#THE BEGINNING WAS LIKE PRAYER[S] PRAYER IN GENERAL WHAT THE FUCK.

[caramelmochacrow]

NO FCUKING TOLD ME BLOOMING ROSE FULL VERSION WAS RELEASED WHAT THE FUCK

[shroudandsands]

Prompt #7: Morsel

Her fingertips skittered across the strings like sparks between blades. Her heart rattled against her ribcage in tune as the heel of her hand slammed against the body of her guitar in her frantic rhythm. Her voice clawed its way out of her throat and scraped itself against her sharpened teeth. Her thoughts minced, bitten down, and mauled by it all only to arrive to waiting ears with words that could only be described as raging. The dagger-sharp-heel of her boot dragged against the stone as literal sparks flew. As pale gold eyes burned as hellfire in the low light.

When you were an emotionally stunted winter of a woman with all the social abilities of a particularly poisonous plant, what did you do? How did you go about having the conversation? With yourself, or if you were being particularly generous, with someone else? A specific someone else who’d actually been the topic of thought for some time now? Did you just drop it there, in the midst of something else, as a cold open and pray for the best? Did you wait for the conversation until the moment was right? Did you stuff it away and pray the thought never came to you again for as long as you lived? Rakaso wasn’t Ishgardian or repressed enough for that last option. No. Instead, then, she sidestepped all of the above with all the guile of someone who’d only ever been able to barely survive brief moments of emotional intimacy by pretending they hadn’t happened at all. Or by blaming booze on the moment of weakness. No, no. Instead of all of the sane or perhaps insane options. Instead of holding up a letter, sealed, and asking of its contents without needing to open it. Instead of flicking it open herself and simply reading within. Instead of stewing in her thoughts and letting them spiral out of control in that melodramatic way she’d been rather fond of lately. Her claws screamed their way down guitar strings in a display of sleep-deprived mania.

The heel of her hand sped with the beating of her heart as she screamed her way out of the start. Out of the rough, quiet, unhelpful beginnings of the song. Get to the speed, the rage, the therapeutic escape of thoughts. Well, you look like trouble but I guess I do too-- Well, you look like trouble but I guess I do too-- The wrong string, the wrong chord, a bash of her heel against the amplifier as she careened her way back on course. If she couldn’t do it right the first time, do it first the right way, she’d force it anyways. Who cares if she fucked it up one way or the other? To the audience it was all the same, maybe, and to the target of it all it wasn’t going to matter anyways. Through it all, if she was going to admit it, there was only the question only the dread only the worst thing she could possibly say to herself in the midst of the lyrical self-flagellation that was happening. What do we do now? If for some odd reason, any reason at all, if she wanted it to be more than just some awful song to sing. More than a heart between her teeth. More than blood and bone. More than some long, dark prayer that was filled with the selfish wants of a woman who didn’t know if that was what she wanted at all. Gods above just kill her. It’d be so much easier.

At least by the time she was coming off the stage she’d gotten it out of her system. Even if it was that same, half-flushed smile that was greeting her. She’d tired herself out. Her heart’s energy all spent on running as fast as the percussion. As running as fast as her thoughts. Enough that even flicking the other across the chin with her claw didn’t even elicit a skipped beat or an aching chest. Enough that she could slow down to see the flicker in Nat’s expression. That same change. That same reaction. She clicked her worn claws in practiced Huntspeak that she knew the other couldn’t repeat or even begin to understand. Still. As she glanced back. That look of hers that Rakaso had long since given up parsing. She returned it with a lopsided grin, a wave, a beckon.

She headed for the door.

[themememerchant]

P5R ARCANA SWAP AU IDEAS I HAD

These are all small little ideas and thoughts I have for my fanfiction Queenpin Of The Metaverse which I will hopefully be able to begin publishing on ao3 soon enough

So until then, have this moderately sized collection of random facts about the swapped thieves personalities and such

HERE WE FUCkIN GO:

Something not mentioned the original post but is important to know is that the phantom thieves are effectively a giant polycule, many of them are dating each other with Sophia being the exception-(she’s 10)

Sumire, Futaba, Haru, and Ann all trying on Makoto’s bomber jacket when they think nobody’s looking and Makoto thinking they’re adorable

Yuuki trying-(and failing)-to “rizz up” Sumire without knowing what the phrase actually means while everyone else gets 2nd-hand embarrassment

Futaba calling Sumi and Makoto her “Waifus for life-u”

Akira 100% being like Gomez Addams where he challenges the sun to a duel because Goro or Sumi got sunburned

“EN GUARDE, Mon Soleil!”

“Akira, that’s the sun-”

“EN GUARDE, I SAY!”

Yuuki pulling stupidly annoying yet harmless pranks on everyone like giving them 1,000 yen in nothing but 10 yen coins

Anytime someone tries to get a favor from Makoto she pulls out a box of pocky sticks and says: “Ya gotta play for it.”

Sumire doing weight lifting instead of gymnastics because she still wants to be fit

Makoto spots her

Yusuke giving off cat energy by getting stuck in the stupidest places and crying about it

Haru being weirdly talented with every niche thing she tries like drawing and singing

People ask how she got so good and she just shrugs innocently with legitimately zero explanation, she’s just built different

Sophia and Sumire both use age regression to cope with abuse from their respective parents and they set up playdates constantly

Futaba is Sophia’s designated caregiver

Makoto and Ann take turns being Sumi’s caregivers-(they begrugingly agreed to share custody)

TW: ALL THE STUFF ASSOSCIATED WITH KAMOSHITHEAD 

Yuuki having a “Poison” moment like Angel from Hazbin, except the song flips between him being beaten and assaulted in the P.E. office and his cognitive self coming onto Kamoshida

In reference to the above, Makoto and Yuuki having a “Loser, Baby” moment where they bond over hating Kamoshithead once Yuuki awakens

Sumire saying things like: “Everything’s jake!”, and nobody knows what the fuck she means until she needs to explain

Sumire using slang from the American 20’s is such a funny concept to me since not only is it outdated terminology, it’s also in a perfect NY American accent from a Japanese highschool girl

The thieves taking on traits from their personas in general is such a fun idea to work with

Sumire with her slang as i already said but also being enthralled by jazz music and early 20th century fashion

Goro having excellent deductive reasoning and fascination with random knowledge, he also has slight opium cravings

Makoto having inexplicable knowledge on sailing and being really good at bargaining and negotiation

Futaba emitting an aura of almost royal-like confidence that makes other students fall head over heels for her

Yuuki being a master of sneaking up on people by accident and having a really good poker-face

Sophia having a child-like curiosity over basic things like why the sky is blue and how rain works

Akira speaking in random bursts of Latin and Greek, he also begins writing poetry in his free time

Haru saying obscenities with a Southern-belle accent and being really good at working a crowd

Yusuke being followed by Paimon’s demonic parade so anyone near him will hear faint sounds of drums and trumpets when he walks

Ann suddenly becomes a master tactician who was even able to beat Goro at chess once, she also unconsciously whispers French prayers sometimes

Ryuji is a masterful pick-pocket-(Nezumi Kozo)-with great public speaking skills-(Maximilien)-, he later gets a side job with crossdressing-(Nezumi Kozo again)-

Goro and Akira having the same homoerotic tension between each other as canon but Akira is less self-assured and Goro is not a murderer but is still very threatening and intimidating

Ann has a “resting bitch face” because she has trouble expressing her emotions, so most students are too afraid to talk to her. After she joins and starts dating some of the thieves everyone just looks so confused as this gorgeous-yet-stone-faced blonde model starts hugging a red-headed cinnamon roll-(Sumi)-while looking as stoic as ever

Even better when Sumi makes comments like: ”Awww, It seems someone's in an extra good mood today!” And then Ann goes: “Thanks, I was hoping you’d notice.”

The students around them have no idea how anyone was supposed to know the blonde’s emotions, but Sumi is just built different

FUCK NOW I WANT TO MAKE A ONESHOT ABT THIS FUCK-

Yusuke and Futaba are both pretty smart people but when they try to work together they end up canceling out each other’s brain cells and becoming morons

Ann probably wears berets sometimes and the thieves poke fun at her by calling her a "French stereotype"

And that is all for now, who knows what else my diseased mind shall spit out next…

Until then, adieu all ye power tops

[hyetiny]

c// fem!reader, sex worker hongjoong, detective reader, mentions of murder and crime, bratty hongjoong, joong small cock <3, humiliation kink, oral (f receiving), degradation (use of slut), dumbification, yay for protected sex

you weren’t at all fond of the dingy, dim hotel you found yourself in front of - it smelled of damp decay, and had only one flickering light in front of the entrance. nonetheless, it was essential to be here for the case.

you never enjoyed working homicides, having to look into the depraved faces of killers as they more often than not showed no remorse. with a sigh and a silent prayer, you walk into the motel.

when you show him your badge, the person working the register wordlessly handed you a key with “room 117″ messily scribbled onto it. the climb up four flights of stairs isn’t fun, but finally you unlock the door hastily, wanting to get this over and done with.

as expected, there on the bed is a rather stunning young man. he has sharp yet youthful features, heavy makeup and is only wearing a robe. it’s obvious he has nothing on underneath it. you don’t miss the “do me” eyes that cross his eyes when you enter the room - it’s all an act, you think.

“you can put the money on the table.” he says after a short silence.

“100 for the hour?” he nods. you rummage around your pocket, putting said amount on the table next to you. if you landed a conviction, you’d be getting the money back anyway.

“you can keep your robe on.” you say, getting seated on the bed a safe distance away from him.

a smirk crosses his face. “oh, you want to play with me a little bit first?” his voice changes drastically - it’s more seductive.

you shake your head. “that’s not why i’m here. last night a man was killed, and if my sources are correct, you’re the last person he saw.”

the man pauses, looking at you as though waiting for you to continue.

“i need to you to tell me everything that happened last night.” you state.

he pauses again. “alright.”

“your full name, please?”

“kim hongjoong.”

“okay hongjoong, so what happened when you met up with mr lee last night?”

hongjoong sighs. “well he paid for three hours. he was married, so he paid me extra to stay quiet about it. he was actually really good at sex, he had me in at least five different positions and his cock was massi-”

“relevant details only, please.” you shudder. 

hongjoong rolls his eyes. “anyway, he told me he had somewhere to be after, so he wanted to relieve some stress before he went.” you jot down the important detail. 

“did he tell you where?”

“he said it was an important meeting at a club down the street.”

you nod. “thank you, hongjoong. we’ll be in contact if we need anything else.”

you start to get up, but he clears his throat. “you paid for the full hour. why don’t you use up the time instead of wasting your money?” 

you raise an eyebrow. naturally you assumed that he would want to keep the hour for himself. 

“i haven’t had any clients today so i’m feeling a little... pent up.” he continues. “and you look like you could use some stress relief.”

it catches you off guard. you curse yourself for thinking about it - he was right, you did technically have the next hour to do whatever you wanted until you had to get back.

without a word, you begin to unbutton your button up shirt.

“this is strictly casework, got it?” he nods, grinning like a child who just got a jar of candy.

“i’ll make it well worth your time, detective”. he whispers into your ear before nipping on it, catching you off guard.

you weren’t fond of his cocky attitude - it spurred a desire within you to put him in his place. 

“off.” you say, pulling at the fabric holding his robe together. he obeys, revealing the expanse of his tan skin, taking notice of every little mole, every little birthmark, every small scar that decorates his skin. but of course, what catches your attention is his hard cock, smaller than average and flushed pink at the tip.

“is this supposed to make me feel good?” you ask, wrapping a hand around the short length. to your amusement, your hand comes up more than is necessary when you jerk him off. it only adds to the humiliation.

“don’t judge before you try it, sweetheart.” he says, not affected by the snide comment at all. “besides, it’s not the only thing i can use to make you feel good.”

at this point you’re only stripped of your shirt, while hongjoong is stark naked. although he lets out pleasured moans, he pulls your hand off his cock and implores you to lay down. he scooches down on the bed, laying down on his tummy and to your surprise, hooks his hands around your panties underneath your pencil skirt. you gasp in surprise, feeling exposed now that he could see your wet pussy.

“hm, you’re a lot of talk for someone who’s already so wet for me.” he giggles. as though to accentuate his point, he runs a finger up your folds and brings it up to his lips.

“oh, you taste divine.” he whispers. “you’ll let me be greedy, right?”

with that, he pulls your skirt up your thighs and wastes no time in licking a stripe up your core, earning a loud moan. his lips suction around your clit, his tongue peeking out to repeatedly stimulate the bud. a finger comes up to tease your entrance.

“f-fuck, hongjoong-” you cry out, already feeling close to your high. “s-stop or i’ll-”

he takes mercy on you, pulling off when your legs start to shake around his head. 

“i should have gotten you to sit on my face, you have the sweetest pussy i’ve ever tasted.” he says. you roll your eyes, thinking he must say that to every single person he eats out.

looking at the ticking clock on the wall, you look him straight in the eye. “you have thirty minutes to fuck me until i forget my own name.”

it clearly affects him, because he gulps and nods. he rummages around the bedside table, pulling out a box of condoms and shaking the box until one falls out - clearly the last one in the box. he wastes no time in quickly putting it on before lining himself up with your entrance.

“any day now would be good.” you say angrily. it doesn’t slip your notice that he pushes into your core with more force than necessary.

“fuck, such a tight pussy. no one’s fucked you properly in a while, huh?” he growls into your ear. he’s right - you shouldn’t have judged him, because his cock still manages to fill you up perfectly. it only gets better when his hand meets your clit, and he immediately sets an aggressive pace, ramming into you and perfectly hitting your g-spot with the way his cock curves into it.

“holy shit, fuck joong!” a garbled mess of curses and hongjoong’s name is the only thing you can manage to get out as he only speeds up, letting out pretty, low moans of his own and speaking nothing but pure filth into you ear.

“gosh, you’re such a slut aren’t you? needing a good fuck while you’re on the job?” in your fucked out state of mind, you don’t bother to remember the fact that he was the one who asked for sex. instead you just blindly nod, agreeing with everything he says.

“oh, look at you going all dumb for me. are you gonna cum, my dumb little detective?” you nod again, your moans only getting higher the closer you get to your orgasm.

“i-i’m-” it’s the only warning he gets when your pussy spasms around him, your hips grinding against his harsh pace as you reach your high. it’s enough to spur his orgasm as well, a groan leaving his lips as he empties into the condom.

you both take a minute to catch your breaths before he pulls out, taking off the condom, tying it and throwing it in the bin.

“so, do you feel any better?” he asks when you come back from using the bathroom.

“much better.” you smile, getting dressed and making your way to the door. “thanks, hongjoong.”

“hey.” he speaks up. “take the money back.”

you turn to face him, and shake your head. “think of it as a generous tip.”

a cute pout graces his lips. “i usually have to fake my moans and pretend to enjoy it, but you were really something else.” he says.

“in that case, we can meet up again to compensate.” you say with a smile, which he returns.

“i’d like that.” he replies. “i’ll see you around then, y/n.” and with that you leave, weak in the knees and your head filled with thoughts of the pretty blonde boy.

tag list:

@seongsangsgf @mingi-ivity @shinyddeonghwa @galaxteez @bobateastay @ddeonghwva @spacepiratehongjoong @multidreams-and-desires @a-soft-hornytiny @serialee @yunhospuppy

[zet-sway]

Spiritual Shrios Summer Fill: Godless

This is a prompt fill for @rosenkow's Spiritual Shrios Summer! Prompts | release | oasis | moan | delirium | pray | sweat | whisper | afterlife | contaminated | skin | worship | incense | godless | petals | taste | nectar | caress | mirage | ripe | sundown | hallucinate | salt | intoxicated | soul | embrace | hunger | wet | adrenaline | breathe |

PROMPT WORD: GODLESS | WORDS: ~1800

Rated: "G" - General Audiences AO3 Link: "The Frozen Sea" Pairing: Thane / FemShep Summary: The ocean licks at her knees - not to claim her, but to mark her. 'One foot in the grave,' as the human adage goes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Shepard looks forward to being the first one up and awake.

Her cabin is suffocating. There are nights when she appreciates the privacy, but the silence of her isolated quarters makes her insides itch in an uncomfortable way. Just before the common area lighting begins to grow from the dim cadence of the night cycle, she leaves her room and greets the morning, intangible as only time on a starship can be. First she checks on the night crew, then starts coffee for Gardener. Finally, she makes her way down to the shuttle bay for PT. Alone.

It's unexpected when she has a visitor one quiet morning.

"Sere Krios," she says, rising from a deep stretch on the mat.

He smiles warmly, equally as surprised to see another soul at this hour. "Commander, good morning. And please, just Thane if you wouldn't mind."

Thane is the newest member of her crew and they've only spoken twice before. Maybe it shouldn't come as a surprise that he has his daily rituals as well, given his condition. He's dressed simply. Black pants, a sleeveless shirt, his defined, green chest exposed for all the world. Drell and humans share some attractive qualities. He's easy on the eyes.

She's staring, she realizes, and looks away. Thane takes his place on the mat and begins his own warm-up.

Day after day, he joins her, and they build a routine. Together, they begin with stiff, groggy stretches; then there's cardio, sweat, and strength training. Their conversations are light and technical. He respects her silence. She respects his discipline. On leg day, they limp back into the elevator in tandem. If she's lucky, she has time to join him and the crew for breakfast after her shower.

When she's alone, she quietly recalls how the light bends around the contours of his body.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He's there as usual when she steps off the elevator and into the shuttle bay. Fully armored, helmet under one arm, weapons holstered, but ready.

"Shepard. No training today?" He rises from his place on the mat where he's been exploring the human practice of yoga, per her suggestion. It suits him. Yoga is all about breathing.

"I was beginning to think you tired of my company."

She gives him a weary smile and shakes her head.

There's a new, abnormal tension between them and by his gaze she knows he feels it too. She likes Thane. She knows hardly a damn thing about him, but he's a comfortable presence, follows orders... doesn't ask intrusive questions. However, she's breaking their routine unexpectedly, and in the moment, his gaze is almost painful.

"Is there something I should know about Alchera?"

Okay, maybe he does ask intrusive questions.

His voice is a hot knife through her muddy thoughts. The detour to Alchera hadn't been on their flight plan, but somehow, he knows. Times like this, his eidetic memory puts her on edge. She asks herself how many other kernels of obscure knowledge are locked away in his mind.

Stepping up to prep the shuttle, she weighs the consequences of lying to his face. Only six people on the ship know where she's going and why, and she doesn't want to talk about it with any of them. The words are too hard to say out loud. This is where I died.

"Alliance HR," she says finally. A partial truth.

His brows rise and his posture straightens just a bit. "Human remains." Fuck if he isn't perceptive, but if he has questions, he keeps them to himself.

She nods once, happy to have stopped this conversation in its tracks. Then she changes the subject.

"PT tomorrow," she offers with a smile. "I can't be lifting without my spotter."

"Of course, Shepard. The pleasure is mine," he responds with an acknowledging nod. She feels bad for interrupting his training as he leaves on the elevator, but she doesn't want to face her team until her task is done.

Let's just get this over with.

Alone with her thoughts, she exhales a breath she didn't know she was holding and starts her pre-flight checklist.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It's well past dinner when she comes to him. The doors at his back swish open and she stands quietly inside the threshold. A fistful of clinking metal dangles from her hand and he knows she's come to have the conversation she avoided earlier.

