#Flute the Probably-Human

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

People will be all like “Neanderthals were wiped out 😔 idk how tho” and I don’t either, obviously, but I do know that some of my Homo sapiens sapiens ancestors were sucking and fucking Neanderthals who were also some of my ancestors and I feel like it’s a bit of a disservice to great great grandparents Neanderthal. There might no longer be pure Neanderthals or even mostly Neanderthal hybrids, but my (several hundred at least) great grandparents were Neanderthals and Homo sapiens who were sucking and fucking each other and I for one don’t forgor that. This one goes out to you grandma eyebrows *goes crazy on a bone or reed flute*

[kokii-omii]

Random fun facts with my Twst ocs

(not drawn cuz i dont have my tablet with me rn)

Pan Nikos

He bit a kid once cuz the kid was badmouthing his brother

Is the Heir to the Hermes branch of Olympos

Was the team captain on his middle school spell drive team

likes to cosplay and crossplay

the magestone he has is located on the right side of his headphones instead of a pen like it normally should be

once sent a message via pigeon because his phone died and he was NOT gonna ghost someone because it was just that important (it really wasn't)

his room is an absolute MESS, wires on the floor, foam, blankets everywhere, plushies scattered on the bed, books everywhere except the shelves

used to be in a club called "Bug Collector's Club" before him and jade saw each other in the mountains doing club activities and just decided to merge clubs

the ignihyde first years are low key scared of him because they pissed him off so bad he actually started yelling at them and threatened to leak everyone's search history if they misbehaved again

he has photographic memory

Pan knows how to play the electric guitar, the flute and the lyre

teched out his shoes so he could fly

flew into a tree when he was testing it out (always wear a helmet kids)

his love language is gift giving

Peyn Algos

Has a grandma that's fae and lives in briar valley

he visits her for winter break and often helps her with the modern technology

he's his family's tech support

his mother is human and his father is fae, his mother works as an archeologist while his father is a librarian

has an older sister that's a model

has a tamagotchi named Peggy that him and Pan take care of (it was a gift from Pan)

is more magically connected than technologically (he was taught by fae after all)

he fully thought he would be put in Diasomnia given his background, but learned and adapted pretty easily to techno-magic science and stuff within the first month

Peyn's an absolute beast at DDR and any rhythm game

beefs with riddle sometimes

memorized all 810 rules of heartslabyul just so he could argue with Riddle about how absurd they are

he is VERY spiteful

is actually two weeks older than Riddle (his bday is on August 10)

probably the only ignihyde student that likes PE and sports

his love language is quality time

Ezmond Morado

has rook on his hit list (dont ask why)

has been a genius at potion making since he was 7

the feather on his hair is a quill, he sometimes writes with it

he gets mistaken for a beautiful girl almost every day (deuce thought he was a girl at first)

his mother is a doctor while his father is a botanist

he knows how to draw really detailed plants and landscapes (cant draw people tho)

there was one time a potion brewing went wrong and accidentally turned him into a cat

has beef with leona because he's constantly making krohn do things for him (he literally does the same)

Ace is also on the said hit list (i don't think i need to explain why)

he holds grudges and NEVER lets them go

His love language is words of affirmation

Krohn Luteus

He's fully fluent in squirrel, he sometimes has full on conversations with the squirrels at school

Can absolutely boogie down and groove

he has no enemies 😌

seriously nobody beefs with the guy cuz a. he's built like an absolute unit and b. the entirety of savanaclaw would jump them if they tried anything (the pros of being Savanaclaw's chef)

he's REALLY strong

he could lift Jack, Ruggie and, Leona all at once and STILL be able to run full speed

he was a boy scout

he's also probably vargas' favorite student idk

he's dumb, maybe even a little dumber than deuce but he got the spirit

his love language is acts of service

___________________________

Pt.2 with my Yuus

[sillygoofyqueer]

I like to think about the white robed cultivators introducing their husbands (I know Shen Qingqiu wears green robes, but go with it). Xie Lian would be like, "this is my husband, he's a ghost king who searched for me for over eight hundred years and sacrificed himself three times for me, and all of heaven fears him" and there's Hua Cheng in the background, looking sexy and mysterious, probably sculpting a statue of Xie Lian because he's bored. Shen Qingqiu would then be like, "this is MY husband, he's half heavenly demon and emperor of the demon realm who almost ruled both realms but stopped because he only wanted me" and Luo Binghe is in the background, ominous and yet undeniably handsome as he cooks Shen Qingqiu some of the most delicious looking food ever. Then there's Lan Wangji. "Oh, this is my husband. He's a human cultivator who plays the flute so well that even the dead come back to listen to it" and it cuts to Wei Wuxian, who is clinging to a tree and screaming as a dog tries to bite his robes.

[lalo0]

UNDER THE SPOTLIGHT CH. 1 ┃ Damsel in distress

Sana x male reader (smut)

word count: 12k

The thing about these events is that no one actually wants to be here.

Not me, not them, not even the poor souls pretending to be fans screaming from behind the barriers. It’s just part of the deal: put on a suit, smile, act like you’re honored to attend another rigged award show where the winners are decided weeks before anyone even pretends to vote.

I flash a practiced grin at the cameras. Just enough teeth to seem charming, not enough to seem desperate. They eat it up. They always do.

Inside, it’s colder than necessary, not for comfort, but to make sure no one starts sweating through their designer suits before the main event. I recognize the usual layout: round tables close together, champagne that’s all label and no taste, plastic smiles stretched across faces polished within an inch of human.

I find my table. Karina’s already there, glued to her phone like she’s solving world hunger. My manager, Karina Yoo. Full-time job: Making sure I don’t publicly crash and burn.

“You’re late,” she says, not even looking up.

“I’m fashionable,” I correct, sliding into the seat beside her. “Try to keep up.”

She hums under her breath, something between disapproval and exhaustion, and taps at her screen a few more times before glancing at me. “You’re third. Stick to the script and smile.”

“I always smile.” I flash my teeth at her. “You think I’m out here winging it?”

Karina just gives me that look. The one that says she doesn’t get paid enough to argue. I lean back in my chair, scanning the room. Same faces, slightly different brands of fake.

And then there’s Sana.

Of course.

If South Korea had a national treasure, it would look awfully much like her. She’s draped in a dress that cost more than some idols’ entire discography budgets, shimmering under the lights with an ease that looks accidental and isn’t. Perfect smile, perfect hair, legs crossed in a way that suggests she doesn’t have to try, she just exists. She’s laughing at something, head tilted, hand brushing through her hair like it’s all just a natural accident. I know better.

And because the universe is nothing if not predictable, a few tables down sits Kang Jihoon.

Perfect skin, perfect smile, perfect product of fifteen million dollars in marketing campaigns and enough plastic surgery to qualify as a construction site. The kind of rival whose existence is an insult. Our eyes meet. He nods, that tight little smile that says, Congratulations on your award. Hope you trip and break your teeth on the way to the stage.

I smile back, all teeth.

Karina nudges me under the table. “Don’t start anything.”

“I never start anything,” I say, sipping from a champagne flute that tastes like someone bottled hand soap and chilled it.

Jihoon’s laughing too hard at something one of the producers said. Probably another joke at my expense. He’s not subtle.

The lights dim and the host starts his opening bit. I tune it out. Same script as last year, just different names plugged in. When they call my name, it’s with all the fanfare you’d expect for someone already halfway to an EGOT.

“Leon — Male Solo Artist of the Year.”

I stand, smoothing the front of my jacket with a deliberate, oh, this old thing? kind of air, and make my way up to the stage. Flashbulbs pop like fireworks, but I pretend not to notice. The trophy’s lighter than it looks. Cheap, like the ceremony. I step up to the mic and smile, not too big, not too smug, just the right angle to keep the fan edits flattering.

“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll keep this brief. Thank you to my fans, my team, and to everyone who made this possible.”

I bow. They applaud. Pavlov would be proud.

On the way back to my seat, I catch Sana looking. She raises her glass in a slow, deliberate toast. The corner of her mouth curves into something that isn’t quite a smile. I raise mine back, then hold her gaze for a few more seconds.

—

By the time I make it into the afterparty, an overpriced lounge in Gangnam with too much glass and too little oxygen, half the eyes are already on me. A few heads tilt together, a few girls whisper behind raised hands. All that wasted effort, as if I can’t already feel it in the way the air sharpens around me.

Sana's also here. Of course she is.

I spot her immediately, curled into a corner booth like she’s the headliner that doesn’t to be introduced. There’s a drink in her hand, something clear, expensive-looking. She’s laughing at something one of her friends said, one of those bright, polished laughs that sounds so effortless you almost forget how practiced it probably is.

Sana’s good at playing innocent. Better at making sure you know she isn’t.

She’s exactly the kind of person you learn to spot early in this business. The kind who doesn't just walk into a room, but recalibrates it around herself. A professional manipulator, disguised as a professional sweetheart.

I don’t blame her, I respect it.

Still, I don’t head toward her right away. That’d be too obvious. Too eager.

Instead, I weave my way past a few clusters of people, industry kids mostly, managers, producers, B-list actors desperate to be mistaken for A-list. The kind who try too hard to look like they belong here. I smile at a few of them, nod once or twice, let them think I’m being polite. The truth is, I don’t remember half their names. the other half aren’t worth remembering.

It doesn’t take long for Karina to catch up to me. She’s dressed for business even when she’s pretending not to be, black blazer, sharp lines, sensible heels. She looks more like she’s here to close a deal than babysit a soloist with too much media training and not enough patience.

“You’re late,” she says under her breath, flashing a smile that’s for everyone else’s benefit.

“You’re welcome,” I reply, offering mine right back. “I wasn’t sure if I should come.”

Karina sighs, just audible enough for me to hear it.

“This isn’t optional,” she reminds me. “Show face, shake hands, act grateful. You know the drill.”

“Relax. I’ve been doing this for longer than I can remember.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

She’s right, technically. I’ve been in this business long enough to know exactly what tonight is: a networking event dressed up as a party. A chance for people with too much money and too little shame to decide who gets to be famous next. It’s not about talent, it’s never about talent. It’s about leverage, perception, the right smiles, at the right moments, aimed at the right people.

Speaking of which, Sana’s eyes catch mine from across the room. It’s not obvious, just a flicker, a slight tilt of her head, but it’s enough. I don't smile right away. I make her wait for it, let her wonder if I’ll bother. Then, slow, deliberate, I offer the faintest nod, barely a movement. But she sees it. And more importantly, she understands it.

I let Karina wander off to do whatever it is managers do at these things, probably networking, maybe praying. It doesn’t matter, she’s not the one I’m here for.

I grab a drink from a passing waiter without asking what it is. It could be champagne or window cleaner for all I care. It’s not about the drink. It’s about having something in my hand, looking just casual enough to pretend I’m not watching her.

But of course I am.

Sana doesn’t make me wait long. She slides off the leather booth with a grace so natural it has to be practiced, leaving behind two of her group members who immediately start whispering the second her heels click away.

I don’t move. I don’t smile. I just let her come to me.

Up close, she smells expensive. Something sweet and sharp, something no stylist could’ve picked. It’s the kind of thing that clings to your clothes if you let her too close, the kind you’d notice hours after she’s already gone.

"Leon," she says, all polite sweetness, tilting her head like she’s genuinely surprised to see me. As if this wasn’t planned. "Didn’t think I’d run into you here."

"Sana," I reply, letting her name sit on my tongue a second too long. "Small world."

She laughs, soft and airy, a sound designed to make people lean in closer. I don’t. I stand my ground, sipping whatever poison’s in my glass.

"You look good," she says, and it feels like a test.

"You look expensive," I answer, because she does. Every inch of her, hair, skin, makeup, is curated to perfection, not a single thing out of place. It's the kind of polish you can’t fake. It costs money, time and blood.

Her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile. "Same old Leon," she says. "Still charming as ever."

"Still lying through your teeth," I shoot back, and this time she does smile. A real one, sharp at the edges, not the kind she gives the cameras.

"You’re not gonna be nice to me? I thought you had an image to maintain."

"I’m off the clock," I say. "Besides, you don’t want nice. You want me."

She laughs again, softer this time. She’s enjoying this. Of course she is. Girls like Sana don’t chase boys, they chase puzzles, and I’m not about to make it easy for her.

She shifts her weight, leaning in just a fraction. "So what’s it gonna be tonight?" she asks. "Leon the idol or Leon the asshole?"

I shrug, taking another sip. The drink’s starting to taste less like paint thinner now. “Whatever gets you wetter.”

Her eyes flick in surprise, blink-and-miss-it sharp. Like she’s checking how deep the water is before she dives. She taps her glass against mine. Little clink. Too sweet to trust. “Surprise me.”

I let a smile tug at the corner of my mouth. “Careful,” I tell her. “I might.”

Sana takes another slow sip from her drink, eyes never leaving mine. “You know, I forgot how much I hated you.”

I grin into my glass. “Come on, we both know you’re obsessed with me.”

“Obsessed is a strong word,” she says, but there’s that curl of her mouth again, like she’s chewing on something she’s not ready to spit out yet.

“You’re the one who came over,” I remind her.

“Pity,” she says, tossing it out like it was obvious. “You looked lonely.”

“You’re confusing lonely with selective.”

She hums under her breath, amused, like she’s seen this movie before. “Selective, huh. Funny way to describe standing alone with your drink going flat.”

“Funny way to describe stalking me.”

“You wish,” she shoots back, but her hand grazes mine when she reaches for her glass, and she doesn’t move it right away. The corner of her lip glistens when she speaks again, too casual to be innocent. “Anyway. I figured someone should save you from dying of boredom.”

I laugh, not bothering to hide how dry it sounds. “If I was dying of boredom, talking to you would only speed things up.”

Sana leans in a touch, just enough to really make sure I smell her perfume. “That’s rich coming from you, Leon. Aren’t you supposed to be the life of the party?”

“Off duty.” I swirl the drink in my hand, let the ice clink against the glass. “Besides, you don’t want the real me. You want the version you can brag about to your friends.”

She looks at me then, really looks, head tilted like she’s deciding whether to really say it. “Maybe I want both.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

The way her mouth curls tells me she doesn’t care. Or worse, she does. “Try me,” she says.

I toss the rest of my drink back, the burn sharp down my throat, and I feel it catch, slow and deliberate, when she leans closer and drops her voice to a murmur. “Come on. Be interesting.”

I don’t answer right away. I let it hang there, just a second longer than is polite, and smile like I’m thinking about it, like it’s some big favor. “Maybe later,” I say, setting the empty glass down on the bar. “When you’re drunk enough to forget.”

Her fingers trail the rim of her glass, slow, absentminded. “And what if I don’t want to forget?”

I shrug. “Not my problem.”

Sana laughs under her breath, low and dry, then tosses her drink back too, straight-faced, like it’s water. Her hand brushes mine again, deliberate this time, knuckles grazing. And maybe it’s the burn of the liquor or the glint in her eye, but for a second, it feels easy to forget the part where I’m supposed to be working.

