#I didn’t want to remove to much material and time everything to the part of the song and make sure the volume was good n things matched 😮‍💨

[death-by-mercury]

❀𝐇𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟗 ❀

[saturnville]

cut, snip, sew.

pairing: lewis hamilton x black oc (she) summary: she's his stylist. he's her boss. warnings: sexual suggestions an: an oldie, but I'm gonna be honest...I don't remember the inspiration for this lol. tags: @boujiestpoet @mauvecherie-writes @saintslewis @greedyjudge2 @vile-harlot @emjayewrites @ggaslyp1 @neewrites @cocobutterqwueen

“Can I touch you here?” 

Lewis Hamilton was never immune to the touch of a woman, let alone the woman in front of him. Every time she draped her hands over his shoulders to fix his collar, slid her fingers in the loops of his pants to ensure their security, and dropped to her knees to take inseam measurements, looking up at him with the biggest doe-like eyes he’d ever seen, all his inhibitions were ready to be abandoned. This day was no different. 

She stood behind him, safety pin bobbing between her lips as she asked the question again. Lewis stiffened and nodded, “Yes.” From the mirror, he saw just the crown of her head above his shoulder blade. She was without platform shoes and seemed much shorter than her confidence would allow. 

She circled her arms around his waist, her fingers tugging at the material to determine how much room he had in the waist. Her cheek, warm and soft, was pressed against his back just momentarily, and his body rushed with warmth. He felt his stomach churn when her manicured nails grazed along his skin. He jerked. 

“You alright?” she asked, finally plucking the pin from her mouth. She instructed him to remain still while she pinned each side of his pants. Lewis exhaled audibly as he reassured her once more. But he could tell by the glint behind her eyes that she knew he was unsuccessfully keeping his desires at bay. 

“M’fine,” he replied thickly, swallowing his pride. “Your hands are soft.” The corner of her lips twitched and her eyebrow quipped. 

“Thank you,” she said after some time. She swiped a jacket off a hanger and brought it in her hands. “Can’t be touching on you with rough hands, now can I, Mr. Hamilton?” 

He gulped. She grinned. “You putting a shirt on under this jacket?” He shook his head. She raised her finger twice as a gesture to remove the thick shirt he wore. If she was to get the correct measurements and ensure it fit the way he wanted it to, she had to measure it the way he intended to wear it. “Take it off.” He was a bit taken aback by her boldness, but she was simply doing her job…right? 

His eyes met hers in the mirror. In a swift motion, he peeled his shirt off. It was her time to take in everything Sir Lewis Hamilton had to offer—from the visually appealing tattoos that decorated his canvas to his toned muscles and beautiful brown skin. She inhaled sharply and blinked once. Get it together, girl, she told herself. You’re friends and you work for him, calm down.

“You want a loose fit or something fitted?” She asked a moment later. She failed to meet his eyes but could hear the amusement in his words as he replied, “Fitted.”

She hummed. “Alright. You’re still the same measurements as last time, so let’s see…” She maneuvered behind him once more and held the jacket behind him. Lewis slid his arms in the sleeves and adjusted it to his liking. 

Then, she was in front of him again, pushing and pulling the fabric to get the desired look, but boy, was he holding on for dear life. He didn’t know how much longer he could take it. She was damn near man-handling him with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth and her hands against his skin. “I’ll shorten the sleeves, take in a few inches in the middle…”

He was able to keep his composure until she looked into his eyes. He wasn’t the tallest person, but neither was she. Without her heels, her forehead was at his collarbone, and at this angle, her eyes were big and doe-like with hints of restraint floating around. “I can pin it here…” Lewis exhaled deeply. His eyes followed her lips which parted slightly. Then, they fell on her neck, where he saw her pulse jump quickly. He inhaled. He could smell the arousal dripping from her. 

Her grip loosened as his heavy gaze broke her facade. Her hand fell downward, coming in contact with the waistline of his strategically pinned pants, which were tented. She jumped. “I’m sorry.” 

Lewis shook his head. “Don’t be.” 

“Lewis…” she said carefully. There was so much to address but neither knew how. They were attracted to one another, sure. They’d had their flirtatious moments, that was true. But this was something different. She was considering dropping to her knees for this man without a care of any consequence. And what spurred her on was by the look in his eye, he’d let her. 

“I just want to—“

Embarrassingly quickly, she cut him off. “—Please.” 

Lewis ducked his head and brought his mouth to hers. The force of the kiss had her moaning loudly against his lips. Her hands pushed at the jacket she worked hard to measure and pin, clawing it off his shoulders.

Her hands finally touched his skin, and not a subtle brushing that occurred when she was working. She felt him. Every riff and ridge of his skin, the raised ink of mature tattoos. She saw their reflection in the mirror behind them. Her eyes fluttered at the sight.

Lewis brought his hand to her neck, squeezing softly. His other hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer than the barrier of their clothes would allow. “I want you,” he said after he pulled away. “Not just sex but…for real.”

She blinked, her fingers trailing over his collarbone, tracing the ink that decorated his body. The air between them was thick with everything they hadn’t said, everything they’d avoided for years. “Lewis,” she began, her voice low, “you have no idea what you’re asking for.”

His grip tightened on her waist. “Then show me.”

Her lips twitched into a dangerous smile. She pushed herself onto her toes, lips grazing his ear as she whispered, “You’re playing with fire, sir.”

His breath caught, but he didn’t pull away. “I want to get burned.”

[ineffable-opinions]

Unknown - Review

An adaptation that worked better for me than the source work, to an extent.

Priest is a highly regarded danmei author. When I discovered the author through fans, I really wanted to partake in all that awesomeness too. But time and time again, Priest’s writing style failed to resonate with me. I could never immerse myself in any of her works, truly get into them, be moved by characters and their action. Nothing Priest ever wrote seem to impact me. I always felt like I was at bus stop waiting for a bus that would take me to a destination that everyone else seemed to be able to reach and praise so highly about. I would board every bus that said it would take me to my destination but somehow, I couldn’t reach there.

When live-action adaptations came out, I chased them, in multiple languages (I tried Mandarin, Tamil, Hindi, Malayalam in that order; Indian language dubs can be found on MX player). But then even Malayalam dubbed version of Word of Honor was a chore and I gave up.

When I heard of Unknown based on 大哥 (da ge; Big Brother) (a work I found reprehensible at certain points due to pretty normalized racial and heterosexist psychological depictions) I had no interest in checking it out. Things couldn’t be so simple. I heard Huang HongXuan (Kurt) was going be in it. Now, I must watch it for he had rizz in spades in VIP Only and I wanted more of that. (Spoiler alert – I think the Unknown by focusing on Wei Qian missed out on cashing that sweet charisma except for glimpses of it in the last few episodes.)

That’s how I ended up watching Unknown in the first place. It is safe to say I am glad I did. I never thought Da Ge will become something like this. I am impressed by the meticulous cultivation that source material underwent. That little carp really crossed the gate to become a dragon.

Da Ge is a popular and critically-acclaimed work. IMHO, it was for most parts a classist, 金手指 (golden finger) plot with half-baked versions of then popular danmei tropes. For context (I don’t want to say comparison), 弟弟 (didi; younger brother) by 人体骨架 came out in 2011, two years before Da Ge. In BL, newer don’t necessarily mean better. 

What Unknown managed to do was tone down the golden finger bits and keep things realistic to an extent.

Wei Qian got the funds he dearly needed not from killing and snitching on gangsters but from gang-boss Le ge who was Dr. Lin’s senior. Le ge defied some gang codes and sorta wronged his own underlings to that the plot can turn in favor of Wei Qian. The whole triad bit was decent enough that I didn’t mind the snitching part much – I chose to ignore it.

Removed three female characters who were there for man-pain purposes in the novel. Instead gave Wei Lili, pavam xiao baobao, time to shine.

Did not airlift Wei Qian into the waiting arms of a benefactor with sufficient connections in Mainland who would rescind everything in grief, right when Wei Qian could take over and reign. Instead, Unknown let Wei Qian build a company with San Pang and Lao Xiong which fits right into Taiwan’s SME-heavy capitalism.

Didn’t include anything that I found reprehensible in the novel.

Gave relatively explicit intimate scene.

Toned down novel Wei Qian’s Valliettan-aura to build a warmer, more sensible relationship between the Wei siblings.

Made passing mentions of novel events, in ways that was more connected and believable.

Didn’t make villains into caricatures who loose brain cells to benefit Wei Qian. Instead fleshed out Le ge and his relationship with both his underling and his junior. Made him interesting.

Got us a character with blacked out tattoos. I have listed this one at the last but this is the best thing about Unknown for me. Here’s why…

While organized crime is a popular setting in BL, it is rare for BL characters to have visible evidences of their criminal pasts after leaving it for a civilian life. Usually, they either hide it with full-sleeves and what-nots. But here’s a character in a BL with blacked out tattoos trying to make a living through street-vending. Tattoos are customary, ceremonial and meaningful in the context of organized crime, triad in this case. While involved in the triad, tattoos signal trust and loyalty, etched into skin. But it is a burden too. It is part of the cage that leaves no way out. As Le ge’s underling emphasizes, it is not easy to get away having once involved oneself with the triad. Moreover, the tattoos evoke fear among civilians – so ex-gangsters can forget prospects of finding jobs. Even if one is to be self-employed, tattoos doesn’t signal anything good and are effective in scaring customers away. In Unknown, the blacked-out tattoos signal a dark past he has shut door to; all symbolisms that meant something in the context of triad has been wiped out by ink.

There are points where I felt Unknown was rush through the plot, some others which I felt drag. But overall, it was a good BL and a surprisingly enjoyable adaptation of a source novel I didn’t enjoy at all.

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Marriage worthy (masc-ish flavor)

fem(ish) version

Barbie dolls: Regulus x reader

Word: 2.2k-ish

Summary: your parents force a wedding on you but at the alter you realize what you want

Warnings: You’re in a wedding tux and are forced to marry a woman via your parents but I only use gn prounouns for you, regulus is a hater, aged up a little, allusions to not amazing parents, ebay and facebook marketplace mentioned, possible homophobic taxi driver but that wasn’t the intent the driver is just sad they don’t get a drama scoop, you ride in a taxi, i think thats it dude

A/n: this wedding has the wedding traditions and set up that I grew up with ie Christian wedding I understand that other cultures have other traditions but that is not represented in this fic this is by no means a hateful “my culture is the only right culture” type thing I'm just writing what I know everybody’s culture is beautiful thanks for coming to my ted talk

You weren’t sure if you considered yourself the marrying type. Your parents felt differently apparently. You were enjoying the simplicity of your single life, and a few weeks later your parents were informing you of your fiancée. Your wedding was being planned in front of you and you didn’t even know the bride. When your parents were making the quest list, they added your best friend. You thought about this for barely a couple of minutes before scratching out his name. You appreciated Regulus but he was the type of person to speak his mind. Loudly at that.

Once you told him about a friend who wasn’t treating you in the best of ways, but you still loved them. Unfortunately, they ran into you and Regulus at the store. Regulus glared at them the entire time and then finally called them a couple of unfortunate names.

So you doubted he would stay silent at the wedding you didn’t even want. You imagined him sulking in the front row, leaning over to whisper to the person next to him about how much this girl sucked.

“Can’t even match her heels to her dress, embarrassing.”

“Oh god she can’t find her vows, I wonder if she wrote any at all. Have I told you, I’m a published poet? Yeah, four books under my belt.”

“Kind and caring? That’s all she’s got? They’re more than that. They’re the rising sun and setting moon, They’re the oxygen filling our lungs, They’re-“

“Oh thank Godric, they got to my favorite part- I object!”

You could see him jumping out of his seat, a hand in the air. Regulus would object the second he was given the moment of silence. He’d probably walk all the way to the alter, grab onto your arm, and escort you outside himself, insulting the bride on the way out.

It might’ve been a little selfish to remove Regulus from the guest list. It’ll probably hurt him when he finds out but that will give him material for his fifth book. You’ll explain yourself. You’ll probably write him a letter from your honeymoon destination, explaining everything and giving extra treats to your owl for a speedy delivery. That’ll be an odd conversation to have with your new wife.

“Sorry darling my pants are staying on, I have to write a letter to my best friend.” Well, scratch that, you’ll write him a letter as soon as you get a minute to yourself… on your honeymoon? Well, maybe you’ll send him a box of cookies as an extra apology for his explanation having such a long waiting period.

Time moved swiftly as the planning became more erratic. Your parents seemed to have decided waiting for the next season was stupid. They’d much rather have your wedding yesterday than wait. In two shakes of a lamb's tail, you were being buttoned into an elaborate tuxedo. You didn’t feel right. Maybe this was the classic cold feet feeling but every time you blinked you seemed to be nowhere near where you started. You would be in front of the mirror and seconds later you were staring at the double doors waiting on your bride to walk down the aisle. You didn’t remember saying half of your vowels though you felt secure in your assumption that they were monotone. With your hands in hers and the priest beside you talking, you looked at the rows and rows of family members.

Some of which you hadn’t seen in what felt like centuries. You scanned the seat looking for someone you recognized. You reached the end of the row without seeing anyone properly. You closed your eyes as you listened to your fiancée, soon-to-be wife, repeat the priest. You squeezed Regulus’ hands tighter. You felt the corners of your lips twitch for a second before you slowly opened your eyes. Your slight smile fell when you realized you weren’t holding onto your best friend’s hands at all.

You glanced around, remembering exactly where you were. You felt you had just been dunked in cold water waking you from your sleep.

“Do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?" The priest seemed as bored as you, his tone hollow and flat. You stayed silent, your mind catching up with the lots of information you just caught. Why would you wish you were holding onto Regulus’ hands at the altar if you were just friends? How long have you felt like this? Does this priest even know your name? How much was he paid? Could you sell this tux on eBay? Facebook marketplace? You heard mutters pass over the crowd of spectators. Your fiancée squeezed your hands while muttering your name. She kept repeating it but it faded into the background like the ocean rocking your body.

