheticlexicographer]

Where Evil Nests 

Chapter 1: The H Word

HELLOOO!!! this is smth i’ve been wanting to draw/create since literally september, at least. i don’t want to spoil the “plot,” if you can call it that, but if ur like me and ur an absolute sucker for feral/possessed will, miwi, and Paranormal Shenanigans™ then this AU is for you. it’s highly self indulgent if u can’t tell

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3

rambling under the cut:

this is alternatively known as: i haven’t drawn anything in like three months and i had no intention of doing so today, but somehow i ended up with a killer hand cramp, 4 full pages of a comic i’ve been meaning to write for four months but at this point i had basically given up on actually doing it, and almost 8 hours of my life mysteriously missing; help

sorry for the wonky ass perspective, i never really draw backgrounds and certainly not whole ass buildings. whatever architect designed the creel house is my archnemesis for real, i am biting them biting them biting them >:[[[ i don’t rlly have any excuse for the anatomy other than the aforementioned “haven’t drawn anything in 3 months” tho lmao

hopefully the rain translates okay?? like it looks fine to me but i’m the bitch who’s been staring at these for 8 hours so i don’t trust my own judgement

also this is a will-centric AU and the boy is literally only here as a stick figure-silhouette??? smh smh

it’s 5am i need to collapse now. peace&love on planet earth <333

[hhoneyglasss]

retired from sad, new career in business

notes: hiya. here is cutie.

i hope u enjoy.

pairings: geordi/cutie

pov: cutie — first person limited

word count: 1.4k

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46497778

!! TWs {these begin under the cut} !! slightly graphic imagery, metaphoric mention of vomiting, discussion about current specialized therapy, & mentions of past relationship troubles. if any of these topics are triggering to u, please proceed with caution or do not interact with this work.

reblogs r v much appreciated !

The days were quiet now.

It wasn’t an unpleasant silence—at least, not in the way that it used to be. I've come to like it a lot, actually. Sometimes being the only noise in the house wasn’t so bad—at least not as bad as I used to think it was.

Before now, I’d hated silence since I was a kid. I was almost never around it—my childhood home was always full of the (mental) voices of my family. Never a quiet moment, save for when I was alone, but even then, I’d always have music on or the TV turned to an audible but low volume in the background. I’d do anything to fill in the empty space that silence has a nasty habit of making.

When I grew older and moved out on my own, I always lived with somebody. The buzz of their thoughts would always echo their reverb, and I got used to the noise.

There was never a moment when I was truly by myself. Even when I was asleep, I could hear someone else’s dreams being acted out just a second behind mine. Their thoughts were always playing on a silver screen, one that I wove for myself and only I knew about.

But things were different with Geordi. Now, I had someone else aware of the screen, sitting right next to me as the movie played out before us.

He didn’t like the film, though, and suddenly, I didn’t either.

That’s when the cassette tape’s casing splintered and the roll of film tore. I watched as the screen I’d made ripped apart, threads upon threads coming undone until I was drowning in them.

The only thing left in my theater was a single spotlight that now aimed all of its blistering light onto me. The title of today’s film changed, and suddenly I was the opening act.

Except there wasn’t anybody in the audience. Rows upon rows of empty leather seats stared down at me and the only thing I could focus on was the deafening silence filling up the room.

The only thing clear to me through my tears was Geordi standing at the left side of the theater. His face was dimly lit with the red light of the emergency exit sign, and I opened my mouth to scream to him, but nothing came out. I screamed and screamed and screamed until my throat had been ripped raw, only to choke on the silver pouring from my mouth.

Through the threads dripping with silver, I reached out to Geordi, even when the better judgment of silence told me that I didn’t deserve it. But when I wiped the silver tears from my eyes, the only thing left in his wake was his ticket, now torn to shreds.

I turned slowly to look directly at the spotlight, ignoring the burn in my eyes. I turned again to look at my captive, empty audience, and I screamed again. I wailed and hollered and shrieked until I was dripping silver and I collapsed on the stage, distant claps sounding as the curtain was drawn in a final flourish.

It had been three months since then. Three months since we’d separated—or broken up? Maybe taking a break is the best word. I know I couldn’t tell you.

I’d started seeing someone not long after—maybe two weeks had passed before I’d found an empowered specialist working under D.U.M.P. After our initial appointment, we’d begun meetings three times a week.

Now, two and a half months later, we’ve reduced it to one meeting a week. My specialist, Dr. Almar, said that I’ve been making a lot of progress. She even dared to say that she can see the effort I’m putting in. I still have trouble believing her sometimes.

In the beginning, I felt that same urge I did with her that I had with Geordi. That awful want to look into her thoughts because the other option—not having a clue as to what she was thinking—seemed impossible. I resisted, though, and only five minutes into our first appointment, she asked, “Are you listening to my thoughts right now? Have you at all since we begun talking?”

“No.”

“Good,” she had said, a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips, “That’s the first right step.”

Those words specifically had stuck with me; first right step. From then on, I tried to make those right steps, and I’ll admit they didn’t always go ‘right’. Sometimes I made wrong ones, but I learned that that’s okay. I learned that instead of staying stuck there, standing, I would keep marching forward.

So I did.

I hadn’t talked to Geordi at all in the time we’ve been separated. I waited for him instead, letting him come to me when he felt he was ready to talk again.

I’d already fumbled enough threads—now it was his turn to work the needle.

Today, I sat on the railing of the balcony. It was finally beginning to be warm again, the short days of winter having already passed us by. The sun was setting slowly, its rays painting wide strokes of pink, orange, and purple across the sleepy sky.

A warm breeze blew past me, and I let out a heavy sigh. The city was quieter today than usual—the common hustle and bustle of cars was gone. Instead, I just watched. I saw a couple ride bikes towards the beach, towels almost being sent flying before they both caught them and laughed. I watched as the lights of stores flicked on, their twinkling mimicking the stars that had begun to appear in the sky.

I heard my phone ring inside, and I hopped off of the balcony to head back in. I slid the doors shut before picking up my phone and reading the contact.

Geordi’s name appeared on the screen.

I thought at first that it was a mistake, an accidental clicking of my contact when he meant to call someone else. After the third ring, though, I figured that it wasn’t.

I answered with a deep breath, “Hey, Geordi.”

“Hi,” he greeted.

I paused, unsure of what to say next. Every phrase I could come up with didn’t sound right, everything just slightly off. I let him take the lead.

“How are you?”

I smiled a little. “I’m okay. How have you been?”

“Good.”

The silence came back again before he said, “I just wanted to tell you that I miss you.”

I smiled a little wider. “I miss you too.”

Silence followed once again, but it was natural. Neither of us tried to fill it until the moment felt right. It was new, but it wasn’t bad. I didn’t mind it.

I said next, “I’ve been talking to someone—an empowered specialist. I like it. It’s nice.”

“I’m glad,” he replied, and I loved how I could hear the smile in his voice, “I’m happy beyond words, cutie.”

The old nickname pulled at my heartstrings, and I got a little dizzy. I sat down on the couch.

He spoke up again. “If you’re ready to talk, I’d like to meet up whenever you’re free. I’d really like to see you again, but only if you’re comfortable.”

“No, I’d—I’d really like that, too.”

“Okay,” he said, “What about the coffee shop on Glassglow Boulevard? The one we used to go to?”

“That sounds great,” I answered, “Are you free tomorrow? Maybe around six?”

“Yeah,” Geordi agreed, “It’s a date, then.”

“It is.”

A few moments of silence passed by before I added, “And Geordi, I—I want you to know that I know that things aren’t gonna go back to the way they were, and I—I think that’s a good thing. I think that’s a really good thing, actually. I’m ready to begin our next right step with you, as long as you are.”

“I’m ready, cutie,” he said, “I love you. I love you more than you know.”

“I love you too, Geordi.”

—

We ended the call not long after, both of us confirming the date, time, and location for tomorrow with each other before exchanging ‘good night's' to one another.

I set my phone on the couch and leaned back, turning to look outside. The sun had fully set now, the sky now lit with countless stars. Moonlight lounged across the railing and spilled onto the living room floor.

Liquid silver was now shining back at me, its luminance reflecting off of every surface in the open room. I was surrounded by it, but this time it was different.

There was hope in this silver, a certain glimmer to it that wasn’t there before. There was something in it that told me things were going to be okay—all I had to do was be patient.

It told me that I was making the right steps, and for the first time in a long time, I believed it. I believed in myself.

The room drifted off into silence, and I let myself be enveloped by my spools of silver as they led me back into my theater.

It told me I was making right steps, and for the first time in three months, I believed it. So I welcomed it, and I let myself be enveloped by it as it led me through the night.