"Did I catch you at a good time?"

"You did," he says smoothly. "Was there something you wanted to discuss?"

She sits across from him and the metal spills from her fist. Dog tags. Twenty of them. Her gaze is fixed on them and she appears shrouded in a fog of thoughts.

"Did you know them?" The question is gentle, he's almost afraid to know the answer.

Shepard takes a deep breath and blinks slowly. "Yeah. They were my crew."

Thane can feel a chill, as though the icy surface of the planet is still clinging to her long after she's left it. "Your ship went down on Alchera?"

She nods.

"...and you were among them."

"Yes."

He realizes now why she brushed off his words earlier. It strikes him as odd that she would bring this to him instead of Garrus, Tali, Joker, or Chakwas. All of them served on that ship with her, although he isn't sure if they were on board during the attack. She chose him for this, maybe because he'd asked, unknowingly, down in the shuttle bay. Regardless, she's here now and he struggles to understand her needs.

Thane refocuses. There's a pile of dog tags before him and each one represents a human life, now in the arms of Kalahira.

"May I read them?"

She glances up at him then, surprised. "Won't you remember them forever?"

"I'd like to."

Her lips twitch just slightly in the most cautious of smiles, and she nods. "Knock yourself out," a quietly uttered and somehow charming human expression.

Thane picks up each tag one by one and passes his eyes over them. Every name, a life extinguished. Stories unfinished. Loved ones mourning for years without closure or a body to bury. Memories percolate in his mind and he pushes them back because now is not the time. For each name, he offers a silent prayer to the goddess for their eternal peace. When he finishes, the tags are a neat horizontal stack before them.

Hands folded, he looks at her. "I don't see your name."

It's less of a question and more of an observation, but she dips one hand into her shirt collar and produces a pair of clinking metal tags. They dangle from a new chain but the metal scorched and scuffed almost to a state of illegibility. One from the Alliance, the other from the Spectres. Her name is heavily embossed into each one.

SHEPARD DECEMBER HUMAN SYSTEMS ALLIANCE

His expression lifts and he smiles, hopeful. "You survived."

Shepard shakes her head. "I was spaced."

"But you must have-"

"No, Thane." Her tone is firm, unwavering. "I was spaced."

Her intense green eyes pierce through him. There's a twinge in her voice that makes his insides clench. "I read the data on Project Lazarus. I died."

It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. Thane tries to control his features but her assertion shakes the very foundations of his faith. Many had said she died, but he'd always understood it as a metaphor - a near death experience.

He reaches into himself for calm and a memory rises, unbidden. "Jesus and Lazarus, from the Christian bible. '...I am the resurrection and the life.'"

"Kalahira..." he breathes. "Shepard, I didn't know."

She grunts out an ugly, short laugh and tears her eyes from his. "I can't believe you read the bible."

Her words fly past him without acknowledgement. He sees her as though through fogged glass, thoughts spinning. "Kalahira released you from the sea." When the words leave his mouth, they sound like irrefutable truth.

There's silence while she fidgets across from him, and then she asks, "Do humans go to the sea too?"

"We believe all life does."

He has a thought, then. "What do you believe, Shepard?

Her expression is mildly uncomfortable. "Before or after I died?" But then she shakes her head, reconsidering. "The universe is grand enough that maybe it is god's design. But I don't think god gives a damn about us. Agnostic, I guess." Shepard pauses and looks at him, but her eyes are distant. "Maybe I'd like to believe in your sea. Right now it feels easier to accept."

"To bring comfort in dark places is the purpose of spirituality. It does not matter what you believe as long as it brings you peace."

"Some humans would disagree with you."

Aware of the myriad of human religions and their conflicts, he brushes off her statement. "This is my truth. Their opinions don't concern me."

Shepard's gaze is searching, revealing the cracks in her armor, slivers of well-hidden vulnerability. "So I went to the sea. And now I'm back."

"If I am to accept what you say, I can offer no other conclusion." He doesn't ask what she remembers, he knows he might not like the answer.

"Then what am I now? Besides a soggy, undead cyborg?"

Her voice is laced with sarcasm but Thane thinks over her question carefully, aware he will be turning it over in his mind for days to come. Kalahira, Irikah, Siha, the gods and their angels, his lover and confidant, memories and oaths... regrets and comforts.

A heavy veil of epiphany descends on him, awestruck, painfully aware of his mortality, and prickling with a primal, deeply buried fear. Once human and now something in between, she is Commander Shepard, avatar of the Sea, chosen of Kalahira. The ocean licks at her knees not to claim her, but to mark her. 'One foot in the grave,' as the human adage goes.

The fist of tension in his gut calls to mind the image of Irikah's eyes in his scope all those years ago. I thought she was the goddess Arashu. But it's not Arashu who sits before him now, but Kalahira. Her icy breath howls across the inhospitable surface of Alchera, her unfathomable currents gathering those courageous enough to follow her into the abyss. How appropriate that she appeared just as he sought his demise in the Dantius Towers. She will be the one to ferry him into the unknown when they finally breach the relay. He prays she will be merciful.

Placing one hand over hers, Thane squeezes reassuringly. He doesn't linger, the gesture is as much for him as it is for her; he wants to know that she is real, as he finally answers her question.

'Then what am I now?'

"A woman with a purpose so great, the goddess herself answered the galaxy's cry for your return."

[madpanda75]

“Penance”

For @thatesqcrush’s kink bingo--I’ve been loving everyone’s contributions to the challenge so I thought I would try my hand at it!

Jonas Nightingale x Reader for the Gags square ( my first Jonas fic! Warning-- I’ve never seen “Leap of Faith so please be kind)

Double Warning: This is SUPER NSFW. There’s BDSM, ball gags, fisting, squirting, forced orgasms, and a pinch of priest kink (even though Jonas is a “reverend” not a priest)

Hold on to your butts and get your splash guards out!

Sam Nightingale sat cross-legged in front of the pulpit. A frigid blast slapped her in the face and she silently praised whoever invented air conditioning. Rather than pitching a tent and sweating her ass off in an abandoned field out in east Jesus nowhere, the local pastor had insisted that she and Jonas use his church for their revival.

With a glint in her eye, she gazed down at her lap overflowing with dollar bills. Ten. Twenties. Fifties. Even a few hundreds from the wealthier church patrons. Every dollar counted, she could hear a cash register cha-ching in her brain. Ah, the simple-minded naivety of the Midwest. It was like taking candy from a baby. “Damn, Jonas.” She shook her head in amazement. “We made bank today. Who knew Nebraskeners were so generous? I swear you wave around a Bible and the promise of redemption in front of folks and the money flows.” 

Her comments were greeted with silence. “Jonas?” She glanced up to see her brother lying on the front pew, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. “Hello? Earth to Jonas!” She grabbed her pack of menthols and chucked them at her brother, gaining his attention.

“Huh? Ya’ say something?” 

“Uhhh, yeah.” Sam made a show of flipping through a large wad of cash. “Here I am drowning in Benjamins and you’re out in la la land. What’s with you today?”

Jonas shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? You sure about that?” She walked over and knocked his feet off the pew, plopping down right next to him. “Cause you were distracted during the church service. I had to basically feed you your lines through the microphone. Please tell me you haven’t found your moral compass or something.”

He snorted a laugh. “Hell would freeze over before that happens.” Coming back to his senses, he spotted the sea of green nestled in his sister’s lap and whistled. “All that came from today?”

“Yep.”

“We should add an afternoon service if we stick around here. We’ll make twice as much.”

A dramatic sigh of relief below past Sam’s lips. “There’s the swindler I know and love. You had me worried there for a moment.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Jonas grabbed the cash and began counting the bills when the door opened. “The Senior Bingo is being held around the corner in the rec room,” he said over his shoulder.

“Actually I’m looking for you,” a soft sultry voice called out. A voice that made Jonas whip his head around.

“It’s you,” he whispered and shot straight up out of the pew, the dollar bills in his lap now floating to the floor like confetti. 

Sam immediately began to pick up the stray money while Jonas stood there, staring at you. You were wearing a demure, white cotton sundress that screamed virgin, but the ruby red shade of your lipstick purred vixen. His sister was right, he had been distracted and now that distraction was standing in the middle of the aisle. He could feel his pants begin to bulge at the mere sight of you biting your bottom lip.

 “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” you said with an apologetic smile.

“Oh don’t worry about it.” Sam stood up and patted her brother on the back, noticing the way his demeanor changed the minute you walked through the door. “This guy has been out of it all day. Although I think I’m beginning to realize why.” 

Jonas glared at his sister before turning back to you. “How can I help you?”

You fidgeted a bit, wringing the leather strap of your purse. “Actually, I was hoping we could speak in private, Reverend.” 

“I’m gonna go check on that bingo. See if they have someone to call the numbers,” Sam said after an awkward pause. She gave Jonas a sly wink before walking out the door.

“Please have a seat.” Jonas ushered you to a pew. His heart was racing and sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead. There was something about you that made him nervous. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but whatever it was, you disarmed him completely. 

He took a deep breath and tried to recover. After all he was the King of Sin. If he could con people out of money under the guise of salvation, he could certainly handle talking to a beautiful woman.

 “I’m glad you came in today,” he said.

“You are?”

Jonas nodded his head and took a seat next to you. “I noticed you during the service. I could sense that something was weighing heavily on your soul.”

You looked down for a moment, hesitant to speak before finally confessing. “There is.” 

“Don’t be bashful.” He reached out and patted your knee in reassurance, his thumb gliding across your skin. “You can trust me. I help all those who are lost and right now you look like a little lamb that has strayed from the flock.”

“I...I... struggle with the sin of lust,” you replied in a voice barely above a whisper. Your cheeks turned bright red, nearly matching the shade of lipstick you were wearing.

Jonas felt his interest peak. “Go on,” he encouraged.

“I have certain...proclivities. I’ve tried to quell these dark desires, but I need help. My need is constant.” You let out a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering shut.

Little did you know, you were an answer to Jonas’ prayers (if in fact he ever did pray). It had been ages since he had gotten laid and you were just his type. It was as if the heavens opened and a choir of angels were singing ‘Hallelujah.’ He cleared his throat. “I think I can be of service.” 

“Thank you!” Relief washed over your face before you became serious. “But I have to warn you others have tried and failed.” You leaned forward, your knees now touching his. He could smell the seductive notes of your perfume: lotus blossom and black orchid. “Do you think you are up to the challenge?” you practically purred.

Jonas licked his lips and let his eyes drink you in from head to toe. He felt smugly satisfied noticing your heaving chest, the way your nipples hardened against the fabric of your dress. “Sure, I’ll guide you on my cock,” he thought. 

But rather than make this blunt point and risk you running out of the church, disgusted. He gently cupped your face and stared into your eyes with a deep sincerity. “I can assure you, I won’t stop until we tame the fire that burns deep within you. I am relentless in my dedication to saving souls.” 

What happened next sent shockwaves down the wily con artist’s spine. Parting your lips, you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking and gliding your tongue against the digit. Jonas gasped, feeling you bite down on the meaty flesh before pulling off with a pop. 

You tucked your purse under your arm and stood up, smoothing down your dress. “Thank you, Reverend. I’ll be in touch.” You went to the door before pausing and looking over your shoulder. “By the way, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”  With an innocent smile, you left Jonas sitting there, completely stunned. 

*****

The old secretary glanced up as soon as you walked into the church office. “The Reverend will be with you in a moment. Why don’t you take a seat.” She motioned towards a chair. 

“Thank you.” You sat down and crossed your legs, admiring your new black Louboutin heels. 

The sound of an old fire and brimstone preacher played from a radio on the secretary’s desk. “Fornication is not just a sin against another person. It is a sin against ourselves. It is self destructive and we must avoid it at all costs!”

You arched a brow at the secretary, who gave you a tight smile and turned down the volume. You couldn’t help but bite back a laugh. The irony of the sermon was not lost on you.

It had been three weeks since you met Jonas. You were in town for a few months visiting your grandmother and she insisted on dragging your butt out of bed to the sunrise Sunday service at her church. Luckily for you, instead of the regular reverend (who was as old as Methuselah), there was a handsome, charismatic guest preacher in his place. Having never been an avid church-goer before, you were quite taken with the eye candy professing salvation for all sinners from the pulpit. 

After the service, you dropped off your grandmother at her bingo game and decided to have a little fun by giving into your more baser instincts. How else were you supposed to entertain yourself in a dusty dried up old town? You knew how to play the game. With your chaste couture and coquettish ways, you caught Jonas Nightingale--hook, line, and sinker.

Just then Jonas walked into the office, freezing in his tracks the second he laid eyes on you. “Ms. Y/L/N.” He took off his aviator shades and smirked. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“I know we had a session yesterday, but I think I need more spiritual guidance.” You ran a delicate hand down the slope of your neck and gave him a shy smile.

Jonas ran his tongue across his teeth, a low growl emanating from his chest. “Of course, please step into my office.” You stood up and followed him. Before shutting the door, Jonas turned towards the secretary. “Why don’t you get out of here and take a long lunch.”

“Are you sure?” the secretary asked, leaning over the desk to try and peek into his office.

“Absolutely. It’s been a slow day. Go out. Live a little.” Jonas sighed in relief, watching as she grabbed her purse and needlepoint. She was on loan to him from the church. The woman was your typical nosy, uptight old bat with a stick up her ass, but she made great coffee and would bring in freshly baked cookies every week.

As soon as the secretary left, he stepped into his office and locked the door. “I thought you were supposed to come by tonight. Just couldn’t wait, could ya?” he teased and removed his shirt, leaving him in a black tank top. 

You bit your bottom lip, staring at his muscular arms. “I had to come here.”

“Oh you did?” 

You blushed and fidgeted with your coat. “You see, I was very, very naughty. I was thinking about you all morning and I had to touch myself. I sinned, Reverend and you told me that those who disobey God’s laws must do penance.” You made a show of unbuttoning your coat and letting it fall to the floor, revealing that you were completely naked.

Jonas stalked up to you, looking like the big bad wolf. He walked in a slow circle around you, inspecting every inch of your flesh before stopping right behind you and grabbing your hips, pulling you flush to him. His lips brushed over your pulse point and all too soon he walked away.

With the crook of his finger, he beckoned you over to the chair in front of his desk. You obliged his silent request and sat down. Sinking to his knees before you, he planted a brutal, bruising kiss on your lips, thrusting his tongue into your mouth. He pulled away and went over to his desk. “You remember the safe word?” he asked, opening a drawer.

“Bakker,” you replied. 

Jonas chuckled. When you two began these escapades, you picked “Bakker” for your safe word. The last name of the infamous Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker, two TV televangelists who were found guilty of fraud in the 80s. It was your subtle way of telling Jonas that you saw right through him and didn’t believe his act for a second. As long as your grandmother didn’t give him any money, his secret was safe with you. Besides, Jonas was just as much a freak as you were and he was the best sex you ever had.

Reaching into the drawer, he pulled out several items, one of them being a blindfold. “You know, I can’t promise that I’ll be gentle,” he purred as he covered your eyes.

A smile tugged at your lips. “You should know by now that I don’t want you to be gentle. Don’t hold back.”

“Challenge accepted,” Jonas thought as he grabbed some nylon ropes. He grabbed your arms and began to tie them behind the chair.

Your pulse quickened in anticipation. “Tighter,” you demanded in a breathy moan.

He yanked the ropes taut making you gasp. “Let me be the judge of that,” he growled, biting your earlobe. He spread your legs, tying each one to the leg of the chair. Your pussy glistened as you were already wet from masturbating all morning. The scent of your arousal filled his nostrils and made his cock twitch.

Tied and blindfolded, you thought Jonas would get down to business, but he had a few more surprises up his sleeves. He took out a white ball gag with a leather strap and some honey. After squirting some honey onto the ball gag, he cupped your chin and forced your mouth open. “Don’t you dare spit this out,” he threatened, fastening the leather strap behind your head.

You felt the ball wedge between your teeth. The sweet hit of the honey coating your tongue. Jonas has done his research. He knew that the combination of the honey and the ball gag would make you drool, giving you that hint of humiliation you craved. 

He sat back on his haunches and admired his work: the knots of nylon binding you to the chair, the way your lips wrapped around the ball gag, the rise and fall of your flushed chest. You were a work of art. Michelangelo had the Sistine Chapel and Jonas had you.

He knelt down and kissed the top of your right foot before slowly dragging his tongue up your leg, nibbling on your inner thighs and then trailing down your left leg, planting a final kiss on your left foot. 

He parted your swollen pussy lips and licked your pink, quivering flesh, reveling in the way you whimpered and squirmed. When he wrapped his mouth around your clit, you jerked forward only to remember that you were restrained. He alternated between fucking you with his tongue and lapping at your clit. Being blindfolded only heightened your senses and right now it felt like Jonas was eating you out as if you were an all you can eat pancake breakfast.

You threw your head back and moaned, trying to arch your hips to give him even more access to your core. He reached his hands up and began to massage your breasts, pinching your nipples until they swelled and ached in pleasure. Your thighs began to shake and Jonas knew you were close. One final tweak of your taut nipple and your orgasm rippled through you. 

Jonas groaned and nodded his head vigorously, flicking against your nub as you rode out your ecstasy. “Jonas!” you wailed in a muffled tone, although the ball gag was preventing you from speaking much. 

He hummed in contentment and smacked his lips together, tracing your entrance with a single digit. You squeaked in surprise.“Shhh,” he cooed. “Calm down, my angel. We’ve barely begun. How many fingers do you think you can take? One?”

You shook your head no.

“Two?”

You shook your head again. Jonas arched a brow, even though you couldn’t see him. He knew what you wanted. When he got up to five. You nodded. 

“So fucking greedy.” He spread you even wider. “You think you can take it?”

You nodded once more and undulated your hips. He began to finger fuck you, starting with his index finger, thrusting into you hard and fast while pressing on your clit until you howled. The second finger, he scissored you, slowly stretching you out, stroking your walls, studying the way you whimpered and wailed. He slowly added a third digit, finding that secret spot within you that so few men ever find. 

The buildup was unbearable as your hips stuttered forward, coming once more. Even though you were soaking wet, Jonas squirted lube onto his fourth finger firmly believing in the philosophy of, “the wetter, the better.” He slowly moved in and out of you, swiping against your clit. 

With each digit he added, you came harder and harder. Tears slid down your face from underneath your blindfold. Your muscles began to spasm, your nerve endings tingled. Jonas cruelly laughed. “Look at you, creaming on my fingers like a little slut.” 

You wailed out another orgasm in response. How long had you been sitting there? Hours? Your body experienced a rollercoaster of emotions. Every time you came, you loathed it. You craved it. You wanted him to stop. No, don’t stop! Don’t ever, ever, ever stop! You wanted more and more and more and that’s exactly what Jonas gave you.

After adding even more lube, he tucked his thumb into his palm, tapering his fingers and slowly penetrating you, pushing past the knuckles until his entire hand was deep inside you. Jonas had never fisted anyone before, but you had untapped desires within him that he had no idea even existed.

He began to rock his large hand back and forth. You sobbed in pleasure. You were stretched and filled to the brim, feeling tremendous pressure. You couldn’t catch your breath. Being tied, blindfolded, and gagged, all you could do was take it. While fisting you, Jonas leaned forward and began sucking on your clit. 