“I don’t want this?” You whispered. As you talked mostly to yourself, you remembered you had free will. You laughed as you pulled your hands away from this nameless woman. You reached up to your chest and yanked the boutonniere from your lapel. You dropped it on the floor, turning towards the crowd.

“I don’t want this.” You said, though this time you were sturdy. You knew what you wanted and it had nothing to do with this chapel. You started off towards the front doors. You noticed people in the rows standing up and you were certain you heard someone sounding easily similar to your mother yelling at you. You weren’t entirely certain where you were but you had a feeling your heart would lead you in the right direction.

Your heart failed you. You actually had to hail a taxi, and you were quite happy you memorized Regulus’ address and had pockets with money inside. The taxi driver seemed amused that they had picked up a runaway groom.

“What happened to the bride, sleep with the groomsman?” They asked, glancing back at you through the reirveiw mirror. You laughed awkwardly.

“No. As it turns out I love a man. It appears I prefer obnoxious published poets with the fashion sense of a funeral director.” The taxi driver sighed deeply. You looked out the window, wondering what they were probably doing back at the alter. Did they disperse? Head towards the open bar? You imagined your one aunt who you were certain lived 9 lives herself, swinging her purse over her shoulder and leaving without a second thought. She seemed to root for nobody and everyone all at the same time. You paid the driver and sprinted up the stairs of Regulus’ house. You knocked on his front door rapidly, ringing the door as you stepped back.

You heard Regulus groan behind the door before it opened a crack the chain stopping it. Once he saw you the door slammed again. You heard the chain smack back against the wall before the door opened again. Regulus stared at you with wide eyes. He took you all in, looking you up and down. you felt your shoulders relax when you saw him, letting out a sigh.

“I see you’ve had a busy few weeks.” You glanced down at your outfit, raising your hands and slapping them against the material.

“Yeah, I uh, I was going to send you a letter. I was getting married but I realized something while I was holding that girl's hands-“ Regulus cut off your explanation. He made a disgusted face, flapping his hand in the air.

“Oh Godric, you do not need to tell me what you were doing with your- what fiancée? Wife?” Regulus said, smacking his lips like the word fiancée left a sour taste in his mouth.

“Regulus, Shut up. Let me talk. As I was at that altar, every time I closed my eyes I realized I was begging for it to be you standing in front of me in a tux, not that lady.” You probably looked a little crazy, drowning in expensive material waving your hands around erratically like it would make your declaration a little less out of pocket. Regulus grimaced.

“It took a wedding for you to realize I might be more desirable than some random woman? Ouch.” Regulus rested his hand over his heart like you struck him. You shook your head.

“No. It took me a wedding to realize I'm in love with you, Regulus.” You stared at Regulus, taking in every slight movement in his face to catch if there was any rejection there. Regulus seemed to stop breathing, his eyes glazing over. You pressed your lips together. Is this really the guy you wanted? You tried to calculate if his reaction was a severe case of rejection or stupidity.

“So please just tell me if you feel even an ounce of the same. If you don't say that, I'll run all the way back to that chapel. I'll marry that woman, we'll go on our honeymoon, in a couple of years we'll have 2.5 kids named Taylor, Brayden, and the one on the way will be Raighleighn and-“ Regulus brought himself back to life with a fast breath. He cut off your irrational speech.

“Is that what you want?” You stared at him, blinking away your confusion. Regulus kept his face stoic, giving you no clue if he was being serious or not. You furrowed your eyebrows. He sensed your confusion, adding details to his question. “Is what you want 2.5 kids named Taylor, Brandon, and Raylen?” You pulled back, shrugging one shoulder up to your ear.

“Brayden and Raighleighn.” You corrected, quietly. Regulus tsked, glaring at you. You tilted your head to the side, egging him on just a little.

“Sorry, I don't have a perfect memory for the names of your hypothetical kids,” Regulus said while dramatically rolling his eyes. You decided to ignore his retort, bouncing back to his last question.

“Why on earth would I ditch my wedding, leaving hundreds of guests to fend for themselves, if the person I wanted was at the altar? Regulus, I want you. Granted I realized this less than thirty minutes ago so I’m not entirely sure how much of our friendship I’ve been harboring these feelings, but I understand they’re strong. I want to cook dinner with you. I want my toothbrush next to yours. I want my closet to have your clothes too. I want to fold our laundry together.”

“I’d probably have Kreacher do that, with proper care of course. He'd be employed not enslaved if that-” Regulus started rambling, letting go of the door to gesture with his hands properly. You groaned. You loved listening to Regulus ramble whether it was about his violin music or some book that really seemed to push his buttons but now was not the time. You were standing on his front doorstep professing your love for him and he was telling you about his activism. You agreed with him, of course, but time and place.

“Godric, Regulus are you going to kiss me or not? Are we something that could happen or should I start running now?” You stared at him as he shook his head like his thoughts of Kreacher could fly out his ears.

“Right, yeah.” Regulus pushed himself off the door, stepping into your space. He gently pulled you forward. His breath warmed your face, you caught hints of his favorite tea. You leaned forward, meeting him in the middle. His kiss was gentle like he still wasn’t entirely sure if this wasn’t a dream. Regulus pulled back before you wish he did. You kept your eyes closed just a little extra second. If you opened your eyes and you were still at the chapel, you’d be married to a woman you just met. You felt Regulus’ thumb stroking your cheekbone, silently begging you to open your eyes. You grinned, your almost-wife wouldn’t touch you as gently as Regulus did. You met Regulus’ eyes. He was smiling back at you, granted it was small but that’s not the point. You fiddled with the buttons on his black shirt.

“I made extra dinner if you’d like to join me,” Regulus muttered, jumping over the kiss to talk about a mundane topic. You’ve shared dinner hundreds of times. You were glad after all the chaos of today you could easily return your dear Regulus and join him at his table like it was any other day.

“Mm you know I think my schedule might be a little packed, I do have a honeymoon to get to.” You muttered. Regulus groaned, stepping away from you. He pushed your shoulder towards his door, stepping out of the way. You stepped through the door.

“While we’re still on the topic, what was your fiancée’s name?” Regulus asked, moving behind you to pick a peice of fuzz off your jacket. You gave him a confused look over your shoulder.

“Why?”

“I want it to be the title of my next poem,” Regulus said, pulling out one his dark wooden chairs for you, before leaving toward the kitchen counter when his timer went off. You laughed at him as he returned to the oven. He made you both a plate, settling one in front of you.

While you sat next to Regulus at his table in your stupid wedding tuxedo, you thanked the stars for reminding you of free will seconds before you had to say I do.

[melonteee]

Do you think ur going to do a review or analysis of the live action? Because even tho i kinda liked it i think i have the same problem that you have with the characters, like zoro. It's weird bc i think that the characterization of the characters is kinda good, but also there's something laking, i think it's the removal of some core senes but honestly idk fully if it's that or something else. I know they had short time to adapt like 90 chapters, but i think the time they had would be better used if they didn't had the b plot be abt garp. Tho that's also not right, bc i think some of the scenes with the marines were fun? But in this case i think garp characterization is just not that great.

Idk its super weird bc i feel the world is really one piece and it was fun to watch but there's some things that are kinda :/

Okay uh, let me preface this by saying part of my degree had to do with adaptation - in terms of what it is and how it's really god damn hard. So this live action intrigues me not just as a one piece fan, but in terms of my studies, and I have no doubt my favourite teacher is getting a kick out of this as we speak lol.

If you don't want spoilers for ep 1, don't read under the cut. If you don't want to feel bummed out cause you super enjoyed the show, also don't read. I am analysing this in a very critical way because I was dead interested in how this was handled.

I have only watched one episode, I can only judge so far at the moment, so feel free to take this all with a grain of salt. There is indeed charm in this series! The only thing is, there's charm when it's trying to be itself exclusively, and it falls really flat when trying to replicate One Piece because...I didn't feel One Piece from this in any sense. Any 'faithful' shots I received felt like a cheap replica attempting to force some nostalgic emotion out of me with nothing earned.

And, from what I can see, that's the problem here. This series isn't sure how loyal it should really be, nor is it sure how much fidelity it should keep - but it's trying to remind me at every damn second "This IS One Piece, do you SEE One Piece?" And it's not just me saying this, the producers themselves admitted that they were TRYING to be loyal. A quote from them is;

“What we learned is the fans are expecting you to be true to the source material,” says executive producer Marty Adelstein, whose Tomorrow Studios produced “Cowboy Bebop” for Netflix before embarking on “One Piece....As we read the comments, it was always, ‘Well, they didn’t do this character the same as this and that.’ … It really taught us a lot of what we needed to do with this one.” “It became everyone’s goal to make sure that when you looked at the show, you thought this was a live-action version of the manga that just felt like another feather in the legacy of Oda,” (source)

So here's my question here, to myself and One Piece fans - did you FEEL like you were watching a 1:1 version of these characters? Did these characters FEEL like themselves instead of being TOLD they're apparently themselves?

Of course, it's an adaptation! It's supposed to be different! But this statement directly contradicts that, and so does everything else. After all they apparently hired Oda to 'check off' on it, they used the Japanese VAs for the Japanese audio version of it, they even have the manga/anime version of Luffy sitting there in the One Piece logo - constantly reminding me OF the original no matter what I do.

So with all these comments, and with all these decisions, what else to expect but "Oh, so they're planning to stay loyal and not deviate from the original? This is clearly their goal."

And that's where the problem ensues for me, because they try DESPERATELY to ham fist in original source material, they really want me to point at the screen and go "JUST LIKE THE MANGA!", but they're not going all in on it and, as such, the changes become increasingly obvious that this ISN'T the same. Because, if you only have a BIT of Zoro's character implemented from the original, but not ALL of it, what else am I to see but a bastardised version of the original here?

This script does this thing where it's giving me beats of Zoro, but not all of Zoro, and suddenly I'm left with a guy who's a weird, bizarro version of Zoro. He's not quite original enough to feel like his own being, and he's not quite loyal enough to feel like the original. And of course, it's not just Zoro, but it's this way for the other characters too.

The 'loyalty' the producers are talking about, and the lesson they've seem to have learnt here is; "We need to unnaturally shove in as much fidelity as we can in an exposition-dump, so we can get it out of the way, make everyone feel like we're respecting the source, and get on to the original scenes that add nothing but a laugh."

And...it's a shame! It's weird to say this series would, so far, be better if they weren't TRYING to replicate One Piece's energy, but from everything I am seeing, it's clearly what they are trying to do. This show has charm when it has its OWN charm, but cutting from a fun little original scene to an exposition dump of lore is so incredibly jarring I don't even really know what to make of it.

For example, we were shown Zoro being tied up to a pole. We are going to point at it and go "I remember that!" but then...the whole reasoning is different, the motives are different, and...the time is all different? In all respect, this series is doing what Disney live actions are doing, where they are giving me MORE scenes with LESS information - and due to seemingly TRYING to be loyal, it feels like the original scenes are fun, but a waste of time due to the exposition dumps being incredibly rushed and lacklustre.

In a complete ironic twist, their desperation to be loyal has them falling flat, so instead I'm seeing a hollow replica of what One Piece is - when it could've been an original live action that's trying to work on its strengths of BEING its own live action.

All in all, the first ep would've been fine if I turned my brain off, but I don't...watch One Piece to do that. I don't ever feel numbed by One Piece, and by all means I was given the expectation that this WOULD be the story RETOLD but with BIGGER action and LARGER characters because they just LOVE Oda and respect him SO MUCH!

But at the end of the day, for a first impression, I got another Netflix live action that COULD work on itself, but ultimately is making me appreciate the original a lot more. It's making me appreciate Oda's writing more, the Strawhat's original characters more, and the world more. It seems great as a digestible family show, which I'm sure is what Netflix wanted, but it's already got me feeling uneasy.

Of course, this could very well change the more I get through, and I'm very open to it, but the first episode in itself makes for a fascinating case study on the fidelity of anime live action adaptations.

And just in case anyone gets up in arms because there seems to be a weird forced positivity crusade on this series right now, Oda himself has said he intends to happily take criticism, because he knows it'll come from a place of love. This by no means is a disrespect to Oda, and is more a look in on how Netflix operates.

[pants-magic-pants]

✧⊹JARETH BALLROOM COAT⊹✧

[This post is part of a series about constructing Jareth’s entire masquerade ball costume. Visit the master post here.]

Making the Buttons [Post 1 of 2] - This post is an explanation of the process. - Post 2 is a video.

The buttons were the very first thing I made, once enough pretty shiny materials had been collected. They were so much fun. They weren't hard, it just took a bit of time and attention to detail. With that, let's get to it...

The coat has two in front and two in the back. Here are two different photos, the first from Aria Couture and the second from Yosa Addiss.

You’ll see that they’ve suffered some damage through the years, and as of now there are no high definition close-ups of them, so that we can really look and discern what might have been there back when everything was intact. One of the front ones is gone!

What I did notice was a general warmth and multidimensional sort of coloring about them, which is why my approach involved layers. A lot of aspects of this costume don’t present themselves as definitively colored; there’s always a two-toned or iridescent quality to them. For that reason, I built everything on top of a layer of copper flakes. It gave the buttons the warmth they needed despite that the rest of what is seen within them is cool-toned. 

There are the blue, spherical cabochons lining the outside; spherical, not angular. Within them, there is seemingly a mix of silver/metallic beads, and “crystals” that may have been anything from blue, to green, to yellow. Hard to say. This part comes down to the individual!

Does this diagram make sense and it is necessary? Probably not.

My choice was to do alternating silver and transparent grey beads, and then pool the center with hot glue and sea glass shards that were left over from the breaking down process. Since making the video of the replica, I did start to feel that less vs. more looked better for the glass, so I pruned a few pieces out of my buttons. I like them overall, but they need to be secured really well, and there was/is still a risk of shards popping out. It is a delicate costume. 

Next, we need to discuss the actual button bases. This was tricky. The whole thing is going to be covered, so they can’t be stitched on in the normal way, as there’s no outlet for the needle. You might be thinking a shank button would be good, since they are flat with protruding holes underneath:

BUT there's so much stuff that needs to go on them, they would definitely end up drooping. My solution to this problem was to buy flat just run-of-the-mill 4-hole buttons that were stapled onto cardboard, and remove the cardboard with the staples still attached. Then tighten the staples so that my needle could juuuuust get through. 

