#although I guess this is a thing in one way or another throughout most of the world

[fragiledewdrop]

I went to the market today, and it reminded me that the biggest curlural disconnect I've ever experienced on the internet was finding out that Americans and a lot of Northern Europeans think of the farmer's market as this pretentious, expensive place where people go to buy overpriced organic produce from neat, quaint little stalls.

In my experience, you go to the market because things are way cheaper than at the store. You can buy fruit and vegetables for a third of the price, and clothes and jewellery for less than 10 €. The market is where the vendors yell to get your attention, and they let you try the fruit you want to buy (which means the street is littered with fruit stones and rinds), where there are speakers that blast out obnoxious neapolitan music, where everybody speaks dialect and no one uses the formal "you", where you can dig through haphazard piles of second hand clothes to find skirts or dresses for 1€ a pop, where they sell flowers and small farm animals and pots and pans, where you have to know how to haggle (I used to go with my grandmother as a child. I don't think that woman ever paid full price for anything in the 87 years of her life), where the whole town stops to chat and gossip, where children play loudly and old people spend the whole morning.

There's a mix of cultures and languages, and there are people from all walks of life.

It smells of sweat, overripe fruit, salt, and fresh fish.

It's probably the least glamourous or pretentious place I have ever seen.

In my hometown, the market is held on Thursdays on the street where I live, and there’s no better feeling than being woken up by someone yelling "Come on, beautiful ladies! We have fresh tomatoes!"

Thursday has always been my favourite day, purely because of that. One of my earliest memories is tagging along with my grandpa through the stalls, eating black olives from a plastic bag and spitting out the pits.

It's messy, and it's my happy place, and I am honestly sad that a lot of people don't get to experience it.

[misshugs]

Is this what you wanted to see? || Colby Brock x Reader

You thought it was just going to be another funny, intriguing investigation with the guys, but things went south real quick. Whatever was in this hotel, didn't like you.

warnings: gore/blood, cursing, violent paranormal activity, reader getting attacked by ghosts, seeing shit that's not there (aka, being a bit of a medium), angst?

a/n: the story is fictional, therefore, the place/video that I based the story from, is not real.

word count: 2k

[u n e d i t e d]

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"What's up guys! It's Sam and Colby. Today, we're standing right infront of one of the most haunted hotels in America..." Colby began.

The frame of my body visible to the camera as they continued their intro. I threw a tiny wave when they called out my name to the camera.

At this point I'm so used to all of this that Colby doesn't even need to ask if I'm okay with it anymore, although he still does, which I love about him.

We've been dating for months now and I swear that I'm just falling deeper in love every day. I didn't even notice myself staring lovingly at him throughout their intro to the point they had to shake me out of it.

"You good?" Nate asked, I looked up at him and nodded.

"Yeah, yeah, just zoned out for a little bit, my bad." I smiled at him and he nodded.

"Just making sure."

"You guys ready?" Sam asked, looking at us.

"Yessir!" Nate responded.

"As I'll ever be." I added.

"We'll see you guys inside." Colby said back to the camera and turned it off. He looked back at us and smiled. "So, shall we?"

"We shall." I responded, laughing slightly as I got closer to him and walked inside with them. While they weren't looking, I felt a short kiss on my cheek coming from him, which just made me smile wider.

God, I love him.

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While we were all walking through a corridor, I looked back and saw an employee with a tray of food. He saw me and I nodded with a smile at him as a kind gesture. He smiled and nodded back. I looked back at the boys, only to slightly look back for a second and then completely looking back in shock.

There was no one there. It would've been impossible for someone to run and hide in that short amount of time.

Was it my imagination or did that really just happen? It seemed too real to be true.

"Co..Colby." I softly said, as my feet were unable to move after the thought of having seen something so real, yet not being there.

"Yeah?" He looked back, so did the other two. "You okay? What happened?" He got closer and looked at my face then back to the corridor, trying to see what I was looking at.

"I... there was someone here. An employee... with... a tray. I looked at him, even greeted him for a second and when I looked back he was... gone."

"No fucking way." Sam said.

"Are you serious?? You're telling me you just saw a full-on person then it disappeared?" Nate asked, shocked.

"I guess, yeah?"

"Oh, this is gonna be a good night." Sam put the camera on my face. "One of us already saw something unexplainable, wish that would've been me." He laughed.

"Next thing we know you begin to levitate brother." Colby laughed back.

I laughed as well, trying to brush away the thought of genuinely seeing a ghost.

All night, I've ended up having this eerie feeling of someone just watching us, but there was no one around. I tried to hide my uneasiness but Colby saw through me right away.

Every time he noticed, he began to flirt with me, making me feel good the best way he knows how. "You know we can just leave if you're too uncomfortable, baby." He kissed my forehead, putting his arms on my shoulders.

"Don't worry about it, I'm good. If I couldn't handle it, I would tell you right away."

"You better." He chuckled and kissed me, making all of my stress go away for a moment.

I can't lie, it did make me feel better, but somehow it just made things worse. I started seeing figures at the corners of my eyes, movements around me where nobody was walking around, even feeling touched a few times around my shoulders, hands and even ass. It felt weird, it made my anxiety grow by the minute, but somehow, it felt safe because of Colby.

And so, we ended the tour of the place and thought about trying to get some activity at around 3 in the morning. Meaning, we had nothing else to do. I was already tired enough, feeling as if the energy in my body has been drained to its core. I believed that it was solely because of the much walking and anxiety that was rising constantly.

Although the others planned on staying awake until the hour came, I told them I will try and get some sleep. And so, they would wake me up when the time comes.

Lying in the bed, I didn't stay up for long until my eyelids were closed and my brain just shut down. Usually, I'm quite the light sleeper, but this time I was knocked out.

Until I felt it.

I felt some hands on my legs. Honestly, I wasn't conscious enough to know if it was in my dreams or in real life. It turns out, it was real. And it wasn't Colby, or anyone else. But I felt it, tight on my leg. I couldn't even think right before I felt a pull and suddenly I was on the floor.

I could feel a sharp pain on my head as it was the first thing that touched the floor. I quickly woke up, shaken up by the sudden act. I whined in pain as the other seemingly stood up from their places and looked at me, possibly concerned, believing I might've just moved and fallen off the bed.

Before they even got closer, I got pulled back. This time, being completely awake, I yelled out, looking back at whatever force was holding my legs, one to see nothing at all.

And it was at that point when I felt genuine fear. I tried my hardest to hold onto the floor or anything really, but to no avail. Tears filling my tired eyes as I tried to focus my vision to the things around me. Next thing I knew I was thrown onto the wall, my back throbbing with pain as I felt a huge headache from the mild concussion I probably had after all of this.

To this point, everyone was frightened. Fear made them almost unable to walk, talk even. I could see them, their scared faces, trying to do something but there was this tension that made them... stop in place. Like this pressure, this force that was throwing me around like a ragdoll. They couldn't help me, it seemed.

At least in my point of view.

Unbeknownst to me, they were actually trying to set themselves free from this invisible pressure. Trying to move, but feeling like they've had a ton of weight on top of them that they couldn't escape from.

As I fell to the floor, I tried to gain back my breathing. Shaking on the floor, I looked up and saw Colby screaming my name while being set free from the pressure, running towards me. I looked at him with hope in my eyes, trying to pull my arm up to hold him, only to feel myself getting pulled again. This time, thrown towards the couch.

Although the direct hit to the couch didn't feel as bad, I had enough force to fall back behind the couch and to the floor. Since I tried to hold myself with the couch, unfortunately, it leaned back on itself and fell on top of me. Just the cherry on top.

I whined in pain, unable to move, stuck underneath the couch with bruises all over my body and the wet feeling of warm liquid on my back and the top of my head, wishing it would've only been sweat.

My vision was blurry.

My senses were all fucked up.

It all happened so quick that I don't think even they would've reacted in time even if they were able to move freely.

With my eyes closed, I could feel the pressure from the couch lift from my chest and a pair of arms holding me tightly.

"Oh my fucking god. Oh shit. Fuck. We need to get the fuck out of here." I heard Colby desperately scream. As I opened my eyes, I could see his teary ones. Holding me onto his arms, his eyes filled with guilt and fear. "Are you okay? Fuck..."

"Hurts..." I was able to whisper out those words, shaking and I feel myself coughing onto my hand. Looking back at the now blood-drenched hand, the pain began to intensify. My vision kept on failing, only able to see blobs of colors here and there.

Colby held me on his arms and pulled me up from the floor, which made me whimper in pain, feeling my back getting even more wet by the moment.

"Shit. Her back is bleeding... Fuck." I could hear Sam's shaky voice as I tried to gain back my breath, trying to calm myself down as I heard the rapidly increasing heartbeat of Colby.

Somehow, it made me feel okay. Being by his side, the rush of everything around almost seemed softer, calmer. I could no longer listen to everything that was going on.

Muffled sounds were the only thing that could pass through.

Yelling.

Moving.

A tight squeeze.

I felt numb. For a moment, at least.

My name.

I heard my name and suddenly, I was conscious again. I blinked a few times and looked up at the desperate Colby. "Please... tell me you're okay... fuck..." His tears probably blurring his eyesight.

A glimpse of strength came back to me and I was able to touch his cheek with my hand. He quickly looked down at me. "I'm fine... I'm fine..."

"Right after we walk out of the room..." Nate pointed out, holding all of their stuff in their hands.

"We need to get the fuck out of here and get her to a hospital." Sam said, walking quickly with the others. I was confused, seemingly forgetting for a brief moment about how I was brutally assaulted by a ghost.

"Hospital? Why are we going to a hos..." As I was talking, I realized why they were hurriedly walking away. I felt the pain all over again. I groaned at the feeling, shaking on Colby's arms.

"You'll be okay, you're going to be fine. Don't move. Deep breaths, baby." Colby tried to calm me down, his shaky breath giving away his anxiety.

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My back was all bruised up. I had some unknown hand marks on my legs, where I was pulled from. Some scratches tinted my back red when I got into the ER, as well as a few bumps in my head that gave me a red face.

The memories of what happened were blurry, yet so vivid.

And the only thing keeping me conscious was him. I could see it in his face, he felt guilty. Guilty for something that wasn't even his fault.

"Shouldn't have let you go with us... we should've stopped when you began to see so many things... I'm so stupid." He whispered under his breath.

"Hey, hey. Look at me." I said. He reluctantly looked up and into my eyes. I smiled. "It wasn't your fault. Nothing about this could've been predicted, alright? Don't blame yourself." He smiled slightly, only to sigh.

"Yeah, but..." I interrupted him.

"No buts. I'm fine. I'm still here, with you. Right?" I responded, softly while holding his hand. "No need to feel guilty, no need to be sorry. You just have to promise me a good time when I get out of here, yeah? And a good meal." I smiled. "Food here kinda taste like shit." He chuckled, making me smile even more. "That's the face I like to see."

"I love you, so much." He said, holding my hand up to his lips and leaving a soft kiss on them, making my cheeks flutter by the site of his sensitive side.

"I love you too. Now, do that again, but closer to my face."

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it's been a while since i've written something like this, and honestly i just remembered how fun and angsty it is to write about getting literally beaten up by a ghost lmao

hope you liked it, requests are appreciated!

-nikkõ

[michelle-is-writing]

Protector, Warren Worthington iii

Word Count: 4.5k~

I had been best friends with Warren ever since I met him.

Throughout our years in school, Warren and I had always stuck by each other's side. We hung out together, ate lunch with each other, and nearly forgot about all those people around us who would point out his wings to hurt him. It was like we were in our own little world, and in a way, we were.

We met in the second grade while our class was in the library. While looking for a book, I found Warren, huddled up behind a bookshelf in the elementary school library. He was red in the face and crying as he held his knees close to him. Instantly, I noticed his wings, of course - how could I not?

However, this didn't stop me from going up and asking him what was wrong. I can still remember the way his curls bounced against his scalp as he turned his attention away from his lap and up to me, quickly wiping away his tears to cover up his emotions. Despite being so young, he knew how to expertly do this as he pretended that nothing was wrong and he wasn't crying merely thirty seconds ago.

"What's wrong?" I asked, sitting beside him. I saw him tense up, his back straightening up as he laid his legs out in front of him instead of hugging them to his chest.

"Nothing," He instantly answered me, once again, pretending as if everything wasn't as it seemed.

Instead of saying anything more, I let the boldness I had as an eight-year-old takeover and pulled him into my arms, his figure becoming even tenser. Although, he didn't pull away, and instead, just stayed in that position until I spoke up.

"The kids are mean to me too," I told him, his breath catching in his throat. "And they shouldn't be because you seem pretty cool," I explained with a smile as he turned his eyes up to look at me again. "No one else here has wings, and they're really pretty."

From then on, we were practically inseparable. We weren't seen without each other, and despite bullies picking on us, we didn't let their words bother us. Even as we got older, nothing changed, and in spite of living in an expensive house with nearly triple the amount of space that my house was, Warren chose to stay at my place most nights. His parents didn't care about what he did, and my parents were more than happy to have him over.

When we reached high school, our friendship turned into an actual relationship between two lovebirds (no pun intended). Now we really were inseparable.

However, this changed one night when he went out to grab something from the store. I was sick, and needed medicine; so, being the thoughtful boyfriend he was, he decided he would go out and get some. I guess we underestimated how much mutants were hated in the area as Warren never came back.

Now it's been three months since he disappeared.

Every night since, I went searching for him, only to return to some hotel or hostel without him. I don't know what came over me tonight though. For all my life, I've always been told to avoid putting myself in dangerous settings, and yet, all of those lessons were cast away as I heard people screaming and hollering down an empty and dark alleyway while in Munich. My searching had taken me far away from home, but I wasn't going to stop until I found Warren.

Following the sounds of excitement and fury, I found a hidden door that led to what seemed to be a fighting ring. People surround the caged area, but I push through them, ignoring their waving arms with money held high. I stop at the metal fence separating the people from the ring, only to gasp in horror as my eyes fall over the white, fluffy wings I've loved for many years.

"Warren..." I hear his name being whispered through my lips, tears forming in my eyes as I look at his hurt and pained figure. Fighting for his life against another mutant, he spits blood from his mouth as he wipes away the blood forming on the cut across his cheek. The tattered t-shirt he wears, the same thing he wore the night he disappeared, barely hangs onto his shoulders by a few strips of fabric, the band emblem on the front no longer being recognizable. His arms have fresh bruises forming all along the skin while fading bruises covers the visible parts of torso. How the hell did he get here?

Too shocked to move, I watch as Warren throws a punch at the other mutant, only to hit the fence in front of him, the silver eliciting sparks as soon as Warren touches it. "Shit!" He yells while the blue mutant seemingly teleports to different parts of the cage, only to receive the same treatment as Warren did. Hearing his voice after so long makes me nearly choke on the air in my throat, the tears now falling freely. Seeing Warren makes me want to rip through the fence and save him, but seeing that the metal fence is electric, I can't simply do that.

Blinking the oncoming tears away, I glance in every corner of the underground hideaway and try to find something that might resemble a control panel. It isn't until I see a switch box on what seems to be a surveying floor that I begin running to it, successfully climbing up the steps to the higher level and stopping in front of it. Gazing back to the fighting ring, I see Warren shouting at the dodging mutant while people standing around the cage yell out vile words of hate and absolute greed.

"Warren!" I shout his name as loud as I can, placing my hand on the handle to the electrical switch. Instantly, his head darts toward the voice calling his name, every inch of his being relaxing once he sees me. I smile at him before nodding, his eyes following my hand as it begins pushing the handle downward. Just before the electricity goes out, I see Warren's dirty wings perk up just as the entire underground arena goes pitch black.

In the darkness, the people's screams die down while the clinging sound of the fence being ripped apart follows it. Mere seconds pass before I familiar arms wrap around me and tug me close to their body, Warren's wings flapping rapidly as he lifts us into the air and to the hidden door I entered through. Once we're outside, we quickly run as far as we can before stopping in another alley, far away from the other one.