Your muffled moans of “Oh fuck! Oh yes! Yes! Yes!” filled the room as he unleashed his torture on your slick, hot cunt. He crooked and wiggled his fingers, massaging your G-spot. You screamed in ecstasy. Your orgasm was earth shattering. You felt a gush of liquid and squirted all over Jonas’ face.

“That’s it, my sweet angel. Squirt for me,” he groaned, almost coming in his pants at the sensation of your sweet nectar all over his face, a puddle amassing beneath your chair.

Jonas slowly took his hand out, one finger at a time. He reached up and cupped your face, you could feel your arousal from his one hand, coating your cheek. “You’re not done yet. I want one more from you,” he commanded as he began to unbound you.

You meekly nodded your head. He gave you an open mouth kiss over your ball gag and gently lifted you up so he could sit down. You were still blindfolded. The sound of a zipper and rustling of his denim, alerted you that he had taken out his cock.

You rocked against his length, his crown rubbing against your overly sensitive clit. Moving at a snail’s pace, you sank down onto his cock. Jonas’ fingers may have been long and thick, but nothing could replace being filled by his cock. After your initial meeting, you quickly understand why the man exuded a prowess on the church stage, swinging his big dick energy at anyone with a pulse. 

Jonas let out a strangled moan and grabbed your hips, encouraging you to fuck him.

You bounced up and down on his cock. He had given you so much pleasure and now you wanted to return the favor. You contracted your muscles, squeezing around him. Drool dribbled down your chin and onto your breasts from the combination of the honey and the ball gag. He lowered his head to lap it up and suck your nipples.

Smothered by your chest, he growled and gripped your hips, thrusting up into you. Your head lolled back. You loved this, being used as a sex toy. Your whole body screamed. Take me! Devour me! I’m yours! 

The wooden chair creaked and was on the verge of breaking, but neither of you cared. “Fuck! Jesus! Jonas!” you mumbled, climaxing one final time, your vision fading to black while riding out your orgasm. Pain and pleasure melding together.

Jonas’ hips began to stutter. “Oh Y/N!” he moaned. “I’m coming! I’m coming!” He grunted like an animal, pulsing inside you, filling you with his cum. His body tensed, coming so much that it seeped out of you and pooled around the base of his cock, creating a mess. Not that either of you noticed, you were both already plastered in sticky sweat

You went limp and melted against him, snuggling into the crook of his neck, mewling like a kitten. Once Jonas caught his breath, he pulled you away to take off the gag and blindfold. Gazing up at you with the sunlight illuminating your face, that feeling of disarmament overpowered him once more. He was completely at your mercy, bared to you. There was no escaping your trance. 

This was meant to be your penance. Your punishment. But instead, it was Jonas that choked out one final word, “Amen.”

Tag List:

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[jumbojamba47]

Guest Room

A/N: This is my very first fanfic and I really don't know what possessed me to write it. I was listening to this song https://open.spotify.com/track/4RzHA75rhs3mXnoI4aJSMt?si=sSeaV0zAQgGuteRzEOiZJw and the idea just wouldn’t leave me alone and well... desperate times, desperate measures. Taking things into my own hands and all that jazz. I highly recommend giving the song a listen while reading. I hurt my own feelings writing this. I wrote this from a female perspective but it can be read as gender neutral.  (image not mine)

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Slight Wanda Maximoff x Reader, Stucky 

Warnings:18+, Angst, NSFW-ish, Alcohol Consumption, Swearing, Unedited

Word Count: 3680

A sharp gasp fills the air as heated skin meets cold tile. Slender fingers curl and uncurl; tugging at your scalp from above. Your name reverently whispered through kiss-swollen lips as if in prayer. Muffled grunts and moans escape from clenched teeth as though afraid that any louder sound might halt your ministrations. Rivulets of water, long-since gone cold, rush down your bodies, pooling where you knelt in worship of the red-headed angel in front of you. Despite the ache in your limbs and your own needs screaming for attention, you remained steadfast in your determination to push Natasha over the edge as many times as you were able. You knew, these private moments of intimacy were the closest you could ever get to keeping the elusive beauty in your arms tethered to you.

It all started with a mission in Bogotá. The two of you had completed the objective but had to wait for extraction overnight in a safehouse with one master room and a smaller guestroom.

“You can go ahead and have the bigger room (y/n/n). Odin knows you did most of the heavy lifting this time around,” she said with a chuckle as she stepped into the guest room.

“There’s a big enough bed, you could always join me Romanoff,” you joked with a wink.

Later that night you were unwinding in bed when you heard a knock on your door.

“Coming!” You yelled, pulling the door open.

“Need someth-” your eyes widened as you felt soft lips meld against your own.

She pulled away.

“What are you doing?” You asked, bewildered.

“Taking you up on your offer,” she pushes you towards the bed with a cheeky grin.

That was 6 months ago. Since then, you felt a subtle shift in your relationship with Natasha. Whilst around the others her interactions with you drifted towards a platonic aloofness that, while not cold, alluded to nothing of the times you found yourself unceremoniously shoved into a supply closet or pressed into a locked conference room door; always faced with an eager red-head ready to pick up where you last left off. Each time, your hidden trysts end just as quickly as they begin with Natasha immediately straightening her appearance and slipping out the door as soon as she made sure the coast was clear. Each time, you felt your heart crack a little more as you felt the phantom weight of her lithe body in your arms as you stood alone watching her quick movements.

Now you find yourself kneeling on the floor of the assassin’s shower after she dragged you in following a heavy morning training session. Your hands grip the back of toned thighs as the burning in Natasha’s core reaches its crescendo.

Through the open door leading into her bedroom, you hear F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice ring out, “Mr. Stark is requesting your presence to go over tonight’s details in 30 minutes, Ms. Romanoff.”

Breathless, chest heaving, she responds, “I’ll be there.”

Rising from the floor, your arms circle around her to reach for the removable showerhead while steadily supporting the still shuddering woman. You gently maneuver the water to rinse away the last of the soap and lingering fluids from both your bodies. It was only in these quiet moments after a rendezvous in a more private setting that Natasha allowed you to indulge in your more tender proclivities without protest as she settles down from her high. You shut the water off before swiftly stepping out and wrapping a towel around your body. You grab a secondary towel and take more care in drying off Natasha’s body, pressing into her skin ensuring you gently knead her sore muscles with firm hands as you go. Once satisfied, you wrap her body snugly, bring your arms around her back and beneath her legs and carry her into her room, lightly setting her on the edge of her bed before moving to her closet. Turning your head slightly to ask what she’d like to wear, you think you see a flicker of something soft in her eyes, but, just as quickly, it’s gone only to be replaced by a teasing smirk as her eyes trail up and down your towel-clad form.

“Keep treating me like this and I might just have to make you mine,” she husks out.

“I wish you would…,” you mumble under your breath. But the assassin catches it and lets out a sigh. She stands and smoothly pads closer to you laying a hand on your shoulder.

“You know I can’t.”

“I really don’t.”

She steps away from you. Her hand drops to her side as she moves to rummage in her closet. You move to grab your own day clothes from your discarded gym bag. Dropping the towel to pull on a matching set of black lace undergarments, she turns to you. And fuck, it’s not fair of her to stand there underdressed as she is when you want to have a serious conversation with her.

“This?” her finger points between you and her, “is just casual sex. We’re scratching an itch and it can’t be more than that.”

“But why not?” you ask as your pull on your shirt.

“Why are you so afraid to give us a try?”

She slams her drawer shut. “I’m not afraid of anything!” she growls.

“You? Me? We’re nothing. There is nothing to try. You’re a good fuck (y/l/n) but that’s all this can be. If you’re not satisfied with that then tough shit, I’m sorry.”

Jaw clenched; you look her in the eyes.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too,” you grit out.

You grip your bag tightly and exit the room without looking back. Carelessly, you toss your bag into your room down the hall without breaking your stride. Pausing at the end of the hallway, “Shit,” you exhale under your breath, running a hand down your face.

You make your way into the common room only to find Steve and Bucky staring at the large flat screen in confusion, a cartoon depiction of a sea sponge competing with a starfish, seemingly attempting to win the affections of his grandmother? Or was that an anthropomorphic cookie? With a heavy sigh you plop yourself down on the couch between them, kicking your legs up onto Steve’s lap and laying your head in Bucky’s. Cool metal fingertips softly run along your temples in a soothing massage as both men turn to you in mildly concerned curiosity.

Upon release from Shuri’s custody, Bucky found himself immediately accosted by you and your self-appointment as the one in charge of his rehabilitation into polite society. Refusing to leave his side outside of mandatory missions, Steve, by default, wound up lumped into your “educational excursions” and “lessons in everything a modern person of refined taste-no-fuck-you-Tony-your-opinion-doesn’t-count-you-raised-yourself-on-a-steady-diet-of-debauchery-and-sin would enjoy”. The prolonged exposure to your generally sunny disposition led to both men silently agreeing to adopt you under their wing; and so, your Brooklyn Boys became fiercely protective over you, often drawing comparisons of co-parenting mother hens hovering over their tiny chick from your amused teammates.

“Why the sigh, malen’kiy d’yavol?” grunts Bucky.

You stare blankly at the ceiling as Steve gently rubs circles around your ankle with his thumb. Turning your head to bury your face into the ex-soldier’s warm stomach, a muffled “Am I unlovable?” leaves your mouth in a broken whisper.

Your quiet words are picked up by their enhanced hearing and they share quick perturbed glances. Bucky moves his arm under you, pulling you into his lap, drawing you close, ensuring your head is tucked securely into his neck just below his chin. Steve moves with him so he can maintain a comforting hold on your legs over his.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you doll. If anyone is worthy of love it’s you,” Steve tells you with confidence.

“I’m gonna kill Romanoff,” you hear Bucky grumble under his breath to Steve, thinking you couldn’t hear him.

Your fingers clench around the pocket of Bucky’s sweater. Your boys knew. Of course they did. You couldn’t hide your affection for the Black Widow from them if you tried. While the others might be able to write off your attention to the stunning Venus as simple admiration for a fellow teammate, they knew just how deeply your true feelings ran.

“Then why doesn’t she want me?” Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall.

Steve exhales slowly and looks back to the screen in front of him.

“No one really knows what’s going on in that head of hers, but your happiness is our priority right now. You deserve the world and if she can’t see that then that’s her loss,” he nudges his boyfriend.

Arms tightening around you, Bucky nods his head in agreement.

“The old man is right. How about the three of us go take your mind off things?” Slowly standing, he pulls you up to your feet.

“You can help me find Steve an outfit for tonight. I’m sure with a little convincing, we can get the Star-spangled Man with a Plan to wear a patriotic tie the whole night.” He winks at you as you let out a small snort.

“Go ahead. Laugh it up. One of these days you’re going to need to know something about war bonds and we’ll see who’s laughing then,” he retorts with a roll of his eyes.

xxxx

Glancing at your reflection in the mirror, you adjusted the sleeveless button-up with detached cuffs, leaving enough buttons undone to reveal a plunging neckline, before tucking it into your high-waisted form-fitting black pants. In a bid to pull yourself out of your funk, you decided to go all out for tonight’s festivities. You slip on a pair of black shoes, give your outfit one final check, nodding to yourself, and make your way out the door.

Tonight, Tony saw fit to throw a good luck party for your first long-term recon mission with you leading your own team before you left the next morning. As you made your way to the large gathering you steeled yourself for the impending emotions that would inevitably hit you as soon as you saw the face that had been plaguing your dreams nearly every night since that fateful mission.

“Eyes up, (y/l/n). You’re made of stronger stuff than this. If she doesn’t want you then don’t waste your time. You’re worth more than this,” you say to yourself as you stride towards the double doors.

You straighten your shoulders, draw yourself up to your full height, and confidently step into the gathering.

“There she is! The hero of the hour! Give it up for our very own (y/hero/n).” Tony struts towards you; your favorite drink already outstretched in his hand.

He claps you in the back and slings an arm over your shoulders leading you towards the crowd as you hear cheers from the party goers in attendance.

“Soak it up buttercup. All this is for you. Feels good doesn’t it?”

Your eyes drift to the side where you see Natasha in a black cocktail dress flirting with another attendee, her eyes glance at you before turning her attention back to her companion. You swallow the sharp sting of pain threatening to rise and mentally give yourself a shake.

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time Tony, let’s party!” you exclaim with more enthusiasm than you can bring yourself to feel.

He gives you his biggest grin, “Now that’s what I like to hear!”

He steers you through the crowd, you both pause to greet various members of the party as you recognize your friends and coworkers before leading you to Steve and Bucky who are seated on a pair of loungers across from Wanda and Rhodey.

“Hey Mama Bear, Papa Bear, here’s little Baby Bear. Make sure you keep an eye on them. I saw more than a few vultures in the crowd who looked ready to steal them away at a moment’s notice.” He sauntered away with a wink.

“Looking good dollface,” Steve grins at you.

Bucky and Rhodey are quick to agree. Across the way you see Wanda raking her eyes up and down your body with hooded lids. Making eye contact, you wink, she blushes at being caught before sending you a shy smile.

As the night goes on and drinks are consumed, you continue to laugh with your friends. You’ve moved to the opposite couch next to Wanda as Rhodey takes up the space in the middle of your group to reenact the night Tony, black out drunk, stumbled into the RA’s room instead of their shared dorm back in college.

Unable to hold yourselves up from laughing so hard, you and Wanda lean into each other for support.

Suddenly the main light dim and colorful strobe lights fill the room. You feel a heavy bass begin the thump through your chest and a drunken Wanda yells, “I LOVE THIS SONG!” She leans into your side and whispers “come dance with me,” into your ear.

Grinning widely, you nod your head and let yourself be pulled up and led to the dance floor amid cheers and wolf whistles from your friends. Immediately spinning around, Wanda presses her backside against your front, slowly dragging her hands up and into your hair. You lean forward, your hands finding a comfortable grip on her hips, pulling her closer, guiding her movements.

Across the room, Natasha watches you grind together, her jaw clenches. She throws back another shot. Behind the bar, Clint shifts his eyes from her angry form to you.

“You know, if you really like them that much you might want to head over there and stake your claim.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Tasha. I’d like to think I know you better than most.”

She gives him a quirk of an eyebrow and her best side-eye.

“Okay so I may have been crawling through the vents when I saw you all but crawling up their body like it’s a ladder in Conference Room A,” he huffs out with a roll of his eyes.

She stiffens.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I think it does. Now, I don’t know why you’re trying to pretend like I don’t catch you staring at them whenever you think no one else is looking. But are you going to go over there and get what’s yours or are you just going to sit here and watch them fall into the arms of someone else?”

“They’re not my anything,” she mumbles into her glass, “They’re a big kid. They can decide to screw whoever They want.”

Clint shakes his head but says nothing more. They both watch as Wanda turns in your arms, wrapping her own around your neck, slotting her leg between yours, drawing even closer. Growing bold, she begins to press kisses along your neck leading up to your ear. You tilt your head back giving her further access as you continue to move to the rhythm.

“You know, she’s assigned to go on that mission with (y/n). With an undetermined timeline, who knows how long she’ll have to make (y/n) her-”

With a loud clink, Natasha throws back her last shot and slams it down on the countertop. Without giving Clint a chance to finish his sentence, Natasha finds herself pushing through the crowd towards you and Wanda. She’s a woman on a mission as she wraps her hand around your arm pulling you from Wanda’s grasp and without looking back, she drags you towards her room. She ignores your protests as she kicks her door open before pushing you against the wall and pressing her lips to yours in a heated kiss.

Stunned, your lips move against hers before your alcohol addled brain catches up to what’s happening. Your hands find her shoulders as you gently push her away and make space between the two of you. Confusion clouds your features as she hungrily stares at you while hastily slipping down the straps of her dress.

“Nat? What the fuck?”

“Shut up,” she growls, before attacking your lips again.

“No,” comes out of your mouth in a muffled groan. You push her away harder this time.

“What the hell are you doing?” You stare at her incredulously.

“I’m trying to have a little fun before you take off. What? Are you waiting for a formal invitation?”

You scoff in disbelief. “No. No no no. I’m not doing this with you Natasha.”

“Doing what?” She stares at you with furrowed brows.

“This! This fucked up charade of you claiming you don’t have any feelings for me!”

“I don’t! We’re just friends who like to have a little fun sometimes, (y/n/n).”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Do you think I’m stupid or are you just blind?! Friends don’t look at each other the way I look at you! Friends don’t get jealous when they see their “friend” with someone else then proceed to drag them away to stake their claim!” You’re beyond angry. Sick of feeling like a yoyo constantly tugged up and down and thrown away in boredom.

“Well what do you want me to say?”

“TELL ME I MEAN SOMETHING TO YOU! TELL ME THAT EVERY MINUTE I SPEND PRAYING TO ANYONE WHO’LL HEAR ME FOR EVEN AN IOTA OF YOUR AFFECTION ISN’T A WASTE OF BREATH!” Tears are streaming down your face. You bite back a sob as you draw your arms around yourself in a protective hold.

“Tell me you feel the same way I do,” you whisper as your voice cracks.

Tears in her own eyes, “I can’t,” Natasha exhales without making eye contact.

Slowly, you nod.

“Okay.”

Your eyes trace over her face one last time.

You turn and as she hears your footsteps head towards the door, her head snaps up.

“Where are you going?” She rushes out with hesitation coating her voice.

“I’m leaving.”

She reaches out a hand, but you step away.

Undeterred, “No, stay we can still talk things out as friends.” She implores.

Coldly, you make eye contact.

“You made it perfectly clear this morning, Natasha. We’re nothing.”

She chokes on a whimper.

With a stiff nod you exit her room and with a slam of her door, you’re gone.

       Unbeknownst to you, Natasha drops to her knees.

xxxx

You head down the hall angrily wiping the tears away from your eyes. You refuse to spare any more of your heart for someone who clearly couldn’t care less whether or not it breaks.

Trying to hold on to Natasha feels like attempting to cup smoke in your bare hands. A fruitless endeavor. You were never one to bet on a losing game.

You swing your door open only to be met with Steve and Bucky grinning and ready to help you pack for your mission and rib on you about your impending time with Wanda.

Their smiles immediately drop when they take in your tear-stained face. Both men rush to your side and draw you into their arms, holding you between them. Your boys could feel their hearts shatter as they listened to your broken stops. If the sound of your cries could hurt them this much, they couldn’t fathom how you yourself were feeling.

“We’re here, Kroshka, what do you need?”

You whimpered and buried yourself further into their hold.

“That’s enough,” you sniffled.

After a moment, you pulled away drawing yourself together.

“I’m done with her,” you state.

They both nod.

“When you’re back, we’ll make sure you never have to be alone with her again,” Steve asserts with a nod of finality.

You send them both a grateful look as they begin to help you gather everything you’ll need to last at least 2 months.

xxxx

It’s early morning when Clint finds Natasha in the gym Sweat drips down from her hairline as she takes out every emotion she refuses to acknowledge on the innocent training dummy.

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be in the hangar sending off your new boo with a kiss?”

“Not my anything,” she grunts, punctuated with a roundhouse kick to the dummy’s jugular.

“You literally pulled a scene from a rom-com out of your ass, dragging (y/l/n) away from their own party AND your rival in love, and they’re STILL not yours?” He levels her with his most disapproving, disappointed dad stare.