I check my phone instead. Flash a smile she doesn’t buy.

“Midnight already?” I say, slipping it back into my pocket. “Guess I’m getting old.”

Sana just watches me, eyes a little too knowing. “Leaving already?”

“Big day tomorrow,” I lie.

“Shame.” She taps her glass against mine, gentle little clink, like she’s toasting something only she knows about. “I was starting to have fun.”

“Yeah,” I say, pushing off the bar. “You should get out of here too. Never know what kind of creeps hang around these places after dark.”

—

Her laugh follows me as I walk off.

The sidewalk’s quieter than it should be. I don’t rush. The trick is never looking like you have somewhere to be. I hear the door swing behind me. Heels again, faster this time.

“You forgot your manners,” she calls out.

I don’t turn. Just slow down a little. “I said goodbye.”

“You said ‘you should get out of here too,’” she says, catching up. “That’s not the same thing.”

I glance over. She’s got her arms folded, jacket barely draped over her shoulders, heels digging into the concrete like she’s got something to prove. I sigh and keep walking, but she matches my pace like it’s a challenge. We’re two blocks out when the tension hits me. Background noise shifts, too quiet on one side, too fast on the other. I look ahead. There’s a guy leaning against a wall, hood up, trying too hard to look casual.

Sana notices.

“Leon?” Sana’s voice rises.

I don’t answer, just stare at the guy. He tilts his head. No mask, no warning, just lunges a punch that grazes my jaw. Instinct sharpens everything. I shift under his arm, grab his wrist, then slam him into the wall. Hard enough to echo, but not enough to stop him. He surges forward, elbow into my ribs. Winded. Pain flowers across my side.

He then pounces forward and tries to grab Sana “Move!” I bark to her, stepping between her and him. He’s circling me now. All of a sudden, three more guys show up, their hands grabbing at my arms. I snap a swift elbow back, crack against one’s jaw. He stumbles. Two of them close in, fists clenched, going for my throat. I swallow past the soreness in my chest. Drop low, grab one by the shirt, whip him into the other two. A crash of limbs and grunts, bodies sliding on asphalt. I’m not winning this with finesse. Not tonight. I land a knee, hear a crack, and then I’m up, fists short and sharp.

But there’s another. He strikes from behind. My vision blurs, and for a second the world goes gray.

“Leon!” Sana screams. I hear her, but can’t answer. I duck another punch, blood spitting where I snap back with an uppercut. I taste metal—blood—fuck I hate that taste.

I catch a glint—a knife now. He’s reaching. I lurch, scoop my jacket off my shoulders and wrap it around my arm. He swings. The cold blade bites the leather, nothing more. I sidestep, stomp my boot into his foot and grind it there. He hisses and drops the blade, but not fast enough. I grab him, twist hard, and drop him against the pavement.

And then—silence, broken only by distant screams.

Sana is behind me, frozen. I spin around, chest heaving and hands bloody. She stares—eyes blown wide, the color drained out of her face. “Oh… my god.” She sways forward, collapses against my ribs. Knuckles white on my arm. I hold her, feel her tremor through my side.

A siren wails, closer now. The city knows, they saw. I wipe my hands on the pavement without thinking. “You okay?" I ask, voice rough. Too rough.

Sana’s grip tightens like she’s grabbing onto a lifeline. My jaw throbs, ribs ache. I’m shaking—partly from the adrenaline, partly from how her body sags against mine. I press a hand to her back, steady. Witnesses come closer, murmurs rising.

And the next moment, I realize, every eye in the street is watching us.

Phones up. Lights flashing. Murmurs thick in the air. Half of them didn’t see the fight, just caught the aftermath—blood, scared girl, bodies on the concrete like someone forgot how gravity works. And me, standing over it, like we were filming a movie.

Sana hasn’t moved, still curled in on herself like her skin’s not fitting right, arms locked around herself. Her heels are uneven on the sidewalk, and it’s not because they’re cheap, but because one of them seems be cracked. Security splits the crowd. One of them goes straight for one the guys on the ground, checks if he’s breathing. He is. Unfortunately. Another glances at me, hesitation loaded in his posture. His eyes do the math—celebrities, blood, cameras, and he decides not to ask questions.

“Is she hurt?” someone barks behind me. Not police.

I don’t answer.

She still hasn’t looked at me. Not really. But she’s closer now. Just slightly. Her shoulder brushes mine when another guy tries to come up and someone yells at him to back off. Flashing lights again, blue and red this time, police. They show up just in time to make it look like they were involved. Reporters circle like flies. A few of them already have the headline drafted. Top Artist Defends Fellow Star from Late-Night Assault. Or maybe something dumber. Hero or Hype? Leon’s Street Fight Goes Viral.

I hear my name in a dozen voices, some shocked, some excited. No one’s checking if I’m okay though. No one cares, and I don’t blame them, not when Sana’s here, shaking so subtly it barely shows unless you’re looking.

I am looking.

One officer steps in, clipboard out, tone all business. “What happened here?”

I tilt my head toward the guys on the ground. “They did.”

He gives me a look that tells me it’s not enough, that he wants more. But I’m already giving the cameras a different angle, just enough profile to look sharp, not smug. Another officer crouches beside Sana, softer voice. She doesn’t answer him either. I shift closer, just enough that the gesture reads on camera. Protection, familiarity, maybe something more. She finally moves closer, her shoulder brushes mine again, this time staying there. And that’s all they need. Flash, flash. I hear someone mutter my name like it’s holy, and for a second, everybody was focused on me.

—

The cameras follow us all the way to a barricade the police made in order to secure the scene. Some idiot shoves a mic past the line and it almost clips Sana in the face. I block it with my hand and shoot them a look. They already got what they came for. Girl clinging to my side, blood on my shirt, four bodies on the ground. It’ll go viral before I even make it home.

A cop waves us through like he knows who we are, maybe he does, maybe he just saw enough to not want to slow us down. I nod once and keep Sana close. She’s quiet now, not still terrified quiet, more like all the words got sucked out of her lungs and haven’t come back yet. Her heel catches on a curb and I catch her before she falls. She doesn’t even look up, just mutters something that might be thanks. They pull us aside behind one of the cars and another cop shows up with a pad, asking questions. I give the short version, four guys, I didn’t like the way one of them looked at us, they swung first. He scribbles without looking up, nodding like it checks out. The bodies get loaded into an ambulance.

Sana hasn’t moved from my side, she hasn’t let go either. Her hand’s curled around my jacket like it’s the only thing she can use to balance herself in a world that just shifted under her heels. The officer glances at her. “Miss, did you see what happened?”

She doesn’t answer. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out, just this low sound like she forgot how to breathe right. He tries again, gentler, still nothing. I watch her face, it’s not blank, it’s too much, everything still happening inside. You can see it behind her eyes, the split-second replay on loop.

“We’ll talk later,” I say. The cop shrugs, maybe he knows better than to push.

Reporters are getting closer and someone’s yelling my name again. A girl tries to push through the line, phone in hand, red light blinking. I turn slightly and block Sana from the angle. She doesn’t notice, or maybe she does and doesn’t care, hard to tell. A few more suits show up, one of them’s definitely management. Not mine. He spots us and jogs over like he’s actually worried. His face does that thing where he tries to look concerned and not furious. Fails.

“Sana. Are you okay?”

She blinks. Doesn’t answer. He tries again, crouches a little to meet her eye. “Can you walk? We have a car waiting.”

Still nothing.

He glances at me. Then at her hand still on my jacket. His jaw tightens. “Leon, thank you for stepping in. We’ll handle it from here.”

Sana flinches. Just barely, but it’s there, and it’s enough. I don’t move.

“She’ll tell me when she wants me to go,” I say. My tone doesn’t change, it doesn’t have to.

The guy hesitates, then backs off. Probably running through all the possible headlines in his head.

Another officer approaches. He looks at me, then at Sana, then at the blood drying on my knuckles. “We’ll need you both to come down to the station tomorrow. Just statements. Routine.”

I nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

He gives a tight smile and leaves, but we’re still not alone. Phones up, flashes still going off behind the line, one guy’s livestreaming. I can hear him narrating. “...she’s not saying anything, but she looks freaked. That’s Sana, right? Holy shit...”

—

I guide her away from the light, the noise. She follows, doesn’t speak, doesn’t stumble either, just walks like the world’s too bright and her body doesn’t know where to hide.

When we hit the corner, out of view, she stops, finally her hand loosens from my jacket. She leans against the wall like her legs gave out, but she’s pretending it’s a choice. I stay close, don’t say anything.

She doesn’t look at me, but she finally speaks up. “Can you...” Her throat works around the words. “Can you stay? Just for a bit?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

She exhales like she’s been holding it in the whole time. Doesn’t say thanks, but she doesn’t need to. I slide down the wall next to her, feeling the cold concrete under me. Sirens still in the distance, phones still out somewhere nearby. Sana stays silent again for a while. She’s staring ahead, breathing a little too shallow, like she’s trying not to fall apart on camera even though there’s none left. I let the silence hang, she’ll talk when she’s ready.

Her voice cracks first. “That was… insane.”

“Yeah.” I wipe my lip again, still bleeding, or maybe I just keep reopening it. “Not quite the night I had in mind.”

She finally looks over, eyes a little less wide now, less glassy. “You’re bleeding.”

“No shit.”

She almost smiles, but it dies before it fully gets there. “You could’ve gotten killed.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

That earns me a small chuckle, but air catches in her throat like she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to find anything funny yet. Then she looks down at her hands like they’re not attached to her, nails dug into her palms so tight I’m surprised she’s not bleeding too.

“I really thought I was gonna—” She cuts herself off. Swallows. “You know.”

I don’t reply to that one. No need. She knows. I know.

The sirens have mostly stopped, just distant flashes now, the crowd moved on to whatever version of the story their friends will find the most interesting. Someone’s already writing their thread, I can feel it.

She wipes under her eyes, quick, like she doesn’t want me to see it, still shaking, just less. Her voice drops again. “You were... really fast back there.”

I shrug. “Adrenaline’s a hell of a drug.”

She stares at me for a second, then she leans her head back against the wall, finally letting herself breathe. “I mean it. You saved my life.”

I glance over. “Don’t make it weird.”

That gets a real laugh out of her. She closes her eyes for a second, just sitting there, like her body’s finally caught up to the fact that she’s safe.

When she opens them again, her voice is lighter, not fully back to normal, but getting there. “You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?”

“Old news.”

She turns her head, rests it against the wall so she’s looking at me sideways. “Still, thanks. Most people would’ve run.”

“Yeah.” I glance at her. “But then I wouldn’t get all the attention.”

She huffs out something and snorts. “You’re unbelievable.”

I flash a smile. “I try.”

The cold air bites a little more now that the adrenaline’s burning out, my ribs are gonna be a problem in the morning. She watches me shift against the wall, her eyes narrow for a second like she’s inspecting something.

“You're in more pain than you're showing.”

“No cameras here,” I say. “I can afford to wince.”

Her expression softens. “Still, you should rest.”

I stay quiet for a while. “What,” I mutter. “You gonna take me home and patch me up? Make me soup or something?”

She doesn’t even blink. “Yeah.”

I stare at her. Waiting for a punchline, a smirk, anything that would tell me she’s joking. There’s nothing.

“You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

I stare at her. “You just got jumped by four guys and your first instinct is to invite me over?”

“You’re the one who saved me.”

I exhale through my nose, leaning back against the wall. “You always make decisions this fast or is this just a post-trauma thing?”

She sits up and shifts her weight onto her good heel, the other one’s still cracked from earlier, tilted at a weird angle like it's given up completely. “I don’t really want to be alone right now. That a crime?”

I glance down at her hands, she’s clutching the hem of her jacket, there are little tremors in her fingers she probably thinks I don’t notice. I sigh, finally standing, my ribs immediately reminding me why sitting had been the better option. “Alright. Lead the way.”

—

The streets are quieter now, not empty but less people. Most of the crowd’s dissipated, police are still wrapping up, reporters shoving mics in the faces of whoever looks available. My name’s still getting thrown around in hushed conversations like I just cured cancer or shot someone live on air. Phones keep popping up every few feet we walk, people think they’re being subtle. They’re not.

Her apartment’s not far. A tall building that screams money yet tries to pretend it doesn’t. The kind of place where the lobby smells like fresh flowers even though nobody ever sees them change. The doorman barely raises an eyebrow when he spots us, just nods, like seeing a half-beat-up guy with a girl clinging to him is the most normal thing he’ll witness all week.

Elevator’s empty, thankfully. The second the doors close, she exhales, like she can finally breathe again. I lean against the mirrored wall, watching the numbers climb, and we finally get off the elevator and into her apartment.

“You sure about this?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

She glances over at me, hair falling across her face as she tilts her head. “You’re bleeding on my floor, feels a little late to kick you out now.”

I huff a quiet laugh, more air than sound. “Fair point.”

Her apartment’s exactly what you’d expect from someone like her, minimalist, expensive, but somehow not lived in. Everything’s perfect, neutral colors, oversized windows, some abstract painting on the wall that probably cost more than my last three endorsement checks combined. It’s the kind of place that looks ready for a photoshoot, but not for people.

“Sit,” she says, pointing toward the couch like she’s scolding a dog. “You’re ruining my carpet.”

I drop down onto the edge of the massive sectional, ribs protesting the movement. She disappears into one of the rooms and returns a minute later with a sleek little white box that she tosses onto the coffee table.

A first aid kit.

“Don’t expect a miracle,” she mutters, popping it open and pulling out some antiseptic wipes. “I’m not a nurse.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She drops to her knees in front of me, carefully inspecting my face like she’s about to grade an art project. “Jesus, Leon.”

“I know. Gorgeous, aren’t I?”

She doesn’t take the bait, just starts cleaning the cut on my lip. The antiseptic burns worse than the punch. I grit my teeth.

“Don’t be a baby,” she says softly, dabbing around the edges. She’s close enough now that I catch the scent of her perfume again. Her fingers are steadier than I expected, but I can feel how tight her shoulders are, still tense from earlier, still running on whatever leftover adrenaline she’s got.

“You’re quiet,” I say after a bit.

She presses her lips together, focused on my knuckles now. “Trying to concentrate.”

“Didn’t realize dabbing a wipe took this much concentration.”

Her eyes flick up. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Not really.”

She huffs something close to a laugh. “Unbelievable.”

She keeps working in silence for a bit. The scrape across my cheekbone, the split at my eyebrow, the raw skin on my knuckles, every time her fingers brush my skin, she slows down like she’s checking if she’s hurting me.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she says finally, barely above a whisper.

“What, punched them? I thought it was pretty effective.”

“You know what I mean.”

I glance at her, but she’s still focused on my hands, not meeting my eyes. “Would you rather I let them hurt you?”

“That’s not—” she cuts herself off, exhaling hard. “I just… you didn’t have to get hurt for me.”

I let that hang for a beat. “Didn’t exactly think about it.”

