#THE SCARS WERE A BIG IDEA FROM MONTHS AGO I WAS TOO WEAK TO MAKE OFFICIAL ON MY DESIGN

[lez-bichi-lover]

🏳️‍⚧️ ✨ HAPPY TRANS DAY OF VISIBILITY<3 ✨ 🏳️‍⚧️

Hi *transes your bugs(liketheyweren'talready)* A little late for most countries but I HAD TO DO SOMETHING and well, I was hesitant of giving my Grimm design top surgery scars bcs it didn't make sense but you know what 🥳IDC🥳

some progress why not:

IGNORE THE LITTLE DOODLE DJSLAKJFA

[thatsgay-writes]

Hey! So I had an idea and I was wondering if you would consider writing it. It's a Beatrice X Reader.

It's just after the final battle of season 1. Mary and Reader being the badasses they are fought together. Mary died. Reader didn't. It's around 6 months after( I don't really know the timeline) , anyway Adriel and his supports took Reader and basically toured her for info and anything they could use against the 'Warrior Nun' and being the person Reader never said anything, no matter how bad it got they kept their mouth shut. Eventually Adriel left, he knew R wouldn't speak but he found joy in keeping his supporters there (basement) where she was held so that they could continue hurting her. It's a day or two after Adriel left and word got out they something was important there but Ava , Beatrice , Camilla and whoever you want there didn't know what. When they get there they don't find anything and they are about to leave when they hear punches and shouts from a group of people. They go to the basement and they see 3 or 4 men kicking punching and slicing with a knife (if you want) against someone they can't really see because it's too dark (Reader could be strapped to a chair or hung from their wrists from the ceiling). A few seconds later, all of the men r down. They get closer Camilla turns in the lights and they see Reader. Shock. Gasps. (you know absolute shockkkk) they thought R died with Mary. Moving Reader to the amazing van they have. Reader is unconscious at this point. They tend to her wounds like loads of wounds- stab wounds-slice wounds-bruises and scars. R wakes up and has a heartfelt reunion and you can decide how that plays out. If this is uncomfortable for you, you don't have too right it, just an idea I had because I love myself an angst,love ending story!! :)

Not ProofRead, Off The Dome

Days bled into weeks, blurred into months as you hung from the ceiling. It was routine by now, wake up, get hung by the ceiling from your wrist, get tortured for information, get unhooked, and then repeat it all the next day. Sometime you wish you had taken Mary's place or been by her side as you bled out together instead of being forced to watch as the life drained from her eyes. The first days of your torture hadn't been that bad by standards. You were hit a few times, pushed around but nothing seriously damaging. Until the big bad, Adriel, paid a visit to get information out of you. Knives, tasers, even a few well placed gun shots were used almost everyday. Your hands were numb and blue by the time you were taken down from the ceiling and you were healed as much as possible each night. It was always the same set of questions, "Where is the Warrior Nun hiding? What is her weakness? How long will it take for her to come for you?"

You never answered any of the questions, you barely spoke and if you did it would be something along the lines of a fuck you or just straight up calling Adriel a bitch. In your head though, you were begging for either freedom in the form of escape or death. You had lost hope that your friends would come for you or that they even knew you were alive. Even after a while the thought of Beatrice coming to rescue you dwindled away. You hadn't seen Adriel in a few days, so you figured he left, but the beatings and torture stayed almost consistent. Clearly, Adriel had left specific instructions on how to handle you this time rather than just leaving it up to the Firstborn Children.

---

Beatrice sat in the back of the slightly sexual puff pastry truck as Yasmine drove them all to a secret building they had uncovered by getting information from a member of the Firstborn Children. She stared at a small photograph of the two of you from your first anniversary, almost five years ago. Beatrice wishes that she could go back in time and relive those years all over again. She'd make sure to hold onto you tighter, spend all her time with you, maybe she'd even ask you to marry her, just to spend a few years in complete bliss. But now you were gone and Beatrice felt cold and alone. She wasn't alone in a literal sense, Ava sitting next to her, Camila across, and Mother Superion and Yasmin in the passenger and driver seat but in her heart. She always felt this constant coldness that couldn't be taken away with a cozy blanket or hot chocolate, the only time it ever felt warm was when she was asleep and dreaming of you or reliving memories. Only to wake up the next day, cold. Beatrice had always been the one to think through things and go into fights logically but if this building was as important to Adriel as the Firstborn Children said, she wanted to to tear it apart and burn it to the ground.

---

Beatrice was pissed, this whole excursion had felt like a waste of time. Not only was the building huge, it looked and felt abandoned. There were no secrets in this building, the Firstborn Children must've just used this as a distraction. Camila could feel the frustration rolling off of Beatrice and she felt terrible for the older girl. It was clear how much everything had taken a toll on her. It was clear from the beginning that Beatrice, Mary, Shannon, Lilith and you had been the unofficial Warrior Nun dream team. But now you, Shannon, and Mary were dead and Lilith had disappeared. Beatrice was the last one standing and even Camila could see she barely was.

They were about to give up their search of the building when Camila hears a faint noise coming from down the hall. She peeks her head out of the room they all stood in and she could see a faint, barely there, glow of light. "Guys!" She whispered to her fellow nuns and gestured towards the door and the light. All of her friends tensed and instantly got into a formation as they made their way down the hall. Coming up to the door it was slightly left open, allowing Beatrice to see into the room. "They're torturing someone, this must be why this building is so important... I see nine people in total. Ready?" Beatrice asks, not really waiting for an answer as she kicks down the door and enters the room, cutting out the lights so the men were more confuse and unable to see.

---

"I think that's all of them." Ava says as she catches her breath. All the men they fought were uncharacteristically big and bulky, which Beatrice had failed to mention. "All right, let's see who all this fuss is about." Ava says as she moves in front of your body, Beatrice and Camila were standing by the door keeping look out. "Beatrice hit the lights please... Thank-" As soon as Beatrice flips the switch, Ava's heart stops. There you were. Head hung, hands slightly blue, blood dripping from one of your many injuries onto the floor but alive. "Camila help me quick!" Ava yells as she grabs a chair in the corner of the room so she can get you untied from the rope. "What? Who is-" Camila lets out an audible gasp as you come into view. She helps Ava untangle you and lower you to the floor. "Beatrice cover our front and Yasmin help us get them out of here!" Ava commands, she couldn't let Beatrice see you till they were out of the building. She knew Beatrice would freeze and that's not something they could afford right now.

---

"Are they okay?" Beatrice asks now that they are comfortable back in the truck and on the road. Ava and Camila share a look, how do they explain who they found. Yasmin just looks a little confused at the two's silence. Ava nods her head towards Camila who returns the nod in understand. She gets up and walks to the front of the truck. "Beatrice, I need you to look at me." Beatrice turns towards Camila with a confused look, why was she being so serious? "You have the most knowledge on medicine, which is why I am begging you to not let feelings get in the way for right now. Once we get to out hideout you can feel whatever you need to feel but I am begging you right now to let logic and reason take over." Beatrice stands, well as much as she could in the truck as she swaps places with Camila, scared to know why she said that. But the second she see your face, it takes everything in her to not fall to her knees and cry and beg for you to wake up. Her mouth feels dry as she swallows and pushes everything to the back of her mind, this was you. She thought you were dead but now you're not and she wasn't going to let you bleed out and be taken from her again.

---

You feel warm as you wake up, which was concerning. You could feel the blanket laid across you and the soft bed and pillow under you as you opened your eyes. Sun was streaming through a window and into the room and you were sure you were dead. You finally gain the strength to sit up and you can feel all the aches and pains and the tightly wrapped bandages that cover your body. Ok, maybe you weren't dead but you were highly confused. You shakily get out of bed and look at the clothes that were put on you. Normal things, pants, a shirt, socks, nothing crazy but what did get you to freeze was the scent coming off the clothes. You hold the hem of the shirt up to your face and you can feel your eyes watering, it smells like Beatrice, it smells like home. With a newfound vigor, you walk as fast as you can from the room, ignoring the way you have to favor your right leg. You could here conversations and laughs the farther into the house you get and the more excited you feel.

Could this be a new way of torture created by Adriel so that your dreams were no longer safe? Yes. Did you care in that moment? No. You reach a large set of double doors, the only thing left blocking you from, who you hope is real, Beatrice. You take a deep breath as you attempt to fix your shirt and hair, like Beatrice hasn't seen you at your worst and open the door. The silence to your arrival was daunting, luckily almost everyone looked familiar and grew smiles on their faces at the sight of you. But the person you were mainly concerned for looked like she could cry, "Bea." You let out breathlessly as you feel all the hope you had lost return to you instantaneously. You take one step into the room before Bea is closing the distance and pulling you into her arms, mindful of your injuries. "Is this real? Please tell me this is real." You say to her over and over again as you cry into her shoulder. She pulls back from the hug to take you face into her hands. "This is real, I promise. And I am never letting you out of my sight again." You can see the way Beatrice's eyes look at you like your the most important thing in the world and you know that your not dreaming and you know she will stick to that vow. "Good." Is all you can say as you lean forwards for a kiss and thank any and every high-power that there is that you were back in Beatrice's arms.

[xmalfoyweasleyx]

He flirts with everyone - F.W

Summary: Y/n gets drunk at the opening party of the joke shop when she sees her best friend Fred flirting again. She accidentally tells him about her feelings when she thinks it's George...

A/N: Normally I write smut but I LOVE this idea and I had so much fun writing it! I'm a little insecure about it because it's not smut, so please give feedback. I hope you'll like it! x

Warnings/Includes: Drinking, alcohol, insecure reader, 1 mention of sex, really passionate kiss, angst to fluff :)

Today was THE day, the opening of Fred and George their joke shoppe. It all started in the evening, with a big opening party.

Y/n was outside watching the doors of the shop, preparing herself to walk through. Dimmed music and lights could already been noticed where she was standing. She was a little nervous. The twins are her best friends, they knew each other since they were little, but it's been a month now since she's seen them. That was long for them, it was the longest they haven't seen each other, ever.

When she opened the door she was overwhelmed with the loud music and all the people in the room. How is she supposed to find those twins? But before she started searching properly, she already saw George standing there. You really couldn't miss him, with his tall figure and bright smile he stood out of the crowd.

"George!" you screamed. George turned his head immediately and smiled bright.

"Y/n! Finally!" he grinned and he gave you a big hug.

"It's so pretty in here, congratulations Georgie" y/n smiled. George seemed proud, she was thrilled to see him back but she couldn't stop herself from wondering where Fred is.

As if George could read her mind: "I think Fred is.. er.." he said while looking around.

And that's when they saw him standing next to the stairs. "There" George added. But both of their smiling expressions changed when they really saw him. Like we all know him, Fred was flirting again. Y/n knew she really had no single right to care about that, but the jealousy hit her like a truck. And George knew that.

A pretty tall lady was standing next to him. They were both laughing and giggling. Fred looked so damn handsome, she thought. His suit, the hair,... It was beautiful. Y/n watched how Fred gently laid his hand on the woman her shoulder and she seductively moved her fingers against her glass of alcohol. ALCOHOL that's it.

"Where's the alcohol" y/n asked George. He had a worried look on his face. "Y/n I don't think... I... Fred is just-" he stuttered but y/n cut him off. "I don't care, you don't owe me an explanation and certainly not in your brother's place, now give me some firewhisky or something" y/n stated.

"I know you're in love with him y/n" he explained full of pity. Of course George knew, you were his best friend and it was obvious to him but not to Fred. George always had to watch how you were hurt when you saw Fred with another girl, it happened back at Hogwarts too.

"Oh. Well. If you know then give me the drink" she kept asking. George nodded. They walked to the table with the drinks and George poured something in for her.

"You're not going to say hi to him?" he guessed. "Nope" y/n answered and she threw the whole drink down her throat. George felt sorry for her but also laughed a little, he liked drunk y/n after all, it was always fun.

-

An hour later there was already a dance floor full of people dancing their soul out. Including y/n. The alcohol was exploding in her body and she poured another shot down her throat when she saw Fred dancing with the girl from before or was it another girl already? One thing y/n knew for sure was that the girl was hot.

Her favourite song came on so she danced and danced... When suddenly, she didn’t know if it was an half hour later or maybe only 2 minutes, she felt someone pressing her shoulder.

Y/n turned around and saw Fred. “When did you get here?” he asks confused. Y/n decided not to answer and she kept dancing, swaying her hips to the music. “Weren’t you planning on saying hi to me?” he tries again.

“Nope” y/n responded trying to ignore the boy. She wasn’t even able to look into his eyes because she knew she would just melt.

“I’m going for another drink bye” she muttered, trying to get away from there as fast as possible. When she turned around Fred grabbed her arm to stop her.

“I think you’ve had enough, love” he whispered.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do Fred Weasley and you certainly don’t have to call me love” y/n said angrily, leaving Fred confused.

Why didn’t she say hello to him? Didn’t she miss him? He missed her and this is what he gets? Fred didn’t understand a thing.

“Wow, calm down, what the hell is wrong with you?” he scoffed now getting angry too. "With me? Why don't you just go back dancing with that girl you stupid git" y/n insulted, immediately regretting what she just said. Fred was hurt. Angry. He didn't understand this at all.

"You're mental" he snapped. Tears started to form in y/n's eyes and Fred walked away. Leaving y/n there guilty, sad and drunk...

Y/n ran outside, finding an empty doorstep on a random house next to the shop, where she could sit on. Tears fell down when she buried her face in her hands. She didn't want to be so mean to Fred, but maybe shutting him out was the best way to get over him?

What y/n didn't know is that Fred regretted what he said too. He saw how hurt she was and he hated seeing his best friend like that. So he decided to go look for her.

His heart broke when he saw y/n sitting there, her hands in her hair and tears falling down. Fred sat next to her without saying a word. Y/n looked up and smiled, not knowing it was Fred.

No, she thought it was George, he knew how she felt after all. Normally, y/n was the best in telling them apart, but after all that alcohol, she made a big mistake.

Fred on the other hand, thought y/n knew it was him. He had no idea y/n thought she was sitting next to George.

"Are you okay?" Fred asked. "I messed up" y/n cried.

"You didn't mess up" he ensured her, trying to calm her down, but it became worse. "I did! Oh why am I in love with your stupid brother" she sighed, leaning down to lay her head on Fred's shoulder (or what she thought was George his shoulder).

Fred was shocked. In love with my brother, he thought, so she is in love with George? Did that stupid twin of him make her cry like this?

"Are you in love with my brother?" Fred gasped, trying to hide the hurt in his voice. He would never be able to watch how y/n dates his brother, the thought of it made him sick. He didn't want y/n to be in love with someone else and especially not his own brother.

"I thought you knew" y/n asked confused. "No, I didn't" Fred whispered, almost inaudible.

Y/n was confused, she talked about this with George just hours ago? But she forgot it already when she remembered how mean she was to the boy she loves with her whole hard.

"I love him, George, but he'll never love me the way I love him" y/n sobbed.

Fred gulped. Did she just say George as in: she loves George. Or did she just say George to him?

"You don't understand, I wanna have his babies!! I want to come home and see his smile, I want him to fuck me into oblivion!!! Please help me George" y/n suddenly screamed dramatically, still very drunk.

Now Fred was sure, she thought she was talking to George. Which meant all she said was about him. He wasn't able to move. Fred was shocked. How? When? Why? He had so many questions.

"But he flirts with everyone, every piece of woman he can find, he flirts with it. I'll never be enough" y/n sniffled.

That's when Fred finally put all the pieces together and realized why she acted like that. She must have seen him talking to that girl. All those girls. Has he really been so blind? And did she really think she's not enough for him? His heart broke and glowed at the same time.

He wanted to tell her so many things, he wanted to explain everything, to apologize. He wanted to tell her so so so much.

But he couldn't, he was speechless. It was like he was glued to the floor and turned into a puppet with empty strings.

"George?" y/n stammered when she saw the look on his face.

Fred only responded with eyes full of pity.

They looked in each others eyes for a moment, when suddenly, she realized.

The scar, the pattern of freckles and the chubbier cheeks.

It was Fred.

Y/n gasped loudly. "I-I-... Fuck." was the only thing coming out of her mouth.

She panicked, embarrassed and afraid of what will come next. So she grabbed her wand. The only idea that came up was to apparate away from him.

She waved her wand but before she even did something she felt Fred grab her arm and in a second she was in a room with him. He was first.

"Where are we" she asked. "In my apartment" Fred answered.

Y/n nodded and an awkward silence filled the room.

“Do you really think you’re not enough for me?” Fred whispered.

“What does it even matter” she huffs.

Fred took a step closer and he grabbed her hand. Y/n her eyes widened. “Do you really think that?” Fred repeats.

“Yes” y/n answered weakly.

“Why?” he questioned interested.

“Fred, look at you, you’re a handsome owner of a shop who played quidditch for years, I mean, look at that chest, you are funny, you are sweet, all the ladies drool over you and you flirt with all of them. They’re so pretty and I’m... I’m, me.” y/n rambled.

Fred’s heart was beating hard inside his chest, her honest words made his knees go weak. If she only knew how he saw her. How pretty he thinks she is. He was stupid for flirting with those girls right in front of her. It was his fault, her insecurities.

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship, I know you don’t feel the same way, well that’s obvious, but I can’t see you that much any more, because when I see you I just want to rip off that shirt and kiss-“ she rambled and rambled like she was already doing the whole night, as if there was a ramblingpotion in her drinks.

But Fred cut her off by grabbing her shoulders and pushing her chest close to his.

“For Gods sakes, shut up woman” he whispered with a smile and he kissed you.

It was not just a kiss, it was something you both wanted to do for so long now. You both had never felt this way before. The passion was unexplainable. Fred grabbed y/n her ass very gently making her gasp a little, now he could enter his tongue. They fought for dominance. Y/n pulled on his red locks and pressed her body impossibly closer to his. She wanted to feel close to Fred, she wanted to show him how much she loved him.

Fred felt the same way, he left a very gentle bite on her lip, making her moan a little. His heart was swollen in his chest and he finally understood what they meant with those belly butterflies.

He was going to marry that girl one day, and like she said: give her his babies. The thought of her (actually) funny confessions made him grin on her lips.

“What are you smiling about” y/n chuckled when she left his lips.

“Nothing, nothing” he grinned.

After recovering from their passionate kiss, y/n and Fred were sitting on his couch. They talked and talked like they always could keep talking about random stuff. But now the topic was a whole different one.

Fred made sure y/n realized how bloody sexy he thought she was. He promised he would try his best to only flirt with her and he talked about how he liked her too back at hogwarts. Y/n couldn’t believe it at first but after talking for a while she was convinced.

She laid in Fred’s arms while he drew little patterns on her back. She enjoyed his smell and how warm he felt. It felt safe, it felt like home.

“Thank god, finally!” they heard a voice coming from across the room. It was George.

You all laughed.

“Without you we wouldn’t lay here like this Georgie” Fred joked.

“But I didn’t do anything?” George furrowed his eyebrows.

“I know” Fred laughed placing a soft kiss on your head.

-

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( I hope you’re not disappointed because this has no smut )

[magnhild]

Nora Valkyrie, Identity, and Purpose

Hey everyone, Blaire here, and almost exactly a year ago, I made this mess of a post where I laid out all of my thoughts on Nora and what I thought the show could have in store for her.

And honestly, most of my ideas were way off, and not at all correct. Also, the post kind of flopped.

Thankfully, Volume 8 has given me a chance to redeem myself, and write another, more coherent, essay about my favourite RWBY character; where this Volume seems to be taking her character, and what it means to me, personally.

Buckle up.

To the vast majority of people in the RWBY fandom, Nora is the least-developed character, and the one most lacking in dimension. Most of her character seems to be defined by two things; her energy and love for fighting, and her relationship on Ren.

Volume 8 took note of these conceptions, and addressed them head-on.

Of course, any keen-eyed viewer will have noted Nora’s hidden depths even before this volume, which I noticed in last year’s post. She is perhaps the most perceptive of the main cast, at least, when it comes to people’s feelings and relaionships. She was the only one to really comment on Pyrrha’s crush on jaune, and the first to bring up Blake and Yang’s growing relationship. It was also her level-headedness that resolved RNJR’s argument in Volume 4, Chapter 9.

Volume 7 also showed us her innate desire to protect the weak, and her disdain to those who have the power to help, but refuse. I personally get the feeling that this was her driving motivation in becoming a Huntress; to protect people who cannot protect themselves, perhaps because she doesn’t want anyone to have to grow up as she did. Nora’s fury at Ironwood in V7C7 is esepcially signifigant, because it’s the angriest we’ve ever seen her before, even more so in that this anger is directed at someone with much more authority than her.