How do you like these puppies?!

Attaching them wasn’t too hard. I held the button a little bit away from the coat, brought my needle to the inside interfacing, and poked it out where the button should go, then brought the needle underneath the staple, then back into the coat, etc. etc. making 5-10 loops before pulling the thread and drawing up the button against the coat. Then, the needle was brought through the inside and knotted tightly into the interfacing, almost exactly where it had begun. 

Yayyyy buttons.

Because these were so delicate, they were almost the last thing added to the coat. They had to go on before the lining was closed, obviously, so that’s the only reason they came before the glue shenanigans. Glue shenanigans were all top switched once the coat didn’t need to be handled or laid down anymore. 

So... there it is. Some of this felt redundant but then I remember that there are new people visiting my blog, and I want things to be easy for them.

----------------☆--------☆---------------

[ficyorick]

bad ending bonus material - ch 3.5

good morning bad enders!!!!!!! as i mentioned an ao3, i have to skip this weeks update bc im on a work trip BUT in preparation for this break i wrote a little bit of bonus material :) it's canon within the world of BE, takes place after chapter 3. specifically it's the morning after the, erm, drink sesh. it's from homelander's POV and it is also his first time interacting with kessler :^) except he doesnt know. that its kessler. hoho. 3k words, trigger warnings would be emetophobia + extensive suicide discussion. and everything else attached to bad ending already

Waking up basically clinging to a toilet had to be a new low for him, even in this new life of lows he was currently living. Homelander blinked sluggishly, his eyes rolling from one side to the other before his eyelids drooped again. His legs felt numb after having supported his slumped, half-sitting pose for God knows how long. A deep ache had settled in his knees, a dull burn that already felt like one of those lingering pains he would have to deal with for a while.

His mouth tasted vile, like a combination of every unpleasant flavor he could think of, mashed together and spread all over his tongue in a thick film.

He didn't want to move, but he had to. With a soft grunt, Homelander finally pushed himself away from the bowl, slumped lower on his thighs, and opened his eyes again. The visual onslaught of things and objects merely existing around him made him regret that decision immediately. He pressed both palms to his face with another exhausted noise—an unfamiliar sensation of a dull, pounding pain bloomed behind his eyes. 

For a brief second, he wondered if Butcher had finally done it. Poisoned him and left him to die on a bathroom floor. In a way, that would have been more dignified than having to live with the fact that he was having the first hangover of his life.

Jesus, why would anyone put themselves through that willingly? He'd heard stories about the concept and always just smiled politely at the silly limits others had to live with. Madelyn always got insanely irritable if she had too much wine at a party—but at least she was fun and bubbly the night before. Homelander didn’t feel particularly fun and bubbly last night. He swallowed; his sore throat protested sharply. Shifting a little, he made an attempt to fix his uncomfortable position, and for some reason, his entire body let out a rustling noise.

Right. He removed his hands, feeling the stale bathroom air sting his already wet eyes. The bootleg Homelander costume was still clinging to him, still so embarrassingly cheap and—disgusting. There was no other way to describe it. It was just disgusting to him. He hated it. The only thought he could formulate on the topic was the need to rip it off—maybe alongside his skin.

He was going to take it off. He had to take it off. While Butcher wasn't here. He'd rather be naked than continue to wear this insult. Homelander tugged at the collar, expecting to be able to rip it like tissue paper, but the plastic only stretched under his pull.

"Fuck…" he wheezed, a little pathetic note in his voice. Climbing to his knees, he tried to tug at it with both hands—but just like he couldn't manage to cause even a little bit of pain to Butcher the night before, he couldn't even tear this thing apart. Something lurched violently inside him again, and he swayed on his knees, shocked by the sudden twist in his guts. Then he launched himself at the toilet in front of him, another wave of bile forcing its way up his throat.

Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. Every part of his body—from the shiny plastic wrap on his skin to the foam on his thighs and now his insides—another wave of vomit shoved itself up, fighting him. But he couldn't bear down and stop it, just like he couldn't rip cheap fabric apart, just like he couldn't even choke anyone to death anymore. Just like he couldn't stop Butcher from picking him up like he weighed nothing at all. He was just cheap foam, all over, inside too. Cheap foam soaked in vomit, sweat, and tears.

And he used to be marble.

Another strained noise, hot liquid squeezing itself out of his stomach and up his throat. He tried to relax, tried to just stop thinking about it like Butcher had instructed him yesterday—but it felt wrong. He was supposed to be calling the shots here, but now he was out of control, at the mercy of this body that was never going to feel like his body again.

He glared up, his eyes red-rimmed and wet. Butcher did this to him. And now he wasn't even fucking here. He took whatever he wanted last night and left him here.

Homelander shuddered violently as he finally managed to catch his breath between the waves of nausea. He gripped the toilet seat, managing to furrow his brows despite the utter exhaustion he felt. Picked him up, touched him wherever he wanted, and now he wasn't even here. Wanted a spectacle, but then he wasn't even fucking watching. What was the point? One final spit down the toilet, and Homelander pushed himself away, wiping his face on the rustling costume.

His mouth tasted even worse now. He sniffed again, doing his best to ignore another twisting sensation in his stomach. His shaking hand reached out to press the little handle, flushing the toilet. Fuck. He still had to free himself from the costume, and he just had to hope this attempt wouldn't trigger another fit of nausea.

The door to the bathroom creaked open. Homelander froze, his hands pausing an inch away from the plastic collar of the sick joke he was wearing.

Butcher was standing in the doorframe, watching him with mild interest. Like he didn't expect to still see him down there, or maybe see him at all. Like it was overall kind of silly that Homelander was here.

His dark eyes swept around the bathroom. Then he let out an unsurprised grunt.

"There it is." He approached the bathroom sink, picking something up. Homelander squinted his eyes just a tiny bit, too surprised by his sudden arrival to react properly—not that he knew what that reaction should have been. Butcher helpfully held up the object in his hand, letting him see it better. "Left you in here with a knife. Can you believe that? Untied, too."

He laughed, a weird sort of laugh.

Homelander felt his lips part, a question he wanted to ask but couldn’t even think how to begin formulating. Butcher didn’t give him time to think about it; he just stepped closer, and embarrassingly, Homelander found himself tensing up.

"You didn’t even notice, huh?" Butcher waved the knife in his hand, giving it a tiny, playful wiggle. "Didn’t notice a little gift?"

Homelander debated saying he was too busy puking his guts out after Butcher pumped him full of booze against his will—but he could save that remark for the time when there wasn't a sharp blade in Butcher's hand, right above him. Sure, all of that made him angry. But not angry enough to deal with any new cuts on his body. His already exhausted stomach protested weakly at the mere possibility of seeing his own blood.

"I wonder what you would have done with it if you knew," Butcher mused, now toying with the blade, slowly moving it from one hand to the other. It looked like he was clapping with it—just without a noise. Lazily applauding the crumpled-up man before him. "Slice your wrists?"

Homelander just blinked up at him. Wetly.

"In case you get another chance to do that—" Butcher was suddenly squatting down right in front of him, moving fast. Too fast for his usual worn-out, exhausted pace. Homelander twitched, leaving his dignity behind in the toilet bowl, and pushed himself away until his back hit the bathtub.

"Don't touch me." He tried to snarl, but all he managed was a hoarse croak.

"Am I fucking touching you? C'mon, I have a lesson for you." Butcher laughed again, the same kind of laughter he couldn't categorize. He knew the safe laughs; he knew the dangerous ones—but he didn't know what this one meant. It just felt—mean, as childish as it sounded in Homelander's head. "Pay attention."

Butcher rolled up a sleeve of his dark coat. Homelander only now noticed he seemed ready to leave—his combat boots on, the car keys jingling somewhere in his pocket. No, he couldn't afford to get distracted by little details like that. Not with a knife so close in his personal space. He forced himself to focus on Butcher's actions. The other man seemed invigorated, a complete opposite of his usual sluggish pace. Or maybe he was still giddy about what he'd done to him the night before. Butcher finished rolling up the sleeve, revealing the pale underside of his arm.

He grinned at Homelander.

Then he pressed the tip of the knife to the little dip of skin underneath his palm. Homelander blinked slowly at the bead of black ink that bubbled up to the surface. It swelled, then lazily rolled down to one side. Butcher's grin only got wider, black gums and white teeth.

And then he dug deep and pulled the knife toward himself.

Homelander felt his eyes open wide, not sure why. Maybe surprise, maybe longing. He hadn't seen blood that belonged to anyone else but him in a while.

The knife went up to the inner side of his elbow, a thick line of black opening underneath the slicing motion. The sweet-sick rotting scent made Homelander's stomach twist yet again. He stared up at Butcher, attempting to find his eyes—and maybe an explanation behind the self-mauling. 

The explanation came immediately in the form of another low chuckle: "It's down the road, not across the street. You ever heard of that saying?" 

Homelander just wordlessly shook his head. 

"Ahhh, 'course you haven't. Never had to pay attention to that sort of stuff before, right?" Butcher laughed again, an easy sound, making his shoulders shake a little and making the blood ooze out of his opened wound like thick icing drops. "But you talk a big game about wanting to die and you don't even know the basics."

The cut in Butcher's forearm was sealing itself already, brimming with movement underneath his skin. It looked like there were worms nestling in it, disturbed by the light that just reached them and quickly sealing the wound closed. In just a few seconds, there was no trace of it left, save for the few black streaks of blood following gravity down.

"But hey, now you know." Butcher rolled down his sleeve, not bothering to wipe off the ink on his skin. He found Homelander's gaze, the dark and amused eyes meeting his cautious stare. "So next time you find a knife—" He held it up in front of his face. Homelander leaned back, but the wet blade followed, stopping just an inch away from the tip of his nose. His eyes had to strain to focus on the sharp, fine end of it. "—you'll know what to do, right?"

Again, his stomach lurched, but this time no hot bile flooded his mouth. It was just a cold, numbing sensation; his heart sank to follow it down.

"You're—" Homelander finally managed to find his words again. 

"—sick, deranged," Butcher finished for him. He sounded—off. Like there was a mismatch between his voice and his words, two puzzle pieces being smashed together despite not fitting. He sounded so weird that it was setting off an instinct in Homelander's brain he didn't even know he possessed. Butcher continued, clearly unaware of his own discordance: "I know. You're like a broken fucking record."

He was standing up now, cleaning the knife on the side of his coat and tucking it into his back pocket. Homelander didn't relax, remaining pressed against the bathtub.

A few days into his captivity, he told himself that all of this was just a matter of getting used to it. He was going to adjust, and then he could start thinking about how to get out (in any way possible). But day after day, Butcher created a brand-new version of the Bad Room, leaving no space for adaptation. All he could do was endure, endure, endure.

He was getting sick of it. If there was a breaking point to all of this, he felt like it was on the horizon. Maybe then Butcher would move on, at the very least. 

Move on to Ryan, he reminded himself. And curled his fingers into tight fists pressed against the floor. Jesus, the kid didn't even know what his own dad was going through—and he probably wouldn't even care. Homelander could easily imagine Ryan getting jealous of the fact that his dad got to hang out with Butcher in a cool cabin and bemoaning the fact that he didn't get invited. Butcher could do no wrong—and Homelander was the bad guy in any scenario, no matter what.

The breaking point on the horizon seemed so much closer all of a sudden. The breaking point next door, maybe. 

The bathroom was quiet while Homelander busied himself with torturing himself with his thoughts, no outside help necessary. Butcher was clearly thinking something through as well as he stared at him in silence, one eyebrow raised. And then he just asked: "What could possibly be so interesting about you? Especially now?"

Homelander scoffed. He glared up: "I don't know, you tell me. You seemed plenty interested last night."

Butcher smiled, a hint of respect in his eyes now that he finally bit back. And an absolute lack of shame, despite the previous events, despite the brief panic in his eyes before he abandoned him in this bathroom. He acted as if nothing happened, as if this morning came to someone else than the two of them. Butcher just casually nodded at him, pointing at the door behind him:

"Get up. Take that clown shit off. Put on some normal clothes.” 

Homelander felt his entire face burn. He wanted to rip off Butcher's hand, specifically the one that was on his back last night. And feed it to him. Just shove it down his throat until he swallowed or choked on it, no real preference. Anything that ended with him twitching and gurgling on the bathroom floor, legs kicking uselessly as he stood over him, watching him die.

"C'mon man." Butcher gestured at him again, urging him to get moving like he was livestock. "You look like a fucking bachelorette party attraction. A cheap one too, they should put you on a Vegas party bus."

Homelander stared at him and let out a little desperate laugh. If all of this was just a joke to Butcher, he might as well join in on it. Then he got up, ready to do whatever was going to make Butcher leave the cabin faster. His captor smiled pleasantly, another expression he'd never seen him make, and then he ushered Homelander into the main room of the cabin. He followed (like livestock).

"Where are your normal clothes?" Butcher glanced back at him.

Homelander just shrugged. He wouldn't call them normal; he found them insulting as well. But he would take the fucking Jimmy Buffet shirt over wearing this fucking parody of who he used to be.

"So helpful. Heel." Butcher pointed at him, the gesture nonchalant and casual. Homelander balked. Then decided he was too tired to react. He just waited for Butcher to look through a bunch of drawers and boxes until he returned with the t-shirt and everything else. And zip-ties, of course. 

"Get dressed. I gotta get your carrier ready." Butcher pushed the cotton bundle into his arms and then sighed, as if he was being made to do this unimaginably boring and awkward chore of giving him clothes and pushing a few bottles of water between the bars of the cage while Homelander stripped without a word.

It turned out it was much easier to get out of the costume by the intended way of using the zipper instead of ripping it apart. He had to abandon the idea of destroying it—because that was something he didn't get to do anymore. He didn't get to kill, he didn't get to hurt, he didn't get to rip. He didn't get to stop, he didn't get to defend himself. There was nothing left for him, except getting through it.