[thisfinalfathom]

how can different songs by the same artist remind you of opposite things? i guess that’s the weird relationship i have with current joys. i listen to calypso or altered states and i’m barely teenage in the back seat of a golf cart, the sunsetting florida air whipping around my face at a technically illegal 20-some miles per hour. i listen to symphonia ix (the live version) or in a year of 13 moons, and it’s four years later; i’m surrounded by half-full moving boxes and collapsing against my closet door, weeping into already drenched hands. “and i’m just waiting for the moon to change.” clearly i have an obsession with that song today. am i ruining his halloween, too? is it bad that i’m still sorry? that i would still hold his hand in the sweltering summer heat? now i’m just sitting here wondering how he ever drew the conclusion that i was some type of ultra-abusive man-monster something or another. i truthfully have no clue what he thinks. as cliché as it is, i wonder if i ever did. when he came to visit me, the first and only time, he gave me something he’d been working on for months. i knew he’d been making something but had no idea what it was; “it’s a surprise,” he would always tell me. i feel like he may have given me hints but i could never guess. he put a sketchbook in my hand that day, held together by tape and love and maybe some super glue, and explained himself as i worked my way through it. he had written or drawn in almost every page. “i wanted to fill up the whole thing, but i wanted to give it to you when i came here.” i don’t cry in front of people. i wept into his shoulder and i could not tell you whether i was holding on tighter to him or to the book. i should not be debating whether to put it on my shelf. it should be tucked away in the very furthest reaches of my closet. it should never see the light of day but once or twice a year—and still i contemplate. he told me that every word he wrote, he would mean forever. he said that after he’d went back home. it was a reassurance to me despite his rock-bottom state, despite all the conflict. does he still mean them now? does he still love my voice enough to write it five times on the same page? does he even remember the sound of it? i do not remember the last time i heard his voice. i don’t remember our last call. if i had known all that would’ve happened afterwards, i would’ve savored it more. that visit is not something i regret. i could. i’ve thought heavily about it, but there were no strings attached. no ‘except for’s. it was perfect. it was christmas day in the middle of a war. i never knew christmas could last five days. i never knew christmas gave you matching sunburns. i still have half of a resin heart on my keys. blue background with a brown scorpion swallowed up in clear plastic. his, yellow with black. i will never know the fate of that scorpion. it is long dead, and yet i worry. we never watched beautiful boy. how am i only remembering this now? how am i still sorry? (are you noticing a pattern?) i am still here, as i’m sure i’ve written over and over. i am still here waiting for the moon to change.

[hehates]

IT  FEELS  GOOD  TO  KNOW  YOU'RE  MINE . NOW  DRIVE  ME  FAR  AWAY  ,  AWAY  ,  AWAY . FAR  AWAY ,  I  DON'T  CARE  WHERE . JUST  FAR  AWAY ,  I  DON'T  CARE  WHERE , JUST  FAR  AWAY .  I  DON'T  CARE  WHERE  . . .

christian yu ,  thirty-one ,  cis man ,  he + him   𐫱     ›   hey , isn’t that  kieran moon ? i’ve heard that they’ve lived in bearhold for  three weeks . rumor has it that they can be rather  dishonest  and  rebellious , but hey , that’s just in their nature as a  witch . they totally make up for it by being  charming and resourceful . if you’re looking for them , you can probably find them at their work as a  gravedigger  at  garden memorial .

" BE QUIET AND DRIVE ( FAR AWAY ) . . . "

BASICS

full name ◦ REDACTED . moon , kieran ( for now . . . ) . nicknames ◦ kier . date of birth ◦ june 23rd . zodiac ◦ the world's most desensitized cancer . age ◦ thirty - one . gender ◦ cis man . pronouns ◦ he + him . sexuality ◦ bisexual . occupation ◦ gravedigger at garden memorial , grave robber at garden memorial , freelance medium and traveling merchant of magical items and artifacts . residence ◦ second floor apartment . he's never home . keeps it for appearances and pays month to month .

PHSYICAL APPERANCE

height ◦ 5 ' 10 " / 177.8 cm hair color ◦ jet black with a single white streak near the front . eye color ◦ dark brown / almost appearing black . tattoos ◦ too many to count . i'm only human by rag'n'bone starts playing in the background . he does have an anti possession tattoo though , somewhere .

PRACTICED MAGIC

NECROMANCY ◦ death / mention of death tw . his strongest ability and specialization . he is able to summon , communicate and interact with spirits . this includes the ability to raise the dead and , at its most powerful , bond spirit to body once more . he can reach out to the loved ones of anyone that have passed on from their physical form , but it requires conjuring of the spirit using an item of theirs that is usually destroyed in the process . a man of many secrets , there are several vengeful spirits that are drawn to him ; he never speaks of why , but they are the reason for the hauntings and flying objects that occur around him .

PYROMANCY ◦ his second and most offensive ability , he appears to be more comfortable with this ability , using it leisurely in everyday life . it is a means of protection and destruction , used for combat but also to cleanse magical artifacts or omens . the cleansing fires burn a bright magenta and only burn those of ill intentions , where as the most common , the flames made with the purpose to destroy , burn blue .

INTROSPECTION

the  streets  of  bearhold  are  bathed  in  fog  upon  your  arrival  ,  the  kind  that  dissipates  under  the  soles  of  your  doc  martens  —  the  kind  what  signals  something  wicked  approaching  .  the  leather  jacket  that  hangs  over  your  shoulders  appears  a  little  lived  in  ,  sporting  a  patch  for  every  place  you’ve  stopped by  on  your  journey  thus  far  .  with  the  looped  end  of  a  needle  snug  between  your  teeth  ,  the  length  resting  on  the  side  on  your  lip  ,  you  search  for  a  new  souvenir  to  add  to  your  prized  possession  .  you’ve  never  questioned  when  your  jacket  would  fall  apart  at  the  seams  ,  often  telling  those  who  look  at  you  with  concern  and  intrigue  that  you’ll  only  part  with  it  when  someone  steals  it  from  the  shallow  grave  you  find  yourself  in at  the  end of it all  .  that  jacket  has  outlived  so  many  versions  of  you  —  it’ll  go  on  to  outlive  whoever  the  hell  kieran  moon  is  ,  you  think  ,  without  a  single  doubt  in  your  mind  . 

new  city  ,  new  name  ,  but  the  same  devilish  smile  softened  only  by  the  way  your  eyes  curve  into  crescent  moons  .  same  skeletons  in  your  closet  ,  hovering  over  your  shoulders  ,  staring  you  in  the  eyes  to  remind  you  that  you  are  a  man  of  many  vices  .  there’s  nothing  that  can  truly  soften  your  jagged  edges  ,  is  there  ?  your  eyes  narrow  to  that  of  a  siren’s  gaze  ,  black  eyeliner  kissing  the  waterline  where  long  eyelashes  sit  .  the  patch  that  catches  your  eyes  is  one  of  a  sphinx  cat  and  a  ouija  board  .  how  ironic  .  as  if  you  needed  and  help  communicating  with  the  dead  .  they  follow  you  with  somber  cries  of  betrayal  that  you’ve  learned  to  ignore  .  you’re  eerily  calm  when  items  float  around  you  ,  catching  a  candle  flung  at  the  back  of  your  head with ease  ,  the  glass  clinking  against  your  ringed  fingers  .  “  now  .  no  need  to  throw  a  tantrum  .  “  it's said  under  your  breath  with  a  hint  of  a  smile  . 

you  are  a  man  of  many  talents  ,  though  you  are  not  very  vocal  about  what  those  talents  are  until  it’s  time  to  present  them  .  the  only one you share to crack your mystique  is  that  you  have  a  knack  for  finding  things  .  artifacts  ,  no  matter  how  old  ,  you  can  retrieve  them  for  the  right  price  and a bit of discretion  .  how  you  got  it  is  not  important  ,  the  logistics  are  never  important  ,  all  that  matters  is  that  you  found  it  ,  right  ?  another  happy  customer  and  more  money  to  stuff  into  that  guitar  case  that  you  carry  on  your  back  . 

approaching  the  counter  with  your  patch  and  some  thread  ,  you  pay  and  make  small  talk  ,  your  dark  gaze  sharp  enough  to  cut  .  the  way  the  cashier  fidgets  under  your  stare  pulls  a  charismatic  smile  from  you  ,  a  small  chuckle  causing  them  to  look  up  .  small  towns  are  like  their  own  little  planet  .  it’s  when  your  fingers  brush  against  theirs  in  the  retrieval  of  your  receipt  that  your  impulsive  mind  wonders  if  this  town  ,  one  of  many  that  you’ve  drifted  into  ,  could  be  one  you  call  home  .  how  long  will  that  possibility  remain  before  this  kieran  drops  his  mask  to  a  man  whose  name  is  forbidden  from  being  spoken  ?  a  man  of  many  secrets  ,  the  kind  that  send  shivers down the backs of  the  ears  they’re  spoken  to  .  they  carry  a  weight  ,  an  omen  —  your  secrets  serenade  like  a  song  of  death  ,  leading  one  into  the  oceans  depths  ;  a  siren’s  call  to  match  those  siren  eyes  . 