As soon as we stop, Warren wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to him, his lips immediately attaching to mine in a fervent and much-needed kiss. His hand on my waist never falters in its hold on me, and instead, it squeezes the flesh there as if he were testing if I was real or not.

"I'm here," I tell him, sliding my hands down his face as endless tears fall from his cheeks and onto my hands. Staring into his tear-filled eyes, I can't help but cry tears of happiness as well. "I'm right here."

Nodding, Warren folds his wings behind him, slightly wincing at the pain of them conforming against his back. "Fucking hell," He mutters, placing his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. A few seconds pass of him just holding me before he kisses me once more. "I've missed you so fucking much."

Our sweet reunion is cut short by a black vehicle slamming on their brakes at the end of the alleyway. "Warren," I say his name, concerned at the sight in front of us. Warren turns around, only for his wings to burst out again, shielding me from seeing anything. Peeking under one of the long feathers, I see two men leave the vehicle before one of them points at Warren.

"That's him!" The man yells, "Get him!"

In an instant, Warren swings around and wraps his arms and wings around me, protecting me from the flurry of oncoming bullets. What appears to be eight shots sounds throughout the alley before the same car speeds off again as Warren begins to topple over. Was he shot?

Trying to catch him before he falls on his face, I wrap my arms around Warren and hold him up for a few seconds, only for his size to take over mine and fall to the side. Landing on his back with me on top of him, Warren waves his hand at me while shaking his head, his eyes shut. "I'm fine," He mutters, his voice now suddenly tired and drained.

Eyes wide and concerned, I turn him onto his side and look over him to see blood pouring from his wings. Between the layers of feathers, I find what seems to be four bullet wounds, causing me to practically lose it as the crimson liquid touches my hands. "No, no, no, no, no," I mutter uncontrollably as I place him onto his back. "Warren, Warren," I repeat his name, running my hand against the side of his face, his own blood smearing across his flawless cheek. "Warren, don't go to sleep!"

At my heartbroken plea, Warren opens his eyes, frowning at the sight of tears pouring from my eyes. "Don't cry, my love," He begs, his voice even weaker than before. He lifts a hand to my face, doing the same to me just as I had done to him. I quickly place my hand over his, holding it there as I feel the warmth in his skin begin slowly leaving it. "I... I love you..." He whispers, his eyes closing once again.

Just like a few seconds ago, I feel every ounce of sanity leave me as I watch the love of life wither away in front of me. "Warren, don't do this to me!" I shout, the tears now falling like a waterfall. I could barely manage not seeing him for the three hellish months when he was missing - I can't live the rest of my life without him.

"Warren!" I scream his name again, utter desperation being the only recognizable thing in my voice. Releasing a sob, I push my head against his chest and hear his still-beating heart. However, I know that if I don't get him to a hospital within the next few seconds, his heart won't continue beating like that. But what hospital will even help us?

"Ma'am?" I hear a woman's soft voice coming from the end of the alley, causing me to jerk my head up and see a blonde woman standing twenty feet away. Concerned, she walks closer to me before kneeling beside Warren and me, the knees of her pants becoming stained with his spilled blood on the alley ground. His wings are the first things that catch her focus, making me want to hold him closer.

"Please, don't hurt him," I beg her, my hand holding his hand a bit tighter. "He-he's a-" The woman cuts me off.

"He's a mutant," She points out, looking over at me. Still crying, I nod once, watching as a small smile appears on her face. Within a short second, the fair skin she once had transforms into blue flesh with darker blue scales, her eyes turning yellow and green while her hair changes into a much brighter orange/red.

"It's okay," She assures me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I am too, and I can help."

Her words, not to mention her sudden change of looks, shock me, but I nod at her, ready to do anything this woman says if it means saving Warren.

"Where's his family?" She asks me, her hand remaining on my shoulder as she kneels on the ground beside me.

"Me," I quickly answer her, tears still falling from my eyes. "I am his family."

"You're not a mutant," She points out, shaking her head with squinted eyes as she looks at me a bit confused. "And you care for him?"

"He's my best friend, the love of my life..." I answer her, my heart clenching as the words leave my lips. "Please, you have to help us!"

The woman nods, giving me a small, encouraging smile. "Kurt!" She abruptly yells, a teenage boy with blue skin and carvings appearing behind her with a blue puff of smoke following. I instantly recognize him as the other mutant in the pin with Warren earlier, and in spite of this, he doesn't try to get back at Warren while he's down.

Pulling his hand to get closer, she makes him get on our level before wrapping his arm around her and me. The stranger, Kurt, then wraps his other arm around Warren's almost lifeless body and tugs him a bit closer as well. "Get us all to the mansion nurse's ward - now!"

With the woman's last words, Kurt somehow does so, causing us to suddenly be in a nurse's station only a second later. This all confuses the living hell out of me, but with Kurt having a tail and red eyes, and not to mention blue skin like the lady, I don't know if I should be questioning the normalcy of anything at the moment.

Immediately, three scrubbed nurses rush up to where we are and pick Warren up from the ground. "He was shot, multiple times," The blue woman quickly explains, standing up from the ground. "He'll need blood, and you need to act quick."

Listening to her, the three nurses nod before taking an unconscious Warren back to what I could guess is surgery. Numb, I sit on the cold tile floor as I reach my blood-covered hands up to cross my arms and hold myself, my eyes stuck on the swinging doors that Warren was just carried through. Beside me is Kurt as he places a consoling hand on my shoulder, giving me a small smile.

"He vill be alright," Kurt assures me, his words helping me out a little. Giving him a small nod of my head, I take his held-out hand and stand up with him. "That is Raven, by the way," He adds as the woman from before moves to stand in front of me, taking my hand in hers despite it stained crimson.

"This is the Xavier mansion," She explains to me, "You're safe; we won't hurt you."

At her words, I nod. "I know," I tell her, giving her a small smile. "I trust you."

Smiling back at me, Mystique's eyes flicker behind me before her mouth slightly parts, her hand holding mine slightly faltering. "Who is this, Raven?" I hear a soft British voice speak up, causing me to slowly turn around and see a man in a wheelchair now in front of me. His eyes quickly catch my blood-covered hands and arms, shock taking over him. "Dear heavens, what happened to you, dear?"

I go to answer him, but my voice defeats me in doing so. Instead, Mystique speaks for me. "Charles, her and a fellow mutant were shot at in an alleyway when Kurt and I were passing by. He has wings, that's where most of the bullets hit him," She explains to him, "She has no ill will toward any of us - she just wants her boyfriend to survive."

A few seconds pass before the man, Charles, nods, staring at me with a frown. "I'm sorry to hear that, love," He tells me, giving me a single nod. "Raven, help her get cleaned up and fetch some fresh clothes for her as well," With that, Charles wheels himself out of the room and into the hallway where he enters the room at the end.

In a puff of blue smoke, Kurt leaves Mystique and me, letting us head to what I presume is her room where she wets a washcloth and begins rubbing the drying blood from my arms. "He will be alright," She tells me, saying Kurt's exact words from moments ago. "Trust me."

I nod at her words, but I can't believe them myself. What if Warren isn't okay? What if one of the bullets when through his spine and he's now paralyzed? I couldn't see all of his wounds so I don't know where they all hit him, minus the few I could see in his wings. What if the nurses and doctors can't do anything and he dies on the table? I can't bear to lose him - not again.

With my arms their original (s/c) color, I change into a pair of pajama pants and matching top with a school emblem given to me by Raven before walking with her to Charles' office. Stopping in front of his desk, Mystique and I watch as the man from earlier sits at his desk with his attention stuck on the novel stuck in his hands. However, it doesn't take long for him to notice our presence and put the book down with his glasses following.

"(Y/n), is it?" Charles asks me, turning his attention up to me. Surprised, I hesitantly nod as he speaks up once more. "No need to worry, dear," He assures me with a smile despite my caution. "I'm able to read minds and communicate through them as well," Charles further explains. "Raven and I were talking while she helped you with your arms and hands,"

"I understand you've been through a lot in the past hour, so I won't force you to talk about it," Charles tells me, making me let out a small sigh of relief. "But I am a bit concerned over the fact that you were in such a predicament that your partner was shot," Holding his hand out, Charles waits for me to place my hand in his. "I won't scour through your brain and look at everything you've ever seen or done - I just want to see what all transpired tonight."

Hesitating, I bite my lip in thought before shakily putting my hand in Charles, his touch being warm and welcoming. I feel as Charles does what he told me he would do, the images of the past month flashing before my eyes. Warren's disappearance, me finding him, and helping him get out are all shown before me like a home movie shot from my perspective. Because of this, I gasp a little, shocked at Charles' ability to do such a thing.

Slowly slipping his hand from mine, Charles' eyebrows furrow in thought before flashing his eyes up to mine, confusion written all over them. "You're a human with no powers or anything," He points out, slightly pausing in his words. "And yet, you've always loved a mutant?"

His words come out as a question, but to me, they're a true statement. I love Warren - I always have - and nothing about him will ever change that. "He's human just as I am," I tell Charles, giving him a small smile. "but, with wings," I further add, my smile growing sad as I lightly shrug. "How could I not love my angel?"

My words washing over him, Charles smiles back. "I like you," He tells me, Raven putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Your friend, I think he'll pull through. After all, he has a great incentive."

Because of Charles' words, I smile and give him a nod of thanks just as a question rises to my mind. "What... what is this place?" I ask, gesturing to the overall building. I know it has to be an establishment of some sort going by the built-in medical wing and wide hallways.

"This," Charles states, pointing his finger to the ceiling while his eyes remain on mine. "Is Xavier's a school for gifted youngsters," He informs me before nodding his head once. "This is a school specialized for children with mutations such as Warren, or Kurt, whom you met earlier."

Furrowing my eyebrows together, another question comes to mind. "Why have I never heard of this place before?" I ask, receiving a small smile.

"We're a relatively small school," Charles simply explains, "Ultimately, if your boyfriend would want to join, he could - now, you're not a mutant, but the unique and understanding attitude you give off, I'm sure we could work something out for you too."

His words make my cheeks turn pink in response to the compliment as I thank him, turning my eyes toward the ground as I try to fight the ever-growing smile on my lips. Just as I do this, I see Charles put a hand to his forehead as his eyebrows furrow before looking over at Mystique with a smile. "Raven, take her back to the medical ward," he tells the fiery-haired woman. "It seems that her friend was easily operable and now they're just waiting for him to wake up."

Almost immediately, I turn and follow Mystique out of the room with my pace just a little faster than hers. Soon enough, we walk through the doors and directly to the beds where only one of them is occupied, and the sleeping body in it is Warren's. The window behind him shines down on him with the bright and early morning sun highlighting his now washed and pure white wings that lie behind him. The sight is a complete contrast to what I saw only an hour ago with the almost black sky darkening everything around us and only emphasizing the dirt and grime that covered Warren's perfect wings.

"We told you he'd be okay," I hear Mystique's gentle voice beside me say, causing me to nod with an onrush of tears rising in my eyes. They were right, and my Warren is okay.

Moving closer to him, I sit beside Warren on the bed and take his hand in mine, his unconscious body unresponsive toward my touch and his perfect face never changing. "I'll let you two be alone," Mystique speaks up before doing as she says and walking back toward the door. Once I hear the swinging door shut, the tears residing in my eyes quickly fall over the barrier and down my face as I try to hold in my sobs.

When you love someone, you never want to see them in pain or hurting, and when they're laid up in a hospital bed with consciousness being a waiting game, it hurts you. It physically hurts you to the point where your chest feels heavy with dread, and your stomach feels sick with worry. It's terrible, and I wish there was something I could've done to protect Warren from getting shot.

"I'm so sorry," I sob, turning my eyes away from him and toward the floor. Raising my free hand to cover my mouth as the sobs tumble out, I don't notice Warren's hand gently squeezing mine until I feel the bed beneath me slightly moves.

Immediately looking back over to him, I see his eyes flutter open and quickly dart to me, confusion taking over his tired face as soon as he sees my crying form. "Why..." Warren slowly starts speaking, his voice raspy and scratchy with sleep. "Why are you crying, love?" He finishes his question, now trying to sit up.

"No, no, baby," I usher him to continue lying flat, moving to stand on my knee on the side of his bed before pushing his shoulders back down onto the mattress. Despite this, he still doesn't listen and moves to wrap his arms around me before pulling me fully onto the bed and holding me to his chest. Finally, Warren does lie back down, but in a matter of seconds, his wings are fluttering around me like any other time I'd be on top of him. My eyes quickly catch sight of the now bandaged wounds, and now that I get a better look, I see that there was one more bullet-wound than I initially thought. "Warren, your stitches!"

"It's okay, love," He sleepily responds, leaning his head back to look up at me with a happy face. "I'm so damn happy to see you," Warren confesses, his eyes gazing over me as if I were a precious gem.

If it weren't for the nurses cleaning the dirt from his face and body, I wouldn't have been able to assess the full damage the fighting ring did to him. Above his left eye is a healing bruise that covers a majority of the side of his forehead, and his bottom lip is split, making it swollen. On top of all of that, his green eyes are sunken in and practically taken over by dark circles.

Still, he continues staring at me, acting as if nothing is bothering him until a look of confusion fall over his face. "Now, are you going to tell me why you were crying?" Warren repeats his question from earlier, making me shake my head as more tears rise to my eyes.

"You almost died, Warren," I inform him, his face still unchanging. "I've been without you for three damn months, and the night I get you back, I almost lost you again - for good!" I add on, raising a hand to wipe away my fast-falling tears.

However, Warren beats me to it and places his hands against my cheeks where he gently holds me, his face now soft. I guess he hasn't assessed the severity of the situation. That, or he hasn't taken the time to fully realize that he has stitched-up bullet wounds adorning his wings.

"I'm sorry," Warren apologizes after a few seconds of silence. Despite expecting those two words, it still doesn't hit me any easier as I'm sobbing once again, this time, into Warren's chest.

Holding me close, Warren waits a few moments before moving his hands back to my face and turning me to look at him directly. As soon as he gets the chance, Warren places his rough lips on top of mine, the skin chapped from the harsh things he's been put through. Despite crying moments ago, my tears ultimately stop as I come to the realization of how much I've missed the feeling of Warren's lips on mine. Chapped or not, his lips are the pure definition of Heaven, and when they're on top of mine, it's like pure ecstasy.

Pulling away for air, I pant above Warren as he does the same, his hands now sliding down to grip my waist once again. "I love you," He tells me, "And I've missed you- God, how I've missed you," Warren adds, shaking his head as a small, almost unnoticeable tear falls down his cheek. "Each day was hell without you, and I can't be without you, not again."

Smiling at him, I lean down once more and peck his soft cheek before nuzzling my head next to his on the pillow, his hold on me never changing in the slightest. "You won't have to, Angel," I tell him, watching his lips quirk up in a smile at my nickname for him. Deciding on leaving the explanation of where we're at for later, I close my eyes alongside Warren and fall asleep, finally able to relax knowing he and I can be together with no one to stop or hurt us.

[delirious-donna]

The Oral Lesson

an: the amount of time I spend thinking about these two men and how badly they might share a lover would probably see me on some kind of watch list… it’s more than time I put pen to paper, so to speak. This could be a series, maybe? Perhaps..? Depends on engagement (and I don’t mean likes alone!)

premise: It was meant to be a forbidden fantasy, one that would never become reality, but when you open your eyes to find the Hokage’s loyal guard dog on his knees before you, you know things have changed. However, it would be some time before you realise the enormity of this moment…

pairing: Hokage Kakashi x female reader x ANBU Obito

warnings: canon divergent (Obito always lives in my fics), NSFW throughout, without spoiling everything - its reader receiving oral, power play between the men, reader is married to Kakashi, reader is assumed curvy, touch starved is not the potential name of the series for no reason

There were no two ways about it, this had to be a dream.