She finally looks up, eyes softer now. “Yeah…”

I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.

Her hands are still resting lightly on mine, bandage half-finished, but she doesn’t move. Just stays there, kneeling on the floor, like she doesn’t want to break whatever weird moment this is.

I clear my throat. “You done playing doctor yet?”

She smiles. “Almost.”

She pulls the last bandage tight, smooths it down with her thumb. Her hand lingers on mine a second too long. She notices. So do I. Neither of us moves.

“You’re kind of an idiot, you know that?” she says softly.

“Old news.”

She exhales again, finally standing. “Come on. You’re staying here tonight.”

I arch a brow. “What, you need a security blanket?”

“No.” She crosses her arms, but her voice stays light. “I need you where I can keep an eye on you. In case your macho hero thing makes you pass out.”

I smirk. “You just don’t want me walking out and making another scene.”

“That too.”

She walks off toward the hallway, tossing the first aid kit onto the kitchen counter on her way. “Wait here, I’ll get you something to wear.”

I lean back into the couch, watching her disappear down the hallway, and let out a slow breath. My ribs still hurt, my lip still stings, but for the first time tonight, everything feels a little less loud.

She comes back with a shirt and sweatpants that don’t look like they’ve ever been worn. Tags still dangling. Probably bought for a boyfriend that never existed or some stylist’s emergency backup. She tosses them next to me.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, second door.”

I push off the couch, slower than I want to be, my ribs reminding me I’m not as indestructible as I thought. The hallway’s quiet, same soft lighting, same expensive everything. Even the towels folded on the rack look like no one’s ever touched them. When I catch my reflection in the mirror, I barely recognize it for a second. Split lip, cuts along my cheekbone, blood dried into the edge of my hairline. I turn my head, jaw tight, flex my shoulder. Bruises already starting to bloom across my ribs. Nice.

I strip out of my ruined clothes and clean up as best I can. Cold water helps a little, mostly just makes me more aware of how bad everything aches once the adrenaline’s fully gone. I swap into the fresh clothes she gave me — they hang a little loose, but they’re soft, comfortable. Smell like fabric softener and hotel rooms.

When I step back out, she’s already fixed the living room. Coffee table cleared, lights dimmed low, two glasses of water sitting out like she’s trying to pretend we’re normal people winding down after a normal night.

She glances over from the couch and nods once. “Better?”

“It almost doesn’t feel like I got jumped in an alley.”

I sit back down, careful this time. The couch is stupidly soft. The second I lean back into it, my body wants to sink and stay. Sana’s sitting cross-legged across from me now. Barefoot, jacket folded next to her. Her hair’s a little messy, like she finally stopped caring about fixing it. She then watches me for a second, like she’s studying my face all over again.

“You heal fast,” she says.

I shrug. “Occupational hazard.”

She smiles, faint but genuine. “You do this often?”

“Getting beat? Not really.”

She picks up one of the glasses, takes a sip, then stares at it like she forgot it was even there. The silence stretches again, but it’s not heavy this time. It’s tired. Shared.

“You want something stronger?” she asks after a while. “I’ve got wine. Or whiskey.”

“Water’s fine.”

“Lame.”

“Responsibly lame.”

She snorts under her breath. “Suit yourself.”

The quiet comes back, but we both kind of sink into it now. Less tension, more like neither of us really knows what to do next. The adrenaline’s fully burned out, all that’s left is sore muscles and weird feeling humming under the surface. She shifts again, pulling her knees up, arms wrapping around them loosely. The oversized sweater she threw on while I was gone swallows half of her. She looks smaller like that. Not fragile, just… smaller.

Her voice breaks the quiet again. “You ever think about it?”

“About what?”

“Why you do this. All of it.”

I glance at her. She’s not looking at me, just staring across the room like she’s asking the air.

“Be more specific.”

“The career. The cameras. The image. The fact that people are already turning tonight into a headline while we’re sitting here pretending we’re okay.”

I lean my head back against the couch. “Sometimes.”

“And?”

“I have my reasons.”

That gets a little smile out of her, almost bitter. “Same.”

We sit with that for a while. Both of us quietly admitting we’re a little fucked up without having to actually say the words. After a minute, she stretches her legs out across the couch, one foot bumping into my thigh lightly. She doesn’t pull it back. Just leaves it there like it’s normal.

“You’re weirdly good at this,” she says.

“At what?”

“Not making it weird.”

I laugh under my breath. “That’s because it’s already weird.”

“Touché.”

She finally shifts enough to meet my eyes again. There’s still something behind them, something a little cracked from earlier, but it’s fading. She’s finding her footing again.

Another beat passes. “Thanks, by the way.”

I glance at her. “You already said that.”

“I know.” She pauses. “I just mean it.”

I don’t answer. Don’t need to. She already knows.

Her foot taps against my leg once before she shifts back into her little cocoon of oversized sweater and expensive throw pillows. “You tired?” she asks.

“Not really.”

She looks away. “Me neither.”

We both stare ahead for a while longer, the weight of the night settling in around us. Not heavy. Just there. Her eyes drift over me again, slower this time. No more shaky breathing, just that steady hum underneath. Like her nerves have been replaced with something else now.

“You’re staring,” I say.

She shrugs, small. “So?”

I watch her for a second. She’s still tucked into that oversized sweater, hair messy, cheeks a little pink from the heat inside or from everything building up between us, probably both. Her legs shift a little more, stretching out, toes brushing against me again, not subtle this time.

“You flirting with anyone who saves your life?” I ask.

She gives me a small grin. “No. You’re special.”

“Lucky me.”

Her eyes drop down to my mouth for half a second. She catches herself, but not really, just letting it sit there like she wants me to notice.

“You could kiss me, you know,” she says, voice lighter now. Casual. Like it’s something obvious.

I don’t say anything. Just let my hand drift up, settling on her knee. Skin warm under my palm. She doesn’t move. Lets me touch her like she’s been waiting for it.

“You sure?” I say, voice low.

Her eyes stay locked on mine. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

I don’t.

I lean in slow, watching her breathe. She meets me halfway. Soft at first. Warmer than I expected. She tastes like wine and mint and something even sweeter. Her hands slide up to my shoulders, pulling me in like she’s afraid I’ll stop.

I kiss her again, deeper this time. She opens her mouth under mine swiftly, like she’s been waiting all night. My hand moves higher up her thigh, fingertips tracing bare skin under the edge of the sweater. She shifts, hips angling toward me like she’s trying to get closer without making it obvious. I pull back for half a second, catch my breath. She’s already watching me again, breathing a little harder now.

“You good?” I murmur.

She nods quickly. “Yeah.”

I go back in. This time she’s hungrier. Her hands slide up into my hair, nails scratching lightly against my scalp, pulling me in deeper. Her breath hitches when my hand slips under the hem fully now, palm resting on her hip.

She moves into me without thinking, pressing her body up against mine. Her knee brushes higher against my leg, grinding against me once. Just enough to let me know she’s there. She breathes against my mouth, voice softer now. “You feel good.”

“So do you,” I mutter back, fingers moving up her side, finding bare skin under the sweater. No bra. Of fucking course. My thumb brushes under the curve of her breast, testing the softness, and her breath catches again. Her head drops back a little as I slide my palm up, cupping her breast fully now. Warm, soft, perfect in my hand. Her nipple’s already hard under my thumb, and she shivers when I roll it gently.

“Fuck—” she whispers, breath shaky.

I press my lips to her neck, kissing along her skin, feeling her pulse under my mouth. She tilts her head. Gives me more room. My hand slides down again, lower this time. I feel her body tense, not nervous, just expecting. Fingers slip under the band of her shorts now. Skin hot, smooth. I move slower here, letting her feel every inch of my hand moving lower until my fingers find the heat between her legs.

She’s already wet. Really fucking wet.

My breath catches against her throat. “Jesus, Sana.”

Her voice breaks. “Been like that.”

I press against her slowly, fingers moving in small, steady circles over her clit through the soaked fabric of her panties. Her hips twitch at the first touch. Her hands clench in my shirt, pulling tighter.

“Fuck,” she gasps, rocking her hips up into my hand, chasing the pressure.

I don’t rush. Just keep it steady, slow circles while she breathes harder against me. Her face presses into my neck, little whimpers slipping out with every shift of my fingers.

“You’re not even trying to pretend you don’t want this,” I whisper against her ear.

“Why would I?” she breathes, voice breaking. “Just don’t fucking stop.”

Her hips grind harder against my hand now, chasing the friction. I slide my fingers inside the soaked fabric finally, skin on skin, feeling how warm and wet she is. She gasps loud against my neck, her body twitching under my touch.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” I groan into her hair.

She nods fast, too breathless to speak. My fingers rub slow, spreading her open, feeling every slick inch of her. She’s grinding up against my hand now, little desperate sounds slipping from her mouth with every slow circle I draw.

Her voice breaks against my neck. “I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

“Yeah?” My voice is rough now. “You wanted me to touch you like this?”

She nods again, gasping. “Yes. Please—”

I press my thumb harder against her clit, my fingers dipping inside, curling gently. She lets out a sharp gasp, her hips bucking up to meet me. “God, Leon—” she chokes out.

I kiss her again, swallowing her moan while my hand keeps moving. Her whole body’s shaking now, her thighs trembling around my wrist.

Her breath catches. “Fuck— don’t stop, don’t stop—”

“Not stoping,” I whisper against her lips, fingers still working her, feeling her tighten around me as her body starts to get hotter and wetter. Her legs are shaking like crazy now, thighs twitching every time my fingers hit the spot. She’s got one hand in my hair, the other gripping the couch cushion like she’s holding on for dear life. Breath’s all chopped up, mouth open, but the words barely come out right.

“Fuck—Leon—”

She’s close. Stupidly close. You can feel it in how tight she’s clenching around my fingers, how her hips keep jerking up, trying to grind harder against my hand like she’s chasing it.

I pull my hand back. Just enough.

Her head snaps up, eyes wild. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

I blink, like I don’t know what she’s talking about. “Don’t what?”

Her chest heaves. “You know.”

I smirk a little. “Relax.”

She glares at me, but it’s useless — she’s a wreck. Hair all messed up, sweater falling off one shoulder, legs spread wide open, all dripping and shaky and desperate. She looks so goddamn hot like this. I shift down without saying anything, both hands sliding under her thighs, dragging her hips closer to the edge of the couch. She makes this tiny breathy noise when I lower my head between her legs, like she’s already breaking before I even touch her.

“Leon—” soft, high, breathy.

“Shh.”

I start slow. Kiss her inner thigh first. Then again, closer. She lets out this shaky exhale, hips twitching. By the time my mouth hits her, she lets out a small gasp, like her whole body short-circuits for a second. I lick up slow, teasing, barely pressing at first. She squirms, fingers tightening in my hair. The second time, I press harder, tongue flicking over her clit, and her whole body jolts.

“Fuck—oh my god—” it comes out all broken, high-pitched.

I pin her hips down, keep her still, my tongue working slow circles now, steady, just enough pressure to have her breathing all messed up again. She’s shaking under me, little gasps turning into full-on moans.

“Leon, don’t stop,” she whispers, voice cracking.

I keep at it, pushing my tongue flat against her, sucking lightly, then switching it up, licking faster, deeper. She’s fucking dripping now. I slide two fingers back inside her while my mouth stays locked on her clit. She lets out a loud cry, hips jerking hard.

Her thighs try to close around my head but I shove them back open. “Keep them open,” I mutter into her, voice low and vibrating right against where she’s falling apart.

She moans again, louder this time. “Fuck, I—Leon—”

Her whole body tightens up. I feel it hit before she even makes a sound — muscles locking, her breath catching in her throat like she forgot how to breathe. Then it breaks loose. She lets out this raw, fucked up cry, back arching off the couch as she comes hard, legs shaking, fingers pulling at my hair like she’s trying to ground herself.

I don’t stop. I keep my mouth on her, working her through it while she gasps and whimpers, hips twitching with every aftershock. She’s trembling all over, voice breaking into little shaky noises she probably doesn’t even realize she’s making. When I finally pull back, my chin’s wet, and she’s completely wrecked. Sweater bunched up, hair sticking to her face, chest still rising and falling like she ran a marathon.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and look up at her. “You alive?”

She lets out this breathless, fucked little laugh. “Barely.”

Her voice is somehow soft and rough at the same time, but she’s smiling now. I move back up, hovering over her. My hand cups her jaw, thumb brushing across her lip.

“You still want more?” My voice comes out lower than I mean it to.

She doesn’t answer right away. Just stares up at me, breathing all shaky, pupils blown wide. Then she nods. Her fingers hook into my shirt, tugging me closer until our faces are inches apart. Her voice is soft, but there’s that little spark behind it again. “Let me take care of you.”

I blink, watching her. “You sure?”

She bites her lip, eyes never leaving mine. “Yeah.”

Her hand moves down, tracing over my chest, stomach, slower than she needs to. She’s buying time, steadying herself. When she reaches the waistband of my sweatpants, her fingers slip under. Light, barely there. I suck in a breath, feeling my cock already straining against the fabric.

“Sit back,” she murmurs.

I shift off her, leaning into the couch, legs spread a little wider. She sits up slowly, still kind of unsteady from earlier, but focused now. Focused on me. Her fingers tug the sweatpants down, slow and careful. She exhales when she frees me, lip caught between her teeth. The second she sees how hard I am for her, her face flushes a little darker.

“Fuck…” she whispers. “You’ve been like this this whole time?”

I grin, voice rough. “Hard not to be.”

She lets out this breathy little laugh, slowly kneeling between my legs, hair falling into her face a bit, hands bracing herself on my thighs. She leans in, mouth hovering just above me, breath ghosting across my skin. Her hand wraps around the base, squeezing gently, thumb rubbing along the vein.

Her eyes flick up to mine — teasing. “Still feeling okay?”

I huff. “Sana.”

She smirks, satisfied, then lowers her head, tongue flicking out for the first slow lick, base to tip. My whole body tenses instantly. The sound that comes out of me is closer to a growl.

“Jesus—”

She hums against me, like she’s proud of herself, before wrapping her lips around the head, tongue circling, wet and warm and perfect. She keeps her eyes locked on me as she does it. That part’s deliberate. She knows exactly how much it drives me insane when she looks up like that. Her mouth slides lower, slow at first, taking more of me in with each movement. I feel her tongue working underneath, swirling around the shaft as she moves. The wet sounds echo a little too loud in the quiet apartment, her soft breathing mixing with the slick slide of her mouth. I exhale hard, one hand sliding into her hair automatically. She doesn’t fight it, just lets me guide her, pace picking up as she gets more comfortable.

Her other hand joins in, stroking the part she can’t fit, perfectly syncing with the rhythm of her mouth. Every few strokes, she pulls back just far enough to swirl her tongue around the head again, licking up the precum before sliding back down.

