#I do have at least one of his books (ironically?) and who can’t get down on some of his music?

[floral-hex]

I’m so over emotional right now. read that Jimmy Buffett died surrounded by his friends and family and started crying. not that he died. that everyone he loved, that loved him, was there with him in his final moments. and his dogs! his dogs were there, too! something about it is so beautiful and nice and fuck, I am bummed he died, but that he went out surrounded by his loved ones makes it seem okay. I’m glad he got that in the end. That knowing you’re loved and you’ll be remembered. I think that’s all we can really hope for in the end.

[pumpkinbxtch]

— 𝗽𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗼𝗽𝗵𝗼𝗯𝗶𝗮?｡⁠:ﾟ headcanons

are the HoO boys afraid of falling in love with you? (ft. apollo)

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☆ radiostar is playing… warrior by aurora!

who's here: percy jackson, leo valdez, frank zhang, jason grace & apollo. warnings: none, philophobia is the fear of falling in love. a/n: This is super based on their profiles according to the books, because well, let's talk honestly to others, I decided to do this, it's interesting.

percy jackson;

Percy isn’t afraid of loving or being loved. His mom raised him with a lot of affection. But, he does get scared of not being loved back or not being good enough for you. This is because of his obvious self-esteem issues. Doubting love is the only thing that makes him rethink and overthink things. So, sometimes you have to talk to him when you see he's down about something he doesn’t want to tell you. But he never hesitated when he fell for you and wanted you to know as soon as he realized it.

leo valdez;

Yes. The answer is yes, he is scared of falling in love. But he doesn’t realize it until he’s totally in love with you, and it’s too late for those feelings to stop growing. Leo isn’t fully aware of it because he likes having girls around, but it never goes beyond the surface until it did with you. He realized that imagining a future with someone isn’t something to take lightly. Is there something he can’t fix with his magical pockets?

Leo spent most of his life running away and being from nowhere, so he ends up with an avoidant attachment style. He’s working on this now to open up more with you because at the beginning of the relationship, it seemed like he was running away from you. In reality, he’s full of love to give and wants to receive it too.

frank zhang;

He’s never scared of falling in love or feeling something as genuine as that. He’s a son of Mars, who’s associated with passion, so Frank has never had to face love head-on. The only problem might be feeling like he’s too much or too annoying because he would die for you and kill an entire nation to be with you. Frank is careful when he realizes he likes you or is falling in love because he knows some things just can’t be, but he never hides his feelings. He’ll tell you he loves you and respects if it’s not mutual. He almost explodes with happiness knowing it’s mutual.

jason grace;

Jason isn’t great at showing his feelings. It constantly overwhelms him and keeps him up at night, trying to solve it like a math equation when it’s the complete opposite. He’s supposed to be the voice of reason, or at least that’s what he’s thought all this time. But when you get close to him, his gears go crazy, spark, and break down. Is he scared of falling in love? Not exactly, but he’s afraid of not expressing it properly because he knows how important communication is. After getting to know you better, he realizes it’s better to go with the flow, which isn’t easy for him, but he finally has an answer. He was born to love and wants to be loved.

apollo;

Yes, yes, yes, yes. All his exes ended up as plants or dead. How could he not develop a fear related to love after that keeps happening? So it’s a nightmare when you come into his life because, unfortunately for him, he’s a hopeless romantic. There’s nothing more ironic than that. He tries to avoid it at all costs, but in the blink of an eye, he’s holding you tight and kissing you with a goofy expression on his face. Even though he’s so scared, his longing to find the one outweighs it...

[peachdues]

BIRTHDAY SURPRISES — NSFW

Sanemi Shinazugawa x Reader

A/N: there is nothing redeemable about this. It’s just 7.9k words of pure filth in honor of my man’s birthday.

My husband got a boner reading this, so enjoy you whores.

CW: MDNI • Explicit sexual content • daddy!kink • elevator blowjobs • creampies • rough sex • kinky sex • brat-taming/mild dumbification • overstimulation • fluff at the end followed by more smut • not proof read lmao

Sanemi Shinazugawa has never liked the month of November.

For starters, the stupid month can’t decide what damn season it wants to be. It’s somehow too cold to really qualify as autumn and the leaves have usually fallen to the ground, brown and dead and useless, but it’s also still too warm to snow.

And November is such a tease — smack dab between two great holidays yet offering nothing but a restlessness that persists until the end of the year.

So no, Sanemi Shinazugawa isn’t fond of this time of year. But the universe has never shied away from giving him the middle finger, so Sanemi supposes he shouldn’t be surprised his birthday falls during such a bullshit month like November.

He’d been content to spend the day of his birth like he did every other year — hunkered down in his apartment with some cheap takeout, alone, without anyone to make a big fuss about it. That was the plan — his goddamn plan.

So how the fuck did he end up here?

The “here” in question is a suite at one of the city’s most exclusive hotels. The room is stuffed full of faces, some familiar but most not, packed together like sardines. The music is loud and pulsing and it threatens to give him a nasty headache.

It was Tengen who convinced him to allow this — though, Sanemi doesn’t suppose he was given much of a choice in the matter. But his friend group learned of his impending birthday a few weeks earlier, and before Sanemi could level a few, well-backed threats against any party planning, Tengen had booked the massive suite in which he now found himself, and promised Sanemi that he wouldn’t have to buy a single drink.

Sanemi agreed only on the condition that he be allowed to book a separate hotel room — several floors below where this godforsaken party now raged.

At least Tengen had meant it when he promised Sanemi wouldn’t have to spend a dime on alcohol. He took care to run up his friend’s tab by ordering several shots of Grey Goose, throwing them back as easily as water.

Hey, it was his birthday, after all.

The hotel suite is a blur of lights and colors and bodies pressed together in dark corners. Truthfully, Sanemi really can’t find any one thing to pay attention to; it’s ironic that this party is supposedly for him, and yet he feels like the most invisible person in the room.

But then he spots you — beautiful, witty, and charming you — seated in the lounge area, surrounded by both shared friends and strangers, and it’s like a spotlight has been pointed directly at you. All else seems to fall away, recessing into the shadows of the room, and his attention is locked solely on you; the star of the show that is his birthday party.

The feelings swirling in Sanemi’s chest are dangerous; lethal. He knows he should look away and accept the fact that you, with your endless pick of eligible women and men, would never deign to chase after someone like him, someone with as many scars on his heart as are seared into his skin. He knows that. He knows he’s only setting himself up to get more pissed off — to hate his birthday more than he already does.

But he can’t stop watching you.

And even if he could, he doesn’t want to. He’s only been in love with you since the moment Shinobu tugged you into a booth at a bar they all frequented. There hadnt really been any room for you to sit — not with seven of them already packed tightly onto the bench — but you’d taken one look at him and grinned, something that could only be described as mischief lighting your eyes.

“You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?” You’d asked him sweetly as you plopped your ass right down on his lap. “You look like you’re the comfiest one here.”

Sanemi, who was known for having a quick temper and an even quicker mouth, had been stunned into silence by the presence of a beautiful woman, perched on his knee like it was the most natural thing to sit on a stranger’s lap. His friends had been hard-pressed to suppress their smirks at the way Sanemi gaped at the back of your head, and he was fairly certain it was because you’d been so ballsy that you’d secured a permanent spot in their weekly bar rotation.

That had been over a year ago, and Sanemi’s infatuation with you grew deeper by the day.

Not that he’d ever done anything about it — even though, at times, it felt like you were all but baiting him into acting on his feelings. He wanted to believe the way your eyes followed him wherever he went in a room meant something, that your lingering touches were an invitation for more, but he could never bring himself to find out.

That cowardice, he supposed bitterly, was exactly what led him here, sitting alone at the suite room bar, watching as countless others flirted with you and you, right back.

A few times your eyes had tracked him across the room; one time, you looked as though you were about to push through the throng of people shoved into Tengen’s suite to come talk to him, but a hand on your bicep caught you and diverted your attention.

It’s then that Sanemi snaps. The moment he watches as the asshole in question pulls you against him for a slow grind, that jealous, monstrous thing in his chest rears its ugly head, growling and gnawing to be let free.

He’d hoped, for one pathetic moment, that you would push the man away, shake your head, do something that indicated you weren’t the least bit interested in him, no matter how fascinating his multi-colored eyes were, or how charming his feral grin was, but you didn’t. And the moment he sees the douchebag pull your hips flush against his, Sanemi knows he needs to get some air.

So with less grace than he knows he probably should show, Sanemi shoves his way towards the door leading out the suite and into the hallway.

Fuck it, he decides. He would go back to his room, several floors below, take a shower and hit the fucking hay. His birthday was bullshit, anyways.

He storms towards the elevators, slightly tipsy and certainly angry. He stabs a finger against the down button, his leg bouncing as he waits for the elevator to come and save him from his own party.

“What’re you doing out here, birthday boy?”

His stomach sinks to his ass at the familiar cadence of the voice behind him. Reluctantly, he turns and sees you making your way down the hallway wall, a smirk on your pretty lips and looking downright sinful in that flimsy, silvery dress that barely reaches the middle of your thighs.

That damn elevator can’t come fast enough.

“Go back to the party,” he says tightly, though he still won’t look you directly in the eyes. “Don’t let me interrupt your good time.”

You draw up short. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sanemi only scoffs and jabs frustratingly at the elevator button, willing for the telltale ding that will allow him to step into the lift and get far the fuck away from this rager he didn’t want.

From you.

“What’s wrong with you? Did something happen?” You push, resuming your advance on him and shortening the space between your bodies. “Sanemi —“

“Save it,” Sanemi bites, and because he cannot help himself, he adds, “I just don’t particularly feel like watching you spread your legs for some lowlife asshole who can’t be bothered to remember your name.”

You blink, comprehension dawning on your face before melting to anger. “That’s what you’re so pissy about?”

Sanemi silently begs the elevator to hurry the fuck up, because now you’re only a few feet away from him and he doesn’t want you to see his fraying restraint.

You fold your arms across your chest, hip jutting out to the side. “You’re acting like a bitch because some jackass tried to grind on me? Why do you even care?”

Sanemi dodges your question with ease.

“You’re the one who fuckin’ followed me out here.”

The elevator dings and Sanemi is damn near falling to his knees in gratitude at its timing. The double sliding doors have barely finished opening before he’s already inside, jamming his finger into the button marked 26, praying it’ll move faster than it arrived.

The doors start to close but a pair of hands slam against both sides of the doorway, preventing them from joining in the middle.

You stand in the center of the threshold, eyes bright and nostrils flaring, the elevator doors half-closed around you.

“It wasn’t easy to throw this party together y’know,” you snap at him, and dully, Sanemi thinks the glare you give him is strong enough to wither plants. “Everyone went out of their way to try and make you feel special, but you’ve been nothing but an asshole about it.”

“I didn’t ask you all to do this — I begged you not to,” Sanemi retorts just as hotly, his arms folding across his chest. “I didn’t want a fuckin’ party.”

“Well, what do you want?”

the silence that stretches between you is more telling than any answer he could have given. By the way your lips part, you seem to realize it at the same moment he does, and that’s when Sanemi knows he’s fucked.

The two of you stare at one another for a moment, the weight of Sanemi’s unspoken admission hanging above your heads like the sword of Damocles.

But then, the blade drops, and it must impale you both, because suddenly your hands fall from the elevator doors and are tangling in his hair at the same moment Sanemi’s fingers latch onto your waist, and your mouths slam together in a fiery clash of lips and teeth.

The elevator doors slide shut behind you right as Sanemi presses you up against the paneled wall and slides his tongue into your mouth.

At the first stroke of his tongue against yours, you tense, and for one panicked moment, he fears he’s gone too far. But then you’re melting against him, and the way you tug on his hair and whimper his name against his lips makes Sanemi loses his goddamn mind.

Time stands still and there are no thoughts in Sanemi’s brain but the feel of your hands running down his arms, his chest, pushing under the open collar of his shirt to dance along his burning skin.

They can’t get to the 26th floor fast enough, no matter how fast the numbers tick past, bringing them closer and closer to privacy —

The elevator jolts to a stop, somewhere between the 29th and 28th floors, and does not move.

It’s just his fucking luck; the girl of his dreams is pressed flush against him, her lips at his ear as she begs for him, and the goddamn elevator has forgotten how to work. If his hands weren’t so busy pushing under the hem of that slip you call a dress to fondle the curve of your ass, he might’ve put a hole through the one of the doors.

He punches the button for the 26th floor again and again, his sanity fraying with each urgent jab of his fingers, yet the elevator still does not move.

If the idea that the pair of you are stranded in a metal box of death suspended over twenty stories high bothers you, Sanemi wouldn’t be able to tell — not when you’ve decided to turn your attention someplace else.

“What’re you —“ Sanemi’s voice is hardly more than a croak as your hands busy themselves with the buckle on his belt, fumbling and tugging until the leather fastened around his hips gives way.

“Shhh!” A press of your index finger to his lips silences him. “Birthday boys shouldn’t worry!”

Your fingers hook under the waistband of his pants and suddenly they’re following you down as you slide to your knees before him.

Sanemi’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head at the way your half-lidded gaze drifts from his face down his body, coming to rest on the tent of his briefs, jutting out from between his thighs.

Your voice is syrupy and warm as you whisper, “I guess I should let you have your first gift,”

Sanemi forgets how to breathe when you peer back up at him, your eyes suddenly round and wide; he nearly forgets how to stand when you lean forward and press your cheek against the side of his cock where it strains against his underwear.

Sanemi sucks in sharply through clenched teeth at the sudden rush of cold elevator air against the heated, sensitive skin of his bare cock, your fingers having tugged him free from the confines of his briefs.

“F-first?” He can’t stop the way the question stutters out, not when your lips, just barely gazing against him, drag from his base to his tip. The soft exhale of your warm breath up his length has his hands shooting behind him for something — anything — to grip.

You hum in confirmation, and Sanemi’s vision almost blacks out when your tongue peeks past your glossy, red-stained lips to trail over his leaking head.

“But you’ll have to wait ‘til we get to your room before you can unwrap the next one.”

Sanemi swears he’ll set the entire hotel building on fire if the elevator doesn’t start working in the next fucking minute. His vicious promise, however, fades to the back of his mind, along with every other coherent thought he’s ever had as your lips part around his head and you take him into your mouth.

“Holy fuck,” Sanemi hisses and his head falls back against the elevator wall with a dull thump.

You him pleasantly around his cock and Sanemi nearly cums right there, the vibrations from your mouth too sweet, adding gasoline to the already raging inferno of his desire.

At first, you keep your hands primly folded behind you, only allowing your mouth to work his shaft. Every time you slide up off him, you curl your tongue against the underside of his cock and every time, Sanemi has to draw upon every morsel of self-restraint he possesses to not buck further down your throat.

But soon, your hands pat their way to his, and you bring his hands against either side of your head. You hold them there for only a moment, just long enough for Sanemi’s stomach to flip as he realizes what you’re giving him permission to do.

You peer up at him with those big eyes, so wide and deceptively innocent, and he knows you’re trying to kill him.“Motherfucking — Y/N,” he moans, threading his fingers through your hair. “Fuck.”

With his grip in your hair secure, Sanemi begins to fuck your mouth. His cock slides in and out of your heat, every push shoving a little more of himself further into your mouth. You only relax your throat, your tongue still curling against the underside of his shaft in a way that makes Sanemi see white.

Sanemi’s hold on your hair tightens. “Fucking take it,” he pants, hips bucking against your face. “My little cock whore.” From his position over you, Sanemi can see the way his words make you squirm with need, your answering moan long, and deep.

Your hands flutter to the side of his thighs, and Sanemi almost winces at the prick of your nails against his skin. But despite the saliva steadily trailing down your chin and the guttural sounds choking in the back of your throat, you’re tugging him closer, your fingers inching around to grip his backside, pressing him closer and closer to you until your nose brushes his groin.

The elevator jolts with movement and resumes its descent, but neither of you notice. All Sanemi can focus on his the way his tip bumps against the back of your throat, and how your cheeks hollow against him as he ruts into your mouth.

Sanemi makes a strangled noise in the vague shape of your name. “I-I’m gonna —“

You only need to swallow around him once before Sanemi is filling your throat with his cum. With a deep groan, his head drops back, his hand splayed across the back of your skull, keeping your nose pressed against his base as he rocks his hips, his cock twitching violently in your mouth.

His eyes fly open when he feels the wetness from your tears against the sensitive skin of his groin, and he’s quick to pull out of your mouth. Your hands bracing against his thighs as you gulp down air in heavy, shuddering gasps.

“Fuck — I’m sorry,” his hands smooth worryingly over your hair. “That was too rough, I’m so fuckin’ sorry-“

Your head snaps up, and Sanemi feels a brief moment of panic at the sight of your mascara, streaked down your cheeks from an onslaught of tears. Bht then you’re smiling at him, a big, triumphant, radiant smile, and Sanemi feels almost as dumb in the head as he had when your mouth was around his cock.

The elevator slows and Sanemi hastily tucks himself back into his pants. The moment his belt is refastened, his hand is on your arm, gently guiding you up to stand right as a ding! sounds, and the doors slide open to reveal the 26th floor.

You step out first, turning back to him expectantly. “Well? What room?”