The pinnacle of wet dreams that you would reminisce about for months, perhaps years, to come. Except the hand curled lightly around the column of your throat was all too realistic to be fantasy. Too familiar with roughened callouses covering the fingertips and edging the broad palm.

Kakashi Hatake—your husband.

His unique scent of oak-smoked wood chips, and that subtly sweet hint that you had never been able to give a name, filled your nose. At times, you would swear his scent reminded you of the scorched earth after a lightning strike, and it was true right now.

Your eyes flickered open, audibly gasping to see an ANBU shinobi sitting on his haunches before you. The mask was one you were all too familiar with, the painted whorls of the Hokage’s personal guard and you were privileged to know his true name… Obito Uchiha.

This couldn’t be happening. The teasing from moments ago felt like a lifetime passed and you squirmed atop Kakashi’s lap but were unable to escape. Do you really wish to? A small voice in your head said that you should, that what was being suggested was wrong but how badly you had desired this very outcome blew away those prim and proper reservations.

“Her pulse shot through the roof when you looked at her, Obito. I told you that she wanted this…”

You gasped to hear your husband speak about you like this, though the words were not untrue. The hollows of the eye holes shifted from deep midnight pits to blazing crimson orbs that seared your skin with tantalising warm fire without so much as touching you. His breathing was becoming laboured as he sat there, hands laying flat on his thighs in a position of submission.

Obito was only this composed and subservient for one man—your man—and it aroused you to see that there was a strain in his posture to maintain his stance. The threads of his compliance frayed beneath the weight of his desire.

“Kashi,” you breathed, voice barely more than a whisper though your gaze never left Obito’s. Your tongue felt thick and heavy in your mouth, the thin cotton of your dress smothering despite being lightweight and flimsy on your body. The heat of Kakashi’s body beneath you certainly didn’t help matters, nor did the intense fiery blaze you were captivated by.

He hummed in response. “Hm? Something to say, sweetheart? Weren’t you just finishing telling me that you’d let him put his hands and mouth on you if I agreed?”

With an embarrassed moan, you tried to hide your face in the crook of his neck. Mortified beyond belief that Kakashi would so openly admit the hushed words of your most forbidden fantasies, ones you never thought would come to fruition.

“Don’t be shy, my love. Obito feels the same way, although I guess you didn’t know that,” Kakashi drawled with such measured control that you were reminded exactly how he reached this position of power. Not many could act so calmly in high-pressure situations, but Kakashi excelled where others failed. Simply another reason to love him as much as you did.

Obito hadn’t said a word up to this point, not even the smallest sound escaped his mouth and you marvelled at his self-control. The metal arm guards that normally covered his forearms were nowhere to be seen, the same for the grey flak jacket you were accustomed to.

Now, he knelt on the floor in only the standard ANBU dark pants, a black sleeveless compression shirt that covered up to his throat and equally black gloves that ended halfway up his biceps.

You were endlessly fascinated by those biceps.

The way they bulged when his hands curled into fists only to flatten back into some semblance of submission seconds later. Your breathing became harsh watching the action be repeated in an endless loop. Without realising, you pushed yourself upright on Kakashi’s lap, your fingers curling into his forearm each time Obito made his own fists until you made indents with the edges of his nails.

Behind you, Kakashi smiled. “You’ve been rather quiet, Obito… don’t you have anything to say to my wife?”

“I… don’t know if that would be wise, Lord Sixth,” Obito muttered after a long drawn-out moment of silence. His voice was deeper than Kakashi, rougher around the edges and you could hear the forced formality enough to know it grated down his spine to speak this way.

The three of you had shared many casual moments, it was a given since the two men were friends and rivals from years gone past. Heavens, you had cooked for this man. Shared stories of their youth over bottles of wine. Patched rips in his uniform.

Kakashi clicked his tongue. “Lose the airs and graces, you’re not here as my guard. Speak freely and tell my wife how much you covet her.”

You gasped, turning your head to meet charcoal eyes filled with humour, but while you stared, you could make out a darkness that spoke of something else. A power play? It should make you feel vulnerable… used, yet it was quite the opposite.

To be desired by two powerful men, one the Hokage and the other the current highest-ranking ANBU captain in Konoha. Your beloved husband and his best friend, though both would try to deny such a claim. You were damp between your thighs, arousal pooling into the seat of your underwear and it warmed your cheeks until you were certain it was obvious.

“It’s true. I’ve wanted a taste of what you have for some time now. Not that I would have ever done anything about it!” He asserted, eyes never leaving your face whilst he spoke to the man at your back. “But if she is willing and you… are willing to share—”

“Under my supervision and guidance only. Take off the mask, let our pretty girl see you without the guise of an animal,” Kakashi interjected whilst pressing a kiss to your neck.

The animal mask fell to the side, skittering across the floor and out of sight. It left only the man. The scars on his face from years gone by did nothing to detract from how handsome he was. His lips were pleasingly plump, nose nice and straight and those eyes—those beautiful expressive eyes—were easy to fall into and lose yourself entirely. Even without the Sharingan activated, you were drawn to those dark, all-seeing eyes.

“May he touch you, sweetheart? Shall I teach him how to please you? Let us see if he can make you mewl as I can,” he hummed, nipping at your ear and drawing his hands higher to paw lightly at your breasts.

A nod was all you could manage, followed by yet another gasp of alarm when Obito leaned close and kissed the outside of your knee. He’d moved so swiftly that following the movement was impossible.

His touch was delicate, careful as if he worried you’d break if he were to show his true colours. With his assistance, you spread your legs until they bracketed the outside of Kakashi’s beneath you. The man in question gripped at your dress and bunched it higher until your underwear came into view.

Obito appeared transfixed and a vein popped in his temple from tightly he held his jaw. The muscles of his biceps bulged against the snug hold of his long gloves and when he raised a hand to touch your pubic mound through the cotton fabric, you sighed breathily and shifted your hips.

“Is she wet?”

His crimson eyes shot up to yours, searching for permission to reply, and you smiled kindly, a wave of affection forming in your chest. “Y-yes. Right here…” Obito stroked his gloved fingertip over the small damp patch.

“I’m not surprised, she’s been squirming ever since you came in. Perhaps, I should have arranged this sooner,” Kakashi mused quietly whilst leaning back in his chair so your butt was in the air. “Take them off her, please.”

“Kashi, I can…” You tried to free your arms to help shimmy out of the troublesome underwear but a bite to your collarbone silenced you. The sting of sharp canines elicited a slow pant from your throat, your sight growing hazy and before you knew it, a cool breeze played across your bare pussy.

The chill wind didn’t last, it was replaced by warm lips on the inside of your thigh, thick black hair obscuring your view and you clung to Kakashi at the shiver that rippled down your spine. His breathing was steady in your ear, the feel of a smile on your skin whilst Obito pressed kisses, which started gentle, to your plush flesh until they were messy and open-mouthed.

“You can be a little rough with her, she likes it… don’t you, my precious girl?”

Despite his continued presence and hold on your throat and breasts, you jerked in alarm when Kakashi spoke. The implication of the statement had you clenching around air and you heard Obito’s muffled groan when he too noticed.

“Mhm. Please. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something,” you managed after licking your parched lips.

Obito wasted no time in nudging his nose along your labia, smelling you until he couldn’t stand it any longer, and parted your folds with two thick fingers. You could feel all the blood in your body zero in on your core, skin becoming puffy in anticipation. Scintillating wet warmth sent a hiss through your clenched teeth, the path of his tongue along the full length of your slit arching your spine and forcing your heaving breasts further into your husband’s grasp.

The man on his knees glanced up at you through his eyelashes, careful to judge your every movement and noise for possible signs of distress but he found none. The strong muscle created wave-like patterns over your achingly empty hole and passed it to just below your pert clit. It was a sensation you were unaccustomed to, but it scratched an itch you didn’t even know you had.

Your eyes flickered shut, bottom lip caught between your teeth. You were ready to absorb every stroke and touch, every wet-sounding kiss and the melody of three people breathing in tandem, but Kakashi had other ideas. How he even knew your eyes had fallen closed, you weren’t sure, but he withdrew his hand from your chest to click his fingers. It was a soft click, enough to cause your eyes to spring wide and you tilted your head back to meet his hooded gaze.

“You really should watch whilst our guest eats you out, dear, it’s only polite. How is he doing? Make sure he knows what you want.”

His voice was a whole octave lower and you could feel the rigid length of his erection pressed firmly into your lower back. He was turned on by the act he was witnessing and that only served to stoke your fires higher.

As if to prove a point before you could speak, Obito licked across the surface of your clit for the first time. It was barely a kitten lick but it was more than ample to short-circuit your brain. Your brows knitted together, mouth falling into a deep oval of enthralment at being teased like this. In response, your hips undulated only to be trapped in two gloved palms.

“So good… I-I want more,” you admitted with your shuttered stare being met with a blazing inferno that looked more than ready to blow.

Kakashi licked over a fresh mark he’d not long finished sucking into your neck, the act of possession was not lost on anyone in the room and he chuckled softly. “Mhm, give the lady what she wants, Obito. I want to hear how she sounds coming apart by your hand and mouth.”

Obito sat back for a moment, his lips swelling steadily from his actions and skin coated in a thin sheen of your slick. Strands of his black hair stuck to his forehead and you reached forward to brush them back, warmed when he nuzzled into the heart of your palm. You missed the heat of his mouth on you, squirming around to find a position that would alleviate the ache growing rapidly in the pit of your belly.

“Lo—Kakashi, I want to fuck her with my fingers. Is that… uh, is that okay?”

The furious flush that washed over his cheeks was downright adorable, as was how he refused to meet your eye while your husband pretended to ponder. You knew he’d allow it, it was something you had discussed before this even beginning, back when you were certain it would remain a fantasy.

“Who do you wish to fuck with your fingers?” Kakashi prompted, the smile evident in his words and you whined in protest. It earned you a pinch to your nipple, enough to silence you.

Obito cleared his throat, swallowing down his pride in search of what he wanted above all else. “Your wife. I want to fuck your wife with my fingers. Please.” The nicety was forced, his nostrils flaring as if ready for a verbal argument but none came.

“My wife, that’s right. Do as you please, just make her cum nice and loud.”

This side of Kakashi rarely came out—the cool demeanour which spoke of calculating control. It made you weak at the knees, heart in your throat whenever he set those predatory eyes on you and you could well understand Obito’s reaction to the pulse of dominant power. He too was used to being an alpha presence given his line of work, and especially since he chose to become the Hokage’s personal guard. A decision he would never have made for anyone other than Kakashi.

The power play ignited the room with dense tension that felt like swimming through honey, and to realise that you were the object of affection, the reason this was even happening in the first place… you didn’t feel worthy.

However, you had no time to process these thoughts as the man on the floor took his permission with a sharp nod of his head and lunged for you. The poor little mouse was trapped by the jaws of a lion, but this feline was far from going to harm you. Instead, he was gentle despite how eagerly he moved.

His tongue bathed your tender pearl in his spit, lapping it incessantly until he changed directions and suckled you between his lips. You cried out, only to be blindsided by the intrusion of two thick fingers. Whilst you had focused on the mouth set to wring you dry of your bliss, you hadn’t noticed the dance of his fingers which collected your nectar to coat his gloves.

The warm leather rubbed soft friction into your velvet walls, stretching you just right. It felt wonderful, but you couldn’t help but wonder if it would feel more so without the gloves in the way. A small voice in the back of your head boldly decided that you would request his bare hands the next time.

Next time… Would there even be a next time to speak of? You didn’t know, but you could hope.

Kakashi’s breath fanned your wildly beating pulse, smearing open-mouthed kisses in between words of encouragement. His voice was your guide when you couldn’t keep your eyes open. When you did finally find the resolve to pry them apart, you found your hand tangled at the roots of Obito’s midnight black hair.

He was working you closer and closer to the point of no return, wet slurps mingled with your moans of more and the steady rhythm of his fingers fucking into you. His wrist rotated suddenly, fingertips brushing that deep area of sensitive tissue that your own fingers could never reach.

“Oh. Fuck… right there. Obito, don’t stop.”

Both men jolted at your keening declarations; Obito glanced up with his chin shiny with the gloss of your making, cheeks flushed from where your thighs had crushed around his head, and Kakashi groaned deep in his throat.

His slender fingers lowered the neck of your dress and repeated the action with the cups of your bra. He licked his thumb and finger and rolled your nipple between, drawing it out taut until you whimpered and struggled. “Ah ah, don’t thrash. Look down and see how well my guard dog is eating you out, beloved.”

You tightened instinctively, squeezing around Obito’s fingers, who doubled down on the pace he stroked you to. His nose ground at the hood of your clit, tongue swiping left and right then up and down. He was losing his restraint, pushing into you only to be met by the force of you rutting your cunt into him. A growl rumbled in his chest at being called a guard dog, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

Gods, you wanted to be full. To cum around more than just fingers and feel how they would react to you orgasming on their cock. Did you want your husband or Obito or… both? The thought alone tripped your orgasm into effect. You were barely aware of Obito pulling his wet fingers from your cunt to press his tongue into your fluttering hole instead, intent on catching every drop of your nectar and swallowing it greedily.

Kakashi cooed soft words in your ear, coaxing you through your high and stroking over your hair whilst you sobbed from the overwhelming and continued stimulation from the plush muscle digging into you in search of your slick. Those wet gloved hands gripped into the meat of your thighs, keeping you open and forcing you to endure what he wanted to give.

“Obito, enough. Let our little flower catch her breath.” You heard the command distantly, twitching and still seeking out grounding from your high.

Dazedly, you blinked and moaned anew at the expression written across Obito’s face. His cheeks were ruddy, lips swollen with blood and the lower half of his face streaked with a mixture of your arousal and his spit. His chest heaved with the struggle of retreating, every muscle in his body tense and straining and how badly you wanted to reach out and comfort him.

“Kashi, sweetheart, let me go to him?” You asked softly, turning so your words were in his ear, your lips on his neck. He regarded you with a look of unconditional love, eyes softened with affection and a smile decorating his lips which was a far cry from the cool power play of earlier.

He kissed you on the forehead, fixing your dress to cover your exposed breasts and lowering the hem. A lone finger traced the curve of your jaw, moving to brush over your lips and you caught him by surprise by pressing them to his and savouring the warmth of his mouth.

Kakashi was familiar with being touch-starved, as were you. It was something that helped to bind you together in those early days and you both recognised that Obito was also touch-starved and in need of a demonstration of how welcoming love and affection could be. He nodded, his nose nudging along yours and embracing you with delicate care.

“Show him how amazing it can feel. I trust you, both of you.” Kakashi added those final words loud enough for Obito to hear. His eyebrows pinched in confusion, but he had no time to assess the meaning when you slid from your husband’s lap only to be caught by Obito.

You wound your arms around his neck and settled your head right there in the crook. Twisting your fingers into the hairs at his nape, you pressed kisses to his shoulder until he finally placed his hands on your waist. His touch was unsure, body rigid with nerves and you could understand.

“Thank you, Obito… you made me feel more alive than I thought possible. Let me hold you, it’s okay.”

His chin dipped until his cheek rested on your shoulder and some of the tension drained from his body. It had meant to be a fantasy scenario of being shared but it would be so much more than that in time and you would discover this in the months to come.

For now, you calmed your racing heart and gave the man held in your arms a piece of you that was worth more than any orgasm. All under the watchful and loving eye of your husband, the master strategist…

Taglist: @angelic-muse @actuallysaiyan @angel-teeth @adharadotcom @whatshernameis @rookie98writes @basementqueercock @valleyxdoodles @snapemalfoy @fiestynatureweeb @mel-star636 @karleequinn @he-art-pulp @half-baked-biscuit

[transmascaraa]

Noelle Anon here! I loved your work! It was so cute and made my little sapphic heart explode! Could I maybe request the same thing with other genshin girls of your choosing? I just love them all so much!!!! Maybe with fem!reader this time?