“Fuck off Clint, I’m not in the mood.”

“Well a little birdy told me that Wanda is extra excited for this chance to ask (y/n) on a proper date after they’re back”

“Not my problem. If they want to open their legs to the first person that offers, let them.”

“Wow. Harsh. What happened?”

She delivered a sharp jab to the dummy’s solar plexus.

“They said we’re nothing.”

“That couldn’t have come from nowhere.”

She pauses her movements and looks away.

“I told them we’re nothing.”

“Nat…”

“They deserve better, Clint,” her voice wobbles.

“You deserve happiness too Tasha. You deserve them.” He pulls her into a tight hug.

Her eyes clench shut attempting to keep her tears at bay.

“I fucked up… didn’t I?”

“Yeah… you really did,” he looks up at the ceiling and sighs.

“Quinjet leaves in 5. If you hurry you should still be able to catch them.

She immediately takes off and he watches the door swing shut behind her.

“Go get ‘em, kid. We’re rooting for ya.”

xxxx

Almost running past the hangar doors, Natasha skids to a stop and pushes her way into the room.

She ignores the technicians yelling for her to clear the runway as she breaks into a sprint towards where she hears the sound of supplies being loaded onto a quinjet.

With an energy boost fueled by a fear she never knew she could feel, she speeds around the corner, drawing in a breath ready to scream your name.

Only to come to a stop.

She’s too late.

The jet pushes off the ground for takeoff.

She falls to her knees.

A broken whimper escapes her lips.

[peaches-writes]

bibingka

skz of christmas day 6: rice cakes with changbin

member: changbin  wc: 1.9k genre: fluff, comedy, slight idiots to lovers au, neighbour au, this is actually a binsung fic jk warning: explicit language  note: obligatory ben&ben christmas post duh + connects to the jisung entry + issa bit rushed just bc ive been busy da whole week im so sorry hnnnnnnng

day 3

Even with Changbin’s deadliest glare almost burning holes on his face and a stomach cramp threatening to explode on his lower half, Jisung wouldn’t stop laughing. In fact, other passersby are starting to momentarily look their way because of his cackles echoing as loud as the church bells tolling for the next mass.

“I fucking hate you.” The boy being ridiculed rolls his eyes and punches the younger boy on the arm. “Shut up.”

“I just—“ Jisung seemingly wipes away a tear in between his non-stop giggles, clutching his stomach again after as he slows his breathing down. “You’re such a—you’re such a wimp and it’s like the third year now!” 

Changbin wants to correct him by saying that it’s only the second but ultimately decides against it to avoid feeding the mocking laughter. “I’m not! I was just trying to be respectful!”

“Seo Changbin, you’ve been neighbors with Y/N since who the fuck knows how long. If anything, not holding their hand during the Lord’s Prayer is actually rude and disrespectful.” Jisung scoffs. “Like look, I scored a date with my neighbor yesterday and they’re only here during the holidays. Where’s your progress?” 

The last comment deepens Changbin’s glare and disapproving frown. “Well, what if—what if they didn’t want to? Not everyone likes holding non-family members’ hands during that prayer. And excuse you, you landed that date from stalking me.”

Jisung comically slaps his hand up to his temples this time, exhaling a very deep breath in amusement before shaking his head in disapproval. “Oh, Binnie, until when are you going to keep telling these things to yourself? Y/N literally had their hand up for you a while back! Just hold them for a minute!”

“Yeah, but—“

Before Changbin could fully refute, however, the two boys then see you pass by with your grandmother, a passing smile gracing your features as you wave at them politely with your free hand. “Good morning, you two!” You briefly greet before shifting your attention back to your grandmother again, your gaze lingering to Changbin for a second longer definitely not going unnoticed by a grinning Jisung. 

“Good morning!” Changbin and Jisung return your sentiments, the latter then elbowing the older boy as soon as you turn away. 

“I’m telling you,” Jisung whispers tauntingly after, leaning his face close to Changbin and placing a hand over his ear. “just hold Y/N’s hand. It’s not that hard.” 

Taking one last look at you right before you’re whisked away to your grandmother’s friends, Changbin sighs and mumbles, “Oh no, Sung, you don’t know shit.” 

day 5

Every time Changbin does so much as glance in Jisung’s general direction at the choir area in the middle of the service, the younger boy would wink suggestively or make the most comical kissy faces and it doesn’t help his case at all. Somewhere in the back of Changbin’s head, he hesitantly thanks whatever driving force there is in this universe that you’re mostly occupied with looking after your grandmother and passing the time with mindless gestures to notice.

“Just do it, man!” Jisung mouths to Changbin for what already seems to be the eighth time since the mass started, balancing his guitar on his lap to clasp his hands right in front of his face. “I got you!”

Changbin rolls his eyes before glancing over to you standing right next to him. To make things worse, the topic of holding your hand makes his attention wander over to the said body part that taps a noiseless beat on the pew in fromt of you. On your other side, your grandmother seems to have fallen asleep right after you made her sit down because of her weak knees.

Now would be the time, dumbass, The voice in Changbin’s head points out in a way that awfully resembles Jisung. Do it!

But when the familiar tune starts playing and your gentle tapping stops, Changbin’s quickly overcome with nervousness again.

The poor boy’s lifted knuckles knock against yours but fails to take your hand once more.

“Even Jesus can’t help this dude now.” Jisung sighs from across the church as he watches the helpless scene unfold. “Ah, whatever.”

day 8

“Dude, come on it’s been eight days. Stop staring the rice cake down, it’s going to burn up!” Jisung scolds, clutching Changbin by his nearest bicep and pulling him away from the rice cake stall. “Come on, let’s re-group somewhere else!” 

“Re-group?” Changbin furrows his brows, letting himself get dragged to a nearby corner right underneath the outdoor display grotto anyway. “What for?” 

Jisung, skidding to a halt once he’s reached a spot far away from the usual crowd of church-goers, rolls his eyes and faces Changbin belatedly as he answers, “Because you’ve been looking like a whole dumbass at church for the third year in a row now and I swear even the priest is starting to get frustrated!”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yes, you do!”

Changbin squints his eyes in annoyance now and crosses his arms in front of his chest, visibly unamused at the younger boy’s antics. “I’m...a respectful person.”

“You’re a coward.” Jisung argues back bluntly with a draamatic and disapproving shake of his head, taking ahold of Changbin’s two hands after and holding them up in between them. “Just hold their hand like this, chant the Lord’s prayer, and be done with it! We’re all friends, it’s cool!”

Changbin scoffs, wriggling his fingers out of Jisung’s death grip only to get caught immediately. “You don’t understand, dude.” He sighs in exasperation, frowning even more in annoyance when Jisung makes a judging face at him with pursed lips. “It’s Y/N.”

“Exactly, it’s just Y/N.” Jisung retorts in a gradually patronizing tone, making sure to drag out his words. “It’s not like you’re obligated to get married if you hold their hand! Heck, even the kids who sit two rows behind you are braver and those two are just making gang signs at each other during Mass.”

“I—“

And, as if it’s the way of the universe siding wholeheartedly with Jisung, Changbin hears you stifle a giggle with your hand from behind him. When the flustered boy turns around, he sees you and your grandma approaching with candles to offer to the grotto’s statues.

“Shit.” Changbin curses under his breath, quickly hiding it with a greeting to you and your grandmother. “Good morning, Mrs. Y/L/N! Hi, Y/N!”

“Hi, grandma! Hi, H/N!” Jisung waves with his hands still intertwined with Changbin’s, making the latter blush even more as he quickly lets go. “Ooh, scented candles! Are you guys out here to pray for wishes?”

You nod with a hum, pursing your lips quickly at seeing Changbin pretend to wipe his hands down the sides of his jeans. “Yeah, just the usual year-ender stuff.” You explain, helping your grandma up to the stone steps leading to the religious status. Glancing over the two as your grandmother goes ahead on her own, you then ask, “Were you guys in the middle of...something?”

“W-What? N-No, no! We were just...” Mentally, Changbin’s cognition is already shutting down under your genuinely curious gaze. It doesn’t help that you’re a step above him and Jisung too, giving you a rare opportunity to tower over them. “Jisung was just being weird!”

“No, I wasn’t!”

“Dude, you just held my hand out of nowhere.”

“Yeah, to tell you that—mmfffff!” Changbin interrupte Jisung midway by clamping his mouth shut and making you chuckle.

“Okay, if you say so...” You finally let out a laugh with ease at seeing their antics, waving goodbye once more and taking another step upwards again. “I’ll just see you two around later! Grandma and I still need to say some prayers for our relatives.”

“Sure. See you around, Y/N.” Changbin smiles up at you, returning your wave with his free hand.

Behind his other hand, Jisung tries his best at yelling out to you, “Pray for Changbin, please! For everyone’s sake!”

day 9

The first thing Jisung notices—well, the second thing since he noticed your rather sleepy expression prior—is how you walk in and sit down next to Changbin at your usual pew without your grandmother. Changbin, on the other hand, notices rather belatedly when he notices you only when you’re already seated.

“Where’s grandma?” He asks, whipping his head around everywhere for your grandmother’s familiar grey hair and white church veil. “Is she okay?”

“She just stayed up too late for a Christmas party last night so I told her I’ll go to mass for her while she rests.” You nod reassuringly, only at such point fully comprehending the unfamiliar atmosphere of only the two of you sitting on your usual place. “She’ll be around again tomorrow but, you know, as far as the legend goes, she won’t be able to make a wish on Christmas Eve.” 

Changbin chuckles at this, leaning back in his seat more comfortably now as you giggle along. “You still believe in that? We all know that parents only say that so we wouldn’t sleep at Mass when we were kids.” 

When the boy glances over to you, he sees you nod in between laughs. “Yeah but don’t you think it’s something nice to think about and believe in? Don’t you make wishes after the ninth Mass anymore?” 

“It depends.” He shrugs. 

“Then why do you still go, hm? Your parents don’t even come around as often.” 

To see you, Changbin’s mind immediately drifts off but he bites his tongue back quickly before he could accidentally blurt it out. “I just like hearing the choir sing in the morning.” 

“I doubt that.” You chuckle with a shake of your head, just as the choir begins to sing the opening song. “Speaking of which...” 

Changbin whips his head around in the same direction you avert your gaze to, finding the Mass already starting. “Oh, it’s starting.” He muses out loud, following the crowd and standing up. When he turns to you again, however, you’re still seated. “Aren’t you standing up?” 

“Will you help me up?” You ask rather teasingly, holding your hand up to him. 

“What?” His eyes widen, blinking twice slowly until he’s sure that your hands not moving back down to your side. 

“Changbin, just hold my damn hand.” You hiss under the loud music, waving your hand in the air until he finally and reluctantly takes it and pulls you up. “There. Wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Changbin is quick to blush under the bright lights around you, fumbling around his words and even more when you don’t let go of his hand. “I—y-ya, you’ve known all this time?”   

In response, you simply shrug as you bring your hands down in between the two of you. “Maybe? Why do you think I’ve been making grandma sit here and not at the front as usual?” You explain sheepishly. “I was hoping, since we know each other and everything anyway, you’d...hold my hand at prayer. It’s silly, I know.”

“So you—” 

“I like you, Changbin.” You beat him right to it, clearing your throat immediately to ease the atmosphere. “I just...hold my hand at prayer, will you? If it isn’t weird or anything.” 

“S-Sure.” He awkwardly nods, looking away to hide an embarrassed smile. “I-I like you too.” 

Across the room, Jisung almost jumps up in his seat while playing the guitar and elbows his significant other rather harshly as they play the piano. “Ya, dude, it’s happened! Look!” 

The pianist hisses in pain at Jisung’s elbow on their sides before mustering up a chuckle once they’ve regained composure. “That’s good to see. Now, how many days will it take for him to buy the rice cake?” 

december 22 (lee minho)

skz of christmas (masterlist)

m.list

@skzwriternet

[killemwithkawaii]

Smutty yandere Travis HCs pls?

TRIGGER WARING: ABUSE, SELF-HARM, HOMOPHOBIA, OBJECTIFICATION, KIDNAPPING, ETC ETC ETC (It's yan!Travis people, you know where this is going so be sure to buckle up)

NS/FW yan!Travis headcanons-

>Being attracted to the same sex in a highly religious and homophobic home meant that this man was just emotionally fucked and set up for yandere tendencies from the get-go

>Probably had passing thoughts about how the near-nude depictions of Jesus on the cross, though bruised, bleeding, and obviously suffering, was... kind of hot

> Of course, this meant Travis had to punish himself for such 'vile, unholy thoughts', as he was taught to do by cult doctrine- whipping himself with a belt or using the candles he lit for prayer to drip scalding wax on himself wasn't an uncommon tactic to try and dissuade his mind from wandering to the obscene, but that just ended up mixing the feelings of arousal, pain, and shame, which lead to Travis becoming a masochist 

>He began experiencing schadenfreude at a young age, usually when other children in the cult were publicly berated and punished for 'sinful' behavior. Knowing he was above them in the eyes of god and seeing them suffer for being lesser, along with the praise he received from his father when he resisted temptation when others didn't or succeeded in luring an outsider to the church, lead to Travis becoming a sadist as well

>Picking fights with his darling is a great way to indulge both of these tastes- being able to taunt, intimidate, and possibly cause physical harm to the object of his affections his target, and also taking the (very good) chance that they will retaliate and do the same to him? It's a sick bliss he hates himself for craving and initiating without forethought, but sometimes [darling] is just begging for it (and he has to take all this out on someone)

>Since he sees [darling] as a lesser being, he has almost no qualm over stealing or destroying their things. Unlike Love-Sick Sally, who usually takes discarded items or things that can be easily replaced, yandere Travis likes to take what he knows his darling will miss the most, so that they'll notice its absence right away and panic

>The way [darling] begs Travis to have mercy on them and for their sentimental items to be returned in-tact really gets him off, and he just might return it (eventually) if their groveling is satisfactory, but not before he damages it in some permanent way- he knows they'll keep it because it's so important, but now [darling] will have to think of him every time they look at it...

>I mentioned in the previous Yan!Travis post that he's the isolating/kidnapping type- once he has [darling] all to himself and had (forcibly) indoctrinated them into the cult, he would lock them up somewhere in the church (his bedroom or the dungeons, depending on their behavior) and make them memorize and recite holy texts under the threat of food and sleep deprivation

>This will not only help to slowly brainwash his [darling] into being completely dependent on him and live by the word of his god, but is a win-win scenario for his sadistic cravings- if [darling] gets a passage wrong or answers a question incorrectly, it gives Travis the opportunity to punish them as he sees fit and he can enjoy their anguish up close. If they get it right, it means he's succeeded in bending them to his superior will and in making his darling see him as someone to both fear and obey. 

>Success in memorizing and parroting their required reading and otherwise doing whatever else Travis tells them to do will result in [darling] getting small rewards- better food and sleeping arrangements, being allowed to wear robes that are typical attire for cult members instead of tattered rags, and perhaps even being allowed to sleep in Travis' bed- at the foot, of course.

>However, this comes with its own risks- having his now Stockholm-syndrome-riddled darling sharing his bed can be too great a temptation to resist. He will do all kinds of mental gymnastics to excuse indulging his sexual desire for his darling and his homoerotic thoughts in general: 

"[darling] is not a person, but an object. They are simply a hole to fuck, and thus having sex with them is akin to masturbation- a much lesser sin than being gay."

"I am aroused because sharing a bed with a warm body is inherently arousing, not because im physically attracted to [darling]." 

"I am a man of god and my desires for the flesh must be extinguished- it is better to let off some steam on a lesser being than to abandon my faith and be an abomination," 

etc, etc

>This doesn't stop Travis from feeling guilty and disgusted with himself- there are only so many excuses you can give before the whole charade begins to fall apart at the seams, and, of course, his catharsis is found in punishing his darling for tempting him in the first place

>it is an endless cycle- [darling]s best bet is to just go along with whatever he says, do their readings and whatever other ‘duties’ he assigns them, and pray to whatever deities will listen that the whole place will come crumbling down on them one day. 

>There is simply no escape- not from the church, not from the cult, and certainly not from a yandere Travis Phelps.

[elliepassmore]