Sanemi’s heart falls to his ass as he beholds the assured confidence blazing in your eyes. “2602,” he manages to croak.

You tug him out of the elevator and for a few moments, he’s dumbstruck by his good fortune. It almost feels like a dream, that your here, leading him down the winding hallway of this oversized and overpriced hotel, eager to get back to his room and do whatever the hell it is that’s lit that fire in your eyes.

Sanemi’s awe is short-lived, replaced by a crashing wave of need and boiling desire, hot and furiously bubbling under his skin. His hand tightens around yours and he jerks you around, spinning you until you’re caged tightly between the hallway wall and his chest.

His mouth attacks your neck, biting and sucking his claim into your skin, no matter how temporary. Your leg hikes up to hook around his hips, your foot pressed against his calf, and it seems neither of you care that you’re very much still on an open hallway as opposed to the privacy of his hotel room.

“I’m not holding back with you,” he whispers against the hollow of your throat. His hands slide hotly down your sides, fingers toying under the absurdly short hem of your dress, kneading just beneath the curve of your ass. “You asked me what I wanted — I want this. You.”

Your sultry giggle in his ear chokes off as Sanemi’s finger dips under your ass from behind to run firmly over your clothed slit. A breathy fuck falls from his lips as he feels the wetness seeping through the fabric of your underwear.

“That’s your main gift,” you’re tugging on his hair again until you’ve pulled him away from your throat so that you can slant your mouth over his. “Me. However you want me.”

You take his bottom lip between your teeth and suck, and Sanemi swears he’s died and gone to heaven. “As many times as you want.”

“And in whatever positions you want.”

Sanemi has never been a particularly religious man, but he thinks he’s about one nanosecond from dropping to his knees in worship of you.

Sanemi wastes no time in hauling you over his shoulder, throwing any and all cares to the wind of being seen as he slaps your ass and books the remaining trek back to his hotel room. Youre lucky his room is only around the corner, given that you won’t stop groping his ass.

Somehow, Sanemi manages to fumble for his keycard and swipes it, and he has you inside his room and pushed up against the door before it even fully latches shut.

You’re moaning and panting just from his hands, and Sanemi can feel himself already growing hard once more. His lips are feverish as they roam from your lips, to your neck, and down to the hem of your dress concealing your soft breasts from sight. His hands are even greedier, bunching the tissue-paper-like fabric of you dress between his fingers as he explores the curves and dips of your body.

“God you feel so fucking good,” he mutters against your lips between kisses. “I can’t get enough of you.”

From the way your hands drag down his chest, fingers sliding between the undone buttons of his shirt to explore his chest, he knows you’re just as starved as he is.

With a slight whine, you push him back, breaking your kiss. Sanemi looks at you, but the question building on his tongue does as you kick your heels off, your fingers flying to the straps of your dress.

Sanemi feels locked in place by the heat of your gaze, and he swears he can feel his pulse tick in his neck. One by one, you push the straps of your dress from your shoulders, letting the satiny material fall down your waist and puddle around your feet.

If Sanemi thought he was losing his mind before, he knows for certain that he likely needs to be committed now.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Sanemi’s stare is unabashed and gaping. For beneath that flimsy scrap of shiny fabric pretending to be a dress was not your bare skin, but dark green lace and mesh and corset paneling.

A teddy.

You twist slightly so you’re looking over your shoulder, fully exposing your ass and the thong-like back of your one-piece to the slack-jawed birthday boy.

“I figured you would like this one.”

Your words knock Sanemi right off his axis, his head spinning so fast, it’s a miracle it’s still attached to his shoulders.

You’d worn fucking lingerie for his party.

For him.

You’d gone out of your way to wear something you thought he would like on the mere chance you’d end up as you were now, here in his room. You’d planned for it.

You didn’t leave him any other choice; he was going to fucking ruin you.

His hand flies behind his neck to grip his shirt, ripping it over his head and throwing it unceremoniously to the side.

Sanemi doesn’t fail to notice the way your tongue darts out to wet your lips, your pupils blowing wide at the sight of the sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen.

He kicks off his shoes and his hands shove his pants quickly down his legs, grateful that he hadn’t bothered to refasten his belt or button after the stunt you pulled in the elevator.

“C’mere,” he orders, roughly. Left in just his black briefs, he lunges forward to take you into his arms once more.

Your peal of laughter as Sanemi throws you onto his king-sized hotel bed is the prettiest thing he’s ever heard. He wastes no time pouncing on you, eager to reconnect your lips, to kiss you until you’re left as breathless and wanting as he is.

Between messy kisses, Sanemi’s hands make their way down your body, squeezing and marveling at the way your body seems made for his touch. And as if the feeling of your skin beneath his palms isn’t enough to drive him wild, you’re so responsive to his touch. Every stroke of his hands seems to bring you alive until you’re practically thrumming with want and begging him for more.

His fingers slide over your lace-covered cunt and he swears at the dampness he feels clean through the fabric of your teddy.

“Eager, are we?” He hums, his lips following down the path he traced with his hands. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”

Your hips buck impatiently against him as his face settles between your thighs. He grins at your desperation, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your inner thigh until he reaches your covered slit.

He lets his tongue peek out between his lips and drags it over until he reaches your other thigh, groaning at the faint taste of you dampening the lace.

Sanemi’s fingers push under the edge of the teddy, a breath blowing past his lips when he connects with your dripping cunt.

“Look how fucking soaked you are,” he says in awe, marveling the way your slick coats his fingers. “Is this all for me?”

You groan, pushing your hips down to grind harder against his hand.

“Just fuck me already,” you huff. “I’m ready now.”

Sanemi tsks softly at you. “You need to ask a lot nicer than that, sweet girl.”

Your impatient demands taper off into soft moans as Sanemi sinks a single finger into your entrance, his cock growing impossibly hard at the feeling of you clenching easily around him.

Sanemi practically trembles at the thought of sinking into your heat, of how you might feel clenching and pulsing around his length while he fucks you the way he’s been dreaming since he met you.

But while he might be pent up, Sanemi isn’t so much of an asshole that he wouldn’t make sure you were good and ready to take him.

So he simply tugs the crotch of your teddy aside and without any further teasing or torture, he latches his mouth to your cunt with a deep moan.

As his tongue darts between your folds, Sanemi realizes that all the cake in the world couldn’t compare to how fucking sweet your pussy tastes.

You cry out, his name stuttering out between a staccato of moans and cooes for more. Your hands twist in his hair, alternating between pulling his face closer to your core and pushing him away, the pleasure almost too much for you to bear.

Sanemi thinks he could get drunk on your taste. His eyes open to watch the way your face pinches, how your jaw goes slack to let his name drip from your tongue.

Your hands unwind from his hair to tug at the sinful draping of lace fitted against your body like a glove. “Off,” you whimper. “Off.”

It takes him a moment to realize what you want. But after another plea of “off,” Sanemi’s hands are already working to push the teddy down your lithe form.

“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you,” he soothes, dragging the lingerie off your legs. Sanemi swears softly at the sight of you, bare and spread out on his mattress, your body pliant and ready for him to use however he chooses.

“S-Sanemi,” he can’t suppress his grin at the apparent whine in your tone. “I feel so — so empty —“

He doesn’t try to hold in the groan resounding deep from his chest. Youre asking — practically begging — for his cock, and Sanemi doesn’t have the willpower to deny you.

“Fuck this,” he snarls, and suddenly your body is caged under his, his hips slotting perfectly into the cradle of your thighs. “I need to be in you.”

His lips dance feverishly up the side of your neck until they reconnect with yours.

For a moment, your kiss slows to something more sensual and passionate, as opposed to the heated and frantic kisses you’d exchanged earlier. The sigh you exhale against his mouth is the sexiest thing Sanemi has ever heard, and the feeling of your fingers latching in his hair is a sensation he never wants to forget.

Your tongue swipes along his lower lip in a silent request for entry that he’s only too happy to grant. You moan against the taste of yourself on his tongue.

Sanemi knows he’s been head over heels for you for a long time, but the way your tongue dances languidly with his has him utterly undone.

If you wanted to, he’d let you swallow him whole.

Your kiss melts into something more needy and frantic, and Sanemi feels your wetness grind down against his thigh, a pleading whimper building on your lips. With an eagerness that makes his head spin, your legs shift to lock around his waist, and one of the hands you’d had latched in his hair drifts down his abdomen until it finds his cock, heavy and hot in your palm.

“I’ve got a condom —“ Sanemi manages between desperate kisses. “In my wallet —“

But your legs tighten around his hips and your hand pumps harder at his stiffened length. “Don’t need it,” you murmur against his lips. “On the pill.”

Sanemi thinks he might pass out. “Fuck — are you sure?”

You nod, eyes bright and alert even in spite of your sleepy, fucked-out smile. “Wanna feel you, baby.”

Don’t have to fucking tell him twice. Especially not when you’re calling him baby, even if it’s a pet name you’ll only use on him for the night.

With deft hands, Sanemi flips you so that your front is pressed against the mattress. You scramble beneath him to plant your knees, raising your ass high in the air, your cunt held out in an offering he could never refuse.

He gives one of your pert ass cheeks an appreciative smack before he shuffles forward on his knees. He rests one foot on the outside of your leg, parallel with your hip, and slots his other knee between your parted thighs. One hand grips the base of his cock while the other kneads at your hip, holding you steady while also keeping your limbs relaxed as he lines his tip up with your dripping entrance.

“Unless you say otherwise, ‘M goin’ hard,” he warns, his voice rougher than gravel. “Been waiting too long to do this.”

Ever the devilish little minx, you wiggle your hips back against him, and his breath chokes in his throat when your wet heat catches him at his tip.

You look back over your shoulder and Sanemi’s gaze darkens at the challenge in your eyes. “Give me everything you’ve got.”

Sanemi decides to respond to your taunt not with his words, but with his body. In a single, fluid movement, he plunges his cock deep into your heated core, his fingers tightening around your hips with bruising force.

“Jesus fuck,” he pants once he’s fully embedded to the hilt inside your warmth.

It’s unreal; the feeling of your silken, pleasure-soaked walls moulding around his cock like you were made to take him sends a bolt lightning surging down his spine, making him shudder.

A cross between a cry and a scream tears from your throat, muffled only by the press of your mouth against the starchy blankets of his hotel bed. He’s about to ask if you’re okay, if you want him to go slow for a bit since he knows he’s a larger than average. but then you’re throwing your hips back against him, circling and grinding and mewling for more.

“Fuck me,” you moan. “Fuck me, Sanemi — please.”

“God fucking damn,” Sanemi hisses through clenched teeth. And he knows he can’t deny you, not when your whining so prettily for him; nor when your pussy feels this fucking good.

He draws back, his cock sliding out of you until only his tip remains. He lingers there, for just a hair’s breadth of a moment, teasing.

Your impatient whine doesn’t last long as Sanemi slams you back onto him, the sound choking off in your throat. He doesn’t give you time to recover; he digs his fingers into the flesh of your hips and drives his cock into you again and again, pounding a relentless rhythm into you that has you sobbing into the mattress.

“Yes, yes, yes!” You blubber, your fingers fisted into the blankets below for purchase as you push yourself back to meet his frenzied thrusts.

Sanemi can’t tear his eyes away from where his cock, shiny with your wetness, disappears in and out of you. “You’re taking me so fuckin’ well,” he says in awe. Your pussy is gripping him like a vice, practically sucking him back into your heat. “You like letting me use you, huh?”

Sanemi shifts so that his weight is on the knee resting beside your leg, allowing him to push harder and deeper into your cunt. You try to lift your head, but Sanemi’s hand leaves its place on your hip to press down on the back of your neck, squeezing lightly.

“Oh f-fuck,” you groaned, voice slightly muffled from where your face was half-pressed into the mattress. “Oh god — just like that — D-daddy, yes —“

Sanemi’s hips stutter. Daddy. No one has ever called him that in the bedroom before, but fuck if it doesn’t somehow make him harder than a fucking diamond.

Especially because it seems like it slipped out of you without much thought, your eyes too busy staring at the back of your skull as every punishing thrust of Sanemi’s cock into your pliant cunt makes your body bounce against the mattress.

He likes it. A lot.

“Should’ve known you’d have a daddy kink, filthy little thing,” he groans, his hand reaching under you to toy with your swollen clit.

You only moan in response, and Sanemi can’t help but to swirl his fingers around that nub, savoring the way it makes your thighs quiver beneath you.

The hand still pressing against the back of your neck slides up to grip your hair, and Sanemi pulls your head up from the bed. “Do you call everyone ‘daddy,’ sweetness, or just those who fuck you the way you like it?”

“Not everyone” you gasp, voice strained against the tight arch of your neck. “Just you — ah! Only you.”

With a growl, Sanemi’s arm locks around your middle and hauls you up until your back is flush against his chest. One hand wraps around your jaw, his fingers squeezing your cheeks to keep your head back as he continues pounding into you.

“Look at you,” his exhales hotly against your ear, his teeth grazing your lobe. “Daddy’s pretty little toy.”

Your thighs quake in their effort to keep you up. Your moans raise an octave, warbling out of your throat as you settle heavily against him, utterly helpless against the pleasure rolling through your body.

Sanemi’s hand drops from your jaw to drag teasingly down your torso. When he reaches your lower belly, he presses his palm flat, the pressure allowing the blunt head of his cock to rub against that sensitive spot that makes you sing his name.

“You feel that, baby?” And the whine that slips out of you is one he wishes he could bottle up. “That’s all me — that’s how deeply I’m fucking you.”

He’s practically holding you up, your limbs little more than jelly, but he doesn’t mind. He only increases the pressure of his hand, rubbing slightly over the softness of your stomach.

“And that’s where I’m gonna fill you up, ‘til you’re nice and full, hm?”

A stilted cry of his name is dragged from your lips, and Sanemi swears he’d marry you tomorrow, if you’d let him.

It’s not lost on him that this is likely a one-time thing; that you’ll likely leave his hotel room and the two of you won’t speak of it again, but he can’t find it within himself to give a shit.

It doesn’t matter if this is just a slightly drunken hook up — it doesn’t matter to him if it’s just sex. You’re letting him use your body for his pleasure, and that thought is enough to make his brain turn to liquid between his ears.

Sanemi falls back against the bed, bringing you with him, your back still pressed against his chest. He winds an arm around one of your thighs, holding it open to allow himself to continue fucking up into you with the speed of a racehorse.

“God you’re so fuckin’ tight — don’t want me to leave, do you, precious?”

He chuckles in your ear, catching your lobe between his teeth. His hand wedges between your thighs to play with your clit again, and the way your pussy flutters around him signals that you’re right on the precipice of your orgasm.

The first of the night, if he had anything to say about it.

“Maybe I should make you my own personal cocksleeve — would you like that, sweetheart?” You’re mewling, nodding frantically as you squirm and thrash atop him.

“Would you like to sit on Daddy’s cock all day, keep him nice and warm?”

“Yes!” You sob, and Sanemi’s fingers circle your clit even harder, determined to to make you cum. “Yes, ‘Nemi, please! I’ll be your good girl — I’ll be so good —“

Sanemi’s pace falters slightly at your words, a new idea — a wicked idea, forming fast in his mind. “You will, huh?”

He abruptly pulls out of you, though the anguished cry that rattles out of you at the loss of his warmth tugs at his heartstrings. After all, you’d been so close.

Sanemi wastes no time flipping you under him, hooking both your legs over his muscled shoulders until the underside of your thighs press flat against his chest.

“You’ll cum when I say so,” he shoves his painfully hard cock back into your pulsing warmth, his knuckles turning white under his grip against the rumpled blankets as he fights to keep his eyes from rolling back at the feeling of being sheathed back inside you once more.

“And you’re gonna fuckin’ look at me when i fill you up,” Sanemi snarls between ferocious snaps of his hips. “I wanna see that gorgeous face when I cum inside this pretty little pussy.”

“Yes! Yes s-sir.”

“Yeah? And who’s fucking you this good?”

“Y-you,”

He ducks his head down to nip sharply at your breast. “Try again.”

“You are — D-daddy,”

Sanemi’s pace only increases. “Still not what I’m looking for, princess,” he’s borderline cruel and he knows it, but he also knows what he wants. “Tell me whose pussy this is.”

You don’t answer; you can’t, given how slack your jaw has gone, your mouth frozen in a perfect “o” as Sanemi pushes the head of his cock right at that spot deep within you that makes you seize down on him hard enough that he sees stars.

He growls your name and when you still don’t respond, he snaps his hips particularly hard against yours.

“Say it.”

His hand shoves between your bodies, and Sanemi pinches your clit harshly between this thumb and index finger.

“Sanemi!” You wail, writhing under him. His fingers rub soothing circles against your clit, though the relentless thrust of his cock does not ease.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, and the pressure of his fingers against your throbbing nub increases. “Now cum on this fucking cock.”

That does it.

Your back arcs sharply up off the mattress, thighs tightening around his hips as your cunt clenching around him with earth-shattering force. Sanemi feels a smug wave of pride as a surge of fluid springs forth and coats his abdomen and groin.

You fall back against the bed, limp and spent, but Sanemi isn’t done with you yet; you won’t be, not until Sanemi has left his mark.