Have a good night/day! <3

multiple characters headcannons!

cooking with them...

characters: furina, sucrose, arlecchino, navia x fem!reader

author's note: hiiiii i haven't written in a while😭 didn't have much time and not too much motivation for writing lmfao but now i'm here to write this because the req is adorable! i chose women that i thought you'd like because everyone likes them i guess so yeah<3 i hope you enjoy this and i tried my best to write smthn wlw i hope it's good enough

♡ Furina

-we all know how she's not one of the best cooks. so, you being one makes it a bit better.

-still, if you wanted to cook WITH her, then the food would probably just have to be macaroni.

-not gonna judge, i love it js as much as she does.

-you decided to get prepared one day, to cook together, and prepare a meal for one another!

-although you know that the only options you had were macaroons and macaroni, where she only had one option.

-so you started cooking macaroons.

-it is always SO fun to cook with her. she's always smiling and talking with you, talking about the most random things ever.

-of course, if you don't like talking much, she'll talk less but not be quiet entirely.

-know that you're gonna get a few kisses during the tiem being.

-and when you finally finish both of your meals, and prepare them for eachother, furina literally has a new shine in her eyes.

-when she tried it, she mumbled something that she thought you wouldn't hear

-"i don't care. this is my new favorite food."

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

✿ Sucrose

-she's like noelle, so i think you get the point what she'd be like.

-whatever you'd cook for eachother, she'd like it. and the other way around.

-the cooking experience with her is very calming, too.

-you might chit-chat about something randomly but know that it's mostly quiet with the sounds of nature from outside.

-if you liked to talk a lot tho, she had no problem of listening to your pretty voice while she cooked something for you.

-you made a cheesecake for her!

-setting the table together, and finally sitting down to try the food.

-whatever she made you, it was really decorated and the only thing that you knew that it was some type of cake.

-and she recognized that your's is a cheesecake almost immediately.

-when she tried it, she started talking to you, blushing a bit, about how much she's grateful for you.

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

✧ Arlecchino

-i'm pretty sure this isn't too ooc

-now, what i know is that she's definitely a great cook.

-i mean, she's a 'father', a parent to her children, of course she knows how to cook!

-so you had no problems asking her to cook with her. you knew that the kitchen wouldn't be burned down. hopefully.

-alright, you start cooking something that everyone likes, cupcakes! but the ones that you were able to make for her were cherry ones!

-arlecchino wasn't entirely quiet throughout the cooking either. it was either you or her talking with some kisses that can't be missed. she talked about her kids and her missions, while you either talked about her work in return, or about why you still love her despite it all.

-when you finish cooking and come to the dinner table with her, there's not much reaction on her face yet, unlike your's which was clearly happy.

-she made you cinnamon rolls!

-(i'm sorry if it's something you don't like)

-when she tried the cherry cupcake, you got a smirk from her.

-"you're a good cook, pretty girl."

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

✯ Navia

-this girl will make you the best food ever. she will take this activity very seriously with you.

-usually, you'd think that maybe the conversations that you'd have throughout the process very little, but that's not the case.

-she would talk with you the whole time.

-"i remember once when i was little..."

-"do you remember when i..."

-"can you pass me the sugar?"

-you get the point.

-of course, she won't miss the chance to give you a few kisses.

-and finally when you cooked eachother the "special food", turns out the both of you made macaroons for eachother.

-that just resulted in a laugh from you both as you now started talking about whose are better.

-she said yours were better.

-but you denied and said the opposite.

-however you look at it, cooking with her is a great experience to not only get to know eachother better, but also just for the fun of it.

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

okay i love this one

it's so cute

i hope anyone who reads it likes it, especially you anon because i liked the noelle req too!!^^

| @mariaace <3

[cosmicatta]

An analysis of Portgas D. Ace through the light novels

Yes, I'm here again with my bullshit. After reading the Law novel, I was very excited to get my hands on the Ace ones too. And because I feel very intensely about him, I couldn't help turning my reading experience into a character analysis essay. Again.

So here we go!

Some notes before I start:

The edition I've read of this novel is the official Spanish translation by Planeta. When quoting and mentioning numbered pages, I'm referencing that edition.

I originally posted this on Twitter as a thread! If it sounds familiar, that might be why.

I've also posted an essay/thingie about Law's novel here!

These are just my personal impressions, I'm not trying to tell anyone how they should interpret the novel or Ace's character. I'm just doing this for fun!

Much like the Law novel, these are kind of a “prequel” to the source material. The story starts with Ace getting stuck in Sixis Island, where he meets Deuce, and follows their journey as Ace builds his own crew and later ends up joining Whitebeard.

The difference is that Ace’s novels, unlike Law’s, rely a lot more on canon events that we already know happened, because they’re mentioned or briefly shown in the manga (especially in the second volume). I’ll go a bit more into detail about this later, but either way, we can say that the novels are very canon-compliant at the very least.

Also, it’s important to point out that volumes 1 and 2 are written by different authors. I do think this has an impact in the way the narrative flows from one part to another, but it still reads like a cohesive story as a whole.

Overall, it offers a very different reading experience from Law’s novel. I guess the biggest contrast here is that we already know what’s going to be Ace’s tragic destiny, so the narration can’t really feel too hopeful.

Even if the story is lighthearted and adventurous most of the time, the tone that surrounds it all is bittersweet. And the core points of Ace’s journey are always marked by his fatal wounds: love, identity and the concept of deserving.

There is no real resolution for any of these themes throughout the novels; there can’t be, because we know Ace will only reach true understanding right before his death.

In this sense, I think the first volume does a better job at capturing that feeling of “tragic hero” that the story seems to go for, without necessarily getting too grim about it. And there’s a few things about it that get lost in the second part:

Volume 1 is written in first person, but it’s not Ace, the protagonist, who narrates the story. It’s Deuce. I think this is an interesting decision because it allows us to see Ace from the outside, through the eyes of someone who loves him.

And what we see from Deuce’s perspective contrasts with the image that we know Ace has of himself. This is especially interesting for 2 reasons:

He shows what Ace craved for all his life but didn’t know he already had until the end: love and respect.

He’s offering the readers a version of Ace’s identity crafted by an outside viewer, which is also what Ace keeps doing all the time: defining himself in relation to others.

These are going to be the main ideas that shape Ace’s journey from the start and what both novels try to explore.

Although Deuce and Ace’s relationship doesn’t start off in the best way, from the beginning Deuce sees a light in him that he has never known in anyone before. This even reflects in the way he describes Ace physically:

(Quotes roughly translated from Spanish):

P. 27: “He played with his radiant black hair.”

P. 129: “His pupils glowed with the colors of the sea floor.”

But what is most emphasized about Ace throughout the narration is his kindness and gentleness—he shares his fruit with Deuce while he’s starving too, he has a place for all kinds of rejected outlaws in his crew, he helps Isuka even though they’re supposed to be enemies, he gives the rice crackers he’d just bought to some children in Sabaody, etc.

Ace just goes around giving away his endless love without thinking too much about it. It’s in his nature. And people love him in return.

P. 66: “What does it mean to be a captain? To me, it means people love you. […] Ace was born to be a captain.”

There’s a small episode that I find very interesting in this sense—right before attacking him, a bounty hunter declares:

P. 67: “Ace! I love you!”

Ace assumes the guy only said that because his head would have granted him a ton of money. But it’s still a weird way to word it. It’s as if Ace was a shooting star that everyone couldn’t help but admire in awe, friends and enemies alike.

But, as I said before, Ace seems to be completely unaware of this, despite the very explicit ways in which people show him appreciation.

It’s at this point that we start to see the conflict between Ace’s “goals” that he set for himself and his true desires (though this will be explored in more detail in volume 2).

Although he keeps claiming to be in search of fame, he doesn’t really seem to be that interested in it. He only reacts to his own popularity when his loved ones do, because that is what he actually wants: acceptance, validation.  

P. 82: “Whenever the number increased [Ace’s bounty], we celebrated it. And him, in seeing us all so happy, celebrated too.”

What Ace is doing is just constantly looking for the answer to that dreadful question he asked Garp as a child: “Did I deserve to be born?” And he tries to find clues in his crewmates’ faces, in his enemies’ words, in the way the whole world around him reacts to his existence.

But what’s interesting is that he’s not just passively contemplating, he very actively tries to earn that right to live, in his own twisted way.

Yes, the world had already decided who Ace was even before he was born, but now it’s his turn. Now he can try and recreate his own image for them to see. And if he has to be a monster, it will be in his own terms.

It’s not about fame, it’s about identity. Because Ace’s identity has never been truly his own.

This is a very delicate subject for him, especially when he realizes that his bounty is growing at an abnormal speed, indicating that the government probably knows who he really is. And so, he is tormented by the idea that, despite all his efforts, he can’t escape the portrait that others have painted of him without permission.

Even those who don’t know the truth about his origins feel free to decide Ace’s worth as a human being. In this regard, his fight with Vice Admiral Draw is notable—he judges Ace not as Roger’s son, but as a regular pirate, and yet he still reaches the same conclusion and says the words that Ace fears so much:

P. 148: “You don’t deserve one more second in this world. It is because of you that so many people live in fear. […] If you didn’t exist, no one would be unhappy.”

Ace wins this fight, but he leaves with an open wound that never closes and only seems to get bigger with time.

And with this, the first volume closes in a very bittersweet tone:

P. 159: “Ace didn’t believe he deserved anyone’s love. […] But Isuka didn’t think the same, and she wasn’t the only one. The problem was that Ace wouldn’t realize. […] He was like the Sun. Everyone adored him, his enemies respected him. Ace was the center of everything. But, like the Sun, way too bright, he was always alone. […] Ace had created a home for us. But what about him? Could we find a home for him, where he’d be able to smile in peace from the bottom of his heart?”

The second volume starts where the first left it, with Ace and his crew entering the New World.

I have to say that I didn’t like this one as much as the first because, for a book that’s supposed to be about Ace’s relationship with others, it kind of falls flat at some points in that sense. Sometimes the novel seems more concerned with describing action scenes that aren’t really that interesting, or events that we already know from the manga without adding much to them.

Also, I feel like I have to mention that some scenes and description choices were a bit questionable (casual misogyny, etc.), but overall the book was still enjoyable to me.

The style and structure is a bit different from the first volume too—for starters, it’s written in third person, although the perspective is a bit all over the place sometimes. The POV keeps switching back and forth between different characters, which could a useful and interesting approach, but you need to know how to do it right, and I’d say it was a bit messy here.

But there is a good side to this, which is that we get a peek into Ace’s thoughts too sometimes.

And we see, as volume 1 already hinted, that his motivations are unclear even to himself. He insists that he wants to surpass his father’s fame, but he isn’t interested in titles or riches.

P. 61: “I don’t aspire to be the King of Pirates or anything of the sort.”

P. 74-75: [In response to “What brought you to the sea?”] “I guess I expected to find out at the sea… Though there’s something I do want to achieve. […] I’ll make sure everyone knows my name.”

Part of the reason why Ace despises the title of “Pirate King” is very obvious—it was his father’s title. But this disinterest also reveals the true reason why Ace thinks he wants the fame: it’s not ambition or vanity; it’s, again, his way of crafting his own identity.

In reality, although he directs his resentment towards his father, it’s not him he really hates, but the world that built a monstrous myth around his figure, a myth that Ace inherited.

P. 80: “This world killed Sabo. Unless you’re someone like Roger, whose execution brought a new era, it doesn’t matter if you live or die. […] Even if I can’t win their recognition, even if they hate me, I’ll become a pirate and take revenge on them all. […] One day, people won’t say ‘Ace, Roger’s son,’ but ‘Roger, Ace’s father.’”

Again, if he must be a monster, he’ll be one he’s created himself.

But it becomes clear in this volume that he has no idea how to do that. He wants to change the world, but has no plan to do so, and doesn’t even understand what that means exactly.

And here’s where Whitebeard is key, as we already know. He sees through Ace, and eventually makes him reevaluate his own ambitions, until he ends up admitting that he has no idea what he’s doing.

P. 159: [Thatch asks him] “You want your reputation to surpass that of the Pirate King, but you’re not interested in the One Piece. You don’t want to break the code either. What the hell does your flag even represent?” [And Ace answers] “I don’t know. Honestly, I thought I did, but not anymore.”

P. 224-225: “Whitebeard inviting him to be his son had seemed to him like another ‘father’ attempting to take control of his life. But […] now he understood the word ‘son’ a little differently.”

Though there’s no real resolution to Ace’s big questions in life, he slowly starts finding his own place and learning to accept the kindness he’s given, even if he doesn’t fully understand it yet.

P. 229: [Deuce asks him] “Do you think you’ll find what you’re looking for with Whitebeard?” [And Ace answers] “Yes. […] Because here I feel at peace.”

The book finishes with Ace offering his back to get Whitebeard’s Jolly Roger tattooed. With this, he’s constructing his image around the figure of a different father, one that he’s proud of. He still builds himself in relation to others, but is now more benevolent in doing so.

This is the first step of a healing project that we know will never be fully complete. And because of this, despite the ending having a hopeful and gentle tone, it’s still a bit heartbreaking. Like the first act of a tragedy.

There's a lot more interesting stuff to talk about in the novels, like the way Ace talks about Luffy and Sabo, and how it becomes clear that they are what really made him want to live and keep fighting. But this is already way longer than I originally intended, so I'll leave it here.

So, if you read this far, thank you! ♥ I hope you enjoyed it or at least found it somewhat interesting.

[eponymous-rose]

Some (many) thoughts on Arcane s2 while it's still fresh in my mind:

(tw: discussion of fictional depictions of suicide)

I'm gonna do some nitpicking here, but only because I really did like it overall - I think for me s1 was a solid 10/10 and this season was an 8.5/10, so I'm certainly looking forward to rewatching it! The animation was a big step up from s1's incredible work, the music was great, the performances were fantastic. I do think the overall writing/story fell down a bit, though.

It's weird, because my go-to when character arcs feel rushed is to want more episodes, but I don't think that necessarily would have solved my issues with this season.

Cait turned on Ambessa on a dime - we love to see it, but I think we maybe needed a few more overt hints of her discomfort with her position, maybe a sense of wrongness in their adoptive relationship and some parallels with Jinx & Silco given what Vi says early on ("why are you the one acting like her?"). Ambessa believes her daughter to be lost, and Cait has lost a mother - they were certainly playing on that substitution, but the eventual turn, while fun, felt a bit quick and unearned. I saw someone joke about the word "Cupcake" flipping Cait back like a sleeper agent, but that's kinda how abrupt things felt.

I think Mel's plot largely hung together okay, although it was pretty disconnected from everyone except Ambessa - would've loved to have seen some acknowledgement that Cait was filling her shoes as Daughter for a while there.

Isha was sweet and I liked the parallels with the Powder-Vi relationship (LOVED Jinx running with the pink chalk and Isha with the blue), but I think the sacrifice metaphor got a little muddled. The parallels with Powder charging in and killing everyone around her, versus Isha charging in and saving everyone but herself felt a little forced and I struggled to see how they served the greater narrative. The whole point of Powder's failure was a messy combination of bad luck, overcompensating for what she perceived as a lack of confidence in her, etc. Isha had Jinx's confidence on her side, I guess, and now of course we have the foreshadowing of Jinx dying to save someone else, which she's been trying to do since Act II.

Suicide was a pretty heavy concept throughout the first season. We had the parallels of Jayce and Viktor, we had the little-remarked-upon moment where Viktor hesitates before cutting the wire on Jinx's bomb. I actually think this season did pretty well with those two (although I'll talk about a couple things that irked me below), but the concept that we can't escape the things that we've done and we instead have to find salvation in those around us felt kind of contrary to Jinx's finally finding a way to die for her sister. I don't know that Jinx's story was necessarily supposed to feel satisfying or complete, but without another season there's not much to dig through there.