I groan, hips twitching. “Fuck, Sana…”

She smiles around me, like she enjoys hearing that, then pushes down deeper, throat tightening slightly as she takes me further in. My fingers tighten in her hair, not pulling, just holding. Her breathing grows heavier, little hums vibrating through me as she works. She starts bobbing her head faster now, messier, spit gathering at the corners of her mouth, stringing thin lines whenever she pulls back. Her hand never stops moving on me, stroking in time with each motion.

“Shit—” My voice breaks a little. “You’re gonna make me—”

She pulls back suddenly, letting me slip out with a wet pop, a thin line of saliva still connecting us. Her chest is rising fast, lips swollen, chin slick.

Her voice comes out breathless, teasing. “Not yet.”

I let out a sharp laugh, biting back a groan. “You’re fucking evil.”

“Mm.” She grins, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Just a little bit.”

She leans back in again, this time slower, licking along my length like she’s savoring it, like she’s not in a rush. Her eyes half-lidded now, looking up at me like she knows she owns me in this moment. My whole body’s wired tight, stomach clenching every time she goes back down, taking me in deeper. Her tongue works in slow circles again, lips sealing tight, cheeks hollowing just enough. I let my head fall back for a second, breathing hard, fingers still buried in her hair, guiding her as she keeps the rhythm steady. She moans softly around me, sending vibrations straight up my spine. I can feel myself getting closer again, and I know she feels it too — the way my hips jerk slightly, how my breath keeps stuttering.

She pulls off again, this time panting a little herself, eyes glazed but locked on mine.

“You close?” she asks, voice low, rough.

I nod, throat too dry to say much.

She smiles. “Good. Because I’m not stopping this time.”

And then she’s back down on me, faster now, more desperate, both hands gripping my thighs to keep steady as she bobs her head, sucking hard, messy and wet and fucking perfect. My hand tightens, and I feel it building sharp and fast this time. My whole body locking up as the pressure snaps.

“Fuck, Sana—” I groan, spilling deep into her mouth as she takes it all, swallowing without hesitation, hands gripping tighter like she’s holding me in place until I finish. She doesn’t pull back until I’m completely spent, breathing hard, chest rising fast. She finally releases me with another soft pop, wiping her mouth again, eyes a little dazed, lips shiny and swollen.

She sits back on her heels, staring up at me with that smug little smile, voice still breathy. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

I let out a shaky laugh, chest still heaving. “Yeah. You fucking did.”

She crawls up, still shaky, but cocky enough to pretend she’s not. Hands slide up my chest, nails grazing just a little. That look’s back in her eye, like she’s proud of herself and she wants me to know it. “You good?” she whispers.

I laugh under my breath, voice still fucked. “Yeah. You?”

She shrugs as if her legs aren’t trembling. “Obviously.”

Then she swings a leg over, straddling me, settling right on top of my lap like she’s been waiting all night for this. Probably has. The sweater rides up high on her thighs, and the panties? Already soaking wet. She’s not even trying to hide it. She knows I’m looking and she wants me to.

“You sure you’re up for more?” she says, but she’s already grinding.

“Yeah. Don’t play dumb.”

She grins, biting her lip, rolling her hips once, dragging herself right over me. I grab her waist, squeezing tight to make her stop. Not because I don’t like how it feels — because if she keeps doing that I won’t last.

“You keep grinding like that, you’re not gonna get round two.”

“That a threat?” She says it soft, but her voice is all breath, like she’s barely keeping it together.

I pull her down, lips crashing again, messy, tongues fighting for space. It’s hot, wet, desperate. Her hips roll once more and I groan into her mouth. I can feel her grinning against my lips, smug little shit. I pull back just enough to breathe. “Lose the panties.”

She’s already halfway there before I finish the sentence. Hips up, fingers hooked in, dragging them down her thighs and slinging them. They hit the floor behind her, then she drops back onto me, no barriers now. The heat of her pussy is right against me, shivering a little, and it’s not because she’s cold. “Fuck,” she whispers.

“Yeah.” My hand slides between us, guiding myself against her, the tip sliding along her folds, slick and warm and ready. She twitches under me, already desperate for it.

“You ready?” I murmur.

Her voice breaks. “I’ve been ready.”

I push in slow, feeling every inch disappear into her. She gasps, hands gripping my shoulders, nails digging in. She sinks all the way down, seating herself fully on my lap, breath catching. “Jesus,” she whispers.

My hands slide up under the sweater, gripping her back. “Look at you.” She rolls her hips, just slightly and I’m already breathing heavy. “You feel fucking perfect.”

Her pace starts slow, hips grinding in tight circles, drawing herself up a little and dropping back down. Every time she sinks back down it knocks the breath out of me. She’s biting her lip, trying to play it cool, but her thighs are already shaking. “Fuck—you’re deep,” she gasps.

I huff, voice rough. “You wanted it.”

She leans in closer, forehead pressed to mine. “Shut up.”

Her hips pick up, faster now, slamming down harder, slapping sounds filling the room. Skin on skin, wet and filthy. She’s moaning under her breath with every drop, breaths becoming quicker, losing her rhythm a little. Her voice starts breaking. “Leon—oh my god—fuck—I’m close—”

I slam my hips up into her, one good thrust, and her whole body jolts, almost folds right into me.

She gasps. “Shit—Leon, I—”

I catch her hips and freeze her in place. She whines. An actual, desperate, fucking whine.

“Not yet,” I growl.

She’s breathing so fast now, her hands push at my chest, but not to get away — she just wants to move, but I don’t let her. Her voice is wrecked. “Leon—please—just—”

I shift under her, breathing heavy into her ear. “Turn around. On your stomach.”

For a second she doesn’t move. Just stares at me like she can’t believe I’m making her wait. Then she exhales hard, eyes glazed over, and does it. Climbs off with shaky legs, drops onto the couch face down, ass up. She spreads her legs like she knows exactly what I’ll do next. I stay sitting for a second, just staring at her. Sweater bunched up, hair a mess, her ass high, pussy dripping for me. I drag my hand down her back, over her ass, thumb brushing the slickness between her thighs.

“Look at you,” I murmur.

Her breath shudders. “Just fuck me already.”

Now we’re getting somewhere. I shift up behind her, one hand gripping her hip, the other pressing between her shoulder blades, easing her down into the cushions. Ass high, legs spread, face buried. The view's fucking unreal. She looks back at me, breathless but still wearing that little smirk like she’s running this. "Don’t take too long or I might get bored."

Mouthy even now.

I grin, voice low. "Yeah?"

I drag the tip through her folds, slow, lazy, letting it glide through the slick mess she’s made. She tries to push back, hips wiggling, but I hold her firm, making her wait, making her feel it. The second I press in, she lets out this sharp little breath, head dropping, hair falling across her face as I start filling her slow, inch by inch. Her pussy is tight, hot, squeezing like her body’s starving for it.

"You’re fucking soaked," I breathe as I bottom out, buried to the hilt. She gasps, knuckles whitening on the cushions, voice shaky but still trying to stay sharp. “You should take some credit for that.”

I pull back and slam into her hard, the slap of skin loud in the room. She jerks forward with a choked moan, biting her lip like that’ll help. My hand fists in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to arch her for me, breath stuttering out with every brutal thrust. "Where’s that smart mouth now, huh?" I growl, driving into her rough, setting a rhythm that makes her body jolt under me.

Her breath catches, but the mouth keeps running. "Still here," she pants. "You’re just making it… harder to use."

Her voice cracks on the last word when I hit that perfect spot that makes her legs twitch. My grip on her hips tightens, fingers digging in, holding her steady as I keep slamming into her, wet sounds filling the air with every thrust. She’s trying to hold it in, but I feel her clenching tighter, her body shaking, already starting to fall apart.

"Leon—fuck—" she gasps, her voice breaking when I drive in deep again. "I—I’m—"

I can feel it, the way she’s locking up around me, the desperate little cries slipping out of her with every thrust. I keep hammering into her, forcing her to take it, her orgasm ripping through her sharp and messy, thighs trembling, breath hitching, whole body seizing up under me as she cums hard. Her moans turn sloppy, breathless, breaking apart with every slam of my hips. I don’t stop. I ride her through it, fucking her straight through the shaking, through the aftershocks, keeping my pace brutal as her body twitches around me.

"That’s it," I growl, voice rough. "Take it all."

She’s wrecked now, voice reduced to breathy little whimpers, hands clutching at the cushions like she’s trying to ground herself. Her whole body’s shaking under me, legs barely holding her up. The pressure’s boiling in me too, fuck she’s tight. I yank her hair again, making her arch harder. She’s flushed, chest heaving, hair a mess sticking to her sweaty face, I’m right fucking there, but I’m not done yet, not like this.

I pull out, fast. She lets out a desperate, broken whine, clenching around nothing, body twitching as I leave her empty.

“W-Why’d you stop—” she manages, voice wrecked.

I flip her onto her back before she can finish, pinning her under me. She looks so fucking hot—flushed, breathing hard, hair all over the place—but still has that spark in her eyes. That fire’s still there, even like this. I grab her jaw, thumb pressing her lower lip down as I hover over her. "You still want more?"

She grins through the haze, biting lightly at my thumb. "If you’re not too busy being dramatic, yeah."

I drag my cock across her lips, still slick from her pussy, then I tap it against her mouth. “Open.”

Her lips part right away, tongue out, waiting, filthy and eager like she’s been craving this part. She wraps her lips around the tip instantly, sucking hard like she’s starving for it, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing around me. Spit’s already pooling at the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin. She moans around me, sending vibrations straight up my spine as I sink deeper into her throat.

She takes me like she wants it messy, sloppy sounds echoing in the room as she works her mouth around me. My fist clenches in her hair, guiding her, setting the rhythm as I start thrusting into her mouth, fucking into her throat slow at first, then faster, making her eyes flutter. Gagging, drooling, but not stopping. Her breath stutters through her nose, but she takes every inch like it’s her last meal. Her hands come up, clutching at my thighs for balance as I fuck her mouth deeper, rougher. Her spit’s everywhere now, glistening on her chin, down her throat, strings of it connecting us when I pull back slightly.

She gasps for breath, voice ragged but still cocky. “You’re making a mess.”

I shove back in, cutting her off, voice sharp. "That’s the point."

Her throat works to take me, gagging again as I push past her limits, fucking into her like her mouth owes me something. She moans again, those desperate little sounds spilling out between gags, eyes glassy but locked on mine like she’s daring me to push harder. When I finally pull out, she gasps for air, spit glistening everywhere, chest heaving like she’s barely holding it together. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand but keeps the smirk. “Get back inside me,” she breathes, voice wrecked but sharp. “Finish what you started.”

I don’t make her ask twice. I flip her back over, dragging her hips up again, and slam into her in one brutal thrust that knocks the air from both of us. Her cry rips out raw, and I don’t hold back. My hips slam into her, driving deep and rough right from the start, setting a punishing rhythm that leaves both of us breathless.

Her voice is breaking, nothing but broken moans now, breathy and high, hips jerking against me, thighs trembling. “Leon—fuck—yes—don’t stop—”

I’m right there, breath catching, every thrust getting sloppier, heavier, my groans rough in my throat as I chase that edge. Her body tightens up under me again, spasming, clenching like she’s ready to lose it all over again.

"Gonna fill you up, baby," I growl through gritted teeth, slamming deep. "Fuck—"

Her head throws back, voice wrecked. "Do it—please—just fucking do it—"

That’s it. My whole body locks up, slamming deep one last time as I cum hard, cock pulsing inside her, spilling deep. My groan breaks out rough, shaking through me as I hold her hips tight, grinding into her as I ride out every last spasm. She shakes beneath me, twitching, breathless, completely fucking ruined. I collapse over her, both of us panting, skin sticky with sweat, her body still twitching around me as I stay buried inside.

—

The room's quiet except for our breathing, both of us wrecked, tangled together in the mess we made. We stay like that for a while, her head resting against my stomach, one arm lazily draped across my thigh, breathing starting to slow but still not all the way down. My chest’s rising too fast, legs feel shot, one hand drifting through her hair, not even thinking about it, just moving.

Her lips are parted a little, swollen, wet where she’s still catching her breath. Her cheeks flushed all the way up, that pretty post-fuck glow fits her so well. There’s that small grin playing at the corner of her mouth, like she’s pleased with herself. She should be. She drained me, fully and completely, and she knows it. She shifts a bit, curling in closer, her cheek pressing against my thigh now. “You alive?” she mumbles, voice rough, half muffled into my skin.

I exhale something close to a laugh, fingers still combing slow through her hair. “Barely.”

“Good.” Her voice stays soft, but I can hear the smug underneath it. “You deserved it.”

I let the silence answer that one, not even pretending to argue. My brain’s still fuzzy, everything warm and heavy, like my body’s floating but too heavy to move. She finally lifts her head, blinking up at me, hair sticking in random directions, eyes glassy but sharp under the mess. “You look like hell.”

I glance down at her, mouth twitching. “You don’t look so put together yourself.”

She grins wider. “Please. I’m glowing.”

Her hand slides up slowly, resting flat against my stomach, fingers drawing lazy circles over my skin like she’s not even aware she’s doing it. I feel my abs twitch under her touch but don’t stop her. She keeps tracing slow patterns, like she’s grounding herself with every little circle.

“You good?” she asks, her voice dipping just slightly, not all teasing this time.

I tilt my head back, eyes half-lidding. “Yeah. You?”

She doesn’t answer right away, but the way she shifts even closer kind of says it for her. Her body molding into mine like we fit like this, warm skin pressed everywhere, breathing synced up again. For a while, neither of us says anything. Just the quiet hum of the room, the faint noise of the city outside, distant cars, maybe a siren somewhere blocks down. But here it’s calm, cozy even. She fits perfectly tucked under my arm like this.

“You know tomorrow’s gonna be a circus, right?” she says after a bit, voice muffled into my chest.

I sigh, hand drifting over her back, slow. “It already is.”

“They probably posted a hundred clips of tonight already.”

“Thousands.”

She groans softly. “I’m gonna have to listen to my manager’s meltdown for a full week.”

I smirk, thumb brushing her spine. “Tell him to get in line.”

Her body shakes a little as she laughs into my skin. “They’re gonna turn me into some fragile girl.”

I snort. “Right. The poor Sana, completely helpless.”

She pinches my side lightly. “Shut up.”

“Just saying.”

Her voice drops softer again. “I hate that shit. Like I’m some victim that needs to be saved.”

“Then stop clinging to me like one.”

She smacks me gently without even pulling her head up. “Asshole.”

I grin. “Love you too.”

Her breathing slows again. She’s fighting sleep now, but her body’s too comfortable to move. Her leg’s still draped over mine, fingers still tracing absent little shapes across my stomach.

Another beat of silence.

“You’re staying,” she says, quiet now.

I run my hand through her hair again, fingers sliding through the mess, catching the strands gently. “You already said that.”

“Just making sure.”

Her eyes are closed now. I feel her lips brush lightly against my skin once before she fully settles, curling into me like we’ve done this a hundred times before. The weight of the night sinks in fully. The blood, the fight, the adrenaline crash. The weird, unexpected calm afterward. All of it sitting somewhere in the air between us. But even then, it felt weirdly peaceful. And for the first time all night, it’s actually quiet.