But these little details were only the tip of the iceberg. These were traits she already had, and while they help to add layers to her character, they’ve done very little in terms of her actual development. 

This is where Volume 8 came in stronger than any other.

Volume 7 hinted to us that Ren and Nora’s relationship was beginning to get more complicated, between their bickering, Ren’s dismissiveness at Nora, and their kiss in V7C6. By the end of the volume, it was clear that they were still struggling, despite their clear love for each other. Volume 8 carried this thread along, having them split into different parties, and Nora giving Ren a bit of attitude we’ve not really seen her direct at him before. 

She’s frustrated with him, and disappointed that he can’t see what she sees. But despite her tough front, V8C2 then hints that she’s sadder about the split than she’s letting on, after May brings up Nora’s ‘friends’. C3 then brings this to a head, where we get a conversation that sees Nora opening up to Blake and Yang, and revealing a deeply sad truth about herself- that she has no idea who she is without Ren, because she’s spent so much of her life with him and him alone, and her feelings for him have shaped so much of who she thinks she is. We’ve never seen her so hopeless and lost, especially after she reveals that, as far as she’s concerned, all she’s good for is hitting stuff.

Right in these few minutes, the show takes how the audience percieves Nora, and reveals to us that those two core traits are the gateways to a far deeper insight of her character. She’s known for her relationship with Ren, but wait- what about when he’s not there with her? She’s known for hitting stuff, but wait- that’s all she thinks she’s good for. 

It’s revealed to us that, not only is this how most of the audience percievs Nora, but it’s how she percieves herself. And for all her energy and upbeat attitude, deep down, she thinks incredibely lowly of herself. For all her confidence in her fighting abilities, she lacks confidence in herself as a person. 

Surprisingly enough, the ‘who am I?’ character arc is one that was hardly explored at all up until this point, despite it being one of the most common and signifgant character arcs in fictional media. And I don’t think many of us at all could have imagined that Nora would be the one to get that arc, when she’s always seemed so self-assured on the surface.

And then, when Penny is in need of help, Nora takes Weiss’ advice to heart, and does the one thing she believes she’s capable of- being strong, and hitting stuff.

Nora overcharging her Semblance to take down the wall is seen by a lot of the fandom as some kind of win for Nora; as her ‘big moment’. But while it’s certainly a really cool and badass scene, it was far from a triumph for her.

This was Nora at perhaps her lowest point so far in the series. This was Nora figuring ‘well, if this is all I’m good for, I’ll do it to the extreme’. This was Nora thinking her only purpose was to greatly endanger herself for the sake of others, because she figured she was the only one who could. And she almsot got herself killed for it. 

While certainly a defining moment, it was far from triumphant. It wasn’t a win. It was a self-destrcutive act that reflected how little she thinks of herself; that she’s not worth anything unless she’s pushing herself to the limit doing the one thing she thinks she’s good at.

And to drive the knife in harder, it backfires horribly. 

Because now she’s bedridden and critically injured, with scars that are probably permanent; a reminder of her lowest point, forever marked on her body. She can’t fight now, can’t help at all, and Salem has launched her attack on Atlas.

And in her half-unconsious state in V8C7, she realizes this, delivering an absolutely heartbreaking line:

As far as she’s concerned, her last attempt at doing what she thinks only she can do- what she thinks is all she can do- has prevented her from doing anything of worth at all. She lost one half of herself when she split from Ren, and now she’s lost the other half too. The two things that she defines herself by are gone. And the worst part is, we don’t know if she’s awar of the fact Salem has begun her attack. We could very well see her fully wake up, only to realize that the world has begun ending while she was unconsious, and she can’t do anything about it.

Now, this scene, and Nora’s struggle in this Volume as a whole, hit home for me in particular.

If you follow me on Twitter, you’re probably aware that Nora is only of my hightest- and only- kins. And I’ve only been able to relate to her more and more after what we’ve got of her in this Volume.

I am chronically disabled. I have a connective tissue disorder known as Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, which fucks up my body in a multitude of different ways, but signifigantly affects the joints. For me, it hits worst in my back, ankles, and my fingers. The fingers are my main problem. To make matters worse, I’ve also been victim to intense pains in my shoulder, which came out of nowhere a couple of months ago and have only gotten worse since. The slightest movement aggrevates it. As any follower of mine would know, I am both an artist and a writer. I create both for fun, and I’ve studied writing as a profession. It is these things I’m known for being good at, and not much else. 

Thanks to my disability and my shoulder though, I have to do these things less. Even on perscription pain medication, it still hurts. It hurts to write this even now; my shoulder feels like it’s burning up from the inside. It will only get worse over time.

So, I’m finding myself in Nora’s position. I can’t do what I’m good at anymore, and I don’t know what to do with myself as a result. Not doing these things makes me feel lazy and unproductive, and makes me feel that the people around me will abandon me so long as i can’t keep providing them content. And I’ve gotta say, it hurts a lot, and I don’t just mean physically. 

Because of what I’m going through, it’s especially important to see my favourite RWBY character just so happening to be dealing with the same problem; the same loss of idenity and purpose. We don’t know who we are or what we’re good for without the things we think define us.

While I’m unsure of my own future though, I find comfort in knowing that Nora’s problem will be tackled and addressed; that her friends will help her to rediscover herself and find her true worth. And while we’ve got a while to go until we’ll be able to see the Volume continue, I’m incredibely excited to see where Nora’s arc goes, especially if we can get some backstory along the way. I find myself wondering if her life before Ren is part of why she thinks so little of herself without him- was it the way she was raised to think? Is this the fault of her childood circumstances? Or is this just something she developed on her own, after becoming too dependant on Ren for comfort?

Whatever answers we get, I have faith that Nora’s story will be told well, and I’m very sure that it’s only just beginning. Even if she finds her worth before the end of the volume, her story won’t be over yet, not when we’ve still likely got at least four more volumes to go after this one.

In just seven episodes, Nora Valkyrie has gone from one of the least developed characters, to one of the most interesting and relatable, at least, in my eyes. There is so much more depth to her character than having a crush on Ren, and being the strong girl who hits stuff. There’s a layer of tragedy to her character that we’re touching upon now, and I’m excited to dive into it.

Thank you all for reading!

[dangerdangerhighvoltage]

Night Off (MC x Kojuro x Tsunamoto)

MC and Kojuro are trying to navigate their relationship after finally hooking up, only for Tsunamoto to crash the party with his chaotic ass. it's double daddy duty featuring one of supporting cast's finest. nsfw!

You never were one to concentrate on one thing at a time. 

As you scooped porridge into a bowl, you mentally listed all the letters that were awaiting a response from Kojuro. You carefully laid the soft doughy orb of mochi on top of the porridge while noting you needed to track down that retainer to get his report on how the crops were faring this season. As you attempted to remember the name of some Western book Lord Masamune had requested, the boiling water you meant to pour into the teapot had instead landed on your hand. 

“Ahh!” you hissed. Chastised by your own folly, you finally focused on the task at hand, assembling the tray for Kojuro’s afternoon tea break including an extra tea cup for yourself. It had been a few weeks since the incident, and you were relieved that things were starting to feel normal again, if not a little awkward.

The month before last, the clan embarked on a particularly brutal campaign. Upon their return, an abnormally shaken Kojuro promptly made love to you, after a year of working closely late into the night, nursing each others’ hangovers, confiding in each other different ways to help Lord Masamune not be so hard on himself. Kojuro fucked you on his desk on the heaps and heaps of his letters and notes and then again in his bedding, drawing from you something he had left on the battlefield. You were genuinely surprised Kojuro had made good on the attraction between you, but the next day, you could have sworn you overheard Shigezane distributing to a handful of retainers what sounded like payouts for a bet. 

You and Kojuro decided that while you both enjoyed yourselves that night and were clearly well suited, it was not the best time to pursue something real, not with the Ashina acting up as they were. The others teased Kojuro endlessly about making an honest woman out of you, and for some reason, a part of you believed he actually wanted to. But the thing about Kojuro was he would never be forced to make a decision about you so long as he had that endless pile of work on his desk to hide behind. 

It’s not as if you wanted to be an honest woman anyway.

And so it was as though you started your relationship from scratch, relearning boundaries and reacquainting yourself with some professional distance. The only acknowledgment of your intimacy—other than the fact that he ceased referring to you as his “precious girl”—was the fact that you had started to join him for his afternoon tea every day. And that’s exactly what you were looking forward to doing when you walked back into his office, tray in hand, only to find a brawny, effortlessly disheveled, scar-faced sight sitting in your spot.

“Look what the winds blew in,” Kojuro said to you mischievously.

“Lord Tsunamoto!” you exclaimed, shocked to see the handsome man before you. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” 

Whereas Kojuro was seated rather formally at his desk, Tsunamoto sat back outstretched, his chest peeking through his signature, generously loose robe. You’d always been a bit nervous around the man, his lingering eye contact, and general aversion to modesty. You dismissed him as not your type more as a form of self protection, like a chest of gunpowder dodging a spark. Despite being polar opposites, he and Kojuro were thick as thieves when reunited, Kojuro bringing a calm patience out in Tsunamoto, and Tsunamoto reviving a roguish edge in Kojuro. 

“Surprised to see me?” Tsunamoto declared more than asked. Why did everything about him seem flirtatious?

“Did you send a letter?” you asked, knowing he hadn’t. “I’d have planned a feast if I knew you were visiting!” 

“No need for the fanfare. I’m just passing through for a few days.” 

"Too late, I already have a menu in mind,” you said, picking up the teapot. Tsunamoto’s eye locked on the second cup as you poured the tea. Your face heated up as you watched him realize the second cup wasn’t meant for him, that maybe he was interrupting something. You wondered if from just one mundane piece of ceramic, he deduced everything about your and Kojuro’s past. Tsunamoto cocked his head, and directed an inquisitive smile toward Kojuro who was suddenly couldn’t seem to drink his tea fast enough.

"I suppose there’s no point in trying to stop you,” Tsunamoto relented, graciously accepting the cup you offered.

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” Kojuro quipped.

“Uh huh.” Tsunamoto noted. His gaze flickered to you.

“Let me bring you some oshiruko,” you said with a firm smile and a desperate need to catch your breath. 

“No need,” Kojuro waved away. “Bring him his favorite dessert.”

You cocked your head at him in confusion. The two men looked at each other in a way that made your cheek tingle. 

“Sake,” Kojuro said slyly.

The next morning, you arrived at training, where Tsunamoto had stepped in to lead. After sparring one-on-one with every retainer, he finally approached you. 

“Solid form,” he offered as your wooden swords cracked against one another. You had been on the defense the whole time, allowing him to gain ground or at least think he was. Luckily for you, his strength made him slower, and as his body twisted to strike at you, you quickly maneuvered under his swing, striking him in his side in a full low lunge. He let out a laugh as you smiled shyly to yourself. 

“I’ve taught her well, huh?” Kojuro called out from afar, who had apparently stopped by to observe training.

“Technique was always your strength,” Tsunamoto called back to him. 

You resumed sparring, Tsunamoto hitting a bit stronger and moving much faster than before. With every step you took, he met you there, almost predicting your movements. The confidence you gained now sputtered out as you barely dodged his attacks. Running out of ideas, you tried a new gambit Kojuro taught you but as you spun around, you felt yourself caught in a vise-grip, your back to Tsunamoto’s chest as if he was simply waiting for you to fall into his trap. His arms easily restraining yours, he brought his lips to your ear and lowered his voice, looking directly at Kojuro who was watching the two of you intently.

“See, I know a few of Kojuro’s weaknesses as well,” he said, sending a shiver down your spine.  

“Besides, who do you think taught him?” He let you go and jogged back over to the rest of the retainers as if nothing happened. Straightening out your hakama, you looked over at Kojuro who hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

After a full day of cooking and preparing, you tried to make yourself scarce during that night’s feast. You spent the evening running back and forth between the kitchen and main hall, hauling food and empty dishes until someone, you weren’t sure who, grabbed your hand and pulled you down to sit between Kojuro and Tsunamoto. Despite your initial protests, the two of them finally convinced you to stay and enjoy your own handiwork. You relented, and jovially ate, drank, and chatted with the rest of them, until you remembered something.

“Hells, I never spoke to Shiroishi about the crops today,” you confessed with a grimace. 

“Yeah, I'm not sure Shiroishi is in any state to discuss much of anything,” Tsunamoto said. Across the room, the retainer in question was somewhere between laughing drunk and falling asleep drunk.

“What kind of master am I?” Kojuro bemoaned. “My own page sitting here thinking about work when she should be enjoying herself?”

“She learned from the best,” Tsunamoto joked under his breath. 

“Milord,” you started, “You’re a good ma—”

He turned to you, his face serious. “I want you to forget about all your work. Take the night off and just have a good time, okay?” Since you and Kojuro slept together, “good time” had become something of a loaded term. 

“But Milord,” you teased. “Who will keep your desk clear?” 

“I can keep my own desk clear for one night, thank you very much!” 

“You didn’t even clear it when we—” 

You cut yourself off abruptly and bowed your head in embarrassment, suddenly realizing how much you had drank. Tsunamoto let out a satisfied laugh, and you thought Kojuro would strike you down then and there for your slip up. But he merely smirked at you, amused. It’s not like anyone else had heard outside you three—by now all the retainers were completely intoxicated and Lord Masamune had excused himself long ago.

“You didn’t seem to mind at the time, precious girl,” Kojuro fired back with a small, unbearably winning smile. You were at once delighted and flustered by Kojuro’s familiarity and Tsunamoto's presence. You didn’t know what to make of him playing witness to this charged tête-à-tête. 

Sensing the tension, Tsunamoto spoke up. "That’s our Kojuro, always with the last word.” 

“You see what I have to work with every day?” you fussed, turning to him with a big smile.

"You poor thing,” Tsunamoto said, playing along and touching your cheek. You were surprised by the gesture, but played it off well. You happily sipped your sake, oblivious to the glance Kojuro and Tsunamoto shared, an entire unspoken conversation transpiring above your head.

It was late into the night when the last of the retainers drunkenly shuffled off to their quarters for the night, and Kojuro asked you to bring a jug of sake to his office. When you arrived you were astonished to find the two of them seated across Kojuro’s desk boisterously engaged in a heated match of arm wrestling of all things. Only Tsunamoto could convince Kojuro to engage in such nonsensical activities.

“So these are the brilliant, visionary advisors of the Date clan,” you huffed as they cheerfully welcomed you. You sat down at the edge of the desk and looked back and forth between them before pouring the sake. With great effort, Kojuro finally pressed Tsunamoto’s knuckles into the wood. 

“Damn,” Tsunamoto grumbled. They downed the sake and immediately put their elbows back on the table, ready for another bout. You poured more sake and sipped on your own. "Alright, this is the tiebreaker,” Tsunamoto said, flexing his fingers.

“And what is the prize?” you asked. 

“A kiss from the beautiful page,” Tsunamoto cracked. 

“And smart,” you added.

“Right, a kiss from the beautiful and smart page,” Tsunamoto beamed.

Kojuro looked up at you, concerned. “[Y/n], you don’t have to—”

“Okay,” you said simply. Kojuro was dumbfounded.

“What?” 

“I said okay. I will kiss whoever wins this stupid competition,” you said with a shrug. Did those words just come out of your mouth? The two men looked at each other again, and again you felt that tingle in your cheek.

“You heard her, Kojuro,” Tsunamoto said.

“I suppose I did.”

The two readied themselves on Kojuro’s desk, grasped hands and began, but this round was different. For the first time since Lord Tsunamoto arrived, the two men went silent as they strained to defeat the other. 

“Kojuro, finally putting up a fight. Desperate for a kiss, old man?” Tsunamoto jeered.

"Put as much effort into training as you do into talking shit and you’d have unified Japan yourself by now,” Kojuro taunted back.

Unable to fathom the scene playing out in front of you, you simply took another shot of sake. It was a total deadlock for minutes until suddenly with a loud crack, both men were sent to the floor. Apparently Kojuro’s poor desk gave out from the pressure of the match or perhaps it had simply lost the will to live after years of neglect and misuse. The three of you devolved into a fit of laughter as you pieced together what had occurred.

“A draw!” Kojuro howled. 

“We both lost? How pathetic!” Tsunamoto asked, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye and trying not to laugh again, though you sensed he was relieved at the outcome. The two men sat up on either side of the broken desk, looking down in amused pity.

“Or maybe,” you said timidly. “You both won.” 

You couldn’t believe what you had just said. What you had just implied. The two men froze and looked at you, waiting for the catch, for you to burst into laughter and exclaim, “Gotcha!” and tease them endlessly for thinking twice. But you didn’t. 

“[Y/n]?” Kojuro asked softly with a nervous smile. 

With the latest shot of sake taking effect, you leaned over to him and gave him a firm kiss. His body froze before you, and you instantly cursed yourself for being so stupid and so forward. What were you thinking? You expected him to pull back, graciously reiterate the need for professionalism, and dismiss you for the night, but to your surprise, he dug his fingers in your hair and deepened the kiss. His tongue grazed your lips hungrily and bit your lip the same way he did when you first kissed just weeks ago, and you felt the same rush of sensual relief.

The two of you parted with a small, uncertain smile. You took a breath and looked deep into the torrent of Kojuro’s eyes.

“I’m going to kiss him now,” you said. “Is that alright, Milord?”

“Of course,” Kojuro said with a genuine smile. “He earned it just as much as I did.”

Kojuro watched as you leaned over to Tsunamoto. For perhaps the first time ever, Tsunamoto looked thrown off, almost nervous, which exhilarated you. You lips brushed over his. He looked over at Kojuro questioningly, and Kojuro nodded encouragingly. Satisfied with this, Tsunamoto closed his eyes and drew you closer, hungrily lapping at and biting your lips. You expected him to be an aggressive kisser compared to Kojuro, but there was also a sweetness about the way he gently swept his tongue against yours. 

Tsunamoto broke the kiss before you were ready. You hadn’t even noticed that Kojuro had moved the broken table aside and moved closer to you. The two men stood up and pulled you up between them. 

“Are you sure you want this?” Kojuro asked. You looked at the dizzyingly handsome men on either side of you. “Want us?” 

“Yes,” you panted as you kissed Kojuro again, grabbing his collar. You felt Kojuro loosen your obi as Tsunamoto stood behind you and began to kiss your neck, his hands loosening your collar. You reached to grasp at both of their hair as Tsunamoto opened up your kimono, exposing your breasts. 

Kojuro leaned back and took the sight in before leaning down and taking your nipple into his mouth. From behind, Tsunamoto took your other breast into his hand and possessively turned your head to kiss you. 

“Nghgh,” you moaned as both the men worked your breasts. Kojuro finally removed your obi and your body was completely exposed. He licked his fingers and placed them between your legs, where he began stroking you. You were already wet, but you had to admit you missed his touch. Tsunamoto slid the kimono completely off your shoulders, his hands trailed down the sides of your body and he grabbed a handful of your ass. 

“Fuck,” Tsunamoto exhaled. “You have this parading around your office all day?” You caught a glimmer of pride in Kojuro’s eyes as you set to work on Kojuro’s obi, freeing him of his robes. You were pleased to find he was already hard. You grasped him, and looked behind you to find Tsunamoto removing his own robe. 

“Come here,” Tsunamoto said as he lowered himself to the floor and lied down. Kojuro guided you to Tsunamoto’s head and gently pushed you down onto your knees until they flanked Tsunamoto’s ears. You could feel the warmth of Tsunamoto’s breath on your slit. Kojuro stood in front of you, his member in hand. You grabbed it and held it to your lips, teasing his tip with your tongue as Tsunamoto ran his fingers in and out of your folds, spreading them. You finally took Kojuro fully into your mouth just as Tsunamoto pulled you down fully onto his lips and eager tongue. You immediately felt a pulse of pleasure shoot from Tsunamoto’s tongue to your extremities, and you let out a loud moan around Kojuro. 

You started to squirm, but Tsunamoto held you in place like a clamp as he lapped you up. There was clearly no escaping your own pleasure—the only thing you could do, really, was take it out on Kojuro. You furiously swirled your tongue around him. Cursing, Kojuro ran his fingers through your hair and pushed further into your mouth, which in turn, made you grind your hips harder on Tsunamoto’s face, who moaned as he sucked on your clit.