you  were  made  to  fit  into  this  mold  ,  to  answer  to  this  call  and  leave  towns  just  as  quickly  as  you  enter  ,  stacking  enough  cash  to  satisfy  those  aforementioned  secrets  and  the  people  you  share  them  with  .  hauntings  be  damned  ,  you  threw  away  the  part  of  you  that  was  burdened  by  conscience  . 

anything  to  save  her  . 

you  turn  away  with  a  roll  of  your  shoulders  ,  opening  the  door  with  a  chime  of  the  bell  before  looking  back  ,  signaling  goodbye  with  a  two  finger  salute  and  a  wink  ,  accent  heavy  on  your  tongue  .  "  be  careful  on  your  way  home  .  it’s  witching  hour  …  and  your  never  know  who’s  roaming  about  .  "

HEADCANONS

travels a lot , often leaving without warning once he feels that he's worn out his welcome . he often enters a town with an unknown goal in mind , what truly motivates him being his biggest secret of all . he may be tight lipped about that of which shrouds him in mystery , but other people with a deep supernatural connection can feel the bad vibes radiating off of him .

the artifacts he can provide are some of the rarest to grace the earth . other witches may sense a bit of familiarity from them , the scent of another witch that has since gone missing suppressed by pink flame . perhaps there is more to him than just a stranger that's really good at finding things . . .

he shows that he's attracted to someone by becoming interested in their interests .

his love languages are acts of service and physical touch .

he's grown now , but the mall goth that he was as a teenager still lingers in the way he's adorned with eyeliner , black nail polish and a rather lived in leather jacket .

cat dad to every stray cat he's ever met .

plays guitar like tim henson .

[ran-orimoto]

Hello greetings! Thanks for follow me! May i ask why do you like junpei-nisan and ship him with izumi-ne? Sorry f9r my rude and bad english..

Hello! Don’t worry about your english because first of all it is not bad; second, I’m not english myself so, honestly, who cares🤫. What matters the most is to understand each other, right?

I’ve recently written a little post about why I love Junpei so much:

But I guess I could tell so much more about the reason why I love Junpei. That post isn’t exhaustive at all ahaha.

For example, I could tell you about how much I love his personality being so flawed and going through a development that does happen in the background, but it’s still so beautiful. From seeing him starting off as a selfish, rude kid wanting the world to rotate around him, to observing him finding his role in the group, taking step backwards because of their sake (very ehw, but I admit it was written well from his perspective, at least).

As far as concerns Junzumi, the reasons are so many even when it comes to them. I used to ship Takumi (Takuya x Izumi) in the past, but I had never watched Frontier tbh. When I started my watching, my immediate liking on Junpei soon laced itself with a growing interest in the pair. Going beyond the fact I have got a soft spot for pairings in which a boy is so devoted to his crush, loves her so endlessly and would do anything to make her happy, I could make a little list about the main points making me like Junzumi so much.

• The main reason why I love it is that they are both lonely kids and they get constantly paired up at the beginning of Frontier because of this characteristic of theirs. They just deal with it in different ways, indeed, opposite ways: Junpei searches for friends so desperately he even sells himself, becomes a people pleaser, exchanges friendship for material stuff; Izumi has got no friends because she doesn’t want them, she doesn’t want to be treated as a special kid, being put at the center of attention (whereas Junpei DOES want to be the star of situations XD). Both also cope with this situation of theirs in different ways, almost specular, with Junpei feeling a void inside himself but trying repressing it, lying to himself, and Izumi being perfectly aware of her condition but not wanting to go deeper and looking for its root. What really makes this point (and couple) so special to me is that in some profiles about Junpei it’s stated he felt drawn by Izumi at first sight because he could perceive she was as lonely as him.

And I…I am a lonely person too, I must admit. I’m an only child like them and somehow I do relate to their need to have someone around themselves.

• They are the most well-developed duo in the whole Frontier and have got ton of potential because of their personalities clashing, but always finding a way to get along. They are…The Mum and Dad of the group, this is a certainty, but they are also great partners when they collaborate. They started off with Izumi not standing him, Junpei not knowing how to even conversate with her in a normal way. Yet, they soon learn to appreciate each other, unconsciously learn they can grow up thanks to each other. Who’s the first (indeed, only) member of the group Izumi opens up to, has got the best heart-to-heart with? Junpei. Who is the one for whom Junpei goes beyond his limits, understanding how important for him is to protect those he cares for? Izumi. Let’s also add Junpei gets interested in italian thanks to her, but this is something I have to add because of my endless love for this aspect of Junpei’s.

• They can be both a platonic and romantic relationship and, in my personal opinion, in a couple it’s so important to balance the two sides.

• Their personalities help me come up with thousand of ideas for them and it does matter for a creative person like me, I assure you. Imagining them older and applying those explosive personalities of theirs in a boyfriend/girlfriend or ,even funnier, husband/wife context is just everything to me. Junpei is the loyal, extremely devoted, affectionate, sometimes also wise husband pleasing his wife in the most disparate ways he could. There’s nothing he cares more about than seeing her happy and making her believe she’s the most beautiful, -inside and outside-, woman on Earth. Izumi is the wife liking teasing her husband, being so strict at certain moments, taking the reins of any situation and holding the scepter of the household. Yet, at the same time, she’s the most lovely companion of life, making husband feel the most desiderable man on Earth.

AND FEEDING HIM WITH BEST FOOD.

EHM, yes, moments in which you are flooded by emotions. Waves of emotions.

• They are Wind x Thunder, parts of tempests. Their elements also have got a special bond in one of the V-Pets.

• Their Digimon are both bugs in their adult forms and, Jesus Christ, consider me stupid, but I ship Fairymon and Blitzmon so hard too (especially after Blitzmon is revealed to be a simp for her in the 2019 drama).

These are some reasons. SOME, though, because there are ton of others. I…I would be banned from Tumblr because of the excessive length. Anyway! I hope I was clear and answered your question in the way you wanted. If you wanted to know something else about these topics or share your opinions, you’re welcome to do it💕 (just like you’re welcome in my blog from now on).

Thank you for the ask and have a good day🎶!

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Gentile. | Chapter 4

During dinner, Quintus embarrasses you in front of Atticus. When the cohorte seeks you out, you find common ground.

Chapter list

The letter to your brother Lucius finally starts to take shape. Comfortable on the chaise longue in the corner of Quintus’ office, you sit with your legs drawn up and a roll of parchment is resting in your lap, the words flowing freely from the pen between your fingers.

Occasionally, you look up to see Quintus converse with captains and tribunes, the drawl of his voice pushed to the background like a blur. You have learnt to block it out over time, able to ignore it almost fully, much to your delight, for Quintus tends to never stop talking. It allows you to concentrate on your personal activities better.

Dear Lucius, you have written down so far, I hope that you and your family are doing well. I pray that your wife will stay strong throughout the pregnancy and I am certain that little Aurelia cannot wait to meet her little sister. 

Capernaum is quite crowded but the fruits here are delightful. If it hadn’t been so warm I would have sent you some persimmons enclosed with this letter but I fear that they might rot before they cross the Judean border, so perhaps consider this an invitation to come have a taste of the food once the baby is born. That is, if Quintus and I will still be here by then.

Things around this village are–

You lift your pen and chew your bottom lip, considering your next words. Should you be honest about the commotion yesterday? Quintus had not yet been informed, so perhaps it hadn’t been that important after all.

-going better around here now that Quintus is taking the lead. You know how he is. I am sure that we will be back in Rome before we know it.

Please write back to me with news about your wife and baby, and let me know how things are going with your new position. Give my regards to Marius and Julia, tell them that—

“Pardon me, Dominus, but someone is here to see you urgently.” You look up from your letter at the sudden entrance of the secretary, an apologetic look on his face. “I told him that he should come back later, when—”

“Let him in.” Quintus says, and the secretary curtsies before rushing out of the room. For a moment, Quintus looks over to you with a raised brow. Abruptly, you turn back to your letter, dipping your pen back into the pot for the final few sentences.

Your husband pipes up unexpectedly: “Atticus Aemilius Pulcher?” and you nearly drop the inkwell at the familiarity of his name.

You can’t help but look up when the Cohortes you met in your garden at night a few days ago steps inside with a confidence that you haven’t seen on any other man in front of Capernaum’s new Praetor. It takes everything in your being to not gawk at how he carries himself.

“Nice place you’ve got here.” His voice is just as warm whilst he looks around the room, dark eyes meeting your form on the small sofa. “Extremely elegant.” he adds with a smile.