—

She’s out cold.

Didn’t even flinch when I shifted off the bed. Just breathing softly, mouth a little open, hair half stuck to her cheek like she’d melted into the pillow the second her body let go. I stand there for a bit, watching her chest rise and fall. She looks small like this, safe. Like none of what happened tonight even affected her. Like there wasn’t four guys in a fucking alley two hours ago trying to tear her apart.

I grab my phone off the nightstand, screen lighting up in the dark. Two texts waiting. One from Karina—work shit, nothing that can’t wait. The other’s from him.

‘Did you really have to go that far?’

I sit down on the edge of the bed again, thumb hovering for a second. The apartment’s dead silent except for the hum of city traffic leaking in through the glass. Sirens in the distance, maybe leftovers from earlier, probably reporters still sniffing around. This one’s gonna be everywhere tomorrow, I can already hear the headlines spinning.

The phone buzzes again.

‘Four of my guys got picked up.’

I let the air leave slow through my teeth. My ribs pinch when I lean forward, the adrenaline from the sex gone now. Elbows on my knees, fingers dragging down my face like that’ll scrub any of this off. I stare at the screen for a while. Not angry, not anything really, just tired.

I finally type:

‘You knew what the job was.’

I barely finish sending the message before the dots start dancing again.

‘They weren’t supposed to end up in cuffs. It was just a scare, you didn’t have to lay into them like that.’

My eyes flick toward Sana again. She hasn’t moved, still curled up under that stupidly expensive throw blanket. Knuckles twitch a little in her sleep like she’s dreaming something light, like tonight wasn’t real. I stare at her for a long second, then type:

‘They weren’t supposed to touch her.’

He takes longer this time. The dots blink, disappear. Then:

‘This one’s gonna cost you.’

I lean back against the headboard, let my head tip back and close my eyes. Everything fucking hurts. My thumb floats for a second longer before I finally send:

‘I know.’

[panther-os]

"lxc ruined the scene by randomly playing the flute"

in the very next scene, lwj leaves mid-conversation to play his guqin because he's feeling too many emotions, I think it's fair to assume this is a standard lan brother coping mechanism - probably one of the few that are lqr-approved

self-soothing after talking about childhood trauma is a normal, reasonable response and characters being more human does not detract from the story

[ch6sos]

✧.* nanami headcanons <3

He hums/sings while showering and feels embarrassed when confronted about it.

When someone he enjoys talking to speaks to him, he usually appears serious, but his expression is always unreadable. The expression conveys pure fondness for the person!! He enjoys hearing them ramble about their day, their lives, etc. He gives them a warm look.

Definitely a listener more than a rambler. He listens to people all the time, and remembers the small details about them. He tends to bring them up sometimes, which surprises the other person. But, he is extremely attentive to detail and loves getting to know people.

You know how in Korean dramas, the male lead is always a jack of all trades or something? Nanami is exactly that guy. Need assistance with your plumbing? He is there. Do you need to fix a lightbulb? He is there. Need help building a house? He is there.

He plays an instrument. He would play either the piano, violin, or flute.

He definitely enjoys watching movies in his spare time. When he is not doing anything, he enjoys watching movies. If he existed in the modern world, he would for sure have a Letterboxd account.

In a Modern AU, Nanami would undoubtedly be an English/History major. I do not care what anyone says. Maybe philosophy or business. But he would be one of those fine humanities majors you notice and immediately fall for.

Books are his specialty. He probably has several places where he goes to relax and read a book he recently purchased.

Speaking of books, if he gets a partner, he will read to them. He would cuddle them in bed, holding them in his arms while he read silently to them, pressing his lips against their ear, the soft, deep tone of his voice sounding like a musical masterpiece in their ear.

Pottery!! He enjoys pottery so much. He probably went to a pottery event/class when he was bored (he failed, the bowl looked like a deformed apple) but he really enjoyed the process. He definitely began to watch more videos on pottery and probably got himself a pottery wheel.

He is definitely an animal lover. he doesn't look like it, but he loves, LOVES, LOVES animals. If he sees a dog, his heart flutters but he doesn't touch it just in case. But, he's an animal attractor of course. The dogs are all over him at the dog park, and he smiles a little while petting them.

Speaking of animals, he probably has a cat. The cat is named after a food for sure. It is most definitely a type of bread or sandwich or a nut. For example, Pistachio or Baguette.

Super gentle with children. He genuinely enjoys being around them. Ask him about having children He will Be On Board.

HE WOULD NOT BE MEAN. The amount of people I have seen mischaracterize him by making him mean just because he's serious. No. He is just introverted and serious and needs to be comfortable around a person.

During relationships, he genuinely enjoys checking in on the person he is dating. He is always there for them, comforting, cherishing, and listening. He tries to get off work as soon as possible so that he can spend time with his significant other.

If he is shown too much affection, he does not snap or become angry with the person. He just blushes. He just lets out a soft "hm" and pretends to be serious, but his heart is racing, and his cheeks, ears, and neck indicate otherwise. He also gives them a slightly surprised look that quickly turns to his stoic look.

He definitely bought baby shoes at a store just because he thought they were so cute. Mans just wants a baby.

He would be both a girl and a boy dad. I do not care what anyone says; he loves both. If he has a son, he will do everything in his power to raise him as a gentleman while also showing him a lot of love and affection. If he has a daughter, he will be so gentle with her while also raising her to be a sophisticated, strong young woman.

Genuinely would be the grandpa of the friend group. Come on. Just look at him.

As a teenager, he probably would do the emo hair flip thing because his fringe kept getting onto his eye. Gojo probably laughed his ass off.

Secretly really touch-starved. People think he is not affectionate, but he is, just not in public. He would most likely grab his significant other while they were doing something and attack them with kisses. He probably likes being a little spoon sometimes even though he looks like an old man. He is clingy, okay? But not overly clingy. Sometimes he needs his own space.

Loves kissing their partner's beauty moles. The ones under their nose, the ones on their ear, the ones on scattered around their face, the ones in other areas... Wherever they are located, he will kiss them.

Sometimes he needs to be reassured. He needs to know if he is doing okay, if he is treating a person well. It looks like he does not need it, but he genuinely sometimes gets insecure about how others perceive him or how well he treats them. He worries about hurting someone's feelings.

Loves to try and hype up his partner with extreme amount of compliments. He is truly the number one simp and hype man.

I am a strong advocate for the fact that Nanami loves people of color. Like he will date a person of color. I don't CARE. I am Afro-Latina let me have my headcanon in peace : (

Once again. He is NOT mean. He will not yell. If he is angry, he is calm. He does not yell and if he does it is extremely rare. But he would never in his life yell at his partner or children if he has any. The only way he shows disappointment is by staying calm.

Speaking of being angry, he is not the type to show silent treatment. He would much rather talk rather than give a cold shoulder. He is a grown man. He knows how to communicate, people.

Old-fashioned nicknames. That is all. My love. Darling. Sweetheart.

He is probably fluent in several languages. I understand he is overly perfect, but he is perfect in my eyes. He probably takes the time to learn languages so that people feel included. Plus, he genuinely enjoys learning about different cultures.

Owned a bakery or worked as a chef at some point in his life. Maybe even a barista.

Helps old ladies cross the street, assists people with heavy bags, is courteous to his neighbors, and is the grandson of every old neighbor ever.

Probably is the type of guy to sit down on the couch and not try at Just Dance, and ends up winning.

Despite being serious, he would genuinely be bad at the game Among Us. This is so random but hear me out.

Favorite ice cream flavor is probably coffee or pistachio. Maybe even basic vanilla. He is not a big fan anyway.

Jazz music, classical music, old music is his speciality. In high school during his emo hair era he more so listened to 90s rock/punk rock.

His most used app(s) on his Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra is WhatsApp and Candy Crush.

Definitely has a whole closet of clothing and browses through them every night to see what suit he wants to wear for the next day.

When he shops or gets food, he goes to local family owned shops. He does not go to Starbucks for his coffee. He goes to the local family owned coffee shop.

Dry texter but if he gets a partner who is not a dry texter, he genuinely begins to pick up their habits. If they type with emojis he begins using emojis. I apologize but he'd unironically use the laughing crying emoji. "Haha! 😂". Okay but genuinely, he would actually keyboard slam at some point. He sends them a photo, they go like "jshekehdkehdjdlsjdl" and one time they did the same thing and he was like:

"....Kshskshdjxbsnab." You know?

He is low key sassy. He was affected by sassy man apocalypse. He hides it in that serious exterior of his but he gives the biggest side eyes sometimes, crosses his legs too.

Snores like a dad. Bro was probably recorded by Haibara while he was in the dorms and bro was snoring like a regular ol dad. Drooling too. What a silly guy.

Anyway...

Overall, the best man ever. He is the man ever and that is why he is not real. Unfortunately.

forever angel <33

[princesssarisa]

The Different Portrayals of Papageno in "The Magic Flute" (Die Zauberflöte)

Of all the characters in Mozart's The Magic Flute, Papageno is probably the one most open to interpretation by the singer and the stage director. As I've watched different performances of the opera, the funny bird-catcher seems almost like a different character in each version.

Every singer brings unique qualities to the role, but I've narrowed the most common portrayals down to four – which can be combined with each other too. I've seen baritones give excellent performances in every one of these portrayals, as well as in blends of them.

The Innocent

This is the sweetest portrayal of Papageno and the most endearingly simple-minded. He’s most often portrayed by younger baritones: the more baby-faced, the better. This uneducated, naïve young creature of the woods and mountains is almost a Peter Pan figure (without Peter Pan’s brashness or ruthlessness, though with a little of his boyish cockiness), who has never quite grown up. His childlike qualities include total earnestness as he asks questions with obvious answers, childlike quaking and whimpering in the face of danger, and childlike sobbing in moments of despair. Yet while his failure to “be a man” sometimes tries other people’s patience, no one except Monostatos can really dislike him. His friendly, cheerful, exuberant yet gentle demeanor is filled with natural charm, and the broad, sunny comedy of nearly all his scenes keeps the audience laughing, yet his boyish vulnerability is touching too, even when it’s played for laughs. Most endearing of all is his lively, wide-eyed, unabashed joy in all of life’s most simple pleasures. He might be an unsophisticated man-child, but whatever he lacks in maturity or wisdom he makes up for in zest for life and in warmth of heart.

The Peasant

This is a more mature, down-to-earth Papageno, who clearly represents the common man. He comes across as an average, hardy 28-year-old peasant, lifted straight out of the 18th century Austrian countryside into an exotic fairy tale world. Although uneducated and unrefined compared to Tamino, he’s not particularly naïve, but conveys sound working-class intelligence and practicality, and he often delivers his funny lines with a knowing, snarky wit. This makes him a kindred spirit to classic earthy “comic servant” characters like Sancho Panza or Leporello. His lustiness is also pronounced as he craves good food, alcohol, and female companionship: it’s clear that his desire for a Papagena is carnal, not just emotional. And despite all his fears and foibles, there’s an underlying stolidness to him; a sense of resilience that suits a man whose spent his life working hard to earn a humble living. Ultimately, he fails Sarastro’s tests not because he’s silly or weak, but because he’s just too ordinary for the grandly idealistic world of the priests. This makes him less broadly funny than some other Papagenos are, but it makes him easy for the audience to personally relate to, and easy for them to view as a friend too.

The Odd Duck

This is the most eccentric Papageno. His costume tends to be more wildly feathery than other Papagenos’ and make him look less human and more birdlike. He often has more birdlike mannerisms too: for example, making chirping sounds when he sees a pretty girl, or literally screeching in terror. But even if he’s portrayed as fully human, he’s defined by adorable quirkiness. In contrast to the staid dignity of the upper-class characters who surround him, he has puckish, squirrely energy, with little thought for dull things like “manners” or “social rules,” and his emotions always run free and high, sometimes causing funny melodramatics when he’s especially scared or distraught. Yet his joy in living is equally strong and unabashed, and for the audience, it’s infectious. Nor is there any restraint on his love of food, wine, and pretty girls, or on his playful and mischievous sense of humor. This free spirit is a true “child of nature,” who, like a wild bird, lives by his animal instincts: he doesn’t care what anyone else thinks of him, no matter how strange, silly, or inappropriate he seems by normal standards of society. He just does whatever he feels like doing, and the audience can’t help but love him for it.

The Sad Clown

This is the least comical Papageno, but no less endearing than the others. His costume tends to lack feathers and be drably colored, disheveled, and poor-looking. Nor is his demeanor as broadly cheerful as other Papagenos’, but more reserved, and as for his style of humor, he’s most akin to Charlie Chaplin’s Little Tramp. The audience laughs at his foibles and slapstick, but feels pity him as well, because he shows a full and realistic range of emotions, with a subtle yet distinct vein of melancholy. He makes us realize what an unlucky man Papageno really is, as he constantly fails other people’s expectations and is browbeaten by both the villains and the heroes alike (all except Pamina). The sense of loneliness he conveys is especially poignant: not only in his deep yearning for a Papagena, but because he grew up without parents, has no real friends (only social superiors, some kind, others less so), and has never known any form of love. This Papageno’s eventual suicide attempt seems much less ridiculous than usual: even though it’s still played partly for laughs, we can almost believe he might go through with it. When he finally finds his Papagena in the end, his happiness feels long overdue and well earned.

The Pecking Rooster

This Papageno portrayal is more of a subtype than an individual type: he can predominantly be either an Innocent, a Peasant, or a Sad Clown. But either way, he’s pricklier than other Papagenos, with more machismo and a little bit more of a temper. Like a rooster defending the henhouse, he feistily defends his own safety and comfort, and like the Cowardly Lion with his “Put ‘em up! Put ‘em up!” he tries (but fails) to mask his fears with “manly” pugnaciousness and pride. Expect this Papageno to posture exuberantly as he claims to have the strength of a giant, to puff himself up to scare Monostatos away, to be as stubborn as a mule in refusing to face each new danger, and to bicker with Tamino and the priests every step of the way. His anger at being constantly ordered around, dragged into unpleasant situations, and denied the reward he was promised (a bride) is loud and clear. Yet unlike his villainous counterpart Monostatos, he’s never consumed by his anger, but combines it with classic Papageno warmth and good humor. For that reason, audiences empathize with his frustration, and admire his proud efforts to stand up to the powers that frustrate him, even though he comically fails to thwart them.

Here are some examples of the different Papagenos from different filmed performances of the opera. (I'll add more as I see them.)

*William Workman (Hamburg, 1971): The Innocent.

*Håkan Hagegård (Ingmar Bergman film, 1975): The Innocent, with undertones of the Sad Clown.

*Benjamin Luxon (Glyndebourne, 1977): The Peasant, with traces of the Innocent and the Sad Clown.

*Christian Boesch (Salzburg, 1982): A blend of the Innocent, the Peasant, and the Pecking Rooster, with undertones of the Sad Clown.