“Ride him,” Kojuro growled and you looked up. “I want to see.” He was wearing the same face he was when he watched you at training earlier that day. Feeling your climax start to build up, you began to ride Tsunamoto’s face harder, thrusting your hips back and forth whimpering, his fingers clenched deep in your hips, his tongue unabating. You started to lose focus and could barely hold onto Kojuro, abandoning his pleasure in search of your own. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, captivated, as you grabbed your own breast and unraveled before him on Tsunamoto’s face with a full-throated sigh. 

You got off Tsunamoto and collapsed as he got on his knees. "God I hope she feels as good as she tastes,” Tsunamoto said, licking the corners of his mouth.

“He would know,” you said boldly staring down Kojuro.

“Find out for yourself,” Kojuro said. The two men looked at you and you nodded.

Tsunamoto pulled you to him. He sat back on his heels and guided you into his lap, wrapping your legs around him as his tip teased your opening before pushing himself in. 

“You feel incredible,” Tsunamoto uttered in amazement. He stretched you out gently.

You surveyed the scar that trailed down Tsunamoto’s brow and onto his regal cheek. Your gaze locked on his other eye and as he began thrusting in earnest, it suddenly became so clear why Tsunamoto carried himself with endless confidence. You watched him roll his hips tantalysingly slow and deep into you, hitting all the right spots.

“How does he feel, precious girl?” Kojuro asked. He was stroking himself at the sight of you. 

“He feels so—uuuunnnh!” Your response was interrupted by a particularly deep plunge Tsunamoto took. 

You looked back at Kojuro and reached for him, but he leaned back just out of reach with a mean grin. “You need to learn to focus on the task at hand,” he said lovingly. He watched as Tsunamoto drove into you harder and faster, his strong arms essentially keeping you floating as he slid in and out of you. Kojuro was completely entranced, savoring the way your eyes glazed over as his oldest friend in the world fucked the woman he loved if only he'd let himself, wondering if the most precious things weren’t meant to be shared. 

Tsunamoto slowed down in an attempt to stave off his own climax. Kojuro kneeled behind you, steadying you as Tsunamoto pulled out of you and you got your bearings.

“Are you alright, precious girl?” You nodded, catching your breath. 

“Good. All fours,” Kojuro directed. You did so, swaying your hips in an attempt to further tempt him. Kojuro sidled up behind you and caressed your back, kissing the dimples on your lower back. Your eyes met Tsunamoto’s as Kojuro positioned his cock between your folds and pressed in. You let out a long, lusty moan that bloomed more for every inch he filled you. He hadn’t taken you from behind before, and you wondered how you’d be able to work alongside him anymore after this.

You lost yourself in Kojuro’s languid thrusts and found yourself again, grinding back against him. He whisked you up on your knees, pressing your back against his chest. 

“Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you,” he professed softly into your ear. “That I haven’t dreamed of feeling you like this again.” He wrapped his arm around your torso to keep you in place as he dove in and out of you. Tsunamoto crawled over to you and bent down, pressing his tongue squarely on your clit.

“Ahhnn!” You cried out as he raked his tongue up and down from your clit to your opening where Kojuro was thrusting into you. 

The sensation was too much too soon, so you grabbed Tsunamoto’s hair, pulled him to your face, and gave him a frantic, sloppy kiss as you took his cock and stroked him. You felt Kojuro lean over your shoulder, and you pulled away.

“She taste as good as she feels?” Kojuro asked as Tsunamoto approached. You watched as the two men took each other by the lips. You joined in, the three of you licking, biting, sucking each other as you pumped Tsunamoto to Kojuro’s rhythm.

Tsunamoto stood up in a frenzy and placed his cock on your lips. You knew he was close, and you took him into your mouth. “You are taking us so well,” Tsunamoto said as you devoured him. As Kojuro devoured you. You whined as you felt the electricity build up in your core. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded. “I’m so close!” 

Kojuro managed to fuck you even faster and harder. He brought his hand between your legs, his fingers fluttering on your clit as Tsunamoto all but fucked your mouth. Kojuro groaned as you screamed in pleasure around Tsunamoto’s cock. 

“I’m coming,” Tsunamoto rasped as he ejected into your mouth. You did your best to take it all as you reached your own climax. You felt feverish, heat tearing through your body and cracking you open. 

“Come for me my precious girl,” Kojuro snarled in your ear. 

You let out a cry as the pleasure rushed through you, leaving you trembling. You tightened unbearably around Kojuro’s cock, and he finally released into you with a curse.

The three of you collapsed on the floor, sprawled in a heap of pleasure and exhaustion and a giggle or two. 

“If only every trip to Oshu was this fun,” Tsunamoto simpered. You sighed a chuckle in response.

Kojuro reached up for his kiseru. You caressed his back, muscular by training, worn by war. “You know, [y/n],” he panted. “You should take the night off more often.”

You and Tsunamoto shared a knowing look, both helplessly endeared by the precious, precious man. 

[randomfandomimagine]

Separated (Zuko x Reader)

Characters: Zuko, Iroh

Fandom: Avatar The Last Airbender

Tags Reader Insert, Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Spoilers about Zuko’s character and backstory

Word Count: 1,7k words

Summary: Y/N and Zuko are constantly arguing because of his stubbornness, and it isn’t until they are separated that they truly realize how much they need each other.

A/N: I’m not completely sure the timelines match, but I had this idea that explored Zuko’s character and I loved it, so here it is! I’m quite proud of this one! Hope you enjoy reading :D

Zuko x Gender Neutral Reader

-

Iroh cheerfuly hummed as he served you tea. Both Zuko and you refused to look at each other. You had run out of patience, and so had he.

Perhaps his uncle was more benevolent and lenient, but you weren’t. Like Iroh, you had realized Zuko’s struggle, and you saw the good and kindness in him as well. Unlike his uncle, however, you were fed up with his demeanor. Zuko held on to so much anger and resentment, all aimed at the wrong person.

It wasn’t the Avatar that would bring his honor back, couldn’t he see? His father had showed his position quite clearly when he burned Zuko badly enough to leave him scarred for life. And not only because of the mark in his face.

“I’m tired of waiting” Zuko muttered, showing his impatience once more. 

“Patience is a virtue, dear nephew” Although Iroh was clearly taking to him, his kind eyes fell over you as well.

“Don’t bother, Iroh” You said nonetheless, unable to contain your bitterness in regards to the prince’s demeanor as of late. It had only gotten worse these last few days. 

Your comment earned you a bad look from him. You turned your face away. In reality, you were only trying to hide how much it pained you. How deeply it hurt you to see him deny the truth and go after someone who only wanted to help people.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Zuko barked back, dedicating you a challenging glare and demanding a reaction from you.

“It means you are being stupid and stubborn!” You said, slamming your cup on the ground. “Capturing the Avatar won’t-”

“If I bring him to my father, he will restore my honor!” He interrupted you, raising his volume much louder than you.

“No, he won’t!”

“Don’t talk about what you know nothing of, Y/N!”

“I do know! No offense, Zuko, but your father is a jerk”

“He is not!”

“Whatever you say…”

“Yes, I am the prince and-”

“You are a banished prince whose father doesn’t care for!”

“That’s enough!” He abruptly stood up, and his face contorted in the angriest grimace you had ever seen. “If you’re not going to help, leave right now!”

“I will!” You threw the cup of tea at his feet in an outburst of fury. “I don’t want to be around you anymore!”

Just when you had already turned your back on him, you realized what that implied. Just as your foot hovered in the air before you took the first step, you paused. Looking over your shoulder, you locked gazes with Iroh. It wasn’t fair to him either. His eyes were laced with sadness, almost begging you not to give up on Zuko. Without looking at the prince, you shook your head at his uncle. You didn’t have the strength to believe in him anymore, not when he continued to push you away like that.

Making your choice, you continued walking away from them. Away from him. Silence lingered for a bit longer until you were out of reach.

“Y/N called you Zuko...” Iroh whispered, still saddened as they both watched how you left without looking back. “Not Lee...”

“So what?” He replied with a shrug, even if his voice broke. Deep down, he knew what that meant. Even if his uncle didn’t give him an answer either.

To you, he wasn’t Lee anymore. He wasn’t that person you had grown so fond of, that you had met so long ago and had decided to help. That you had continued to address like that because that was the boy you knew and cared about. No, he was Zuko to you now. The angry prince from the evil Fire Nation, someone you could’t rely on anymore. You thought of him like everyone else did.

Facing his back to his uncle, Zuko frowned. He tried to hide how much that thought hurt him. Hide it even from himself.

-

Every time a sound came, his heart raced. Zuko looked for you in every shadow, in every face he came across, in every vaguely familiar voice he heard. You had been separated for what felt like months, even if only a week had gone by. Each minute that passed only filled him with more regret. 

As he returned to where Iroh was waiting for him, Zuko dragged his feet. His heart felt heavy, but he tried to straighten up and pretend like it didn’t.

“You’re back!” Iroh warmly smiled at his nephew, even if the gesture faded at the sight of a crestfallen Zuko. 

He had been patiently waiting for him to return from his search for you, and when he finally did it was alone. What was worse, Zuko didn’t seem to want to stay. Your argument heavily weighted on him, it was easy to tell. A part of him was glad that Zuko regretted what happened and was adamant on finding you. On making things right. The other part wished he would stay by his side, where he was safe and accompanied.

“I’m sorry, uncle, but I came only to speak to you” Zuko told him, hanging his head low. “I was hoping Y/N had returned and met with you, but...”

"I wish I could give you good news, prince Zuko” Iroh shook his head, confirming that he had not seen you at all.

“I need to find Y/N” The thought of something horrible happening to you was too awful to bear. It was all the more terrible when he remembered how your last moments together went. 

Zuko clenched his fists, hating that you had that perception of him. That you were tired of fighting to bring the good in him, that you truly thought he didn’t care about you. That you left him forever without knowing how important you were to him.

Only dedicating his uncle a last resigned glance before leaving again, Zuko sighed. His feet began mindlessly moving as his head wandered. 

Maybe you and Iroh were right. Maybe the firelord wasn’t worth all this trouble, maybe the Avatar wouldn’t restore his honor. Maybe, like you said, he was only a boy trying to help people. 

If only he could talk to you one more time... It was his only thought, repeating over and over again, as he continued moving. He didn’t even watch where he was going, he was just trying to leave that feeling behind.

“Lee?” Zuko halted at the sound of a familiar voice. However, and unlike many other times during that week, when he looked up he wasn’t dissapointed this once.

“Y/N” He uttered, watching you from a distance, almost thinking it was too good to be true. 

Something, however, stopped him from taking another step. He knew it wasn’t the shock of seeing you. It might have been his pride, or that eternal struggle within him, or the fear of being too vulnerable in front of you. It didn’t matter. All of these obstacles became insignificant when he realized something. You were hurt, there were bruises all over your face. Just then, your knees buckled and you fell to the floor.

“Y/N!” Without even thinking, Zuko ran to you and took you by the shoulders. “Are you okay?”

Despite your weak state, you managed a faint smile as you looked into his amber eyes. He frowned in concern, but you didn’t mind him.

“I found you” You muttered, feebly leaning against him.

“You’re injured” Frozen in place, he didn’t allow his arms to wrap around you quite yet, even as your forehead rested against his shoulder. “What happened?”

“I got in trouble, big one” You paused for a moment, exhausted. “I should have been more careful, but I couldn’t focus and-”

“This was all my fault” He interrupted you, urgently taking you in his arms now. “None of this would have happened if-”

“If I had been more patient” Breaking away just enough to look into his eyes, you were quick to cut his guilt. Your hand cupped his face, your thumb gently caressing his scar. “I haven’t given up on you, I never did... not really. I was just angry and frustrated and...”

“Forgive me” One of his hands moved to brush a knuckle against a nasty looking bruise in your cheek. “I know you only had my best interests at heart”

There was a pause in which he desperately squeezed you against him, trying to confirm that you were there with him again. That you were alive and well. You broke the silence, uncomfortable with the thoughts that undoubtedly plagued his mind. 

“Did your uncle nag you about this?” 

“He did”

“I owe him a hug then”

“I’m sorry, Y/N...” Zuko couldn’t bring himself to just accept your attempts and pretend like nothing had happened. The guilt still clutched on to his chest. “I let my anger separate us, but these days apart have really made me realize...”

“Enough of that...” You didn’t want him to dwell on it, so you tried to give him a smile again. “I’m tired”

“But...” 

“You’re so rude” You locked eyes with him, chuckling a little. “You didn’t even say hello, Lee”

“I told you my real name a long time ago...”

“Shut up and say it”

A glint in your eyes finally made him understand. You had forgiven him, you did soon after being separated. He had shown regret, he had shown that he cared, that he was at least willing to listen now. And if not, Iroh would help in nudging him in the right direction. Zuko relaxed, also loosening his subconscious tight grip on you, and nodded his head.

“Hello, Y/N” Not letting go of you, he helped you to your feet. “Welcome back” 

You sighed in relief and leaned your weight on him. Those days had been long and scary, but you were back. You were safe, with people who cared about you. With people who would protect you and nurse you back to health.

Zuko didn’t think twice to wrap an arm around your waist to support you. You needed him, and he wouldn’t let you down this time. 

“I hope Iroh has some tea ready” You groggily said as you two slowly walked back to him. “I could use some right now”

“I’m sure he does” Lee smiled. “He’ll be happy to see you”

-

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn​ / @lotsoffandomimagines​ / @lotsoffandomstoimagine​ / @undercanonthots​ / @niphredil-14​ // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, let me know!! // Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

[poptod]

The Ivory Haunting (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: His face is engrained into your head but his name is nowhere. Where does he exist? Why are you so obsessed?

Notes: this is strangely creepy and i dont know why. its not what i meant to do but i think its cool anyway. gender neutral as fuckin always WC: 3.1k

+

There's this carving – more of a bust or sculpture – that has your mind twisted every which way. It's a stupid thing, really, but you can't get his expression out of your head, and thus it haunts your waking and sleeping hours. The style is Egyptian, you think. He's wearing a crown on his head, one that you've seen in a couple museums before, and he has an absent smile on his face. While you scroll through the endless amount of photos of ancient Egyptian statues online, you note that it's an all too common expression.

At this point you can't even recall where you first saw it. Could've been through the endless internet surfing or the many museums you visited in your travels, but at the end of the day you're stumped. What was his name? Where did you meet him?

It's clear as day. His alabaster skin. He looks straight at you with empty eyes, the irises having eroded many years ago in the hot sahara sun. His nose has long fallen off, leaving behind a jagged scar that drags from his brow down to his lips, where that haunting smile sits so easily. They're full, his lips – sweet, and soft, even for stone. At each end are little dips, showcasing the slight smile. His chin is a little big, but it makes way for the sharp contrast of his jawline. He has cheekbones – mostly hidden behind the crown – and his ears are a little large. The trait that draws your attention each time is his eyes. Blank. Like they had truly been staring at the world for thousands of years.

You don't get out much anymore, not since the restrictions were put in place. There are moments, especially in the dead of night, in which you want so desperately to leave your tiny apartment, but the curfew states otherwise. Policemen and government workers roam the streets and you'd rather not get into a tussle over something so small as an urge.

Still, you stare outside your window, wondering why it feels like you're suffocating. This is how you spend a lot of your time nowadays, staring at the streets. There's hardly any cars out, and the sidewalks are barren, a sight you'd seen only once before during the original quarantine. London is not a quiet city. It's quite the opposite, and to see it muted is in the least upsetting.

Your job is... easy. Considering the state of the world, you're incredibly lucky, retaining your job and keeping away from the outside. You also get a lot of free time. Usually you'd spend it in front of a television, or in a good book, but now it's in front of your computer screen. The typing marker flashes in front of you, placing behind it the clear words you've searched at least a hundred times by now.

ANCIENT EGYPTIAN BUSTS

By now you know what the first images are going to be. Nefertiti, mostly – her bust is by far the most famous. Then there's of course Akhenaten with his elongated skull, followed by several advertisements for Kemetic worship.

You don't know much about Egyptian history. Or, at least you didn't use to. Now you recognize the faces, though rarely do you ever remember the names of the many forgotten dead. You're just looking for one – one name, one bust, one dead man.

He's nowhere, not in the books you buy or the articles you read. When you sign up for an online course of ancient Egyptian history, you expect to see his face in a textbook, but he's not there. Sometimes it feels like you're the only one who remembers him, which is funny – you don't even know him. Either way it's a way to occupy the time, since you have so much of it lately.

The British Museum is reopening. There's a whole thing about COVID, of course, and the only way to enter is to get tickets online. Only a handful of people are allowed inside the museum at once, and since you don't hear about it until later, you are set to wait a month and a half before you can visit. Bitterness wells up in the pit of your stomach, but like most things you set it aside. None of it really matters anyway – yes, not knowing his name feels like drowning mid-air, but it won't kill you.

From the moment you reserve a ticket to the moment you can actually use it, you dream of him every night. Sometimes it's actually him, no longer a statue, taking your hands and leading you somewhere you don't belong. His skin is warm, unlike his statue, but just as soft as you imagined. His nails are meticulously cleaned and his eyes are bright, full of a life you're desperate to understand. It doesn't make any sense. You're yearning so deeply for him, for something you've never known before, and every second away feels like pure horror in your veins.

Why do you need him this much?

You look at yourself in the mirror, fixing a strand of hair that falls in front of your eyes. You're dressed well – at least comparatively to your former few weeks of dress – and a quiet excitement thrums in your heart. Today is a day you're going to go out, and to make it better you're going to the museum. They have an Egyptian exhibit. A foolish part of yourself hopes you'll find him there, nestled in the corner of a long and fruitful hallway filled with Egyptian statues.

It's... disappointing, to say the least, to find out there's only one room for Egyptian exhibits and it's occupied by only one thing, besides broken pots and stone dolls. The main exhibit's name is Ahkmenrah, a young Pharaoh older than the Great Pyramids of Giza. All information on him can be fitted onto a four by six stone plate. While standing in his room, surrounded by hieroglyphs you've been studying hard to understand, you look him up on your phone. There's little mention of him, but the one article you do find on him has a 3D recreation of his face. He looks white and you know the article's bullshit.

While absently holding a conversation with one of the curators, you discover there's a store of Egyptian exhibits kept underneath the museum that aren't fit for showcase since the downsizing. Whatever that means, you find a sliver of hope, one that pales quickly at the realization you'll never be able to go down there. They wouldn't let some random visitor (who wasn't even an actual historian) to go see closed off exhibits.

Fischer, the director of the museum, hires you four months after you send your resume in. The second he does you set your plan into motion – there's no time to waste.

The same day he gives you the keys, you're sneaking in under the cover of night. For some reason, the lights are still on in the main museum, but fortunately that's not where you're headed. You unlock the backdoor, sneaking through the night guard's break room until you find the door to the basement. Flipping through the keys on your ring, you quickly find the right one, shoving it into the keyhole and almost wrenching the door open.

You run down the stairs. It's almost sprinting, but you can't be too loud with your shoes. There's nothing in your mind except him, his funny little smile, the somehow soft alabaster of his skin. You need to get to him. Something inside you says he's here – he's here, he's here, and there's nowhere else you can be without your whole body combusting.

You stop dead in your sprint, chest heaving as you're faced with the open boxes filled with Egyptian busts. With frantic eyes you look them over, searching desperately for one familiar face, finding none until the very last open box.

It's here.

He's here.

The broken nose, the formation of the resulting scar, you recognize every. Fucking. Inch.

Each box contains little notes on who the statues are (if known), the material, the time period, and other such relevant information. Your hands shake as you reach forward, slipping the piece of paper out of the paper stuffing.

King Ahkmenrah

Date: ca. 3,100 - 3000 B.C.

Period: Old Kingdom

Place of origin: Egypt, Cairo

Medium: Ivory

Ahkmenrah.

Sudden clarity strikes you as it never has when you recall searching his name online. He's the exhibit. He's the mummy upstairs. He's actually here.

The blood in you freezes for a moment, caught up in shock and relief. Now you know his name. A small part of you is finally able to rest with the answer, but the rest of you knows exactly what to do – go upstairs. Find the exhibit. Lay at his side. After all this time you still don't know why, but the ache of neediness in your heart is enough to leave you weak to your inner desires.

Now that your head is clear, or at least unhindered by your questions, you note a worrying amount of sound coming from upstairs. Footsteps pound on the ceiling as you climb the staircase, leaving you curious and terrified. That many people shouldn't be in one place – it's a death wish for the modern plague. You grit your teeth, fingers curling up in to fists that dig your nails deep into your palm. Is it safe to go upstairs? There's definitely people up there and you have no idea who they are. The museum could be being robbed right now and you wouldn't have a clue. It's a death wish.

Why are you still going up the stairs?

Why are you opening the door?