There is no fighting the fluster creeping up on your cheeks and you quickly avert your gaze back to the parchment in your hand, suddenly shy. Does he mean the chamber with those last two words, or you ?

“Arrived a few days ago. Got plenty to do here. Tell me, Atticus, is it so difficult to keep the vermin in check?”

Your heart hammers inside your chest and you dare to take a peek at Atticus, anxious to hear how he will respond to Quintus’ jabs.

“Last time I checked, such a task is not part of my job description. I’ve got better things to do than sit in an office all day pretending I’m important.”

You stifle a snort of disbelief behind your hand and clear your throat, both men momentarily looking at you, Quintus’ gaze containing annoyance, Atticus appearing amused. 

Pushing his tongue into the inside of his cheek, Quintus can hardly contain his irritation. “I suppose you’re not here for a friendly chat.”

“Quite the contrary.”

“Well then, spit it out.”

Turning your attention back to the letter in your hand is off the hook now. Instead, you listen with bated breath, trying your hardest to keep your eyes from wandering to the broad shoulders of the undeniably attractive Cohortes standing a little away. In daylight, he is just as handsome, and you chastise yourself for even thinking such a thing.

“The people are restless. Yesterday, there was a massive fight between a few men with opposing views on how things are being handled around here.”

“Nothing new, my men will figure it out.”

Atticus gives a small shake of his head. “Not this time.”

Quintus falls silent for a moment. “How can you be so sure?”

“I’ve been looking into something lately.”

Your husband raises his eyebrows. “That being?”

“Extremism.”

“So?”

“Tell your men to handle it, or I am forced to request aid from Rome, and I am certain that you do not wish that blemish upon your reputation.”

A beat of silence whilst you held your breath, eyes flitting between Atticus and Quintus, waiting for the latter to react.

He suddenly cackles one of his characteristic giggles, looking at you for a second with slight disbelief. “Can you believe this man, darling? Do you think that was supposed to be a threat?”

The question is rhetorical, but you’re inclined to respond. “Perhaps he’s got a point.”

Quintus’ smile falls, and for a second, he seems to consider something. “Let me properly introduce you to my wife, Atticus. Her name is (Y/n), and she’s a funny one sometimes. Doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut, you know the deal.” Malice laces his voice.

Atticus’ eyes glitter when you find them and you feel your heart stutter. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he tells you, grinning. “Good to hear that someone around here can talk some sense into Quintus.” It is a compliment you do not deserve and even less something you can live up to, but you blush nevertheless. 

Your husband laughs again, clasping his hand over his mouth. 

“Oh, that’s a good one.” There must be something he notices in the way you look at Atticus, for Quintus calms and clears his throat. “Say, Atticus, why don’t you come over for dinner tonight, hm? Maybe we got off on the wrong foot.”

The man in question smiles, the whiteness of his teeth only now springing to your attention, for his eyes had been too captivating before, and he nods affirmatively. “I would be a fool to pass up such an opportunity, Praetor.” 

“It’s settled, then,” Quintus decides, “Tonight, after dusk. Don’t be late.”

“Cohortes Urbanae are never late, Quintus.” Atticus bows at you with another charming smile and sends a challenging look your husband’s way before spinning on his heel, exiting the room, leaving you in silence.

A moment passes before Quintus speaks up. “Huh… That was interesting.”

“I like his courage,” you dare to admit, earning a strange look from the Praetor. 

“Hm…” There is a look in his eyes that you cannot quite read. Pretending to be unaffected by Atticus’ earlier presence, you turn back to your letter, finding yourself puzzled as to where you left off.

Quintus turns back to his work, displaying no suspicion. The ink on the tip of your pen has long dried, so you give it another dip before finishing the sentence.

– I miss them. I’ll await your message with great anticipation.Your loving sister, (Y/n).”

You wait for the ink to dry lest it blot, rolling up the parchment and binding it with a ribbon from Quintus’ desk. Your movements are a bit awkward, body still shaken from the sudden encounter with a man whom you felt positively attracted to. Part of you realises you should feel shame for allowing such emotion to settle into your heart in the very presence of your husband no less, but how could you possibly help yourself in a cold and distant marriage like your own?

“Can you get this sent out for me, Quin?” you ask him, and he nods, moving in to press a kiss to the side of your head. 

“Of course, darling.”

You swallow. “I’m going to my sitting room to read for a bit.”

“Don’t forget to prepare for dinner tonight. Oh, and please do wear something purple. I think it would fit well.”

An odd request, for a few days ago, he had forbidden you to don said colour, but you know you shouldn’t inquire about it. 

You mutter a positive response before rushing away, heading towards your residence to take some time to find some peace of mind before Atticus would show up on the doorstep.

_ 

You tuck a few strands of (h/c) behind your ear and dab a subtle perfume on the insides of your wrists, inspecting yourself in the mirror. Adjusting the drape around your arms, you turn from side to side, shifting your golden ornaments around until they’re simply looking perfect , and you feel a little guilty at dolling up for a man that is not your husband, but you can’t help yourself.

Quintus walks into the room wearing a saffron-coloured tunic with red details and golden embellishments, and he smiles when he sees you, brushing up behind you, pressing a lingering kiss underneath your ear. “Looking so beautiful for me, darling.” There is, for once, genuinity in his compliment. The nature thereof remains debatable, for you know he often feels the urge to show you off to his inferiors and superiors alike. “The jewel of Capernaum.”

You give him a roll of your eye and finish your look with some kohl on your lids and rouge on your cheeks.

“And… All done.” you pipe up, causing Quintus to look at you.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, “Why don’t you do a little twirl for me?”

You know he does it to check if there are any inappropriate amounts of skin exposed and to see if there are creases that do not belong, but you comply. He grins contentedly and cups your chin in his palm to tilt it up, pressing a kiss to your lips. The bile that creeps up your throat is swallowed back quickly when you pull away, rubbing a clammy palm over the front of your dress. “You’ll ruin my make-up,” you say with a feigned smile, and Quintus takes it for humour, even though the intent of your words was out of unwillingness to kiss him.

“Let’s go downstairs, I believe I hear horse hooves outside.” He holds out his arm and you hook into it, heading down the stairs to find Atticus already standing in the foyer, wearing a finely embroidered tunic underneath his dark blue scarf. Your gut pleasantly swirls at his presence, even though you tell yourself to not daydream. He removes the latter and gives it to a servant. 

“Good evening, Quintus, (Y/n),” he greets you, and you release your husband to curtsy at Atticus, whose gaze lingers on you, his smile growing. “You look beautiful tonight, my lady.”

“Why thank you, Atticus.” He opens his mouth to say something else, but Quintus leaves him no room.

“Good to receive you tonight, Cohortes.” There is a scowl already present on your husband’s face, his hand finding the small of your back. “Let’s head over to the dining room, I am sure that it will be served soon.”

The three of you head over to said area and the men lay down at the table, whilst you take a chair. “I have brought some wine with me,” Atticus comments once he settles across from Quintus, “I am not sure what you like, so I hope that it will be satisfactory.”

You smile a little and nod gratefully. “You really shouldn’t have.”

“Show up empty handed to a dinner party I’m invited to? Never.” He winks at you, his dark eyes making you blush. You find yourself forced to look away lest you squirm in your seat, your heart fluttering inside your chest.

Quintus calls over a servant to ask for the starter - sweetened apricots in thickened sauce made from white wine - and you sit in moderate silence for a while whilst you enjoy the food. 

A thousand questions about Atticus’ life bounce around in your mind, but you know you cannot just speak up and pour them out. Instead, you chew on a piece of fruit and watch the two men quietly, occasionally locking eyes with Atticus, which causes your stomach to feel tight every time it happens.

“How do you find Capernaum, my lady?” the Cohortes breaks the silence. You nearly choke on your food and take a swig of the wine he has brought along - a sweet but heavy liquid that immediately makes your head feel fuzzy. You clear your throat before responding.

“It isn’t too bad, if you know where to look for the positive. I try to see the good in people.”

Atticus raises an eyebrow, nodding, whilst Quintus snorts in his cup, laughs, not wasting any time in talking down on you. “Can you believe her? She’s such a romantic. I think she gets it from those little books of hers. They give her a twisted view of the real world. Odd, isn’t it? That’s just how women are.” 

You prod around your apricot, lowering your gaze in slight shame, suddenly feeling silly. 

“I beg to differ.” Atticus admits, your eyes shooting up to meet him across the table. He gives you a gentle look, “I think that literature is a good way of escaping reality from time to time. It can give one new insight and teaches both resilience and empathy.”

Letting out a tiny hum of acknowledgement, you feel a smile tugging at the corner of your lip. Quintus pinches his chin in thought, looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“It’s a virtue for a woman to be educated,” your husband mutters, “But that is only true to a certain extent. Don’t become pretentious now, (Y/n). You know nothing about the real world, instead you constantly escape to your imaginary one.”