Butcher thankfully didn't treat him to another sarcastic comment as he changed into his usual prisoner clothes. Didn't move any closer, either. He approached only when Homelander was fully clothed, zip-ties ready to go. Homelander just sighed through his nose and formed the usual X with his wrists. Butcher rewarded him with another languid smile, securing the loop around them.

He kicked the door to the cage open. "In you go. Daddy will be back in a few days."

Homelander went in, just like he would go into the oven, into the Bad Room, onto that Vought debut stage. Butcher continued to smile as he watched him settle on the floor in the usual sleeping spot. He followed right after, a new set of zip-ties to go around his ankles. Homelander couldn't withhold a scowl; he was hoping he would've forgotten about the bottom pair as well.

Butcher read his face perfectly and mocked him with a little pout: "Wouldn't want to spoil you. I know how it is—I give you a finger, you take a hand." 

God forbid he got to piss standing up instead of kneeling in front of the bucket. But Homelander didn't say that—yet another strategic decision on his part. Butcher secured the last loop of plastic around his limbs but didn't get up just yet, squatting in front of him—a repeat of the mere moments ago in the bathroom. Homelander stilled, protectively.

Butcher pulled out the familiar back pocket knife, staring at it like he was seeing it for the first time all over again.

"I should leave this with you," he mused, suddenly completely fascinated by his new idea. Butcher glanced at him, then at the knife, then at him again—considering.

Homelander looked at the blade as well. For some reason, he didn't even want to imagine its weight in his hand.

"It would be kinda funny, right?" Butcher asked him. "If I did that."

"Hilarious." Homelander muttered, dropping his gaze to a random spot on the floor. 

"Yeah." Butcher agreed by laughing his new, annoying laugh. But then he hid the knife in his pocket yet again and gave him a little sarcastic salute before locking the cage door and hanging the keys back on the wall. "You know where the bucket is. In case you need to throw up again."

Homelander didn't bother acknowledging him.

"See ya, Vought boy." Butcher threw one last goodbye over his shoulder. 

Homelander just sighed as the door to the cabin opened and closed, at least two pairs of locks clicking behind Butcher. 

"Fuck." He murmured, his palms covering his face, lips brushing against the fresh new zip-ties. Another few more empty, mind-numbing days.

At least this time, he was relieved to be left alone.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Water Tower - EZ Reyes x Reader

Tagging: @infinity-mars @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @est1887 @the-wandering-lunatic @alwaysachorusgirl @anime-weeb-4-life @vannabanana1995 @multifandomloversworld @lilvampirina @princessghost-24 @genius2050 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @spaghettificationandpretzels @sclitvdes @oureternalbond  @baybaybear1

It’s still dark when you and EZ climb the ladder to the water tower. It’s just gone past four in the morning and sunrise isn’t for another half an hour. EZ swears he can hear the rusted rungs creak beneath his feet. You’re already halfway up towards the platform on the top so he decides to haul ass before the damn thing gives way underneath him. It feels like the most daring thing he’s ever done despite all the shit he’s been a part of with the club. Taking a risk with his life is one thing, but taking a risk with his heart is another.

It’s silent when he reaches the top, the noise of the city dropping away as you shrug out of your backpack and remove a picnic blanket to spread over the cold metal surface. The two of you end up sitting side by side, backs against the podium the water vessel sits on as you survey the view.

You can see lights flickering in the distance, people getting up for the early shift, or night owls watching TV. Tiny pockets of insight into the population of Santo Padre. You shiver in the breeze, pulling your jacket even tighter around your shoulders, you’d forgotten how cold it can get up here without anything to buffer the wind.

EZ wraps his arm around your shoulders, drawing you into the warmth of his body. He runs hot, he always has, and you feel the heat flood your system as he holds you close. There’s a comfort in the proximity, you haven’t let yourself get close to anybody in a long time.

“It’s quiet.” He remarks, his cheek coming to rest upon the top of your head as he looks out across the skyline.

It feels like another world, one where EZ Reyes the Prospect doesn’t exist, where the burden of KJ and the DEA doesn’t weight down upon his shoulders, threatening to suffocate him. He feels like himself again, like he’s just a man admiring a view, with the woman he’s fallen so ridiculously in love with.

“I come up here when I need to get out of my head.” You tell him, closing your eyes for a brief moment and revelling in the sensation of being with this man. “It helps me step back, take a breath.”

“Do you need to do that a lot?” he asks you softly, his palm squeezing your shoulder through the thin material of your jacket. It’s a reassuring gesture, one that steadies you as you think about the turns your life has taken, the burdens that you carry. You don’t answer him in the end, you’re not sure how to. You’ve been alone, dealing with the shit your father left you for years, discussing it has never seemed like an option. The pressure it swells in your chest, but you can’t seem to force the words leave your throat.

EZ seems to sense your inability to vocalise, he sighs softly into your hair before he breaks the silence.

“I didn’t know how to adjust once I got out of prison.” He whispers, his lips bushing over the top of your head.  “Everything was so noisy in there, there wasn’t a lot of space. I could touch the sides of my cell with both of my hands. When I got out, everything felt too big, too expansive…” He pauses, his eyebrows furrowing as he searches for the right words. “That’s why I live in a trailer, or part of it. I don’t feel safe sleeping in open spaces, there are too many variables. I have to sleep with my back to the wall.” He swallows hard against the ache in his throat. “It’s stupid I know.”

You are the only person he has ever told about this, how he’s struggled in the aftermath of his incarceration. He thinks that Angel doesn’t want to hear it and that his father already carries too much of his baggage. There’s no one else he can trust with these feelings. The memories of his time in prison haunt his dreams, he still wakes up in the night thinking he’s back there.

“It’s not stupid.” You tell him, inclining your head so you can study his features. He looks back at you with such vulnerability in his eyes it makes your heart hurt. You look away, back at the orange blossoming over the skyline before you clear your throat to speak.

“My dad, he used to gamble. Football, baseball, basketball, there wasn’t a sport he didn’t like.” You smile bitterly as you think back over the last few years. The jaundice pallor of your father’s flesh as he watched the TV, hunched forward in his seat, his features scrunched together in apprehension in the final innings of a game. “It got bad before he died, when his liver was packing up. I think it was his way of dealing with what the cirrhosis.”  

“I’m sorry…” EZ begins and you shake your head to cut him off because there’s more and you feel if you don’t get it out now that it’ll stay sealed up inside of you, the toxicity leaking into your bloodstream until it finally kills you.

“He put the bar up as leverage and when he died, all of those debts they transferred over to me. If I want to keep the bar, I have to pay them.” You tell him, drawing your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them. “That’s why I come up here, because when I’m up here, there’s nobody making demands on me. I don’t owe anybody anything, I’m not a failed dancer or someone trying to keep their head above water, I’m free from all of that. I’m just me.”

“Shit.” EZ says finally, his lips brushing over your temple.

“Yea,” You whisper into the receding darkness. “Shit.”

Love EZ? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[draculasstrawhat]

This is going to be a long post about unreliability in Dracula, because while I love how in to it everyone is getting, and don’t want to trash anyone else’s reading or feelings about it, I do feel that there’s a bit of a “previous interpretations hated [character] for no reason!” going on, and as an ancient fan… we didn’t just pull this out of our arses.

I feel like part of the shift in the viewing of some characters is as a result of the Dracula Daily format (which, incidentally, I love, and has given me a very valuable reappraisal of Jonathon’s character) but which both gives the narrative as linear in terms of TLs, and an immediacy which the original text lacks.

Put simply, Dracula - the novel - is a construct on three levels.

That it is a fiction created by Bram Stoker, in the social and cultural environment of the late 19thC.

That it is told through the diaries and letter (ie, constructed personas) of the characters, and

That it has further been compiled and edited BY the characters, with “extraneous material” removed, in order to tell a compelling narrative. The majority of the actual original documents have been destroyed.

Which is to say that from the little intro bit, Stoker is clueing us in that not everything here is 100% reliable. We should perhaps be on our guard.

Moreover, we should be aware of what Stoker might be trying to sell us with this story, and suspicious of it.

Now, I only have a very small amount of time for the most extreme examples of this tendency- that the whole thing is an arse-covering exercise for, “… and that, officer, is why we were obliged to desecrate a grave and murder a foreign national,” but, like… that is still as valid an interpretation as reading the thing at face value.

As I say, this isn’t to trash anyone’s headcanons, ships, or interpretations - it’s more about points of tension in the narrative, that clue us in to things going on beyond the story being told. Because at every given point, there is SO MUCH going on in Dracula.

And although this is my favourite sandbox and I could do this all day, to stop me from actually doing it all day, I’m just going to give an example of one character - the editor of the whole manuscript and everyone’s favourite Train Fiend…

Mina.

So, in what ways might Mina be unreliable?

Well, for a start, we are repeatedly shown that she is hyperaware of appearances, and concerned with how herself and those she loves might be perceived.

This isn’t me trying to paint her as an image obsessed bitch. It actually makes a lot of sense for her character - an employed, middle-class woman of the period, especially one who was entrusted with the education of other young women.

And our attention is drawn to this several times - the smearing of mud on Lucy and her feet to make it look like they’re wearing shoes, her thoughts about holding hands with Jonathon in London, even her insistence that they really did view old Mr Hawkins as a father-figure.

Mina cares how she is perceived. She does not want us to think negatively of her, or those she loves.

And she is the one who holds the major editorial pen in this narrative - everything we’re reading has allegedly passed through her hands.

So, where is a place that this fear of perception, and manipulation of perception might manifest?

So, it quickly becomes apparent that Mina has a number of very conflicted feelings about her place in society. A very specific gloss is put upon them at the level of the text (both in-world and by the author - but more of that later) but the dissonance remains.

Again, this is understandable, given that she is an intelligent woman of a shifting social class at a time of great social change. Her rant about the New Woman, and the apparent storm of tears that follow it, implies that this is tied up in her feelings and worries for Jonathon.

Now, I’m trying not to draw any inference here - although I have many theories - but I will say people rarely get that worked up about an unrelated thing unless there’s a deeper reason for it.

And while Mina repeatedly defines herself *against* the New Woman type, she does all the things a New Woman does: earning her own living, typing, shorthand, trying to write like a Lady Journalist. Even the long, vigorous walks come in to this.

What is more, she likes to be impressive. She repeatedly shows off her skillset of memory, organisation, typing in triplicate, short-hand, her understanding. She even states this at one point, justifying her behaviour by saying “some taste of the original apple remains still in our mouths” - again, framing her behaviour in femininity, even though what she is displaying is moves against stereotypical constructions of gender at that time.

So, perhaps one place that Mina is unreliable as a narrator is around her own femininity, and her comfort in her social role. She might, therefore, elide, gloss over, or re-contextualise anything that undermines any discomfort she has with het destiny as a wife-and-mother.

Which means we look for the cracks in that presentation- and there is evidence for them! A common argument is that there is a great frustration at the heart of Mina’s character. There she is, more driven, organised, and intelligent than most of the men around her… and stuck as an unpaid secretary. Like, yes, we all love the train-fiend thing, it’s adorable, but… also… c’mon. Memorising train tables is arguably the act of a woman who is being given far too small a stage on which to enact her life.

She presents herself as contented in that role , while evincing considerable evidence of being frustrated at - or at least conflicted over - it.

Meanwhile, the novel as a whole resolves with her firmly situated in an expanded version of the wife-and-mother role. Stoker closes the book with a voice other than her own, and a baby on her knee. And while it is absolutely a valid reading to take this ending at face value, it is also worth asking what prompted Stoker to end the novel with that postscript.

Because he, too, was a product of his time and place, and he also would have been grappling with the changing place of women in society. Mina is a construct, not a real person, and what does it tell us that the author felt it necessary to contain her in the role of ‘Natural Womanhood’ at the end of the book?

Especially as the vampires in this novel very clearly invert maternal roles by devouring children - indeed, Jonathon clearly delineates between Mina, a woman, and the ‘devils of the pit’ which are the female vampires at Dracula’s castle.

And it is from these various tensions that tropes like Vampire Mina, Divorced Mina, and the Mina/Dracula romance spring (and I could write a whole ‘nother thing about the role of romance as a substitute for intellectual/personal fulfilment, but… this is long enough without that). They are ways of following those cracks, and offering alternative readings, rather than forced denials of the text, or reading with a distinct agenda.

I love the surface story of Dracula - it’s a wonderfully compelling adventure - but the reason I love the book so very much is because there is always, always more, in every direction.

[kazhan-draws]

the trap

969 words, SFW.

“Oh, hello,” Eddie purrs, closing his book before putting it on the nightstand. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Billy huffs and slides under the covers, arching a brow when Eddie immediately shifts closer and kisses his cheek, throwing a leg over his as he starts tracing random patterns on his chest with a finger.

“How’s the most beautiful man in the whole world doing?” Eddie asks sweetly.

Billy hums and cards his fingers through Eddie’s hair before gently tugging on a few strands. “What do you want?” 

Eddie makes an offended noise, like he thinks he’s actually being smooth and Billy shouldn’t be able to tell when he’s after something. 

“Why do you always assume the worst?” he asks with a pout.

The corners of Billy’s mouth turn up as he leans in to brush a kiss against Eddie’s lips. “No, if I was assuming the worst, I would have asked what did you do?”  

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Well, I wanted to ask you out on a date, but if you’re going to be this way…” 

He’s so fucking ridiculous. Ridiculous and dramatic and yet Billy can’t help but smile, a warm, fond feeling spreading across his chest. 

“A date, huh?” he asks, gently scratching Eddie’s scalp, amused by the way he automatically leans into the touch with a content sigh.

“Oh, you know, something simple, a dinner and a movie?” Eddie says, his tone suggesting that it’s anything but simple. 

“A movie?” That’s the trap. Billy loves him very much, but Eddie Munson is slightly annoying at the movies at best, and a fucking nightmare at his worst. 

The stretching silence is answer enough. Billy’s fingers find Eddie’s ear and give it a tug. 

“The new D&D movie?” Eddie asks, his voice climbing a bit higher the way it does when he’s trying to sound innocent. 