This shouldn't be happening. There's enough people to fill the whole first floor, ranging from the public entrance of the museum to the African exhibits in the back. Almost all of them are wearing historical outfits, in such a wide array you might've thought they'd stolen them from the exhibits, had they not looked exactly like the wax figures. The marble statue of the Roman on his horse is no longer on its' pedestal. Actually, he's talking to a woman a few feet away from you, though he is still on the horse.

You should be passed out on the stairs going by how fast your heart is beating, but instead you stand in the doorway petrified. Your eyes sit wide, scanning back and forth over the crowd, searching for something you don't know of. With all the stimulus in front of you, you don't even know what to think. The exhibits must be coming alive. Does someone watch over them?

It's then, with little clarity in your head, that your eyes land upon the night guard. She doesn't look in the least bit rattled, so you easily assume she's used to this. Her calm is so alarming to you that you blink yourself back into your body.

These are... people. Just people. They haven't been put under some curse that'll bring chaos to the world. All they're doing is partying, and though the noise level is a tad unpleasant, it's just about as rowdy as some teenagers.

When you realize you aren't in danger, you bolt from your place at the door. Twisting through the gathered crowd, you slowly make your way to the staircase, ascending with quick feet as your eyes lock onto the Egyptian hall. It's a few more feet until you turn sharp, shoes squeaking as you slide into the room. The familiar gold lighting greets you, shining off the open sarcophagus, which you skid to a halt in front of as your lungs desperately try to catch up to your legs.

Of course it's empty. Your Pharaoh – or Ahkmenrah, you suppose you should use his name now that you know it – must be downstairs, where the life of the party is. Why would he stay up in this empty room, all alone? From here you can barely even hear the music that was once pounding into your ears. Still, for a moment you stare at the bottom of the vacant coffin, caught in the awe of such a long-standing history.

"What are you doing here?"

The words catch you by surprise, and in reaction you whip around, eyes wide as the voice continues, "who are you?"

My King. Before you can even process the thought, the words roll onto your tongue, but to your immense relief you catch yourself before actually opening your mouth.

"I..." it barely comes out with how little you've physically spoken recently, "I work here."

As usual, your voice carries that quiet, calm, slightly annoyed tone that makes people wonder why you're being so difficult. It's not really something you can control, but the King doesn't seem to notice. Maybe it's worked to your advantage this time; despite your racing heart and frozen feet, you keep an even tone.

"I don't think I've seen you here before," the King says, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer. You try to back up, but you're already pressed against the sarcophagus, and his glare keeps you from running.

"I just started today," you answer honestly.

"Ah," he says, his voice softer the moment he begins to believe you. "This must be rather alarming for you, then."

You're not afraid to admit he's right.

"A tad. How do you speak english?"

"I learned it during my time at Cambridge University," he answers. He's from over 4,000 years ago, so you know he didn't attend as a student.

"You were on display there?"

"Yes," he says with a bright smile, one that catches you entirely off guard.

It practically blows you away – his demeanor changed so quickly, from a stern Pharaoh to a sweet, young man who probably bought his girlfriend flowers every Monday. For a moment you wonder why you were so caught up in him before knowing him; now that you've heard his voice, seen the way he moves, your interest increases tenfold. It's not enough to see him. You need to touch him. You need it more than anything.

"I've been looking for you," you blurt out, but the words come out so slow it sounds like you consciously chose them. You bite the inside of your cheek as you watch his smile falter.

"What do you mean?" He asks. He's standing in front of you now – if you extended your arm and took a small step closer, you'd be touching him.

"There's a sculpture of you," you say softly, swallowing the lump in your throat, "but I didn't know how to find your name."

"How'd you find me, then?" He asks, but he looks less offended. Now there's a keen look in his smile and in his eye, like he's going to enjoy this, like he knows something you don't.

"Sheer luck," you say with a shrug. It's mostly true.

"I think I know you," he says, and his smile quirks further upward.

"What?" You say, trying to back up again as he steps closer. The sarcophagus is, unsurprisingly, still behind you. "How?"

"Back when I was a King, I had a slave my brother killed," he says in the least comforting tone, "but my father had this idea."

Another step closer. You can feel the heat of his naked waist on your shaking hands.

"See, he had a magician in his employ, and he would do anything for me. Especially since I loved that slave so dearly. Truly," he leans forward a little, placing his hand on the gold case behind you and trapping you against him. His chest is practically right against yours, but what you are close enough to feel is his breath, soft on your collarbones. "And so my father retrieved the soul with a special spell and sent it into the future, to possess another at birth, and to lie in wait until I called for it."

You can't feel your – well, anything. There's a pressure on your chest, but you can't tell if that's your wildly beating heart or just his warmth skewing your senses. All you can do is stare up at him wide-eyed. He can't be telling the truth. Magic doesn't work like that, it can't work like that, that's a sick story and he's telling it like it's nothing more than normal. Possessing a newborn child. Sending souls into the future. It can't make sense. You almost feel bad for your past self – under the employ of someone so cruel as to take a soul from the afterlife for his own pleasure.

But he's standing before you. He's 4,000 years old, and he's standing in front of you, pushing you against his own coffin and trapping you there. Do you belong to him, then? Is that why you can't get him out of your head?

"When did your search begin?" He asks softly, a gentle curiosity evident in his brow.

"A – about a year ago," you say, your voice so broken and shaky you're surprised he understands it.

"Last winter?" He asks knowingly, almost sweet, like he's doting on you. Then comes the part that really makes it shine; he reaches up and pets your hair, moving in long, soft strokes.

You nod, unwilling to meet his gaze any longer. How red you must be by now.

"I called on you then. It took you a little while, but I'm glad you made it," he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Unfortunately, I suppose you haven't retained any memories, since you didn't know my name."

"I guess not," you agree quietly. "I just have instincts."

"Instincts?"

You're reluctant to share with him the many instincts you'd had even in the short time from meeting him to now. The pure need to touch him. Past You probably had a crush on him, and even though you aren't really that person anymore, there's a need inside you to hide that fact from him. 

"I wanted to call you my King when I first saw you," you admit, your voice still quiet in hopes of him not understanding you.

"You won't have to call me that anymore. Maybe a tad around my parents, but when we're alone you may use my name."

"When we're... alone?" You question nervously, heart pounding at the thought of spending more time with him.

"You do work here, don't you?" He says with a sly grin. "I think I'll be seeing you quite a lot."

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh God.

If this is how you react just from spending five minutes with him, you can't imagine spending whole nights at his side. You'd explode. From what you don't know yet, but the pulsing rush in your heart is strong enough to worry you, and very rarely do you ever worry about yourself. The words in your head – your immediate reaction – simply won't pass. You can't bring yourself to say them, so you say what he wants to hear.

"As long as you want to."

[shinsoups]

Student No. 22 —

m a s t e r l i s t

pairing: shinsou hitoshi x f!reader x class 1A

genre: 1tbsp of crack, 1 tsp of fluff, a sprinkle of angst and 1 cup of chaotic randomness

synopsis: y/n was certain she would never be a Hero. She had a different goal in her mind, and that is to be a great doctor someday. With a terrible past she wants to forget, she vows she would never use her Quirk and will never let the world know what it is. Not until she finds out that the invincible quirk she thought she has can also have a certain weakness.

random updates

trigger warning : mentions of abuse/torture

OO2 : The Principal —

There were hushed voices inside the conference room, debating on the current issue everyone seemed to disagree on. The only people who wasn’t much interested was Ectoplasm and Vlad King cause according to the latter “It wouldn’t hurt to teach another student, no matter what the circumstance is. Midnight is just making this into a big issue.” Thus a meeting was called for everyone to know the real reason.

This would be one hectic semester, Cementoss whispers as he scans the folder he was holding. Two weeks had passed since the other teachers found out about the new transferee recommended at U.A. Midnight was the first to disagree on the idea. Why would they even accept a new student in the middle of a new semester? And to top it all, a quirkless girl who has no desire of becoming a Hero.

“Before I start,” Principal Nezu’s voice came out of nowhere. “I hope everyone will understand what the situation of this child we’re talking about and why I invited her to come to U.A.”

Present Mic’s boisterous laughter interrupted the silence looming inside the room and pointed at Aizawa’s shoulder. He was trying to hold it in but the sight in front him was just too much.

He shook his head; this is going to be a tiring meeting. Pressing his temple Aizawa sighed, “I’m pretty sure we have more chairs.” Addressing their principal as if he was patiently talking to a child.

“It’s nice and warm over here, though” the principal chided. Cuddling closer to Aizawa’s shoulder and wrapping his tiny body with the wrap scarf Aizawa always sported. The sight was so hilarious yet no one dared laugh except Present Mic as Aizawa’s eyes shone red in warning, his hair flaring up in annoyance.

Aizawa shook his head in defeat, leaning forward to take the file in front of him. “She agreed to visit and see my class once school started once again.” His monotonous voice started.

“But I’m sure she’s not convinced to attend the school. She’s a smart kid even without us knowing what her Quirk truly is. She’s lying about something as if she’s subconsciously protecting herself. Principal Nezu would like to conduct a little experiment about her.” He gave his report after meeting you. He was set and determined to give you an answer after that day and after telling Nezu what he observed about you, the Principal came up with an interesting plan.

Nezu reach his tiny arm upward, patting Aizawa’s head and continued, “The girl is not Quirkless." All-Might squinted his eyes. Something is up and he was right all along.

"To tell you all the truth, she could defeat all of us here if she wanted to. Her strength if given a chance to grow could be on par with a Pro Hero.”

A hushed tension once again filled the room. All eyes on the Principal, Thirteen was the first one to ask. “Her file says she’s Quirkless, even registered as one. What could you possibly mean she could defeat us?”

Sliding down Aizawa’s scarf, Principal Nezu walked towards his chair and opened the same file everyone was holding. Staring at the letter he received from your late grandfather, he was certain he could share some information about you, leaving some things unsaid for your own safety.

“She was born out of Quirk Marriage. Her parents were known scientist that died in an unfortunate accident six years ago. I know you all remember this since you were there, Thirteen.”

Nezu looked at everyone as if he said something taboo. The infamous accident that killed several heroes in action. There were already several controversies rounding about it saying that the laboratory was conducting inhuman experiments on orphaned kids who possesses rare quirks at such a young age. The Hero Association knows about something yet everyone kept their mouths sealed. The news died down months after the accident. Yet the heroes who were there to witness will never forget about it.

“Her parents were obsessed on what power she would acquire. Enough to sacrifice their own child in the name of science.” Nezu looked at All-Might. His cerulean eyes stared back almost seeing the horrific incident once again.

“The bandages she wears around her arms…” All-Might trailed off. Imagining the horrors you experienced at your parents own hands. He was there, he was the one who saved you and freed you from it. All-Might closed his eyes, trying to forget the frail body he held, who was fighting and holding on for dear life. “So it was her.” He pondered.

“Countless experiment done by her own parents. They were mad so to speak. Once she reached the age of four she didn’t show any signs of inheriting either of their Quirks. The scars she received for almost five years of torture made her so conscious about it so she kept her skin hidden.” Nezu dropped the file and looked at Aizawa.

Everyone flinched. No one dared to ask again. Minutes felt like hours— as if a bucket of cold water was thrown over everyone’s faces. A tiny clap took everyone’s attention back at their principal. “I expect everyone will not agree to this, but according to her grandparents had told me in the letter, she might have inherited both her parents power.”

“Might? It’s just a possibility. We’re not even sure, right? It's not like she'll suddenly turn into a villain, right?” Midnight contradicted.

“That is why I came up with a plan and invited her here. She needs guidance. One thing she never get to experience.” Nezu smiled at her. His tiny paws clasped in front of him, leaving no room for arguments anymore. “I would like to know and see for ourselves. One week from now, one of Shota-kun’s student will help us in executing this plan.” His gaze drifted back to the raven-haired man.

“You know something we don’t.” Midnight eyed the Principal, itching to find out what he meant by you defeating them, Pro-Heroes, even without any proper training or whatsoever. Did she felt inferior? Why was she scared of your presence when she hasn’t even met you in person? Sighing in defeat she announces, “I’ll accept her once she shows something interesting.”

Nezu only smiles at her knowingly. “Good! Now who wants tea?”

taglist: @b0ku4ka @sugarandsoft @roesaurus @moonlightbae14 @therealwalmartjesus @redperson58

i got a taglist im soft ~ want to join? just leave a comment my dudes ✨

a/n: i just wanted to write a fic about Nezu and Aizawa using the 1st photo above kskskks 🤗 hence the chapter and title (i still dont know why i wrote this)

likes, comments and reblogs is highly appreciated 🐣this is my first time writing bnha so tips and comments are really helpful ! ✨

[mostlymovieswithmax]

Movies I watched in June

Now I think I’m comfortably in a rhythm to get these posts out. For one, I’m writing up short reviews either straight after watching a movie or sometimes it might take a few days. But June was a fairly good month in terms of the amount of films I watched. I got to go to the cinema quite a bit which is always fun. Anyway, let’s get on with it! If you’re looking for something good to watch (or maybe even something bad), I hope this list can help in some way to introduce you to new and different movies that maybe you’ve never heard of, or were thinking of checking out. Here is every film I watched from the 1st to the 30th of June 2021.

Bo Burnham: Inside (2021) - 10/10 Everyone was going off about how great this film is. An hour and a half of Bo Burnham in lockdown, singing songs and being upset is definitely a powerful hook and I have to agree with the general consensus because Inside blew me away. More thoughts on this in my podcast: The Sunday Movie Marathon episode 34.

Bo Burnham: Make Happy (2016) - 7/10 After watching Inside, I figured I’d rewatch some of Burnham’s older stand-up shows on Netflix. Make Happy is a lot of fun, injected with a lot of introspection from Burnham that really makes the special stand out, despite a lot of gags that just didn’t land for me.

Bo Burnham: What. (2013) - 6/10 It’s plain to see just how much Bo Burnham has grown over the years and how he has honed his comedy and music. ‘What.’ is a good stepping stone in the comedian’s career, showcasing loads of promise in him from a young age. There are some jokes that haven’t aged as well and some that straight up dragged, but overall the show is still enjoyable.

The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It (2021) - 3/10 Packed theatre for this one, obviously. People love a Conjuring movie, and I’d also say people love a good scare… but this movie isn’t scary, or good for that matter. More thoughts on episode 35 of the podcast.

The Conjuring (2013) - 6/10 After the horrendously disappointing debacle that was the third Conjuring movie, I decided to watch James Wan’s original movie and man, if this wasn’t better in literally every way. I don’t tend to love James Wan movies but I can’t deny he’s got so much talent in how he makes movies and it makes The Conjuring a lot more fun to see competent filmmaking in the horror genre in a way that actually creates an eerie atmosphere with creative uses of camera-work and editing.

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) - 8/10 Normally I’m not big into the old slasher movies. I appreciate that for the time, perhaps they hit differently, but now I just don’t tend to connect with them. Wes Craven’s ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street’ is a bit of an exception. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not particularly scary, though it does employ a lot of interesting techniques and designs. Undeniably, the design for Fred Krueger is a staple in cinema, with the striped jumper, hat, scarred face and knives for fingers not leaving the mind of the general public any time soon. Elm Street doesn’t have too many kills but when it does, it is so effective and fun to watch. Craven was one of the greats, truly.

One Cut of the Dead (2017) - 8/10 This has to be one of the most engaging zombie movies I’ve seen in a long time. There’s a lot to spoil with One Cut of The Dead but I won’t go into that here. It is clever and funny, subverting expectations in ways I really didn’t expect. I really cannot recommend it enough.

Dave Chappelle: Sticks & Stones (2019) - 8/10 Since we’re watching Chappelle's Show for episode 45 of the podcast, I wanted to get an idea for what I was in for, so I watched Dave Chappelle’s stand-up show from a couple of years ago. Yeah, really funny, which I suppose is what you want from a stand-up special, but what makes it better is Chappelle’s commentary on the world at large and how he’s able to combine humour with intelligent criticism.

Fear(s) of the Dark (2008) - 4/10 A few years ago I think I watched this animated black and white anthology film on a New Year's Day when I had foolishly decided to pull an all-nighter and then go out with mates for ice cream. Never again. But I’d forgotten what I thought of this movie and decided to get the DVD for cheap on eBay. Perhaps I am doomed to watch Fear(s) of the Dark only when I am tired because I popped this on when it was nearing midnight. I was lucid enough to understand what I was watching though… and it was quite boring. These short films emulate the filmmakers’ nightmares - an interesting premise in theory, but pretty weak on execution.

The Bourne Identity (2002) - 3/10 We marathoned the first three Bourne movies for The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast, episode 36 so check that out for my expanded thoughts on this, the best Bourne of the three.

The Bourne Supremacy (2004) - 2/10 Immediately after, we did the deep dive into Supremacy, the second Bourne and the worst of the three (albeit by a very slim margin). Check out episode 36 for more.

The Bourne Ultimatum (2007) - 2/10 I really couldn’t care less about these terrible movies. It was a horrible chore to sit through them. Ultimatum was also rubbish. More gripes and discussion in episode 36 of the podcast.

The Father (2021) - 10/10 Another trip to the cinema for this masterpiece. I tried very hard not to sob loudly in the theatre where aside from myself, the audience totalled three people. More discussion of The Father in episode 36 the podcast.

Drag Me To Hell (2009) - 2/10 I’m pretty shocked that Sam Raimi directed this. Usually when I watch one of his films, I can see his staple of fun gore, practical effects, crazy camera movements… but there was none of that here. It just felt like a really bad horror, indistinguishable from the regular affair, with no personality or passion. Drag Me To Hell might even have been one of those movies I’d avoided in the past when I was younger because it seemed too scary but no, it was just boring and bad and I feel like there’s something I’m not getting out of this that other people seem to be.

Moonrise Kingdom (2012) - 8/10 At this point, I feel I have to admit Wes Anderson as perhaps my second favourite director. His movies are just so nice and beautiful to watch. Moonrise Kingdom is a quirky love story between two kids and honestly, with any other director, could have been handled poorly because the story is quite simple. But Anderson injects so much of his signature style and personality into the film. A powerhouse of actors with the likes of Frances McDormand, Bill Murray, Bruce Willis and Tilda Swinton, among a few of Anderson’s regulars, make Moonrise Kingdom a breeze. Good for a dark day to lift the spirits.

Nobody (2021) - 8/10 I needed something to fill an otherwise uneventful day, so I hopped on a bus and booked a ticket for Ilya Naishuller’s new action movie, Nobody. The film started and to my annoyance, the lights in the theatre were still on. When I go to the cinema I don’t really want to see the other people sitting around me, so I got up from my seat, abandoning the first two minutes of the film to find a member of staff to turn the lights off. After showing them that the lights were in fact still on, I took to my seat and watched the movie for what felt like a little while before the lights went off. Nobody is a really fun action movie. Perhaps similar in a lot of ways to John Wick, but with more personality to the main character. More thoughts on episode 37 of The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast.

The Darjeeling Limited (2007) - 8/10 After procuring the Criterion blu-ray from my local hmv, I delved into all the supplements it had to offer, including a making-of documentary, chats with the director, and a gallery of polaroid pictures from when they were shooting the film in India. The Darjeeling Limited is perhaps not peak Wes Anderson, but I do kind of love it. It makes me want to go on a journey to another country with my brother and sister, perhaps in ten to fifteen years. Here, the main characters are three brothers who travel to India seeking some kind of spiritual experience. Things don’t seem to work out that way, however, because I’m not sure how spiritual an experience you can have when you plan out an itinerary to schedule it. Fantastic performances all round and of course, beautiful direction and cinematography.

Face/Off (1997) - 3/10 Was I supposed to laugh? Maybe I was just too tired but I really couldn’t stand Face/Off. It didn’t feel particularly special and despite a couple of fun ideas, it was mostly quite boring.

Luca (2021) - 5/10 The new Pixar movie leaves a lot to be desired. The animation is really second to none and I can’t fault how beautiful the movie looks, more so when it’s set in this little Italian town than under the sea. The story is so uninspired though, with the basic premise being that the protagonists want a Vespa so they enter a competition to win the money to buy one. Also they’re fish that turn into people on dry land. Maybe that’s enough for some people, but I couldn’t shake the familiarity of Luca. It never went in any interesting directions and basically did exactly what I figured it would do. I don’t believe it’s out here to subvert expectations but I would like some creativity when it comes to the writing. Perhaps if I watched it again, I might like it less. It was pretty dull.