And that brings up the main reason I don't think more episodes would have resolved my quibbles with this season: it was pretty prone to overexplaining. To me, one of the most exceptional things about that first season was how little it explained. You had these gorgeous, evocative flashes of Vander trying to kill Silco, Silco stabbing him and fleeing into the night, and that's all we needed! That's it! We didn't need to know the specifics, we didn't need more backstory than that - the whole point of the season was that these kids are trying to make their own stories, and these guys have set the stage and are in the process of bowing out. Much as I loved the glimpses this season into the past generation's adventures, it felt like it was pinning something down that was more effectively left to the imagination.

There were also some weird fumbles with discussions of disability, especially in that last episode. I loved so much of what season one did with it - the older generation of Zaunites almost all had some form of disability due to the way they'd been systematically poisoned and their constant exposure to danger, and that was a really in-your-face way to challenge the early "why can't we all get along" stuff. And so much of Viktor's and Jayce's arcs are tied in with the sense of time running out and how Heimerdinger's long-term goals are incompatible with helping the people suffering right now. But instead we get this weird "you didn't like your imperfections so you tried to eliminate all imperfections", which doesn't quite ring true.

We just fundamentally didn't get to a resolution that I think was heavily implied, especially in Act II. "No one in power is innocent" is a great, raw line, but we didn't really see it play out. Instead, we have everyone stopping from othering each other in order to band together against an even bigger Other. As a side note, I don't think that Sevika's ending is meant to be a positive thing - we see from the skeptical looks of others that she's got a long road ahead. The revolution we saw coming just sort of fizzled out, and I think it's still on the horizon, which makes things feel incomplete.

There were also a lot of notes that repeated instead of echoing or harmonizing. We had variations on the theme of Vander dying three different times. We had Vi being unable to kill her sister several times. The repetition felt a bit like it was filling time instead of moving things forward the way s1's plot kept pushing.

This season is also the first time I felt the hand of League of Legends Canon shoving the plot into place. We knew Vi was heading for that enforcer uniform, but after the initial conflict it sometimes felt more like we just unlocked a new skin for the character. The Vander-as-Warwick stuff was kind of silly and out of left field, although it was executed pretty well and certainly pulled at the ol' heartstrings. Ekko getting his time abilities was fun and impacted the final fight, but I feel like we were missing something there as well that I'm having a harder time putting my finger on. Some of Viktor's lines felt designed to make the League players in the audience go "HE SAID THE THING". And I hate the feeling of setting up the Next Installment in the Cinematic Universe, probably just because I'm exhausted with Marvel stuff - I'd love for an adaptation like this to be able to really and truly stand on its own.

Overall, it just felt less like the characters were driving the story and more like they were ticking off boxes, which is just something that any good finale has to contend with one way or another.

Anyway, that's a lot of nitpicking. Fundamentally, this felt almost like it was a really strong fic that did a surprisingly good job of wrapping everything up and was stunningly put together in places... but still lacked the spark of the original.

Stuff I loved: Vi/Cait getting a pretty strong arc and certainly the first lesbian sex scene I've ever seen in a TV-14 cartoon. Animation and score was stunning. I did love the what-if of episode 7 - something I've been waiting for them to acknowledge is that literally everything that happens in the show follows from that one break-in during episode one. I actually think Vi and Jinx's reunion and reconciliation felt earned.

I'm curious how I'll feel on subsequent rewatches - the first time I watched s1, I remember being blown away but not in a "this is the best thing ever" way, and it wasn't until the second time that it really clicked for me.

[multifandom-aroace]

Gwen's wardrobe in season five makes me sad. (I'm not the best at analysing but please bear with me)

Partly it is the fact that it just doesn't look like something she would wear. Like I get that she looks good. She doesn't look out of place in any way, but her clothes just don't suit her.

obviously she looks regal and beautifully. she looks like a queen, but she doesn't look like gwen.

I understand that what she wore before wasn't exactly what a queen should be wearing, but it feels like in costume design they went a bit too far in the opposite direction. all the colours are too dark, the details don't really fit with her personality. her costumes throughout the show are all relatively similar but once she becomes queen it feels like she changes completely. this probably reflects how her personality changes, which I also don't like. you would think that since she wasn't raised in nobility she would be fair and kind, not willing to kill a servant girl just because she overheard a conversation. it feels like they set it up from the beginning of the season for us to dislike her.

when I think of guinevere I think of costumes like these

these flower corsets are some of my favourite things she wears, and she could have worn something similar when she was queen.

I started thinking, in terms of the show, about why she might have changed her costume design so much and then I thought it might have something to do with respect. swen was a servant turned queen, and probably a lot of the people of camelot wouldn't have liked this much. you know, tradition and shit. so she probably drew inspiration from the other nobility she knew and decided to dress like that. for example, a lot of what she wears is similar to what Morgana wore.

like, obviously thay aren't exactly the same but it feels like there is definitely inspiration here.

this is probably because Morgana was respected (obviously before she because evil).

a lot of the female nobility/royalty clothing we see from camelot and the other kingdoms is Morgana, although we also see this from other visiting people, such as vivian, mithian and elena.

(best picture I could find of her full dress)

obviously elena is wearing a wedding dress here but she is literally marrying Arthur (who gwen married which is why she started wearing these clothes in the first place), and we can see that this colour and style is available to her class.

mithian and vivian are both wearing lighter, more delicate styles, and I get that these aren't anything I could see gwen wearing either but it's definitely closer than what she's actually wears. need I remind you that mithian was supposed to marry Arthur as well?

one thing I could find that is similar is literally gwen's coronation dress. while not exactly the same, it does seem very similar to somathing Morgana wore when she became queen

I feel like the purple and the gold colour scheme seem quite similar, as well as the sleeves and the general embroidered decorations.

I do also feel like this might be the most similar to gwen's original style that she goes in terms of her costumes as queen. it's a lighter colour and the gold decorations feels less heavy than when it is mixed with a darker fabric. this dress is more silky and delicate, rather than one of the first things she wears in season 5

the gold appears to be maybe a darker shade of gold especially when mixed with the maroon colour of the dress. this dress is clearly perfect for a queen, but it just doesn't feel like gwen. (not necessarily connected to Morgana jsut another point)

i guess what she was trying to do was remind the people of camelot that she was to be respected, and she knew how much people had loved Morgana. vivian and elena, on the other hand, were not. they were only in camelot for a short time but in that time they didn't really get people to like them. vivian was rude and elena was a bit 'weird' to them (not sure how else to describe their reactions to her). gwen didn't even meet mithian because she was in exile (another reason she needed people to respect her), so Morgana was the best person to take inspiration from.

the connection to morgana's outfits could also represent the connection between them later in the season and when gwen is under her control

overall, I think they did gwen dirty in the final season and she definitely deserved better.

[campbenji]

jwct s2 thoughts after first watch (spoilers under the cut!!!):

ok.... look, i'm just gonna say it: i put my expectations too high for this season and i ended up slightly disappointed. it's not a bad season or anything of the sort, but i guess i just didn't enjoy it as much as i did s1.

individual thoughts now, starting with the good:

-brooklynn. she's always been the camper i ignore most because i've never been able to connect with her but HOLY SHIT they really changed that this season. i desperately need to know what's going through her head, i'm so glad we got to see a good part of her pov from before and after the attack, and how she's adapting to losing her arm. i can't wait to see where she's going after that finale, the stakes went off the roof fr

-THE ANIMATION??? THE WET HAIR, THE RAIN, THE DINOSAURS LOOKED MAJESTIC, THE WAY YOU CAN ACTUALLY SEE THE CHARACTERS TREMBLING NOW IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL

-ben's arc. the amount of stress i felt for him he was going through it </3. the moment i realized he always wanted to tell them broke my heart, he knew it was a huge thing and tried to be careful with how he revealed it but never got the chance. i really wanted them to address other things about him but this will have to do

-episode 7 seems to be the best episode in every season now. yaz getting a solo adventure was something i didn't expect, and it was interesting to see how another one of their own going missing affected the group.

-kenji being reckless and putting himself in danger for other i dreamed and feared of times like these i shit you not. this was his entire arc in a jwcc s4 rewrite i made, i've been waiting for this for so long. it didn't go exactly like i wanted but i still found it interesting

-BEN AND KENJI SCENES BEN AND KENJI HEART TO HEART I'M QUITE LITERALLY SHAKING. that was the best part of the season actually (heavy /hj btw). them finally getting to open up to each other, the gyrosphere callback, them bickering around in the last few episodes, and the fight?? i really hope they're setting up a good continuation for that next season, i need more moments with them

-kenji taking care of speckles (bumpy's egg) so much throughout the season was lovely, he's such a proud father omg. the day that egg hatches is gonna be the happiest day of his life

-loved to see more of ronnie, it was kind of obvious that it was her who saved brooklynn and talked to her through dark jurassic but it was nice to have it confirmed

-it's still so weird to me to have a recurring cast who isn't just the villains, but i'm growing quite fond of them

-the blind baryonyx from episode 9 sent chills down my spine, my sister and i were fucking terrified. i would've loved to see more of it

-THAT FINALE HAS ME DEVASTATED. brooklynn giving them the egg, i hate that everyone was right about "i'm not the same brooklynn you knew", i have no idea if they're coming back from this one because what the fuck

now to the not so good stuff...

-darius felt, and oh my god i hate to say it, sidelined. again. so much of the season was centered around others that even crucial moments like him realizing brooklynn is alive were underwhelming. there was barely any followup to his issues from s1, it felt like he didn't even have an arc this season, he was just there.

-they dragged a lot of stuff in the middle of the season. i can't pinpoint it exactly but everything from the a plot in episodes 4 to 7 is a blur in my head.

-there was nothing about sammy either. it's still heavily implied that she's on bad terms with her family (her crying when aminata hugs her and her almost sibling-like bond with zayna), but she just doesn't get to talk?? about anything??? i'm so tired

-although i really liked her character, i feel like they could've done so much with zayna?? they had this girl joining them on the adventure who's around the same age as them when they got stranded, and did... nothing about it. sammy mentioned her age, but that was it. with how much they doubted her knowledge sometimes, it would've been interesting to see darius approaching her and making sure she's heard, with him being the youngest in jwcc and whatnot. the group making sure zayna didn't have as bad of an experience as they did could've been a great subplot.

-i DESPISED the dinostar flashback scene and everything they added to it. i needed to be convinced on dinostar, not completely drawn away from the ship! the implication that brooklynn was with darius ONE WEEK and darius was already head over heels when he wasn't before is insane; of course she wasn't ready for a relationship, SHE BROKE UP WITH KENJI LESS THAN A MONTH BEFORE WTF. anyways canon unrequited dinostar is out long live fanon qpr dinostar

-atp i hope they don't make dinostar canon or set brookenji back together, they should all be single for a while after everything that's gone down, although i can't help but be a little mad because then why make darius go through that, the grief was strong enough as purely platonic

-where was the handler. i'm not even obsessed with her and i missed her

-i think it was slightly obvious that soyona was going to be the broker so i'm a little confused as to why the promo made such a fuss about it, but anyway

-dr. sarr was wasted potential, those creations were insane and admitting to having fed the rest of the crew to the baryonyx felt straight out of a horror novel. that was some good horror stuff and then it got all thrown away in one episode.

-something i noticed a lot is that, even if there were barely no clips, they still revealed a lot about the season from just the trailer. half the trailer came from the last three episodes and there was a lot of spotlight to things that in the end didn't amount much to the plot (*cough* the DLN *cough*). i feel like that may be one of the reasons i didn't enjoy this season as much

that's pretty much it, sorry for being a hater about it but I had a lot of mixed feelings that i needed to get out. it's still not the worst season ever, it would take something truly awful to defeat s4 in my heart, but it's definitely in the lower middle.

[eilishalways]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

caught your eye

summary: someone catches billie’s eye at the met gala, and things get a bit steamy.

warnings: kinda suggestive

a/n: first post!! hope you guys like it 💋

billie stepped out of the car, finneas by her side. “you ready?” he asked. billie responded “i’ve done this before. i’m fine.” “yeah,” finneas replied, “but only once. just checking in, that’s all.” “sorry- i guess i’m just kinda nervous.” billie apologised. they made their way to the start of the stairs with an eruption of screams and camera flashes. although this was only billie’s second met, she had done many red carpets before this, so she knew how to handle the bright cameras. she posed alone and alongside her brother before moving on to the next bit of the carpet to pose again. as she headed up the next few steps, she turned her head to where she had came in through, and stopped still for a moment.

in came what billie reckoned to be the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen - wearing a stunning dress and adorned in jewellery that complimented it perfectly. billie was starstruck. she kept staring until finneas tapped her on the shoulder “billie! what’s wrong?” he asked. billie was snapped out of her trance, telling her brother nothing was wrong & continuing on with him to the next part of the carpet.

it would be another half hour before billie made it to the top of the stairs and was greeted by anna wintour. she only talked to the stylish woman briefly, her head occupied by the gorgeous woman she had seen earlier. she went inside the event with her brother and started to look around the exhibition. she admired the different outfits half-heartedly, not able to stop thinking about the woman. until she caught a glimpse of a beautiful dress, and went round the corner to follow it, leaving her brother behind.

billie stopped still when the woman turned to face her. “oh- hi. billie, isn’t it?” she asked. billie stuttered “oh- uh- yeah…” “my names y/n.” you said. “that’s- that’s a gorgeous name.” billie replied. “thank you, billie. how are you?” you asked her. billie blushed, silently berating herself for getting flustered at such a simple question. “i’m good,” she said finally, “how are you?”

the two of you chatted for a while, until finneas went looking for billie and found her there, talking to you. by then it was time for the dinner, so billie introduced you to her brother while the three of you walked to the place you’d be having it. sadly you weren’t seated at the same table, so you had to separate. throughout the meal, billie kept thinking about you, so much so that she couldn’t hold a conversation with anyone at her table. towards the end of it though, she saw you leave your table to go to the bathroom, and she decided to follow. “sorry,” she said to the people she was barely talking to, “i’ll just be a minute.”

billie entered the bathroom just seconds after you did, and grabbed your arm. “hey,” she smiled, “how are you finding the dinner?” “honestly, i’m not a big fan - the whole fancy ‘barely anything there’ dish isn’t my thing.” you laughed. billie agreed with you, grinning. “i’ve been dying to talk to you this whole time.” you said. billie blushed “oh- really?” she asked. “mhm… you’re good company. the people at my table are so boring.” you complained. you continued to whine about the people you had to sit with, nit-picking their annoying personalities one by one. “yeah,” billie said, “i’m kinda the same. i can’t focus on a conversation with any of the people i’m sat with.” you laughed quietly, and asked why. billie suddenly got hesitant, but told you why. “well,” she started, and looked down, “i keep thinking about you.” she looked back up, expected to see your disgusted or annoyed face, but was instead met with a smile.

“oh really?” you grinned. billie blushed harder than before. “mhm.” she answered. there was a pause, then you put your hand on billie’s cheek and kissed her. she was startled for a second before kissing you back. it started off pretty innocent, but it quickly escalated until to two of you were messily making out. billie took a quick break to lock the door before she back to you, not wanting to stop at all as her heart rate increased. you pushed her up onto the counter beside the sink and continued to make out with her. seconds turned into minutes, and before you knew it, it had been half an hour.

billie didn’t wanna stop, but when she got a text from her brother asking her was she alright, she knew you two had to finish. she left the bathroom with her lips a little more swollen and her cheeks a little more red.

[moonlight-prose]

wip wednesday!

thank you for the tags my darlings @guiltyasdave @ovaryacted @sceletaflores. it's no longer wednesday but i didn't do any writing yesterday so today is better. this is a short piece of my upcoming marcus acacius series i'm hammering away at.