While remaining silent, the second course can’t come soon enough for you. You fold your hands in your lap and feel too abashed to counter his words nor look at Atticus, who is watching you with a furrowed brow. You just hope he doesn’t pity you.

The main dish is served - fried veal with liquamen, sultanas and honey, steamed tuna with egg quarters, a side of fresh dates. It gives you room to eat in silence, your husband too occupied with munching on his food. Somewhere halfway through the meal, he starts to talk to Atticus about the recent work of the Cohortes Urbanae, but you don’t pay much attention to anything else except the calming edge to Atticus’ voice.

“...But I’m sure that (Y/n) would know more about that.”

The moment you hear your name, you snap out of it, and both men look at you expectantly. 

You blink in confusion, realising that Quintus has just asked you a question. 

“Beg your pardon?”

“See, that’s what I meant. Women can be so caught up with their head so much in the clouds that they wouldn’t even notice a murder happening if it unfolded right in front of them.”

Your husband laughed as if he had just said something hilarious, though Atticus gives a wry, tight-lipped smile, as if he doesn’t see the humour in it. The tension weighs heavily on your shoulders.

You don’t care much for dessert anymore. You stand at once, inhaling sharply through your nose.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. I… I don’t feel so well, I’m going upstairs.”

“Are you really going to do this now?” Quintus asks. “Come on, now, I was just joking.”

Red hot embarrassment claws at your throat when you catch Atticus’ concerned gaze. You press the back of your hand to your mouth as you swallow a dry sob, rushing out of the room. 

Quintus calls after you, but his voice contains too much amusement to be considered seriously. “(Y/n), don’t be like that!” A few of his words to Atticus float up the stairs as you ascend them, your cheeks bright red at the degradation: “She must be bleeding. She always gets rather crabby during her time of the month.”

Humiliated, you feel your eyes grow warm as your vision blurs with tears. A few escape, leaving dark marks of kohl down your cheeks. You rub them away quickly, not wanting to show your weakness if Quintus were to come looking for you. The leather journal on your desk will become the witness to your current frustration - with a hammering heart, you sit down, clumsily reaching for your pen and inkwell.

An empty page is opened in front of you. Your bottom lip slips in between your teeth as you sink the pen into the ink, your rage turning into words that might sound rather like a lament once the sentences form in your mind. 

Frigidness creeps up, within my bones it settles, never leaves now that you received my hand - you are a shadow that lingers, breathing down my skin and wearing it like it belongs to you, and I am torn, jagged at the edges, breathing in the poison that you consider the honour of your love - I am a—

“(Y/n)?” 

A voice - not Quintus’ - sounds from behind you. Just now, you realise how tightly you have squeezed your pen, your knuckles paling at the force. You look behind you, finding a pair of dark brown eyes, and your breath hitches. “Atticus!”

“Are you alright?”

Your jaw relaxes a bit more and you swallow. “Yes.” you lie. “I’m fine.”

“May I come in?” 

You nod. Atticus enters and looks around your room, eyes glittering kindly. “That’s quite a nice spot you’ve got here. Plenty of books to keep you busy.”

Turning to him a bit better, you find yourself smiling. “Yes,” you breathe, “It’s small but… It’s my own little place.”

His fingers tap against one of your many ornaments that you keep on display - a bronze statue of a goddess whose name you have forgotten, other than that Quintus hopes that praying to it will help you get pregnant, but you don’t believe in it, really - and he hums. “What are you writing?”

You put your arm over your work and just hope that the ink hasn’t smeared because of the action.

“It’s not finished yet.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

For a second, you are silent, looking at him with widened eyes. “Poetry.” you squeak, “I… I dabble from time to time.”

He plucks a grape from the bunch that rests in a bowl on your desk and pops it into his mouth. “Are you any good at it?”

You let out a scoff of slight disbelief yet can’t help but shyly smile. “I don’t know.”

Atticus grins. “Well, why don’t you read me some?”

Put on the spot, you swallow thickly but move to flip through the pages regardless. One of your older works springs to your eye and you clear your throat before reciting it.

“Because I could not desire you then, now let me find your heart, that perhaps one day it would thaw inside my palm and melt into my chest, where you and I are one. And until then you are nothing but the shadow creeping under my skin, where you have claimed me.”

Your voice wavers on the final words, and Atticus is quiet for a few moments, making you think for just a second that he must have hated it, but he takes away your doubts. 

“That was beautiful.” he mutters with nothing but honesty. You beam up at him with blushing cheeks, letting out a small laugh before tucking some hair behind your ear.

“Oh, it was not that good.”

“Nonsense,” he tells you. “You’ve got real talent.”

You whisper: “Thank you.”, and a pleasant silence befalls the pair of you, where you just look at one another.

“Any books you could recommend to me?”

A bit more at ease, you feel yourself relaxing, and you put down your journal in order to brush over to one of the shelves, letting your finger slide along the spines of the books that are standing there. “Any genre in particular that strikes your fancy?”

“Not really,” Atticus says, “Anything you think I’d like.”

“You strike me as a man of the world, Atticus.” you tell him, “Have you ever heard of Ovid?” You fish out a copy of Metamorphoses and present it to him. The Cohortes hums in acknowledgement and reaches for it. “It’s hard to put into one set genre,” you tell him, “Epic poetry. Very versatile. Alternatively…” Your eyes find another book and you take it out, this one adorned with golden letters on the cover, “ Aeneid by Virgil.” 

Atticus tears his gaze away from you in order to take in the covers of the books before tucking them away under his dark blue mantle - you only just now notice that he is wearing it again and that he seems to be in a state of leaving the estate - and he smiles at you softly. 

“Thank you, my lady.”

You nod your head, more confident now. “Please report back to me with your findings soon, Cohortes.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” he says. “Thank you for tonight’s dinner, by the way. It was delightful.”

Atticus slowly walks backwards towards the door whilst looking at you.

“We barely got to speak,” you muse, a little disappointed. He smiles, patting the books under his drape.

“I am sure that we will run into each other sooner or later, my lady. We can use your books as an excuse. Have a wonderful night.”

“Goodnight, Atticus. Stay safe.”

Once he’s gone, you feel pleasantly warm despite the cold air creeping into your sitting room. You bring your fingers to your lips to suppress the smile that grows there, waltzing over to the door to see if you can get another peek at the Cohortes leaving the establishment, and when you catch a glimpse of him speaking to Quintus, you hurry through the hallway towards the bedroom, where the lamps are not yet lit. You quickly light one up and carry it to your nightstand.

Your heart thumps inside your chest whilst you stand on your toes to watch him leave through the window, something you can’t quite place yet swirling through your gut. When you hear footsteps heading up the stairs, you quickly sit on the edge of the bed, starting to remove your jewellery.

“You’ve embarrassed me.” is the first thing Quintus says upon his entrance. “Walking away like that… You were the last person I expected to display such behaviour. Disgraceful, truly. Are you trying to make me look like a bad man here, (Y/n)? What must Atticus think of me now, hm?”

When you don’t respond, he hurries over to your side of the bed, grabbing your wrist just as you move to take off your earrings, and you wince at the sudden pinch. 

“Answer me!”

“I was feeling unwell!” you cry out, which isn’t a total lie, for he did indeed make you feel so uncomfortable that you felt like throwing up, “Did you want me to pass out right inside my bowl, then?”

The sting on your cheek is there before you can process he has struck you, and he points an accusing finger at you, teeth gritting in anger. “Just because our guest tonight might seem like he can talk back to me doesn’t mean that you can.”

You reach for your cheek slowly with a furrowed brow, feeling it throb. Every fibre of your being refuses to give him the satisfaction of crying, not wanting to show weakness. He steps away at last, unfastening his robe, starting to undress. “I can’t even look at you right now,” he tells you, and his words are honestly some sort of a blessing, for you wouldn’t be able to even stand his touch tonight.

After washing your face, you slip under the covers, your back facing your husband. 

He soon falls asleep, snores filling your ears, but you don’t mind it. 

No, your mind is elsewhere, dreaming of deep brown eyes and dark locks, a charming smile that you have always imagined when reading your romance novels, and for the first time in  forever, you get a decent night of sleep.

Next chapter Chapter list

[kerakitty]

Medical Professionals: Listen to Your Patients!

So yesterday I went to the emergency room for what turned out to be a severe asthma attack. Now for the most part the hospital staff was prompt, professional, and compassionate... but I do have one serious complaint.

Some background information: for years (probably about a decade, maybe longer) I have had this weird issue where any time a doctor/nurse/phlebotomist/etc tries to draw blood from the inside of my elbow, the blood flow just stops before a full sample can be drawn. This happens no matter the elbow and no matter how well-hydrated I am. Every time I have blood drawn, they inevitably have to get it from the back of one of my hands. On at least one occasion, the person drawing blood went to both elbows before trying the back of the hand. Any time I need blood drawn, I explain this and advise going directly to the hand. So far I’ve been listened to all of once.