Punch-Drunk Love (2002) - 10/10 I’m a little disappointed with the Criterion blu-ray for Punch-Drunk love. It’s supplements host a couple of low-quality deleted scenes that were clearly deleted for a reason, and some weird artsy music videos that incorporated footage from the movie. I was quite shocked at how low-effort it all seemed. The movie itself is fantastic though and I do believe it to be Adam Sandler’s best performance (and I really liked Uncut Gems). He portrays a man who is constantly put down by his family, clearly has some kind of social disability, and on top of it all he’s getting scammed by a sex line. Amongst all this, he’s trying to navigate a new relationship and it’s so sweet to watch all the interactions between Sandler and Emily Watson. It’s a perfect melding of romance, comedy and anxiety, beautifully directed by Paul Thomas Anderson.

Fargo (1996) - 9/10 Another movie you wouldn’t expect to be so funny, especially since it’s based on this horrific true story about murder, deceit and money. But the Coen brothers know how to handle it. Excellent performances, beautiful colour palette, and a story that just gets more and more insane as it goes.

House (1977) - 7/10 House (or, Hausu) was a recommendation for episode 37 of The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast so check that out for more discussion. Generally speaking, this Japanese horror/comedy was bonkers. Insanely creative and abstract (which at points can detriment the film) with an almost Balamory-esque presentation. I was happy to find that the comedy was not lost on me at all; this is a hilarious film, albeit maybe not all the time.

The Princess Bride (1987) - 10/10 I reviewed this in my May wrap-up but this time around, I had recommended The Princess Bride for the podcast, the discussion for which you can listen to in episode 37. It all clicked this time around. It is such a fun, warm movie with a lot of laughs and superb production.

This Is Spinal Tap (1984) - 8/10 Another Rob Reiner joint, a few years before The Princess Bride. This Is Spinal Tap is lauded as a masterpiece in comedic cinema and I might agree; this movie is hilarious. Shot in mockumentary fashion, it follows a band playing shows and trying to get gigs, coupled with the inevitable screw-ups of live performance and creative disagreements. It lost me every now and again but it’s still a must-watch.

The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996) - 6/10 A decent Disney flick but certainly not their best. One highlight includes the villain singing a lament about wanting to have sex with Esmerelda and calling her a witch for giving him a boner.

Ponyo (2008) - 4/10 Not sure if I’ve ever disliked a Miyazaki movie before but I did not vibe with Ponyo. It came across as very baby and as such, there really wasn’t much to read into. The animation is fantastic as always but so much of it felt specifically tailored to a younger crowd.

Roman Holiday (1953) - 9/10 Classic romance at its best. I had heard on a podcast that this was the sexiest movie the guest had ever seen and while maybe not in the traditional sense of the word, I do get where they’re coming from. I was tearing up with just how lovely it all was, following a princess who runs away and spends the day with a man she meets in Rome (where it was shot on location), doing all the things she’s wanted to do but never could because of royal responsibilities. Fantastic performances from Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck who sell the chemistry of the characters so well.

F9 (2021) - 2/10 I’ve never seen any of the Fast & Furious movies and after watching the ninth in the series, I don’t want to. This is basically the Vin Diesel show; we watch him drive cars fast and punch people a lot. Wow! I don’t really understand what it (and forgive the pun) driving people to see these movies if they’re all in this same vein. As far as I can tell, F9 is the goofiest of the series so far and I’ll admit I had a chuckle or two at some of the truly implausible moments, such as a part where one of the team gets shot by about ten men with machine guns, yet manages to kill them all without being affected by the bullets… but overall, in this two-and-a-half-hour experience, I was largely bored.

Shaolin Soccer (2001) - 7/10 I love this movie! Shaolin Soccer is so much fun; it is goofy and out there and completely crazy, all by design. Steven Chow knew what he was making when he set out to craft this insane story of a group of guys using Kung-Fu to play football. The basic story itself is nothing new but it’s elevated by the infectious comedy and implausibility of what’s happening. Balls are kicked into space and across fields so fast the very ground is torn asunder. A man eats an egg off a dirty shoe. This is cinema.

Casino Royale (2006) - 7/10 I had seen a trailer at the cinema for the new Bond movie and I have to say, I’ve never really given 007 the time of day, aside from a few of the very first movies I’d tried watching a while ago. But the new trailer kind of got me hyped, so I wanted to watch all of the Craig era Bond movies, starting with Casino Royale. I had a great time! Even though there’s not loads of fighting or weapons or fast cars, the meat of the movie actually comes from this poker game Bond is playing against the villain, played brilliantly by Mads Mikkelsen. I was surprised to witness a bit of cock-and-ball torture in this 12-rated movie but I would be lying if I said it didn’t stick with me.

Quantum of Solace (2008) - 5/10 Immediately after Casino Royale, I jumped into the second of Daniel Craig’s Bond movies, Quantum of Solace. Sadly it’s quite weak, with not much going on aside from the general Bond fare. Mathieu Amalric’s villain lacked a lot of menace or motivation and generally, I’m not super worried about a brilliant story in a Bond movie, but even the action felt weak in this. Quantum of Solace didn’t exactly upset me but it failed to wow me in any way either. The saving grace of the movie is certainly Daniel Craig as the hero, capturing Bond and what he’s supposed to be.

Skyfall (2012) - 6/10 A marked improvement from its predecessor, Sam Mendes helms Skyfall, Craig’s third outing as Bond. Skyfall delves into Bond’s past as he seems to be slipping a bit, not as much the expert operative he once was. It would have been nice to see more of his fall from grace, as they don’t really show us how he’s become less efficient as much as they give other characters expository dialogue telling us how he drinks and does drugs and is haunted by childhood trauma. For me, that’s where the meat of the story lies and I would have preferred more of a character piece if indeed they were delving into that side of the character anyway. That being said, the fights are still better choreographed than the last instalment and the colour grading and scenery is often very visually interesting. Everything in Skyfall is better than its predecessor and it’s surely thanks to Sam Mendes who does a great job at directing.

Howl's Moving Castle (2004) - 8/10 Another go round for Howl's Moving Castle, as this was a recommendation for my podcast, The Sunday Movie Marathon. My opinion, I feel, is unchanged. It's a fantastic film, and you can listen to more of what I have to say in episode 37. The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn - Part 2 - 3/10 A pretty poor end to a poor series of movies. I'm surprised I've watched the Twilight movies as many times as I have but I also know I'll watch them again. Part 2 I watched with the YMS commentary track on YouTube which, again made the experience a lot better. But otherwise the series seemed to get better as it went along… until the last movie. Ultimately my biggest problem with it is that nothing actually happens and the plot feels like a late addition rather than a natural progression of the story. It’s basically a whole movie of set-up to a payoff that doesn’t even canonically happen. A big thing with YA adaptations in this era was making a final book into two movies, regardless as to whether it needed that much time or not. Breaking Dawn does not need to be two movies at two hours each. About ten new characters are introduced here and the film is afraid of killing even one of them off. It's the last movie! We're not going to see these characters again! Kill some of them! There's just no emotional weight to any of it and I hate to say I was disappointed with the ending because I have such low expectations for these films but man, this was so unsatisfying.

Frances Ha (2012) - 8/10 Life is hard. And I hate this movie because it shows me so much of what terrifies me about being alive. And I love this movie because it shows me so much of what I’m alive for. Noah Baumbach’s brutally honest depiction of growing up and fending for yourself struck me in a way I wasn’t expecting and I think it’s because I’m at a point in my life where I’m worrying a lot about how it’s all going to turn out. The titular character is burdened with the stress of working low-paid jobs and paying rent while juggling school and making time for her passion of dancing as she tries to connect with people she’s lost, as temporary friends and housemates come and go. She feels like a lonely character despite often being around a lot of people. Frances Ha is fantastic and heartbreaking and uplifting… but it made me feel bad so I hate it.

[violetwolfraven]

Prompt: "You don't have to hide your tears from me" for Redfinch

Mkay! Angst time! Let’s go!! I’m writing this the week after Valentine’s Day!! Woohoo!!

Anyway this takes pre-canon. So... spoiler alert they do get together later along this timeline, but right now it’s angsty and the boys aren’t together yet.

Tw: mentioned abusive parenting, toxic masculinity, unrequited crush.

...

Finch didn’t really understand blood ties. The concept of owing something to your biological family the way some of the other boys seemed to.

He didn’t understand why Albert, Elmer, and Buttons kept going back to their families even though all three of them always came back tired and usually a bit ticked off at best, genuinely upset at worst.

But then again, Finch didn’t remember his family beyond his father’s fists and his mother’s voice yelling at him. He’d run away when he was 6 and never looked back, and now he only thought of them when he was working through a nightmare or an old scar twinged in the cold weather.

The newsies weren’t exactly a family, he guessed, considering most of them weren’t blood, but they were like one. Better than most families, in some ways, with how Jack and Crutchie took care of the others and though sometimes jokes were at friends’ expense, it was never in a mean way. They were ride or die for each other.

Maybe that was what a family was supposed to be, but Finch knew he’d never seen blood family that was like that. He sure knew that the only people he was ride or die for were the ones he’d chosen.

He really hated seeing the people he’d chosen hurting. Especially when it was because of their so called ‘families.’

He hated seeing when Elmer came back from his parents’ house reserved and quiet, acting surprised when his friends actually paid attention to him, and he hated how exhausted Buttons always was, practically falling asleep on his feet.

But most of all, he hated how defensive and angry Albert always was when he came home from his dad’s house. How he acted for a good couple days afterwards, like any emotion other than anger was weakness.

This morning seemed to be an especially bad day, and everyone could see it. Even Wiesel and the Delanceys wisely avoided antagonizing him too much, knowing by the look in his eyes how bad of an idea it would be to mess with him today. The other newsies were giving him space, and honestly, the fact that they were letting him on the streets today at all was a little questionable.

Finch knew Albert. He knew how that boy’s words could be just as dangerous as his fists, and could get him into more trouble. It was useful sometimes, Albert’s uncanny ability to say exactly the right thing to start a fight. It was good for causing distractions if they were running from someone or to divert away from a topic he or a friend didn’t want to talk about. Finch actually was impressed with how he could always do that without fail.

But he really didn’t feel like helping his friend escape the Refuge again. Not today.

So, after a morning of watching him seethe with anger over... something involving his dad and brothers, Finch pulled him aside in an alley, putting his papes down on a crate and blocking the way out to keep Albert from leaving.

“What’s wrong?”

“What do ya mean ‘what’s wrong?’ Nothin’s wrong. I’m fine.”

Albert tried to shove past him, clearly getting more annoyed when he didn’t let him.

“Move.”

“No,” Finch crossed his arms, “Not till you tell me what’s wrong.”

“We’re gonna miss the mornin’ rush cause you’s seein’ things,” Albert urged, trying to escape again, “Nothin’s wrong, Finch. Move.”

“No.”

“Move!”

“No.”

“Just cause you’s sweet on me don’t mean you gotta care ‘bout my problems,” Albert hissed.

Well, that was... unexpected.

Finch still didn’t know how Albert had even found out about his crush—he hadn’t bothered to ask how—but since that time a month ago where Al tried to kiss him and Finch made it clear that he wouldn’t settle for being his rebound guy, they hadn’t spoken of anything involving that. He was pretty sure Albert had been being his friend as a way to make that incident’s thoughtlessness up to him, but neither of them had actually acknowledged that conversation happened.

Bringing it up now was a dick move. Especially considering Finch could tell Albert was still hurting over Race, because he was still in love with him, because of course he was because Finch’s luck was shit.

Well, at least it looked like it was dawning on Albert—albeit slowly—how much of a dick move that was.

“I shouldn’ta said that. Sorry. Still, move.”

Finch let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and shook his head, “No.”

“Please?”

He was a little surprised to hear him say that, but he still refused to move.

“No,” he insisted. “No, cause I know what you’re gonna do if I let ya leave this alley without talkin’. You’ll just bottle it up like ya always do, and then eventually you’ll snap on somebody and pretend you’re mad when you’re actually scared or sad. And besides the fact that you can’t last like that—it ain’t healthy—that ain’t fair to the others and I’d rather it be me you yell at than one of them.”

Albert scoffed, “I do not bottle—“

“Yes, you do,” Finch interrupted, “And it used to be Race who made ya let it out before ya snapped on someone who couldn’t handle it, but you and him don’t talk no more lately for obvious reasons, so I guess it’s gotta be me.”

It hurt that Albert didn’t trust him enough to talk the way everyone knew he used to with Race, but Finch didn’t let it show. He knew firsthand how secrets could burn holes in you. He himself confided in Henry, Tommy Boy, and Sniper when he needed someone to talk to. And he would like to be able to confide in Albert someday, but...

Trust went both ways. Admittedly, he had trouble with trust some days, so maybe it wasn’t fair that he was asking Albert to trust him.

Maybe he needed to give a little to show it was okay.

“Look, I... I know what it’s like to get hurt by somebody who’s supposed to care ‘bout you,” he admitted, “My mom and pop weren’t exactly... they... I know what I went through ain’t the same as what’s goin’ on with you now, but I’m only gonna ask you one more time: what’s wrong?”

Albert was still staring him down like he thought he could get him to back out, but Finch did see a flicker of surprise at the little piece of his past he’d confessed.

Nobody in Manhattan knew his past. He’d made sure he left all that behind in Flushing. He was sure plenty of the fellas—Albert included—had guessed the general idea, but no matter how bad the nightmares got some times of the year, Finch always tried to focus on just the right now’s problems.

He had that in common with Tommy Boy, Henry, and Sniper. Their ‘just the four of them’ talks always danced around what they were actually upset about, because openly talking about families or parents or home lives, past or present, was just too painful. That was why they gravitated to each other. Because they were the only ones who could figure out what the others meant by what they actually said. Sure, Jack took care of everybody, but he was too busy with taking care of the whole damn borough to have time to figure out their mind games. Crutchie was still trying, but he had duties as one of Manhattan’s seconds, too. Everybody else had either given up or didn’t care enough to try in the first place.

Albert knew all that. Or... he knew how much Finch was letting down his guard, openly telling him even that little.

He gave up on trying to make him back down and looked at the ground with an angry huff.

“It don’t matter, okay? Nothin’ Ben and John ain’t said to me before.”

“So it’s not a problem with your dad?” Finch asked, relieved. Sure, Albert’s brothers were technically adults, but they weren’t a big threat.

He scoffed, “No, of course not. Dad’d have to actually look at me to give me problems. Which he don’t. Practically ever. I remind him too much of Mom, as if that’s my fuckin’ fault.”

The anger in his voice was dripping with sadness, and it broke Finch’s heart. Albert didn’t deserve that.

But that was more of a long-term problem. Right now, it wasn’t what he was most upset about.

“So... Ben and John?”

“Oh, yeah,” Albert said sarcastically, “Y’know, they both had their first sweethearts by the time they was my age, so it’s hilarious to dump on how Albert’s gonna die alone. John’s gonna marry Thea, so it’s a great time to laugh ‘bout me not havin’ anyone to bring to the wedding like how Ben’s got Elizabeth. And it’s all in good fun, so I’m too goddamn defensive for gettin’ mad about it! Yeah, I’m the irrational one despite how I ain’t the one who started it!”

If he was this upset about a few little jabs from his brothers, that meant it wasn’t actually about them at all, and Finch probably should have tried to make him talk before now.

If the heartbreak he was trying to hide by keeping his face turned to the dirt was any indication, this was about Race. And that stung a bit, but it was clearly still burning at Albert.

Finch could deal with his own unreturned feelings. Sure, it hurt, but it was nothing he hadn’t been feeling for months. And he’d gotten rejected before, so it wasn’t anything new.

But Albert had never felt this before. He was volatile and emotional and he didn’t know how to express it any way but with anger because that was how he’d been raised. To his credit, he’d tried to push the others away, knowing his own tendency to lash out, but Finch hadn’t let him push him away.

Finch prided himself on his ability to read people, so he could tell exactly how gone Albert had been over Race. He could tell how much that was hurting him now, how much it was tearing him apart, and...

And Albert was crying.

“Al—“

“Shut up,” Albert snapped, even though his voice trembled.

Three years since he’d come to Manhattan. Finch had seen most of his friends cry in that time, but not Albert.

Admittedly... he wasn’t sure what to do. The others usually gave him a sign whether to leave them alone or try to comfort them, but the thing about Albert was that he craved affection but would never be caught dead admitting it. He hated letting anyone see him as anything other as unshakable even if he was on the verge of collapse.

They were just standing there in that alleyway, a couple feet apart, Albert staring hard at the ground as his shoulders shook and tears dripped off his face and Finch frozen, no clue what to do.

“Al,” he said hesitantly, “It’s okay to cry.”

“No. It ain’t right for a boy.”

“Really?” Finch risked taking a step closer, reaching out a hand slowly.

Albert clearly saw him, but didn’t back away or stop him, allowing Finch put a comforting hand on his arm.

“That ain’t what you told me,” he pointed out, “That time when I woke ya up with a nightmare. You just hugged me till I could breathe again.”

“That was different,” Albert shot back, finally looking back up to look him in the eyes, “You was hurtin’.”

“And you’re not hurtin’ now? Al, look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not breakin’ up inside.”

He didn’t. Or... couldn’t.

“Albert,” Finch said quietly, “You don’t have to hide your tears from me.”

He still looked like he wanted to hide them, but instead, he leaned forward, kind of head-butting Finch in the shoulder except he left his face there, his tears soaking through the fabric.

Finch would be lying if he said that his heart didn’t skip a beat at the contact but he shook it off, focusing on how that was a pretty clear signal that this was okay.

“It’s okay, Al,” Finch whispered, wrapping his arms around him.

He didn’t say that it would get better or that Albert would find someone else who’d love him back. He knew that saying those things didn’t make heartbreak any better.

Just being there, being a friend, being a shoulder to cry on, was better for now.

[misc-headcanons]

Hi ! Glad to see you're open. May I request a sweet NSFW scenario of Katakuri and a female S/O( who is smaller, but not normal sized)? Thank you, and good luck with the rest of your requests !!

Katakuri/F!Reader: Appreciation

(NS.FW below!)

    When Katakuri had been told by his mother that his bride-to-be was taller than the average human, he’d felt a small sense of relief--well, as much relief as you can feel when you’re being put into an arranged marriage. He had always wondered how he would be able to give Big Mom the grandchildren she desired with any wife that wasn’t a full-blown Giant or a member of the Long Neck or Long Art tribes, but he had been wary when he was told that his fiancee was a human.

    After he had met his current wife though, any wariness or worry had seemingly disappeared. ____was certainly tall for a human, but she was still a few feet shorter than him. In order to enjoy their wedding kiss, she had only needed to stand on the tip of her toes for his lips to reach hers. He had been worried about frightening her with his true appearance, but once again she had managed to surprise him once again when he’d found the courage to take off his scarf in front of her for the first time; she looked up at his fangs with awe and her only real question wasn’t how he’d gotten his scars or why he was the only one of his brothers to have fangs...Instead, she’d simply asked in an inquisitive tone whether or not he tended to accidentally bite his tongue whenever he ate. Kata had been taken so off-guard that he was actually speechless for a moment before answering that no, he had plenty of years of experience using his teeth and rarely ever bit his tongue. 

Her reaction had left an odd feeling in his chest, and it was one that would reappear whenever he saw her face or heard her speak. It left him feeling very...light. As if he was one of the fluffy pink clouds on Candy Island, where just one glimpse of her would leave him feeling like he was floating above the ground. He wasn’t used to someone being so genuinely kind towards him, except for Brulee. Still, ____ stirred different feelings within him...the kind that he was used to either suppressing because he had more important things to attend do, or that he'd hastily get rid of with his hand when he knew he wouldn't be interrupted. He'd only ever had her in his bed, and he still blushed whenever he thought of their wedding night. 

They had only had sex a few times after that, since Katakuri's schedule as a Sweet Commander left little time to enjoy time to himself--and his wife--outside of his Meriendas. He soon realized that he was a glutton for things sweeter and more indulgent than donuts, and ____ was always eager to join him during his afternoon retreats; the guards around Flour Island were used to seeing Katakuri carrying his bride in his arms to his mochi shrine, with her giggling excitedly and leaving a few kisses along his arms and chest while he nuzzled her neck in return. It was strange to see Commander Katakuri, a man so stoic and steely, being so affectionate with his wife as if they were a pair of lovestruck teenagers. But to ____, this was what Kata was really like; he may be intimidating to the rest of the world, with a face as terrifying as his power, but around her he was as soft and sweet as a teddy bear--and as delicious as the donuts that left his lips with a sugary aftertaste whenever she kissed him.