He shifts over you, his full weight pressing you down into the mattress; his hands pushing your knees up until they’re level with your chest. You sigh and hum, still wading through the haze of your orgasm, but given the way you let your thighs spread a little wider, you’re aware enough to know that Sanemi is readying you to take his release.

It’s not enough; Sanemi doesn’t want you lost in the aftermath of your euphoria — he wants you crying out for his.

His hand grips your face, your cheeks squishing together beneath his fingers as he forces your head to tilt toward him. Your eyes flutter open, bleary and unfocused before the clouds part and your attention is locked wholly on him.

“Beg for it,” he grits out, his hand smacking against your clit until you howled. “Beg for my cum.”

“Please!” Your cry is shrill and desperate, your hands tightening weakly around his shoulders. “Please f-fill me up — oh, Sanemi —“

He nearly loses it at the way you say his name, like it’s some damn prayer and he, your salvation, but he holds back. It’s not enough — he wants you as filthy and wanton as him.

“Use your words,” his words leave him in a single, inexorable command.

Your lower lip wobbles. “Your cum — please, please fill this pussy up. Fill me up, fuck it into me —“

Sanemi cuts off your babbling with a single, bruising kiss. He feels his balls tighten, and the prickle at the base of his spine grows hotter, signaling just how close he is to nirvana.

His hand finds one of yours where it clings to his shoulder, a fruitful attempt to anchor yourself, and he pulls it away. Sanemi presses your hand back against the mattress, interlacing his fingers with yours.

Your pussy flutters around him in time with your thumb stroking over his knuckle, and that’s all it takes.

“Oh fuck —“ Sanemi grunts before he feels himself explode. With a strangled yell, Sanemi’s hips slam into yours, pushing his cock as deep as it can possibly go, and his release crashes into him with mind-blowing force.

it’s the hardest and the most he’s ever come in his entire life. Nothing else has ever or will ever compare to this.

But even as his release spurts heavily inside your honeyed core, Sanemi doesn’t relent in his pace. His hips keep rolling steadily into you, prolonging his release to the point his toes curl, and he wonders whether his nose might start bleeding.

The corners of your mouth tilt up, a pleased groan vibrating loud and wanton in your throat as you feel him fuck his hot seed right into the Eden of your body.

Despite the mind-numbing pleasure of his orgasm, Sanemi won’t let himself look away. The face you make as he fills you up is the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

Sanemi stays buried in your heat for several more moments as he comes down from his high, his head dropping into the crook of your shoulder. With a grunt, he pulls out, dropping down next to you in a flurry of messy blankets and pillows.

You push yourself to your side, a hand coming to push the sweat-dampened ends of his bangs from his eyes. “Good birthday?” You tease, your cheeks flushed bright red, your eyes bright.

“The best,” Sanemi agrees, his eyes scanning your face, committing every detail of you and your post-sex glow to memory.

The two of you lay next to one another for a little while, talking and quietly laughing. Neither one of you seems eager to leave the bed, and Sanemi in particular finds himself hoping today never ends.

Eventually, nature calls and he excuses himself — reluctantly — to the bathroom. When he emerges, he’s greeted with the sight of your ass, bare and exposed as you nestle into the bed, one leg kicking lazily up into the air behind you.

Fuck, you’re too beautiful, and he is far too weak.

He approaches the side of the bed, stretching out one hand to drag teasingly down your spine, until he reaches your ass, knuckles kneading the soft flesh.

His eyes flit to the small clock perched on the hotel nightstand. Sanemi’s grin turns lupine as he reads time reflected by the green-tinted digits.

Sanemi’s fingers skirt down to your ankle, gripping it firmly in his hand. He tugs you over the side of the bed until your head dangles off the edge, your hair stretching towards the ground. “Looks like it’s still my birthday, darling. I ain’t finished enjoying my present yet,” he grips the base of his half-hard cock and taps it against your lips. “And I’ve been dying to cum all over this pretty face of yours.”

—-

True to his word, Sanemi takes him time ravishing his birthday gift. When the clock on the nightstand finally reads 12:01 AM, he flops down next to you, chest heaving as he works to catch his breath.

You lay beside him, panting in tandem with him from the exertion of the night’s activities. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t sticky as a result of the heady mixture of your sweat and Sanemi’s cum.

You feel his eyes searing into you as you trail a finger through the milky white splattered across your chest — a favorite place of his to cum, as you’d learned, second only to spilling inside of you.

Sanemi hardly holds back a whimper at the way you bring it to your lips, letting your tongue lick your finger clean of his pleasure.

“You’re trying to drive me wild, woman,” he throws a tired arm over his face, shrouding his eyes. “You torture all your hookups like this?”

He’s surprised at how quickly you sit up in bed, your eyes flashing.

“Hookup?”

Sanemi props a fist under his cheek. “Well, yeah,” he winces slightly, searching for more careful words. “I don’t expect anything from you. I appreciate the birthday surprise, though.”

Your gaze is leveled, and your voice even. “I don’t buy lingerie for one-night stands, Sanemi. That shit is an investment.”

His eyes blow wide, and he feels the erratic thrum of his heart stuttering in his throat.

“I want you,” you say firmly. “And I had every intention when I followed you in here tonight for this —“ your hand waves back and forth between your chests. “— to continue.”

It’s a miracle Sanemi is able to speak at all. “I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.”

You grin. “Well, now that you’ve fucked me, I guess you should take me on a date.” You pause, trailing one delicate finger down his chest. “But I won’t make you wait until we’ve been on three before I let you fuck me again.”

Your hand dips below the edge of the blanket and glides teasingly over his cock, already beginning to stir once more. “You’re far too delicious.”

Sanemi snatches your hand and rolls you under him before you can blink, your answering giggle the sweetest music ever to grace his ears.

“Y’know, in other parts of the world, it’s still the 29th,” he murmurs huskily, grazing his lips against yours. “So by that logic…”

You nod, eyebrows drawn together in seriousness. “We’re obligated to keep celebrating.”

Sanemi’s lips are already trailing down your body, savoring the taste of himself on your skin. He settles back between your legs, marveling at the way your thighs fall to the side so easily to accommodate his mass.

He presses a sweet kiss against your clit. “You’re just the gift that keeps on giving, aren’t you, darlin’?”

[tkpuke]

23 and jayvik pretty please :3

Jayce + Viktor - 23. “Yes…I mean, no!”

author’s note: okay so the plot for this was heavily inspired by @ticklish-ghost , @home-of-the-squirmle and I’s discussion on one of their posts so why not make it into a fic okay? okay cool

It was nearing midnight, the only light shining into the lab through the curtains was the moon and its luminescent stars scattered around the sky. Viktor perched an elbow on the table, leaning his cheek on his hand while reading a book that could hold answers to have them move forward with their project. They were close, but it seemed like they were met with a dead end. Scientists don’t take those lightly, so they hungrily search for other possibilities and correct their mistakes on what went wrong.

He doesn’t have a clue on his partner’s whereabouts, but he’s not going to waste time searching for him. Usually Viktor takes the extra mile and works on projects a little more than he’s suppose to. He tends to struggle with the definition of teamwork when he’s been mostly alone his entire childhood, so he has no issue working alone while Jayce heads off for other duties or sleeps at a healthy time compared to Viktor’s sleep schedule.

It was peaceful and quiet. Viktor treasures nights like these. Until something was dropped beside him, creating a loud thunk.

“Look what I made.” A voice suddenly spoke out from behind, it belonging to Jayce which made Vitkor nearly jump a foot from his chair. “Jesus Christ—Jaycewhendidyougethere-“ He looked beside him to see what was dropped, picking it up to examine. An iron knife in the perfect size to fit in your pocket, the ends in a twisted pattern to make it look a little stylish. His face doesn’t show it, but Viktor is slightly impressed. There is no interest in him for weapons, but when it’s created so clean and perfected by Jayce himself, he can’t help but be in awe.

He then puts the knife down, finally meeting Jayce’s eyes. “Another tool that will never be used for its purpose.” Clear to say Jayce has made a couple of tools, most having the same theme: sharp and dangerous. He never uses them, as Viktor stated, but Jayce always gives the ‘you never know’ excuse. In reality the man just gets bored out of his mind at times and gets these random surges of creativity to go down and make any toys his heart desires. Who wouldn’t if they had the skill to properly do so?

Viktor’s eyes started to register that Jayce is full on shirtless right in front of him, muscles exposed and pumped to its core from all the wielding. It never really dawned on him how strong of a guy Jayce is, feeling a bit fragile and small the more he compared his own build to him. How easy it could be for Jayce to effortlessly pin him. How he could take away Viktor’s right to squirm by simply sitting on his waist. How he could be picked up with one singular arm by Jayce with zero sweat.

Jayce caught on to his more than five second stare. Viktor noticed.

He took attention to the soot covered all over Jayce’s upper body, taking that as an explanation of his longing stare. “You’re dirty. Here, sit.” Viktor nudged his head over to a nearby chair, heading over to grab a cloth that will soon be damped with water and soap. “Oh, thank you. You really don’t have to.” Jayce chuckles all flustered in appreciation by Viktor’s care, taking the seat anyway. Viktor comes back, starting to dab the cloth on his shoulders while he works his way down. “Hmph, I’ve seen you sleep before in this state. Least I can do is help you get cleaned up.”

“Hey, I get too exhausted sometimes!” Jayce replies defensively, but gives a soft smile at the end. He grabs the knife he created earlier, fingers feeling around it. “You have to admit, this one looks a bit cooler than the others I have made.” Viktor nods in somewhat agreement, now focusing on the upper chest to clean off. “You can keep it, if you want to of course.”

Viktor shakes his head, not meeting Jayce’s eyes while conversing. “There’s no need for me to have it, but thank you for your…kind offer.”

“You’re keeping it.” Jayce responds back with, putting it on top of the open book Vitkor was previously reading so he won’t forget to take it with him. The other only sighs, being aware it’s a losing battle to argue with Jayce when he’s so set on gifting someone something they’ve never asked for. It’s one of the man’s many love languages: giving gifts.

His hand started moving down more, getting near his upper ribs. A quick shift of change in Jayce’s demeanor, beginning to have trouble sitting still like before and biting down his lip hard. Viktor catches on. Of course he did when he begin to rub the cloth against his body more gently, hoping it sent a ticklish shockwave. Revenge was right in front of him from all the times Viktor was ruthlessly, in his opinion, tickled silly by Jayce who never shot down an opening opportunity to do so. Little to Jayce’s knowledge, Viktor has been seeking out opportunities himself to get back. The whole idea of touch is just a subject he awkwardly moves around in, never having someone so playful and lovingly touchy like Jayce in his life.

With the way Jayce was squirming and huffing air out of his nose to suppress the giggles forming in his throat, it fueled newfound confidence in Viktor’s actions. He took it a step further, pretending a spot of soot around Jayce’s ribs was giving him difficulty to rub off, so he pressed his fingers deeper while curling them a little.

Not expecting the firmer touch along with feeling nails through the cloth gliding around his ribs freely, a surprised gasp slips out. Small giggles came right after, instinctively grabbing ahold of Viktor’s wrist. Viktor raises a brow, feigning confusion. “Sorry, does this tickle?”

“Yes…I mean, no!” Jayce got too distracted from the ticklish grazes that the question failed to register on time for him to think of an answer that may save his dignity. Viktor nudges Jayce’s firm grip off of his wrist, and he hesitantly does so. His partner looks up, doing incredibly well on not cracking a smile to foil his true intentions. “Yes? No? Which one is it?”

Jayce finds Viktor’s calmness to a newfound discovery nerve-racking, wishing he could read his mind right then and there. This is the first time Viktor has ever tried to tickle Jayce, but the poor man truly believes it was done on accident. He’s been so use to Viktor taking his ticklish onslaughts like a champ and never immediately attacking back, or even days later. Jayce had his own assumption that Viktor would never live up fully to his playfulness and do so much as tickle him back. The guy doesn’t even complete Jayce’s friendly hugs most of the time by wrapping his own arms around him, just kind of standing there until he pulls away.

So that’s why Jayce is sitting here, staring into Viktor’s questioning eyes, not knowing exactly on how to respond. He decides to lie, feeling like there’s no use in telling the truth if Viktor won’t indulge a little more.

“Um, just a little. Felt weird mostly.” He so badly does a terrible job of convincing. He releases a quiet held back sigh, not knowing if it was out of relief or disappointment when Viktor continued on cleaning after not questioning him a bit more. Viktor created a pattern, dragging the cloth and his fingers across Jayce’s skin that wasn’t ticklish at all. Then in the middle of doing so, he would press more firmly and curl his fingers again just enough for his nails to graze.

Jayce is terrible at holding in his giggles, making weird ‘kcchh!’ noises and sometimes letting a couple out for a few seconds but in a whisper tone as if Viktor isn’t right in front of him to hear them all. “You’re giggling a lot for someone who claims to just be a little ticklish.” Viktor nonchalantly states, placing a hand on top of Jayce’s shoulder to keep him steady. Jayce was about to do another failed attempt of denying until that pattern Viktor was doing met down around his stomach.

Jayce snorts, instantly slapping a hand to cover his mouth in shock as Viktor pauses his movements. His mouth twitches upward for a split second, almost smiling from Jayce’s flushed cheeks. “Oh, so it does tickle.”

“Viktor, wait—“

“You lied to me?”

“Nononono, it’s just that—“

“No need to explain yourself, Jayce. I’ll be careful.” You’d have to be dumb to not practically hear the smile in Viktor’s tone. Both of them, and if anyone else were to be in that room, would very much know that Victor won’t be ‘careful’. Viktor kept up that god forsaken pattern again, but this time letting it tickle Jayce more frequently than it cleaning.

He observed Jayce’s reactions, testing out different areas around his stomach and what brought out a louder reaction than the other. Fingers curling to the middle of his stomach earned him a full boisterous laugh. Nearing his belly button made him receive laughs that shot an octave higher with an occasional whistle coming from the gap of his two front teeth. Cleaning over his belly button made Jayce snort again, a noise Viktor was seeking out for.

Jayce’s rambunctious laugh got Viktor stuck in a trance. How it’s so loud it can be heard from all over Piltover. Jayce’s high pitch snorts coming out only when Viktor tickles somewhere particularly more sensitive. His eyes being closed shut, a random push to Viktor’s face as if it’ll tone down the ticklish sensations. Viktor now understands Jayce completely. He doesn’t want to stop the fun and hearing the flow of his laugh, everything so mesmerizing and ridiculously childish. Viktor could do this all day. 

Two hands grab Viktor’s wrists while a leg kicked out when he dragged the cloth over his belly button again, shaking his head. “Hohold on plehehease!”

Viktor scoffed. “Stop being a baby. I’m not doing anything.” But it was clear as day everything was now being done with purpose. Hands still holding onto Viktor’s wrists, Jayce takes the granted time to catch his breath. “Hehehe…ohohokay, I am one hundred percent sure I’m clean now.”

Viktor tsked, watching him take in air like he ran a marathon. “I think you might be more ticklish than me, Jayce. Isn’t that something?” Jayce abruptly stares at him, peeved. “Ohoho, is that what you think? Let’s put it to the test then.”

Viktor is now the one grabbing at Jayce’s wrists, pushing with all his might out of reach. “No, Jayce! Stop!” Jayce manages to skitter across Viktor’s side, earning him a squeak that he’s terribly embarrassed of. Jayce relishes it.

“What are you, a mouse?” He teases, letting Viktor push his hands away so he can feel like he’s having the upper hand ever so often just to play fair. Viktor stops his attempts of fighting back, shooting a glare but meanwhile grinning. “At least I don’t snort like a pig.”

Viktor just sealed his own coffin shut. “Oh, is that how you want to play?” Jayce gets up from his spot, startling Viktor. He picks him up with ease, showing no effect of Viktor’s shoves and shouts to be put down at once. Jayce lays him down on the couch softly, a location Viktor is all too familiar with by how frequent Jayce pins him down and tickles him mercilessly whenever Viktor, in Jayce’s words, deserves it.

Jayce does not attack right away, taking the time out of pure entertainment to watch him struggle a bit as if by some miracle today is the day Viktor manages to escape Jayce’s evil clutches.

He’s already giggling. “Jahayce, I am telling you now. Do not.” He manages to sit up a bit, hoping to level with Jayce more and seem convincingly threatening when his cold glare meets his eyes.

Jayce’s hands started slowly moving downwards.

“I now know where you’re most ticklish. I promise you, I will not be gentle when my next chance comes if you dare to do this.”

A leap of excitement was felt in Jayce’s heart at those words, causing him to smile and shrug before drilling into Viktor’s hips.

“I can live with that.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Seeing that Epel and Rook used their unique magic, it makes me think everyone is gonna use their unique magic. Like imagine Kalim using his magic against his enemies or Jade use shock the heart for answers. Imagine reaching to Heartslabyul where everyone but Ace use it. This makes me think of Ace since he is a mysterious character and unclear motivation compare to the rest. What will be his dream? Will his unique magic be shown?

That’s true! Looking back, every character that is now “awake” has used their UM at least once:

Malleus uses Fae of Maleficence/Fae Maleficence to 7-37; this is the source of all our troubles in book 7 💀

Silver uses Meet in a Dream in 7-51, then again multiple times to dream hop and to wake up various students.