“Absolutely not,” Billy says without missing a beat.

Eddie gasps like he’s just been shot, rearing back a bit to look at him with big, sad eyes. “You didn’t even take time to consider it!”

“That’s because I don’t need to consider it.”

“Why?”

Billy gives him a flat look. “The Last Jedi.”

Eddie sits up with a frown. “Okay, that’s unfair, you didn’t like it either.”

He might have liked it better if Eddie hadn’t spent the whole movie sighing and groaning and shifting on his seat. But it’s not like that’s Billy’s only example. Oh no, he has plenty of those.

“The Hobbit, all three of them.”

“It’s a three hundred page book! They didn’t need to make three movies!”

“So why did we go see them?”

“Well, the additions could have been good! Instead we had Tauriel and that awful love story, what the hell was—” Eddie cuts off abruptly and Billy has to admit he is a little bit impressed by how quickly he managed to reign it in this time. 

“Okay, I see what you mean,” Eddie says and it sounds like it costs him, as always when he has to admit he’s being an asshole about something. “But. I will behave this time.”

Billy laughs, because really, what else can he do? He reaches out and cups Eddie’s face between his hands. “Oh, babe,” he sighs and rubs his cheeks with his thumbs. “The worst part is that you actually believe that.”

“Hey,” Eddie protests with a frown.

“Ed, sweetheart, we both know that’s not happening. It will never be as good as the original material, or as you imagined it, or as they should have done it because really, all they had to do was follow the books but nooo, they had to improvise and fuck everything up!”

“They did! They did fuck everything up! Sansa was never meant to—” Billy presses a hand against his mouth and has to fight a smile at the offended look on Eddie’s face.

“You do realize you are only proving my point, right?” Billy asks before removing his hand. 

“I heard it was pretty good?” Eddie offers tentatively.

Like that’ll stop him from finding things to complain about. “Why don’t you go with Will and Gareth?” 

“They already went, and I want to go with you anyway.”

Fucker. The big brown eyes have always been basically impossible to say no to, but this is just unfair. Sharing the things he’s passionate about is how Eddie Munson shows love, and it doesn’t matter that Billy still doesn’t give a shit about Dungeon and Dragons after thirty eight years together, he will sit through hours of Eddie talking his ear off about it without even thinking about complaining.

Billy sighs and he definitely doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes light up a little bit, like he already knows he’s won—which he probably does. 

“On one condition,” he says and Eddie grins before moving closer again; Billy huffs as he straddles his hips, more because of the godawful cracking noise Eddie’s left knee makes than the sudden weight resting on top of him, and runs his hands over Eddie’s thighs.

“Anything you want,” Eddie purrs.

Billy gives his thigh a light pinch. “You keep the complaints for after the movie.”

“Deal,” Eddie rushes to say.

Billy smacks his thigh gently. “I mean it, Ed.”

“I promise.” Eddie leans in and nuzzles his cheek. “No complaining. I’ll be so good.”

“Now you’re overdoing it,” Billy mumbles, but he can’t quite keep the laugh out of his voice. 

“Soooo good,” Eddie repeats and presses their mouths together. 

Billy hums into the kiss and brings a hand up to cup the back of Eddie’s neck. “Dinner better be good too,” he mumbles against his lips.

“Of course. Only the best for you, my liege,” Eddie whispers with another kiss. 

This, Billy believes. But Eddie will complain during the movie, he just knows it.

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter 18: One Last Fight

Season One | Season Two | Season Three | Season Four

Word Count: 2527 words

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, little bit of angst?

[A/N: this is the last chapter for part one! and believe me, it's about to get a whole lot sadder after this and i will be announcing the chapter titles soon so stay tuned!]

One Last Fight

The last moments of preparation were agonising.

Everything had to be sharpened to perfection, sturdy to wield, and dangerous enough to kill the monster.

Protective gear was the next important thing. Since being bitten by bats and clawed at by Demogorgons, you didn’t want to risk another scar. In fact, you weren’t sure there was any surface on your body left that hadn’t burned a traumatising memory into your skin.

“Can you pass me the beret?” Robin asks, looking up from where she was fiddling with the buttons on her vest, sighing in defeat when they wouldn’t close.

You pick up the red hat and hand it over, replacing her hands as well and buttoning her vest for her.

You, yourself, were ready for battle. The jacket Steve had grabbed for you was lined with thick material, ensuring nothing would be slicing through it with ease. And it had a pocket sewn onto the inside, allowing you to slip Max’s letter in when no one was looking. You wanted to keep it with you, just in case the last words you hear from your sister have to be those written on paper.

It also served as a reminder of what you were fighting for.

“Thanks, babe.” Robin jokes when you finish buttoning her vest, her words earning her a wink and a smirk.

From the corner of your eye, you notice Dustin struggling with his own gear and you move to help, just at the same time Eddie does. You freeze, momentarily locking eyes, before you find yourself shuffling away, heading towards the front of the RV.

You’ve been avoiding Eddie as much as you could since the talk, Robin and Nancy doing their best to be your buffers. Usually, you’d be trying to resolve the issue before it became unfixable. But you couldn’t focus on that right now, not when literally everything else was at stake.

“You good?” Steve asks and you turn to look at him, his eyes glancing between you and where Eddie stood messing around with Dustin’s hat.

“Fine.” You nod stiffly, noticing Nancy ushering you over to her.

A frown forms on Steve’s face as he looks back to Eddie. Steve knew something was wrong, there was no doubt about that. There was a reason you were both close; he practically read your mind. And, when you both moved towards the middle of the RV to where the others gathered, you noticed how Steve situated himself so you didn’t have to look at Eddie, hand gently brushing against yours and out of view of everyone else.

“Okay, so we need to make sure we know who goes where.” Nancy announces, nodding. “We know that Max needs to be at the Creel House, draw Vecna out. Then, we need to decide who’s gonna distract the bats.”

“We’ve got that sorted.” Dustin raises his hand, pointing to the guitar pick hanging around Eddie’s neck. You smile involuntarily, shaking away the thought.

“It’s gonna be epic.” Eddie grins, smile faltering when he catches your eye.

“Cool, who’s with Max?” Steve intercepts, jaw set tight. Max had mentioned before how protective he had been over her when you left for college, something like an unprompted promise of looking after your little sister when you couldn't. One of the many reasons you loved him.

“Lucas and Erica?” Nancy suggests, earning nods from the Sinclair siblings. Lucas wasn't going to take any objections of going anyway.

Her gaze drifts to you.

You quickly nod, starting to unbutton your jacket, “Yeah, I’ll go.”

“Actually we’re gonna need you with us.” Robin steps forward and Nancy’s eyes widen.

“Maybe she should be with her sister.” Nancy insists and you frown. Why didn’t she want you there?

“Yeah, you know, away from the crazy wizard tryna kill her.” Steve points out and Robin nods. You’ve halted all movements to remove the jacket, staring at the debate.

“Exactly.” She says and you raise your eyebrows.

“Wow. Tell me how you really feel.” You comment, partly joking, and she winces.

“No, no, that’s not what I-” She takes a moment to recollect before turning back. “I was wrong earlier. When Steve said Vecna/Henry/whatever wasn’t scared of us. I was wrong. He is scared of someone.”

“El?” You offer and she shakes her head.

“You.”

Any mutters of conversation from the others had cut into a silence, all eyes on you as you nervously shake your head in utter disbelief.

“Me?” Letting out a breathy laugh, you set down the equipment, “Robs, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m fucking terrified of him. He’s been torturing me for four years now-”

“Right.” She points at you, “Because he’s threatened. Like you said, he’s been trying to find you ever since you were a baby. He remembered you, not because he was annoyed or upset that you were getting attention from his seriously dysfunctional obsession with the old guy, but because he’s afraid of you.”

You think about it for a moment, brows furrowed. Robin was many things but she wasn't dumb. All her theories held some sort of credibility from her ability to look further than what others see.

Vecna always claimed you were powerful. In every situation you found yourself with him, he always talked about the power you had, forcing you to give in and open your mind. If Robin was right, there had to be a reason you were still alive after all these years.

“I can only end this for you if you submit” Vecna claims, stood above you and drawing your eyes away from the scarlet water.

“Why?” You finally say, tears rushing down and blurring your vision, “Why do you want this so much?”

“Ever since you arrived in Hawkins, I’ve felt the power you held” He finally explains and you slowly rise from the ground, standing with a numb feeling in your chest. “I just didn’t know how much of that power you had until you stopped the dust from possessing you”

Of all the opportunities he had to rid himself of you, quite literally having you in his deadly grasp, something always stopped him. He could kill people in a matter of hours, and yet here you were, four years later...

“He can’t kill me.” You realise and Robin’s face twists into content, happy someone understood her.

“I’m sorry, what now?” Steve interrupts, and you shift to face him.

“Anytime Vecna’s gotten into my head, he’s always told me I needed to ‘submit’.” You start to explain, “Like, he can’t just kill me. I have to let him. Let my guard down.”

“But-”

“And the Mind Flayer,” You continue despite objections, thoughts running faster than you can keep up with, “He tried to attack me with it two years ago.”

Steve does a double-take, strands of his hair falling out of place from shaking his head, “Wait, what?”

“But it didn’t possess me. I mean, my power is linked to the Mind Flayer already. I thought it was because there was a little bit of it living inside me but I think it’s more than that.”

“You can control it.” Dustin smiles, snapping his fingers, and you nod.

“It’s only recently happened though. When the Mind Flayer attacked us at Starcourt, that was the first time I was able to really control it. And with Max, I managed to attack him with the dust.”

“And he knew that.” Robin concludes, “He knew that was your power and so he was trying everything to scare you away, to get into your head and kill you. Because you’re threatening his whole plan.”

“He’s always been the one in control of it before.” Lucas theorises. “Using it to attack Will, Starcourt. If he loses that control…”

“He’ll lose power.” Max finishes and Robin breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, hand on hip as he sighs, “Y/n has control over a power that Vecna wants to himself so he’s tried to kill her off but has always failed. None of us are any match against him, but she… is?”

“Try and sound more sceptical, I dare you.” You scoff and he raises his brow.

“I have no doubt that you’re actually some powerful mind flay-thingy sorceress, okay?” Steve diffuses, gesturing to you, “In fact, that makes more sense than the idea that Vecna is actually scared of someone.”

“We have to give it a shot, right?” Robin offers, “If fire and bullets don’t work, we’re gonna need Y/n there.”

“Did you forget the part where you almost died the last time you used it?” Steve reminds you, face set to concern.

To anyone else, they would think his worry matched theirs. But you remembered how pale he had looked in the graveyard after Max's curse, the tightness of his hold on you like you would simply slip away. He didn't want to feel that fear again. You didn't want him to feel that way again.

Unfortunately, nothing in your life would ever be that forgiving.

“It’s just a last resort.” You assure, noticing the twitch of his eyebrows, “But…”

Your eyes drift to Max, your heart twisting. Why did the universe always want you to leave her?

“But maybe I can do that from this side.” You hypothesise and when Max catches on to your idea, she shakes her head.

“No.” She says, watching as your face twists, “This has to go to plan, all of it, or we’re all screwed. If that plan means having you with them instead of me… then I think that should happen.”

“What if something goes wrong?” You whisper out and she grabs your hand, squeezing lightly.

“I’ll be there with her.” Lucas steps forward with a nod. “If she’s in there too long, I’m blasting Kate Bush, no matter what.”

“Y/n.” Max grips tightly onto your hands, “You have protected me my entire life. Let me do this. Let me protect you for once.”

Lucas looks at you, so close to beating your height, and you realise how much he’s grown. How much they’ve all grown.

They weren’t the same kids who needed babysitting.

“Okay.” You finally breathe out, “But, seriously, Max. If you die… I will personally bring you back just to kill you again.”

Max lets out a small laugh, smiling at you. “Ditto.”

“Okay, it’s decided.” Nancy sighs, something mournful in her expression, “Let’s make sure we’ve got everything sorted and we’ll head out.”

She gives a brief nod before shuffling away from the group, everyone splitting off to grab weapons and finish collecting their gear.

It was a scary feeling, knowing that this plan had to be executed perfectly if you wanted to win. There couldn’t be any surprises, or it could blow up in your face. No, it wasn’t just scary. It was terrifying.

Listening to the clutter of metal, the faint hum of conversation, you needed to take a breather.

Everyone too busy to notice, you slip outside and immediately find Nancy leant against the RV, staring at the ground.

“Hey.” You say, walking up to her and she whips her head up.

“Oh, hey, I-” She shakes her head, smiling. “I was just getting some fresh air.”

Nancy had been acting strange for a while, no doubt from the shaky feeling she must have after Vecna got hold of her. But you couldn’t help but feel it was more than that.

Suddenly, you reach out and pull her into a hug. In surprise, she lets out a small laugh before leaning into you and wrapping her arms around you.

“I’m so so sorry.” You mutter into Nancy’s hair as you hug her tight.

“For what?” She asks, confused.

“I made it worse.” You whisper, tears threatening your eyes, “If I hadn’t tried and… if I had just-”

“You can’t blame yourself for that.” She shakes her head, holding onto you. “You didn’t know Vecna was gonna let me go. I thought he had cursed me. Seeing you there… I needed that.”

“You almost died because of me.” You nod, teary eyed. “I made a mistake. A stupid irrational judgement, and it almost got you killed.”

“But you made it right.”

“It was so close-”

“Y/n!” She pulls back and practically shakes you into submission, shutting your mouth. “You’re the one actually cursed and you’re worrying about me? I’m here, I’m fine. And honestly, I’m gonna kill Vecna for what he’s doing to you. And to Max. I won’t lose you.”

“I’m not ready to lose you, either.” You admit and she pulls you back in for another hug.

Despite the lightened feeling of your shoulders, you couldn't help but feel that there was still something unresolved. It could be the guilt you couldn't shake off.

Or maybe it was the fact that Nancy was clinging onto you with more desperation than she ever has before.

It was deadly silent as you all rode in the RV, the sun just starting to set in the distance, casting a golden light onto solemn faces. Your last ride together before breaking apart.