Children of Blood and Bone review

4.5/5 stars Recommended for people who like: magic, fantasy, non-Western fantasy, multiple POVs, A Song of Wraiths and Ruins I really liked the worldbuilding and thought the world was very vibrant. I liked that the story took us to multiple different places so we got to see a wide range of Orïsha's environments and people. Adeyemi did a good job of incorporating maji/diviners-kosidan relationships into each location so that they felt realistic. One town might have a mix of both where the maji/diviners get shaken down by the guards in a 'normal' way while the next might be brutal for the maji/diviners, and yet another might treat them as relative equals. The way the guards treated the maji/diviners was also realistic, unfortunately, and you can definitely see the influences of real-world laws and actions in the ones present in Orïsha. The magic system overall makes sense and I don't think it needs a ton of explaining: diviners as baby!maji who will get their powers from one of the gods/esses at age 13, the magic is usually passed through the maternal line so kids tend to have the same kind of magic as the mom's, and there are chants/prayers/incantations to the gods that allow the magic to flow. Simple enough. However, the incantations end up getting a bit tricky later on in the book. For one, we pretty much always see Zelie using incantations when she calls her magic, but some of the other magic-using characters are never mentioned as using incantations. While some of them, like Zélie, probably remember a few from before the Raid, that can't be true for all of them, especially ones who are too young or who get a power that doesn't correspond with one their parent had. So that bit felt a little rushed, but overall I liked the magic system in the book and Zélie's way of describing magic was interesting. As for Zélie herself: she's got a fire in her and she's determined to get things done, even if she sometimes doubts her abilities to lead. She balances herself quite well between being afraid of the guards and retaliation and rebellion, and generally seems to keep a good balance, though I do have to agree with Tzain that sometimes she does stuff without thinking. I particularly liked how much joy she took from her diviner/maji heritage and her awareness that simply living her heritage was rebellion within itself. There was a bit toward the end where she was getting doubtful about magic which was kind of confusing since she'd also used magic to fight and for more debatable reasons, but whatever. Overall I liked her character. With Amari I was kind of lost at first as to how people could call her a badass, but I definitely get it now. I'll will admit that I didn't and still don't see how she and Zelie are such great friends. Friends, definitely. But best friends? I don't think they're there yet. Something I definitely appreciate about Amari was how willing she was to learn. Some of the things she came into contact with once outside the palace scared her, but she was open to explanations and other perspectives, which was great considering her upbringing (and considering Inan's chapters). I feel like Amari really came into herself in the second half of the book. She finally gets a chance to fight for something she believes in and I think it helped transform her character from someone who shied away from the blade she knew how to use to someone who would wield a sword to defend herself and others. I could definitely see her becoming a commander of some kind in the future, though I'm not entirely sure if 'queen' suits her (I am not entirely certain the title 'ruler' suits anyone in this book). Inan is the last POV character and he was...he was a lot. Amari and Zelie are definitely my favorites, but Inan is someone I could probably do with having less page time. This boy has zero convictions of his own and is completely unable to look past his nose. Unlike Amari, he continues to believe his father's words even traveling around and doesn't really spare a second thought to how reality might actually be. The one thing I'll say in his defense is that Amari did have Binta growing up and was able to see that at least one diviner wasn't bad, which I do think helped for her to generalize this idea to other diviners/maji, whereas Inan didn't have a figure like that in his life. But enough of that. Inan is wishy-washy and swings one way then the other (though never completely all the way), and he is far too willing to return to his old ideals when things get challenging or scary. I mean, for fuck's sake he isn't even really the one suffering most of these times and is still all too ready to give up. Like, please grow a spine, buddy. I do think Adeyemi actually did a really good job of writing Inan in the sense that she manages to capture the effects abuse and gaslighting and show just how much of an effect those things can have on your psyche. So in that sense Inan was a 'good' character, but I don't think he's a good person nor do I like him. Tzain was someone whom I felt was in the background for a lot of the book. He supports Zelie and is willing to go off with her to do all these things and protects her and stands by her even when she fucks up. He is also able to be nice to Amari despite her being the princess and the daughter of the man who caused a lot of his problems. From what we do see of him Tzain seems to have a good sense of humor and is funny at times. He's also clearly holding in a lot of pain, trauma, and responsibility, though he rarely shows it. I definitely think he feels responsible for his father and Zelie and that whenever something bad happens to either of them he feels guilty, even if there was nothing he could've done. While he blames Zélie for a lot of things, which I don't like AT ALL but at the same time understand needing to direct your anger somewhere, I get the feeling he's mostly blaming himself. In terms of relationships. Someone please explain to me why there needed to be any in this book in the first place? Inan and Zélie are the main pairing, which is just dumb af since he wants to kill her for almost the entirety of the book then, after like two whole days of being together, they decide everything's fine and dandy and start kissing. I side with Tzain on this one, even if his phrasing wasn't great. I'll be honest, the Zélie and Inan's whole relationship just confuses me. I don't understand why they like each other other than 'insta-love' and I don't understand 1) why Zélie's willing to Risk It All after Inan being nice for two days, and 2) why she's willing to continue the relationship after what happens with Saran. Perhaps my biggest issue with them is Inan's so-called love wherein he thinks taking away magic will protect Zélie...completely ignoring the fact that part of Zélie is magic. *SPOILER, SKIP TO NEXT PARAGRAPH TO AVOID* That complete and utter dumbass doesn't seem to connect the fact that he stopped feeling Zélie's soul when Zélie stopped feeling magic. Like? Brains? No brains here. *SPOILER END* Okay, moving on. Tzain and Amari have better prospects for romance. Adeyemi set them up from the very beginning, even if Tzain might've initially seen her as a pretty face. They grow to like and respect for one another and I feel like their relationship could actually go somewhere. But why, why oh why does Adeyemi make Amari mention the L-word? Like, honey, you are not in love with this boy after only knowing him a week. Crush, sure. Love, no. But that matters not, since there is at least the potential. Actually, something re: relationships that I felt Adeyemi kind of brushed over (and it seems like other reviews also had this same thought) has to do with Amari. She is very much coded to be bi and it's written as if she and Binta had a romantic relationship, but Adeyemi never follows through with this. I honestly thought that Amari and Zelie were going to be the main pairing of the book at first, or failing that that Amari would have feelings for Zélie, Zélie wouldn't reciprocate, then Amari would move on to another female character. But nope. Nada. I mean, Tzain's good too, but it's just weird the way the whole thing with Amari's romantic interest(s) was/were written. Now onto something else: the throne. While becoming the next ruler isn't an outright object for either Inan or Amari (or anyone else), being heir definitely sits on Inan's shoulders and drives a lot of what he does. Likewise, Amari comes to the realization that if she were the next on the throne she could help the diviners/maji and overturn the laws and the system that her father created. The current king, Saran, sucks all around and definitely doesn't deserve his head being attached to his body. But we already knew that. The point is, Inan is clearly not good for Orïsha because he can't form his own convictions and leans solely on what he's been taught to think is right. He does, however, think he is the only person who can keep Orïsha safe and protected. Amari, on the other hand, knows she won't be queen and doesn't seem to really want to be queen until she realized what that could mean for what she believes in. However, and there's always a 'however,' she also kind of has Mad Queen Energy about her at times after she makes this decision. She is, in my opinion, also not a great contender for the throne. As mentioned, I think she'd make a great general, but there's something about her that makes me hesitate before supporting her bid for the throne. Do I think she'd be better than Saran or Inan? Absolutely. But probably so would Yemi, that doesn't mean she should get the throne. Perhaps I am merely feeling particularly democratic today, but I don't believe an absolute monarch will help Orïsha. If we are being realistic, I don't even know if a democratic one would either, but power in the hands of a diverse many would probably be better than power in the hands of one. Overall I enjoyed the story. I thought the plot was good and I enjoyed going with the characters as they (mostly) struggled to get magic back. Inan served to be a good character for demonstrating how our childhood can influence the kind of people we become and also serves as a nice foil to Amari, who has decided to be the opposite of her brother. Zélie is a good character to follow since she's so alive. She's got so much rage and love and fear and fire that pushes her every step of the way and helps her overcome so many things. I knocked off half a star for the frivolous reason that I don't like Inan and Zélie's romance and don't think it was necessary for the book. I'll be honest, the book was great, it was tough for me to put down even when I needed to, but for some reason I just don't have any desire to find out what happens in the next one. It's a bit like A Song of Wraiths and Ruin like that for me. I just...don't feel it. I don't think it has anything to do with either book since I couldn't make myself finish reading a new book by one of my favorite authors even though I was enjoying it so...just that kind of year, I suppose.

[artificialqueens]

I Wish You Were Sober (Crygi) - Mumu

A/N: Had to write something for my favorite quarantine bop! It’s also on AO3.

Summary: Gigi just wishes Crystal would kiss her- even when she’s sober.

Gigi clenches her jaw, tightening her grip on the red solo cup in her left hand. The red plastic crushes in on itself with a loud crunch, a split opening and leaking beer all over her.

“Shit!” Gigi drops the cup as fast as she can. The liquid splatters onto the carpet, pooling around her feet.

Gigi takes a few steps to the left, trying to act as inconspicuous as possible. Nicky, the hostess of this particular bash, isn’t even paying attention, and Gigi sends up a silent prayer for that small mercy.

Thank god everybody’s too occupied with grinding on each other as a sad excuse for dancing, or playing beer pong, or smoking joints in the kitchen to have noticed her spill.

Speaking of smoking joints, Crystal’s currently doing just that, blowing smoke out of her cherry red lips and flirting blatantly with the quarterback.

Crystal tilts her head back and laughs throatily, batting her lashes at the football player. She tosses a handful of crimped hair over her shoulder, tugging at the neckline of her dress to show more skin. The sight makes Gigi bite down on her tongue, another flash of anger shooting through her.

The cycle is always the same.

Gigi shows up to a party she doesn’t want to be at, Crystal in tow. Crystal makes a beeline for the drinks and the weed, hanging around the football team for the entire night. She usually ends up dancing on the quarterback, an obnoxious dick that’ll peak in high school.

Gigi always watches her flirt from the corner of the room. She’s left alone to glare at the back of Crystal’s platinum blonde head, watching while the other girl gets progressively more and more clingy with people that aren’t her.

Afterwards, when Crystal is ready to leave, Gigi will drive her home, and Crystal will kiss her in the car, pressed uncomfortably against the window, or wedged between the door and the driver’s seat. She’ll climb into Gigi’s lap, fingers tangled in her hair, and tell her she’s pretty.

And Gigi will go along with it, letting Crystal make her little drunken declarations of love, because what else can she do?

She likes Crystal, so, so much. Hearing Crystal say it back just for a moment gives her a rush of joy so intense it almost makes the next few days worth it. Crystal never admits it in daylight, when she’s sober. But Gigi will take anything she can get.

And so, Gigi keeps torturing herself by watching Crystal throw herself at unknown boys throughout the night, because the promise of those lips on her own is too addictive to quit. Even if they taste like tobacco and cheap alcohol every time.

Crystal trades a drink with a boy Gigi recognizes from her Chemistry class. Crystal probably doesn’t even know the guy, but that doesn’t stop her from thanking him with a sloppy kiss.

Gigi gnaws at her lip, aware that she should probably look away, but not being able to. Her hands tug at the flaps of her leather jacket, twisting the material up. Crystal leans in, draping her hands over the boy’s neck. Gigi swallows thickly.

She suddenly regrets spilling her drink on the ground, because knocking back lukewarm beer sounds like a perfect coping mechanism right now. Crystal turns, pressing her back into his chest, and suddenly the music is too loud. The party is swimming in her vision in all its sweaty, grimy glory. She needs air. Now.

It takes every ounce of strength and self-control that Gigi has to walk to Nicky’s bathroom at a reasonable pace when every fibre of her being is screaming at her to sprint there.

She slumps against the door as soon as it shuts, sliding down towards the floor. Something bitter and mean swells in her throat.

Gigi squeezes her eyes closed, counts to ten over and over until she’s sure her emotions aren’t bubbling right under boiling. It’s the last party of the school year, and Gigi’s alone in the bathroom having a meltdown.

If Nicky saw her like this she’d probably call Gigi a loser: and she’d be right. Gigi’s fucked.

Her eyes drift towards the window, a furrow in her brow. She almost laughs at the absurdity of the idea that pops into her brain. Can she crawl out of it?

The last time she tried was when she was twelve, back when Nicky would sneak her in every Friday for the sleepovers the girl used to host. Gigi’s mom never liked the idea of her going to a sleepover so they’d used the bathroom window to get Gigi in without waking up Nicky’s parents. When Jackie moved to the neighborhood in seventh grade, they’d done the same for her. The girls had fit through the small space easily back then.

The idea seems more and more appealing the longer she stays alone in this bathroom. She considers, running her tongue over her teeth. It might be a tight squeeze, but Gigi can probably do it.

She tiptoes over, cranking it open experimentally. It gets stuck at around three inches, so Gigi pushes even harder, straining until it finally opens fully. There’s a fine layer of dust settled around the windowsill, and Gigi wipes it off with a square of toilet paper. Other than that, it’s the same as she remembers.

She’s going to do this. Gigi hoists herself up, trying to shimmy her shoulders through the small square. Her jacket restricts her movements, though, and she can’t quite wedge her arms through properly. She lands back onto the bathroom floor with a thump, knocking her elbow against the wall in the fall.

“Fuck,” Gigi groans, rubbing the sore spot. A bruise will probably show up tomorrow morning, judging from how hard she banged it.

Okay. New approach.

This time she throws her jacket out the window first, before trying to fit her body sideways through the window.

It works, sort of, and Gigi’s left with her head out the window and her left arm pressed to the outside wall. Her hips get lodged, and Gigi tries to twist her body so that she can wiggle loose. It’s painful, the wall digging into her thighs, but she eventually manages to topple into Nicky’s front lawn, right on top of her jacket.

Gigi flops onto her back, breathing hard. The night air is sharp. She gulps it in, trying to recover from what just happened.

The bass is still pounding through the neighborhood, leaking through the walls of Nicky’s house, but it’s quieter out here at least, and Gigi can finally hear herself think. It’s so peaceful compared to inside the party that Gigi feels herself getting a tad bit sleepy.

Her text tone brings her out of the daze. Gigi fishes her phone out of her jacket pocket, the screen lighting up to show two unread messages.

Methhead:

geeg where r u.

do u wanna leave now?

A groan passes Gigi’s lips. Great. Just when she’s beginning to think clearly, Crystal has to come and muddle it up again. She pinches her phone lazily between her thumb and index finger, letting it dangle upside down, above her chest, with the screen right in front of her face.

She could just not respond. But Gigi can’t do that to Crystal. How would she even get home without Gigi giving her a ride? So she picks her phone right-side-up again, preparing to text back.

“Gigi?” Crystal’s voice rings out.

Gigi scrambles to her feet in the general direction of the voice, brushing dirt off of her jeans. Her phone slips out of her hand in her haste, hitting the ground.

“Hey, uh, over here!” Gigi calls, grabbing her phone off the ground.

Crystal turns, trying to locate where Gigi is. She brightens when she spots the redhead, rushing over.

“Hi baby,” Crystal laughs. “You look so pretty.”

Gigi feels a thrill up her spine at the pet name. Crystal links their hands and raises them over her head, motioning like she wants Gigi to give a spin for her.

Gigi turns obediently, an awkward smile on her face, trying to swallow her heartbeat as it climbs into her throat. Crystal smells like pine trees and cheap alcohol. Gigi wants to kiss her.

“Why’d you run off on me?” Crystal practically falls into Gigi’s arms as she comes to a stop, looping her hands around Gigi’s waist.

The action draws Crystal in close, their noses practically brushing. The white around Crystal’s blue eyes has gone red from the weed, and when she huffs a breath out Gigi can smell the earthy scent of it on her tongue. Gigi can hardly breathe, her head buzzing at Crystal’s closeness.

“Uh-”

“I had fun! Did you have fun?” Crystal asks, all cheerful. Gigi bites at her bottom lip, avoiding eye contact. It seems too invasive. She scuffs the bottom of her heels into the dirt instead, relishing in the sound of the mud as it splatters onto the straps of her high heels. “Nicky’s parties are the best.”

“Yeah.” Gigi grits her teeth, forcing a smile. Her voice quavers a bit, and she winces, praying Crystal doesn’t notice.

Lucky for her, Crystal’s oblivious to her feelings, per usual. “It was great, right? Did you see me kissing Damien? He tasted, like, gross. I wanna kiss you instead.”

Gigi stares, spluttering out an incredulous laugh. Crystal has to be kidding. “That usually work for you?”

“Uh, yes?” Crystal tilts her head, doing an impression of a confused puppy.

Gigi would find it cute, if not for the fact that she’s increasingly feeling like throwing herself off of a cliff, or maybe punching Crystal in the face. Crystal can’t possibly think that everything’s peachy.

The highlighter that Crystal applied to her collarbones earlier in the night glistens under the moonlight, and Gigi has to close her eyes to avoid tracing the metallic glow with a finger.

“Hello?” Crystal prompts, untangling herself from the other girl. “I asked for a kiss.”

“Right,” Gigi mutters. She runs her tongue along her teeth, trying to find some way to explain why that isn’t a good idea.

But Crystal is leaning closer, and the pull between them is intoxicating. Her fingertips slide up Gigi’s neck and tangle in Gigi’s glossy auburn curls, and before Gigi can come up with an excuse Crystal’s lips are on hers.

Gigi would be lying if she said it wasn’t thrilling. They fit together perfectly, with practiced ease. Crystal knows how to tug on Gigi’s hair just right so that Gigi clutches at her, and knows that when she bites down on Gigi’s bottom lip it’ll make her chest heave and her breaths come heavier.

It’s cruel how good Crystal can play her. Crystal tastes… like Crystal, woodsy and peppery and warm. It’s pathetic how used to it Gigi is by now, how she could pick out Crystal from a crowd of people if she had to, just by the taste of her and the feeling of her and how she’s buried herself deep into Gigi’s bones.

When Crystal pulls away it leaves emptier than she’d like to admit, and there’s anxiety spiking in her gut at the feeling. Gigi’s going to cry tonight, can feel it in her bones the same way she knows a fake Birkin from a real one with one glance.

Gigi’s eyes stray to the girl’s face. Crystal’s lip gloss has been smeared onto her chin and her bangs are wild. Her appearance makes Gigi’s blood throb with something hot and filthy, and Gigi feels the breath get knocked out of her at the feeling.

“Let’s go.” Gigi snaps, and whirls on her heel. She doesn’t bother checking to see if Crystal’s following her.

The ride is awkward, to say the least.

Gigi has to dig her acrylics into the steering wheel to focus. Crystal’s smacking her gum in the passenger seat, trying to get rid of the smell on her breath so that her mom doesn’t notice when she gets home. Gigi tries to tune it out, but the sound is grating and she can still hear it with the volume of the radio turned up to an 18.

When Crystal blows a pink bubble with her gum and pops it loudly for the third time, Gigi pulls over, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Can you not?” She doesn’t mean to sound so bitchy, but Crystal’s been getting on her nerves all night and Gigi’s never been a patient person.

“Sorry.” Crystal flushes, fiddling with her hands. She sounds genuinely apologetic, even with the high lacing her voice.

Gigi sneaks a glance at the other girl’s face and immediately wishes she didn’t. Crystal has made herself small, curling her knees up to her chest. She looks childish, face illuminated by the glow of a streetlight shining through the window, and Gigi feels a wave of guilt.

“Fuck, no, sorry.” She eyes Crystal’s folded up form, and sighs. “Here.”

Gigi shoves a hand in front of Crystal’s face. Crystal just blinks at it, confused. “Huh?”

“Spit,” Gigi says shortly.

“Oh.” Crystal hesitates.

“C’mon, I don’t have all night. And I don’t want to listen to you chewing the whole ride.” Gigi glares until Crystal follows the instructions. She flings the chewed-up blob out the open window with more force than necessary. It lodges into a crack in the sidewalk next to a bottle cap.

“Litterbug,” Crystal says under her breath. Gigi ignores it.

Gigi flexes her fingers against the rubber cover on her steering wheel, the bright yellow staring back at her mockingly.

It doesn’t seem right to start driving again, when the air between her and Crystal has stretched so thin and yet still manages to hang so heavy. She bites her tongue to prevent herself from blurting out an apology in an attempt to dispel the awkwardness. She has nothing to apologize for.

“Um,” Crystal says. “Are we just going to sit here, or are you gonna to drive me home?”

Gigi takes a sharp breath in, like she’s going to say something. The words get lodged in her throat, right under her soft palate. She cranks the car window up again to seal the night air out. The car engine is still humming softly, the only sound breaking up the tension in the air.

“Right, yeah.” She manages finally. Crystal quirks a brow, but Gigi doesn’t bother explaining herself.

Instead, she hovers a heel over the gas pedal, biting at her lip. The unsaid words clump under her tongue, bouncing around in her head.

“Are you mad at me?”

Gigi jerks her head towards the passenger seat where Crystal is sitting, bumping her head on the headrest in the process.

“Ow. Fuck.”

“Are you?” Crystal asks again. She looks nervous, pouting slightly. Crystal reaches a hand out like she wants to touch Gigi, but pulls it back before she can close the gap. Gigi’s heart skips a beat at the action.

“No,” Gigi lies, turning back to face the front.

“O-kay.” Crystal says, pulling the word into two syllables. A beat. “Are you sure?”

“No,” Gigi says.

“Okay,” Crystal repeats.

Outside, somebody’s car alarm goes off and she jumps, startled. Gigi shifts, fiddling with the zipper on her jacket. Neither one of the girls speaks, the blaring siren filling the silence.

“Do you-” Crystal starts. Gigi winces at the sound of Crystal’s voice cutting through her head. “What did I do?”

Gigi makes a sound low in her throat, strangled. It kind of sounds like a laugh, warped up and bitter. “Have you seen yourself?”

“What?” Crystal says. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gigi just shakes her head, not answering. She turns the radio up, shifting the gear out of park. The car starts onto the road home again.

The drive is smooth, but she still feels like throwing up. Crystal is sneaking glances at her when she thinks Gigi isn’t looking. Gigi tries not to look.

She parks the car outside of Crystal’s house and turns the keys to turn the engine off.

“Geeg, don’t,” Crystal heaves a shaky sigh in and out. “Don’t shut me out.”