Lilia’s Far Cry Cradle is revealed in 7-81’s battle map via a flashback sequence. It is thanks to his UM that he understands the origins of the lone infant he finds in the ruins of Castle Wildrose. He blesses the baby and takes it under his wing as his own son… Silver.

Sebek’s Living Bolt, shown in 7-84, allows him to reach Silver and pull him out of the darkness that has swallowed him.

Idia uses Gate to (the) Underworld to open the gates to Tartarus and escape it in 7-114.

Book 7 confirms that Ortho is not capable of a UM, but is is his uniquely robotic ability to transfer his consciousness that allows him to adopt his Cerberus Gear in 7-50, infiltrate Sage’s Island, and return with valuable information to combat Malleus.

The magical glass coffin that Epel conjures with Sleep Kiss/Crimson Slumber in 7-135 protects Neige. It also (theoretically) slows the effects of Vil’s curse (the poisoned apple juice).

Rook uses I See You in 7-135 to tag Vil (who is sinking into the darkness of his dreams). This makes it easier for the gang to locate where Vil has gone.

Finally, in 7-138, Vil’s Fairest One of All allows him to poison Neige (who, up until this point, has been keeping tabs on him and preventing him from escaping the grasp of the dream) and rejoin with Yuu and co.

I guess since this is such a climactic book, the devs decided to go all out and have each boy show up and show off their own special power. This means we’ll most likely see the rest of the main NRC students using their UMs to help us out in the dreams! (Sasuga power of friendship…)

As for Ace! Now would be such an opportune time for him to develop his UM 😳 I believe the popular fan theory is still “Ace’s UM will allow him to copy others’ magic” since he mimics voices well and has a talent for quickly learning new skills (like dancing, as seen in book 5). And hey, if that’s the case then maybe Ace is the one who will be able to reverse Malleus’s magic if Malleus won’t willingly do it himself. Just spitballin’ here. Maybe Ace is frustrated that he can’t contribute in any way…? And then that feeling manifests as something?

How poetically ironic—the first student we meet ends up being the last to get their UM but also one of the final pieces of the puzzle to take OB Malleus down. It works out really well for Ace’s character too; he is the only character of the main cast who sees through the bullshit and calls people out, not caring about how influential or powerful they are.

I don’t actually think he’s that mysterious relative to other characters—we still barely know anything significant about Rook or Jade, for example (despite already diving into Rook’s dream). Rather, I think it’s more accurate to say that Ace has more simple desires. He just wants to be able to do what he wants when he wants, to not have to worry about his future plans. I don’t think his dream would really be anything that drastic; I see it as Ace living a chill life with his friends.

[pokegalla]

Haven’t watched this in awhile but I hope I do this some justice!

Request/trade from @neko-rose888

How do the bad sanses (+ Dream) deal with an S/o just like Yor Forger?

Dust:

* You two are literally the quiet duo. You would think that’s a bad thing right? Nah. Introverts just have their own way of communicating. So he actually understands you best. Which much to your relief helps you a lot.

* Now seeing you in battle is a whole ‘nother story. He didn’t think you had it in you. Even under the hoodie you can see his eyes go wide as you easily take down a group of strong men easily- you just earned this man’s instant affection-

* But if there’s one thing he’s more terrified of, it’s your cooking. He doesn’t panic but he’s pretty creative on getting rid of the evidence. Thank god he can teleport this away. No offense to you…he just can’t do it. But at least he’s discreet so he doesn’t hurt your feelings.

* To him you are a beautiful strong and independent woman…and he’ll protect you even in the shadows.

Killer:

* He thought you were the cutest damn thing ever. Teasing you with sweet words and gentle gestures to flirt and see your face turn red. Stars he can never get over that sight.

* But man seeing you in action just makes him fall in more love. Fighting side by side as people drop down to the floor as you dance together with your blades? Can he really think of anything more romantic than this?

* Your cooking is one thing he’s a little….scared of. He still eats it. He loves you that much! But man his nonexistent stomach hurts so much- worth it-🥲

* He still loves you though. His perfect thorn princess…he’ll be sure to dance again with you

Horror:

* Ironically both of you are pretty similar: both of you are absolutely precious but a little terrifying if necessary- Horror is like a big ol teddy bear who likes to tail you around to make sure you don’t hurt yourself and you make sure he’s ok too!

* But man both of you are RELENTLESS in battles. Downright chilling to the bone (pun intended-) with your cold glares and shocking strength. The switch up even makes the others nervous-

* But nothing more terrifying then Horror actually eating your cooking without any hesitation and even asking for seconds- thanks to him, you strive to do better in your cooking!

* He can’t help but have a soft spot for you. Just please do be careful. He worries a lot….

Error:

* Don’t let this tsundere act bullshit you- he finds you annoying but speaks up for you instantly? That man will glare anyone down if they try to take advantage of you-

* And despite being a little surprised at how capable you are in battle, he does still watch over you and assists you anyway he can. What? He knows you’re still a klutz. He’s not wanting to have to swoop in and save you because YOU aren’t paying attention- (he was being a worrywart-)

* He doesn’t really eat anything other than his chocolate bars but you swear someone has been tampering with your cooking….oh well. It does seem to taste better now!

* He might be a little jackass but that’s only because that’s what he wants you to see. He’s no softie dammit-!

Nightmare:

* He hired you for your services as your reputation exceeded you. But he was…not expecting someone so…well soft. He thought it was a facade but nope- purely that is your true character. Which was odd to him….could someone this innocent really do anything useful?

* Oh man but you shut him up with your actions. Your speed, your elegant skills, your raw power, he was mesmerized by it all. Could you really be the same gullible quiet girl….? Well you’ve earned his respect.

* With cooking, he actually helps you. At first you spoon feed him a taste and instead of panicking at the taste, he gives you an honest opinion, some advice, and even a cook book for you to follow. He does linger longer than he should have….

* He can’t help the soft spot that’s grown so fond of you. He’s hesitant but he can’t ignore how nice it feels to be with you….

Dream:

* He heard rumors of your deeds and wanted to put a stop to you. But when he first saw you…well he didn’t expect you to be so reserved. And kind. And sweet….he actually heard your story and you gained his empathy as he understood how you would feel the need to work hard for your sibling’s sake.

* He doesn’t agree with your work but he doesn’t stop you. Because he knows how important this is for you. But expect him to constantly make sure you’re ok and ready to heal you if necessary.

* As for cooking, he usually ends up cooking with you. Mostly because he smelled your cooking and was a little…concerned. But he decided to make this kinda like a fun dating activity while he teaches you! And oh how fun it was. You both couldn’t stop giggling.

* He really cherishes you and despite living different lives, you both make it work….

[ninzied]

and patience, and pining

in which alex is determined to flirt so hard that henry can no longer resist him. a modern au. based on the prompt: surprise kiss/impulsive kiss. ~1.8k.

Between the two of them, Alex has always thought he’d be the one to cave first.

They’ve both arrived at the same time. Henry looks stupid-good in his well-fitted tuxedo. His hair is just over-styled enough that Alex wants to mess it up, and badly.

How one man can be so like this is frankly upsetting. No, scratch that; it’s illegal, is what it is. Criminal law is not Alex’s domain, but he’s pretty sure being this tempting in public is a certifiable offense.

“Alex,” says Henry, and he blinks, at least some sense returning to him.

“Right,” he says. “Shall we?”

Henry gives him a look like he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet, which, the reception is not even open bar, so Alex can’t say he disagrees.

“After you, Your Majesty,” he says, stepping from the door with a flourish, then, “I saw that.”

“Saw what?” asks Henry, already shouldering past him with his chin turned up.

“If I had a dollar for every time you rolled your eyes at me—”

“Good taste still can’t be bought, Alex.”

“That’s ironic,” Alex shoots back, smiling and nodding at one of the guests as they enter. “Considering my tie is way better than yours.”

Henry lifts his hand at another in greeting, and even his wave looks fucking majestic, the asshole. “I trust you’ll be at least somewhat behaved this evening?”

“You sure that’s what you want, sweetheart?”

Henry’s expression turns very dour, and Alex wonders, not for the first time, why that particular look on him makes Alex so crazy. The more severe Henry gets, the wilder Alex’s impulse to kiss him, and the urge to just give in.

Alex licks his lips.

Henry takes a cautionary step back. “Let’s do try to make it through the rest of the night without much carnage, yes?”

“I don’t know,” Alex muses. “When you threaten me with a good time like that…”

Henry mutters something under his breath and Alex can’t help but grin. Maybe the night holds some promise after all.

.

He decides he’s going to have to walk that back after a while.

The music is decent, and he was wrong about the open bar, thank God, but he’s barely seen Henry since some crusty-looking Wall Street types whisked him and Pez away to talk business, and Alex is bored.

He wants to dance. He wants to dance—with Henry. And because that’s not going to happen, Alex wants to do the next best thing, which is to dance while Henry pretends not to watch, but he’s not even facing the dance floor right now so there would be no fucking point. He’ll have to think of something else. Hmmm.

Nora shimmies up to him then with two new flutes of champagne. Bless. “Still pining?” she asks.

Alex whips around to glare at her, wounded. “What? Nora, no,” he says. Is it that obvious? Fuck.

Nora shrugs. “You do the thing where you look him when you think he won’t notice. Both of you. You guys kind of have it down to a science.”

Alex brightens immediately. “You’ve seen him looking at me?”

Nora sips her champagne. “Right now, for example.”

Henry looks quickly away when Alex glances over, which is as good an invitation as any in his book. One of the suits is talking at Henry, who seems about as engaged as a teapot right now. Pez has dialed up the charisma, distracting them easily from Henry’s silence. But to Alex, Henry looks downright miserable in comparison.

Well, Alex is here to do something about that.

He plucks the second flute from Nora’s hand. “You’re the best. Gotta go.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t pining?”

“For that guy?” Alex gazes at Henry again, then says, quite honestly, “Always.”

.

It takes exactly two minutes for the Wall Street guys to politely excuse themselves. Alex watches them practically dissolve their way into the crowd, like a creepy bunch of Mr. Smiths from The Matrix, and he suppresses a shudder.

The look on Henry’s face is an appealing combination of annoyed and relieved. “Let me guess,” Alex deadpans, “you’re so grateful you could just kiss me right now.”

Henry’s expression turns distinctly disapproving as Pez chimes in, “Be patient and Hazza might even learn to admit it someday.”

“That’s what I’m hoping.” Alex grins sideways at Henry, who’s flushing the loveliest pink despite also frowning. “You’re welcome for rescuing you from the most tedious conversation known to man, by the way.”

“Actually, darling dearest,” Pez says lightly, “we were speaking with potential investors in the foundation.”

Oh. Shit. “Do you want me to charm them back over?” Alex wants to know, jerking a thumb in the direction they’d gone. “It is well within my power.”

“Not necessary.” Henry pulls a face. “I would’ve felt dirty about taking their money.”

“I would’ve felt wonderfully about it,” says Pez. “But now that you’ve freed up my dance card…” He cranes his neck around.

“Nora’s over there,” Alex says helpfully.

“Brilliant.” Pez’s eyes are the definition of sparkling. “Ah, and I see your sister’s about to join her. If you boys will excuse me—”

He helps himself to the rest of Alex’s champagne before sashaying off.

The two of them remain standing there a careful few feet apart, not looking at each other. Not that it matters; Alex is so hyperaware of him that he could reach over without even looking and take Henry’s hand if he wanted to. He won’t, but he wants to.

Knowing that he can is enough for now.

Henry looks askance at him after a moment. “You’re making this very hard, you know.”

Alex somehow manages not to smile at that. “Am I?”

Henry’s face screws up in faux concentration. “Let’s see. You’ve been a merciless flirt, even more so than usual. You wore the tie I bought you, which means you don’t hate it—”

“What? I love it,” interrupts Alex, just to be clear.

“—and you just drove off a very lucrative, albeit morally questionable, investment opportunity.” Henry’s also holding back a smile. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to not kiss you for that alone.”

“You still could,” Alex points out.

“And lose your silly bet?” Henry straightens, adjusting his cufflinks, and that might be the single hottest thing Alex has ever seen. “I think not. We both know you’ll be the first to give in.”

It’s true, Alex thinks; he’s pretty irresistible, but Henry is also far more controlled. Still, there’s a certain satisfaction in knowing that Alex gets to be the one who stretches him to his very limit. The level of restraint it takes Henry to resist him is a pretty big turn-on, if he’s being honest. Even when Henry wins, it will be no great loss on Alex’s part.

“Considering what’s at stake here,” Alex says lowly, leaning in just enough to catch the way Henry’s eyes darken, “I think I win either way.”

Henry does smile then, soft and warm and way too tempting not to kiss, though Alex perseveres. “I think we both do, darling.”

“That we can agree on,” says Alex. “So, do you want to…not…dance with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

.

He slips up, once.

It’s in a goddamn photo booth of all things, and Alex would feel like such a cliché if he weren’t so busy feeling annoyed at the fact that he can’t hold Henry’s hand or kiss him in front of the camera. Instead, he lets Nora and June wedge in between them, grinning gamely when they take turns kissing Henry on the cheek.

At the literal last second before the flash is going off, Alex feels Henry take his hand from behind, lace their fingers ever so gently together, and squeeze.

In the photo that prints out, June and Nora are doubled over in laughter, eyes closed, unaware. Henry has his chin tipped up, his face doing some smoldery thing at the camera, and Alex is turned, simply gazing at him.

He takes it before anyone sees, tucking it safely into his wallet because bet or no bet, some things really are too sacred to share.

When he shows it to Henry later, Henry gets the same lovestruck look on his face as Alex does in the photo, and that’s all he needs.

.

It’s the cake that finally does it.

Pez, Nora and June are all crowded around the same piece, and it makes Alex sigh a little wistfully to think about how much better it would taste if he were sharing his with Henry.

He can’t help it. He peers at Henry’s own slice, squinting. “What flavor is that one?”

“Strawberry,” says Henry. There’s a crumb on his lip, and Alex doesn’t mean to fixate on it, but he’s now gone hours without kissing his boyfriend and he’s kind of mad about it even though it’s also kind of his fault. “Do you want a bite?”

Oh. Yeah, that’ll work. Alex can feel the others’ eyes on them as he leans closer, fully expecting that Henry will yield to his instincts and feed him a piece off his fork. It’s not a kiss, but it could definitely qualify as losing the bet. And then once Alex has won, he can not only kiss Henry as much as he likes, he gets to take Henry home with him and—well.

He frowns when Henry only holds the plate out. “Here, have some,” says Henry, gaze lifting to his, then just a bit lower. “Oh. Hang on, you’ve got a—”

In a move that’s beyond Alex’s wildest dreams, Henry cups his jaw and kisses the side of his mouth, with just the slightest bit of tongue.

Alex grins as Henry freezes against him, realizing his mistake too late. “Thanks, baby.”

“Bollocks,” says Henry. He pulls back and sighs, licking the rest of the buttercream from his lips. “I’ve lost, haven’t I.” Then, accusingly, “You did that on purpose, didn’t you.”

“I’d say I don’t kiss and tell, but.” Alex puts his hands on Henry’s thighs, using that grip to scoot their chairs closer together. “I am gonna kiss you now, so.”

“You’ll be getting to do a lot more than that,” Henry points out.

“Ew, did not need to hear that part,” June groans at the same time that Pez puts down their cake and says, “Please, I need to hear more.”

“There’s a legally binding document and everything,” says Alex, to Henry’s chagrin and Pez’s delight. “Drafted it up myself.”

“You two were pining that hard and you were already together?” Nora wants to know. “Actually, that tracks. Carry on.”

Henry has gone as pink as the cake now, but he’s smiling when Alex swipes up some more buttercream, touching it to Henry’s mouth before leaning the rest of the way in.

[phoenixinthefiles]

Wear My Love

Miles 42 x reader 💜...🖤🔗 (my first Miles 42! fic be gentle) @dolligent

There’s a Laffy Taffy wrapper about two feet ahead of you on the library floor, with sticky bits of the candy still in it. You can’t see the riddle but you can see the hearts scattered on the wrapper and the to-and-from tag on the front.

So many teachers handed out Valentine’s candy bags today, it was really sweet. DIdn’t help out the littering problem that so many students seemed to have. 

A sneaker came down on the discarded wrapper, a purple and black sneaker.

Miles stood in front of you with a confused look on his face.

“What are you doin?”

Zoning out so I don’t have to confront the reality of you hating my gift.

Obviously you don’t say that. 

“What are you doing standing on a candy wrapper instead of picking it up? That's not very eco-conscious.”

He gives you a flat look and you give him one right back until he smacks his lips and bends down to pick the trash up. He flips the wrapper around and smirks before looking back up at you.

“What kind of tea is hard to swallow?”

“I don’t know, what kind?” You ask with an eye roll.

“Reality.” He huffs a small laugh, because of course he doesn’t know how ironic that joke really is.

“That’s funnier than half the jokes you tell me, maybe you should start eating more Laffy Taffys.”

Like the mature 16-year-old he is, he throws the wrapper at you before sitting down.

You roll your eyes and crumble the paper up and stick it in your pocket. Presumably to throw away later but you would most likely forget. 

He keeps shifting in his seat and tapping his fingers on the table as you try to continue reading. You already can barely focus on your book not knowing if he’s seen your gift or not, now he’s decided to become a drummer. 