Max, Lucas, and Erica would go to the Creel House, giving you a signal from the other side when Vecna was vulnerable.

Eddie and Dustin would distract the bats and barricade themselves inside Eddie’s trailer, giving enough time to take Vecna out for good.

Which led to you, Steve, Robin, and Nancy, heading to the very heart of the operation; Vecna’s lair.

You’d been over the plan a hundred times, right down to the last detail. Yet you couldn’t stop the horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach that it would all go wrong.

Looking up, you notice a set of brown doe eyes on you before they drift down to the floor. Taking a breath, you readjust the headphones you bore, willing the music playing through to silence your thoughts. But this song held too many memories to ever be comforting again.

Erica had found another tape for you, the War Zone apparently selling more than just weaponry. Although, in this case, music was the best weapon you and Max had.

Someday, love will find you

The chorus blasts into action, igniting a fire of nerves into your skin.

Break those chains that bind you

As you stared out the window, your breath hitched in your throat.

One night will remind you

The RV stopped and everyone glanced at one another, leaving Erica, Lucas and Max to stand.

How we touched and went our separate ways

Before she stepped off the bus, you stand from your seat, sharing a look before Max rushes over to give you a hug.

If he ever hurts you.

“Give them hell.” You both whisper with teary eyes, quiet enough for only you two to hear.

You hand her a lantern when you finally step back and Lucas gives you a brief nod, a silent promise he would protect her with his life.

True love won’t desert you

Once the door was shut, Steve pulled away and you watched them fade into the distance, sitting back in your seat.

You know I’ll still love you

Heading to the trailer park, you knew that this was real. Everything you had worked for, everyone you loved, it was all on the line now. And this was it.

Though, we touched and went our separate ways.

One last fight.

to be continued...

Chapter 19: So It Begins ->

taglist: @gnnnne / @beepisbeep / @paintballkid711 / @eddiesbirdie / @livasaurasrex / @darktimelegends / @jackierose902109 / @mvrylee / @chervbs / @eternallyvenus / @nervouscatsuit / @f1nn-wolfhard / @hereiamhereigo / @ladybug0095 / @fangirling-4-ever / @astrolockley / @mothmanatemycat / @sheisjoeschateau / @champagnejoker / @umidktbh / @fallinginlovewithqueue / @ilovetaylorswift132006 / @live-the-fangirl-life / @sadbitchfangirl / @cherrymedicine13 / @engenelxver / @sagaonpandora /

[danceswithsporks]

Omg can I ask 9 with Echo??? Love your works 🖤

So sorry for the delay! I went with Bad Batch Echo for this! Please let me know if that was the wrong version to go with!

Echos disguise is based off of the ‘droid’ disguise he had in the bad batch when Hunter sold him!

Echo x Reader

"You're mine tonight, and that isn't ever gonna change."

Echo watched you flit around the ballroom in a gentle flurry of silk material. You were in your element. Born to a Senator and now following in her footsteps. One of the younger senators in the senate and one of the more outspoken against the war and the use of clones as fodder. How he’d ended up as your bodyguard was still a confusing mystery for him. One day he was working with the batch in the outer rim and the next day he was being shuttled off to Coruscant for a special assignment. That was over a year ago. Now he stood to the side of the room, disguised as a droid, watching you speak with countless other members of the Senate.

You were beautiful, a shining light in the darkness of his life. You welcomed him with open arms when Fox presented him to you. Happy to finally be working next to a clone. Cause that’s what you two were in your eyes, colleagues. Not a bodyguard and his charge, but friends. You’d told him as much in your first meeting too. Never once did Echo feel like you looked down on him, even with his special looks. He’d watched you stand up to countless sexist senators, defend him and his vod with passion, and help those in desperate need of help. Even now, when others were here at the banquet to have a good time, you were here to be the voice that so many desperately needed. While others were drinking and laughing, you were arranging medical supplies for families on the outer rim affected by the war.

Brown eyes watched as you forced a laugh at some joke spoken by the senator on your left. Echo had seen you laugh countless times and had made you laugh as well. That wasn’t a true laugh, that was your ‘I’m doing this for the sake of my program. You’re making me uncomfortable and I’d like you to go away but I can’t say that so instead I’m gonna laugh’ laugh. He watched as the man raised his hand to the small of your back and he seethed. You didn’t like being touched by people you didn’t know and seeing as this guy wasn’t moving his hand, it was time for him to step in.

“Oh, I firmly believe that this program is important. Children and families are being completely uprooted from their ancestral lands because of this war. They need our aid to help them survive.” With a shift of your weight, you tried to pull away from the man’s hand that was trying to stroke your back. You wanted to vomit from his touch.

“But do they require as much aid as you are requesting? Surely if we continue to simply give them everything, they will not survive on their own.” The Bothan senator crossed his arms as he stroked the long fur on his chin.

You fought the sigh that tried to escape your lips. This was always the hard part. So many didn’t care about those in need, they just feigned caring. “Part of the funds you’d be contributing would b-“ you coughed as a hand suddenly grabbed your ass. Did this guy really think you’d suddenly fall for him because of that? You turned to say something to him when you heard your favorite voice.

“Please refrain from laying hands on the Senator.” Echo moved the hand from your ass before sliding between the two, becoming your barrier. “Continued assault will result in removal from the premises.” He spoke in an almost monotone voice, trying to mimic the speech patterns of droids.

It made you smile the way he always seemed to perfectly time his sudden appearances. Just when you were about to go off on someone and probably look bad, he’d step in and save ya. It was hard to think about your life before him or even possibly without him now. In a way, you loved him being around. He made you smile and laugh and feel safe. Sure, safety was the main point of his job. But there was a difference between being safe and feeling safe. Echo made you feel safe and warm. You watched as eyebrows raised around the group at his remark, a few of the senators spoke to their assistants in their private languages.

The male senator seethed at the droid blatantly outing him. “And just what are you!”

“This is EC-HO. My bodyguard and assistant droid.” You patted his shoulder with a pleased smile. He’d definitely be getting thanked for this later.

The Bothan Senator tilted his head in surprise. “Interesting. I have not seen this model before. Is it new? Where did you acquire it?” He reached out to touch the droid but found his hand moved away.

Your hand went out and blocked the Senator from touching Echo. “He is a prototype designed by an acquaintance of mine. As you can imagine, he is very valuable to me.” Dropping your hand, you gripped Echo's wrist gently and squeezed it twice. The signal that you were ready to leave.

“Fascinating, I would love to discuss this droid with its creator. Perhaps you could give me their contact information.” The Bothan looked over EC-HO closely. He was very human-like.

“My creator wishes to remain anonymous until my design is finalized.” He returned the two squeezes, letting you know he understood.

Releasing his hand, you grasped both of yours in front of you. “There are still a few kinks that need to be worked out.”

Echo was so thankful for the make covering his reddening face. How dare you mention his kinks like this. “Madam, it is almost time for your call with my creator.”

You nodded, the hitch in his voice caught your attention. A smile crossed your lips as you tried not to let the blush on your cheeks become obvious. “I’m sorry, I must be going.”

“Perhaps I could escort you back to your room, Senator. It will give me a chance to properly apologize to you.” The male senator tried to live around Echo but found himself blocked once more.

“Thank you for the offer.” A hand was placed on Echo's upper arm as you prevented him from grabbing the Senator. “But I must discuss some important details with EC-HO. Goodbye.” Not waiting for a response from him, you made a speedy exit from the ballroom.

-*-

By the time you’d made it back to your room, it had begun to downpour. The balcony doors had been left open in your suite and the sweet smell of flowers and rain filled the room. That was one thing you loved about visiting Naboo. No matter what kind of weather the planet was experiencing, it was beautiful. While Echo secured your room and checked the adjoining room, technically his room, you made your way to the balcony to enjoy the rain.

The rain soaked your cream gown within moments, your hair sticking to your skin and your heels beginning to slip. You began to reach down to pull them off but found Echo already there. His real hand slipped around towards the latch on your pink heels. “Thank you, Echo.” A content sigh leaves your lips as you lean against the railing and feel your shoes slide off.

Echo ran his hand up your leg as he slowly stood, his fingers gliding across your smooth skin. “Of course, Mesh’la.” He pressed into you from behind as his lips found your shoulder. “Have I told you enough how beautiful you looked tonight?”

A shiver ran down your spine as his lips sprinkled kisses up your shoulder and onto your neck. “Just once more, my love.” Your head fell back against his shoulder when he pulled his teeth across your soft skin.

“You look absolutely stunning tonight. Especially right now.” His scomp slid forward and rested against one of your breasts. The darkened skin of your nipples almost visible through the soaked fabric.

“I bet that senator would say the same.” You felt him squeeze your side tightly, a growl leaving him as he ground the bulge in his pants against your ass. “Perhaps we should ask him to come in, so we can discuss his thoughts.” His grip became even tighter and you let out a pleasure-filled moan.

He knew you were doing this to get a rise out of him. Just like when the slit of your dress flashed his clone number tattoo that you had on your upper thigh at him while you were walking down the stairs earlier. You’d purposely bought the high-slit dress to tease him. “His only focus was fucking you because of how sexy you are in this dress.” His lips wrapped around the skin between your neck and shoulder before he sucked, a lovely mark being left behind.

“Too bad I’d rather fuck someone else tonight.” Stepping back, you rubbed your ass against his bulge. An airy moan left his lips, making you chuckle.

“Mmmm, that’s right.” His lips moved up to your earlobe. His teeth grazed against it as his voice became deeper, darker. “You're mine tonight,” his real hand snaked around your waist and dipped between your legs, playing with your clit. “and that isn't ever gonna change.”

A shaky breath left you as he began to tease you. “Wouldn’t have it…hnnng….any other way.” Your grip on the rail tightened as the rain continued to soak you two. “E-Echo.” A long moan left you as your upper body bent over the rail.

Just seeing how easily he could make you crumble sent a surge of pride through him. That was right. You belonged to him. It was his number on your thigh. His mark on your neck and on one of your breasts from the night before. And soon, it would be his seed inside your womb. “You’ve got two choices, Senator. Here, or the bed.”

Oh, fuck! You loved it when he spoke to you like this. Your room was at the back of the palace, no one else was near yours. The downpour outside was loud and muffling. “Here. Now. Please.” This could be one of your only chances to fuck outside like this, publicly. At any moment a starship could fly by and see you two together and the thought drove you insane.

“As you command, ma’am. Now be a good Senator and spread these luscious legs.” Echo fell to his knees behind you with an oomph, his hand pushing the fabric of your dress up to your hips displaying your ass and your cunt to him. “I believe you may have forgotten a piece of clothing tonight, Senator.” Leaning forward, he placed a long kick across your soaking heat. Fuck, he loved how you tasted. All hot and wet for him.

A squeak left you as you felt his hot tongue dip into your core. What that man could do with his tongue was mind-numbing. You rocked your hips back into him, loving the feeling. “I had plannnnnned” your words slurred as his thumb found your clit once more. Fuck, focusing was so hard right now. “On having…nnng… to fix my heel. Ugh!” Your mouth fell open in an ‘o’ as he sucked against your cunt. “And letting yoooouuuu.” Son of a bantha he was doing this on purpose. Your eyes screwed shut as you tried to focus on your sentence. “See that I wasn’t wearing any.” A scream of pleasure left you as his finger suddenly dipped inside of you.

“Mmm, so you planned on teasing me? You know how much I love it when you do that.” As he spoke, his hand moved from your heat and to his pocket. “I picked something up before we left Coruscant. Up for trying something new?”

“Always.” You forced the word out between ragged breaths. Echo had quickly become one of the reasons you’d started working out again. He was insatiable at times and with his enhanced stamina, you needed to train your stamina up. But even with your new workout regimens, it was hard to keep up with him. Especially when he worked you so nicely. Looking over your shoulder at him, you watched as he pulled something made out of rubber, possibly, from his pocket and slid it onto his scomp. The rain made it hard for you to see exactly what it looked like, but you could see that it was red. “W-what’s that?”

Echo smirked as he rolled the silicon cover down his scomp. “It’s designed to be a stimulating cover for sex toys. But after some research, I figured out that they also fit over my scomp.” Standing up, he moved his scomp toward your face, letting you get a good look at it. “Lick it, so I can try it in your pussy.”

Now that it was closer to your face, you could see all the ridges and textured parts of it. You let out a shuddered breath as you moved your head forward and took the appendage in your mouth. His hand found your clit once more and he began to work you vigorously. Your head bobbed up and down on his scomp until he pulled it away, an amused smile on his lips. “It’s not as big as you.” Your eyes fell on his bulge. Ugh, you wished he would just fuck you with it already. Yes, you enjoyed the foreplay and how he could make you cum with his tongue or fingers. But his cock filled you just right and you wanted to go to bed feeling full tonight.

“Mmm, couldn’t have you wanting my scomp more than my dick.” His scomp slid down your back, between your cheeks, and against your core. “Now, are you ready?” You nodded slowly. “And what’s the safe word?”

A gasp left you as you felt the scomp begin to push in. “F-Fives!” His lips found your neck once more and he peppered sweet kisses against your soaked skin while slowly moving the scomp into your heat.

“Good girl.” Looking down at his scomp, he watched it disappear into you. A groan left him as you keened into his ear. “How’s that feel?” He pulled it out slowly before pushing it back into you.

Another long moan left you as he continued to move in and out at an almost maddening slow speed. “G-good.” You weren’t sure it could feel any better until it suddenly began to vibrate and twist. “Oh, fuck! Echo! Fuck!” Your knees began to shake as the feeling rushed through you. Already that string deep inside you was tightening.

Echo’s hand moved to his pants and quickly pulled out his cock. His hand pumped in time with the chants leaving your lips. The way you were screaming his name and moaning was enough of a turn-on for him. “That’s right. Keep screaming my name. Cum on my scomp.” It was something he never expected to say but stars how he loved it.

That wasn’t going to take you long. Relaxing the railing, you moved your hand between your legs and started rubbing your clit. “C-close. Faster, please.” Your hips rocked back and forth as you chased your release. So close, you just needed that one thing to push you over the edge.