When he entered the cozy home he shared with ____, his stress from a full day of work melted away the moment he saw her sitting on a chair in the living room, enjoying a book. She glanced up and saw Kata, and she immediately marked her page before hopping off of her set to greet her husband in a hug; when he responded by lifting her off of the floor to return her affection, she let out a small laugh as her feet dangled in the air. “Welcome home,” she said sweetly. “How has your day been so far?”

Kata carried her back to the large couch and eased into the plush seat with a small sigh, and ____ took a seat in his lap. “Long,” he replied. “Pudding’s wedding is still being planned, and with that comes the planning of procuring ingredients for the cake that Mama wants. Cracker, Smoothie, and I just now finished mapping the route our forces will take to ensure we receive supplies from the newest set of territories that were conquered a few months ago.” As he talked, he started to absentmindedly press lightly against ____’s waist and hips--it was a habit he had developed ever since they had married, and he tended to do it more often when he was stressed after a long day of work. 

____ reached up and gently tugged on Kata’s scarf, and he let it fall to the ground next to them now that he was alone with her. One of her hands moved to rest on his thigh, and she mimicked his habit by gently massaging his upper leg. “You sound tired,” she remarked, looking up at her husband’s face. “And even though you’re still as handsome as ever, you look tired too.”

Kata shifted in his seat and had to fight the urge to look away from her; even now, he was still so unused to hearing compliments about his appearance. It left him so bashful that he still struggled to make eye contact with her whenever she did it, even in passing. “I’m...I am fine,” he replied. He had endured longer days of work than this, and he hated feeling tired or drained--especially in front of others. He was the iron wall of Tottland, the one that everyone could rely on. There were rumors that he didn’t even get tired, and when he did he always slept straight on his back so nobody could surprise him. ____ didn’t put much stock into rumors, but she knew for a fact that this one wasn’t true. She pursed her lips a bit at his attempt to hide any “weakness” in front of her, and then a slow smile spread across her face when an idea took root in her head.

____ turned around so that she was facing Katakuri now, and she moved her hand up to gently press against his chest. “You’ve been working harder than usual lately,” she noted, her tone sweet but with a suggestive lilt to it. “I think you deserve a little appreciation.”

Kata cocked his head slightly. “...’Appreciation’?” He was already the highest-ranked pirate in the kingdom aside from Big Mom herself, so even if he wanted to, he couldn't really receive any kind of promotion. Oh, perhaps ____ meant a second Merienda; normally he only enjoyed an additional Merienda on his birthday, but he wouldn't object to it after a long day like this one. His Observation Haki clued him in to what she really meant, and his eyes widened a bit as he saw a glimpse of the future in his mind's eye. "...Oh."

His vision came true a second later when ____ dragged the fingers of her left hand along his chest, all the way down to his belt buckle. She leaned forward and kissed the shell of Katakuri's ear, and smiled against his skin when she heard him shiver. When she pulled away, she saw the pink flush to her husband's cheeks and felt his chest heave slightly underneath her right hand. She moved her right hand up to caress his cheek. "You're so cute when you look up at me like that, Kata," she cooed. "All flustered from a few kisses and touches…" 

He placed one shaky hand on top of hers and turned his head to kiss the inside of her hand, he used his other hand to unclasp his belt buckle. She had barely touched him, but he could already feel his pants becoming unbearably tight. He was normally so guarded, so strong and commanding, but he knew that when they were together, he could let his walls down and simply be with her. "You...Don't feel obligated to do this," he replied, biting his lip as he felt her gently rock her hips against him. He always felt guilty whenever she sacrificed her own pleasure for his, whether it was her insisting she'd be fine on her own when he left on voyages for weeks at a time or being so understanding when he had to leave her to attend to his mother's wishes. "I can--"

"Kata," ____ chided gently, moving past his hand to slip his belt off of his waist and curl two fingers around the zipper on his trousers. "I know I don't have to do this." She pursed her lips. "The same way you don't have to be the strongest man in the world all the time." She smirked and used both hands to shimmy his pants further down his legs, biting the inside of her cheek when she saw the tent in his underwear spring out from the black leather that it had been straining against until now. "And besides, I don't need to do this, I want to do this." She slowly made her way off of the couch and onto her knees in a position that was comfortable, and then leaned down to kiss his clothed cock. "I want you." 

Kata bucked his hips forward slightly as he felt ____'s lips touch his member through the thin cloth. "I want you too," he sighed, his fists clenching when she moved to gently tug at the waistline of his underwear, leaving a series of light kisses to his cock until finally releasing his erection and watching it spring out of his trousers. A few thin beads of precum slid down the shaft, and ____ licked her dry lips before bending down to kiss him again on the tip. Kata's eyes rolled back slightly and he let out a soft groan as he finally felt the tip of her velvety tongue brush and flick his sensitive head in between every feather-light kiss from her lips.

____ felt her own arousal beginning to form a comfortably warm and wet slick in between her thighs, and she moved one hand down to play with her clitoris while using the other to gently grasp the base of Katakuri's cock. The two of them moaned in unison, and ____ began to bob her head up and down his sizeable length. She continued to moan, sigh, and practically sing as she played with herself and tasted him; the vibrations from her mouth wrapped around his length left Katakuri reeling, and he began to move his hips in time with her mouth. He couldn't remember why he'd felt so worn-out and stressed earlier. Hell, he could barely string a sentence together as the pleasure and warmth built up and bubbled inside of him. Before he knew it, his gloved hands had moved to cradle the back of her head, guiding her along at the pace he desired. 

____ pulled away for a few seconds to get some air, and the sight of her lips shining with his precum made his cock twitch at the tip. Not wanting to neglect him completely while she took a short break, she continued to stroke him at a slightly faster pace than before. "How close are you, honey?" She let out a breathy laugh and quickened her pace again, relishing in the slicking sound of her hand running up and down his shaft. "From how tightly you were gripping my hair just now, I bet you're right on the edge…"

Kata felt a slight bit of shame and he immediately released the fistfuls of her hair from between his fingers. "I'm s-sorry, love," he murmured. He hadn't meant to hurt her.

____ smiled again and her eyes fluttered a bit as her other hand repeatedly brushed over a particularly sensitive section of her walls. "Ah--No need to apologize, Kata," she replied sweetly. "I love feeling you tugging on my hair like that…" She bit her lip and her smile widened; Katakuri was always easy to tease, but he was absolutely adorable whenever she talked dirty while they were together. "I like knowing just how good I make you feel…" She moved her head up a bit to lick and kiss the underside of his member, and she felt his grip on her hair tighten again. "And I love your cock so, so much~"

Katakuri inhaled sharply and involuntarily thrust his hips forward, accidentally shoving himself all the way inside of her for the first time. He immediately tried to move back and apologize for surprising (and potentially hurting) her, but she let out a lewd muffled moan as she squeezed Kata's thigh with one hand and feverishly drilled against her clit with the other.

The pressure inside of Kata coiled and he gave into his desires completely, losing all sense of restraint as he thrust into her at a feverish pace. "Aaah, I love you," he growled, repeating those three words over and over until finally gasping as the knot of pleasure inside of him reached his peak. He murmured her name softly as he felt his cock filling her mouth completely with his seed. A bit of drool fell down his chin as he panted with parted lips, hips still bucking and cock still twitching slightly as he rode out his climax.

____, just now coming down from her own high, moaned once more when she felt a trickle of Katakuri's cum on her lips. She swallowed the rest of his seed, relishing in the warmth as it slid down her throat and added to the wonderful feeling of fullness in her core. Once she felt she could stand, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and climbed up onto the couch to rest in her beloved's lap and rest her head against the crook of his neck in a loving embrace. "I love you too, dear," she sighed, placing a kiss along his jawline. Kata's cock twitched once again from the kiss, and he let out another soft moan. ____'s cheeks felt even warmer, and she smiled sheepishly; she knew how overstimulated Kata could get, and his jawline was one of his most sensitive areas. "Ah, sorry."

He managed to place a slightly trembling arm around her waist and pulled her closer to kiss her neck in return. "Don't be," he murmured, his eyes half-lidded as he gently brushed his lips and fangs against her skin. "Th-thank you for helping me relax, love." He sighed contentedly and put his other arm around her back to cradle her against him. "I know I say it often when we're together, but...I love you."

____ tilted her neck to let his mouth reach more of her as she smiled with closed eyes and gently drew circles against his skin while he did the same with the fingers around her waist. "Love you too, darling," she murmured. It was the last thing said out loud before the two of them fell asleep, their minds hazy and comfortably light as they held one another. 

[mementomori-demimonde]

Hidden Scars

Four Lines: Day 1 - Day 31

Chapter 1

You turn off the pan and put it aside when you hear her padding in the corridor. Humming to herself like she usually does after a satisfying day, she walks into the kitchen where you are, barely acknowledging your presence. It’s a game you know far too well to get bothered by that behavior.

Your first instinct would’ve been to ask her what has she been up to, outside, but after the last time, where she persuaded to stop asking questions with a not-too-gentle training session off the clock, knocking the curiosity out of your by force, you just bite your tongue and keep chopping the vegetables.

There are times when she returns home with dried blood under her nails, others, which happen more frequently, she’s so bruised up she can barely walk. Your mind often drifts on all the possible scenarios: fights, gun battles, homicides of all sorts, and you’re feeling scared, your stomach turning into a tight knot, yet you can’t discern if you’re more scared about her life, her nature, what she’s actually capable of, or the fact that she could go out, one day, and never come back.

Not that much has changed from when she gave you the last of the four lines on your left shoulder, forever making you hers with her initial carved in your flesh:  Miranda kisses you, lets you kiss her in return; Miranda takes you whenever she’s in the mood, and she lets you lay beneath her when she needs to get herself off after a particularly stressful day. She plays with you and you let her. The rules of that game haven’t been discussed, she is a player as well as the moderator, she sets the limits and breaks them whenever she wants; but still, it’s fresh, it thrilling, it’s what gives color to your otherwise grey life confined in that apartment. You wait for her to return home when she’s out, and buzz around her when she’s home, wondering when she’ll play with you again. In the night, rather than wonder if she’ll ever get bored of you, you often wonder when. While you wait and push the denigrating, useless thoughts in the back of your mind, you take whatever she wants to give you, well aware that anything is better than nothing at all.

When you feel her presence behind you, you do nothing to prevent your eyelids from fluttering close. The spicy scent of the cooked food gets soon replaced with the sweet one of her shampoo and soap and you inhale greedily, the grip getting loose around the handle of the chopping knife.

Miranda is silent when she breathes against the column of your neck, sharp teeth scratching lightly at your jaw. One arm loops around your waist, knocking almost all the wind out of you, the other, flushed against your side; her hand trails down steadily against your half-bare thigh, fingers tapping rhythmically against your skin, then creeping under the hem of the oversized shirt you’re wearing.

You still and force your eyes to open, focusing on the thin thread of smoke coming from the pan. Struggling to detach your mind enough from her touch to prevent your body from shivering, you can’t help the smirk blooming on your lips when you feel her stroking upward, palming the inside of your thigh, and dwelling on the black string fastened high on your leg. It’s not the first one she gave you, which was plain and practical, this one - also a gift - is thicker, just as efficient despite being made of a far cuter lace.

You shift impatiently when her nail scratches on the length of it, moving around, searching, relentless.

“Where’s your knife?” She hisses against your neck, looping her fingers inside the strap, and she pulls at it roughly, using the leverage to nudge your legs apart.

You hardly contain a whimper when she claws at the soft flesh under her hand, dangerously close to the apex of your thigh, but not close enough to make any damage.

“You’re disobeying me?” She nibbles at the shell of your ear, but her teeth prick this time. “I think I told you to wear it always.” She reminds you, lolling her head backward so her teeth tug, and tug until your skin stings with pain.

“I have it.” You reply then through a wheeze. You can feel her smile against your neck. “I have it here.” You add, softer, unfolding the fingers of your dominant hand to reveal the shiny, tear-shaped knife, ready to be used.

You don’t actually need to look at her to know that her eyes are sparkling with the familiar glim of upcoming violence that doesn’t scare you anymore.

Your blows are not messy like they were a few weeks ago, you’ve learned to angle your wrist and arm, you know exactly where and how to strike. There are times when you wonder whether Miranda lets you get this close to her face or a part of her body or if your skills have actually improved.

She hisses, a playful grin widening on her lips when she studies her arm, the torn sleeve, and, with more interest, the thin red line appearing on her freckled skin.

It’s a superficial cut, merely a scratch, but you contemplate the idea of begging for forgiveness before swallowing the words, your own mouth curving into a satisfied smirk when she lets out a breathy chuckle.

“I’m getting good at this.” You state boldly, your tongue stroking the edge of your teeth as you grip even firmer the knife in your hand.

“Oh, don’t be smug.” Miranda replies, and despite the grin curving her lips, you gasp at the feral sparkle behind her eyes.

When she launches forward, you immediately realize your mistake and regret your inability to shut up. Yes, a couple of months ago that same inability gave you the chance to make her mask drop and crack open the outer shell - in all honesty, if you hadn’t talked, you think that whatever you’re doing would’ve never happened in the first place - but right now, your big mouth will only give you some nasty bruises that are probably going to last for days.

You only back away a few steps before the counter presses in the small of your back. You drop your knife, hitting away her fists with some of the moves you’ve learned, but that, too, doesn't last long.

Seemingly getting bored - or frustrated - after a couple of deftly averted shots, her knees hit your square in your abdomen. The piercing pain knocks the wind out of you, but you don’t have the time to double over, cradling the offending spot in your arms, before you feel her hand grabbing a fist full of hair, pulling at your scalp with viciousness.

“You're getting good.” She confirms with a snarl, deaf to your protests, and you grip at the edge of the counted when she pulls you near the induction hobs. “But not good enough, yet.”

You close your eyes when she draws your face near one of the hot surfaces - you’ve turned it off, but it’s still scalding, and you can feel the heat lap at your cheek.

You try to resist her when she pushes, and you’re aware she could push harder, easily making your cheek burn, but she simply doesn’t.

You can hear the tip of your hair sizzling against the scalding plate, and the smell of burnt is foul, it makes you cough and struggle even more when you fight the soreness that is settling in your neck.

“Sorry!” You mumble hurriedly, almost fearing that the littles movement can bring you closer to the searing pain she threatens to give you. “I’m sorry!”

“No, you’re not.” She replies, tugging you flushed to her chest and away from the cookware.

When she spins you around, her palm is cool against your cheek, but hardly soothing. When she kisses you, it’s all teeth clashing together, fighting for a predominance you’ve already granted. When she palms you through the shirt, scattering backward only makes her rougher. And you grip at the counter edge at either side of your waist when she presses the small of your back into it, pinning between the hard surface and herself.

“And you shouldn’t be.”

Instinctively, you try to squirm away, lift yourself on your toes, but she follows, tugging at your lip with her teeth until a taste of copper pricks the tip of your tongue.

Miranda laughs at your struggle to contain pitiful whimpers when she twists your nipple between her fingers unexpectedly, and her other hand hurriedly groups the shirt up, fingers sliding between your bodies to cup your mound through the thin cotton of your underwear.

You kiss her back with fervor, chasing her hand with your hips, muffling your moans into her mouth when she presses harder, and moves faster, rubbing the damp fabric against your skin, spreading the growing arousal, making you wince in both discomfort and pleasure.

One of your hands keeps on gripping to the edge of the counter for leverage, the other flares up to fist at the back of her shirt when you feel the familiar heat coiling low into the pit of your loins.

“This is because you’ve been good.” She whispers against your mouth, hot, labored breath fanning your parted lips. Her fingers edge to your core, pushing the scratchy fabric in, for a moment, making you hiss.

“Miranda-” You whimper, not sure if you want to tell her to stop or be merciful and properly touch you so you can have some blissful relief.

“And this,” she says, teeth grazing at the shell of your ear, “is because you got me.” She pecks a single kiss on your cheek, then pulls away altogether, leaving you panting and unsated.

“Fuck-” You growl biting more foul words back and heavily falling down on your feet, knees weak and you lean more on the counter behind you.

The woman smirks at you, clearly satisfied. She nibs at the tip of the fingers that have been between your thighs, her grimace swinging from a fake alienation from the facts and a mischievous admittance of her guilts.

“Let’s eat now.” She says, perching herself on her stool, face gracefully propped on the palms of her hands, elbows on the table.

You shake your head, a meek grin poorly hidden behind your gaped mouth.

You eat in silence, she dries the dishes after you’ve washed them, putting each back herself because she likes her own disposition, which you still can’t manage to figure out precisely - or so she claims, but at some point, you knew she just wanted to mess with you.

It's late in the evening when Miranda makes you drink a mix of alcohol and some bitter solution she adds - every couple of days one drop more - a little something to prepare your body makes it go numb in case... something happens. She doesn’t tell you in case of what, of course. The first few times it got you terribly sick, but then your body grew accustomed to it, much to her satisfaction - or relief, you’re still unsure.

Feigning reading your book at the feet of the couch, you watch her working on her laptop for hours. You stare at the scrunch of her nose when she focuses on something, at how she pushes back her glasses when the frame slides dangerously close to the tip of her nose, how she grunts and smiles and taps her fingers on the keyboard with no apparent rhythm.

When she’s done, you follow her for a moment, before dropping your gaze to the book in your lap, hardly paying any attention to it, your whole body alert and set on Miranda and what she's doing.

You hear her walking around the apartment, getting ready for bed - you hear the water running in the bathroom, the rustle of clothes when she changes into her tank top and shorts to sleep.

When she comes back, you pretend to read. It’s the same damn sentence for the fourth time or so.

Miranda’s presence is heavy behind you, almost vibrating in the room. You feel the cushions on the couch bend under her weight, and when her cool hand wraps around your neck, you obediently tilt your head up, blinking at her upside-down face. She smells of minty toothpaste and lotion.

Before you can even control your mind, restraining one of the too many things you’d like to say, and ask - but never say nor ask - your mouth has moved of its own volition.

“Join me to bed?” You mumble, your voice barely above a whisper.

You watch her expression twitch, you hope for it to shift, but it doesn’t: Miranda smirks at you, shakes her head slightly.

“Don’t be clingy.” She admonishes, pressing her mouth to yours, nails digging for a moment into the tender flesh of your throat. She kisses you softly this time, then she’s gone. “Don’t stay up too late.” She warns.

You nod in agreement, but she doesn’t see you, already walking into her room.

You wish her goodnight, but she doesn’t heart you, already too distant from you.

The tip of your tongue runs across your lips to taste what’s left of her.

[ibijau]

Deathbed Wedding - Epilogue

During a conference in Qinghe, Nie Huaisang and Wen Chao meet again (also on AO3)

and a big thanks to everyone who read, liked, or reblogged this <3

Wen Chao had only been allowed to come to that discussion conference in the Unclean Realm so he could present proper apologies for that accident a few months ago. He had done so when Nie Mingjue had welcomed them, albeit he'd been rather reluctant and insincere, since he still couldn't see how any of that was supposed to be his fault. He wouldn't have apologised at all if his father had firmly ordered him to behave, lest he be sent to meditate on a mountain for the next ten years. Wen Ruohan had looked like he meant it. Apparently the other sects were not at all happy with Qishan Wen, just because their kids were a little useless and couldn’t handle a decent Night Hunt.

Even after being warned like that, Wen Chao had escaped as soon as he'd been able to. Mostly because it was so uncomfortable to be in the same room as Nie Mingjue, and have to bear with his furious gaze, but also because conferences were so boring. He had easily found a equally bored teenagers willing to listen to him and his tales of glorious Night Hunts. They were either too young or too unimportant to have ever been invited by him before, which annoyed him. But since his usual crowd now ignored him and preferred to pay attention to the conference itself rather than to hang out with him, those people would have to do. 

After all, they were all suitably impressed when he started describing the Xuanwu of Slaughter.

“Is it true that someone died?” one boy asked in a trembling voice, the youngest of his audience.

Wen Chao grimaced at the question. The two deaths of Qishan Wen disciples had been hidden fairly well, the families paid well to never bring it up again. Sadly a boy from another sect had perished as well. The sect in question was small enough that they didn’t dare complain too loudly, but they were close to Yunmeng Jiang and apparently had complained to them. Such things couldn’t be completely silenced, and it annoyed Wen Chao that people pestered him about that.

Before he could think of something to answer, a voice rang next to them.

“Several people died, and many more were wounded. It’s dangerous to seek glory alongside Wen gongzi.”

Recognising the voice, Wen Chao gritted his teeth and turned around to greet Nie Huaisang, while the other boys with him gasped upon seeing the second master of Qinghe Nie.