“Please stop.” Gigi’s tone is clipped, her sentence punctuated by the slam of her closing the car door.

“Gigi, I can’t read your mind! I don’t know what’s wrong,” Crystal’s voice gets louder, and she moves to block Gigi’s way when Gigi tries to sidestep around her to get to her porch.

“That’s exactly the fucking point,” Gigi huffs.

“You’re being unreasonable.”

Gigi’s already resigned herself to giving Crystal vague answers until she gets bored and leaves her alone. But when Crystal spits the statement, her pride boils over, because how dare Crystal say that?

How dare she act naive and unaware when she practically throws herself at Gigi every time alcohol enters her system? What’s Gigi supposed to do, not catch feelings? Especially when Crystal looks like that, all olive skin and red lips and gorgeous bone structure.

And Crystal just acts like everything’s perfectly fine the next day, every time. She always leaves Gigi thinking of the feeling of Crystal’s lips pressed against Gigi’s, or her weight on Gigi’s lap, or her hands knotted into Gigi’s hair.

It’s not fair. It’s never fair with them two, and that’s the problem. Gigi’s in love with her. Crystal couldn’t care less.

Gigi doesn’t realize she’s talking out loud until she stops to take a breath. She freezes, panic swirling up from her bones.

Her head gets dizzier and dizzier the longer Crystal stays silent.

“Crys-” She starts. Crystal cuts her off.

“How long?” Crystal whispers. It’s still too loud in the silence that blankets them.

When Gigi doesn’t respond, Crystal repeats herself, voice a little more frantic this time.

“Gigi, I need to know.” Crystal takes a sharp breath in. “How long have you liked me?”

Gigi swallows. Prays for the ground to swallow her up. But Crystal’s gaze is unwavering, and she has nowhere to run.

“Since the eighth grade,” Gigi admits. Crystal makes some kind of shocked noise, but Gigi plows on anyway. If she stops, she might never get the courage to say this again.

“You- you gave yourself a mullet in the school bathroom during Biology, remember? That was the first time I’d ever skipped a class. You were so confident about it. And I was-” Gigi interrupts herself with a bitter laugh. “-I knew that was it. I was so fucking gone.”

“Oh,” Crystal says. She blinks. “Oh.”

This is… Not how Gigi dreamed this would go, to say the least.

On the rare nights she stayed up at 2am listening to love songs and allowed herself to dream of maybe someday telling Crystal she liked her, “oh” was not what she imagined Crystal saying back. And Gigi isn’t a dreamer. She prides herself on thinking logically through her problems. She trusts her head more than her heart, and it’s no wonder, given the shit her heart has put her through.

So she isn’t expecting an elaborate profession of love, or a monologue out of Romeo and Juliet. Just something with a little more substance. Fuck, even Crystal freaking out and not wanting to ever talk to Gigi again would be better than “oh.” She just needs something.

“Crystal, I’m sorry, I-” Gigi says. She trails off when Crystal shows no sign of hearing her. Gigi pulls her jacket tighter around herself. “You should go in, it’s cold.”

Crystal doesn’t move. Gigi can’t quite make out Crystal’s features in the evening light. Her face has blended into shapes and shadows, blurring at the edges.

“Are you crying?” Crystal asks.

Oh. So that’s why everything’s gone fuzzy.

“No,” Gigi sniffles. She forces a strained smile, just barely managing to lift the corners of her mouth. Her throat feels swollen, and it hurts when she speaks. “I’m fine. Fuck, sorry. I don’t know why I said all that.”

“Gigi,” Crystal says. Her voice is gentle, like she’s talking to a toddler. “Do you regret saying it?”

This is it. Crystal is giving Gigi a chance to take back a shred of dignity, to salvage whatever is left of their friendship.

“I- no, I don’t,” Gigi says, and that chance is gone. She shoves her hands into her jacket pockets to hide the shaking, balling them into fists. The inner lining bunches up under her grip.

“Okay,” Crystal says. She shakes her head lightly, like she’s trying to clear it. “Okay then.”

Gigi kicks the grass underneath her feet. The lawn is wet, dewdrops wetting her ankles. There’s dirt between her toes and clinging to the bottom of her foot.

There’s a ping, and Crystal fishes her phone out of her pocket. The blue light of the screen lights up her face and she squints at it.

“My mom’s asking where I am,” She reports. “I should- uh, I should go in.”

“Right.” Gigi clears her throat to give herself something to do. “Yeah. Okay. Night, Crystal.”

“G’night,” Crystal echoes. She doesn’t move.

Gigi feels a fresh wave of tears burning against her eyelids. She tenses her tongue, pressing it against the roof of her mouth with surprising strength in a bid to keep them back. When that doesn’t work, she takes off.

Gigi turns, walking as fast as she can down the block, away from Crystal, until she’s full on running, fishing her car keys out of her pocket with shaking hands. Her blood is pounding in her ears, and she can’t see straight.

Everything looks like it’s being viewed through a fish-eye lens, all disfigured. She feels for the door handle blindly and wrenches it open, clumsily getting in.

There. Now she’s alone. Crystal can’t see her anymore.

Gigi grinds the heels of her palms into her eyes, struggling to catch her breath. Bile rises in her throat, and she gasps for air, trying to blink clarity into her vision. Gigi coughs, hands flailing randomly around for something to grip onto. Her elbow hits the horn and the sound just makes her head even dizzier, the ringing in her ears chaotic.

Fuck. Why did she have to go and admit her feelings to Crystal? Gigi should have just kept her mouth shut like she always did before. The tears are still coming hot and fast, and the stickiness on her cheeks just makes her even angrier. God, she’s pathetic.

A rapping on the window breaks up her pity party.

Gigi raises bleary eyes to the sound. To her horror, it’s Crystal on the other side of the glass, motioning impatiently for Gigi to roll down the window. Gigi sucks an unsteady breath in. It’s staccato and comes in short bursts, like she’s just run a mile. Panic claws at her insides, and Gigi sputters out a hysteric giggle.

She opens the window, fingers shaking against the button.

Gigi wants to spit out an excuse, explain away why she hasn’t driven away and is instead sitting in her car bawling her eyes out like some kind of loser, but she can barely catch her breath, much less form words in this state.

“Gigi, are you- are you okay?” Crystal asks anxiously. “You uh, you ran off before I could say anything else.”

Gigi makes some kind of miserable noise. Her finger is still on the button to roll down the window, even though it’s already all the way lowered, and her car beeps in protest.

“Look, I-” Crystal starts. She seems to do some kind of calculation, before blurting out the rest of the sentence. “I’m really sorry.”

Gigi’s drowning. There’s ice water in her veins, a chorus of I-told-you-so and you’ve-ruined-everything crashing against her skull. She pushes air out of her nose forcibly, something like a laugh but not quite.

“I was really scared, okay? And I still am. I’m still trying to figure all this out, liking girls and shit.” Crystal clears her throat, shifting nervously on her feet. “I thought you were, I don’t know, just interested in kissing me. Nothing more.”

A mean, petty part of Gigi wants to drive away right now, to not give Crystal the time to explain. But the softer part, the part that’s still stupidly heart-eyed for Crystal wants to stay. It wants to hug Crystal, pull her in and tell her it’s all fine.

Gigi digs her fingernails into her palm and ignores both of those thoughts.

Crystal is a big girl. Gigi’s not going to clean up her messes for her, especially not when they’ll just make the ache in her chest even more painful. She’s done that too much lately.

But Gigi does owe Crystal the chance to talk her feelings out. Especially given how she dumped all hers onto the girl earlier.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” Crystal says. She gestures vaguely with her hands. “I didn’t mean to.”

Gigi opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Crystal reworks her words, stumbling over them.

“Or- or maybe I meant to, in this, like, fucked up way. I don’t know.”

Gigi blinks.

“Maybe I was trying to hurt you and push you away because I liked you, yeah?”

“Are you asking me if you like me?” Gigi murmurs, eyes trained expectantly on Crystal’s face. Nothing feels real. She taps her fingers against her thigh just to do something with her hands. “I can’t answer that for you, hun.”

Crystal seems to start at that.

She shakes it off with a slightly giddy giggle, more breath than sound. It sits in the distance between them, swirling. Gigi thinks if she raises her hand she might be able to capture it in her fist, unfurl her palm to see the sound glittering against her flesh.

“Right. Sorry, I don’t know how to, uh, do this good.” Crystal amends. She pulls a shaky breath and expels it again. “I- fuck, this looked easier in the movies.”

Gigi’s lips quirk slightly. Crystal doesn’t know if it’s in amusement or something else, but she takes it as a sign to keep going.

“I care about you a lot, Gigi.” Crystal makes like she’s going to grab Gigi’s hand but seems to think better of it, resting her arm on the trim seal instead. “Not- not just as a friend. I really, I don’t want to fuck our friendship up if I do something really stupid. This probably won’t work, you know?”

Gigi stares dumbly, huffing a breath. Crystal avoids her gaze, clicks her tongue once as if making a decision. It feels like an eternity has passed in silence before she fixes her gaze on Gigi’s face again, with so much intensity Gigi shivers.

“I would like to try, though?” Crystal says. Her voice cracks on the last word, and she runs a hand through her hair, twirling the strands between her fingers like she always does when she’s stressed.

“I’d- like that,” Gigi swallows, trying to keep the excited tremor out of her voice when she responds. Her words come out choppy and blunt. “If you’re sure.”

Crystal grabs her instead of answering.

Gigi hits her head on the car frame, and Crystal’s hands tangle into her hair. The kiss is clumsy, their foreheads knocking. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

Gigi is straining to lean out the window, the metal of the car door digging into her ribs. Crystal’s teeth sink into her lip and she hisses, pulls Crystal even closer against the cool steel in retaliation, trying to close the gap.

When they part, it’s only because Gigi needs to breathe. Her entire body is thrumming like it might combust.

“Do you- was that okay? For you?” Crystal asks sheepishly. She wipes the corners of her lips, cleaning up the smudges.

“Okay? Fuck, Crystal, I’ve been dreaming of that since forever,” Gigi admits, breathless. “Are you sure?”

“You keep saying that.” Crystal offers her a lopsided grin. “Don’t ask me again, I might chicken out.”

“Oh my god,” Gigi laughs, relief swimming in her gut. Adrenaline buzzes up her spine, making her dizzy. “Oh my god, you suck. Shut up.”

“Just get out of the car,” Crystal shakes her head, biting back a smile. She slaps the roof of the car. “I wanna kiss you some more.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Crystal scurries backwards so that Gigi has enough room to open the door, stepping out onto the sidewalk.

Under the artificial lights, Crystal looks messy, skin tinted yellow.

The lighting makes the pinks of her blush clownish and the dips of her contour into unforgiving brown streaks. Her foundation is cakey on her forehead from wearing it all night, mascara muddy around her eyes.

Gigi thinks this is the most beautiful she’s ever looked.

“Stay the night?” Crystal suggests.

“As long as you won’t ignore me in the morning.” Gigi teases, because she doesn’t trust herself not to accept the offer embarrassingly fast otherwise.

Crystal just rolls her eyes. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope,” Gigi says proudly. “Can I steal snacks from your pantry? I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, but that’s cause you were too busy glaring at me halfway across the room to eat at the party,” Crystal says.

Gigi just hums. Part of her is relieved at how normal this all is. Part of her knows she shouldn’t even be surprised. They’ve always been Crystal and Gigi, and a few kisses aren’t going to change that.

Her lungs feel like they’re full of glitter, and she taps Crystal’s chin, signaling for another kiss. Crystal’s tongue tastes like stale liquor and Gigi feels drunk off of it, the feeling of Crystal so close to her and knowing that Crystal won’t run this time. Knowing that Crystal is hers.

She’s been waiting five long years for this and regrets nothing.

“What’re you thinking about?” Crystal links her arm with Gigi’s easily, their shoulders bumping.

“Nothing,” Gigi answers simply. “This was a good start to summer.”

“Yeah,” Crystal agrees, in that way of hers where she doesn’t say much but says everything all at once. “It was.”

[desiraypark]

Love in Writing [Prologue]

Series Summary: Friends since childhood and sweethearts since adolescence, Finn and Darla are now of age to court and eventually marry. But when Finn is away in the army, his “brother” and frenemy, Ben, snatches their chance at matrimony away.  Main Characters: Darling “Darla” Teven (Daughter of Dekari and Amala Teven) (Blk/F) Finn Okani (Son of the late Jace and Callila Okani) Ben Skywalker Solo (His Grace, the Young Prince) Setting: - Country of Alderaan - Not space - In a world comparable to the Western hemisphere of the Earth (but not Earth lol) - Starts in a time comparable to the early 1910s Disclaimer: Though set in a “historical” period, this series won’t be completely historically accurate. The series is more so “inspired” by the Western culture of the early 20th century, but much of the content is the result of my re-imagining and re-envisioning the era(s).  Categories: Angst - Drama - Fluff - Historical - Romance - Scandal - Smut  Content Warnings: Arranged Marriage - Backstabbing - Conniving - Deceit - Degradation - Infidelity

Though the original character will be forced into a marriage, I intend to avoid putting any non-con into this series.

(Prologue after break) 

The Debut Ceremony

My Dearest Finn,

My Love, I wish the contents of this letter were pleasant. The most horrific thing has happened. Ben has asked my parents’ permission to court me and they said “yes”! I am mortified. I miss you my Love and wish you were here to fight this with me. My parents said that they think you are a splendid young man and they adore you. But of course, a union within the royal family would be more beneficial to the Teven family. I can’t understand why Ben would do this. Surely, he knows that we’ve been in love since we were in secondary school. I know that you’ve shared your affections for me with him. Yes, I remember you telling me that he may harbor some resentment toward you, but I did not believe it was this strong. Princess Leia asked me if I was sure I wanted to court Ben. I’m sure that she, too, is aware of our affection for each other. But my parents burned into me with a mighty glare, striking the fear of the Maker into me. I said “yes”. But as you know, Princess Leia isn’t the final decision-maker. King Luke also sees benefit in a Skywalker-Solo-Teven union. My sweet Finn. I am sorry that I have to share this news with you in a letter. Please say a prayer for me, as I will continue to pray for you. But now, I fear that I pray for an end to this undesirable union in a not-so-pleasant way. I love you, Finn. And only you. Always.

Sincerely, Your Darling ____________________ THREE EVENINGS BEFORE

“Ladies and gentlemen, the highlight of our evening begins…”

“Ready to make ourselves available for sanctified deflowering, ladies?” Rey asked. Jenaveve pinched her daughter’s bare shoulder.

“Twelve gorgeous young ladies are ready to make their debut as women among King Luke Skywalker, his Royal Family, esteemed guests, and twelve Alderaan’s finest young men. Here they are…”

A violin played.

“First out, Estela Becall, daughter of Trevin Becall, escorted by her mother, Lumina Becall…”

The announcer--Prime Minister Tico, called the names of the remaining eleven young ladies, including his granddaughter, Rose. She was Rose Tico, daughter of Issak, escorted by her mother, Belle. Isaak Tico was a Navy general who wanted little to do with politics and the frills of the aristocracy. He was intent on letting his daughters, Rose and Paige, live relatively normal lives--but he wasn’t always able to escape the golden claws of his esteemed father. Rose took it all in stride. She was a perfect combination of her male descendants: fiercely independent like her father and boldly persuasive like her grandfather. And she was a humanitarian like her mother--dedicated to remaining on the right side of history. Now, here she was following Alderaan aristocrat tradition--her hair pinned up and body adorned in minimal jewels and a gown of Skywalker blue. 

Jannah Itanni--fourth in the debut line. She was the granddaughter of York Itanni I - the world-famous inventor and engineer, and daughter of his son, York Itanni, II. Jannah was very much like her father--an explorer at heart. Curious. Always ready for a new adventure. She didn’t hate the debut ceremony--in fact, she hoped to catch the eye of a young pilot who could teach her to fly--but she hated the rules and the consequences of unfollowed rules. So many unnecessary things, if you asked her. Rose and Jannah went to school with Rey Jakkan and Darling Teven. Rey was the youngest daughter of Markus Jakkan and Jenaveev Olvair-Jakkan (daughter of oil tycoon, Cyrus Olvair). She and Jannah were best friends. Whenever one was in trouble, the other one usually was, too. They often snuck out of their homes to meet each other. How they were able to do it so often without being caught, no one ever knew. Like Jannah, she hated all the rules and protocol of the debut ceremony--but unlike Jannah, who kept her complaints to low mumbles, Rey fought and protested the entire way. Ninth in the line (and alphabetically in front of Rose) was Darling Teven. Yes, Darling is her real name. But everyone (except her mother) called her “Darla”. Darla was the daughter of Dekari and Amala Teven--and granddaughter of Jahani Teven. Her grandfather was the founder and CEO of Eastland Preserves, one of the biggest dried foods manufacturers in Alderaan. Eastland Preserves also had storefronts in five of Alderaan’s major cities. 

Darla was just as mischievous as Rey and Jannah, but she did an excellent job of hiding her capers and quieting her quips. Always relaxed and easygoing, she knew when to play with the fire and knew when to step away. Naturally, Rose Tico was her best friend.

Twelve single young men stood in line to greet the young women with bows, kisses to hand, and hellos. If they didn’t know their names, they asked - but there were probably only two young ladies who were strangers to the Skywalker castle. For many of these young men and women had roamed the marble halls and plush grounds as children--passing the hours with boundless fun as their parents talked business, politics, or simple social affairs with King Anakin and Queen Padme, and for five years now, King Luke. Additionally, many of them attended the same prestigious academy. The young men traditionally lined up by titles and importance - royals first, the children of politicians second, and esteemed citizens (like businessmen’s sons) after. One by one, they chose their first dance. First in line was Prince Ben Skywalker-Solo - son of Princess Leia and Prince Han Solo, nephew of King Luke. This was his third time attending the annual debut ceremony. For it was no secret that the carefree young man wasn’t interested in a wife, but his parents forced him to participate. To at least look like he was trying to be an honorable man.

“Darling,” Ben said when he reached the Teven family’s only daughter. He bowed and kissed her hand, and she raised an eyebrow at him. The chandelier seemed to illuminate her and only her. She was always lovely, but the night’s air and the room’s airs made her radiant. “Benjamin,” she responded. He noticed Rose biting down a chuckle. “Ben is my full name, Darla.” “I know.” He smirked and walked to Rose. When greetings were done, Ben chose Rey to dance with first. He knew that she hated the entire affair and only wanted to antagonize her for it. Then, there was Darla--his final dance partner. Unofficial sweetheart to his unofficial brother.