“Anything for you.” He fell to his knees and angled himself so he could suck on your clit while still fucking you with his scomp.

“Oh, shit!” That was exactly what you needed! Your head fell forward as you screamed his name. Your orgasm hitting you in a gloriously blinding light of ecstasy.

He loved watching you cum, loved hearing you scream because of him. The scomp continued to thrust into you as you rode out your high, his tongue running slow circles over your clit. After a few more thrusts, he pulled the scomp out and pushed his face into your cunt. His tongue danced against you, drinking up every drop of honey that he could. “This is my favorite dessert right here. I could eat you every day.” Sitting back on his heels, he watched as your hips sway side to side. Your slick ran down the back of your legs and he couldn’t stop from leaving forward and licking some of it away. “Ready for more?”

“Stars, yes!” You needed him to fill you up already. “Fill me and you can have me every night.” The sound of him chuckling drew your attention. Looking over your shoulder, you watched as he stood and lined himself up with your cunt. “W-wait!” He raised an eyebrow to you in surprise. “Kiss me? You haven’t this entire time.”

“How rude of me.” Echo turned you around and pulled you into a deep kiss. His hand slid into your soaked hair and gripped it tightly. Stars, how he adored you. Adored the taste of your lips and how perfectly both of you fit together. His tongue danced against yours as a happy sigh left you and you melted into his arms. A smile rested on his lips as he rested his forehead against yours. “Want to move this inside?”

“Not yet. Want you to fill me out here first.” Your hand slid down the front of him and gripped his hard cock. He was so damn big with the most perfect curve you’d ever seen. It hit that spot inside your perfectly every time.

Echo chuckled as he rubbed his nose against yours. “Keep talking like that and I might start thinking that ya me to breed you.”

You licked your lips at his words. “Maybe one day. For now, I just enjoy the practice rounds.”

His hand released your hair and fell to your ass. Giving it a tight squeeze, he listened to you squeak before turning you around once more. “Then let’s get back to practicing.” Lining himself up with you once more, he leaned over and whispered deeply to you. “After all, practice makes perfect.”

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Marriage worthy (fem-ish flavor)

masc(ish) version

Barbie dolls: Regulus x reader

Words: 2.2k-ish

Summary: your parents force a wedding on you but at the alter you realize what you want

Warnings: You’re in a wedding dress and are forced to marry a man via your parents but I only use gn prounouns for you, regulus is a hater, aged up a little, allusions to not amazing parents, ebay and facebook marketplace mentioned, you ride in a taxi, i think thats it dude

A/n: this wedding has the wedding traditions and set up that I grew up with ie Christian wedding again I understand that other cultures have other traditions but that is not represented in this fic this is by no means a hateful “my culture is the only right culture” type thing I'm just writing what I know everybody’s culture is beautiful thanks for coming to my ted talk

You weren’t sure if you considered yourself the marrying type. Your parents felt differently apparently. You were enjoying the simplicity of your single life, and a few weeks later your parents were informing you of your fiancé. Your wedding was being planned in front of you and you didn’t even know the groom. When your parents were making the quest list, they added your best friend. You thought about this for barely a couple of minutes before scratching out his name. You appreciated Regulus but he was the type of person to speak his mind. Loudly at that.

Once you told him about a friend who wasn’t treating you in the best of ways, but you still loved them. Unfortunately, they ran into you and Regulus at the store. Regulus glared at them the entire time and then finally called them a couple of unfortunate names.

So you doubted he would stay silent at the wedding you didn’t even want. You imagined him sulking in the front row, leaning over to whisper to the person next to him about how much this guy sucked.

“Can’t even match his socks to his tie, embarrassing.”

“Oh god he can’t find his vows, I wonder if he wrote any at all. Have I told you, I’m a published poet? Yeah, four books under my belt.”

“Kind and caring? That’s all he’s got? They’re more than that. They’re the rising sun and setting moon, They’re the oxygen filling our lungs, They’re-“

“Oh thank Godric, they got to my favorite part- I object!”

You could see him jumping out of his seat, a hand in the air. Regulus would object the second he was given the moment of silence. He’d probably walk all the way to the alter, grab onto your arm, and escort you outside himself, insulting the groom on the way out.

It might’ve been a little selfish to remove Regulus from the guest list. It’ll probably hurt him when he finds out but that will give him material for his fifth book. You’ll explain yourself. You’ll probably write him a letter from your honeymoon destination, explaining everything and giving extra treats to your owl for a speedy delivery. That’ll be an odd conversation to have with your new husband.

“Sorry darling my pants are staying on, I have to write a letter to my best friend.” Well, scratch that, you’ll write him a letter as soon as you get a minute to yourself… on your honeymoon? Well, maybe you’ll send him a box of cookies as an extra apology for his explanation having such a long waiting period.

Time moved swiftly as the planning became more erratic. Your parents seemed to have decided waiting for the next season was stupid. They’d much rather have your wedding yesterday than wait. In two shakes of a lamb's tail, you were being buttoned into a white gown. You didn’t feel right. Maybe this was the classic cold feet feeling but every time you blinked you seemed to be nowhere near where you started. You would be in front of the mirror and seconds later you were standing outside the double doors about to walk down the aisle. You didn’t remember saying half of your vowels though you felt secure in your assumption that they were monotone. With your hands in his and the priest beside you talking, you looked at the rows and rows of family members.

Some of which you hadn’t seen in what felt like centuries. You scanned the seat looking for someone you recognized. You reached the end of the row without seeing anyone properly. You closed your eyes as you listened to your fiancé, soon-to-be husband, repeat the priest. You squeezed Regulus’ hands tighter. You felt the corners of your lips twitch for a second before you slowly opened your eyes. Your slight smile fell when you realized you weren’t holding onto your best friend’s hands at all.

You glanced around, remembering exactly where you were. You felt you had just been dunked in cold water waking you from your sleep.

“Do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?" The priest seemed as bored as you, his tone hollow and flat. You stayed silent, your mind catching up with the lots of information you just caught. Why would you wish you were holding onto Regulus’ hands at the altar if you were just friends? How long have you felt like this? Does this priest even know your name? How much was he paid? Could you sell this dress on eBay? Facebook marketplace? You heard mutters pass over the crowd of spectators. Your fiancé squeezed your hands while muttering your name. He kept repeating it but it faded into the background like the ocean rocking your body.

“I don’t want this?” You whispered. As you talked mostly to yourself, you remembered you had free will. You laughed as you pulled your hands away from this nameless man. You reached behind your head and yanked the veil from your hair. You dropped it on the floor, turning towards the crowd.

“I don’t want this.” You said, though this time you were sturdy. You knew what you wanted and it had nothing to do with this chapel. You pulled at the end of the dress before starting off towards the front doors. You noticed people in the rows standing up and you were certain you heard someone sounding easily similar to your mother yelling at you. You weren’t entirely certain where you were but you had a feeling your heart would lead you in the right direction.

Your heart failed you. You actually had to hail a taxi, and you were quite happy you memorized Regulus’ address and had pockets with money. The taxi driver seemed amused that they had picked up a runaway bride.

“What happened to the groom, sleep with the bridesmaid?” They asked, glancing back at you through the Reidveiw mirror. You laughed awkwardly.

“No. As it turns out I love another man. It appears I prefer obnoxious published poets with the fashion sense of a funeral director.” The taxi driver sighed deeply. You Looked out the window, wondering what they were probably doing back at the alter. Do you disperse? Head towards the open bar? You imagined your one aunt who you were certain lived 9 lives herself, swinging her purse over her shoulder and leaving without a second thought. She seemed to root for nobody and everyone all at the same time. You paid the driver and sprinted up the stairs of Regulus’ house. You knocked on his front door rapidly, ringing the door as you stepped back.

You heard Regulus groan behind the door before it opened a crack the chain stopping it. Once he saw you the door slammed again. You heard the chain smack back against the wall before the door opened again. Regulus stared at you with wide eyes. He took you all in, pausing at the massive white bow on your dress. you felt your shoulders relax when you saw him, letting out a sigh.

“I see you’ve had a busy few weeks.” You glanced down at your outfit, raising your hands and slapping them against the material.

“Yeah, I uh, I was going to send you a letter. I was getting married but I realized something while I was holding that guy's hands-“ Regulus cut off your explanation. He made a disgusted face, flapping his hand in the air.

“Oh Godric, you do not need to tell me what you were doing with your- what fiancé? Husband?” Regulus said, smacking his lips like the word fiancé left a sour taste in his mouth.

“Regulus, Shut up. Let me talk. As I was at that altar, every time I closed my eyes I realized I was begging for it to be you standing in front of me in a tux, not that other guy.” You probably looked a little crazy, drowning in white waving your hands around erratically like it would make your declaration a little less out of pocket. Regulus grimaced.

“It took a wedding for you to realize I might be more desirable than some random guy? Ouch.” Regulus rested his hand over his heart like you struck him. You shook your head.

“No. It took me a wedding to realize I'm in love with you, Regulus.” You stared at Regulus, taking in every slight movement in his face to catch if there was any rejection there. Regulus seemed to stop breathing, his eyes glazing over. You pressed your lips together. Is this really the guy you wanted? You tried to calculate if his reaction was a severe case of rejection or stupidity.

“So please just tell me if you feel even an ounce of the same. If you don't say that, I'll run all the way back to that chapel. I'll marry that guy, we'll go on our honeymoon, in a couple of years we'll have 2.5 kids named Taylor, Brayden, and the one on the way will be Raighleighn and-“ Regulus brought himself back to life with a fast breath. He cut off your irrational speech.

“Is that what you want?” You stared at him, blinking away your confusion. Regulus kept his face stoic, giving you no clue if he was being serious or not. You furrowed your eyebrows. He sensed your confusion, adding details to his question. “Is what you want 2.5 kids named Taylor, Brandon, and Raylen?” You pulled back, shrugging one shoulder up to your ear.

“Brayden and Raighleighn.” You corrected, quietly. Regulus tsked, glaring at you. You tilted your head to the side, egging him on just a little.

“Sorry, I don't have a perfect memory for the names of your hypothetical kids,” Regulus said while dramatically rolling his eyes. You decided to ignore his retort, bouncing back to his last question.

“Why on earth would I ditch my wedding, leaving hundreds of guests to fend for themselves, if the man I wanted was at the altar? Regulus, I want you. Granted I realized this less than thirty minutes ago so I’m not entirely sure how much of our friendship I’ve been harboring these feelings, but I understand they’re strong. I want to cook dinner with you. I want my toothbrush next to yours. I want my closet to have your clothes too. I want to fold our laundry together.”

“I’d probably have Kreacher do that, with proper care of course. He'd be employed not enslaved if that-” Regulus started rambling, letting go of the door to gesture with his hands properly. You groaned. You loved listening to Regulus ramble whether it was about his violin music or some observe book that really seemed to push his buttons but now was not the time. You were standing on his front doorstep professing your love for him and he was telling you about his activism. You agreed with him, of course, but time and place.

“Godric, Regulus are you going to kiss me or not? Are we something that could happen or should I start running now?” You stared at him as he shook his head like his thoughts of Kreacher could fly out his ears.

“Right, yeah.” Regulus pushed himself off the door, stepping into your space. He gently pulled you forward. His breath warmed your face, you caught hints of his favorite tea. You leaned forward, meeting him in the middle. His kiss was gentle like he still wasn’t entirely sure if this wasn’t a dream. Regulus pulled back before you wish he did. You kept your eyes closed just a little extra second. If you opened your eyes and you were still at the chapel, you’d be married to a man you just met. You felt Regulus’ thumb stroking your cheekbone, silently begging you to open your eyes. You grinned, your almost-husband wouldn’t touch you as gently as Regulus did. You met Regulus’ eyes. He was smiling back at you, granted it was small but that’s not the point. You fiddled with the buttons on his black shirt.

“I made extra dinner if you’d like to join me,” Regulus muttered, jumping over the kiss to talk about a mundane topic. You’ve shared dinner hundreds of times. You were glad after all the chaos of today you could easily return your dear Regulus and join him at his table like it was any other day.

“Mm you know I think my schedule might be a little packed, I do have a honeymoon to get to.” You muttered. Regulus groaned, stepping away from you. He pushed your shoulder towards his door, stepping out of the way. You tugged up your tulle-filled dress.

“While we’re still on the topic, what was your fiancé’s name?” Regulus asked, moving behind you to pick up your train. You gave him a confused look over your shoulder.

“Why?”

“I want it to be the title of my next poem,” Regulus said, helping you sit in his dark wooden chairs, throwing the white material in your lap when his timer went off. You laughed at him as he returned to the oven. He made you both a plate, settling one in front of you.

While you sat next to Regulus at his table in your stupid wedding dress, you thanked the stars for reminding you of free will seconds before you had to say I do.

[ijwrff]

Prisoner-Part 9

Hiya everyone! A big thank you to everyone here and on AO3 who have supported this story <3 I have a good number of ideas and plans for this series, so I'm gonna try and update it between requests I've gotten! It's been a long time since I got to post a story, and I'm hoping to have more time to write now that I'm all done with college!

So big thank you to everyone, and have a great day/night!

Tw; grief, blood, emotional numbness, typical yandere stuff

(There isn't much Dark and Anti in this one, but there obviously will be a lot more of them soon in this series.)

Word Count: 1,083

Tag List: @serenitydusk @thattiredanimator1t0mblr @viciouslyyearning @jacksepticeye-simp

You didn’t even have the energy to cry anymore…nothing seemed worth it, and your fear dissolved into nothing. As a response to what you saw, you seemingly lost every emotion you had. No sadness, but no happiness either. It was as if you weren’t capable of feeling emotions anymore, and it should have scared you…but it didn’t. 

Dark and Anti had walked with you in silence, as they agreed to let you stay with Dark for the week. Anti was “too pent up” to be a proper host, and you didn’t really want to go with him right now. You would never forget his crazed smile and wicked laughter as he effortlessly killed the man you loved. Dark wasn’t much better, smiling with eyes that just screamed “I’m right in doing this.” 