“Miles please.” 

“Yeah? Oh I’m distracting you, my bad.”

“It’s fine I couldn’t focus anyway.” You said as you turned slightly to slip your book back into your backpack.

“Y’know somebody dropped something into my locker?”

Your hand froze on your zipper, when you twisted to face him again Miles was watching you with his eyebrows raised.

“Really, what was it?”

He gave you a deadpan look and you sighed.

Your eyes widened when He started fiddling with the collar of his shirt before pulling out a silver chain.

You immediately started trying to get a read on him; eyes darting from the necklace to his eyes and back. Surely he likes it if he’s wearing it?

Right?

He doesn’t say anything though and you clear your throat. 

“Do you like it? You can be honest, it won't hurt feelings, I just want to know.”

It absolutely would hurt your feelings. More so from the thought that you had overstepped not that he didn’t like it.

Miles reached back and unclasped the dog tags from around his neck. He didn’t look upset, more like he was trying to figure out how to look. 

“I like it, I swear.”

Your breath doesn’t come rushing out of you, but the tightening in your chest loosens and you do take a deep breath. 

“I like it a lot. How’d you get all the information?’

“I asked your mom.”

It was surprisingly easy to find someone who makes custom dog tags. The hard part was psyching yourself up to ask Ms. Río about her husband’s birthday. It took you 15 tries in front of your mirror to come up with the least insensitive way to phrase your question.

It paid off though. Miles likes it.

10 months ago you would’ve thought he was completely unemotional about it.But over time you learned to read him a little better.

Right now he was fiddling with the dog tags and twisting his lips around. 

He was fighting a smile.

He lost the battle against his facial expression and a smile broke out on his face.

You matched it and let out a nervous laugh when he looked at you again. 

He huffed a small laugh and you tried to tame the grin that felt like it would split your face. 

“Thank you.”

You nodded a bit too quickly and you ignored the ache in your cheeks from smiling so hard and the warmth you started to feel in your face.

“You’re welcome, I'm just glad you liked it.”

He nodded and a little smirk took shape on his lips.

“Yeah I like it a lot. Just don’t know why somebody I’ve been dating for 10 months would slip a gift in my locker instead of just giving it to me.” 

Your eyes widened for a split second before you rolled them in an attempt to brush off your embarrassment. 

“I was just adding a layer of mystique.”

“Uh huh, or you was just scared.” He said with a shrug. 

You scoffed but he was dead on. 

“Me? Scared? You must have me confused with somebody else?” 

He rolled his eyes and slipped his hand into his jacket pocket.

You watched him pull out a small box and reach it across the table to you.

He rolled his shoulders back and forth as he watched you pick it up. 

Seems like you weren’t the only one scared.

“What is it?”

He deadpanned again, “What’s the point of telling you instead of you just opening it?”

You rolled your eyes and refocused on the gift.

Gasping as you opened the lid, you pulled out the locket necklace sitting inside.

You looked up at Miles and smiled.

“It’s so pretty.”

He smiled hesitantly and cleared his throat.

“Open it,” he rasped.

You did and your smile grew wider. Inside the locket was a sketch of you from the day you and Miles went to the arcade. It was the only one in the city with a full set of games that still worked.

“I haven’t drawn in a while y’know so…” He trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck.

You can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve seen or heard him talk about drawing something. You can also name everything he drew. Being able to add yourself to that list feels…amazing. 

Trying to calm yourself down and not embarrass yourself by doing something like leaping across the table to hug Miles, you run your hand along the chain of the necklace.

“I don’t know if I look as good as you drew me.”

When you look back up at him he’s staring at you with an expression that’s much too adoring for you to focus on.

“Nah you look better.”

You immediately looked back down at the necklace in your hands and ignored Miles’ snickering.

As you continued to run your fingers along the chain you noticed something and your lips quirk up.

“Did you make the chain yourself?”

He rolled his shoulders again, “It’s that janky?”

You shook your head and tried to match the way his signature smirk. 

“Nah, it’s that good.”

He immediately caught on and let out a small laugh.

“I see what you tryna do, but you just not as smooth as me.”

Your eyes roll again but you laugh a little too, “Whatever Miles.”

You stood up and took the few steps to his side of the table and turned your back towards him. He took the que and stood behind you, taking the clasp and leftover chain and securing it. 

When he finished, you turned to him smiling.

He smiled back at you and straightened his necklace around his own neck.

Before you could second guess yourself you took a step closer and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Happy Valentine's Day Miles.”

His arms came up around you and you could feel his chest heave.

“Happy Valentine's Day, mami.”

[rouge-fauna]

Some ironic/idiotic points I’ve seen way too many people say:

Tommy and Dream should have worked things out privately

How? Did you miss the part that Tommy literally blocked Dream on everything and refused to talk to Dream? How is he meant to handle it privately? Besides I’m pretty sure Tubbo in his first stream is the one that brought up things like the messages to Tommy’s mom in the first place, so if anything Tubbo is the one who brought up things to the public and made things bigger than they needed to be. Remember, his hour long stream about the meme and reasons why he dislikes Dream and how this is Dream’s “death by a thousand cuts” came first before Dream’s first stream where he reacted to parts of Tubbo’s stream.

Dream takes no accountability

He apologized for something he’s not even done, he literally took down the meme, admitted it was a bad thing to do, apologized multiple times for it, apologized for not doing a proper apology the first time and explained his reasoning. That’s literally the definition of taking accountability. Like what more do you want? Want him to beg on his knees for the internet (who called him every slur in the book) to forgive him? He made a mistake, we all do, he apologized, let’s move on, because there are parties in this drama who haven’t taken accountability or apologized so maybe we should be focused on that.

Dream and Dream Team are sexist and misogynists

Says the people who formed a nation on a role play server called L’MANberg because it didn’t allow woman (or non-Europeans). Says the guy who I get frustrated to watch because of all his sexists and inappropriate jokes (I still don’t understand how the majority of his fans are woman like heh?). Says the people who when asked why they think this only bring up recent public examples, despite a - they have always been sexists behind the scenes implication, all but one of which are bogus anyways.

Well they didn’t handle the Caiti situation properly.

What do you mean? They all responded, I’m pretty sure apologized and owned up and took Caiti’s side and made sure to tell their fandom to not go after her. Meanwhile, you think Dream should have brought her up, when she has specifically asked to not be talked about anymore. Pretty sure if he never responded he’d be bashed for not taking accountability and if he did mention her in the recent video then he’d be bashed for not respecting her wishes.

Dream’s neurodivergence (Autism and ADHD) is not important here why is it being used as an excuse.

It ain’t. I don’t think I’ve seen a single person excuse his behavior or whatever, in fact the same people pointing out the autism piece are also mostly the same neurodivergent people who are the ones upset by the use of the word. But this all blew up with the r word which Dream was told by people using it against him that it can be used by someone who’s autistic. So from the get go it’s kinda important. Then you look at the pieces, at the comments people make about Dream being weird or doing things that are socially unacceptable, is inappropriate, ridiculous…etc and then you get to a 3 hour stream of talking in circles as they can’t seem to understand eachother or at least Tubbo not understanding Dream, which afterwards Tubbo labels his Audhd way of communicating as manipulative. So yea I’d say autism, adhd and neurodivergence are pretty damn relevant and important.

Just ahhhhhsbhfnnabdnnand… I still see people condemning him for the damn r word and it’s like bruh… move on. We are way past that damn meme he apologized multiple times for at this point. Especially from the moment Tommy posted his video and weaponized his fandom against Dream. And good god, and if you didn’t watch the streams then don’t be acting like you have this hot take and posting essays and shit because damn, maybe the reason no one’s said that is because it isn’t true, something you’d known if you watched all of the streams!………….. sorry just had to get that off my chest…

[thevelaryons]

Okay so Baela can’t get Driftmark because she is of blood and fire, as she tells Corlys and he accepts this reasoning. “Driftmark must go to salt and sea.” Then how come Corlys was okay with Luke as his heir but Luke wasn’t salt and sea. Corlys also doesn’t want Joffrey as his heir but Joffrey is the same age now as Luke was when Corlys first spoke of him inheriting Driftmark (s1xe7). Corlys tried to kill himself in the following episodes when he went to fight in the Stepstones, so he was okay with leaving Driftmark without an heir of salt and sea. But now he’s not okay all of a sudden.

You do realize that Corlys, as he exists in the show, is just there to prop up other characters, right? Trying to find any deeper meaning behind his actions is a lost cause.

HOTD changed many aspects of the Driftmark succession. In the book, Corlys did not particularly want Luke as his heir. Rhaenyra had to force the issue and she proved that she was willing to have people killed/maimed if they opposed her. Corlys was likely willing to settle for Luke as heir because he was already betrothed to Rhaena. Later, when Luke dies and Joffrey becomes heir, Corlys is already making plans to have Joffrey replaced by his own blood. Joffrey is betrothed to a Manderly girl, and betrothals are not easily broken, so he can’t just be betrothed to Rhaena now. Which is why Corlys proceeds to appoint another heir, who is actually of his blood. F&B never officially referred to Luke as Corlys’ heir (compared to the other heirs to Driftmark), probably because the situation was not so easily accepted by Corlys. Like I’ve said before, Corlys considers being a Velaryon and being his heir as two separate things.

In the show, Corlys accepted Luke as heir from the beginning, even before the betrothal with Rhaena had been made (the show scene is inspired by a book scene between Jace & Viserys). Rhaenyra doesn’t need to use violence to force Corlys’ decision about his heir. The show portrayed Corlys as a person who doesn’t really have a problem with his heir not being of his blood in season one. The events of season one were portrayed in such a way to keep Rhaenyra’s hands clean. But now Corlys’ actions in season two don’t match up with his actions in season one because of the various changes that have been made.

The reason Baela and Rhaena were never considered for Corlys’ heirs in the book is that legally they can never inherit Driftmark while Rhaenyra’s Velaryon sons live. Laenor was the heir to Driftmark. So naturally, his sons will be heirs after him. Then it will be Laena. After her, it will be her daughters. Once Laenor and Laena die, the matter comes down to their children. There is no situation in which either Baela or Rhaena could be named heirs to Driftmark ahead of the boys, especially if one of the boys (Luke) is older (it’s not like the situation with Rhaenyra versus Aegon, where Rhaenyra is older). If the Dragon Twins were named heirs ahead of Rhaenyra’s sons, it would completely expose that the boys are illegitimate (why is Lord Velaryon randomly making his granddaughter heir ahead of his grandson?). Everyone would know and it would create a huge scandal. Laenor would be considered a cuckold publicly. It also makes house Velaryon lose any potential ties to the Iron Throne. King Viserys would either have to start executing Rhaenyra & her sons for high treason or he would start targeting Corlys and his family if they dared to expose Rhaenyra (just look at what happened to Vaemond and his family). Either way, the situation would get ugly. So of course, Corlys has to play along with the ruse. He doesn’t attempt to change the line of succession at that point and is willing to settle for Luke because it at least serves his family’s interests. During the war, Corlys has the upper hand over Rhaenyra, so he can attempt to change the succession accordingly.

There’s a reason why Corlys later passes Addam & Alyn as Laenor’s bastards instead of acknowledging that he is the one who fathered them. There isn’t anything stopping Corlys from saying he’s the father. At the time, Rhaenys is dead so Corlys has nothing to be afraid of. But Corlys’ intention is to change the succession to favour his own blood and the only way to do that is to pass Addam & Alyn off as Laenor’s sons instead.

House Velaryon follows Andal succession. Laenor’s sons (Jace/Luke/Joffrey) come before Laenor’s nieces (Baela/Rhaena). Laenor’s brothers (Addam/Alyn) come very last. By passing Addam & Alyn off as Laenor’s sons, and by virtue of them being older than Joffrey, they are ahead in the line of succession. And when the succession issue has been resolved as Corlys sees fit, there would be no further reason to change it to make either Baela or Rhaena the heir.

It’s easy enough for Corlys to make Addam his heir over Joffrey in the book because of the way the Red Sowing is structured. Corlys took part in planning that with Jace. It was said that whoever claimed a dragon would be honoured by being ennobled. So it’s not particularly a suspicious situation for Corlys to act at this point. Once Addam succeeded in claiming a dragon, Corlys can “reward” him by naming him heir to Driftmark. Rhaenyra needs Corlys on her side, since he’s providing the majority of her army, so she has to accept the situation with Addam (even if it means passing over her own son, Joffrey). Jace supports him in this decision because he was making active efforts to appease Corlys to keep him on their side.

The show complicated matters with all the changes it made in season one, and now season two. If HOTD had portrayed Corlys more similar to his book counterpart (aka reluctant to accept Luke as heir in the beginning), then there wouldn’t be as much confusion about Corlys now being reluctant to accept Joffrey as heir. So long as Laenor’s sons exist, Baela and Rhaena were never going to be considered as heirs to the Driftwood Throne.

[asheepinfrance]

sorry this is... hm. yeah. words were written. it's 1:07 am so i'll grant myself the invalid excuse of it being late/early. anyway here's a short little silly art thing for my poll girlies. I do have a tashi fic in the works and i'm aiming to get something out with the trio as well. enjoy my awful french skills and also the other stuff too. feel free to leave tips as always

All those years of French classes and obsessively reading pocket dictionaries couldn’t have prepared you for the god-awful moment where you genuinely needed to use it, especially when it wasn’t one of those situations that you’d practiced for hours on end. You could ask for directions without batting an eye, but how the hell do you apologize for absolutely barreling into some poor, Parisian stranger and toppling over their coffee in your wake?

 “Zut!” Hey, that’s one word! Not a polite one, necessarily, but at least one that expresses some kind of remorse. Right? You probably should’ve read up more on French social customs before your tickets had been booked. “Je suis très désolée, monsieur, je ne voulais pas-”

 Why is he looking at you like that? You can’t quite tell what ‘that’ is, either. Is there something in your teeth? You begin running your tongue over your gums, just in case, and you must look insane. Taking down this stranger (and his coffee) in a foreign country, babbling in broken, probably too formal French, and then licking the inside of your own mouth. Lovely first impression to make. He puts up two hands, as if to say ‘easy, girl, easy’, a nervous, almost apologetic smile on his face when he says “Madame, je ne p-” he stops the sentence, clears his throat, restarts, “je ne parle pas français.” 

You know that accent, you’d know it anywhere, and you cut off the man’s terribly, horribly mispronounced French with a sigh of relief. He’s cute enough to make up for it, though, and there’s something effortlessly charming in that awkwardness he’s exuding. Not awkward in the way that leaves conversations with spaces to fill, but the sort of awkward that causes uncontrollable giggles at times. “Oh, hey. You’re American.” He shrugs, a mousey grin on his face that accentuates his smile lines, “I could say the same about you, you know.”

It all happened from there fairly quickly. Offers of a replacement coffee turns to sharing that coffee in a small café over a croissant. You’re here purely for the sake of experiencing a city so infamous for its beauty, and he’s there for the French Open. A tennis player, by trade. It’s quite ironic, really, how easily conversation is flowing between the two of you considering your complete and utter lack of similar interests. “Isn’t tennis just… hitting a ball with a racket?” He’s been asked that same question a million times, but he still manages to disprove that statement with the same amount of enthusiasm. It’s adorable, really, how he’s waving his hands around to act out the movement of players and tennis balls. He’s so lost in it that you can stare at him for a good, long while without him noticing, and you happily take advantage of this.

Croissant lunches turn into exchanged hotel addresses, and with his being much nicer than yours, that was the chosen spot. If there’s one way to make you feel inadequate, it’s to so nonchalantly bask in something this opulent. For you, the sheer view of the Eiffel Tower from his window feels like it costs more money than you’ll ever touch. For him, it’s just another day when he offers you a bottle of some fancy, French wine and cigarettes, “for the culture” he says, to partake in on the balcony. He smokes one over the railing, you’re sipping the deep-red liquid from straight out of the bottle, and you have to imagine that this is about as annoyingly stereotypical as you can get. Two Americans in Paris who meet when they bump into each other, and now your elbows are touching as he turns his head away from you, careful to avoid blowing smoke in your face. 

“You know, the only thing that’d make this more cliché was if we kissed under the Eiffel Tower” He gestures towards its looming figure with his lit cigarette, placing it back between his lips. “Is that you saying you want to kiss me?” He shrugs, shifting to prop his head on his knuckles, a grin on his lips

“And if it is?”

If it is, you’re happy to make that cliché come true, too, even if he tastes like cigarette smoke.

[humbledragon669]

S2E2 - The Clue Write Up P4 - Land of Uz: Crowley speaks to Job to a little alone time in the cellar

I’m going to start with an incredibly quick note, just in case there’s anyone out there reading this who doesn’t know/hasn’t realised that the actor playing Job is Peter Davison, who is not only linked to David Tennant by way of having played the fifth Doctor, but is also his father-in-law (in real life). I think I’m probably preaching to the converted with that little nugget, but it pays to be cautious with these things.