Yesterday was not that once. The RN insisted on placing my IV (from which she had planned to draw blood) on the inside of my elbow. Though two separate flushes confirmed the IV was correctly placed, she was unable to draw any blood through it (though I bled quite a bit during placement). The IV remained in my elbow for the duration of the roughly 3 hour visit and caused me pain the entire time. Now, almost 12 hours after the IV was removed, my elbow looks like this:

Here’s a close-up:

It’s still tender and still growing. The last time I saw a bruise like this it was on my 90+ year old grandmother. I am 30 years old and have no conditions or medications that cause severe bruising.

Now I wasn’t entirely truthful before when I said I’ve only been listed to about this issue once. I was listened to for a second time after this IV was placed. Since the nurse was unable to get the blood sample from the IV, a phlebotomist came in to take one. Before he came in, I mentioned to the hospital staff to inform whoever came in to get the sample to get it from the back of my hand. Clearly they did not, as when he came in he started to prep my other elbow. But as soon as I said that he’d need to go to the back of my hand, he listened. He immediately moved the elastic tie further down my arm and started feeling for a vein in my hand, all without me having to explain the last decade or so of my medical history. Because he listened the only mark I have on that arm is a tiny, barely-visible, slightly reddish dot that could easily be mistaken for a freckle. There’s some tenderness, but it’s lesser and over a much smaller area.

So to all medical professionals:

LISTEN TO YOUR PATIENTS!!!

I get that you’re the professional and the patient almost certainly doesn’t know  everything that is or may be going on, but you still need to listen. When a patient tells you that every other medical professional they’ve been to has had to use the same non-standard technique to get a sample, listen to them. If you really can’t trust us to know our own bodies, then at least trust us to parrot back information given to us by other medical professionals. I endured, and am still enduring, unnecessary pain because I wasn’t listened to. How many other patients go through the same or worse because their care provider didn’t listen?

Oh, and that IV? It was never used. I received no fluids during my stay and no intravenous medications. It was flushed twice to make sure it was correctly placed and that’s it.

[michelle-is-writing]

Dishes, Jason Todd

Request: can you do a Jason Todd imagine

Word Count: 1.2k~

Housework has never been one of Jason’s fortes, but he tolerates it. I learned this as soon as we moved in together after dating for a while. He vacuums, does laundry, and even cleans the bathrooms without me asking him or even hinting at it. However, I learned Jason doesn’t like doing dishes. For some reason, he refuses to do them unless I almost beg him to do it. No matter what, he avoids the dishwasher like the plague; I’ve even seen him place his plate on the counter right in front of the open dishwasher.

Just like any other night, Jason has placed his plate in the sink instead of the dishwasher, leaving me to clean it after mine. “Mr. Todd, I’d like to know why you always avoid doing dishes,” I announce to him, as he sits behind me on our kitchen island, simply watching me scrub every dish that has gathered in the sink. “Why am I always the one left to do them?”

Turning around to look at the shirtless man behind me, he greets me with a soft and sweet smile with no hint of devious intent behind his blue eyes. Instead, a calm aura surrounds him for once. Shrugging, he continues gazing at me happily, having to tilt his head down a tiny bit to look at me thanks to the height of the counter combined with his already taller stature. “I don’t know, Mrs. Soon-to-be-Todd,” he tells me, letting me turn back toward the sink with a smile and resume the chore he hates. “I guess I don’t like getting me or my clothes wet.”

As soon as his confession leaves his lips, I laugh in disbelief. “Oh my God, you princess!” I tease him, my eyes squeezing together as giggles fall from my lips. I’ve never seen this man act prissy once in his life despite his background of being a part of the Wayne family. I’ve even seen him drop food on the sidewalk of all places before picking it up and resuming his snack. After that, I made him brush his teeth as I refused to kiss him.

A couple seconds pass of my growing laughter before it quiets down thanks to Jason jumping off the counter and pulling me into his arms, laughter leaving his lips as well. With his arms now resting against my t-shirt clad hips, I lean back into his hold, relaxing against his firm, yet soft and warm chest. “Honey, I don’t think you of all people should be calling anyone princess,” He chides, causing a mocking gasp to erupt from my lips. Despite this, that doesn’t stop Jason from leaning over my shoulder and kissing my neck, pulling me even closer to him as his attack on my skin persists. My attention is quickly drawn away from the dishes in front of me and to Jason’s wandering hands, causing me to turn in his hold and face him. As soon as I do this, Jason loses what little control he has, considering how his hands have now moved from my waist down to my bottom and his kisses are unrelenting.

“Jason, what are you…” I begin to ask him a question; however, the words get lost on my lips. The way Jason’s arms begin to tighten around me has me thinking almost incoherent thoughts, and just as I begin to speak up once more, a quick shriek finds it’s way out instead. This is due to cold water underneath my now soaked bottom, my legs dangling from the countertop as Jason stands between them, his lips quickly resuming their place on mine. Jason’s arms tightening around me moments ago should’ve indicated that he was going to pick me up, but being lost in him didn’t even allow that thought to come to mind.

“Jason, you got my clothes wet, I’m gonna be cold now!” I exclaim, pulling away from him as I chuckle at our current predicament. Face now flushed and pupils dilated, Jason stares back at me with a smirk, his hold on me softening like before. This doesn’t take away from the fact that I’m still sitting on a cold wet countertop meanwhile Jason just stands in front of me.

“Don’t worry, babe,” he murmurs, his hands pulling my hips close to him against the countertop. Leaning forward, he attaches his mouth to my neck once more, making me nearly choke on the air in my throat. “I’ll have your clothes off in no time.”

The absolute lust in Jason’s voice makes me swallow my words, knowing it might be best to just enjoy what’s happening. Besides, with Jason now moving to reattach his lips to mine, my ability to speak is taken away from me, and I am completely okay with that.

As to how much time has passed, I’m not sure, but I can assume it’s been at least a couple of hours. The only thing I can really focus on is the sheets beneath me that feel so soft against my bare skin, a stark contrast to the cold wet counter that led to my current predicament. Sure enough, my clothes did come off, and Jason had no problem warming me up for a while. However, now he’s in the kitchen, doing who-knows-what as I try to regain feeling throughout my entire body on our bed. Just as I begin to sit up in bed, Jason’s walking back into our room in all of his glory, void of any shame. It’s great when you have your own place with your fiancé, and you don’t have to worry about your future father-in-law walking in on you during a time like this… again.

“What were you doing in the kitchen, babe?” I ask him, allowing his hands to gently push me back down onto the mattress as he moves to hover above me, his dark locks hanging above his face. Staring at me with the same smile as earlier, Jason peers down at me as he gently moves his hands to massage the areas he grabbed the most. At the same time, his wet hands on my hips give away exactly what he was doing.

“Were you washing dishes?” I ask him with a curious smile, receiving a low chuckle in response.

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you do them,” he explains softly, moving to lay himself on top of my torso and in between my legs. “You can hardly stand, am I right?”

At his question, a deep blush takes over my entire face, causing me to lift an arm up to cover my mortified face. However, Jason stops this and quickly pulls my arm back down. “No, don’t hide that beautiful face from me,” he murmurs, leaning up to press gentle kisses against my cheeks, a stark contrast to his harsh biting against my neck he was doing fifteen minutes ago. “I love you so much… you have no idea.”

At his words, I turn my head to face him, smiling once his eyes meet mine. “I think I have an idea, babe,” I tell him, lifting a hand up to caress his cheek before placing a small peck to his lips. “And I love you too~”

[alisonsfics]

tattoo parlor

pairing: tattoo artist!bucky barnes x reader

summary: the beautiful artwork and craftsmanship wasn’t the only thing that kept you coming back to bucky’s tattoo shop.

( combined with this request: “a fic of bucky barnes with a heavily tattooed reader (not totally covered in tattoos but has quite a bit) and if you could include some smutty things in there too” - @wh0reonly4fictionalmen )

word count: 2.1k

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), masturbation, praise kink, swearing, minors DNI

The bells chimed as you walked through the door. Your ears were met by the sound of rock music playing quietly in the background. You could smell the rubber gloves and cleaning products.

The shop was empty. Sketches of skulls, flowers, and animals littered the walls. You admired the drawings as you waited for Bucky, your tattoo artist.

You had been coming to Bucky for about a year, and he’d done six tattoos for you. You fell in love with his style when you moved to the city, and you refused to go to anyone else afterwards. His style was so unique, and you loved his artwork.

Bucky rushed out towards the waiting room to greet you. You were his last appointment of the day. Normally, he’d just be trying to finish and get home. Not with you. He’d never admit it, but you were his favorite customer.