Anti left, almost as soon as you had walked from the entrance to your new room. That’s right…your new room. They were never going to let you leave. The worst part? You didn’t really care. Life didn’t seem to have as much meaning as it held before, nor did death. It was unclear, even to you, what would come of this “arrangement” you had with them, all you could think about was J. 

You were shocked back into focus when Dark rested a hand on your shoulder. Flinching, almost instinctively, you kept your eyes looking straight ahead, never at him. He sighed, but removed his hand. It was hard to tell what he was feeling, and even harder to know what he was thinking. But you were determined not to let him know how destroyed you were over what he did. Him and Anti really were demons. Monsters, and relentless. 

“I’ll be in my study, you can find me when you wish. I’ll be back in a couple hours to check on you.” He spoke, though his words could have been considerate, it held a cold and calculating tone. It drove you crazy, and you didn’t give him any indication you heard him at all. Instead, you walked into the room further, and shut the door in his face. 

He didn’t protest, and you heard his footsteps as he walked away from the door. Now that you were alone…you had no idea what to do. There was everything you’d ever hoped for in this room. There was a tv, video games, a desk with study materials, crafting sections, and a bed that looked like it came right out of an expensive advertisement. Of course there was a bathroom, and as you looked down…you realized how badly you needed to shower and get changed. 

You had J’s blood all over your hands, literally and metaphorically. Would you have been able to prevent his death if you acted differently? Would they have spared him if you agreed to their terms? You ran your fingers through your hair, tugging lightly with a scowl. Those questions weren’t going to get you anywhere, and you knew that. But they wouldn’t stop flooding your brain. 

In the end, you decided to take a bath, firmly locking the door even though it was very possible anyone living here could go right through the damn door. You shoved your clothes in the trash can, not wanting to wear bloodied clothes. It hurt, not knowing where to go from here. Until then, you sink slowly into the tub, washing your body thoroughly to rid yourself of his blood. It didn’t help like you hoped it would, and you stared at your hands, then the bathtub that had a red tint to the water. 

You searched your hands, almost as if the meaning to the universe was held within the creases. They shook violently, and you slammed them into the water. You scowled, and searched for any trace of emotion. The only one you found was anger, and even that quickly dissipated. You should be sad...devastated even. Why weren’t you upset? Did J not matter to you? You know he did…so then…why do you feel empty? Maybe…you’re the real monster. 

You watched someone you loved get killed right in front of you, and what did you do? Go with the murderers. You hardly even put up a fight. What were you supposed to do? Nothing you’d ever been through prepared you for this situation. How could anything prepare you to experience the vileness and cruelty of two demons second hand? If anything…you just hoped wherever J went, he was safe and happy now.

With one last deep breath, you got out of the bathtub, wrapping yourself in a towel. It occurred to you that you never looked for a change of clothes in the room. However it seemed like that wasn’t a problem. An outfit laid out in black and red sat on the bed, a small note beside it. You blinked, knowing exactly who it was from. But in an act of defiance, you looked through the closet and found something else to wear. Most of it was in your favorite colors, but a portion was solid black and red. 

You heard a knock at the door, and got dressed without any rush. “One sec.” You said, and it was surprising how monotone your voice was. There wasn’t a trace of emotion, and really…that shouldn’t have surprised you. Glancing at the door, you hesitated to answer. In the end, you decided it would be better to open it than deal with the angry man on the other side of the door. 

You blinked time and time again, noticing how the knocking never stopped. There wasn’t a single pause in the knocks, nor did it get any louder or quieter. It made you groan softly, wondering just what Dark’s plan was. Annoyance remained on your face, as you glared through the door. If it was Dark, he was baffling you. So why is he trying so hard to talk to you? He said he’d check on you in a couple hours, surely you weren’t in the bath that long. 

You huffed, and approached the door, ready to scream at him. The fear you felt resurfaced briefly, before a swarm of rage washed over you. That all…disappeared and was replaced with shock as you looked at the presumably demon before you. He looked like Dark…but also nothing like him all at the same time. 

The man smiled wide, reminding you of a puppy, and opened his arms wide as if to ask for a hug. 

“Hiya gumdrop! Ready for your tour?” 

[parcequecestnotreprojeeeet]

Hello! It's Winter! I wrote a second part to my graduation story. I hope everyone likes it.

Teasing & Punishment - Part 2

She thought everything was fine when they left the graduation ceremony. He had held her hand as they said their final goodbyes to their family, he even so much as helped her to the car. Unfortunately, the ride home told a much different story. 

He was suspiciously quiet, not saying more than 2 words to Brigitte as they travelled back. 

“What’s wrong?” She whispered. Not even once, had his hands touched her skin as they sat side by side in the car. For a man who didn’t need a reason to touch her, and did so at every opportunity, he was keeping his hands to himself right now. “I thought we were fine.” 

“We will talk about it when we get home.” He mumbled. 

It wasn’t much, but at least he uttered a complete sentence this time. 

6 more minutes until we’re home. 

She braced herself for the shit storm that was coming as he slammed their bedroom door, cursing under his breath. Within seconds, he removed his shirt and kicked off his shoes, not caring where they landed. 

“I didn’t think you were still mad at me,” she remarked, flinching when one of his shoes hit the wall. 

“I’m not mad!” He hissed. 

“If you’re not mad then ….” 

“I’m turned on, Brigitte! Your skirt was so distracting that I had no choice but to look forward and not speak to you in the car,” Emmanuel replied, ashamed that he couldn’t control himself around her. This perfect woman, whom he was lucky to call his wife, controlled every. single. part. of his body. 

Brigitte felt his warm breath on her neck as he smashed his body against hers. It didn’t come as a surprise when she felt his arousal brush across his ass, “it’s funny that I still have that effect on you.” 

She reached around to cup his erection, feeling how hard he was through the fabric of his pants. He sucked in his breath, “be careful. You’re playing with fire.” 

“Good,” She moaned, “because I love fire.”  

Taking her off balance, he lifted Brigitte off the floor and carried her to their bed. Once he climbed on top, he aggressively pulled down the zipper of her skirt. Unfortunately, he heard the material rip as the fabric came apart at her hips. 

“I’m so sorry, chérie!” He stopped for a moment, waiting to see her reaction. 

“Fuck the skirt, keep going.” She breathed. “I’ll buy a new one.” 

“Like hell you will!” 

With her skirt and blouse on the floor, the only thing separating the two of them was her bra and panties. 

He placed gentle kisses on the most intimate part of her body, feeling her wetness against his lips as he came in contact with her black panties. 

Without warning, she slammed her legs shut, merely avoiding crushing his face between her thighs. 

“What’s wrong? Why did you do that?” Emmanuel asked, sitting up. 

“I know what you’re going to do. You’re going to tease me and I don’t want that.” She whispered in fear as she voiced her concern. It was because of his teasing earlier that she felt he wanted revenge, stopping just before she came (like he had promised). 

“Brigitte,” he placed his hand on her chest, “I’d never do that. Please trust me. Please.” 

The fear slowly vanished once she realized he wasn’t going to tease or torment her. She looked him straight in the eyes and saw nothing but unconditional love. 

“May I continue?” Emmanuel asked, needing full consent before he continued his magic between her legs. 

“Of course,” she smiled, welcoming him back to his favourite spot.  

By the time he was done licking, sucking, tasting, rubbing and kissing her most sensitive body part, she was out of breath. He gave her body a minute to settle down, enjoying the view of her afterglow. 

“How was that?” Emmanuel asked, knowing damn well how he performed. He couldn’t hide the arrogance in his voice, blissfully aware he was just responsible for one of her most powerful and longest-lasting orgasms. (Well, he was the reason for all of her orgasms in the last 25 years.). But this one, moments ago, was truly earth-shattering. 

“It was alright,” she teased. “Average.” 

“Really? Just alright? Average? I mean, we should ask your body the same question because, for a minute, your mind and body weren’t even one anymore.” He leaned in to kiss her lips, instantly forcing his tongue inside her mouth to deepen their connection. 

She moaned when she tasted herself on his tongue. 

“It’s my turn to have some fun with you.” She moved down until she was looking directly at his erection, smiling at the beautiful sight in front of her.  “I want to taste the two of us together.” 

Hellooo Winter! ❤️

Yes! So glad you decided to go for a part 2 of this piece!! Manu all turned on and Brigitte thinking he was mad hahaha mad alright, but other type of mad 🤭 And oooopsies, there goes the skirt hahaha he was dying to stop her from wearing it again anyways!

“It was alright. Average” hahahaha that should deserve other punishment 🤭😂

Thank you so much, Winter! ❤️❤️❤️

[bluestsdays]

i’d do anything for you. those words echo throughout her head, instantly intertwining with every beat of her racing heart. it’s not that she couldn’t believe he came all this way for her, because she could, really— it was him, the one person who’s always shown up for her, who never made her feel like she was asking for too much. god, she would do anything for him too, just like they both always have, since the moment they locked eyes at that party all those years ago. and her heart feels so heavy, now, not with sadness, no, but with all that pent-up love and admiration meshed with the desire to tell him, to shout out that she’s still so fucking in love with him, that she thought about him everyday, that she doesn’t think it might ever go away. the words wait patiently on her tongue, opening her mouth quickly and then shutting it, afraid to say it just yet, fearful of the possible repercussions. she could show him better than she could ever tell him, anyway. “ okay, are you trying to make me cry ? because i might, ” she teases, unable to hide the smile that tugs at her flushed cheeks. there’s a darker, more destructive part of her that wants to ask if he felt that way about eden, too, if he would do the same for her, but she doesn’t, choosing to remove all comparisons of anyone else from her mind, from this point on. “ you’re everything to me, too, miller. you always have been. ” it’s whispered against him, leaning in to press a soft peck to his lips before he works at the straps of her dress, breath catching in her chest as she realizes she’s one step closer to being fully bare with him, again— her skin buzzes because of it, enjoying just how they’re both determined to take their time, to make this last. they didn’t have all the time in the world, but she wanted to pretend like they did, like tonight could last forever, if they so decided, as if the world might just bend to their will. it always had, she felt like, until it didn’t. until she had to pick up the pieces of her life without him in it, try to find herself again, within these walls. never managed to find it, fully, until now, tangled in him again. and she can’t seem to breathe properly once his lips are on her skin, eyelids fluttering shut as they trace along her neck, her jaw, her mouth. she’s missed this, missed him, so fucking much. her body presses further into him as he places a hand over the one fiddling with the button on his pants, urging her to wait, drawing a soft groan straight from her lips and into his. can’t help but pout, slightly, soon breaking into a breathless chuckle to match his own. “ fine, ” she teases, soon directing his hand to the zipper at the side of her dress, still holding it as she helps him pull it down, the cool kiss of the air conditioner against her skin forcing a chill up her spine. it doesn’t help when his words hit her ears, when she hears him say he wants to show her how proud he is— she’s hit with a wave of desire so intense it nearly knocks her off her feet. “ fuck, ” she groans, leaning in to press a heated kiss against his lips, trying to help tug off the material of her dress at the same time, moving with a little more fervency now. “ that just— you being proud of me really does it for me, apparently, ” there’s probably something deeper to that, but right now, all she can think about is the heat pooled between her legs, emphasizing how much she needs him, how much she wants to make him feel good, too. “ need you to touch me, please. ”

although he hadn't expected this, coming here tonight, now that they're here, like this, he doesn't think there's ever been a better place for them to end up. it reminds him of the invisible string that's always bound them to one another, that's transcended time and distance, always a tug, that pulls them back together— and like a moth drawn to the flame, he returns, each and every time. and he's glad he has, now, with their bodies flush, when she's looking up at him like that, taking in the curve of her smile, drinking in her features, up this close; something he's never forgotten, no, but something he appreciates, being able to reacquaint himself with her. soon, he can feel his own features mirroring the look on hers, a soft smile, one that's only ever been reserved for her, nestling against his lips as she echoes his words back to him. every fiber of his being feels alive, rekindled by the spark that never truly died between them, as though the very essence of him has been revived in her presence, the flame of their loved never truly extinguished, merely smoldering in the background of their lives. he closes his eyes, as she finishes with the buttons on his shirt, as the barrier of the material falls away, savouring the sensation of the tender kisses she presses against his flesh. perfect wasn't a title he's ever felt worthy of, not when he's made so many mistakes, especially when it's come to them, to her, but he tries to believe it, allows himself to, right now, at least, being in her comfort, the place he's always belonged. breath hitches, the further her fingers explore, and his heart swells simultaneously, as she speaks of her appreciation for him. outside of here, he’d shrug it off, remind her that’s just what they do for one another, what they’ve always done, since they first came into each other’s lives. but here, he wants her to know that he doesn’t take it for granted, this time with her, that he wants it just as badly. “ of course i would. it’s… you, you know? i’d do anything for you, ” even if so much has changed between them, that sentiment never will. and it’s as if the words are ripped directly from his chest, authentic and raw. “ would go anywhere for you— you’re… everything to me, dev. ” and for tonight, at least, she was all his. as the words leave his lips, it all clicks into place for him; this night they had, as one. decides that he doesn’t want to wait any longer, then, the hand at her back tracing gently along her spine, until it reaches her shoulders, his free hand coming to join, so he can slip the straps of her dress off of each. leaning forward, he presses his lips to her skin, a gentle kiss, before he allows himself to do the same along the curve of her neck, her jaw, finding his way back to her lips. feels lucky that she meets him there, and he returns the kiss just as fervently, his tongue tangling with hers in a silent confession of his own longing; their bodies aligned, hearts echoing each other’s rhythms. his hand comes to rest atop of hers, at the button of his pants, not to stop her, but just to pause, lips breaking away from hers to let out a breathy chuckle. “ help me get you out of yours first, ” he whispers, fingers already trying to find the zipper on her dress. “ otherwise, we’re totally uneven and i just… god, need to touch you, to make you feel good, to know that this is real, ” to make it better than his imagination, all that he’s thought of, over the years. his own pleasure is heightened from her own, anyway. “ want to congratulate you for tonight, really… show you how proud i am of you, how much i’ve missed you. ”