Alright, let’s get going proper, shall we? And I want to give a little nod of acknowledgement for the camera work we see going “through” the book page into the scene beyond. Not the first time we’ve seen this technique used to transition the audience from one place (in time, mood, or location) to another, but it’s pretty smooth nonetheless, and achieves its desired effect effortlessly. There’s something utterly ridiculous about some of the script for this initial scene too - some random dude shows up in your newly destroyed barn asking for your children and you don’t stop to ask who he is and what he wants? In fact, why not direct him to your wife to be as helpful as possible? Don’t stop there though, why not start pouring your soul out to him in a keenly ironic speech about being delivered to demons. Sure. Very convincing. Still, I don’t suppose there’s much in the way of official records of this conversation to base the scene on, is there…

Miracle noise alert! This one definitely originates from Crawley and definitely differs from the one we most recently associated with Aziraphale.

This one is… “flatter” is the word that springs to mind when I hear it. I think it’s intended to sound closer to a snake hiss; of textural note we are missing the little choir vocalisation that we heard in earlier miracle noises. Swinging back around to the theory about miracle noises relating to intent rather than caster, this particular noise would prove both theories. I guess what I really want to hear at this point is the noise from a miracle definitely cast only by Crowley with good or neutral intent. That might put this theory to bed for me, but I think we’ll have to wait a while for that (off the top of my head I can’t think if we get one of those in these season, but I’ll be on the look-out).

I find the choice of words used in the opening arguments between Aziraphale and Crawley interesting:

Aside from the opportunity to revel in Aziraphale admitting he was wrong about something, I think the different uses of don’t have to/couldn’t/can/will in this wordplay are worth noting. To avoid this getting too wordy, I’m going to break this down into a table to demonstrate:

And all of this hammered home with a final plea from Aziraphale, returning to his original point, and making an explicit statement that he believes that being a demon involves the ability to exercise free will (let’s face it, it kinda doesn’t - Crawley has little official choice than to follow orders, just like the angel). This point of view will become interesting as the season progresses and we see Aziraphale’s beliefs about free will and how it ties in with humanity morphing - after all, it wasn’t all that long ago that he was trying to convince a bunch of archangels on the street that the whole point of being human (not a demon) is to exercise free will (at least in our chronology - this conversation with Crawley and the one with the angels on the street are actually separated by some 4500 years…). What’s interesting to me about his beliefs at this particular point in time, is that they suggest at least part of his understanding of the differences between the agents of Heaven and Hell isn’t to do with morality or intent, it’s the presence/absence of free will. Ergo, the opposite of “Good” isn’t “Evil”, but “Choice”. Oof, that one hits pretty deep, doesn’t it? I could get into a big discussion about how this does or doesn’t resemble major religions even today but I feel like that goes a bit beyond my qualifications, so instead I’ll just make one more point about this handful of lines between our hero couple, this one on another more word choice for Aziraphale:

AZIRAPHALE: Crawley… You don’t have to destroy Job’s children.

Notice the word “destroy” and not “kill”. I’m not sure why this distinction has been made, not least because Crawley has already told Aziraphale 500 years previously that killing kids is not something he can get onboard with.

Maybe the word choice has been swayed somewhat by Crawley’s supposed disposal of the goats, where they simply disappeared in a puff of smoke. Perhaps “destroy” was thought to be a stronger word than “kill”, though that’s not a stance I would agree with, and I actually feel like it offers the opportunity to distance the “destroyer” from their actions somewhat.

Before we get too deep into the weeds with the next mini-section of Aziraphale pleading, there’s something I want to lay on the table. The last time this pair saw each other was 500 years ago. We saw that meeting, and earlier in this episode they even went so far as to confirm that was the last time they saw each other. That meeting, filled with shocking revelations about Heaven’s actions as it was, was very friendly. VERY friendly. We’ve gone from Crawley looking at Aziraphale like this:

to this:

I mean… What happened? No, seriously, what the actual fuck happened? The tension between this pair is palpable in both scenes, but they are very different types of tension. I’ve always thought that there’s something off about the way their conversation starts at the beginning of the minisode: it feels like that awkward conversation you have with someone when you bump into them after having had a blazing row and neither of you has apologised and despite time passing, you’re both still sore about it. Almost like… unexpectedly bumping into your ex? I realise that was all really wordy, when all I’m really trying to say is that I’m not clear on why the relationship feels so strained at the beginning of the minisode, just like I’m not clear on why Crowley is so grumpy when we see him in Rome. It occurs to me that we don’t see the end of their encounters in Mesopotamia and Golgotha (the previous meetings to Uz and Rome, respectively), and once again I say: what the actual fuck happened?

If we consider the possibility that the meeting in Mesopotamia potentially did not end as amicably as it began, Aziraphale’s desperate pleading with Crawley to do the right thing in this Land of Uz scene feels perhaps a bit more understandable. And let’s just be clear about Aziraphale’s plan of attack at this point - he’s no longer asking a demon not to the “bad” thing, he’s appealing to Crawley to be the being that he has fallen in love with come to know in the years before - one that is incapable of doing the unspeakable things he’s been tasked with.

Wait, wait, did I say understandable? Because this is truly unbearable for me - I can’t watch this without choking back a sob, for real. The little gulp as Crawley’s words hit home, the slumping shoulders, the slight wobble in his bottom lip, the rasping breath he takes (OH BUT THAT INTAKE OF BREATH WILL KILL ME). He is absolutely, and completely, devastated. And who can be surprised, because that speech from Crawley (complete with background hiss noise as he removes his glasses) is pure venom (no snake pun intended). Everything the demon says at this point is said with the sole purpose of hurting Aziraphale (and I say again: WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!), prompting Aziraphale to use his ultimate weapon - it’s the forgiveness line. There is something particular about this usage though - on this occasion he doesn’t forgive Crawley personally, he asks for forgiveness on his behalf, which we’ve seen once before: on the bandstand. That encounter was very definitely a break-up and for a second it looks like this one might have been going the same way, and I think I speak on behalf of the entire fandom when I thank those goats for not being able to keep their mouths shut here.

As much as I am fully onboard with Aziraphale’s smugness in his response to finding out that Crawley was indeed the being he thought he was, I can’t help but feel like it’s slightly misplaced, and here’s why:

CRAWLEY: Doesn’t mean we’re on the same side. AZIRAPHALE: No, no!

You see, I don’t think Aziraphale has realised that his actions have actually gone against Heaven’s wishes at this point. So as far as he’s concerned, Crawley and him being on the same side (which is clearly what he thinks, given the vocal delivery) means that Crawley is also on Heaven’s side. Which he most certainly isn’t, and even though the demon has a much clearer idea of how things are progressing, it’s obvious that Aziraphale thinks that Crawley’s point of view is just a cover story for him actually being on Heaven’s side. I think this is the first time that the idea of third “side” (i.e. not for Heaven or Hell) is introduced, chronologically speaking, even if it was thought to be a temporary arrangement and not specifically termed as “their side”. I find myself wondering if Crawley’s acknowledgement that they are “temporarily not on different sides” is the reason he doesn’t protest being called an angel by Job’s eldest daughter (Keziah), but perhaps that’s just because he wants to lull them into a false sense of security for the grand finale coming up.

I will be preaching to the converted for the second time in this write-up now I know, but as I said, it pays to be cautious. The young man playing Ennon is David’s in-real-life son. This episode is quite the family affair! Having that little bit of knowledge makes Crawley’s reaction to this self-important, arrogant little shit all the more funny too.

And whilst we’re on the subject of Crawley’s reactions, I love this facial expression we see in reaction to Aziraphale deciding to throw his weight around:

I slowed it down a bit, but you can see his face twitch ever so slightly just after Aziraphale starts bellowing, like it actually took him by surprise. Pranked or not, I think it’s pretty obvious to see that he does not think this new strategy from the angel is a good one. The background acting doesn’t stop here either, with an adorable little squeak from him in response to Jemimah’s charming nature. It makes me feel a bit sorry for the kids in the scene really, who are (I hope) acting their little socks off being the most repulsive versions of children they can be whilst David just stands there pulling a few faces/making some noises and manages to steal the scene.

There’s no reason for that gif other than to watch a loop of David winking (extremely careful typing required with that sentence).

Alright, maybe there was a little reason, other than pure aesthetics. I know I’m not the only one to say I find the interaction between Crawley and Jemimah adorable, but outside of just being really cute, this relationship does serve a narrative purpose in the context of the storyline. This playful banter he establishes with the young child is what lays the road for some mischief. I’ve talked about it in earlier write-ups, but we don’t see an awful lot of the mischievous demon in this season. Well, all that’s about to change, and I’m pretty relieved because up to now everything Crawley has done in this minisode has felt very serious. I love seeing him getting joy in causing harmless mayhem.

I also find it interesting that this side of the demon has only been allowed out now that he and Aziraphale have found some common ground - the dislike of the two older children - which suggests that their relationship is getting back on track. On that note, it occurs to me that he hasn’t been wearing his sunglasses for any of this scene, which had been firmly glued to his face right from the beginning of the minisode, even when he was alone of the top of a mountain. Whatever happened to cause the angry tension between our hero couple (if anything happened), I think the lack of eyewear would suggest that Crawley is already well on the way to forgetting about it by this point.

I find this blustering from Aziraphale interesting. He refuses to name Crawley as what he physically is, choosing to believe that because the demon’s intentions aren’t malign, his demon nature is simply a technicality. By that same logic, that would mean Aziraphale himself is only “technically” an angel, yet you never hear him refer to himself as such. Ultimately, his motives behind this are honourable, desperate as he is to believe that Crawley is still one of the Good guys, and I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that there’s a double standard being applied here - that’s one of the motifs we see being applied to Heaven throughout the show (“one rule for us, another rule for everyone else”). He’s right in the end of course (at least as far as Crawley’s intentions anyway).

He knows Crawley has absolutely no desire to kill children, despite the fact that the house is blazing around them. The demon told him he couldn’t kill kids, remember?

There’s something about this exchange that niggles at me. On the surface it seems like we’ve gone back to an angry Crawley, challenging Aziraphale on his character judgement. I think there’s maybe a bit more to it though. There is a vague suggestion of Crawley asking Aziraphale if he really trusts him here, even though it’s not explicitly stated. And that trust theme is something we see developing, chronologically, throughout the minisodes of this season. The Agreement is a long way off into the future (about 3500 years in the future in fact), but I find myself wondering if this challenge from Crawley is its first iteration, because I think this is actually him asking Aziraphale if he’s sure he wants to be part of the plot to save the children. If that’s the case, and the angel understands the subtext, it would explain why he makes his declaration of surety so assuredly. And look at him making way for Crawley to deliver his coup de grace, united with the demon, and sure of his decision:

Side note: I love the fact that everything in that room falls through the ceiling to the floor below completely intact, including the table which is already laden with a whole ox carcass. The only sign of anything being disturbed is the noise of a metal pot settling.

Aziraphale’s response to this latest turn of events reminds me of what we see from him when he embarks on his journey to Edinburgh.

He’s so contented - he’s turned the whole thing into a game. One with a trail of clues he had to work out to solve the mystery of how the evil demon could still be an angel underneath it all. And he’s figured it all out, even though he knew it all along anyway, which Crawley is clearly not thrilled about. There’s another layer going on here though I think, because (if I’ve got my chronology right), this is the first time the demon has “rescued” the angel from a perilous situation. Never mind that the perilous situation was created by the demon in the first place. Besides, that might have been part of the game for all we know because it’s only now that Aziraphale starts to give Crawley a bit of slack for him to actually use the cover he’s trying to create for himself. And hold on, what’s this?

Is that a wink? Certainly looks like one to me. He also starts to use collective pronouns from this point, suggesting that he, just like Crawley, is getting comfortable with this relationship again.

We get some miracle noises in the cellar to have a quick look at here, although they are somewhat obscured by the soundtrack. Brief tangent: I’m not sure there are any miracle noises to be heard in the scene a moment ago where Crawley sets fire to the house, with the exception of the last one he does, opening up the floor to the cellar. That one, which is even more difficult to make out that the lizard-transformations, sounds more like the ones we heard from Aziraphale’s miracle in the pub, with that swelling noise that gets used so often in epic soundtracks. If that was the case, that definitely points towards the noise relating to the mindset of the caster, because that one would either have been driven by need or by the caster having good moral intent. The sounds we hear on the cellar on the other hand; they sound more like the snakelike versions we heard from Crawley earlier, although there’s something about them that sounds less ominous than previously.

In the last point of this part of the write-up, I find it notable that Aziraphale doesn’t try to interfere with Crawley’s transforming of the children, even though it’s clear he disapproves.

Perhaps it’s because he realises he’s pushed Crawley too far already to chastise him further for showing his true colours. Maybe it’s because there’s not really any harm being done in his actions. Maybe it’s because the angel was as disgusted with Ennon and Keziahs’ attitudes as Crawley is. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because he’s actually pretty happy to be able to spend some time with the demon alone. I know which one of those theories I like the most.

This seems like as good a place as any to wrap up this part of the write-up, not least because we’re about to get to a pivotal moment of Aziraphale’s personal development and a fandom favourite in the relationship development, and I’ve already written far too many words on this tiny section to be normal. For now, and as always, questions, comments, discussion: always welcome and see you for the next one 😊

[rendy-a]

amh if possible could hoy make hdcns for the dorm leaders ( separately ) reacting to their mc fem explaining the marvel universe and then puts them to watch the movies hehe ( ..also mc's fav hero is dead-pool ;) bc it gives me laugh imagine their reactions about this xd) , thanks in advance and take care<33

This certainly ended up being a little bit of a crack fic but it ended up amusing. Hope you enjoy it.

At first, he scoffs as such a time-wasting thing as wanting to watch dozens of movies.  Where is the educational value in this?

He is just too polite to refuse to listen, so he’ll end up letting you describe all your favorite scenes to him.

You are better off if he doesn’t take an interest because, if he does, he is going to turn into the worst sort of comic book geek.  Be ready to have him quote lore from issues of source material at you during any discussion on this from now on.

What do you mean who would win?  In Volume 3 #3, Thor clearly defeated Iron Man.  Don’t get upset Prefect, I don’t write the lore, I just recite it.

Doesn’t appear to be interested but, if you pause long enough, he’ll prompt you to go on.  It’s important to you, so he’ll try to care at least a little.

You’d never tell him this, but you love to banter with him because it reminds you of your favorite character.  Sometimes you wonder if he’d be pleased or offended to know who you remind him of.

Movie marathons?  Not only is he willing to do them with you, but he is also often the one who suggests them.  Don’t be deceived though, it’s not for the movie but for the quality nap time on the couch with you. 

Don’t turn that off, Herbivore, I’m watching it.  What do you mean I don’t know what’s going on?  This is the part where we learn her mom isn’t dead after all.  So quiet down and keep the lights off.

Please, he is in Board Game Club with Idia. You think this is the first time he has hmmm’d himself through a conversation about fictional characters?

Wait, you say that this makes a ton of money?  Tell him more about this merchandising and licensing.  Especially that, what do you call it…ah, Happy Meal.

You can eventually talk him into watching the movies with you for ‘research purposes.’  When you do, you can’t help but notice how teary-eyed he gets at the sad scenes.  He’s just so sensitive!

Deadpool is also his favorite character.  He feels a sort of connection to certain parts of his story.

So, she chooses to stay with him even though he looks like that?  No, I’m not blubbering.  No, I don’t need you to cuddle with me.  Ok, fine.  Just for a little while. 

He doesn’t get it, but he still loves it.  Sure, you have to explain everything to him three times, but he gets excited over your excitement.  Call him any time to talk about your theories on how things would have gone if Thanos had made a different wish on the infinity gauntlet.  He doesn’t mind if it’s 3 AM (just don’t let Jamil find out).

Movie marathons turn into parties.  Why just watch the movies when you can have themed snacks and dress up too?  Hulk smash cakes and Black Widow berry cobbler?  Yes, please.

His favorite part of any film is the soundtrack.  If he hears a song he likes, he gets up to dance along.  It’s pretty disruptive when you are watching the movie but when you see how much fun he is having, you find you don’t really mind after all.

Sorry Prefect, Jamil says we can’t have dance battles in Scarabia anymore.  Ooh!  But come by the Pop Music Club later.  I’m going to play all my favorite songs for Cater and Lilia. Ahaha!

You were worried Vil would dismiss your favorite Marvel films as inferior art, but he is actually rather generous about it.  He believes the film should suit the audience and, as so, there is nothing wrong with films like this that serve to entertain the masses.

Still, he can’t help but be critical of everything while you watch.  He doesn’t criticize the things you’d talk about with your friends but topics you’d hardly even notice while you watched like the set design and lighting.

You notice Vil seems secretly fond of Loki.  You think the idea of the Villain that survives the main movies to get his own spotlight series appeals to him.

No, Potato, I’m just saying the angle isn’t right for this sort of tone.  A shot from below would be more effective.  Plus…wait, are you having more popcorn?  I don’t think so, it’s past the time you can snack before bed.

You had expected Idia to be all in on the Marvel Universe but, at first, he is oddly resistant to it.  He’d rather recommend you one of his own favorite hero movies.  If you disagree on which is better, he is more than willing to fight with you over why his is best!

After a heated argument, he puts on some of the movies to watch so he can come up with targeted points about why his own shows are better.  This does not work out for him as he gets sucked in himself.  Next time you meet up, he wants to go over tiny bits of lore and speculate on future plot lines from hints in the past movies.