*John Fulford (Sydney, 1986): The Peasant.

*Mikael Samuelson (Drottningholm, 1989): The Odd Duck, with the earthiness of the Peasant.

*Manfred Hemm (the Met, 1991): The Innocent.

*Detlef Roth (Paris, 2001): A blend of the Innocent, the Odd Duck, and the Pecking Rooster.

*Simon Keenlyside (Covent Garden, 2003): The Sad Clown.

*Christian Gehaher (Salzburg, 2006): A blend of the Peasant and the Pecking Rooster, with hints of the Odd Duck.

*Nathan Gunn (the Met, 2006): A blend of the Peasant and the Odd Duck, with traces of the Pecking Rooster.

*Markus Werba (the Met, 2017): A blend of the Innocent and the Peasant, with traces of the Pecking Rooster.

Meanwhile, in my gender-bent retelling, An Eternal Crown, I think Lorikeet is a cross between the Innocent and the Odd Duck, with a few undertones of the Sad Clown.

I'd be interested to learn which portrayal(s) @leporellian is using for the anthropomorphic cat Papageno in their Magic Flute-inspired novel Song of the Sky.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @tuttocenere, @vogelfanger1984, @thealmightyemprex, @thevampiricnihal, @cjbolan

[bots-and-cons]

Could we get headcanons for Soundwave and Predaking with a human companion--probably one that started out as a prisonerbut eventually evolved into a pet/friend--who's a musician skilled in multiple instruments like acoustic guitar, violin, flute, etc. and will play music and sing for them? (Bonus cute idea, if they ever go out somewhere and find bamboo growing, they cut a chute of it and make it into a functional flute like Wei Wuxian from Mo Dao Zu Shi)

A/N: I'm at my mom's again, so I don't have much time to write, but I'll try to write while my little siblings are in school. I wanted to post something, since it's been a while again :D

~Predaking~

Before Predaking gained sentience, he was already enamored with you playing your guitar and singing

He really enjoyed listening to it, since he found it calming and beautiful and just enjoyable in general

You kinda had a habit of hiding from Starscream by going to Predaking, because Screamer was clearly scared of him and Predaking was protective of you

After he transformed for the first time, he was very forward about asking you to sing and play for him, because he likes it so much

It really sounded more like a command than a request, but you were glad to comply, since it was something you enjoyed doing anyway

Predaking's favorite instrument of yours is violin, he enjoys whatever you want to play for him, but he enjoys the violin the most

~Soundwave~

Soundwave is actually quite a big fan of human music, but he usually enjoys very fast-paced stuff like phonk or something like that

He had never actually heard anyone play the way you do, because he'd never heard single instrument live music before

It has such a different vibe than just listening to music from the internet, even if he has phenomenal sound systems and the quality is amazing

He really enjoys listening to you play and sing, but he never forced you or even asked you to do so

While he enjoys it, at the same time he doesn't really care if you're playing or not, because he can get work done either way

You've noticed he liked listening to you play and sing, so you do gladly do it, even though he doesn't ask

There's not really any external signs he likes the music, he doesn't hum or sway or dance or anything, he just vibes

[yeloenk]

grins mischievously and rubs my hands together like a fly

i think human ink would frequently get bored of his hair color and hair style, trying out lots of different things!! he would definitely forget to maintain the dyejob tho so his white roots get REALLY bad until he dyes it again LMAO

while his dads aren't japanese (zephyr is french and idrk about undertop), they enjoy ink showing them japanese culture and participating in traditions and such :-)

ink, since they're immortal, decided he would dedicate his freetime into learning a bunch of different cultures and languages! this always tends to surprise others, since ink's short-term memory is absolute garbage. nobody understands how he remembers EVERYTHING about EVERY culture 😭😭🙏 you CANNOT keep a secret from this mofo no matter what language you speak

i think they would keep a digital diary with a camera! he records important events/moments so they can always look back at them, since he forgets a lot. his camera is mostly filled up with memories with their dads 🫶

ink LOVESS to bake!! he enjoys trying out different recepies and pastries from all around the world, but his favorites are macarons. he enjoys cooking as well, but moreso appreciates baking because of the exact instructions/measurements. (he is autistic like me and needs clear instructions or he will combust real and true trust me on this)

he has WAY too many hobbies for a normal person to keep up with. flute, baking, drawing, painting, writing, dancing, crocheting, knitting, embroidery, singing, gardening, you NAME it. any form of art, they know how to do and are surprisingly good at it

ink struggles with keeping up with his own very very busy mind. they have so many projects he wants to execute, but can only push out a few at a time. he hates having unfinished projects, and will stick with something until the end—for better or for worse.

he loves to paint over his vitiligo spots, or just painting on himself in general. they think it's fun & interesting to see how the spots shift and change on his skin, never growing bored of them.

-> his spots shift whenever code for a new AU is created, soo it's never really consistent LOL

he loves all forms of music, but holds a special place in his heart for songs that include lots of different classic instrumentals, like violin. he loves artists like fish in a birdcage and sparkbird (yes im projecting and you can't stop me)

he sometimes will drink paint out of the blue in front of others just for their reactions. they are priceless to ink and ALWAYS make him crack up so bad.. and then he has to explain that "nonono my paint specifically is okay for me to drink guys im not gonna die dw" ☠️☠️

ANNDDD i should probably stop there.. this post is so long LMFAO 😭😭 honestly most of these are just my normal ink headcanons, human or not, so take these as you will 🗣️🗣️

[formulafanfics13]

Another idea for Lewis with 🔥

The reader (28) is a friend of the Wags and they meet at a party in Monaco.

Lewis instantly notices her but doesn't Show it. After a few months of pining and flirting the whole grid and their Wags make a plan :)

Pushed to Fall - LH44 🔥

Masterlist

Summary It starts with glances. Quiet ones. Lingering ones. The kind that hum beneath the noise. You’re the girl Lewis Hamilton won’t look at directly — not because he doesn’t want to, but because he wants to too much. You’re pulled into the WAG world through friendships, not fame. But he notices you from the very beginning. And when the silence between you finally snaps, it’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s months of tension turned to fire. He kisses you like he’s drowning. Fucks you like he’s claiming oxygen. And when the morning comes, he tells you — plain and simple — he’s not letting go. Across Monaco, the WAGs celebrate like they just won a Grand Prix.

Warnings slow burn tension, sexual content, explicit language, intense eye contact, mutual pining, scheming friends, matchmaker WAGs, soft dom energy, praise kink, group chat chaos, fingering, oral (f receiving), wall sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, strong emotional release, mentions of crying during sex, morning after softness, domestic foreshadowing.

It starts at a party. Monaco, of course. A rooftop terrace, sweat-slick champagne flutes, and music pulsing through expensive shoes and bad decisions.

You’re wearing white silk. Lewis notices before anyone else. But he doesn’t show it. Not in the obvious way. Not in the Pierre Gasly whistle or the Max Verstappen once-over.

He just watches. Quietly. Like you’re not supposed to notice. But you do.

Because Lewis Hamilton notices everything. And when he looks at you, it doesn’t feel like attention. It feels like gravity.

You were friends with Kika and Magui first. Old friends. Wild nights, drunken voice notes, stupid tattoos kind of friends.

When they brought you into the WAG circle, Carmen, Lily Z, Lily MH, Rebecca, Kelly,  it was meant to be casual. One brunch. One paddock invite. But now you’re in all the group chats. The girls adore you. You travel to a few races. You don’t post much. You don’t chase attention.

Which is probably why Lewis is so fucking hooked. You don’t scream for it. You don’t beg for his gaze. You just exist, smart, quiet, self-contained, and it drives him insane.

He doesn’t flirt like the others. No pickup lines. No sly texts.

He just sits beside you when no one’s looking. Leans in close when the music’s loud. Brushes his hand over your lower back when he walks past.

Once, at a dinner, you reached across him for the salt and your wrists touched, just for a second, and he didn’t speak to you the rest of the night.

And when you texted “did I do something wrong?” at 1:04 AM, he responded, “No. I’m trying to behave.”

You didn’t sleep after that.

By month three, everyone knows. Everyone but you and him. Charles and Lando take bets. George tries to play matchmaker and nearly ruins it. Carmen makes a spreadsheet of every near-miss moment. Kelly keeps saying “just lock them in a fucking room.”

It’s Rebecca who makes the call. Literally. To Toto. Just a simple, “Hey. We need your driver for 24 hours. It’s for the good of humanity.”

You don’t know it’s a setup. Not until you walk into Kika’s apartment and realise you’re the only girl there. Just Lewis. On the couch. Glassy eyes. Hoodie sleeves shoved to his forearms. And silence.

“Kika said you needed to talk,” you say, heart thudding.

“She said you needed to see me,” he counters, standing slowly.

You both laugh. Then the air turns thick.

He walks closer. You don’t step back. His thumb grazes your jaw. He tilts your face up. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says. Quiet. Serious. Devastating. “I tried. For months. I tried to just be around you. Be normal. But I can’t.”

You exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for weeks. “I didn’t think you noticed me.”

He laughs. “I noticed you in five seconds.”

Silence. His thumb presses just a little harder. Your lip parts. And that’s when he kisses you.

It’s not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s months of restraint breaking like glass. Your back hits the wall. His hands grip your waist like he’s anchoring himself. He bites your lip. Moans into your mouth.

“Tell me you want this,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours.

You nod. Whisper, “I wanted this since Miami.”

He groans. And then you’re in the bedroom. Clothes vanish. His hoodie. Your dress. Gone.

His mouth trails down your neck, over your chest, down your stomach. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t tease. He eats you like a man starving. Tongue relentless. Hands holding you open. You cry out his name so many times it stops sounding like a word.

When he slides inside you, it’s perfect. Too good. Too much. You scratch his back. He whispers praise into your shoulder.

“You feel so good, baby.” “I’ve wanted this for so long.” “Let me have you. Let me fucking keep you.”

You come twice before he does. The second time with tears in your eyes, gasping his name into the curve of his neck.

He kisses your temple when he finishes. Breathes your name like it’s salvation.

The next morning, you wake up tangled in his arms. He’s already awake. Just watching you.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He smiles, all soft lips and sleepy warmth. “I’m not letting you go now.”

You smile back. “Good.”

Across the city, the WAG group chat explodes.

Kika: they fucked. Rebecca: finally. i was about to seduce her myself. Carmen: wait are they like TOGETHER together now?? Kelly: someone check on lewis. did he survive. Lily Z: let’s host brunch in his honour. Magui: our girl got the GOAT.

[blorger]

I call this meeting of the Hagrid Haters Society to order. I move that, as part of today's agenda, we discuss just how much he sucks. In order to facilitate this, I have prepared the following

ULTIMATE ANTI-HAGRID MANIFESTO

HAGRID AS DESCRIBED IN THE BOOKS

Rubeus Hagrid, keeper of the keys and grounds at Hogwarts and also occasional Care of Magical Creatures teacher, is introduced to us thusly:

Hagrid's character is mostly a beat-by-beat rehash of the "gentle giant" archetype; as per TV Tropes :

He's big, muscular, and angry-looking. He might even be an actual monster. People are often fearful of him. But he's got a heart of gold. He loves children and puppies and frequently abhors unnecessary violence. He is often rather intelligent, level-headed, and analytical, a voice of reason in the group. He probably has a few unexpected hobbies. He's the Gentle Giant. However, when push comes to shove, he's great to have on your side in battle.

Hagrid appears beastly but also IS beastly, both literally (he is a half-giant) and figuratively: He lives in a wooden hut* at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, his possessions are "very dirty", his best suit is hairy and brown. The things he builds are ragged and haphazardly put together (he makes himself a mourning armband for Aragog's funeral that is just "a rag dipped in boot polish", the flute he gifts to Harry in PS is "roughly cut" and "obviously" hand made) and, similarly, Hagrid's food is dubious at best: his beef casserole has a large talon in it, his rock cakes are notoriously inedible and his toffee needs to be softened by an open fire in order for it to be edible.

Interestingly, though jkr goes to great lengths to point out that Hagrid is a giant with a heart of gold, she still wants us to know that he's capable of great violence:

(from OoTP)

Hagrid is resisting an unjust arrest here and is responding in kind to his dog Fang being Stunned and still jkr goes out of her way to show that his friends are scared of him (because Hagrid is only likeable for his half-human part).

Another facet of the Gentle Giant that Hagrid embodies is the lack of smarts for Hagrid is also a kindhearted simpleton: he is never shown speaking standard english (which, in jkr's world, is a shorthand for dumb/uneducated), he cannot spell "Voldemort", he's routinely outwitted by literal children and he is remarkably gullible.

In keeping with jkr's theme wherein a man cannot express sadness via crying unless in moments of great loss and the characters who do cry are described mockingly, Hagrid is also a big fat overemotional crier. Hagrid and his tablecloth-sized handkerchief make multiple appearances throughout the books, often to comedic effect.

Another thing of note, albeit one I don't quite know how to interpret, is the use of Hagrid's name. His friends (Harry&co), his acquaintances (like Arthur Weasley) and even his colleagues at Hogwarts (who, by the way, call each other by their first names) all call him exclusively by his last name, Hagrid. The only times his full name is mentioned are:

when he introduces himself to Harry

when Ollivander recognizes him as he takes Harry to get his wand

when Dumbledore officially announces he's been made professor

in Rita Skeeter's hit piece on him (the fittingly titled Dumbledore's giant mistake)

when his escape from arrest is mentioned in Potterwatch

Harry mentions is full name only once (when introducing him at the beginning of HBP) but there is only one person in all of the books who ever addresses Hagrid by his first name only and it's not him: it's 16 year old Voldemort (in the memory Harry sees of Hagrid bring framed for Myrtle's death in CoS).

*= Hagrid's house is mostly described as a hut and occasionally as a cabin by the narration/Harry. Hagrid calls it a hut in PS and a house in CoS (when trying to chase Lucius Malfoy out of it) and Dumbledore also calls it a house the only time he refers to it (in GoF, when he's instructing McGonagall to go fetch dog Sirius) but Harry only does so during exceptional times (when it gets burned down by death eaters immediately after Dumbledore's death in HBP, during Buckbeak's rescue in PoA and when it sits empty and sad after Hagrid's been taken to Azkaban in CoS).

2. REASONS NOT TO HATE HAGRID

I would like to take this moment to point out that all the shitty descriptors and stereotypes jkr uses for Hagrid are not actually why the Hagrid Haters Society finds him to be unlikeable.

Similarly, his half-giant status is a non-issue, though the same cannot be said for how the in-universe characters view him after his origins are revealed (most notably Ron). Hagrid himself seems to have a somewhat low opinion of them and even Hermione (our moral compass) can't come up with anything better to defend giants than "they can't all be horrible".

Still: Hagrid is not a full giant and the only full giant we do meet (his half-brother Grawp) is not described like what Ron tells us is a typical giant, namely:

Sure, Grawp is violent but not maliciously so (though he does behave rather King Kong-like with Hermione, which isn't great) and even if the books are judgy towards giants, there's no reason for us -the readers- to be (and for us to judge Hagrid unfairly by extension).