Echoes of Eternity

“Through studying the artistic nature of the statue and it’s material we’ll be able to discern who the man might have been and who could have been tasked with creating it.”

The final click of your key brought the presentation to an end—silence enveloping the lecture hall as you set the notes back beside your laptop. Pages of research all dedicated to this one particular piece. To the statue that would change your future. People clapped softly at your thought out argument, others gathered their things to rush out before the crowd leaving campus grew to its familiar standstill.

“Brilliant!”

You grinned, turning to catch the dean Cassandra on your way out the side entrance, your notes clutched in a haphazard notebook pressed to your chest. “Thank you for letting me do this.”

“Better you than the man my colleague chose. I find your piece much more fascinating than the history of the Roman Catholic Church. Again.”

Summer’s heat filled the air with a thickness you felt drag down the back of your neck. The dewy sweat from earlier sticking to your skin the longer you stood out in the sun as it beat down on stone. You could see students rushing to make their classes, professors roaming the grounds animatedly talking about one thing or another. But the statue located in the very back, hidden away from the rest of the world caught your attention the most.

Cassandra followed your line of sight, a grin curving along pink painted lips. “Do you really think you’ll be able to uncover who he was?”

The once darkened hue of the stone slowly began to fade the longer it stood against the test of time. He looked out onto the world with eyes of steel. Laurels placed around a head of what you assumed were curls—brown if you had to guess considering the history. Though the clothes were of a soldier’s garments—armor carved into the breastplate—the paludamentum is what stood out the most.

Whoever this man was one thing remained certain in your years of study. He was crowned as a general of Rome. A man of superior strength and honor that stood amidst legions of warriors. Even his stance reminded you of the stories you’d heard growing up. Of gods and goddess alike—each with their own power over the people who once lived here.

For almost a year you had studied his face, sketching the outline of this statue in notebooks and along the margins of texts. You took every piece of knowledge acquired and attempted to unmask the man who was forced to live throughout eternity without a name.

The forgotten soldier lost to the depths of time itself.

“I hope so,” you mumbled, staring up the shield propped at his side, a sword attached to his hip. “There’s a possibility we’ve been looking at the wrong era.”

“The wrong era?”

“Most believe he came from the time of Commodus. But what if he’s from a time later than that?”

She shrugged. “It’s possible. Although I wouldn’t put it past the cruelty of Commodus to commission a statue and rip away the history of it.”

With a sigh, you turned back to the long stretch of land before you lined in ancient stones, the building for your apartment fifteen minutes away. “Commodus was cruel, but what would be the point of dishonoring another soldier after what happened with the gladiator?”

“Oh yes of course.” She rushed to keep the pace of your quick steps. “The general turned gladiator. The tragedy of Maximus. Didn’t his son turn out to be that emperor?”

You fished the keys out of the bottom of your bag. “The grandson of Marcus Aurelius.”

“Yeah that one.”

“What about him?”

“Well…try his portion of history.” You stopped at the door, watching as she turned to leave for her own home. “Maybe your mystery soldier is from the era of Lucius.”

Lucius…

tagging the lovelies: @cavillscurls @ozarkthedog @elflutter @eupheme @joelsdagger @stargirlfics

[queenshelby]

OSCAR SPECIAL (PART THREE OF FOUR)

Given Cillian’s recent success, I decided to jump ahead a little in my fics and give you a little Oscar Special. But don’t worry, I will cover off everything in between in due course and, for some fics, this Oscar part will hopefully get you guessing, while for others it will constitute a happy ending!

The Director (Oscar Special)

18 months later....Media Snippet -  E! News

"Cillian Murphy has just arrived at the red carpet, looking absolutely dazzling in a black suit and bowtie. Simple but exquisite nonetheless," one of the reporters said to another, a microphone hoisted between them.

The other beamed, while staring at the earpiece, where notes were fed to her. "And I can confirm that he arrived with Oppenheimer assistant director Y/N Y/LN as well as close friend Enda Walsh, both of whom he had worked with last year on his most recent movie called "Small Things Like These," she said, equally envious and enthusiastic as she watched the actor stroll down the red carpet.

"There is no sight of his wife Danielle Murphy which has sparked rumors afloat that they might be having marital troubles," her partner chimed in with, positioning a camera and focusing it commendably on Cillian without causing a scene.

"According to sources, it was rumored already last year that Danielle Murphy has moved out of their joint home shortly after filming of 'Small Things Like These' wrapped up, although no official statement has been released confirming it," she responded before the other reporter chimed in, announcing the arrival of yet another actor who was no other than your husband James McKibben. 

"There is James McKibben, dressed in a white tuxedo! He's looking utterly fabulous as well!" the other reporter said, noting James' presence on the red carpet. The camera flashed as he walked down the glossy red surface, charisma and self-confidence emanating from him with ease as security held him back from where you were standing with both, Cillian and Enda. 

"And here is a bit of trivia for you," the same reporter then announced quietly, pressing the microphone against her lips as if she was telling a secret. "Word has it that Murphy took out a restraining order against McKibbin following an incident at Universal in July last year," she paused for dramatic effect before going on. "It's not entirely clear what happened, but my guess is that involved Y/N Y/LN who, just earlier this year, filed for divorce from McKibbin," the reporter stated, feeling a little too much glee for having what seemed like an inside scoop before she went on to assess Cillian's chances of winning. 

"Well, let's just say that everyone in the industry is rooting for Cillian this year. He has been nominated for an Oscar for his portrayal of Robert Oppenheimer in the film "Oppenheimer", a true masterclass in acting," the other reporter gushed, addressing the first one.

"You've got it. All eyes are on him tonight and whatever the rumors floating around may be, none of them will matter once he holds this statue in his hands," his colleague responded, sounding equally enamored with Cillian's acting range and talent that could very well help him win. 

Hours later, he did, indeed, win the Oscar for Best Actor, and just like the reporter said, all eyes were on him as he accepted the award with grace and humility.

"Oh my god," he stammered almost nervously as he was handed his trophy. "Thank you so much for this great honor. Thank you Christopher Nolan and Emma Thomas for giving me the opportunity to play such a monumental role, one that I am still trying to process as the words come out of my mouth, and to all the cast and crew for their unwavering support throughout filming. I wouldn't be here without them," Cillian said with perhaps a slightly trembling voice.

It was not every day you get to be nominated for an Academy Award, let alone win one and, with that, his final thanks went to his adult children who believed in him along the way.

As expected though, Cillian did not mention his wife Danielle, whose absence after almost twelve years of marriage sparked rumors of ongoing troubles between them.

An usher arrived to signal him off the stage and waved to the audience before taking a seat again right next to you. 

"I am so proud of you," you whispered in Cillian's ear, your lips brushing against the delicate outer shell in a way no one noticed. 

"You know I couldn't have done it without you, right?" he then whispered back while, discreetly, taking your hand into his and giving it a firm squeeze, as if he needed you there just as much as you needed him.

The weight of the Oscar in his hand was surreal, the sheer scale of his victory even more so, but with you by his side, the feeling was no longer uncanny, but rather, comforting but what would come next, at the after party, was going to be an utter surprise for you both. 

Timeline Note for my fic:

Filming Oppenheimer - September/October 2022

Filming STLT - January/February 2023

Oppenheimer Release/Press Engagements - July 2023

Award Season 2024 - January/February/March 2024

To be continued...

Tags:

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[thefrogdalorian]

You Are Eternal

✯ Read on AO3 ✯ Word Count: 1423 Rating: Teen Summary: When devastating news that High Magistrate Karga has become one with the Force reaches Din in his cabin on Nevarro, he reflects on the complicated nature of their relationship. Din pays his own tribute to the man who witnessed firsthand his shift from bounty hunter to father. Content Warnings: Major character death. Grief, mourning... I wrote this to try and cope a little with the awful news and it's just.... really sad. Author's Note: I just had to get this out of me tonight. It was my way of coping I guess. I hope Greef lives on somehow in the show, I really do. But I think he was Din's first real friend and their arcs are so similar, it's so sad to think he won't be there anymore. Thank you for reading. RIP Carl, Mando will never be the same without you 💔

Din Djarin was, unfortunately, all-too accustomed to loss. The feeling of grief was not alien to him. Ever since that terrible day on Aq Vetina, when he had lost everything and everyone that he had ever loved, the fear of losing others seemed to loom large over his life, a constant uneasiness that had long clouded his interactions with others. That was, until he had been sent to Arvala-7 and encountered The Child, who he would eventually adopt as his own. It was a chain of events that would not have been possible were it not for the very man whose loss had struck him harder than any blow he had sustained in the profession that had once united them.

Despite how many times Din had undergone the mourning process throughout his life, he found that the news of one of his oldest acquaintances’ passing had hit him particularly hard. The rapping at the door, well after the sun had set on another bright and sunny Nevarrian day, took Din by surprise. But nothing could have prepared him for the message that had promptly been relayed to him. News that had been delivered by a copper-plated droid, of all things. 

When he opened the door to his cabin on Nevaro, the last thing Din expected to hear was news that the High Magistrate had become one with the Force.

In those first few horrible moments after hearing such devastating news, Din found that the sensation resembled a punch to the area just underneath the shiny beskar plate that protected most of his chest and abdomen. Although Din was an extremely skilled fighter, he had occasionally been delivered such agonising blows in that incredibly vulnerable place. Now, Din was reminded of such agony as he processed the news.

Din’s relationship to Greef Karga had undoubtedly been complicated and at times, volatile. A former adversary, to an acquaintance, to possibly something even more… like a friend. Din Djarin did not typically have friends. But as he sat there in his cabin, processing the news after dismissing the droid and removing his helmet, he began to wonder whether, perhaps, he had had one… without even truly realising it.

A friend that had passed to the afterlife, before Din had the opportunity to comprehend how much Greef had truly meant to him.

Of course, there had been Paz. But Din was bound to Paz by Creed, as a fellow Mandalorian. There were no inherent bonds such as that with Greef. Instead, the former leader of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild on Nevarro had become increasingly close to Din. Greef had gradually become a trustworthy presence in an often cruel and treacherous galaxy.

Perhaps it was the shared trauma of the siege in the cantina, when Din and Greef had barely escaped with their lives, which had been the catalyst for their increasing closeness. Until then, Din had wondered whether he could fully trust the older man. After that, though, there was no doubt. Greef Karga was, at the very least, an ally.

All Din knew with any degree of certainty was that as soon as the Razor Crest needed repairs, when Din and Frog Lady had barely escaped with their lives on the frozen planet of Maldo Kreis, it was the coordinates for Nevarro that he had punched in. After being rendered an apostate for removing his helmet and violating the Creed, it was once again Nevarro that Din had journeyed to in order to secure a droid for his expedition to the Mines of Mandalore. On that very visit, when Grogu had been in danger thanks to the rogue IG unit, Din had not hesitated to thrust his son into the arms of Greef Karga, knowing that he would protect the little boy.

Back then, Din could never have foreseen himself settling on Nevarro. He had been so consumed with his quest for redemption that he had promptly rejected Greef’s offer for a tract of land by the lava flats. Yet after retaking Mandalore and adopting Grogu, the land had suddenly become an extremely attractive proposal. The little parcel of land had become the perfect place for Clan Mudhorn to rest between jobs for the New Republic. Din was eternally grateful for Greef’s offer. 

It was true that Greef had done much for Din during the time that they had known each other, but it was equally true that when Nevarro had been under threat from the pirates headed by Gorian Shard, Din had not hesitated to raise a band of Mandalorians to follow him. There were few people in the galaxy that Din would have gone to such lengths for, but Greef Karga was undoubtedly one of them. 

Not to mention the repurposed IG unit that Greef had given to Din, for Grogu to operate, despite Din's reservations. Although it had initially annoyed Din (and the stall holders of Nevarro) as it had given Grogu a way to verbalise his insolence and feed his insatiable appetite, it had been an invaluable aid during the retaking of Mandalore. An aid that would not have been there were it not for Greef. Both Din and Greef owed an enormous debt to each other.

The realisation of what a key figure Greef had been in Din Djarin’s recent history almost sent him tumbling to his knees. That Greef was the man who had perhaps witnessed more closely than any other the shift in Din from a lonely, selfish, bounty hunter with a strict adherence to the Creed, to a man who would do anything to ensure the safety of The Child, even if it meant violating the Way. That Greef was gone.

For a second, Din wanted to run from the cabin, screaming and sobbing, pleading that this could not possibly be true. That Greef would never realise how much he truly meant to Din. But he quickly came to his senses and soon sought solace elsewhere.

Din crept down the hall towards his son’s room, ensuring that in spite of his emotional state, he was as quiet as possible so Grogu was not awakened. He just wanted to be close to him, to feel his presence nearby, a comforting closeness to the special little boy who had changed everything for him. Din was relieved that Grogu was sleeping soundly, his shallow, even breaths continued even as his distraught father stood in the doorway. 

Din feared how much the news would devastate the little boy who was currently sleeping soundly in his crib. Despite how much Din ached to hold him close as comfort for himself, he didn’t have the heart to wake Grogu. Although Din supposed, given the way that Grogu seemed to understand the galaxy around him, that perhaps somehow his son had already sensed the enormous loss of such a monumental presence. A loss that would surely leave a void incapable of being filled in all of their lives. Every sunset on Nevarro, a sight that had once left Din awestruck with its beauty and the vibrance of its colours, would surely seem a little darker from now on.

Din turned his back and left Grogu's room then, fearing that if he stood there for much longer, the tears that had begun to silently creep down his cheeks would develop into a more audible indication of his grief that would wake Grogu. Plus, Din had remembered a certain cupboard in the kitchen, the contents of which would provide a fitting tribute to the High Magistrate.

He had hoped that one day, he might invite Greef to the cabin for the advised smaller gathering to share this luxurious libation with him. Perhaps even face-to-face, without his helmet, such was the increasing number of ways that Din had discovered there were to walk; ways to be Mandalorian.

That would never happen now, Din realised with a pang of sadness as he stepped out onto the porch and into the moonless Nevarrian night. He placed two glasses onto the table by the bench and slowly poured the amber liquid. 

Then Din sat back on the bench, and raised a glass of the Coruscant wine to the stars, in a toast to his old friend. He spoke the sacred words of the ancient language of their people, a daily remembrance that he would now carry out for the man who, despite everything, had become his friend.  

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. Greef Karga.”

(I’m still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.)

[zynnth]

WELL WELL WELL IF IT ISNT ANOTHER MARTIN LORE STREAM TO MAKE ME GO CRAZY

(My AU of the Eyes and Ears AU)

Alright so this stream from today confirmed a couple of things I was wordering about previously and that got my gears turning again. There were quite a lot of lore drops but for now I'm once again mainly going to focus on the Watchers and how they feed on the emotions of the players.

This got mentioned a fair amount throughout the stream but the moment that stood out to me the most was towards the end, where someone briefly asked whether the Watchers could starve if they don't have any emotions to absorb. Turns out that the answer was a very straightforward "yes". This intrigues me especially, since this is an idea that I have been turning around in my head quite a bit previously, especially when writing this and this post.

I've already talked about how both Joel's victory in Wild Life and Scott's finale in Last Life went against what the Watchers wanted in terms of producing these intense negative feelings, but I haven't yet put into words what exactly that meant for these beings. This was mainly due to the fact that the necessity of feeding on emotions was still dubious as far as I was concerned, but now that has been cleared up. They do need it, and failing to do so will apparenly have severe concequences for them.

Now my interpretation of the lore is slightly different from Martin's, mainly in regards to the fact that in my version, all of the players are at least somewhat aware of the existence of the Watchers, and maybe even the Listeners, and their involvement in the games. The reason why they don't seem to fight back apart from a couple of instances, is the same reason why they usually don't carry over emotions from one game to another. The Watchers take away that resentment too, but as we've seen, it keeps coming back in some form.