“Darling Teven,” Ben said, as he took her hand. The second dreadfully long song of the evening began, and the two bowed and curtsied, and pranced into their waltz. “Why do you keep calling me that?” Darla asked. “Is your name not Darling?” “You have never called me Darling, Ben.” “Ben?” he asked, looking into her eyes. “Your Grace, you mean.” “You would love for me to call you that, wouldn’t you?” “I would. Just like I enjoy calling you Darling.” “All of a sudden...” Darla mumbled. Ben grunted and looked over Darling’s head. It required little effort--for he towered over everyone on the dance floor. “How is Finn? Do you still write him?” he asked. He met her eyes again. Darla was slightly annoyed by the question. She didn’t quite know why. There seemed to be a tinge of intrusiveness to it. He knew good and well that nothing could stop them from writing each other. “Of course I do. He is well. Ready for his advanced training soon,” she answered with a proud smile. “You don’t write him?” Ben shrugged. “He writes to his uncle. His uncle passes the messages on.” Darla nodded and they danced in brief silence. “So, how does it feel to be a woman?” he asked. She shrugged. “I feel no different.” “Oh. So I must give Finn some lessons.” Darla’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What are you talking about?” “Oh, you know. Sweet little harlot,” he said. Darla blinked in shock. “What did you call me?!” she growled. “Shh. Not in front of the guests, Darling,” he said with a grin. “Your secret is safe with me.” Darla huffed and suddenly began to sweat.

“Finn didn’t tell me, by the way,” Ben continued. “I knew when he left for the base. The way you two looked at each other at the station. The way he walked like he’d drank ten coca drinks. Where did you two go? His uncle’s barn?” "That’s none of your fucking business,” she said between clenched teeth.  Ben shook his head. “Language, little one. Language...” “Oh, shove it up your ass, Ben,” she whispered. He just laughed. “But you’re right. It’s none of my business,” he said. “It’s just such a shame that the Darling of Alderaan didn’t get her beautiful cherry popped by a man with more experience.” “You’re disgusting,” Darla hissed. “And I wouldn’t want my cherry popped by a worn out and used utensil, anyway.” Ben threw his head back to laugh this time. He looked back down at her. “Used? Yes. Worn out? Not even close. Darling.” Darla rolled her eyes. “When will this song end?” Ben glanced over the dance floor and ignored the pained and impatient expressions on his peers’ faces. “We can change partners at this point.” “Thank the Maker.” “I have to initiate the switch. Me being the more important bachelor and all,” he said. “Well. Initiate!” Ben bit down on his bottom lip. Dimples pressed into his cheeks. He kept waltzing with Darla. “You’re a torturer,” she said. “And Finn would kill you if he saw what you were doing right now.” Ben didn’t say anything. He just stared into Darla’s eyes. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.  “Finn isn’t the only person who thinks you’re beautiful, Darla.” Chills went down Darla’s spine. She swallowed. His confession was sweet but dripped with a sinister elixir. Surely, these feelings of his were new. If they were even genuine. “That’s kind of you, Ben. But Finn is the only man whose affections I desire.” Ben smiled. Then, his eyebrows knitted together. He nodded.

“We’ll see.” ____________________ Let me know in the comments if you want to be tagged in “Love in Writing”!

[tophagentofchaos]

Modern AU clothes for the Gaang and Azula’s Girl Gang

Bc you know. I saw this post and immediately started thinking about what kind of clothes they’d really wear. I will say that I think Azula, Ty Lee and Mai would as a general rule dress better than the gaang.

Aang: Light up sketchers. Oversized, ratty hoodies that he got at a thrift store for fifty cents that say random things like “Skim Milk” on the front. Lives in sweatpants. Inexplicably has a collection of those plastic rain ponchos. 

Katara: Probably the only member of the gaang who puts some real thought into how they dress. Sometimes does the cami over t-shirt thing, but knee length skirts and cute blouses are her go to’s. Always wears shorts under because she still wants to be able to run around and do things, but she’s also on the debate team, and has a reputation to uphold. 

Sokka: Wears cropped tops 80′s football player style, but the shirts he chooses to crop/cut the sleeves off are from like. The science decathlon he went to with the STEM club and won, his Gremlins movie poster shirt, some shitty graphic tee’s that have terrible puns on them, and a band tee he borrowed from Zuko at a sleepover and never bothered to give back. He also wears crocs and jorts. If he has to be at a more formal event, he swaps the crop top for a Hawaiian shirt. In the winter, swaps out the crops for just the most atrocious sweaters imaginable.

Suki: Looks cool no matter what she wears to Sokka’s chagrin but that doesn’t mean she dresses well. Has some busted up white converse she’s had for the past five years that are held together with duct tape and prayer. Has an extensive collection of trucker hats for no discernible reason. Probably just wears t-shirts and jeans, or basketball shorts for Maximum Mobility™

Toph: Does not care how she dresses in the most chaotic way. Has worn those fuzzy worms as a bracelet before. Sokka didn’t even know her ears were pierced to begin with. Comes to class most days dressed like Elton John at a funeral: that is, muted and restrained for Elton John, but fucking WILD for everyone else. The most casual outfit she’s worn this week has been a neon orange shirt with the word “Matriarchy” in giant bubble letters on the front, some green pants with a pear patch sewn onto the knee, and a pair of cheap rubber slippers with avocados all over them. Definitely steals and shares clothes with Sokka, who is glad someone appreciates his fashion, Katara—

Zuko: Black ripped skinny jeans and MCR shirts. His dad makes him leave the house in khakis and polos, but he changes when he comes to school in a quiet act of rebellion.

Azula: Dresses like business majors dress at a university. She doesn’t know how to interact with people but she still needs to look put together because she’s Azula and her lack of one on one social skills does not make her any less formidable. She’s always in slacks, a nice button up, and nice lace up shoes. All her shit is impeccably tailored, but looks a little old on her. 

Ty Lee: Exists in yoga pants as she should. Wears comfortable running shoes bc who knows when she’ll get dared to scale a building. Usually wears a cute top and/or cardigan with them because just because she’s mobile doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to look cute :)

Mai: Doesn’t want to look cute. Gives Morticia Addams a run for her money. She doesn’t wear all black, but the lightest she goes is dark red. Wears turtlenecks during summer. Yes, she’ll wear a swimsuit to the beach but that’s IT. Everywhere else is turtleneck zone. Her stuff is also impeccably tailored bc like Azula/Zuko, her parents are rich as fuck. 

[walkingdeadjunkie]

Southern Comfort [Merle Dixon x Reader]

Requested by: negansgirl06

I was hopping for something where the reader promises Merle that she doesn’t cut he/her self anymore and when Merle our she’s been doing it agin he makes her promise to stop and it ends in some really cute fluffy cuddles? (I’m not sure if you write about angst but I figured what’s the harm I’m asking)

Summary: Merle Dixon was the last person on earth who you thought would give a shit about anybody but himself. But the man had a soft spot for loners. And that's what you were.

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: self-harm, swearing and attempted suicide.

Word count: 2,885

GIF isn’t mine, but please check out the blog for the lovely person who made it!

You’ve cut too deep this time and now blood is dripping all over the tent floor. You throw your overshirt onto it and wipe it up as best you can then bring your arm to your chest and slide outside. You need to get to the water and clean it up before it attracts the attention of the others or walkers. It’s dark out here but with one arm out of commission and the other supporting it, you aren’t able to carry a lantern and instead rely on the moonlight to help you down the small walkway and rush to the lake. Stumbling on this and tripping over that. You think of them as you make your way down so carelessly. Your brother, sister and mother. All of whom were torn into ribbons right in front of your eyes by neighbors you’d known longer than your runaway father. People who cared for you since the tender age of three- people who were also dead.

You come to the water and kneel at it. There’s no tears that escape your eyes because they’d dried up a long time ago, that’s why the cutting helps. It gives you an emotional release that nothing else does. You’re about to stick your arm in when a hand wraps around your shoulder and you look up to see the frightening half of the Dixon brothers looming close. You startle then fall back onto the cut arm and cry out. He makes no move to help you and your arm returns to the cradled position it was in before.

“Don’ wan’a puh ya arm ‘n there darlin’, shit’ll make ya sicker than a man who sticks his dick ‘n a mule.” His back is against the moonlight and it reaffirms just how hulking he is. Merle squats down and holds a hand out. Your heart is racing by his sudden attendance. “Ain’ gon’ hurt ya fancy lady. Done ‘nough a tha’ ya self.” You chew on your lip and think about the risks. It doesn’t seem like he has ill intentions at all and so you lay the back of your arm on his open palm. He brings it close up to himself then tuts and clicks his tongue. “Well fuckin’ ‘ell, did a numb’a on yaself didn’ ya?” You stay quiet and he looks over. “Got anotha shirt?”

“What?”

“Got anotha shirt?” You didn’t want to answer, the question felt unsafe. “Oh fuckin’ ‘ell, course ol’ Merle’s tha fuckin’ cunt who gotta tear ‘is shit up for a damn city woman.” He lets go of your arm and your eyes widen when he grips the bottom of his singlet and lifts it high. You shift yourself back and begin to whimper.

“Please don’t hurt me.” You beg softly. He freezes for a moment, then lets the singlet fall back down.

“I ain’ a fuckin’ rapist ya bitch. I ain’ even lookin’ at ya skeleton ass- uppity lil shit ain’ ya?” He says roughly. You feel guilty instantly. “Ya need ta wrap ya fuckin’ arm ‘for ya blackout ‘n die.” He pulls the singlet all the way off and tears the bottom of it like butter. Quickly he lines up the fabric at the beginning of the cut, loops it around the limb and looks up. “’s gon’ fuckin’ hurt fancy lady so bite ya otha arm.” You do as he says and when he tightens it your teeth sink into the skin and you let out a muffled moan. “Now hol’ it up.”

You do just that. The thumping and pulsing in your arm is worse than the cutting was and the man throws his singlet back on. You’re too busy floating around in your own world of pain to really pay attention to him until a shuffling sound catches your interest and you look up to see him with his hand out again.

“Need’a get ya ass inside woman.” You look at his hand again and back at him. You still can’t make out his expression but he helped you and so there’s a slither of trust between you both. You put your hand in his and he helps you stand then lets go. “Why’d ya do it?”

“I’m sad.” You reply simply.

He laughs loudly.

“Well, fuckin’ do some oth’r shit.” Your brows come together while he steps away to create more space.

“It’s not that easy.” You reply with mild frustration.

“Well ol’ Merle’s got drugs if ya wan’ black out ‘nstead?” He offers easily, like it was normal to do so.

“No. Those are bad for you.” 

“An’ cuttin’ ya shit up ain’? Least ya’ll die happier bein’ high on rocks den bleedin’ out by a blade.”

You realise then just how monumentally different you are regardless of the background or personality. He’s a tweaker and you’re sober. You should have picked up on the signs a lot earlier- but at least he was nice.

“I’m fine.” You reply stiffly. He lets out an amused chuckle and stretches out.

“Nah, ya ain’ tha’s why ya fuckin’ did tha’ and told me ya sad.” He sighs and faces you completely with his arms crossed. There’s a long silence before he continues. “Dun do tha’ shit ta yaself fancy.”

The glare is instant. Your face is exposed to the light unlike his so you know he can see it.

“Why the hell do you care? We don’t know each other. This is our first conversation.”

“I see ya wanderin’ ‘round woman, all mopey and alone. I’m a lon’a too, buh I goh lucky wit’ lil Darylina. You didn’. Us kind gotta look out for one anoth’a.” He replies simply.

“Is that why you’re out here? You’re following me?” He laughs heartily and you feel embarrassed for what he’ll say next because it seems like you were the last thing on his mind.

“Get off ya fuckin’ high horse lady. I came ouh ‘ere ta smoke a bowl ‘nd saw ya dumbass trippin’ down tha hill.” He cracks his knuckles before continuing. “I’m gon’ need ya ta reassure ol’ Merle ‘ere sugar, cause he’s worried ‘bout ya. This ain’ normal shit and it’ll only get worse.”

“Why do you need my word?” And why are you worried about me, you think.

“Cause this is fucked up. If ya sad talk ta me, if ya hate me talk ta Darylina. He’s soft like ya. Ya don’ need’a do this ta ya’self. Shit’s hard- yea. Buh ya makin’ it harder.”

Maybe he really was just trying to be nice but you’ve never spoken to this man before and you sure as hell did not need to promise him anything. But he seems like the stubborn kind and so you grind your teeth and answer stiffly.

“Fine. I won’t.” He rubs his hands together then points one of them up the hill.

“Well tha’s dandy fancy pan’s. Now get back ta ya tent and ol’ Merle’s gon’ carry on ‘is night.” You roll your eyes and move around him to return to the camp. You owe Merle nothing and you will do whatever the hell you want.

*

It’s been a week since your run in with Merle Dixon and you haven’t spoken to him since. He leaves you alone and does whatever he does but every once and a while Daryl will give you a nod when your paths cross. The group here is flimsy and there’s a lot of competing egos and personality clashes in it. It’s enough to make you realize how much you don’t want to be here anymore. You spend the morning helping the women clean, barely listening to their conversations but nodding along with what they say like you were. You’ve already made your mind up on what you want to do and stole one of the men’s blades when they weren’t looking since yours went ‘mysteriously’ missing the day after you spoke to Merle.

You’re deep in the woods now. You had hoped to come across a walker to throw yourself at but all of the ones you see have arrows in their heads already. So now it’s left up to you.

This spot is nice enough.

With a flick of your wrist the blade is unsheathed from its handle. You fall onto your knees and cut your hand to check how sharp it is, it’s decent enough to get through a windpipe. With one last prayer and the smiling faces of your family in mind, your eyes close and the metal presses against the skin of your neck. You only manage to slide it less than an inch across when your wrist is squeezed so hard that you cry out and drop it. When you look up Merle is the one you see, his expression is furious and it panics you instantly. He kicks the knife far before yanking you up with a grunt.

“Wha’ tha fuck are a doin?! Ya fuckin crazy bitch. Tha’s tha fuckin worse way ta die!” His volume stings your ears and makes you feel small. But the shock wears off fast and you remember why you’re out here.

“Let me go!” You scream while struggling to pull yourself away. “I’ll fucking stab you before I kill myself if you don’t do it!” You continue to struggle against him but the man is made of concrete and he easily keeps you in place.

Your threat is nothing anyway, one half-assed slap and he could knock you into next year.

“Ya gave me ya word.” He growls. Brows together and creasing a line between them.

“I don’t care! My choices aren’t yours you hick. Fuck off!” He doesn’t flinch at the insult. He’s been called a lot worse no doubt and something so generic bounces off of him like styrofoam.

You kick at his legs and he waits until the steam runs out and you’re left breathing heavily. When you stop resisting he lets you go with a frown. For some reason or another you find yourself wrapping your arms around his middle and bunching the back of his shirt with your hands. You feel it then, a wetness on Merle’s shirt that tells you that you’re finally crying. After so long of nothing it comes out like a burst dam and you can’t stop. Your body is shaking and his hands are on your back while his head rests on yours.

“Ya gon’ be alrigh’. Shit’s jus’ hard at tha’ momen’. Life ain’ tha same way.” He says.

After a while the sobs turn into sniffles and then become whimpers. He’s warm and hard, like a stiff hot water bottle that makes you feel a comfort you hadn’t in a long time.

“I don’t want to be here Merle.” You admit. The grip on you is tightened a little more. “I hate these people, I hate what we’re doing, I hate everything.” He puts a hand on either arm and keeps you in place so he can step back. There’s nothing particularly soft in his expression, but he does seem aware and his attention is yours completely.

“Hate it all baby doll, buh don’ let it kill ya off. We’re all gon’ die. Buh die fightin’ fa somethin’, helpin’ someone- ya don’ like these people? Hell, neith’a do me or Darylina. Buh it works fa now, it ain’ gon’ be forever.” He replies.

You shake your head and break the stare for a moment.

“I can’t help anyone.” You whisper. “I couldn’t help my family so how the hell can I do anything?” Your gazes meet again. “These people don’t need me.”

He lets out a scoff and rolls his eyes. You didn’t expect something like that in such a sensitive situation but it does make everything feel less tense.

“Ya don’ know tha’. Ya migh’ be tha one cunt ‘round who will kill a walker tha’s about ta bite someone. Don’ blame yaself fa wha’s already done. Ain’ no manual on how ta survive a dam’ apocalypse and keep ya people ta’gether.” There’s nothing in his words that feel forced.

“I should have done more.” You say softly.

“Do more now.” He counters.

“But what if I do something wrong? What if somebody needs my help and I fuck up again?” The tears threaten to come back and you have to chew on your lip to keep it together.

He shakes his head.

“At leas’ ya fuckin’ tried fancy ‘n tha’s wha’ matters.” He stands tall again and brings you in for another hug that feels more intimate than it did before, like he cares. “ Ol’ Merle’s gon’ teach ya a few thin’s. Shit that’ll help ya feel strong an’ safe.”

“Like what?”

“Fightin’, huntin’, how ta kill a dam’ walker so ya don’ feel like ya can’. Shit that’ll make ya see how important it is ta be alive fa yaself an’ other fuckers.” He lets out a sigh that you feel deflate in his chest. “Ya ain’ gon’ be alone again.”

“You don’t know that.” You reply with a scoff.

“I fuckin’ dam’ well do woman. Only a Dixon can kill’a Dixon. An’ Darylina ain’ killin’ me yet.” The comment doesn’t make any sense to you because it isn’t true but you don’t correct him. His words feel nice. “And if he do, then ya still go’ ‘im. He’ll watch ou’ fa ya.”

You laugh at the comment and if your head could shake you’d do it.

“We’ve never spoken before Merle.” You say. “I doubt that.”

He lets out a laugh and once again you’re thrown off.

“Well don’ cause he’s tha only reason I knew ya fucked off ou’ ‘ere. An’ why ya didn’ get ya ass eaten by a fuckin’ walker. Cause he don’ wan’ ya dead neither.” You loosen your hold a little and the pieces begin to come together.

“He saw me come in here? Those arrows were his?” You ask.

“Sure as shit did. Boy walks like tha wind. Got a head’a ya ta kill ‘em off while I followed behind. Told ya woman, us lon’as gotta stick ta’getha like flies on shit.” He boasted proudly.

Despite the crudeness of the comment you hold Merle tighter and the tears come back again.

The Dixon brothers were the last men on earth that you ever thought would give a shit about you, yet they did. They cared enough to keep you alive, to show you that they were worried and gave you the time of day when nobody else has. Because they were alone too.

You pull far enough away to still be in his hold and he looks down, eyes widening a little as you tug him down by the front of his singlet. You stretch high enough to reach his cheek and plant a soft kiss on it. When you pull away from the embrace Merle stands tall with a high brow then looks you over slowly. He hasn’t said anything yet. But you know that whatever comes out isn’t going to be as platonic as it was when he was comforting you.

He lets out a low whistle.

“Well goddam’ fancy, if I knew ya would’a done tha’ ol’ Merle ‘ere would’a turned ‘is charm on ta get a little more.” He says throatily with wiggling brows.

Your eyes roll and you wipe at your face with a tired sigh.

“Don’t ruin the moment Dixon.” You say dryly.

“Oh I can make this momen’ even bett’a darlin’. I’m a givin’ man with a lotta love in ‘im.” He says playfully with a wink that you can’t help but smile a little at.

You walk around him and find the blade easily. The weight of it is heavier than you remember. Maybe because now you realise how close you came to leaving because of it. The scent of sweat and something like burning plastic comes close and you look to the side and see Merle staring back. You hold it out for him to take but he shakes his head.

“Shit’ll keep ya safe an’ give ya life instead’a takin it away. Hol’ on ta it. And don’ do this ‘gain.”

“I won’t.” You promise. And this time you mean it.

The sentiment is something you didn’t expect to come from somebody like him. But you take the advice with a smile, sheath the blade and pocket it. Instantly Merle wraps an arm around your shoulders that feels like a tree trunk and directs you back to the camp while whistling. Strangely enough it feels good to be held by him. A part of you wants it to stay that way even when you do get back.