It shocked Wen Chao to see him. They hadn’t met since that accident. In fact, Nie Huaisang hadn’t been there to welcome guests to the conference earlier, just as he had been notably absent from all major events from the past half year. Wen Chao had just been annoyed he would have to give a second apology later when he'd meet him, and hadn’t wondered much at that absence.

Seeing Nie Huaisang, he understood why he might not have wanted to show himself in public. Scars were always a little unusual on cultivators. Anyone with a decent cultivation level would see most wounds heal without a trace. That made it particularly impressive to look at Nie Huaisang’s marked face, the right side of which was covered by a deep scar from forehead to chin, with a black eyepatch in the middle. The clothes he wore covered his skin perfectly, but Wen Chao had seen him be grabed and crushed by the fake Xuanwu, and he could guess that there had to be worse marks yet on the rest of his body. The idea of such scars made him shiver in disgust.

Still, Wen Chao quickly recovered from the shock and smirked.

“Nie gongzi, can you really complain when it’s my Night Hunt that got the husband of your dreams?”

“I can complain and I will,” Nie Huaisang retorted, glaring at the other young man with more heat than he used to allow himself. Now that he didn't need Wen Chao's Night Hunts, he wasn't bothering being nice anymore. How ungrateful. "Wen gongzi, if anyone is stupid enough to follow you after what happened, that's their problem. At the same time, I won't have you recruiting kids for Night Hunts in my own home, not when there's no knowing how many of them will return next time." 

Wen Chao shrugged, unconcerned. That reaction only sparked Nie Huaisang's anger who impulsively started rolling up his right sleeve to reveal his naked arm, marked by yet more scars starting at the elbow and above, and showed it to the boys. 

"That's what happens on Night Hunts with Nie gongzi," Nie Huaisang announced coldly. "And if you think I was unlucky or clumsy, I can tell you about the extremely skilled young masters who were wounded. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji nearly lost their lives, and their talent can't be doubted. Even the three boys I had to watch die where very competent. Still they died, all because Wen gongzi didn't even know what sort of a monster he was making us hunt." 

The other boys gasped in horror and admiration. In an instant they all left Wen Chao's side to crowd Nie Huaisang and ask him questions about his wounds. Having somehow not anticipated that turn of events, Nie Huaisang looked very awkward for a moment. Not so awkward that he couldn’t glare at Wen Chao in warning though, and Wen Chao, with uncharacteristic wisdom, took it as his chance to leave. The second master of Qinghe did not scare him in the least, he told himself. But to anger him was to make an enemy of his terrifying older brother as well, and Wen Chao wasn't stupid enough to want to make an enemy out of Nie Mingjue.

-

While Wen Chao scampered away to safety, Nie Huaisang tried to handle the group of very enthusiastic juniors hounding him. They all wanted to hear more details about that dreadful Night Hunt, and wanted to know how he had survived. Above all, they wanted to have a better look at his scars, and to see how far they extended.

Nie Huaisang tried to answer the questions to the best of his capacities, while ignoring the morbid requests to see his scars, which he was still uncomfortable about. Some days, he couldn’t bear to let even Lan Xichen look at them. Only a very great cultivator who'd have fought the strongest of enemies would have scars, or those so weak even good medicine couldn't help them. Nie Huaisang knew in which category he belonged.

Even just the questions were quickly exhausting him though. This much time had already passed, but he was still recovering from what had happened, and he tired easily. Aside from those closest to him, he had mostly kept away from people during those last few months. His brother had even granted him permission to stay away from the conference, but when he had happened to pass by and he had seen Wen Chao with these other boys, he’d had to intervene.

Even if Wen Chao hadn’t meant for this to happen, it had happened anyway, and Nie Huaisang wasn’t a forgiving person.

“Could we see the talismans Wen gongzi said you used?” one boy asked, the one who had been most insistent about Nie Huaisang’s scars. “Could you give me one to copy?”

“Those are dangerous,” Nie Huaisang snapped, feeling a headache coming. “Did you listen to what I said about how dangerous they are? Do you want to end up with a face like that as well?”

“But I’d be careful! Nie gongzi, please show us!”

Suddenly, Nie Huaisang felt very sorry for the way he’d pestered everyone in Qinghe Nie after being told he needed to improve his cultivation. If he had been even half as annoying about it, then it was a miracle that his brother hadn’t strangled him just to shut him up.

“It’s a Nie technique,” Lan Xichen calmly said behind them. “And so it would of course be impossible to teach it to strangers. In fact, to ask at all could be seen as rather rude.”

Nie Huaisang, who was feeling the early sign of a terrible headache push against his skill, smiled upon seeing his husband nearby, and felt himself relax instantly. Without being asked to, Lan Xichen came to stand next to him and wrapped one arm around his shoulders to pull him closer, then turned his attention back to the assembled boys.

“I understand these conferences might not seem very interesting to you at your age, but they are important nonetheless,” Lan Xichen gently scolded, never losing his smile. “You came here with your parents or your sect leaders because they judged you were mature enough to learn something from it. You should repay that trust by staying with them and being attentive to what is happening, instead of escaping and looking for easy amusement.”

Even though none of them knew him, the boys all looked as stricken as if they had disappointed their own elder brother. They mumbled some apologies to Lan Xichen, thanked Nie Huaisang for chatting with them, and returned to the hall where the conference was happening.

As soon as they were alone, Nie Huaisang sighed heavily and leaned a little harder against his husband’s side.

“Thanks for rescuing me, Xichen.”

“You looked like you needed it,” Lan Xichen remarked, pulling him a little closer. “I thought you were just taking some papers to Meng Yao, what happened?”

“Wen Chao,” Nie Huaisang grumbled. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He sighed again. Then, struck by an idea, he pouted as pathetically as he could. “I’m really so tired now though. Impossibly tired, and I have an awful headache. Husband, you should carry me home, I don’t think I can take another step even if I tried.”

Lan Xichen laughed, and gently squeezed his shoulder.

“Can’t you now? How tragic. I really shall have to carry you then.”

Before Nie Huaisang could tease and whine some more, two strong arms lifted him up and he found himself carried against his husband’s chest. A blush crept fast on his face, and he gasped in surprise.

“Xichen, I was just joking!” he complained weakly, grasping at his husband's collar. “You can’t do that, someone will see.”

“Then let them see," Lan Xichen retorted, starting to walk toward their house. “I don’t mind at all.”

“I do. Save me some face, put me down. Isn’t Wei-xiong here today? If he sees us, he’ll never let me live it down. You know how awful he is when he starts teasing. And you’ve been helping da-ge all day, aren’t you tired? Put me down, Xichen-ge, I’m not so bad after all, I can walk.”

Instead of giving in to his demand, Lan Xichen held him tighter and dropped a quick kiss on his forehead.

“Wei Wuxian has no right to mock anyone,” he said. “Not with the way he makes Wangji spoil him. I swear, if Wei Wuxian looked at the moon a little too long, Wangji would fly up and bring it down for him as an engagement gift. Compared to that, I’m very reasonable, A-Sang.”

Hearing this, Nie Huaisang couldn’t help laughing weakly in spite of the pain starting to throb against his skull. His friends had come twice to the Unclean Realm in the past few months, mostly to escape the very intense negotiations between Qingheng-Jun and Yu Ziyuan regarding the matter of their engagement. It was true that Wei Wuxian was quite shameless, while Lan Wangji was completely whipped. They were very funny to watch, really. Nie Huaisang had always found their clumsy little romance quite entertaining when neither of them realised what was happening, but now they were even funnier.

“Still, you must be tired,” Nie Huaisang insisted, lazily nuzzling against his husband’s chest and closing his eye in hopes it would help his headache. “Is it really fine for you to be carrying me like this? Poor Xichen-ge, forced to do so much for his husband, how exhausting it must be! And all for a spoiled brat...”

“I really don’t mind,” Lan Xichen happily replied. “I have the best husband in the world, how could I resist spoiling him a little when he makes me so happy?”

Nie Huaisang made an embarrassed noise and hid his face into his hand. He was glad everyone was too busy with the conference to hear this, or he would have been mortified.

At the same time, it certainly was pleasant to hear Lan Xichen still insist that he was happy with him. Those last few months hadn’t been easy after all, not with how slow Nie Huaisang’s recovery had felt sometimes. The physicians who were following his progress were still not sure he would fully recover from some of the damage he had suffered, and his looks weren’t quite as good as they used to be, which was a pity. His pretty face had always been his bed weapon.

Still, Lan Xichen said often he wouldn’t have anyone else, and Nie Huaisang had no reason to think he was lying.

“I’m happy too,” he mumbled. “Xichen, I’m really happy.”

Lan Xichen hummed in answer, and pressed another kiss to his forehead. In spite of his headache, Nie Huaisang sighed contentedly. 

He’d had a hard time with a lot of things since that Night Hunt, but with the way things had turned out, he really couldn’t regret what he’d done. He wouldn’t say so out loud of course. Lan Xichen always looked so sad when reminded he almost lost his husband, and Nie Mingjue still wasn't done scolding him over what had happened. But Nie Huaisang knew that if he were given a second chance, he’d do everything exactly the same.

After all, he’d been rewarded well for his efforts. He’d gotten some glory for himself, while at the same time there was no way he’d ever have to go on a Night Hunt again, which suited him just fine… and of course, he had his husband now.

He didn’t even mind the few drawbacks he had to deal with, because Lan Xichen was there with him, through good days and bad ones alike.

Life really didn’t get much better than that.

[gyllousos]

Red

A/N: For the lovely @the-grimm-writer

Warnings: Blood, cutting, spanking, sadist, sex, toxic, dabi, hawks. 

Copyright @gyllousos 2021. All rights reserved.

Dabi dropped his eyes, gripping the cool metal and staring at the key like it was a goddamn drug.

He wanted it. He knew he would use it. He wanted to use it this second. As he looked down at the key, gold and sharp, sitting there in his palm, screaming louder than the voices dancing in his head, and just… Unlocking the door, Dabi stepped inside, sealing the door shut with the kick of his shoe. The house was dark and quiet, but he could smell mint hanging in the air like a delicious cologne. Even in the inky blackness he could see the various colors in the home that brought it alive.

It just felt different… Taking himself upstairs, Dabi strolled into the bathroom and showered, washing his hair and body to get rid of the smell of smoke and blood. To get the cigarettes off. To get clean.

Cleaner. Cleaner.

After he was clean, Dabi didn't bother putting on a shirt, just pants, his bare feet trekking towards a door left open at a pie wedge. She had been expecting him. That made him smile almost. He liked that idea. When he cracked her bedroom door open, he immediately spotted her body under a sheet on the bed. The shadows on the window danced across her form as she lay on her side, and he closed the door quietly, stepping up to the foot of her bed and watching her sleep.   Heat coursed through every inch of his body, seeing her there, looking so warm and peaceful.  

She was so small and gentle and delicate. But there was fire in there. He picked up the bottom of the sheet and pulled it softly from her body, seeing she was in a black, cotton crop top shirt, and sleeping shorts. Dabi stared at her. His territory. If anyone touched her like he touched those bastards, he'd kill them. Without pause. She let out a little whimper, taking in a deep breath.  

“Is that you?” She pulled her shirt down and propped herself up on an elbow, her head moving around the room.

“Yeah,” Dabi replied quietly. She followed his voice and smiled. One-handed, he undoes the clasp of his pants and slowly peels his boxers down like a magician. "Remove your clothes.” He tossed his pants across the room. He placed his knee on the edge of the bed, a cold smile decorating his features; his eyes came to hers as he placed a hand onto the bed. “Miss me?.”   “Yes,” Hannya said softly, peering up at Dabi from beneath her lashes. His hand came to her cheek as his thumb grazes over her lips.   “So beautiful, Kitten…” Her heart races. He comes down to her level and slowly kissing her collar bone, stepping back to take in her nakedness. His hand dipped beneath his waist as he palmed his cock and pumps, his eyes on her body. “All of it belongs to me, doesn’t it?”   Hannya swallowed, nodding her head.  

“Yes.”   His turquoise eyes darkening and he heads for the dresser, wrenching open the drawer. From it, he withdraws a length of black material. Hannya's mouth is already open when he yanks his belt free. Then he lashed out with the loose end.  

Crack!

The flat edge hits Hannya's knee in a fiery splash of pain. She couldn't even attempt to hold back a gasp. Hannya faced the bed on her hands and knees as he comes up behind her. Rough fingers seize the back of her long raven hair, the next blow struck her ass.   She saw white—he didn’t hold back. “You fall and I will make this worse for you,” he warns as her body sways, sweat beading over her skin. “Don't move.” He hits her again, this time growling out words with every blow.   “Admit it. You’re toying with me. Why? Do you enjoy it?”   Thwack!  

“Did you like mocking me?”

Crack! Crack!

“Answer me!” His next blow hits Hannya so hard that she taste blood. “N-no—” “Liar!” A string of curses cuts her off, followed by another hit to her back. “Maybe he planted you, huh?” Dabi growls.   “Another test. You are just like the rest. Selfish.” Thwack! “Reckless.” Thwack! Thwack! “Careless! I’ve always seen through you. Fuck him. Fuck you! Fuck! FUCK!" "Dabi—" He struck her shoulder and both arms gave way, pitching her facedown into the bed, her ass in the air. Hannya peered over her shoulder, wishing she had kept her eyes shut. Her pupils caught a glint of silver. A knife. "Hannya … " Her name hits like a slap. The silver hit her. Sharp. Piercing. Hannya gasps out, craning her neck back to see him. One. His thumb traced the blade, smearing something red all over the surface. Number two hits her left shoulder. It’s deep enough to bleed. Deep enough to sting. Hannya doesn't go limp, instead biting the inside of her cheek, tasting copper, her gaze on the wall. He took his time with number three: a long, curved cut along her hip and blood dribbled down after each brutal slice. Three sunk in with the tip at Hannya's hip. By five Hannya was amazed she was conscious, the smell of her own blood wafting sickeningly sweet in the room. Dabi yanked on Hannya's hips so that she was on her knees. Only when she felt the thick crown of his cock press against her entrance did she whimper. "Shut up." Dabi sneered. With one sharp thrust, Hannya felt herself being split at the seams. Each bruising thrust made her see white, she felt him in her stomach; hot, heavy, thick. Goddamn him he was bruising her cervix with every powerful thrust and swivel of his hips. Hannya's head buzzes. Thoughts blur. Her lungs are screaming. Her body was on fire. Tightening. Clenching. Harder. 

Harder. 

Harder.

He was never gentle, she didn't want him to be. Pain. This is the only thing she wanted from him. This was the only thing he could give her. All that both would need from the other. It was no secret Dabi and Hannya only needed each other when one had to release frustrations.

Dabi had made her body a canvas. Bruises dotted her skin. There were jagged scars as old as months back, a few weeks, some healing and the fresh cuts Dabi carved into her.

"Fuck." Both breathed out, with a few final thrusts, Dabi spilled himself inside of her, the warm jets coating her walls as though marking her.

His territory.

When he pulled put of her Hannya winced, feeling empty. Dabi yanked her thigh flipping the ravenette girl on her back. He dove down to kiss her breasts, his tongue trailing a path between the soft mounds. His breath fanned over her nipple, his tongue circled the bud; pulling it into his mouth and sucking. Hannya's neck craned, her fingers weaving in his spiked hair, as his other hand kneaded her free breast. Breaking contact, Hannya's soft brown eyes stared into Dabi's blue ones. Their noses were a few inches from each others. “What do you want from me? Huh?” he asked, breathing hard and glaring at her. “What do you see in me that’s so fucking fascinating?” Hannya trembled, just holding his eyes.   What did I see in him? The answer was so easy, I didn’t even have to think about it. It was the same thing he saw in me all those years ago down in the forest. The hunger. The need to break away, the desire to find the one person on the planet that would understand me, the temptation to go after all things they tell us we can’t have… I saw me, and through all the times growing up that I felt alone or like I was searching for something I couldn’t put into words, I didn’t feel so lost when he was around. It was the only time I didn’t feel lost. Not waiting for an answer, Dabi smiled coldly at her. Lifting herself Hannya licked and kissed his neck, raking her nails across his back and upper arms. She felt him harden against her still sore sex, his length sliding inside of her to the hilt; her body moving against the mattress with his drilling. He fucked her like he hated her. God, call her sick, but she craved that from him. ________________________________________________________ Hawks downed his second shot of whiskey, slamming the glass on the mahogany table. Cracking his neck he signaled the bartender swinging the amber liquid, gulping it whilst his glass was prepped for a refill. Maybe he should stop at three. Then again he didn't give a damn, the buzz would let him forget about shit. Hell if lucky the bartender would give him an extra something to forget half his existence.

"Having fun yet?" A female voice shook him of his daydreaming. Peeking over his shoulder Hawks observed a woman with twinkling hazel eyes, hair styled in Chinese buns. An off shoulder blouse seemed a little too big for her, and her jeans were ripped.

A smile quirked Hawks' lips. He raised his own filled glass to her. "It's just beginning. Care to join me?" "I thought you'd never ask." Sliding into the stool next him Hawks was still grinning at her, his nose getting hit with lavender. He nearly went weak for a minute, especially gazing into those eyes. Okay, he really needed to snap out of it.

"I'm Hawks." Leaning her chin in her palm, Hazel eyes observed him, pearly whites gleaming they contrasted with her fiery red hair. "Rin, nice to meet you. I think I've heard some things about you. All good don't worry." "I'd hope so." Rin. He'd remember that. His eyes never left hers, her own gazing at the array of liquor like she were a kid in a candy store. She didn't appear too young, lots of people used fake ID's as though that were something new. 

Best bet she was in her early twenties. Otherwise he’d feel like a huge creep. 

Something told the Pro Hero this girl wasn't unfamiliar in drinking scenes. Not wanting to assume she was younger than the drinking age would allow. Rin leaned forward, the motion allowing skin to bare before Hawks' eyes, his eyebrows nearly shot up his hairline. Her ass was nice and round, the jeans low enough he saw a good rise of thong panties. His mouth suddenly became dry. Was she aware he was gawking at her like some pervert? High chances were she was a little young for him. "You like peaches?" Rin's voice broke him out of his wandering eyes.

Believe me girly I do.

Maintaining some innocence Hawks saw that Ivy had an actual fruit peach in her hand causing him to laugh. "They're a treat I must say," he agreed with her. Had she caught onto his innuendo? Rin pointed to a basket of the fruit in front of him, taking a bite into her own. She made the sweetest sound with her abrupt giggles. God, her ass. What he wouldn't give….Hold up. He caught a glimpse of silver; narrowing his eyes Hawks was taken aback at Rin after she took another bite from her peach. A tongue piercing! Her tongue glided against the fleshy sphere, the metal bead taunting him almost. All the while blood roared in Hawks' ears, he was aware Rin's eyes were boring into as she feasted on her peach. It seemed the two had inched closer not caring if anyone watched them. "Wanna bite?" Rin rasped. Hawks lips sealed against the remaining half of the fuzzy peach, tearing into it while maintaining eye contact with the red head. Chew. Suck. Swallow. When he finished, his tongue even lapped up the juices from her hand. Rin swallowed, biting her lower lip. Hawks needed her on her hands and knees as he took whatever he wanted, whenever and however hard he wanted it. He was going crazy.

Both stood up at the same time, Hawks dropping a tip and extra for the drinks; Rin walking in front of him as he followed the striking red head like she was a beacon. Maybe someone up there did like him. Walking to the second floor Hawks reached for his room key, Rin waiting behind him. There wasn't hesitation on either parties, Rin stood on tip toe to kiss him deepening the kiss. That almost threw him off guard especially when she sucked on his tongue. In retaliation he bit and tugged on her plump lower lip. Sliding the room in, turning the knob they nearly tumbled into the room. The passionate lip lock made Hawks' skull buzz.