My immediate conclusion was that in order to get rid of them, the players would have to overcome the negativity of the situation and either remain relatively neutral or thrive on the positive feelings instead. Part of this has already been achieved courtesy of Grian, who purposefully brings lightheartedness into these death games, seemingly keeping quite a lot of ugly feelings at bay and therefore opposing the Watchers' will. What's interesting though, is that Grian himself is a Watcher as well, who also feasts on emotions. Contrary to the other Watchers however, who prefer negative feelings over the rest, Grian has a more "balanced diet". In other words, he takes both positive and negative ones, not willing to exploit the suffering of his friends. This implies that regardless of whether the players have a fun time or not, the Watchers will still be able to sustain themselves.

The problem with this though is that my initial thought of starving them out to get rid of them wouldn't quite work. Maybe they will move on to another set of players to use once they realise they've harvested as much as they could from these ones, and although that would solve the issue of them tormenting these people, the existence of the death games would still continue.

I guess it wasn't entirely confirmed whether positive feelings are enough for Watchers to maintain themselves so there is still a possibility that it would at least weaken them in some way, enough to give the players a fighting chance.

With that in mind I still think that the key to fighting back is to not give them what they want. Even if that won't starve them out completely, it might just inconvenience the Watchers enough to give the Listeners, or maybe the players themselves an opening to make a drastic move. It won't be easy and it certainly won't be possible just by themselves, but with allies on their side, it might just be possible if they have a little bit of hope and trust.

And we all know how the Watchers feel about trust.

[spiders-hth-is-an-outlier]

Recently I've been going back and reading some of my old SGA fic (some of my best, most interesting writing is there, most of it deeply overlooked because it was about violence and grief, with tangential romantic content or none at all, and of course that's never really been Hot Ticket stuff in fandom; I get it), and after I ran out of that, I decided to reread Pretty Good Year.

And, you know, when you read something you've written years later, obviously there's always little stuff that bumps you – that seems overly repetitive or too wordy or whatever your personal sins are as a writer, and you wish you hadn't done this or done it that way or whatever. Mostly it really is just “whatever,” but there's one really spectacular fuck-up in that story that I knew was there, but it continues to bug me more and more over time. And it really is just an error, and not a sign of my growth or whatever, because I meant it to be there and I just. Forgot. I was in a hurry trying to get it done and I forgot to put it in there, but there was supposed to be a line somewhere in the final chapter about the tight scheduling around their East Coast trip because of having to work around Eliot's rehearsal schedule, and I hate that I didn't work it in, because without it there's actually no resolution to his final conversation with Idri. You might guess that after considering it Eliot agreed to take the role, but nothing in the story ever tells you that.

And that honestly really bothers me, because it actually matters to the Themes and Motifs and shit of the story, which is a story that (sneakily) actually begins before chapter 1 – it begins in Los Angeles, even though you only get the Los Angeles story doled out in pieces throughout the text. It's important to the story that you know there was originally another version of Eliot, who is actually this universe's version of “Brakebills Eliot” – someone who was bolder and braver and more proactive, who struck out on his own at 18 to chase his dream and find his forever home and all that – Eliot the hustler, Eliot the actor, Eliot the Spectacular. And you learn, over the course of the fic, what happened to that Eliot: that he didn't have a Hollywood story, that his personal and professional lives in LA were both mostly too much effort for no real reward. That he burned out, and then he was betrayed, and that he never really recovered from that; on page 1 he's living this bleak, uninspiring life, paralyzed by ennui, with no idea where he's headed except to keep doing what he's doing forever. The version of Eliot that opens PGY is actually inspired specifically by the defeated, traumatized Eliot in the final few episodes of season 1 – the version that begins when he breaks down after killing Mike, and ends when Quentin crowns him High King. That's actually the whole story, right? It's a PTSD-ridden Eliot, afraid to get back out in the world, who's kind of plucked out of obscurity and chosen to be The One, and the story question is whether or not he can live up to this metaphorical coronation.

Fundamentally the answer is obviously that he can, because while it was impossible for him to get back on his feet after LA for his own sake, he's stronger when he does it all for this family who desperately needs him to be their linchpin if they're going to stay together. But I really didn't want the story to be entirely about the glories of Eliot discovering that he's an excellent tradwife – although it's not not about that, and he definitely is – because I don't honestly think Living For the Ones Who Need You is a great life plan, you know? I didn't want that to be the one and only key to Eliot's kingship/adulthood, so there was always this second story woven in about the other loss that Eliot suffered when Los Angeles collapsed in on him. The first real thing Quentin says to him, the thing that digs into Eliot enough to shift him from this sort of lazy, semi-interested seduction into genuine interest in Quentin, is that Quentin asks him what he does creatively. In whatever intuitive way, Quentin sees that Eliot is fundamentally A Creative, and connects to that and he values it, which starts to give Eliot permission to connect to it and value it again. These exchanges about Eliot the Artist are critical to the story all the way through: when he sings to Quentin, when Quentin gives him the piano and the theater tickets, when he gets the Wellspring job because of the costume he made, the gift of the sewing room, the conversation about The Greatest Showman. It's the B-story to the whole thing, that Eliot had written himself off as a failed actor, but is starting to wake up to the image of himself that he sees reflected back from Quentin, this talented, creative person who makes beautiful things and makes things beautiful. One of my favorite little punctuation marks in the story is when a drunk Quentin introduces Eliot to the wedding guests, and his go-to in vino veritas summary of who Eliot is is basically, “MY BOYFRIEND IS AN ARTIST.”

Chapter 13 is obviously the story's climax, and its job was to essentially Show Not Tell that Eliot has achieved the goals that I forced onto him, which had more or less four aspects: he had to be the one who saves Quentin from drowning, he had to be not just a generic Good Parent but a good father because of he himself authentically being one, he had to kind of put a final seal on the pact with Margo so that we know for sure his partnership with her is real and not going to be transcended or left behind so he can be Q's romantic hero, and he had to actually acknowledge that he is a Theater Kid forever, that he was wrong to leave behind a part of him that he loved and that sustained him internally just because it won't ever make him famous. I needed all those things to be in place for me to feel like Eliot was closing out the story successfully, and most of that happens in chapter 13: the Teddy story is punctuated in that conversation they have at the beginning of the chapter, the Quentin story is punctuated partially with the paired doctor and hospital trips, but emotionally I think is punctuated when they have the fight in between and Eliot manages to end with “I love you” anyway, the Margo story is punctuated by the intense privacy of their comfort sex and with Eliot being the one for the first time who holds the door open on them having kids – but that fourth storyline really doesn't come up in 13. It's punctuated by the conversation with Idri in chapter 12, when Idri sees right through Eliot's attempts to hide how exhausted he is by being so extensively, endlessly Needed, and says that when he was in the same position, he had theater as a lifeline. He pays it forward by passing that lifeline to Eliot, and even though I didn't think Eliot was ready in that exact moment to wrap his head around it, I always thought it was completely essential to the story for Eliot to say yes to that lifeline, just like he said yes to Ted and Quentin and Margo.

But he actually didn't say yes. And I meant to show that it had happened! I really, really intended to put something in chapter 14 that showed Eliot going back to acting in spite of the way it had let him down before, exactly in parallel to the way he went back to love and family in spite of the way he'd only ever been let down by those. It feels really essential that all those things end up closed up, rounded off, settled, and it drives me a little insane that one of them didn't. But now you know, I guess, that Eliot was in a community theater production of Fiddler on the Roof that summer, and also everyone thought he was terrific, and he loved every minute of it.

[kallie-den]

True Renaming

A lesbian witch makes a mistake and accidentally summons an incubus instead of a succubus... but decides that she can fix "him" with just a few tweaks to the demon's true name

This force-feminization story was written for my patrons, based on the results of one of the polls I regularly run on Patreon!

If you like my writing, please consider supporting me on Patreon!   For less than the price of a cup of coffee each month, you can get   immediate, early access to everything I write - along with exclusive stories and the ability to vote on what I write next. Your support helps  me keep writing and is greatly appreciated   <3

---

Ardat, incubus, took a moment to stretch as the brimstone smoke cleared, savoring every little sensation that came with being incarnated in a physical body - the cool air, the sound of his own heartbeat, the little strains of exertion as he experimentally lifted his arms. It had been too long. Far too long. Ardat had existed for eons, but summonings were becoming rarer and rarer. Now, finally, he was free to roam and corrupt the Earth once more.

Well, not free. Not yet. He had been summoned into a magic circle; a ring of symbols and salt that kept him bound to the spot. But that was merely a minor inconvenience. All Ardat needed to do was convince his summoner to lower their guard a little, and he had plenty of experience with that.

He was, after all, a sex demon.

Now that the smoke had almost cleared, he could just about see them. Ardat stroked his goatee, attended to his short, tufted, black hair, and plastered a winning, charismatic smile on his perfectly formed face. He struggled to keep it there when he noticed the expression his summoner was wearing.

Overwhelming frustration and disappointment.

That was a surprise. Ardat had been greeted in many ways - with awe, lust, shock, self-righteous contempt. But who would be disappointed with a sex demon they’d bound to their will and summoned from the bowels of hell itself?

A woman, for one. A goth, for another. The look of utter, icy disdain on her face looked like it was fixed there permanently, accentuated by her jet-black lipstick and thick, immaculate eyeliner. She had long, silky, black hair - plainly dyed - with layers of deep blue visible underneath, and her clothing was all fishnets, lace, and asymmetrical, flowing folds of black cloth. Her look was - in Ardat’s opinion - a little tacky, but she undeniably carried it off well, and her figure was on the softer, rounded, better-endowed side. Aradat certainly liked that. More for him to enjoy.

“Master,” Ardat said, his voice a low purr. He offered a low, theatrical bow. “Might I have the pleasure of your name? All the better to serve you, of course. Although I must confess a slight, ulterior motive. I desire to confirm my suspicion that your name is just as lovely as you are.”

It was a good line, and one that had made many would-be witches blush throughout history. So, Ardat had been hoping for a better response than an angry, disgusted: “Tch.”

He tilted his head, confused. “Excuse me?”

“It’s Lenora,” she said, with an air of clear reluctance. “I guess.”

“Have… I done something to offend you, master?” Ardat asked cautiously.

Lenora groaned and made a gesture like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re an incubus.”

“Of course.” Ardat took a moment to refresh his grin. “I am Ardat of the Second Circle. I am accomplished in pleasures far beyond the average mortal ken - and I am at your disposal, body and soul.”

Lenora simply rolled her eyes. “You don’t get it. I’m a lesbian.”

Ardat’s smile immediately faltered. “Then… if I may ask… why did you-“

“Because you were meant to be a succubus!” the witch exploded. “I wanted to get my mind blown, and I found an old grimoire talking about this ancient sex demon. ‘Ardat of Ur’. A succubus! And now I get… you.”

“Ah,” Ardat said awkwardly. “Well, gender and grammar in ancient proto-Sumerian can be a little tricky.”

Lenora glared daggers at him. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

“Master, I’m sure you know that labels are just words,” Ardat attempted, making his voice a thrilling, husky growl and arching his back to present his bare, sculpted chest to the witch. “Whatever you may consider yourself, why not try allowing me to please you? I’m sure I could find a way to change your feelings. Everyone’s a little flexible, under the right circumstances. Maybe you just haven’t found the right man.”

From the look on her face, he immediately knew he’d chosen the wrong tactic. “Gross,” Lenora spat, even more disgustedly. “Try that again, and I’ll banish you before you can blink.”

“Wait!” Ardat said hurriedly. “Don’t send me back! Not when I… when I have so much to offer you, that is.” He tried to sound simpering and pleasing; maybe she’d like that more. “I could easily help you to summon a demon a little more fitting for your tastes. Now, if you’ll just let me out of this magic circle, I’ll-“

Lenora snorted a laugh. “Nice try. But no. Part of the reason I’m so pissed is that, as you well know, I can’t attempt this ritual again until the next lunar-venusian conjunction. Which is also the reason I can’t afford to send you back to Hell.”

Hearing that gave Ardat the twinge of hope he needed. “Then, surely there must be some service I can perform for you, master,” he purred. “Simply name your heart’s desire, and I will happily provide - for the right price, of course.”

“I don’t think-“ Lenora abruptly broke off, and then started thoughtfully at Ardat. Hope swelled in his demonic chest. “Actually,” she began thoughtfully, “maybe there is something I can do with you.”

“Yes?” Ardat asked, cautiously optimistic.

“I do have you here, even if you’re not quite right,” Lenora mused, pacing across the room. “And I do still have an itch I could do with scratching.”

Ardat let out a filthy laugh. “I’d be more than happy to assist, master,” he purred. “I knew you would prove to be open-minded.”

Lenora threw him a dangerous look, but it faded from her face almost immediately, replaced by a wicked, satisfied smirk. Somehow, that worried Ardat much, much more than her anger.

“Open-minded? No,” Lenora said. “I’m just going to fix you.”

“F-fix?” Ardat’s worry was growing.

“Fix,” Lenora confirmed, grinning. “Succubus, incubus, how different can they really be? Anyway, that whole thing is way too binary to be real. I’m sure it can’t be so hard to turn one into the other.”

“Turn into-“ Ardat let out a nervous, incredulous laugh. “Very funny, master.”

“Oh, I’m not joking.” Lenora’s grin was steadily taking on a crooked, malevolent quality. “I’m a witch. A damn good one. You wouldn’t believe what I can turn people into.”

“That’s not the problem,” Ardat explained, sighing. “Demons aren’t like people. Who we are - our bodies, our personalities, our genders - aren’t, for want of a better word, malleable. They are unchanging; ontologically fixed to specific lingua-symbolic entities - better known by your kind as our ‘true names’.”

It was a little surprising that a witch capable of summoning a demon didn’t know that much, but Ardat wanted to make sure to nip this absurd notion in the bud. He needed to guide Lenora towards something he could truly tempt her with.

“Your true names, huh?” Lenora laughed and reached for an old, leather-bound book resting on a nearby table. “Like, for example… this?”

She flipped it open to a bookmarked page and held it up for Ardat to see. It sent a cold shiver down his spine. His true name was written in the pages.

Most people wouldn’t have recognized it as such, or as a name at all. It wasn’t in words - English words least of all. Instead, it was a complex, intricately-interwoven symbol, expanding to fill an entire page of a huge grimoire with headache-inducing artistic and geometric figures. And yet, it was his name. ‘Ardat’ was the corresponding vocalization, although, from a demon’s perspective, it was crude to the point of ugliness in how little information it truly conveyed. The symbol on the page in Lenora’s book told and defined everything about the incubus, from beginning to end.

Which was very, very bad.

Knowledge was power, both figuratively and literally. It didn’t mean Lenora could pull off the kind of insane transformation she seemed to be set on, but knowing Ardat’s true name meant there was plenty she was capable of. He was going to have to tread extremely carefully.

“Where did you get that?” Ardat hissed.

“It’s from ancient Sumeria,” Lenora answered, throwing him a smug, nasty look. “You see, my ancient proto-Sumerian is actually fucking great. I just misinterpreted one little part of your true name. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. I had to pay a pretty penny for this grimoire, though. Time to see if it’ll all be worth it.”

“That…” Ardat sighed, exasperated. “You still can’t turn me into… well, into anything! That isn’t how this works. True names might be written in ink, but I can assure you, they’re metaphorically set in stone. There are only a handful of artifacts in existence with the power to change them.”

“C’mon.” Lenora started giggling. “You can’t just set me up like that twice in a row.”

Ardat’s heart sank. “S-surely you don’t-“

This time, she reached for a small, wood-carved box and opened it. Inside was a candle that looked ordinary at first, but when Lenora lit it with a well-used lighter, the wax started to glow with an unnatural, purple phosphorescence.

“An ur-candle,” Ardat whispered reverently.

Fuck.

“Let’s take it for a spin, shall we?” Lenora said. She set the grimoire bearing Ardat’s true name down on the table and lifted the ur-candle menacingly towards it.