Another very bad reason to dislike Hagrid is his simple mindedness. jkr does seem to associate low intelligence with unlikeability/evil (see: Crabbe and Goyle) but she appears to make a not like other girls-style exception with Hagrid; regardless, I'd like to think we can all agree that jkr's shitty worldview is shitty.

3.HAGRID IS SOMETIMES OK

I'd be remiss not to mention that Hagrid is a generally helpful and friendly character who is well-liked by all Good People. One of his most admirable traits is definitely his loyalty, something which both Harry and Dumbledore are shown to believe unquestionably in and value immensely.

(from PS, Dumbledore entrusted Hagrid with the newly orphaned Harry)

(from DH, Harry suspects Hagrid may have let some information slip but is immediately prepared to forgive him)

Unlike Dumbledore, (whose motives I question, there's a great meta I currently can't find about Dumbledore's tendency to collect misfits, if you can link me to it please do) Harry genuinely loves and cares for Hagrid, which in my opinion goes a long way in rising his likability.

(from PoA, Harry recalls Hagrid's Azkaban stay)

Hagrid even gets the Ultimate Seal of Approval by being deemed brave, something both Harry and jkr value tremendously (in jkr's books brave=Good and coward=Evil).

Something that is perhaps more universally praise-worthy is Hagrid's steadfast faith in Harry

An especially notable instance comes from GoF, where he is shown to believe Harry unquestioningly when even Ron doesn't ( a big reason for his certainty seems to be his blind devotion to Dumbledore but I'll let that slide for now).

4. ULTIMATELY, THOUGH, HAGRID SUCKS

Why does the Hagrid Haters Society dislike Hagrid then?

Hagrid is surprisingly prejudiced

(to Vernon in PS)

(to Magorian the centaur in OotP)

(to Filch in HBP)

When it comes to humans (and human-like creatures), Hagrid does not seem nearly as open minded as he is with venomous beasts. Let's not forget that Hagrid is the one who introduces Harry to the all slytherins are evil concept

(from PS, Harry is introduced to the concept of the four houses)

This, while very much in line with jkr's views, is not a particularly popular opinion within the fandom on account of its black and white nature so I'm counting it against him.

Hagrid consistently shows disregard for his students' safety

Hagrid's love of dangerous beasts is described as a charming quirk in the books but it must be noted that, as an unnaturally big strong and burly man, he does not have much of a reason to fear them himself. The same cannot be said for his underage students, who are thoughtlessly put into harm's way time and time again (yes, this is when I bring up the Buckbeak Incident).

(from PoA)

Draco is undoubtedly in the wrong in this situation as he wilfully disregarded the instructions given to him but he is also behaving very much like your average shitty kid, something even a mildly competent teacher might expect (and, ideally, adjust their lesson accordingly). Draco's wound gets downplayed in all its following mentions and it's all but outright stated that Draco is playing up his injury in the weeks that follow but this doesn't make what happened to him right (even if in jkr's world bad things are only bad when they happen to good people).

(from GoF)

Here we have an injury not five minutes into the very first lesson on blast ended skrewts. Oh and by the way, those skewts? They are a delightfully illegal Hagrid's Original:

(also from GoF, Rita's hit piece is quite illuminating)

They are literally so dangerous that they're used as an obstacle in the Triwizard Tournament's third task.

(from GoF, Hagrid did not think about possibly making a group of children light-headed when deciding where to store the horses' whisky)

Hagrid repeatedly shows poor decision-making where the safety of his students is concerned; in a further show of less than stellar risk assessment, Hagrid assigns a biting, somewhat cannibalistic book to his 13 year old students (they are shown fighting each other viciously in their natural environment, a bookshop). Not a single one of his students (not even Hermione) figured out that they needed to be stroked in order to be opened; to quote Voice of Reason Draco Malfoy:

(from PoA, Hagrid's first ever lesson does not start well)

As an aside, though we're not supposed to agree with him, Draco is consistently the only person shown having reasonable reactions to Hagrid's classes. Even Hermione secretly agrees with him when it comes to the dangers posed by Hagrid's beasts:

(from GoF, Hermione literally made some shit up in order to defend Hagrid, blast ended skrewts are functionally useless)

This allows me to segue into the next section, aptly titled

the Malfoy section

Building on this theme, wherein Draco is an unrecognized truth teller à la Cassandra, I present to you a compilation of his greatest Care of Magical Creatures hits:

(from GoF, spoiler alert: there's no point to the skrewts)

(form GoF, Draco is reasonably risk-averse)

(from GoF, the inevitable conclusion to the skrewt saga)

Draco is vilified for hiding from a group of rampaging beasts (again, because coward=evil even when it's reasonable) even though he's not the only one who hides away (most of the class does) and it is generally implied by the narrative that Draco only criticises Hagrid because he's evil (because villains aren't allowed to be reasonable, even when they're right).

At this point I'd be remiss not to mention that, while Draco has some perfectly valid opinions regarding Hagrid's teaching skills, he at the same time also holds some truly shitty opinions on Hagrid as a person, some of which are no doubt courtesy of his father:

(from PS, Draco is speedrunning all the ways to get Harry to hate him on their first meeting)

Draco constantly refers to Hagrid as an oaf, like only evil people the likes of Filch, Riddle and Umbridge (and Phineas Nigellus's portrait, whose alignment is neutral evil at best) do.

(Interestingly, Hagrid is also the only person in the books to get the oaf moniker but that is neither here nor there.)

Of further note is the fact that Draco's relatively neutral opinion of Hagrid changes once Harry decides not to befriend him so some of his attitude could very well be caused by pettiness in a very "how dare you choose Ron Weasley over me" kind of way. Hagrid, after all, even gets a special mention in Draco's very first villain monologue

(from PS, Draco's very reasonable reaction to Harry's handshake snub)

Interestingly, Draco's opinion of Hagrid's half-giant status mirrors Ron's quite closely:

RON'S

DRACO'S

Ron doesn't seem to have terribly flattering views of magical beasts in general (in keeping with his everyman status, his opinions often mirror the general public's) but I still find it interesting. Also, note how ambivalent Draco seems to be about Hagrid's possibly dangerous nature, choosing to focus on likely reactions from the parents rather than on his own feelings.

In conclusion, Draco contains multitudes: he is often right when discussing Hagrid's teaching methods but he is also a dick and that lowers his general credibility. Speaking of teaching:

Hagrid is a terrible teacher

Non-Draco Malfoy people think Hagrid is a terrible teacher as well, though they are quickly shut down by Harry & co, (loyal to a fault even if they secretly agree) whenever this is mentioned:

(from GoF)

(also from GoF, though it's a sentiment Hermione expresses several times)

(from OotP)

Remember how I said that Harry and Ron themselves dislike Hagrid's classes? They (+ less unexpectedly Hermione) end up dropping the class as soon as they're able to, as apparently does the rest of their year:

(from HBP)

Hagrid, it seems, is such a bad teacher that he scared all the students from Harry's cohort off of the subject.

Hagrid can be surprisingly mean spirited

EXHIBIT A:

(from PS, during the Forbidden Forest scene)

Hagrid here is demonstrating a delightful melange of the reasons the Society dislikes him:

by choosing to take a bunch of ickle fristies to the Forbidden Forest with him (a forest he himself has called dangerous before, a forest he also described chasing Ron's siblings off of) Hagrid is showing his terrible risk assessment skills, which end up putting Harry (and Draco but mostly just Harry) in danger; Hagrid may not have known that Voldemort-as-Quirrell was gallivanting about the forest killing unicorns but he definitely knew someone was.

by behaving antagonistically towards Draco, an 11 y.o. he just met, Hagrid (the adult in a position of authority) is showing his tendency to see things in black and white. Draco is a Slytherin ( = evil) and also Lucius Malfoy's son (double evil), nevermind that Draco is actually in detention despite having followed the rules (in that he reported someone for having an illegal Dragon).

Speaking of, Hagrid knows there really was a dragon on Hogwarts grounds on account of he's the reason it came to be at Hogwarts in the first place. Harry & co. got in trouble for helping to rectify his mistake (and, in Neville's case, for trying to do Harry a solid) yet somehow he has the gall to say "yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it". I immensely dislike this, even if this is directed solely towards Draco, whom we're not supposed to like.

EXHIBIT B:

Speaking of incredible feats of inappropriate behaviour from Hagrid (an authority figure) towards Draco (his shitty student), here's this gem:

(from GoF, Hagrid's very reasonable response to Draco's understandable hesitance to spend his leisure time attending to the dreaded skrewts)

I know that Hogwarts teachers in general are not exactly known to be beacons of professionalism but that doesn't make Hagrid's threat un-shitty, it just puts him on the same level as noted bully Severus Snape (and also Fake Moody but at least he's got the Death Eater excuse).

5. CONCLUSION

A big reason why I find myself disliking Hagrid is that he's a perfect exemplification of jkr's shitty worldviews. As an author, she does this awful thing wherein a character's actions are only ever truly reprehensible if they're committed by a Bad Guy and I hate it in every single instance: Snape's treatment of Neville is just as bad as his grandma's, Dumbledore's shitty handing of Harry is not excused by his noble big-picture intentions, bullying is bad even when it's people you like that do it and femininity doesn't cease being problematic (jkr's worldview, not mine) when it's the not like other girls who practice it.

Ultimately, while I do acknowledge that there's nothing truly awful about Hagrid's character I still find myself disliking him, be it from irrational reasons (he's a Dumbledore fanboy) or from the reasons listed above. Still, I can't be the only one, right?

right?

[lady-of-the-upside-down]

Thoughts on The Odyssey (1997)

(YouTube, Amazon Prime)

- Love that it starts with the birth of Telemachus, and how they made it the same day Odysseus gets called to Troy by Agamemnon and Menelaos.

- Enjoyed the brief snippets of the Trojan War with Achilles dragging Hektor’s body all over the outskirts of Troy, as well as the infamous Trojan Horse gift and the sacking of the city.

- The crew on Ody’s boat are absolutely funny. I love fat and balding Polites as well as the flute guy. Eurylochus and Perimedes were amazing too, and not nearly as antagonistic except for when Perimedes opened the bag.

- As soon as I heard sheep noises on the first island they landed in, I said “oh no” out loud. Sure enough, it’s the Cyclops cave. No club; he just tears up some crew members and eats them.

- Circe is so beautiful, they made a great choice with the actress there. Definitely has a similar vibe to her EPIC counterpart. Interesting that her island was way up a steep mountain so the crew really needed a lot of effort to get up there. Genuinely enjoyed the part of the animals acting off as a hint that they’re former humans. Also, they made the choice to combine Circe with the lotions island, having her offer them the flowers. Really genius choice because both islands in the book have the warped time dilation effect so it’s a good idea to combine them if given a time constraint in the adaptation.

- The Underworld was a fiery place and I love the part where he meets flute guy again who leads him to Tiresias. On the way out, he sees his mother (who “got in the water” earlier) and that scene broke my heart so much.

- The interspersed Telemachus scenes were fun. Child!Telemachus was a menacing gremlin running around the palace, and Teen!Telemachus has so much angst in him like he was emo before emo was even invented.

- No sirens, they go straight to Scylla and Charybdis. Scylla was hidden in the caves with no woman as lure, just snakes with mouths scooping up crew members and one goat. Some dialog here will be familiar to EPIC fans. Same can be said with Charybdis who is a many-toothed worm monster like in EPIC.

- The remaining crew after Scylla all die in Charybdis, so no mutiny and no cow incident. Odysseus clings onto a single log until he reaches Calypso’s island.

- Calypso and her island are BEAUTIFUL. The vibes are just amazing and it’s like a sort of ice cold spring spa with some feasting going on inside. Calypso doesnt do anything too bad here except the occasional kiss, and later the refusal to let go of Odysseus even when Hermes requested it.

- Telemachus, now of age, goes on to the diplomatic mission to Sparta, but Menelaos is meaner and just tells him that his father is dead, though he compliments the prince’s similarities. I love the set design and costuming in this part.

- Poseidon being a face forming on waves is a really fun adaptation, really hammering home that he IS the water and being in the water when disliked by Poseidon is a really terrible idea.

- There is a brief visit by Odysseus to the Phaeicians after leaving Ogygia, and he actually doesnt doc himself when asked for his name this time, though King Alcinous already knew who he was because of his hint that his name was cursed that it cannot be spoken. The Phaeicians are the ones who give him a ship and crew to get him home, and that’s really sweet honestly.

- The discovery of the un weaving of the loom came at such an intense time because I genuinely thought Eurymachus was going to be successful at seducing Penelope but she really stood tall and said that she can’t (probably inspiring the Ody and Circe part of EPIC). The loom-burning that happens after was genuinely terrifying snd sad.

- Athena giving Odysseus a magical old man beggar disguise that only lifts when he later shoots through the axes (right before the slaughter) is such a genius idea rather than just having base Ody wearing rags. Eumaeus is the first one who recognizes him form how he behaves in the palace farm area. Telemachus runs into the two and learns that the beggar is Odysseus in disguise.

- The wrestling match between Telemachus and Antinous after the former got home from his diplomatic mission definitely inspired the events of “Little Wolf” and their dynamic. It almost turned into a knife fight if not for beggar!Odysseus stealing attention, and promptly getting hit by Antinous with a chair.

- EURYCLEIA RECOGNIZING ODYSSEUS gosh that part shakes me to my core. Athena likely intentionally left the scar from the boar there as a hint for those who know him well. So at that point it’s Tele and Eurycleia who knows.

- The slaughter was such a satisfying part, especially since in this version majority of the kills were done by Telemachus, with Odyssseus only taking out a few—notably taking out Eurymachus and Melantho with only one spear through both of them, a traitor-kebab if you will. Best part was during the beginning of the slaughter when Odysseus goes “Now is the right time, let out your anger” to Telemachus

- The part where Penelope and Odysseus lay by the olive tree bed again made me so emotional. They’re together again and they’re happy!!

- The practical and special effects are great for its time, and I definitely prefer it to the over-polished VFX green screen that the present day movies use. This movie just feels more authentic.

- Casting and costume design is also solid. I am especially obsessed with the costumes at Calypso’s island, and how it depicts that they’re removed from the rest of Greece so they ended up developing their own culture.

- Set design is amazing, I love how there is a contrast between the almost dilapidated and dirty palace of Ithaca compared to the other Greek kingdoms we encounter throughout the movie, showing the hardship they were going through with the absence of rod a kung and the presence of a flock of suitors that insist on staying there.

Overall a solid 5/5 stars, and I highly recommend it to anyone who enjoys Greek mythology, specifically The Odyssey and EPIC: The Musical.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hey Raven, is there any info about Merfolk/Coral Sea performances? Such as concerts, theatre, anything like that.