The conversation always flowed naturally between the two of you, and you couldn’t hide the instant attraction.

“There she is” he said, walking towards you. Your attention was pulled away from the daisy tattoo you were looking at. “How have you been?” You asked, smiling over at him.

Your eyes were drawn to the gorgeous artwork that covered his bulging biceps. “I’ve been good. I’ve been really excited about doing this tat. I haven’t been able to stop drawing sketches” he told you, honestly.

He led you through the shop back to where his chair was set up. You sat and waited patiently while he ran to get the sketches he had drawn.

“So here is what I’ve been thinking. This one is a bit more minimalistic, but this one has more of those intricate lines…” he began to explain. You leaned over to look at the different drawings.

He caught one glance down your low-cut shirt, and his pants began to feel tight. He tried to focus on the sketches, but it was so hard when you were sitting next to him. You picked which sketch you liked the most and sat back in the chair.

“So, where are you thinking?” He asked, pulling the rubber gloves over his hands. The stretchy rubber slapped against his skin, almost making you jump. You knew exactly where you wanted the tattoo, but you suddenly felt embarrassed to tell Bucky. All of the tattoos you’d gotten from Bucky had been in relatively safe spots.

You had a few on your arms, a few on your shoulder, and one on your finger. This tattoo however, you wanted on your hip. It was one of the more scandalous places to get a tattoo.

“My hip” you told him, bracing for his reaction. He felt his cock twitch as he processed what you were saying. It was hard to do a tattoo on your hip because most clothes covered your hips.

He knew it was inappropriate how he felt about you, but he couldn’t help but. You were his customer, but fuck you did things to him.

His eyes raked over your outfit, wondering the best way to get to your hip. “You can take off your shorts, and I’ll get you a towel or something” he said, turning to his work station.

You shimmied yourself out of your shorts. Bucky struggled to keep his eyes away from you. The thought of you wearing just panties made him shift in his seat. You covered yourself in the towel, keeping your hip uncovered.

Bucky rolled his chair over next to you. The small glance he caught of your red lace panties made a shudder roll through him. He pushed your shirt up and pulled your panties down on your hip.

You rested your head back against the leather chair, watching as Bucky’s eyes watched you. You were loving the effect you had on him. You weren’t oblivious to him shifting in his seat.

Bucky started your prep work, using a wipe to clean your skin. He was all too aware that his hands were only millimeters away from your ass. You hissed as the cold wipe brushed across your skin.

“Sorry” he mumbled, glancing up at you. You nodded and closed your eyes. Every time Bucky moved his hand, your panties moved back into the way.

He tried to hold them back and out of the way, but they kept moving. “These really don’t want to stay in one spot, do they?” He asked, chuckling. You looked down at him. Without even thinking you said, “I can take them off.”

Bucky completely froze in place. His eyes snapped up to meet yours. Only then did you realize what you had said. “I didn’t mean it like that—” you quickly apologized. He just chuckled at your mortified expression.

“Are you sure?” He asked you. Neither of you were oblivious to the sexual tension in the room. “I trust you” you said, softly. He turned around and let you slip out of your panties. You wrapped the towel around you, so nothing was visible.

Bucky got to work on the tattoo, focusing on his work and not how close his hands were to your half-naked body. You closed your eyes, shutting out the deep stinging of the needle.

After about three hours of sitting in the chair, Bucky finished your tattoo. “And there you go, sweets” he said, standing up. You took the mirror from his hand to look at the tattoo. “It looks gorgeous. It’s just what I wanted” you said, in awe.

“It looks great on you, sweetheart” he said, admiring the ink against your skin. The heat rushed to your cheeks as you watched him check you out.

You shifted your legs, and he got a glimpse of your dripping cunt. A moan fell from his lips as he adjusted his jeans. You looked around at the empty shop before making your next move.

“You like what you see?” You asked, moving the towel away and spreading your legs wide. His pupils grew wide. He stood there stunned. He saw your arousal dripping out of you. “Fuck” he mumbled under his breath.

You let your hand fall between your legs. You ran your fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness. Bucky couldn’t hold back the moans as he watched you pleasure yourself. “Are you going to touch me or do I have to?” You teased him.

“Stay right here” he snapped, heading towards the front door. You heard him lock the door and close the curtains of the shop. When he came back, you had pulled off your shirt and your bra. He cursed under his breath at the sight of you, waiting for him.

“I can smell you from here, sweetheart. Are you that needy for me? You’re soaked” he said, stepping towards you. You whined, nodding your head. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t had a hard on since you saw my panties” you replied, smirking to yourself.

Bucky’s cheeks flushed, looking down at the obvious tent in his pants. “You know how fuckin’ sweet you smell?” He asked sitting back down in his chair. He slotted himself between your legs.

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as you waited for him to make a move. “I gotta know what you taste like” he said, diving his face between your legs. You threw your head back as you felt his tongue lick a harsh stripe against your clit. You hooked your legs over his shoulders, grinding against his face.

“I was right, you taste so fuckin’ sweet” he said, lapping up your wetness. The moans leaving your mouth were almost pornographic, and they only egged Bucky on more.

You squirmed against the leather chair. He grabbed your legs and pinned them down. “Stop moving. Let me finish tasting you” he growled, keeping your body still. His muscular arms kept you pinned with barely any effort.

You could feel yourself getting closer to your high. Bucky skillfully sucked on your clit and ran his tongue through your folds. You were already coming undone. You bucked your hips up against his mouth. “Cum for me, peaches” he instructed.

With that, your coil snapped. You were thrown over the edge. You called out his name as you clenched your thighs around his face. “Good girl” he praised, standing up from his chair.

He stared down at you. You were leaning back in the chair, panting heavily. Your makeup was smudged as you tried to catch your breath.

“I still haven’t gotten to kiss you yet” he said, pulling your face towards his. He slotted his lips against yours, letting you taste yourself. His tongue ran along your bottom lip, slowly teasing you.

Then, he pulled away. “You want more or are you too exhausted from round one?” He teased, looking you up and down. You quickly shook your head. “I can take more” you told him, almost begging.

He chuckled slightly. “You sound kinda desperate, sweetheart” he teased. He pulled you up, so you were sitting straight. “If you want me, strip me” he instructed.

You would have done anything to get him to fuck you at that point. You weren’t going to refuse anything.

You pulled the tank top off his body. It was the first time you’d seen his perfectly sculpted chest. He was the hottest guy you’d ever been with, by a long shot.

“Keep going” he told you, seeing you get distracted. You moved your hands to his belt and unhooked it. You tugged down his jeans, and noticed how strained his boxers were. “That’s all because of you, sweetheart” he told you, smirking.

You practically drooled at the sight. Even through his boxers, you could tell how big he was. He couldn’t help but feel his ego grow as you sat there stunned. He pulled down his boxers. You audibly whimpered just from the sight. “Lay back” he told you. You quickly nodded your head and leaned back in the chair.

He stepped out of his jeans and his boxers before climbing on top of you. He met your lips in a kiss, cupping your face. You kissed him back desperately. You needed him, and he needed you.

While you got lost in the kiss, he pushed his entire length inside of you. You pulled away from the kiss to gasp. He loved the way your face contorted as you adjusted to his size.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, desperately clinging to him. “Fuck” you cursed under your breath. He began to thrust himself into you.

Bucky wasn’t the kind of guy that was against taking it slow, but he had wanted you for too long. He almost didn’t have a choice. His primal needs took over.

“You have any idea how pretty you look while you’re getting absolutely railed?” He asked, admiring you. He continued to pound into you, while you let out loud moans. Your sweaty body squeaked against the leather chair. You felt your entire body trembling.

He craved the way you felt around him. He would stay inside of you forever if you let him. You felt like heaven.

“—so good” you mumbled, unable to form a complete sentence. It only made him go faster. He buried his face into your neck, slowly sucking a hickey onto your skin. You called out his name as the stimulation became overwhelming. “You can do it. I know you’re close” he coaxed you.

He gave up on the hickey, gripping your hips tightly. It was hard for him to concentrate while you were squeezing him so well.

“You look so gorgeous, squirming because of my cock, all while you’re covered in my artwork. You’re mine, baby” he said. His words went straight to your core and pushed you over your edge. You squeezed down on him, crying out in pleasure. It wasn’t long until he came inside of you.

His sloppy thrusts slowed down as you both came down from your highs. He placed loving kisses along your face, helping you cool down.

You both laid there with your sweaty bodies sticking to each other. The shop now smelled of sex.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how long I’d been waiting to do that” he said, chuckling. You cupped his face, giving him a gentle kiss. “I only wish we’d done it sooner” you told him, smiling.

He brushed some of your hair out of your face; it was pretty messy due to your previous activities. “How about we get cleaned up and go get a drink?” He asked you, raising his eyebrows.