You might think his favorite would be Iron Man because they both are innovative engineers, but he is a fan of Ant Man.  Shrinking down to a size where you can hide from everyone; it’s an introvert’s dream!

Prefect, this is serious business!  I’ve drawn up plans.  So long as we sleep only 2 hours a day and avoid taking any breaks for food, studying, and showers, we can finish at least three seasons this weekend.  True fans like us need to be ready to sacrifice for the shows we love!

There are many things Tusnotarou doesn’t understand, and this is one of them.  For starters, he barely knows how to use his smartphone, let alone how to stream movies and shows.  So, before you can even start explaining the plot, you must explain the whole concept of series and interconnecting shows to him.

He doesn’t get it, but he is happy to watch with you.  Your reactions to the show are far more amusing to him than the actual show.  Plus, he feels like he learns so much about the human world from your conversations.  A subway, how intriguing an idea.  Humans are so fascinating.

Even though he watches politely, he isn’t very impressed.  They can fly?  Well so can he.  Magic, lightning, superstrength?  All just part of being a dragon.  Perhaps instead of being interested in these superheroes, you’d rather learn more about him?

 Lilia, do you think I am a superhero?  The Prefect has been explaining this concept to me in great detail lately.  I can’t help but notice the many things I have in common with these so-called heroes.  Why yes, Lilia, now that you mention it, I am wearing a cape.  Another point in my favor. Fu fu fu.    

[munson-blurbs]

Eddie, diary, detention ^^

Oh, y'all are getting sick of Eddie fluff fics? Too bad, sorry xoxoxo 💚

Warnings: none, all fluff!

WC: 1.2k

--

“Goddamn Carver,” Eddie mutters to himself, slinging his backpack onto the desk and plopping into the attached chair. “Always running his goddamn mouth and then pulling the ‘But I have basketball practice’ excuse to get outta trouble.” He brings his voice up to a grating falsetto, mocking the jock’s whiny tone. “But does Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson get the same courtesy for his Hellfire campaigns? No, sir, he does not.”

“Wonderful monologue, Mr. Munson,” Mrs. O’Donnell says dryly, heels clacking as she walks through the open doorway. “Perhaps you’ll be a playwright in your next life.”

“Like one lifetime isn’t enough,” Eddie grumbles, low enough so his least favorite teacher can’t hear him. 

O’Donnell peers at him over her horn-rimmed glasses. “You know the drill better than I do, Mr. Munson,” she scoffs with a wry smile. “One hour. No talking, no music, no funny business. You may do homework if you’d like, though I don’t anticipate you choosing now to act like a star student.” 

Eddie slumps down into his seat. He’d already counted all the ceiling tiles last week when he ended up here after shoving Patrick for picking on Dustin Henderson. Guess I’ll start on the floor tiles now, he thinks grimly. 

He makes it to 28 before something catches his eye. In one of the baskets underneath a desk is a purple leather-bound notebook. The way it’s resting halfway out of the basket looks like it had fallen out of a backpack or accidentally left behind. It’s too fancy to only be used for school, and it piques his curiosity. 

“Uh, Mrs. Oh-Dee?” Eddie blurts out, shooting his hand up in the air. “Can I grab a textbook? I think I’m gonna take you up on that homework offer.”

The teacher rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she quips. “And for the last time, stop calling me that.”

But Eddie’s already scrambling to the seat, plucking the journal from its spot and shielding it with a history book. As soon as he opens the cover, his eyes widen. 

This diary belongs to is printed on the first page, with a name handwritten in neat cursive underneath. 

“Shit,” Eddie breathes, earning a scowl from O’Donnell. This is your diary. 

Eddie doesn’t have too many classes with you; you’re in mostly honors courses, while he’s in his third senior year. But you do take health together, and he constantly finds himself stealing glances at you whenever he can. 

He knows he shouldn’t read any further; he can close the diary and turn it into the Lost and Found box. But Eddie Munson’s never been known for his impulse control, and before he knows it, he’s skimming the pages. 

Most of the entries don’t draw too much of his attention. There’s one from a few weeks ago about an argument you had with your best friend, but Eddie’s seen you two laughing together since then, so he assumes all’s well. A few days ago, you’d just written, “that history test was a bitch” accompanied by a frowning face. Eddie laughs quietly, knowing you’d probably aced it. 

It’s the entry after that where he finds what he’s looking for. 

Mr. Ellison paired me up with Eddie today! We had to work on an anti-smoking poster together, which was ironic, because he reeked of cigarettes. He asked me what I was doing this weekend, and I thought he was going to ask me out, but he didn’t. Guess he’s not into shy nerdy girls. Then again, who would be?

Eddie’s heart sinks into his stomach. If you only knew how much he wants to take you to dinner, hold hands across the table, maybe kiss you after splitting an ice cream sundae. He had planned on asking you out that day, only to wimp out at the last second. 

He hastily tears out the page and pulls out a number two pencil that’s sharpened down to a nub. In the margins next to your entry, he draws and arrow and writes:

He’s definitely into shy nerdy girls, but he didn’t think you’d be into loud metalheads. Meet me at my locker tomorrow before health?

He slips the diary into his bag, vowing to put the note in your locker after his prison sentence—erm, detention, is over. 

~

The next day, Eddie waits by his locker in between second and third periods. His heart pounds in his chest, and his stomach is doing that flip-flop thing it does before a gig. He relaxes a bit when he sees you walking towards him, note in hand. 

“Hey,” you say softly, holding up the sheet of paper. “Did you…”

Eddie laughs nervously. “Y-Yeah, that was me,” he admits. 

Your ears heat up, suddenly bashful. When you found the note, you’d assumed it was some prank by one of the jocks. The fact that it actually was Eddie gives you heart palpitations. “I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” you manage. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me till, y’know, I read it,” Eddie mumbles, hoping you’re not too angry about that. 

You cross your arms over your chest. “So, we’re just snooping through diaries now? A bit juvenile, dontcha think?” But your tone is light, despite the truthfulness of your statement. 

“It, um, wasn’t my finest moment,” Eddie’s cheeks turn pink as he reaches into his bag, “which is why I wanted to show you this.” He pulls out a tattered composition book and hands it to you. “It’s not as cute as yours—oh, which I also have, heh.” He offers you your beloved purple journal. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, ensuring that it’s now safely stored in your own backpack before bringing your attention back to his notebook. “What’s this?”

Eddie bites his lower lip anxiously. “It’s my lyric book,” he explains sheepishly. “But not the one I show the guys. This has all my lovey-dovey songs in it. Y’know, shit they’d kick my ass for.” Another nervous chuckle. “They’re, um, they’re about you.”

“Me?!” you ask incredulously. 

“Yeah,” he smiles, letting his fingertips graze your hand. “Figured it was only fair, since I totally read your stuff.”

You flip through the pages, heart warming at the words etched on them. Lyrics like, her smile melts me like snow on my tongue/grow old together but we’ll always feel young make you giggle. “These are really good,” you muse. 

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Not too corny?”

“Oh, no,” you tease him, “they are extremely corny. But I’m a sucker for a good rhyme scheme, so…” You trail off as Eddie grins. 

“Maybe I could play them for you sometime? Like after school today?” He winces, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he thinks he does. 

You nod. “I’d like that.”

“Cool.” Eddie closes his locker and turns to you slowly, a mischievous twinkle in his chocolate brown eyes. “Actually, what do you say we ditch health and hang out at mine? I promise I’m a lot more interesting than whatever Ellison is going to lecture us about today.”

You peer around the hallway, making sure it’s clear of teachers before slipping your hand into Eddie’s larger, calloused one. “Let’s blow this joint.”

“That’s my girl.”

--

[lucky-clover-gazette]

prince's gambit highlights & annotations

chapter 14

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

No Laurent. All signs of recent occupancy had been a handspan away from his own body, suggesting a night spent in close but not transgressive proximity: some kind of self-preservation had apparently prevented Damen from rolling inward during the night; from throwing his arm over Laurent’s torso and drawing them together to make the small tent seem larger than it was. As a result, Damen was in possession of all his limbs, and even had his clothing restored to him. Thank you, Laurent.

The embroidery came later, in the retelling, as the story was told again and again by the men, taking on its own character as it passed over camp. The Prince had ridden out, with only one soldier. Deep in the mountains, he had chased down the rats responsible for these killings. Had ripped them out of their hiding holes and fought them, thirty to one, at least. Had brought them back thrashed, lashed and subdued. That was their Prince for you, a twisty, vicious fiend who you should never, ever cross, unless you wanted your gullet handed to you on a platter. Why, he once rode a horse to death just to beat Torveld of Patras to the mark.

like how this ironic misunderstanding of the events is similar to how damen viewed laurent in book 1 and some of book 2. except now he gets the irony

He looked at Laurent’s tent of silks, the pennants unfurled in the breeze, their starbursts undulating. The distant voices of the men swelled briefly, then dropped away. It would not be like this. It would be a systematic campaign moving southwards towards Ios, building on the support he had from the kyroi factions. He would not be stealing out of camp at night to spin mad plans, to dress in unfamiliar clothes and forge alliances with rogue clans, or to fight alongside pony-riding warriors, capturing bandits improbably in the mountains. It would not be like this again.

:(

‘Keep the prisoners alive, keep the women on side, keep my men from the women,’ said Laurent, as though reciting from a checklist. ‘Come over here and talk geography.’ He came as he was bid, and took a seat opposite Laurent, across the map.

they’re so cute i can’t stand them. “come over here and talk geography” SHUT UP

Laurent did not tend to show any of the usual outward signs of fatigue. The control that he asserted and maintained over the troop was an extension of the control with which he ruled himself. A few tells existed. The words, perhaps.

“the words, perhaps” is such a funny line here. because like yeah no shit, but also how is damen supposed to know when laurent’s words actually reflect his true feelings?

Instinctively, Damen brought his hand up to squeeze Laurent’s shoulder gently—and then stopped. Laurent went very still, as Damen became aware of what he had just done, and that his grip was still on Laurent’s shoulder. He felt the locked muscles like hard wood beneath his hand. ‘Stiff?’ said Damen, casually. ‘A little,’ said Laurent, after a moment in which Damen’s heart knocked twice against the inside of his chest.

one thing i really appreciate about capri is the way that laurent is written, as a character with trauma/baggage who experiences intimacy in a way you wouldn’t expect from the love interest in a romance novel. he doesn’t make anything easy, for himself or for damen. his physical and mental reactions to things are very telling and consistent, and i appreciate pacat’s commitment to honoring that aspect of the character. that way it’s so much more rewarding when we finally see laurent let go of control and experience love that doesn’t hurt him.

i won’t do an official count for “laurent intimacy issues,” since it’s not nearly as clear-cut as “laurent leans,” but if there’s something that strikes this chord with me, i do want to make note of it. just… stuff that i personally appreciate, especially from a love interest in a romance novel, whose whole narrative job—one would expect—is to love the protagonist and have hot sex. but sensitive and traumatized people deserve love and intimacy, too, at their own pace and on their own terms. and laurent has a lot more going on than what damen perceives, or what the romance genre dictates. it’s nice to point out little moments where his issues affect his physical and emotional reactions, because it’s nice to know that those moments 1) exist and 2) don’t make him any less of a romantic lead.

He applied a gentle pressure with his thumbs. He said, ‘You brought me ice, last night.’ ‘This,’ said Laurent, ‘is a little more—’ It was a word of sharp points: ‘—intimate,’ he said, ‘than ice.’ ‘Too intimate?’ Damen said. Slowly, he was kneading Laurent’s shoulders. He did not usually think of himself as someone with suicidal impulses. Laurent did not relax at all, just stood unmoving. And then, at the apsis of his thumbs, a muscle shifted beneath pressure, unlocking a sequence all the way down Laurent’s back. Laurent said, unwillingly, ‘I . . . There.’ ‘Here?’ ‘Yes.’

a lot going on here! made even more complicated by damen’s pov!

damen takes physical intimacy much less seriously than laurent. prior to book 1, he has always enjoyed willing and enthusiastic partners (some of whom were conditioned into that enthusiasm, but we’ll deal with that later), and to him, sex is not a means of abuse or power. prior to book 1, intimacy was never used to disempower damen. laurent, obviously, is very different. pretty much all he knows of intimacy is abuse and disempowerment.

so, being aware of laurent’s trauma and also being fairly perceptive of the signs pointing towards it, i can see here that laurent is fighting a massive battle with himself. because, like, he does want this. but he doesn’t want to want this, because this is something he doesn’t have control over. the fact that he doesn’t throw damen off, and even explicitly asks him to massage a certain spot, is a demonstration of vulnerability that damen doesn't really understand.

which isn't bad or wrong of him, at all! if he did understand more about laurent’s trauma and responses, he’d almost certainly be less confident with initiating intimacy, which is something laurent needs from a partner. it's a lot harder when they're both completely terrified (which damen is, in a different way, but lesser so.) damen is afraid that laurent will bite his head off because he’s a bitch, not because he’s traumatized. and i think that’s a good place for them to be, at this stage of their relationship.

also, the “suicidal impulses” quip is great.

He felt Laurent subtly give himself up to his hands; yet as with a man closing his eyes on the edge of a cliff, it was an act of continuous tension, not surrender.

yeah

‘Like this?’ ‘Yes.’

“he likes that. do it harder.”

Laurent’s head had dropped forward a little. Damen had no idea what he was doing. He was distantly aware that he had had his hands on Laurent’s body once before, and couldn’t believe it, because it felt so impossible now; yet that moment felt connected to this one, even if only in contrast, his current caution against the unguarded way he had let his hands slide down over Laurent’s wet skin.

damen, meanwhile, has recently developed his own intimacy issues/trauma in book 1. these two are a mess

‘Is it so hard to relax?’ said Damen, quietly.

YEAH. IT IS.

‘You only have to walk outside to see what you’ve accomplished. Those men are yours.’ He didn’t pay attention to the signs, the slight stiffening. ‘Whatever happens tomorrow, you’ve done more than anyone could—’ ‘That’s enough,’ said Laurent, pushing himself away unexpectedly.

damen he’s not stressed bc of the war stuff, he’s stressed bc another human being is showing him physical affection and he actually wants it to be happening

When Laurent turned to face him, his eyes were dark. His lips were parted uncertainly. He had lifted his hand to his own shoulder, as though chasing a ghost touch there. He did not look exactly relaxed, but the movement did look a little easier. As if realising that, Laurent said, almost awkwardly, ‘Thank you.’ And then, in wry acknowledgement: ‘Getting tied up leaves an impression. I didn’t realise being captured was so uncomfortable.’

ohhhhh my god. oh my god. so fucking real, every line is so fucking real. the relief of no longer being touched, being back in control. the fuckin, phantom touch on the shoulder—an assessment of the massage, yes, but also… whose ghost is it? damen isn’t asking that question, but i am, and it’s sad. and then the awkward thanks, and the immediate snarky comment to follow up. it’s just so real.

‘I promise I’ll never tie you to the back of a horse,’ said Laurent. There was a pause in which Laurent’s mordant gaze was on him. ‘That’s right, I’m still captured,’ said Damen.

says the protagonist of the “captive prince” series

‘Your eyes say, “For now,”’ Laurent said. ‘Your eyes have always said, “For now.”’

ohhh this line is juicy. because like, yeah, there’s the melancholy yearning context of the last 10 or so chapters, but before? when they were enemies, when laurent was actively hurting and trying to disempower damen? even then, he never showed laurent submission. and laurent clearly noticed. they make me so crazyyyy

‘If you were a pet, I would have gifted you enough by now to buy out your contract, many times over.’

this is more a flaw in my understanding of the pet system, but is he saying that he’s done damen enough favors that if the favors were monetary he could afford to pay off his contract? that’s my best understanding of the line at this point.

‘I’d still be here,’ said Damen, ‘with you. I told you that I would see this border dispute through to its finish. Do you think I’d go back on my word?’ ‘No,’ said Laurent, almost as if he was realising it for the first time.

they drive me insane. the whole “suffering alone” theme—laurent is realizing that he hasn’t been suffering alone, lately, because damen is intentionally staying by his side. laurent may be great at strategic thinking, but he is so used to being manipulated and abused that he doesn’t even consider that someone could be genuinely devoted to him, as a person.

But I know you don’t like it. I remember how much it maddened you in the palace, to be bound and powerless. I felt yesterday how badly you wanted to hit someone.

another interesting re-contextualization of book 1! although it’s not quite an apology, bc i’m sure laurent was aware of the maddening and was probably like “good. this guy killed my brother”

Damen found he’d moved without realising it, his fingers lifting to touch the bruised edge of Laurent’s jaw. He said, ‘The man who did this to you.’ The words just came out. The warmth of skin under his fingers in that moment took all his attention, before he became aware that Laurent had jerked back and was staring at him, blue eyes huge with pupil. Damen was suddenly aware of how out of control he was—he felt—and called violently on his faculties to try to put a stop to—this. ‘I’m sorry. I . . . know better than that.’