She tastes like peaches. I'm beginning to have a favorite fruit. Ripping of fabric alerted him that his shirt was no more than shreds, during their frenzy he had ruined her blouse so fair was fair. His knuckles brushed Rin's waist, undoing the button of her low ride jeans, tugging the blue jeans down her waist. He got a better view of the thong she sported; his mouth watering. Rin's slender fingers worked Hawks' pants off just as fast. Planting his hands on her hips, Hawks palmed Rin's rear end squeezing and caressing the plump orbs in his hands. He slid her bra off of body, admiring her breasts, the pointed rose bud tips begging to be suckled on. His thumbs hooked in the waistband, gliding the lace material off her waist. Beautiful. He exhaled, his lungs emptying.   “Fuck.” And before she knew what was happening, he dropped to his knees, hooked her leg over his shoulder, and took her bare pussy in his mouth, assaulting her fast and hard with his tongue and teeth. Rin cried out. “Hawks!” Oh, God. He sucked her clit into his mouth and then released it, rubbing his tongue over the sensitive skin again and again. Rin squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, shit,” She choked out. “Fuck.” He dived in between her legs, eating her like he was starved. Rin fisted the top of his hair, arching her neck as he nibbled, sucked, and licked, going around in circles and circles and then diving back in to claim her hard. “Fuck, you’ve got a nice pussy,” he whispered against her skin, looking up at her as he flicked my clit with his tongue. “You’re a beautiful girl, Rin. So soft and tight. And sweet." Rin sucked in air through her teeth and pressed herself into his mouth, watching him lick the length of her as he stared into her eyes. And then he dived down and slid his tongue inside of her, and Rin groaned louder. "More...I need more of you." Rin panted. “You want my cock?” he asked, dragging her clit through his teeth, an ache building deep and hard. Rin nodded frantically. “My cock?” “Yours!” Rin cried. Hawks slowly rose to his full height, marveling Rin. “Fuck,” he gritted out. His hand slid down between their bodies, and Rin let out a moan, flattening her back against the wall and giving him room as he discarded his boxer briefs. Hell yes. Rin tightened her hold around his neck and pressed her naked breasts against his bare chest; Hawks then grabbed hold of his cock,  positioning his hips just right. He stroked her bare pussy with the head of his dick, dragging it up and down her slit. And then he thrust his hips between her thighs, and Rin cried out as he slid his thick cock, inch by inch, inside of her, burying himself in her wet pussy. “Oh, God,” Rin panted, arching her back. “You’re so hard.” Her skin was stretched, and it hurt a little, but it was too fucking good, too. His tip rubbed so deep up inside her she could feel him in her stomach. Rin dug her heels into his back and pressed her body into his, holding him close as she started to ride him, meeting his thrusts again and again. “That’s it, baby,” he growled low. He thrusted, forcing her back up the wall again and again, and Rin hung on for dear life as he pounded and fucked. Rin whimpered, fisting his hair in her hands. “Hawks.” He jerked her into him, going faster and harder, and the feel of him sliding in and out of her, finally taking her, was doing nothing to ease her need. She was hungrier. Rin dived into his neck, breathing against his skin as she grazed her lips back and forth, whispering. “Fuck.” Rin dragged his lobe through her teeth. “There’s so many bad things I want to do. Do dirty things to me.” “Jesus,” he gasped, hooking an arm under her knee and yanking her ass into him, fucking harder as he let his head fall back. “Yes!” Rin cried out, his cock hitting deeper and her thigh aching from where his hand gripped it. Fire started to pool in her belly, and her orgasm crested. “Hawks,” She moaned, rolling her hips and riding his fucking cock as she grunted and panted. The room was filled with their breathing and groaning and the sound of his skin hitting hers. Pleasure built between her legs, her muscles burned, and then Rin squeezed her eyes shut, letting him fuck her as her orgasm opened up and spread apart, bursting inside her womb and flooding her body and brain with heat and euphoria. “Fuck!” Rin cried out. “Hawks!” Rin's loud moans echoed in the great room, and her clit throbbed and her pussy tightened around him, trying to keep him there. He pounded into her, and Rin tightened her arms around his neck again, riding it out. Her head felt like it was drifting in a cloud, and she went limp, letting her forehead fall to his shoulder as the orgasm racked through her body. “Such a beautiful little monster,” he chuckled.

A low growl emitted from Hawks’ throat. 

“Get on all fours now...” 

Rin licked the pulse of the Pro Hero’s throat, slowly descending before him, planting her hands and knees away from him anticipating his next move. Her pussy was still throbbing from their session, her ivory skin flushed; his large hands caressed her plump rear end, lining his manhood with her dripping cunt and slapping his thick length against it. Soon after plunging deep without restraint, calloused palm slapping he pale flesh of her behind. 

Hips bucking upwards as he began to pound the red head with reckless abandon. She cried out his name, fisting the carpet with her hands, biting down on her lower lip until she swore she bled. Hawks had no intention of being gentle; hunching forward in order to allow his large hands to cup her pert breasts, pinching her pebbled peaks. 

Buried to the hilt, his cock slamming into as he watched the rippling of flesh with every thrust. After a moment one hand would come to slap her rear, reddened flesh, his hand imprinted on the red haired girl. 

The woman’s arousal lathering his thickness, ramming harder and faster, desiring to break the woman.  “Your pussy is so fucking wet. So soft and tight.” 

“Oh, God,” she groaned, 

“Goddamn,” Hawks gasped out, thrusting his hips again and again and again, pounding into her faster and faster. 

So fucking tight. 

Rin squeezed her eyes shut, sucked in a breath, and threw her head back. 

“Oh, Hawks! Oh, God!” she cried out, stilling as he thrusted harder and harder. Hawks squeezed her ass in his hand, chuckling. “Goddamn, Rin. So fucking good.” 

Hawks dived inside of her wet heat over and over again, A blush spread across her cheeks and she pinched her bottom lip between her teeth enjoying every inch. 

Hawks’  dick swelled, and then he thrust on more time before pulling out of her, and taking his cock in his hand, stroking it up and down until he spilled. His cum shot out, falling across her bare ass and he tightened his abs, the pleasure too much. 

He’d never seen anything so fucking hot. 

Every muscle in his body warmed, and the fucking release went to his head and filled every inch of his kin. Hawks tried to catch his breath and sat back on his heels. But gazing down at her, he damn-near wanted to go again. 

Craning her neck to see him, red hair tumbled around her face, Rin blinked at him, a small smile on her face. “Can we do it again?” 

Hawks reached over, grabbing his ruined shirt to clean her up, and laughing under his breath. 

Such a little monster. 

[thorne93]

The Stars Made Us (Part 19)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 1625

Warnings: angst and language throughout

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter​​​​  and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @quailliamfears thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes​​​​, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong​​​​ and @arrow-guy​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Darling, I miss you,” Charles cooed into the phone. It almost sounded like a plea to come back. 

“You’re the one who told me to stay,” you reminded, amused.

“I know, I know. I’m just feeling a bit selfish and greedy is all. How much longer do you think?” 

“We still have a long way to go. He’s getting ready to move. All of his things are boxed up. He can’t afford to stay here any more. I’ve temporarily relocated my office to the city.” 

There was a pause. “Oh, well, sounds like you’re getting quite cozy down there.”

“It’s not like that, you know that.” 

“Actually, I don’t. I know I said you should stay with him, and I still believe that. He’s still your other mate. But right now, none of us know what happens once he’s better.”

You nodded, chewing your lip. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been thinking about that too. But I can’t plan for the future. I am still yours though, I am still all yours. I am in love with you and I won’t make any decision without talking to you.”

He sighed. “I love you too. I know. I’m just… I’m going a bit stir crazy over here. I just got you, after ten years. I just don’t want to lose you to someone else, that’s all.” 

“You won’t, you can’t. You’re the most important person in the world to me, darling. You know that.”

He hummed. “Yes, yes I do. Keep in touch. I love you. Despite my flare of jealousy, it’s only rooted in wanting to see you, that’s all. But I do support you.”

“And I’m the luckiest woman in the world for it. Talk to you soon. I love you, bye.”

“Bye.” 

With that, you hung up and got Stephen’s bedroom straightened up . He’d be home soon from his physical therapy appointment.

And as if on cue, the door opened to the apartment. 

“Y/N!” he called out. “I’m back.” 

You came out and greeted him, happy to see him. “How was it?” You began to get his lunch ready as he told you about his appointment. 

“It was good, rather informative actually.” 

“Oh? That sounds promising.” 

Between Christine and Stephen you’d heard all about his expensive, experimental surgeries with no hope in sight. So any time he got good news of any kind, but especially about his hands, you rejoiced. This meant you were a step closer to making him into the man he was before the accident. A man you could possibly fall in love with and then…

Well that remained to be seen, didn’t it?

“The guy who does my therapy told me about a guy who had a shattered spine, confined to a wheelchair. He said he’s walking now. He pulled his file. I looked at the x-rays. He is totally cured. I want to go talk to him, see how he fixed it.”

“Okay, yeah,” you said, trying to wrap your mind around it and put off your astonishment. “Yeah, let’s go meet him.” 

The following day, you both planned on going to see the miracle patient but your work called you away. You had a patient have a breakdown at the hospital and you had to meet him. Stephen went alone, and when you met back at the apartment, he told you what he’d found. 

“He told me that he sat with a teacher, at a place called Kamar-Taj. He said that he elevated his mind and spirit and it healed his body.” 

You stared at him in disbelief. “Really? A healer? That was the big miracle?” 

“Yes. He said the cost is high, but you don’t pay a dime of money. It must just be some advanced medicine that is hard on the body, that’s experimental.”

“And you want to go there?” you asked, curious. 

He scoffed. “Please. Some kind of crazy healer? Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not. Stephen, you love your work, so far you’ve stopped at nothing to get better. While I believe this is a bit of mania on your part, I also completely understand where you’re coming from. So if you want to do this as a last resort, I don’t blame you.”

“It’s not that bad of an idea…”

You shook your head. “No, it’s not. At any rate, what have you to lose?”

“So you think I should go? To see some strange witch doctor?” 

You peered at him with a bemused grin. “Between the two of us, who believes in the love that binds two peoples souls?” 

He made a face and rolled his eyes. “Right, I forgot.” 

“It can’t hurt. Every other doctor has slammed the door in your face for the same reasons you used too -- you’re untreatable and that harms their reputation. No glory to heal what can’t be healed, and you can’t waste time trying. If this place really did fix this guy, then I think you should do it.” 

You could almost hear the gears in his head turning. 

“Alright. Yeah, let’s do it. You’re right. I don’t have anything to lose at this point. I’ll start looking into how to get there. You may want to tell Charles you’re coming home,” he informed as he walked over to his laptop. 

“Oh, I’m not going home. No, if you’re going on this little adventure, I’m coming too. You can’t be alone. You’re still highly depressed and you need me.”

“Wow, and they say I’m arrogant,” he remarked with a smirk that made your knees weak

“You are. I’m just confident.” You winked at him. You told him you’d call Charles once you found out where you two would be traveling to.

You went into the small office that was now empty except for the furniture. The sight made you sad for Stephen. You called Charles, knowing he wouldn’t be thrilled, but would probably be accepting of the issue. 

“Hello, love,” he greeted happily. 

“Hi, darling. Um, we have some news,” you announced.

“Oh?” he asked, sounding intrigued. 

“Yeah, so apparently Stephen met up with a patient that had a spinal fracture completely corrected. He sought him out and told him of a place to go.”

“What? Like some experimental clinic or?”

“Not quite. We’ve found that the place should be in Nepal, possibly Kathmandu.” 

Silence fell over the line. “Nepal? And when are you leaving?” 

“As soon as we can. The movers come tomorrow to take his things to his new place.”

“How long will you be gone?” 

“I have no idea. Just like I had no idea how long I’d be there with you,” you reminded. 

He sighed. “Y/N…” 

“What?” you wondered, “I know this isn’t what we wanted or expected--”

“No, it isn’t. I don’t ever want to tell you what you can and can’t do, that’s why I gave you my blessing to go, but has it crossed your mind that this affects me too?”

“Of course it has. I think about you nonstop when I’m not helping Stephen. You know he’s my other mate. He’s just as damaged as you were, you were the one to remind me of that. I can’t half-ass my work on him, not as a doctor or as a mate.”

“Meanwhile, I’m feeling like an afterthought.” 

You let out a sigh. “That's not fair, Charles. I don’t mean for you to feel that way, I’m sorry. But at the same time, you and I had ten years together through communication, and almost a year together in person. Stephen and I, we’ve only known each other a month. Not only do I need more time to help him heal, we deserve the time. I’ll come by in the morning to grab some things and my passport.” 

“So this is it? You’re just going to run off and join him in some country?” 

“How is this any different than when I came to you when you needed help? I’m either here in Manhattan or in Nepal.”

“It’s very different, Y/N. Right now you’re only a couple hours away. You go to Nepal with a TBD return date, it… it puts me on edge.” 

You pursed your lips. “I’m sorry… But I have to go. He needs me.” 

“I need you too, you know.” 

“And I will be there for you as soon as I finish helping Stephen.”

“Will you, though? There’s always the chance that you may not come back to me.” 

“Is that what you’re worried about? That I’ll somehow love him more than you? Or that this trip will somehow make me choose him over you?” 

“Or that you spending the next unforeseeable future with him in a foreign country will make you fall for him, if you haven’t already.”

“Charles--”

“No, hear me out, Y/N. You and I were basically pen pals for years, and we just met a year ago. You two, you’re going to practically live together on the first part of finding out you’re mates. It’ll be organic, it’ll be natural.”

A sigh escaped you. “Charles, I can’t tell you what’s going to happen or not happen. All I can assure you is that I love you more than anything. And should something happen, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. But this is important to him, and important to me. I trust you to understand and respect that.” 

“I do… I love you. Do whatever you feel you need to, darling. As always, I’ll be here waiting.”

“You’re perfect, Charles Xavier, I hope you know that.” 

“I do, but it’s nice to hear you say that.”

You laughed loudly and told him you loved him and you two said your goodbyes. 

Next stop, Nepal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[cannibalcreepers]

Hilliker brothers (separate if that’s okay) losing their S/o like dying? There is no angst for these boys 🤠

Wow, that’s so cruel. I like the way you think 😏😘

As we’ve seen losing one of their own is quite a painful experience for the Hilliker/Odets 😊

I gave the s/o three different deaths, I hope you like them 🥰

-----

Saw-Tooth:

You’d never thought you’d ever get to see this scowling man cry in your lifetime, it’s not dramatic or loud, just silent tears rolling down his dirty scarred cheeks as he stares at your face.

You had jumped one of the victims you and the boys were hunting, tackling the woman to the ground and proceeded to stab the shit out of her with your knife, what you didn’t realize was that she was not alone and suddenly you had a spear pierced through your chest from another woman that had snuck up behind you.

The two escaped while you were kneeling on the ground, holding the part of the spear that was sticking through your chest, blood spilling onto the forest floor as you gasped out, the shock of it all was what delayed the searing hot white pain that soon spread across your body.

You tried to concentrate on just breathing, heart thumping in your ears and sight becoming blurry from the tears forming and dripping from your lashes.

You had not heard the loud crunching of sticks and leaves from hasty footsteps coming your way, one large hand grabbing your shoulder and another cupping your cheek, forcing you to look at the scraggly panicked stricken Saw-Tooth who was making unintelligible whines and grunts, your eyelids becoming heavy and mouth agape as blood drooled out and down you chin, you wanted to say his name so badly but your body just wanted to sleep, it was so tired and sore.

There was nothing the large man could do to help you, you were not like them, you couldn’t take such damage to your body, you couldn’t heal like him and it was ripping at his heart. All he could do was break the ends of the spear so he could pull you close to his body, completely forgetting about the two escaping victims, Three-Fingers and One-Eye could find them, right now all he wanted was to look at your beautiful face.

Though he never showed his affection at times, he adored you so much, the longer you were around him and his family the more you grew on him and the more attached he became, you meant so much to him and his brothers, he loved you. It was a silent moment, holding you close to his chest and letting his face become wet from tears, stroking your cheek gently until you finally closed your eyes and went limp.

Saw-Tooth would sit there for a long time holding your corpse, he felt empty and broken, it wouldn't be until his brothers found you both would he let your body be held by One-Eye and Three-Fingers to mourn over.

While the other two brothers take their time grieving, Saw-Tooth had a date with the now captured person who was responsible for your death and all he could now see was red.  

One-Eye:

You have no idea why you did what you did, the three boys can take a hit as though a fly had just bumped into them, so being shot at was nothing to such a big guy like One-Eye, well as long as it was not a bullet between the eyes then they just brush off stabs and shots like they were nothing.

So now here you were, cursing yourself for jumping between One-Eye and a man who had shot at him, taking the bullets for him instead. All parties were shocked at your brazen stupidity, though One-Eye thought you very brave as well, he still let out a horrendous loud wail as he ran towards you, arms catching your body when it stumbled and collapsed from the fact it took three bullets.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Baby I’m so sorry” Was all you could sputter out, your hands shaking from the utter shock your body was currently going under, the man who had shot at you now running through the trees like the coward he was, leaving you in One-Eyes arms. The large man was a sputtering mess, breathing heavily and whining just as loudly as his hands shook, hovering over the oozing bullet wounds, unsure of what he should do, his brain too muddled and scared to think clearly.

This was definitely not the way you wanted to go, you would have liked to either die old with the three cannibals or at least died in a cool way, but it seemed being shot at was what was happening right now. The bullets had pierced through your lungs and abdomen, breathing was starting to become harder as you gasped and began coughing up blood and saliva, gripping onto One-Eyes arm as your head began to feel light and clammy.

The Hilliker man had to get you back home, it was so far but he had to try, slipping his arms under your body he picked you up bridal style and began trudging his way through the trees, but you knew it was too far away and you could feel the dread creeping up your body. Shakily you reached up to stroke his cheek, smiling as you whispered to him “It’s ok…...it’s ok….I love you baby boy…” Was your last words to One-Eye, as he slowed to a stop and collapsed to the ground with you still held tightly to his chest. It really didn’t help he was crushing you and the jolt of him going down made things more painful but you forgave his inability to be gentle in such a situation and cupped his cheeks to lean in for a kiss. You smeared blood over his lips and chin from your weak sloppy kisses but One-Eye didn’t care, he just wanted you, he wanted you to be okay, he wanted you to be smiling and laughing, to kiss him forever and to never stop.

That was it though, you wheezed out your last breath and went heavy in his arms, limp and still, your body now covered in bruises from how he gripped onto you. He slumped back onto his ass to rock back and forth whilst holding you, tucking your head under his chin and stroking your soft hair. His wails and cries were loud enough to attract his brothers to see what the noise was about, it was an utter mess.

He wouldn’t let go of your body for weeks, he would allow his two brothers to hold you as well but he didn’t want you leaving his sight.  

Three-Fingers:

Your death was quick, almost painless, for you that was. Had you survived you would have thought yourself stupidly foolish, how could you run into one of your own damn traps!

You had just avoided a decapitation from prey that you and Three-Fingers were hunting and you swung back hard enough to slam your axe into their skull. A cheer left from your lips as you bounced up and down excited at being able to take down such a large man, turning around to see an even more excited Three-Fingers who was giggling up a storm.

The happy occasion didn’t last long once you took your first step towards the scrawny cannibal, his expression went from excited giddiness to utter shock and fear as you stepped on a wire and a loud crack noise echoed through the area.

Your whole body jolted, a gasp left from your lips and that was it. The last thing you saw was Three-Fingers running towards you with such panic before everything went black and you were no more.

Three-Fingers had seen and done horrendous things before but what he witnessed was mortifying, there your beautiful self was just finishing off some little piggy man who had been hiking in the mountains and now...now gorgeous you was in four different pieces on the ground. The wires had sliced through your lovely skin, cutting up your clothing and welting up red lines as blood was exposed to the air. Your body split and the loud thump of your head smacking onto the ground and your body slowly sliding apart from each other, strings of blood and gore being stretched until your different parts slumped and collapsed.

The wailing screech that came from the youngest Hilliker brother echoed through the forest as he watched you fall apart in front of his eyes, falling to his knees and crawling to your pieces, shakily reaching out to stroke your now decapitated head staring up at nothing.

The contraption was the large body slicer the both of you had worked on months ago, he felt like a fool for not remembering where it was placed, how he didn’t stop you in time from stepping into it. Three-Fingers could only whine and sputter as he grabbed all your body pieces as though he was trying to pull you back together, pulling your limp, squishy body against his body and pressed his face into your ruined chest, bloody and hot organs spilling from your body only made him squeal and moan in horror even more, his body and arms being covered in your blood.

It would take a while for him to pull himself back together, his long nose covered in blood, snot and tears, wiping it along his sleeve and taking a large ugly sniff. He would close your eyes and place a gentle long kiss on your lips before collecting your body parts and began his trip back to the hut.

It was going to be difficult showing his brothers what had happened to you, for once in his life he felt a heavy guilt in his heart.  

Aftermath altogether:

They’d never eat your body, if there was even a body left over. If in one piece, they would preserve your corpse for as long as they possibly could, always holding your body's hand, stroking your cheek or touching your hair. If in separate pieces, they would attempt to sew you back together or preserve what they could, but your head would definitely be placed somewhere visible. They don't care if your body stank up their hut, until you turn to dust you would be kept either sitting on your specific chair or on your bed, where they could always see you.