Personally i only saw Floyd mentioning that "underwater concerts are boring" in his lesson chats, i think? But i am really new to twst and i do not know a lot of things sadly😭

But considering that Little Mermaid is a musical, and in the film they actually did sang a song with Ariel's sisters for a bday or something, i feel like there might be more information that i just never saw(Which is fully possible because i am really bad at doing research😭).

I am searching Coral sea info for my Octavinelle Oc, who is a Shark merman who is obsessed with performances, but i didn't saw a lot of info about specifically this part, so im asking it. :3

Also in case there is any information about Sharks in Twst i would ABSOLUTELY gobble it up, but considering we never saw(or at least i think we never did) a Shark merfolk(or any shark tbh), i am really not sure if there is a lot of Shark info to even search for. Floyd did said in his lesson chat that Sharks exist, i guess, and that "you should hope they see you as a friend and not food" but i am pretty sure it won't get any further than that😭

I apologize if you do have a post about it already, i just didn't saw it, and i think not a lot of people are interested in knowing that part of Coral Sea, but in case there is, sorry🥺

P.S. Your posts are amazing and they helped me A TON when creating my OC, especially the Coral sea theories and info, SO HELPFUL!!! GIANT THANKS FOR YOUR SERVICE!!!! :333

Here's what I was able to find regarding concerts, music, composers, and other related performances in the Coral Sea or for merfolk:

In Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas, Azul indicates that, in the Coral Sea, music is considered very important in creating an atmosphere.

Merfolk sing songs and create music together for a variety of reasons: to celebrate holidays, to express their love to their significant others, or to simply just enjoy the ocean.

Music is such a huge aspect of merpeople culture that even the flippant Floyd says that he feels like he has to put in at least a little effort for it.

Perhaps music's importance to merpeople is why Azul suggests gifting a song to Noble Bell College in Malleus's Masquerade Dress vignettes--although the reason Azul cites in the vignettes is because a song is very cost effective.

It seems that there is an assumption by humans that all merpeople are great singers, but a museum guard in book 3 says it's an "urban legend" and that tone-deaf merpeople exist.

Floyd isn't a big fan of the concerts held back home, stating that all the songs sounded the same.

Floyd explored with many brass instruments to pass the time, and is now able to play any of them with ease.

Floyd has also played the drums in the middle school band he used to have with Jade (on contrabass) and Azul (on piano).

Jade has also played the flute when visiting Harveston, though he is not very skilled at it.

In Rook's Halloween Dress vignettes, we learn about Granchio IV, who is described as having "bright red claws". (This is probably twisted!Sebastian, seeing as we see the original animated Sebastian in paintings in some Platinum Jackets yet he is not acknowledged or identified as Granchio IV by the NRC students.)

This composer lived ~3 centuries ago and was the Coral Sea's finest court musician. However, he lost his position due to a scandal at a concert. (This is most likely referring to when Sebastian got in trouble for Ariel not showing up for a concert to perform with her sisters.)

Granchio IV was soon hired as the first foreign conductor for the Shaftlands Philharmonic Orchestra.

His "Undersea Hymn" is still very famous, even in modern day Twisted Wonderland. Rook states that classical music such as this is his favorite, and that he has worn out his concert CD from having listened to Undersea Hymn so many times.

Twst hasn't spoken of shark merpeople in detail. Floyd mentions sharks in a Chat (in the context of sunken ships being shark lairs)... He does frequently mention sunken ships at other points (Halloween Dress vignette, Birthday Boy vignettes, Jade's book 7 dream, etc.) but doesn't bring up the sharks again in this context. The only other time I can recall sharks being mentioned in Jade's Platinum Jacket vignettes; he says that a group of sharks failed to keep their promise, and so he had to punish them.

You honestly don't need to count on canon to give you lore on something so specific to work with though (be it shark stuff or music stuff). An OC is your own creation and meant to be played with for fun, so just go wild and do whatever you think best suits the character! You can also just headcanon whatever you want, there's no shame in that.

I hope that helps ^^ Thank you for enjoying my stuff and appreciating my efforts, and happy creating!

[fancygremlin]

Kayne in Part 52 parallels a lot Arthur in Part 26 and it’s making me go insane!

In both episodes, the characters are intent on killing someone (Larson in Arthur’s case, and Azathoth in Kayne’s). Both decide to make this happen while their victim is sleeping:

Arthur wanted to kill Larson to distance himself from his biggest mistake, to cleanse himself and regain his humanity. Kayne wants to kill Azathoth to distance himself from his past and achieve godhood:

However, while Arthur’s goal was to kill Larson as an extension/ alternative of killing himself (achieve deathless death), Kayne is more focused on killing Azathoth to let himself feel alive and free (achieve life without death or restrictions):

In both instances the character's humanity (and free will) is called upon as a mean to de-escalate the situation/ dissuade them from pursuing their goal.

However, both instances end with Arthur/ Kayne’s wrath spilling over and being redirected towards a new victim (or sacrifice might be a more befitting term).

And finally, while Arthur’s ordeal ends with the sun rising again. Kayne mentions this to be the “cosmic evening of the scales”. One has a hopeful connotation, wile the other alludes to the opposite. Quite a tonal shift.

I’m not sure what to expect of Season 6, but maaaaaaaybe Kayne is going to be the character that will step into the spotlight next… and I’m excited at this prospect.

A small addendum. This is mostly something I liked and probably doesn't add to the analysis at all. However, I think it's interesting how flutes are highlighted in both episodes.

In Part 26 a flute is the tool that Arthur uses to defeat the monster living in Larson's mines. On the other hand, in Part 52, Kayne mentions practicing a new musical score "The Wager", where flutes have a couple of moments in which they rise above the rest of the other instruments.

[kotias]

Ineffable Rockstars

Time to properly become creatively feral about the Ineffable Rockstars project with @vavoom-sorted-art, @searchingforakeythatdoesntexist , @daneecastle, @moonyinpisces and Stitcherydoo!

Summary of the story: human!AU, Crowley and Aziraphale are rockstars in their respective groups, Celestial Harmonies and Hell's Rebuke. Word is out that those two groups have bad history together, and therefore the two of them, while shamelessly talking to each other any festival they get to meet at, do have to be careful about being seen together by their own bands.

Summary of this excerpt: Aziraphale explains the story of the two bands to Crowley, who has arrived after everything went down and was kept in the dark by his mates.

Lyrics: written for the purpose of this fic.

Word count of the excerpt: 872 words

Excerpt:

Crowley sat down next to Aziraphale, whose eyes laid probably a second too long on those long fingers, on this chest showing so proudly from behind his open shirt- He coughed and drank a large gulp from the flute, clutching at the glass like a lifeline.

“It’s- it’s alright. Are you feeling comfortable? How was the concert?”

“Hah, acting like I didn’t see you in the audience, are ya?” Crowley asked with a smirk, and Aziraphale looked away, feeling the heat building up on his face.

“Well, we do need to keep it silent, don’t we?” he answered nonetheless with a coy smile, sipping on his drink.

“Why, though? It’s completely beyond me; Bee recruited me right after the split between Celestial Harmonies and Hell’s Rebuke, but there’s always been… you know, a feeling that it didn’t happen for no reason.”

“They haven’t explained it to you?” Crowley shook his head, and Aziraphale sighed. “No wonder you’re lost. Well, to put it simply… Hell’s Rebuke’s members were part of Celestial Harmonies, a few years ago.”

“Yes, I know that-”

“Let me talk, please; I would like to make sure we work with the same information.”

As he began explaining the official history of the two bands, he was cut by a thunder of clapping as the concert was coming to an end, and he and his counterpart felt compelled to stand up and join the applause.

When you reached Summer,

You lost sight of the star lights,

Questions died in your throat,

Cursing a future that is naught

And the night falling upon you

Left you laying awake with open eyes.

After two encore songs and enough clapping to make their hands and wrists sore, Crowley and Aziraphale walked towards another scene and stayed in relative distance, ensuring that they would hear each other. “So, you were saying, Hell’s Rebuke and Celestial Harmonies.”

“Ah! Yes; so, this is fairly public knowledge.” Crowley nodded impatiently. “At least, it is not something that we are actively hiding, neither of the two groups; somebody who knows how to Google us would be able to find this information.” Aziraphale frowned, crossing his arms. “Honestly, that is why it concerns me a little that you have not been informed of this; it is a fairly common question that people are trying out on us, asking about the other group to see how we react. Anyways-”

The vendors just a few metres from them had started cooking a few crepes, and Crowley did not miss the eyes darting towards them. “Want some? C’me on, it’s my treat,” he insisted as Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised -and it was obvious that he wasn’t going to refuse such an offer.

“Well, if you insist,” he answered, the corners of his lips curling up and his eyelashes fluttering; Crowley’s heart missed a beat, his fingers pressed against his flute, and he barely managed to keep a groan from reaching out of his mouth.

“You do have to tell me more, though; ‘specially if you think my ignorance could bite me in the ass.”

“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale’s voice dropped as they reached the line, keeping it to the level of a private conversation. “Bee and Gabriel were… an item.”

“Oh, excellent start. If that’s only the beginning, I might have to stock up on popcorn with that crepe of yours.”

“Heh, well, it might be one of the more interesting aspects of this entire story, so do not keep your expectations too high.”

“No, no, don't kill my hopes, now. Go on, tell me everything, I’m sure it will be full of riveting details, Bee’s never been good at keeping things tidy anyways.”

Aziraphale groaned. “Oh, you should see Gabriel when he gets involved… Ah- one crepe with sugar, thank you,” he said with a bright smile to the vendor. “Alright, so- long story short, the band was originally founded by the two of them; excellent musicians those two are, and the band did have quite the promising future before it. We started having a fairly good reputation.”

“Black coffee and a serving of fries. The name’s been around for a while now, that’s right- I remember seeing it ten years ago on some festival announcements in my city. Cash, thanks.”

“We have, yes. We were very local for a long while, but…”

“What changed?”

“Gabriel and the others were wishing to go professional; Bee and who are now Hell’s Rebuke were not willing to do that.”

“Ah, I see. Well, they didn't change much in that aspect,” Crowley mumbled sourly, extending his arms to grab the crepe and coffee. He gave the dessert over, then took his serving of fries, and they left the vendor’s stand. “Wait, where did you stand? You stayed with Celestial Harmonies, after all.”

“Hm, well…”

That did not sound like somebody who was fully happy to have stayed, Crowley thought, and he crept closer to Aziraphale, nudging him with his elbow. “Come on, spill the beans! Honestly, I’m looking to go in that direction, if there’s anything I should be aware of…”

“Being professional was, and still is, something that I hold dear,” Aziraphale explained, his slow speech feeling heavy, like he was choosing every word carefully.

[demonsword586]

Tartaros pp headcanons! (Just the nobles)

Bimet

- I imagine he is one of the few normal sized pp owners amongst devils. (Still,they are naturally larger than humans,so normal for a devil is still pretty impressive for a human.)

-Anyway I belive he is around 15 cm in lenght .

-You see the charm about this man's shlong is not in size like most people think but in it's shape.

- You see his tip is sharp. This man is a whore. With enough money,you could probably buy a night with him. And as a proper gold digger....he needs a sharp tool for the job.

-You ever saw the part of a flute in which you blow? Yea that's his tip

-Not only is his tip pointy but somewhere in the middle of his shaft he has tiny bumps. They're small and there's not a lot of them...but just enough for you to feel it when he ravages your insides.

-He thought about dipping his pp in gold like he does to his feet but immediatelly stopped after the first try. Mostly because the gold was dropping down way too quickly because of the higher temperature.

-He settled on just wearing a few thin golden cock rings. Also has a simple prince albert piercing

-From all the gold in the air,I woudn't be suprised if he eats it too. After a few years of chewing on metal,his cum got a certain yellowish color to it.

-I do think he cums a lot tho and it's watery...very watery.

-He keeps himself groomed most of the time. If you're serving the richest man in hell as his right hand,you gotta keep a certain level of proper hygene and looks to match.

- Also yes his pp does smell like pennies.

Valefor

- I think he's pretty similar to Mammon. He already works hard to have a body like his. I woudn't be suprised if that applies to his dick as well.

-As you can imagine....big. Not as big as Mammon's meat srick but very similar. Thick,long and hard as a brick. He should register is as a lethal weapon. In and put of the bedroom.

-At least he is aware of his own size,comparred to some other careless nobles. He knows he could actually hurt you and does everything in his might to prevent that,even if it means sacrificing his own pleasure for yours.

-Speaking of pleasure and cumming,he's another one of those breeding bulls. His cum is a bit thick but actually tastes pretty good. The most similar thing to it is a lemon tart.

-Back to his cock. It's a bit more normal whrn it comes to the shape. It's the kind of a penis that is pretty to look at but also scares you with just how big it is. In other words,a teddy bear kind of pp.

-He keeps his pubic hair growing. Of course,he does shave it off every once in awhile. But only when it gets so unruly it iches. But every other time? He just let's it grow. He just doesn't pay too much attention to his hair when he has to put so much work into growing out his muscles.

-But somehow has one of the healthiest hygene routines? Has like 12 diffrent products,all for a specific thing on his body. He's a good boy who takes care of himself properly.

-He does work out a lot tho,so he can't always be smelling like sunshines and manly chemicals. Even after many showers,there is still a small sprinkle of the sweaty smell on him. He is trying to get rid of it since he knows humans are a bit more sensitive about bad smells compared to devils

Eligos

- Small...the smallest penis owner in Tartaros nobility and he is damn proud of it!!!

-He's actually really happy with his size since smaller pps are way cuter than those muscular-looking dicks. It gives him a very cute bulge too!

- It's size is 11 cm.

- Some of his coworkers suggested he starts wearing some more gold but he refuses. After all,ribbons are way cuter than gold and very flexible in their usage too! He can wrap them everywhere even on his dick.

-Has a collection of diffrent types of ribbon fabric,each for a specific part on his body. There is so many pretty fabrics after all but not every one fits more intimate areas. For down there he uses a very soft,silk ribbon.

- Has a very good hygene too. Probably owns a whole cabinet of showering items. My man knows his stuff. He follows Orias's social media and they even give each other beauty tips in DMs. Paimon joins in on some conversations as well.

- Anyway back to his pp! We already got out of the way that it's small. Well it's also really sensitive! Especially on the underside of his shaft and the point where his tip is the sharpest. If you rub or touch him there,he becomes quite vocal. I don't mean those little whimpers but full on moans. When Mammon first heard him,he had to ask later if he was okay and if he needed a headpat. Poor man probably thought Eligos hit his balls or something.

-Speaking of balls,his are pretty small and round. His ballsack is a bit tight which makes his balls appear very adorable,like little marbles. They fit perfectlly in your palm too! Ah,but don't squeeze them,he'll push you away and cover them for a few weeks if he sees you.

-Man waxes. You see those shiny thighs? Yea he wants all of his assets to be like that. Smooth like an infant. He actually does the whole process by himself. Unless there is a place he cannot reach *cough* his ass *cough*

-Overall,a very cute little thing and slightly squishy. The color of it is just as his skin with his tip being a paler pink.