“Merle?” You say while looking up at him with a smile he focuses on. “Thank you.”

He shrugs and let’s out a long sigh.

“Shit das wha’ friends is for fancy! Buh now it’s time ta show ya how ta skin a squirrel so ya can make ol’ Merle ‘ere some food when he too pissed ta cook.”

Squirrel?

“Why the hell can’t you make it? You have hands.” A laugh vibrates through his thick chest and his tone switches back to the flirty one he gave you after the kiss. His eyes brush over your tense expression and he grins.

“Cause tha’s wha’ lady friends is for sugar, well, tha’ and kissin’ ol’ Merle’s cheek.”

[back-and-totheleft]

“The Doors” Turns 30

Oliver Stone, 74, is seated for a Zoom interview at his home office in Los Angeles. He’s just finished reading an email proposing he direct a film about Led Zeppelin. “I don’t know much about them, frankly," Stone admits. "They were never really my band.” The Doors were his band. On March 1, 1991, the universe got its first look at The Doors — Stone's beautifully irrational biopic about the late '60s rock group led by Jim Morrison (played by Val Kilmer, then 31, amid a Method-acting spectacle). The result is an R-rated feast that acts as an extravagant rejection of puritanism and "Just Say No." It is campy, erotic, deeply disturbing and smoldering like a pagan bonfire.

On the occasion of its 30th anniversary, Stone talked to The Hollywood Reporter about the legacy of his film, psychedelics, Bohemian Rhapsody and Val Kilmer's masterclass as Hollywood's first and only Jim Morrison.

The cinematography in this film produces some astonishing eye candy.

We used a lot of filters. We had to go back into the past. We had everyone dressed in period, which was very expensive. We were also taking chances that we normally wouldn’t. We were growing in our boldness. We wanted to challenge all the ideas. We had no rules, no limits, no laws.

At least for my generation, the film has come to symbolize a darkly funny and dizzying parody of the “cock rocker.”

That was never my intention. I’m a little square, perhaps, for your taste, but I worshipped Morrison. I thought he was a great force breaking through to the other side. He was saying things that needed to be said. It was being said by others: Jefferson Airplane, The Beatles, and so on. But he was the only one that was really going into the erotica as much as he was. Of course, he talked about Indians, shamanism, but back then, we were coming out of the '50s. It was a very different time. He was liberated. He was sexy as a man. He felt at ease with himself. And he carried on as if he were a free man. I worshipped a free man. I’m actually one of the people who really likes his lyrics. Some people make fun of them.

The Doors feels like a rebuke of the Bush era and "Just Say No." Was Morrison acting as your mouthpiece when he was screaming at us that we were all "a bunch of slaves?"

Yes. The things I say sometimes don’t go down so well. But I don’t agree with so much of what’s going down. I still don’t. I haven’t changed. If anything, I’m worse. His timing may have been off when he said, “You’re all a bunch of slaves.” He was a philosopher.

Critics focused on the lack of historical realism in this film. But it’s a fantasy. Morrison himself was a kind of myth-maker. What do you think is rooted in the obsession for realism in a film about Jim Morrison?

By this time, I had been taking so much flak. I don’t mean to self-pity, but my God, I had just done Born on the Fourth of July, Talk Radio and Wall Street. I was exhausted by trying to be realistic. This was freedom. It was like tearing your clothes off and breathing. It was about going out and having fucking fun making a movie. After JFK and Heaven & Earth, I did Natural Born Killers. Again, I wanted to be free. I get off on those films.

I first discovered this film as a teenager. It somehow captured rock 'n' roll at its purest.

Thank you. I didn’t really have the connection to music that other people had. A lot of filmmakers study music. I didn’t. I just followed a god that I liked. You see, I heard him in Vietnam for the first time. I was doing LSD on R&R [rest and recuperation] — not in the field — but we were discovering LSD and realizing you really had to pay attention. Morrison had done enough LSD to really understand it. It’s a powerful consciousness journey. I never stopped. I kept going in that direction with all kinds of drugs.

Did you experiment with any psychedelics while you were making this film?

I was high, in a sense, by osmosis, but I had the attitude to just free your ass and your mind will follow. I think people would say I was pretty wild as a director. But I was not getting high on the set. Yeah, the occasional grass here and there, but I wouldn’t do anything on the set. Off the set, I had some fun. I had a friend, Richard [Rutowski], who played Death in the film. I wanted to go back to South Dakota, with the Sioux, and do this peyote ceremony with a very powerful shaman. And we did it. We got to this place on the reservation and got fucking high beyond belief. It was a big trip. A lot of Indians were involved. Strong peyote. And then we flew back. I was dead on Monday morning when we shot the peyote scene. I had no energy as a director.

What were some of the political challenges involved in making this film?

I guess I didn’t know the barriers back then. Paul Rothchild [the band’s producer] was a key figure. He was with us all the way. I never got that from the bandmates. They didn’t seem to know him that well. Certainly Ray Manzarek thought he knew him. Ray did not cooperate in any way. In fact, it was a very disagreeable relationship for me. And of course, when the movie came out, boy, he was tearing it down from the beginning.

I found Ray Manzarek accusing you of “assassinating” the character of Jim Morrison to be pretty remarkable. I honestly don’t think anyone knew the real Jim Morrison (not even Manzarek).

Jerry Hopkins, who wrote the book [No One Here Gets Out Alive, 1980] left me 120 documents of interviews he did with people who knew Morrison in the beginning, from grade school to the very end. And if you read these 120 versions of his life, it’s like Citizen Kane. That’s what he was to this person or that person. In the interviews, there were several women, my God, sexually, he was all over the place. He wasn’t necessarily impotent. Perhaps that occurred later, when there were issues — which did bother him. But you saw in the loft scene with Kathleen Quinlan, when he has an orgasm. And that’s the truth of the matter, he had orgasms with intensity that came from intense situations. That was the only way he could get off — dangling from a window may have worked for him.

Morrison seems like the original “cock rocker.” I think he understood that he was a sex symbol.

Well, they made him a sex symbol. Part of the reason he started drinking was to probably run from that. He was not comfortable with publicity. I do believe he was inherently shy. Girls would come at him, and according to Paul [Rothchild], he ended up talking to them all night. He loved women. He talked them to death. But it wasn’t about sex. It was about something in his mind he had to work out. He was running toward death.

He was a sex symbol who was said to have been impotent. He seemed to be struggling with some kind of imposter syndrome. Was he crucifying himself?

I do believe there was a lot of self-hatred. He’s a deep man. If you really want to know him, look at the lyrics. There’s a lot of depth there that people often miss.

JFK (1991) provides a panorama of possibilities regarding the JFK assassination. With this film, you end with Morrison in a bathtub under a kind of amber glow. We don’t know what has happened to him. He’s just beautiful and dead. Were you trying to leave the cause of his death open to interpretation?

It didn’t make any difference to me if he was on heroin or not. In the movie, you have to assume he was. But he was half in love with death all his life. An American Prayer is filled with images of death. I don’t think Morrison made the normal difference between life and death. It was a boundary that he crossed many times. He was ready for death. I found the scene tranquil. Like the ancient Romans cutting their wrists, I didn’t see the fear of death in him. As a shaman, he saw it as a transition to continue life in another form. I would have loved to see him survive Paris. I think he died by accident. I do feel it was an overdose of something. I do feel like he was doing it to accompany somebody he cared about. I think his plan was to come back and be a writer. I think he would have been a really interesting writer and philosopher for American society into the '80s, '90s and even today. He got robbed early.

Looking back at his phenomenal performance, do you feel Val Kilmer was snubbed for an Oscar nomination that year?

I do feel he was slighted. It was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of performance. I certainly know the pain and the sweat he put into it. But I kind of knew The Doors was doomed because of the hijinks Morrison was going through. In other words, it was a crossing-the-line kind of movie. It’s become more acceptable now. But this is 1991. You gotta look back. Certainly Val deserved it, but also the sound: There were so many sound breakthroughs and editing breakthroughs in that movie. We were using some new methods. The sound work by Paul Rothchild and that group was unbelievable. The fact that Val was singing about 70 percent of his stuff was pretty significant.

I feel like a lot of today’s rock biopics, like Bohemian Rhapsody, are pretty sterile. They feel more like marketing films.

I don’t want to be negative on that. I wish we had made the money Bohemian Rhapsody had made. Look, every film has to be marketable. The Doors was not. We just made an outlaw film because [producer] Mario Kassar was out of his mind. He was willing to gamble. He didn’t give a shit about all that stuff. He was a pirate. He made films against the grain.

In the final shot at Père Lachaise cemetery, we zoom in to a bust of Jim Morrison placed on his gravestone. It’s a beautiful documentary-style shot scored to “A Feast of Friends.” It really takes us to the end. Wasn’t the bust stolen in 1988?

It was. The bust was our creation. It was based on Kilmer and not on Jim. But what the press never seems to understand when they describe it as a “rise and fall” is that he wasn’t falling. He was moving through life as an explorer. Some of his best work is in [1978's posthumously released L.P.] An American Prayer and [1971's] L.A. Woman. I didn’t see the decline. I guess what I’m saying is that you don’t die when you’re Jim Morrison, you just move on.

-Art Tevana, “Oliver Stone Recalls 'Doors' Inspiration as Jim Morrison Biopic Turns 30,” The Hollywood Reporter, Mar 11 2021 [x]

[dragonkeeper19600]

What is the Medicine Seller?

The subjectivity of Mononoke is a large part of what makes the series unique. But, one of the biggest mysteries that the show leaves unanswered is what exactly the Medicine Seller is supposed to be. From his weird powers, traits, and appearance to the fact that he clearly doesn’t age, it’s an understatement to say that this isn’t a normal guy. All kinds of theories have been floating around about the Medicine Seller’s true identity, that he’s a onmyōji, a god, or some kind of benevolent mononoke. 

However, for my money, looking at all the evidence combined from the show and Japanese mythology, I’ve concluded that the Medicine Seller is most likely a kitsune. 

Now, I feel like most anime viewers have at least a cursory idea what a kitsune is, but just to recap: “Kitsune” (狐) is the Japanese word for fox. Traditional Japanese folk beliefs attributed all sorts of mysterious powers to foxes, including shapeshifting, creating illusions, and warding off evil spirits. Taking cues from ancient Chinese lore about fox spirits, kitsune have captured the imagination of Japanese artists and storytellers for centuries and continue to do so in the present day.

I’m far from the first person to come up with the “Medicine Seller is a fox” theory. It’s the only theory cited on the admittedly bare-bones Mononoke Wiki, and numerous commentators and Tropers have speculated that our favorite flamboyant exorcist might be a fox in disguise. So, allow me to take some time to display all the compiled evidence as to why I think this is the most plausible theory.

Let’s start with the obvious: The guy looks like a fox.

The red markings on his face are very reminiscent of the red paint you see on the traditional kitsune masks people wear around festival time. These markings are highlighted in the anime’s opening, so you can really see the similarity.

His long ears and fangs could also be considered vulpine.

The literature is rife with examples of foxy traits showing through a kitsune’s human disguise, especially when they’re startled or caught off-guard, such as ears, a tail, or canine teeth. We’ve never seen a tail on the Medicine Seller, but who knows what he’s hiding under that robe? I’ve also seen some sources claim that the tail will be revealed if you see the kitsune’s reflection or shadow. We haven’t seen either, so who knows?

Secondly, there’s a hierarchy to keep in mind when thinking about Japanese foxes. Some kitsune are holy messengers while others are malignant spirits that bring ruin to humans. Some are merely pranksters, using their powers to pull hilarious tricks on unwitting humans, sometimes to teach them a lesson but often just for shits and giggles.

Holy, high-ranking foxes are said to be messengers of the Shinto god Inari, the rice god and the patron deity of merchants and sword smiths. 

Pictured: A merchant with a sword.

Fox statues like the one pictured above can be seen standing guard in front of Inari’s shrines, where they are said to ward off evil. The A-to-Z Online Buddhist dictionary has this to say:

“[T]he fox is associated with the concept of Kimon 鬼門, literally “demon gate,” a Japanese term stemming from Chinese geomancy (Ch: feng shui). In Chinese thought, the northeast quarter is considered particularly inauspicious. It is the place where "demons gather and enter." This belief was imported by the Japanese and is referred to as Kimon. Kimon generally means ominous direction, or taboo direction. In Japan, the fox is considered a powerful ally in warding off evil Kimon influences. Fox statues are often placed in northeast locations to stand guard over demonic influence, and two foxes typically guard the entrance to Inari Shrines, one to the left and one to the right of the gate.”

He may not be a statue, but “warding off demonic influences” is basically half of the Medicine Seller’s job description. He often uses seals, salt, prayer, and other methods accessible to humans, but the Bakeneko arc of Ayakashi clearly shows he can keep a mononoke at bay just by flexing really hard. 

Yokai.com goes into some detail about the various ranks of kitsune, from the lowliest trickster to the most divine guardian. One rank of kitsune of particular interest to me is called the Kiko (気狐), a servant of Inari that has evolved to the point where it no longer has a physical form. Many Kiko adopt human disguises, but they have not yet ascended to a heavenly plane and so remain on Earth serving Inari’s will. 

We have never seen the Medicine Seller eat, drink, or sleep. There is, however, one physical need that he does indulge in.

If you get my meaning.

Pictured above is the Medicine Seller’s extensive shunga (春画) collection. Shunga is Edo period porn, and it wasn’t exactly uncommon for merchants to be carrying volumes of shunga on their person. However, 20+ volumes seems a bit excessive to me.

It’s a trait that doesn’t come up all that much in Mononoke, but the first episode of Ayakashi’s Bakeneko arc reveals that the Medicine Seller is a bit of a horny bastard. He trades info on various virility and fertility medications with Kayo, a conversation that involves a lot of whispering into her ear. He was about to share his porn with Kayo before they were interrupted. I’m convinced that if Sato had entered the kitchen ten minutes later, she would have found the two of them fucking on the floor.

As anyone who's watched Naruto can tell you, kitsune are often associated with sex. Inari, among other things, is also a fertility god, and there are many stories of kitsune adopting human form and seducing unwitting mortals, running the full gambit from the horrific to the romantic. A good chunk of these stories involve the kitsune marrying their human beau and even bearing his children in some cases. 

Most stories of this nature center on female kitsune, but it’s not like male kitsune don’t exist. The popularity of sexy fox women can probably be chalked up to male-dominated Edo society, but more and more male kitsune have been sighted in modern anime.

I believe we can add Mononoke to this number. Practically every woman in the series creams their pants at the mere sight of the Medicine Seller, and it doesn’t seem that their attraction is one-sided. The Medicine Seller has all kinds of sexual tension with Kayo in both series. And, if you look closely, you can spy some romantic tension with Ochou as well. There’s little doubt that the Medicine Seller is attracted to human women and is even capable of falling in love with them. However, due to his role slaying mononoke, it is unlikely that he can ever settle down and marry one the way many other kitsune do.

Personality-wise, the Medicine Seller is also reminiscent of a fox. Like I mentioned above, kitsune are often tricksters by nature. Although the Medicine Seller never acts in a needlessly malicious way, he does like to dick around with people. A lot of the aforementioned tension with Kayo takes the form of teasing banter. 

Keep in mind: It wasn’t him who changed the compass. Which means he’s being vague for no other reason except to mess with Kayo.

He also spend a good portion of his arc in Ayakashi trolling the Sakai household, especially Odajima. And do we even need to mention his gambit in the Nue arc? 

So, his appearance, relationships, and personality are all decidedly fox-like. What about his powers? Well, in the Nopperabou arc, we get a pretty clear hint that the Medicine Seller’s physical form is just an illusion.

The Masked Man’s attempt to take away the Medicine Seller’s face failed because that wasn’t his real face. He outright compared his face to a facade. Since it was just an illusion, it was easy for him to change it back. It should also be noted that the Nopperabou, the faceless ghost, often appears not as an independent spirit but a hilarious prank that other yokai like to pull on humans. Tanuki, Manji (badger spirits), and, yes, even Kitsune have used the image of a faceless human being to scare humans. This is getting into fan wank territory itself, but it is entirely possible that the Medicine Seller is all too familiar with the art of face removal, having pulled that trick himself in his younger days.

That the Medicine Seller’s body isn’t real could also explain the nature of his Other Self. During his first transformation sequence in Ayakashi (which is repeated in the Nue arc), we see the markings on his face and robes disappear.

Before gold markings reappear on his Other Self.

It might be possible to think of this “transformation” as more of a body surf. The flowing markings could indicate the presence of the fox spirit as it moves from one body to the other. This is a good time to point out that gold eyes are said to be another common trait of kitsune, and white fur is indicative of an Inari fox. The Other Self’s long white hair may be a hint as to his divine nature. 

Now, with all his powers and religious motifs, is it possible that the Medicine Seller is not a fox but in fact Inari himself? I did briefly contemplate that possibility, but I ultimately decided it probably wasn’t true. The Medicine Seller’s powers have limits that I feel a high-ranking god like Inari wouldn’t have. It looked like he did serious damage to himself trying to hold back the bakeneko in Ayakashi.

Ouchies.

Rather than being a human avatar of Inari, I find it more likely that the Medicine Seller is a kiko carrying out Inari’s will. In his first appearance in Ayakashi, some men spot the Medicine Seller standing outside the Sakai household, apparently talking to himself.

At the beginning of Mononoke’s first episode, he does the same thing outside the inn. His mouth is moving, but we don’t hear what he’s saying.

In both cases, the men who see him try to call out to him to get his attention, and in both cases he ignores them. He never says who he was talking to, and nobody ever asks. It is strange, however, that he always shows up just where a mononoke is going to be, even when he doesn’t seem to know anything about the mononoke before he arrives. Could it be he is actually receiving instructions from Inari? Inari might be telling him where to go, and the Medicine Seller figures out the rest from there. He can’t know about the mononoke’s form, truth, or reason yet, otherwise he’d be able to slay it right away. How else would he know where to go unless he was being told?

Of course, there are other possibility as to who he could be talking to. It could be his Other Self, if you hold the theory that the Medicine Seller and the Other Self are separate entities (which I don’t, so much). I also contemplated whether it was the sword he was talking to, but the sword is in the trunk. For my money, communing with a god seems the most fitting. 

According to Shinto beliefs, foxes can live for up to 1000 years, which would explain why the Medicine Seller is still around after centuries have passed. But, what happens after the millennium is over? At that point, a kitsune sprouts its final, ninth tail and ascends to the heavenly plain, leaving this earth behind. I personally believe that the Medicine Seller has been tasked to wander the earth for 1000 years, slaying mononoke until his time is up. At that point, he’ll become a being as powerful as a god, but until then he must learn to truly understand humanity. Only once he has become thus enlightened will he be able to ascend. 

This, I believe, is why the Sword of Exorcism can only be drawn once he’s learned the mononoke’s form, truth, and reason. He can only slay the mononoke if he comes to truly understand it and sympathize with it. It’s all part of a thousand-year long learning process in addition to aiding humanity.

And once he’s done, some day centuries from now, perhaps another young fox will take up the sword and walk through man’s despair, putting the souls of the anguished to rest. 

It’s a lonely destiny, but it has its perks.

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