“i know better than that” is an INSANE thing for him to say here, by the way. they’re both so compelled by each other and afraid of each other. the amount of work pacat has put into their arc/characterization so far means that scenes like these can have something going on between every single line. honestly i think there’s more going on here off the page, than there is on it

‘No. Wait. I . . . wait.’ Damen stopped, and turned. Laurent’s gaze was edged with indecipherable emotion, and his jaw was set at a new angle. The silence stretched out for such a long time that the words, when they came, were a shock. ‘What Govart said about my brother and I . . . it wasn’t true.’ ‘I never thought it was,’ said Damen, uneasily. ‘I mean that whatever . . . whatever taint exists in my family, Auguste was free of it.’ ‘Taint?’

fascinated by the possible reasons for laurent to say this, in this moment. he uses it on the page to then say that damen is a good and honorable person like auguste, so that’s the easy answer. but if he was just experiencing some ptsd flashbacks, i wonder if this is also something of a grounding statement for himself. because we know who he’s referring to, when he’s talking about bad people on his family tree. it’s almost like he’s trying to figure out how to frame this situation, more for himself than damen—laurent feels protected and cared for in this moment, and the last time he allowed himself to feel that way after auguste’s death, his uncle had taken advantage. so of course he’s picturing his uncle. but this statement, a reminder to himself that damen is more like auguste than the regent, and auguste would have never done anything with laurent in the way the regent had… augh. laurent your brain.

‘I wanted to tell you that, because you,’ said Laurent, as though he was forcing the words out, ‘You remind me of him. He was the best man I have ever known. You deserve to know that, as you deserve at least a fair . . . In Arles, I treated you with malice and cruelty. I will not insult you by attempting to atone for deeds with words, but I would not treat you that way again. I was angry. Angry, that isn’t the word.’ It was bitten off; a jagged silence followed.

this is a laurent apology! no “sorry” necessary. and he’s the closest to telling damen the truth as he’s ever been, but still he stops himself. i wonder if it’s partially out of shame, for how he treated damen. a refusal to make an excuse, because he understands the cruelty of his actions regardless. and of course he has cognitive dissonance to maintain and tactical reasons for keeping the lie going. but still, this is honest.

Then, with a return to his more usual tone, ‘And you don’t need to take watch,’ said Laurent. ‘You sleep prudently.’

of course he can’t just say, like, “sleep well” or “good night.” prudently means carefully, or in good judgment… so like, he’d wake up if something dangerous happened? laurent trusts that? i can’t tell if the statement is an observation or a command. it’s either, “[i want you to] sleep mindfully” or “you sleep mindfully [so you don’t need to stay awake on watch].” hmmm

Damen searched his face, but found nothing in it that he could read, which, he supposed, as he lifted his hands to the laces of his own jacket, was typical.

buddy there is so much subtext going on here it’s okay just get some rest

[frozenjokes]

commence slutfan135 (this goes just about as well as you’d expect)

“Hello, Mumbo!”

“Hey,” Mumbo mumbled without looking up, and it’s not that he was upset or anything, just very focused, adjusting the accents to the sides of one of his new buildings. Playing with color, with size, location, all of the things. He’d gotten really into building these past couple seasons, but in ten specifically he’d really been putting effort into the details. It was paying off too, he was truly very proud of his improvement. Wait, was that Cub?

Mumbo looked up and frowned in more of a baffled kind of expression, knowing very little of what he was seeing.

“What..? What.” Mumbo supposed he could answer that question for himself, though Cub seemed content to answer for himself, once again with his slow falling.

“You were impressed with me last time, I thought I might convince you. You sure you don’t want a potion? You’re an influential man, Mumbo, I’d like to have you on my side.” Cub smirked, and Mumbo was quite sure they both knew that is not what Mumbo had been asking about.

It seemed Cub had taken a page out of Scar’s book, wearing the tightest short shorts Mumbo had ever seen; honestly, Mumbo might’ve thought they belonged to Scar if he and Cub were the same size because Mumbo had never seen Cub show any skin in his entire time on Hermitcraft. He was also wearing a crop top, which, upon second glance was actually a binder, ‘135’ decorated across the front in blue sequins. Cub didn’t ditch the lab coat though, still stained top to bottom in dyes from his firework shop. Well. Maybe he was trying something new; Mumbo wasn’t going to be the guy to shoot him down if he was going out of his comfort zone.

“You look good, mate. But no, I’m okay on the potions.”

“Thank you,” Cub looked outwardly pleased, a nice expression on him, one that made you feel good as well. Maybe that was true of all smiles, but Cub’s was not one Mumbo saw often, not unless Mumbo was being sold something, which.. Well, that seemed to be where this was going to say the least. Mumbo turned back to his project, content to let Cub talk if he wanted to.

That is, until he realized Cub was falling directly over his head.

“Uh, might want to move over a smidge.”

“No can do, Mumbo, no can do,” Cub sighed, like this was a great inconvenience for the both of them. Mumbo stared, and Cub stared back. He wasn’t falling very fast.

“You sure? You can’t move?”

“Can’t.” Cub said, solemn, “You might have to catch me, I think that’s the only way.”

Mumbo got the distinct impression he was being tricked, immediately looking around for Scar or Grian or maybe even Skizz; who knew what the guys in the permit office were getting up to, they’d already taken down his permanent iron shop, named so because it was permanent, thank you very much.

Instead, politely, he said, “Oh, that’s alright,” and moved a step to the left. Cub looked utterly, genuinely crestfallen, like it had not occurred to him this could possibly happen. Mumbo chuckled as he turned away.

“Hey, wait a minute there-“ but Cub’s composure seemed to have left him once whatever he’d planned had gone awry. “I’m going to fall!”

“Seems like you’ve got a lot of practice falling, I believe in you.”

“But my potion’s going to run out- I didn’t set a timer, I don’t know exactly when, but- I need help, Mumbo. Help a guy in need, won’t you?” Cub extended his arms, and Mumbo was amused at how much he sounded like Scar, if Scar paused awkwardly between his sentences, but it was endearing nonetheless. Well, it would be endearing if Mumbo wasn’t 100% sure that Cub was exactly the kind of person who set timers for his potions, and knew exactly when it was about to run out. Also, Cub had an elytra.

“You’ve got an elytra, you’ll be fine.”

“Mumb-“ But Cub didn’t get to finish, yelping at he fell a few feet out of the sky, just barely catching himself with his hands, then grunting and rolling over, wearing an expression so resigned that Mumbo couldn’t help but laugh after he was sure Cub was alright. But he didn’t get the chance to help Cub to his feet when he sat up on his own, looking mildly miserable, “This is terrible.”

“You could have used your elytra, I don’t know why it didn’t activate.”

But Cub only repeated himself, “This is terrible,” before getting to his feet and flying away. Honestly, the whole ordeal was a bit baffling, but soon enough Mumbo was back to his build, and by the next day it was forgotten. Until Cub came around again.

“I made you something,” Cub called, landing normally this time a few feet away, though the voice out of nowhere still startled Mumbo, who hadn’t seen him coming. “Sorry,” Cub laughed, giving Mumbo time to wonder what in the world was going on. The last time he’d seen Cub three times in one week- he’d never seen him that frequently actually, especially not face to face. Well, Cub was in his typical get-up today; Mumbo hoped he hadn’t said anything that made him self-conscious.

“Made me something?” Mumbo mumbled, partially out of shock, but that quickly turned to suspicion when Cub set down a light blue shulker box, painted crudely with white clouds. “Are these slow falling potions?”

“No.”

Mumbo opened the box. They were slow falling potions.

“Maybe,” Cub shrugged, a sheepish smile wafting across his face, “And an elytra. In case you need an extra. They’re in the shape of a heart, see?” Cub pointed. Mumbo nodded, a little awkward. These attempts to get Mumbo to join Cub’s crusade of trendsetting were starting to feel a little sad. Alas, pity won over.

“How much?”

Cub brightened, which was a relief, “It’s free! Free for my good friend Mumbo Jumbo, yessir.”

Mumbo snorted, rolling his eyes, “You drive a hard bargain, but I accept. Thank you for the elytra.”

“Don’t forget the potions!”

“Uh, right.

Cub stared at Mumbo. Mumbo stared back. Cub put his head in his hands.

“Terrible,” Cub mumbled, “This is terrible.” And then before Mumbo could say a word, Cub flew off. Mumbo had no idea what to do. He’d meant to say something to Scar, but he didn’t run into him before the next day when Cub returned.

“Do you want to make out?” Cub had hardly landed before he asked the question, and somehow the startling nature of Cub coming out of nowhere and the content of his words seemed to cancel each other out.

“Oh,” Mumbo said, almost casual despite his internal surprise, “I’d rather not.” He didn’t like kissing very much. Matters of the mouth had too much to do with eating, and he found the sensation uncomfortable, even when he wasn’t overly hungry. Second to that thought was the sentiment that he probably wouldn’t want to make out with Cub anyway, they weren’t exactly close like that. Mumbo supposed he didn’t want to make Cub feel too bad though. “I don’t really like it.”

“Oh, yeah, I don’t really love it either,” Cub mumbled, but it sounded so thoughtful, so genuine, that Mumbo couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Then why’d you ask?” Mumbo laughed, not unkindly, just surprised, “And aren’t you and Scar like, married? Dating?

Cub snorted, raising his hands, “Married? I don’t think so. At least I hope not, because no one told me if we were dating either, though,” Cub shrugged, “Sometimes we take rituals from old books in woodland mansions, and neither of us read the language. We just follow the pictures and see what happens. That’s how we summoned Impulse on accident in season four.”

“Impulse? But he joined in season three, didn’t he? He was in season three, I remember him.”

“Oh yeah, we also sent Impulse back in time while trying to un-summon him. It’s pretty wild that you guys got those memories of him retroactively, Scar and I were really confused. We thought we’d done it, then imagine our surprise when we found Impulse back at spawn and everyone remembered him being there the whole time. Wild. Great guy though.”

Mumbo couldn’t help himself from gaping, a small laugh escaping him from the absurdity. He wondered if he was being extremely gullible right now; surely Mumbo would remember if Impulse came out of nowhere from the future. He would have said something, surely. Mumbo shook his head, letting it go. “So you think you got vex married?”

“I think it’s possible. Anything’s possible. We almost never do those things right though, we can’t read the instructions, you know.”

“Uh huh.”

“Wanna hold hands?”

“Not really.”

“We could have sex.”

Mumbo snorted, undecided if he was baffled or a little annoyed, “No thank you. If you’re pent up then you’ll have to find someone else.”

“I’m not pent up.” Cub huffed, like this was an offensive assumption for Mumbo to make, “I don’t even want to. I just want to hang out.” Mumbo was back to feeling confused, but Cub didn’t sound defensive at all, more genuinely frustrated, and none of this was making any sort of sense in Mumbo’s head.

“Well fine, if you want you can hang out.” Mumbo didn’t pretend he was all too particularly thrilled about this, he was uncomfortable, but he didn’t find Cub to be disingenuous either, so if things straightened out, Mumbo didn’t think he’d mind.

Cub, who was fidgeting unhappily, didn’t seem to share the sentiment, “I find you extremely difficult to talk to.”

“Well I can’t say I know why you’re trying so hard, mate!” Mumbo said, exasperated, and while the words had come out harsher than he meant them to, he really didn’t understand what Cub wanted. This didn’t feel like normal behavior, and it’s not like Mumbo knew Cub well enough to know, but that was just it! He didn’t know Cub! So why was he suddenly all in Mumbo’s business being awkward and weird when Mumbo had done nothing to warrant it! They weren’t even working on a project together! Their bases were nowhere close! Cub was going so far out of his way, and for what?

Cub said nothing, flying off in a huff of frustration that similarly made Mumbo’s blood simmer. What was Cub’s problem? What the hell did Cub want from him? Maybe Mumbo wouldn’t be so irritated if he wasn’t so damn hungry all of the time, but he was and he couldn’t do anything about it, especially not when Cub insisted on coming around and putting him in a weird mood.

Mumbo took a deep breath, struggling to calm himself down. A voice, no, an instinct at the back of his brain was egging him on, tapping on his nerves and riling him up, letting anger override sense and shame because it was just easier, easier to lash out, hurt, drive away. What would happen, he wondered, if Cub stomped off instead of flew. If Cub turned his back on Mumbo, open, unsuspecting, ripe for the taking. Mumbo would watch him go, he was sure of that. He could be meaner, give Cub a real reason to leave in a huff, he could hurt him, then find him at his spawn and do it again and again, silence him with a slit throat until the only screams he could manage were gurgled coughs as Mumbo systematically took him apart until he suffocated, over and over.

No one would believe him. No one, though maybe Scar, maybe a few others, but Mumbo had been here longer, Mumbo didn’t have a violent bone in his frail little body and Cub was a vex, a trickster and a liar known for holding his tongue, no, no one would believe him, not against Mumbo’s word.

A bead of saliva dripping off his chin roused Mumbo from his daze. He closed his eyes, hands shaking. Keep it together. Keep it together. He needed to get away. He wanted to change, he wanted to change so badly into something non-sentient, something that wouldn’t think and feel and hurt, but then it would be over. His time on Hermitcraft would end. Mumbo wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to throw away everything he’d made here, not yet.

He left immediately. He wasn’t sure where he was going, not off the server, but far, he just needed to be far away. He’d spend as much time as he needed to cull the hunger, keep himself together and sentient and whole. He’d stay far away from Cub for the rest of the season, avoid him at all costs. It was too appealing, too tempting- Mumbo couldn’t let that happen.

(And at the end of season ten, Mumbo knew exactly where he would start. Not even the fear of being completely overcome by a human murder in a human body frightened Mumbo; if anything, he desired it more than anything in the world, he wanted to be overwhelmed, paralyzed, choking on the feeling. He wanted it to hurt. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel the throb of starvation, always present, always at the back of his mind. Maybe it would feel good. If he endured it, maybe he would feel full.)

…

Mumbo was gone for nearly a week and he didn’t feel better. The relief was so temporary it could hardly be counted as relief at all, his only respite being the brief moments of thoughtlessness that overcame him when his sole focus was swallowing a large meal.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he came home. Anxiety insisted there would be a confrontation, loneliness hoped Grian would be waiting for him, wondering where he’d gone off to for so long. Would Scar be around as well, looking for him? In truth he’d much prefer Grian; Grian never asked questions, only happy to goof around in the present, a respite Mumbo could really use right now. Scar’s questions weren’t even pushy, they came from a genuine place of interest that made Mumbo’s heart squirm, but Grian didn’t bother with small talk, he didn’t much like it, which was Mumbo’s preference in the end. Though, if Scar was around, Mumbo could ask him to have a word with Cub..?

No one was there. No one was waiting for him, as was typical. Mumbo wondered miserably if they even noticed he was gone, though he knew the thought was a product of his own secret heartache. It wasn’t unusual for hermits to disappear for weeks at a time for the sole purpose of shoveling sand; no one would assume anything was wrong if Mumbo didn’t say something, which.. Safer to have them all believe everything was just peachy. Far worse to have anyone keeping close tabs on him.

Mumbo dumped his things in the chest outside the entrance to his moth ball, ready to curl up and wait for the worst of this to pass.

“Mumbo,” Cub’s voice made Mumbo shriek, swiveling around to see him perched on the top of the moth ball where he was not seconds before, or maybe Mumbo had just missed him, but whatever the case Mumbo found himself stumbling backward, then directly into the death pit he used to get into his house. When he woke up in bed, Cub was perched on the chests across from him, unmoving, almost like he’d teleported, but the illusion was broken when Cub replaced the block wide hole in his ceiling.

“Get out. Get out.” Mumbo whirled on him, sensing Cub’s fear on his palate, open mouthed, breathing it in, and Mumbo had to forcibly snap his mouth shut against invisible hands that were desperately trying to keep it pried open.

“Are you alright?” Cub asked, meek, though he shook his head, almost embarrassed, “Obviously not, I know it, I just-“

Mumbo didn’t remember moving, but Cub’s ribs cracked under his hand all the same, the same traitorous fist taking Cub’s shirt collar, drawing him back from the wall just to slam him back against it, head slamming into the wall. Mumbo smelled blood amongst the fear, teeth grit against the allure but lips drawn back in a snarl.

“It’s okay,” Cub wheezed, fighting a cough that would shake his whole trembling form, “Do what you have to do.” Their faces were so close, too close, but when Cub opened his eyes, forced them open, lidded and quivering, making himself meet Mumbo’s..

Mumbo whipped Cub through the hole in his floor, jerky and violent because there was no other way he could have done it, no other way he could make this problem go away. It was lucky that Cub landed in the water. It frightened Mumbo when he wasn’t moving at first, laying limply in the small pool, but Cub grunted when the potion of healing hit his stomach from above, then slowly, arms shaking with the effort, brought it to his lips. The strain of Cub’s body relaxed as the potion took effect, Mumbo’s relaxing in turn. Still, Cub took a moment to recover, pushing himself to his feet on shaky limbs, then with a small smile, sighing heavily, like he was appreciating the feel of a deep breath, of holding air in his lungs.

And then he looked up, meeting Mumbo’s eye poked anxiously out of the hole in his elevated home.

“Cheers. See you tomorrow then,” Cub said, casual as ever, waving lazily.

“You-“ Mumbo tripped over his words, alarm driving all rational thought from his mind, replaced with the brain of a cornered animal, “No! No! I will not- Stay the fuck away from me!”

“Ahaha,” Cub shrugged a small laugh, hands snugly in the pockets of his lab coat, “Yeah, bye Mumbo.”