You nodded your head. “I could use a drink” you said, simply.

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Requests OPEN

[omg-imatotalmess]

Better Than Your Pillow

Hey guys! There was an anon that asked for a little more sub!neville as a cure for their blues, and I couldn’t resist. Sub!neville is chicken soup for the soul. Hope y’all enjoy!

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Reader

Requested: Ye

Anonymous Requested: i need more sub neville. i’m so sad

Warnings: Pillow humping, mild voyeurism, fingering, dirty talk, mild praise kink, sub!neville, dom!reader, swearing

                                                             ---

If you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes, you wouldn’t have believed it. Neville. Your sweet, shy, ever awkward Neville curled over his pillow, humping it with the desperation of a dog in heat. All while spilling the filthiest fantasies into the open air. Every one of them revolving around you. In your shock, all you could do was take it in. And you couldn’t say you minded. He was really putting on a good show.

“(Y/N)! Fuck, I’ll be your good boy!” he cried, fisting his sheets like they were the only things keeping him steady.

“I’ll be so good! Use me however you want. Please, I want you to!” he babbled. His hips shifted faster, maybe imagining your reply. You certainly knew what it would be.

You took a step further into the room, closing the door quietly so as not to disturb the scene in front of you. It was everything you’d ever hoped for—the amalgamation of every wet dream you’d ever had wrapped up in a pretty bow. Well, in an argyle sweater vest, actually. Leaning against the bedpost, you let his sheer want wash over you. It was heavy and searing but more perfect than you ever could have imagined. And from there, you could see his face. The way his mouth gaped open, chest heaving with every sound out of him and his eyes screwed shut against the onslaught of pleasure your phantom self was giving him. It made you wonder what he’d look like if he got the real thing. You couldn’t believe Neville hadn’t noticed you yet. Then again, he was too busy talking to hear your own labored breaths.

“Do anything you want to me! Please, I’m yours. Your little slut to play with! Tie me up and play with me until you’re satisfied!” he begged.

“If that’s what you want.” The words slipped out of your mouth completely unbidden.

“(Y/N)?!” he squeaked.

“You were late to our study session,” you said.

“I-I’m so sorry. Merlin, I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. Let me just p-put my trousers on an-and I’ll be there in a minute,” he rambled, scrambling into a sitting position with the pillow doing very little to conceal his flushed, dripping cock.

“Don’t stop on my account,” you said, a smile curling at the corner of your mouth, “It looked like you were just getting to the good bit.”

“Please don’t tease me,” he moaned, covering his face with his hands.

“Who’s teasing?” you asked, feeling a smile curling at the corner of your mouth.

“Why can’t the castle just swallow me whole and put me out of my misery?” he said miserably. It was like he hadn’t heard you.

“Who’s teasing, Nev? I’m interested,” you said.

“I-Interested?” he sputtered, head shooting up.

“Mm-hmm, I’d love to help you out. If you want me to, that is. If not, I’ll leave, and we’ll pretend this never happened,” you offered.

Blinking at you with big, slightly unsure eyes, Neville let his pillow slip off his lap. He wanted to. You could tell that much. The way his eyes trailed up and down your body was leaving you a little hot under the collar. Smiling, you waited for him to answer. It was his decision, and who were you to rush him? Taking in a shaky breath, he reached for you, pulling you gently onto the bed while trying not to look you in the eyes.

“Please?” he whispered.

“Please what?” you asked despite the knowing glint in your eye.

“Please, touch me,” he muttered shyly.

“Like this?” you asked, drawing patterns over his plush thigh with your fingertips, just barely brushing his cock each time. It jumped with each gentle attention.

“(Y/N),” he whined. You gave him a wolfish grin.

“I guess I did say I wasn’t teasing,” you said. “Undress me.”

“A-Are you sure?” Despite the question, he was already working the buttons of your shirt with shaking hands, popping them open one by one.

“Hurry up. I don’t like to be kept waiting,” you ordered.

“A-Alright. Anything you want,” he breathed, yanking your shirt the rest of the way open and pushing it off your shoulders before making quick work of your pants. Each item was laid carefully beside the bed as soon as it left you. Before long, you were bare in front of him as his eyes roamed your body. It was like you’d showed him Eden. He couldn’t figure out where to look first. You smiled, pulling him toward you by his sweater vest. God, you were glad he’d kept it on.

“Good boy,” you purred, “Now, I want you to finger me open until I’m nice and ready to take that pretty cock of yours.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, reaching blindly for the bottle of lube he’d tossed on the edge of the bed when he started.

Slicking up his fingers, he stroked over you a few times just to excite you a little more. Also likely just to touch you like that. You let him. Bringing your hands to your own chest, you pinched and tugged at your nipples lightly. Partly to add to the sensation of Neville’s fingers stroking your sex and partly to put on a show. He watched your fingers dancing over your chest for a moment before bringing his eyes to yours.

“Can I-Can I suck them?”

“Kiss me first,” you said. As his lips touched your own, he pressed a finger into you gently. Groaning, you arched your back and bit down on his lip. When he let out a thin whine, you laved your tongue over the spot. The two of you stayed like that for a bit, his finger moving in you, kissing you as though the world was burning down around you. Then you pulled back. Dragging in a deep breath, you fisted his hair.

“Go on. Use your mouth.” He didn’t need to be told twice. Licking and sucking at your nipples as he added fingers. His tongue flickered over one hardened bud, pressing his fingers into you all the more eagerly.  For a while, you simply lost yourself to the sensation.

“(Y/N),” he whined, grinding his dripping cock against your leg.

“Be a good little slut and beg for it,” you said.

“Please, please, I’ll do anything you want! I’ll be such a good boy for you. I will. So good. Please, (Y/N), let me put it in. Can I put it in?” he plead, practically humping your leg like he’d been humping his pillow earlier.

“You really want it?” you teased.

“Yes! So much! I’ll be such a good boy,” he promised.

“Fuck me.” Your voice was low and sharp—an order. One that he couldn’t have resisted even if he wanted to. He pressed into you slowly, watching you to make sure you were enjoying yourself. Each inch was a little more heaven than the last. Growling, you tugged his hair and bucked your hips down impatiently.

“I-I’m trying to be gentle,” he whimpered, shaking in your grip.

“Who the fuck asked for gentle?” you snarled, yanking his hair savagely. “I said fuck me, Neville!”

“Ooooooh!” A long howl burst from his mouth as he thrust into you recklessly, which you silenced with your mouth. Swallowing down his pathetic, little sounds of please and trading them for yours. His hips pounded against yours, encouraged by your heels digging into the small of his back. At this point, you couldn’t tell if he was chasing his pleasure or yours. You didn't care. It was all the same.

“Fuck, there! Good boy, right there!” you groaned.

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you...” his thanks became a chant into the crook of your neck. He only interrupted it to sink his teeth into it every now and then.

“Harder!” Obedient as you expected, he fucked into you hard enough to scoot the two of you up the bed. The sound of the headboard slamming against the wall was just background noise to you. Neville’s drawn-out, sobbing moans were far more interesting.

“Close,” he breathed.

“Don’t you dare cum before I do,” you hissed in his ear.

“Please, please, (Y/N). So close,” he begged. His hips had completely lost any semblance of rhythm. They just pistoned away unevenly, somehow managing to hit exactly where you wanted it most.

“C’mon, a little more. Almost...!” Your words trailed off into a long, high moan as your orgasm washed over you. For a moment, the world whited out. All you could feel was Neville driving himself into you like a man unhinged and wave after wave of pleasure. When you finally came back to earth, Neville was hammering into you, sobbing incoherent pleas into your shoulder.

“Can I cum? Please?” he sobbed.

“Cum for me,” you said. And he was gone. His teeth sunk into your shoulder, but it did nothing to stifle his shout of pleasure. You could feel his hands leaving bruises on your hips, but you didn’t mind. Not as he shook on top of you, pumping his cock in you a few final times before collapsing on top of you. Smiling, you pressed a kiss to his sweaty hair.

“Better than you pillow?” you giggled after a moment of catching your breath.

“I’m never going to live this down,” he muttered, keeping his face buried in your neck.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve never cum so hard in my life,” you said. Pulling back, he looked down at you with a good measure of surprise on his face.

“R-Really? I was good?” he stuttered in disbelief.

“So fucking good. Jesus Christ, Nev, I almost blacked out,” you said. He made a pinched-off sound, dipping his face out of your eyesight. After another moment of silence, he spoke up.

“Thank you,” he said.

“No problem. If you ever wanna do that again, come find me,” you said, carding your fingers gently through his hair.

“Can I take you on a d-date first?” he asked shyly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that, but how about a nap first,” you said. Nodding, he curled up against your side and dropped off almost immediately. You, however, laid awake for a bit. That was so much better than studying. And definitely better than his pillow.