“Wait!” Ardat called out in alarm. He’d only heard whispers about what was about to happen, but those alone were enough to terrify him. But he fell silent once Lenora tipped the candle, and allowed a little of its wax to drip onto his true name.

Ardat froze. He could feel something; an unnameable sensation that held him in its grip and made his head feel like it was going to split open. It was as if something was touching his very soul, especially when Lenora picked up an iron stylus and used it like a pen to move the molten wax around on the page. Disconcertingly, the ink underneath it, dried for thousands of years, started to bubble up and move with it. And just like that, his reality was rewritten.

It only took hold slowly, with the first changes beginning after the wax on the grimoire’s pages had already set, but its pace quickened rapidly after Lenora held up the book for Ardat to inspect. His true name, the sigil that was the incubus’s very being, was different now. The changes were slight and subtle, and to most people they would have meant nothing. But to Ardat, it was everything.

Only, that was no longer his name. The sigil now sounded out as something different. It would be-

“Aridat,” Lenora pronounced, in a strong, clear, commanding voice. “Your name is Aridat.”

Aridat’s head sheared, and they shook their head in futile denial. “N-no.”

“Your name is Aridat,” Lenora insisted.

“My name,” Aridat grunted through gritted teeth, straining to hold on to at least this, to at least the word, “is Ard… Ar… Ari…”

“Your name,” Lenora repeated patiently, “is Aridat.”

“My name is Ari… dat,” Aridat found themself agreeing, a pained look on their face. “No, it’s… my name is Aridat… Ard… Aridat.”

The new sound was such a small thing, like a breath, and that made it so poisonously easy for it to slip in between the consonants, making its presence felt only in how much softer their name suddenly sounded as it left the incubus’s lips.

“Aridat,” Lenora nodded. The grin on her face was now one of lurid, sadistic fascination. “Good.”

“My name is… Aridat?” Aridat was losing their conviction. It was hard to remain defiant when reality itself had turned against them. They could feel an immense pull toward acceptance like a lead weight on their shoulders.

“Aridat,” Lenora repeated again. The witch tilted her head, amused. “You’re even starting to look like an Aridat.”

Her comment drew attention to something Aridat had been trying to convince themself wasn’t real: the way their body suddenly seemed just as molten and pliable as the wax of the ur-candle, ready to be changed, reshaped, remolded. The sensation was almost imperciptible, though. So subtle it was almost like nothing was changing at all. Aridat had to force themself to truly notice what was happening to them. Their face was softening and rounding out, and their goatee fell from their face in wisps as it disintegrated into nothing. Aridat’s hair had grown inches in seconds, and their body lost its overbearingly masculine silhouette as their shoulders narrowed and their hips widened. They even became shorter.

Ardat had been manly. Strong. A straight woman’s fantasy brought to life. Aridat, it turned out, was androgynous. Even elfin.

It just went with the name, somehow.

“My name… is Aridat,” they said slowly. This time, Aridat’s voice was heavy with acceptance. It felt good to embrace it, just like it felt good to breathe after forcing yourself to stay underwater.

Their name was Aridat. It just was. And they were a them, apparently.

“Fuck,” Lenora breathed. “That was so hot.”

Aridat, still recovering from having their identity rewritten on a spiritual level, was shaking with rage. Reality had changed but, crucially, history hadn’t. They still remembered what they’d lost. They’d been Ardat. They’d been manly and strong. Now, just looking down at their body was accompanied by a hot lick of bitter humiliation. And it was all because of this accursed witch. If not for the magic circle marked on the ground, Aridat would have had their hands around her throat.

“Aridat,” Lenora said, “how do you feel?”

The worst part, the very worst, was the way their new name being called felt. It made their ears prick up and instinctively caught their attention. Aridat was their name now, and like it or not, they answered to it.

“I… feel…” Aridat replied slowly. How did they feel? It was impossible to say. Their head was a swirling mass of contradictions. Memories that didn’t match reality. Old instincts that didn’t match their new personality, which seemed somehow more passive. More pliant. “I… don’t know.”

“That makes sense.” Lenora nodded thoughtfully. “It looked wild. I’m sure feeling it is even crazier, even though I was trying not to scramble you too badly. Although…” She looked Aridat up and down pointedly. “Maybe I wasn’t ambitious enough.”

Hearing that made Aridat’s blood run cold. “W-what?”

“Don’t get me wrong!” Lenora held up her hands in mock sincerity. “You look great, really. Normally I wouldn’t be so picky. I can roll with androgynous. But tonight I was really looking for something more on the ‘succubus’ end of the spectrum.”

“Fuck you,” Aridat hissed.

“I’m sorry!” Lenora’s grin was already breaking through her face. “This isn’t an exact science, you know. But now that I’ve tested it out, I think it’s safe to say that we can push this just a little bit further.”

“Wait!” Aridat begged as she lifted up the ur-candle again. They couldn’t let her change them any further. This was bad enough, but at least their old identity, their old name, was still within sight. “Stop, you can’t-“

Lenora ignored them, and tipped more enchanted wax onto their true name.

Aridat immediately felt it again; that terrifying sense of displacement as their true name began to flow like fresh ink. It was ice-cold and shockingly intimate, and made them uncomfortable aware of all the ways they were being changed. It made them feel thin; so thin that they’d fold like paper under their own weight.

The sensation doubled when Lenora took her pen to the molten wax. This time she was more daring and less careful, streaking the wax and ink across the page in huge strokes. Aridat felt each one in their soul, even as they felt that name, newly-given, already beginning to slip away.

Once she was done, Lenora looked up. She was clearly proud of her penmanship, and looked at the incubus thoughtfully.

“Your name,” she said, in that slow, deliberate way, “is Aridata.”

Aridata’s heart skipped a beat. “C-c’mon,” she whined. “It’s n-not.”

“Your name,” Lenora said again, more firmly, “is Aridata.”

As futile as it might have been, Aridata couldn’t help but try to fight it. “My name,” she struggled. “Is… Ar… Aridat.”

Even that, though, was surrender, and they both knew it. Aridata still remembered the name ‘Ardat’, but she couldn’t bring herself to claim it. Not anymore. It wouldn’t feel right. She wouldn’t sound sure enough. But hearing her insist she was ‘Aridat’ now brought a maddening smile to Lenora’s face and made the demon feel weak.

And the way it came out of her mouth was just as bad. ‘Aridat’, but with a new openness at the end; a hint, a wisp, a breath of something yet to be sounded out.

“Your name is Aridata,” Lenora insisted simply.

Her words rippled over Aridata, making her shiver with their rhythm. “My name is Ari… Aridat… a… Ari…”

She was on the brink. Both of them knew it.

“Your name is Aridata.”

“My name… my name is… A-Aridata.”

As before, it was an incredible relief to say it. Aridata. That was her name. A-ri-da-ta. It sounded so different now. So light. That treasonous little ‘a’ appended to it, a whole syllable of femininity, opened up the entire name, making the harder consonants before it a mere prelude.

Aridata. It was a girl’s name.

Aridata knew what that must mean. She reached up and touched her face, and found it different. It was her face, and it wasn’t. It wasn’t changing; an old, defunct reality was simply washing away, revealing a newer reality that might always have been there. Aridata’s face was softer now. Less angular. She had wider eyes, petite brows, and a far less pronounced jawline. But that was absolutely nothing compared to what was happening to the rest of her body. Suddenly, Aridata had wide hips and curved thighs and, most distractingly of all, the distinct swell of breasts on her chest.

“Wow,” Lenora commented, wolf-whistling. “Now that’s more like it.”

“Fuck. You!” Aridata spat, and was shocked at how girlish her voice sounded. She couldn’t manage the same level of vitriol and spite as she had earlier.

“Maybe, soon.” Lenora giggled. “You know, that outfit suits you much better now.”

Aridata looked down at herself and almost choked. She was wearing the same clothing as before - black, tight-fitting, leather pants, and nothing else - but with her appearance it felt very different. She had gone from suave seducer to something much more butch, or perhaps tomboyish. Her hair, now mid-length, fit with that too. The whole thing felt like a pointed mockery, and that should have made Aridata violently angry.

Instead, it made her blush.

It was something about her chest. Having breasts, even small ones, made being topless feel very, very different. It made Aridata feel exposed; she was suddenly conscious of the air on her skin, and even more conscious of Lenora’s gaze on her body. Everything about it was undignified. Even succubi preferred tempting, alluring, suggestive clothes to simply going topless! Instinctively, Aridata moved to cover herself and started looking around for a stray item of clothing she could use. Only the look of mirth in Lenora’s eyes stopped her.

What was she doing? Aridata wasn’t some kind of blushing maiden. She was… a man? That didn’t sound right, even in her own head. But she knew she had to try and keep hold of that version of reality.

“What’s the matter?” Lenora teased. “You weren’t shy like this before. Isn’t that interesting?”

“Hey!” Aridata huffed. “That’s not-“

She broke off. She’d huffed. Since when did she huff? That wasn’t like her at all. Except it was now. Even her mannerisms were suspect. The things Lenora could do with her candle and Aridata’s true name went far beyond the superficial. Her mannerisms, her personality, her memories - all of them could be rewritten with no more than a stroke of a pen.

“Don’t worry,” Lenora said mockingly. “I enjoy you being more ladylike.”

“I’m. Not.” Aridata had to fight to keep her voice deep and even. “I-I’m a man.”

Lenora just looked at him pityingly. They both knew how false it sounded. Aridata’s voice was too high, too light, and the inner convictions of her nature were telling her otherwise, robbing her words of their conviction.

“Uh-huh,” Lenora replied, deadpan. “And who’s gonna believe that?”

“I…” Aridata spluttered. “I…”

“Then again,” Lenora added, making no attempt to hide her mockery. “Maybe you have a point. This look is good, but it’s not really what I was after. It’s more ‘female incubus’ than ‘succubus’, if that makes any sense.”

Aridata’s blood ran cold yet again as she realized what Lenora was hinting at. “N-no, wait!”

She wasn’t expecting Lenora to tilt her head and look thoughtfully at her. “OK. I’m waiting.”

“I…”

Aridata found herself speechless. She doubted anything she might say could dissuade Lenora, but there was too much at stake not to try. However, she wasn’t going to beg. She wasn’t. Aridata - Ardat, Ardat, she reminded herself - never begged. She tempted, she offered, she bargained, but she never begged. That just wasn’t how this was supposed to go. So… what could she offer? There was only one answer, however stomach-churning and humiliating.

The former incubus did her best to strike an alluring pose that showed off all her feminine assets. It came to her worryingly naturally, and she was effortlessly able to bend forward, back arched, chest pushed out, hips swaying, and put something approaching a suggestive half-smile on her face.

“I…” Aridata said falteringly. “I could… please you. Like this.”

She just had to hope that would be enough for her lesbian captor. Perhaps it almost was. Lenora had the look of someone flipping a mental coin. Once she made her mind, though, her eyes glinted wickedly, and Aridata knew she’d lost.

“Close,” Lenora conceded. “But I think we can do better.”

Before Aridata could argue, she once again tipped the ur-candle’s wax onto Aridata’s true name.

This time, Lenora didn’t even wait for the wax to settle and congeal before she started speaking. There was eagerness in her eyes, put there by unquestionable arousal.

“Your name,” Lenora announced, “is Aridatya.”

As she spoke she made it so, using her stylus to draw the wax across the grimoire’s page in big, thick strokes, obliterating the reality Aridatya had only just been growing accustomed to and replacing it with another.

“It is not!” Aridatya tried to insist. “My name is… is Ar… Ari… um… Arida…”

It was getting harder and harder to fight it. Her head was a swirling morass of different names, all of them so similar, all of which felt right and all of which felt wrong. But a new one had just appeared, echoing like a gong, sounding more and more right with each passing moment.

“Your name is Aridatya,” Lenora repeated. She sounded so firm, so sure, whilst Aridatya wasn’t sure about anything.

“My name is… Aridatya?” it came out like a question, and so Lenora nodded in agreement.

“Your name is Aridatya.”

Aridatya found herself nodding too. “My name is A-Aridatya.”

She just couldn’t bring herself to say anything else.

“That’s right.” Lenora’s stylus was still moving across the page, etching details in ink and wax, inscribing all the details of Aridatya’s soul.

“Aridatya…” Aridatya said it slowly, testing how the name felt on her tongue. Her name had become so long, so luxurious. That little ‘y’ made it sound even more feminine, and somehow fancy. Perhaps even exotic.

And… that was her, wasn’t it? It seemed to suit her perfectly, even though she would have struggled to say why. Did that mean she was exotic? Fancy? Feminine?

No. No, of course not. Ardat had never been those things, and that should have settled the question. But it didn’t. Ardat wasn’t real. Not anymore. There was just Aridatya.

Aridatya balled her hands into fists and scolded herself. She couldn’t let herself think that way. She was an incubus. A man, as remote as that now seemed. She had to remember that. She had to remember that none of this was right. She had to.

“It’s quite a name,” Lenora remarked, finishing her handiwork with a flourish. “Aridatya. I think Aridatya is very, very confident in her femininity. Don’t you? Aridatya sounds like a real girly girl to me. The kind of succubus who really revels in it.” Her smirk turned crooked once more. “At least, that’s how it looks in my handwriting.”

“W-what?” Aridatya was stunned as she felt changes washing over her. Nothing was more unsettling than feeling her reality alter. The changes themselves kept slipping beneath her notice; rather than experiencing the transformation directly, it was like she was always noticing the way reality had always been.

In this case, that meant noticing that her hair was longer, and that she was now wearing something different - a long, flowing nightgown, tailored to accentuate a body that was far, far more feminine than she remembered. Those were Aridatya clothes, apparently. It meant noticing that her face was slender and lips full, and her eyes adorned with smoky, sultry makeup. But more than that, it meant noticing how she felt.

It meant noticing that she liked it.

“No!” Aridatya cried out, desperate to give voice to her disgust before it fled. “That’s not right! I hate this.”

“You do?” Lenora feigned surprise, but couldn’t hide her amusement. “But you’re so pretty now.”

The heat, the warm glow of praise that Aridatya immediately felt, was dangerous. Preening was instinctive, as was posing pleasingly and shifting her weight from side to side to accentuate her hips. It took precious seconds for Aridatya to catch herself and plaster a scowl over the thin, devilish smile that had come naturally to her face.

“S-shut up,” Aridatya snarled, torn between forced resentment and reflexive pride.

“C’mon,” Lenora wheedled. “Aren’t you everything a succubus is supposed to be?”

That was a potent compliment, poisonous and sinister in how affirming it was. A succubus was supposed to be beautiful, feminine and seductive, and Aridatya felt like all of those things. So it was undeniable, wasn’t it? She was everything a succubus was supposed to be. The only thing telling her was the faint memory of deeply-buried false reality, fading by the moment.

“I’m an incubus,” Aridatya tried to insist. “Not a succubus. An incubus!”

“Aridatya,” Lenora said pityingly, “do you think anyone seeing you now, anyone at all, would believe that?”

The succubus’s cheeks turned crimson. She looked away and cast about for anything she could use as ammunition. There was precious little left, but Aridatya’s thoughts quickly turned to what was between her legs. It had always been the very pride of her manhood.

“Oh, I see.” Lenora giggled. “You’re thinking about that, are you?”

Now, Aridatya paled. Had it been that obvious?

“I was thinking of letting you keep it, you know,” Lenora remarked, lifting the ur-candle again. “But if you’re going to be difficult about it…”

Aridatya truly turned as white as a sheet as she watched one single drop of wax fall onto the page.

Compared to before, it was nothing. Lenora was careful and subtle with her stylus, too. All in all, the change she made didn’t even amount to a single letter. It was an accent at most; a simple change in pronunciation, barely audible. Aridatya was still Aridatya. But it was enough, and after several horrid moments of anticipation, the succubus felt a new reality wash over her.

And it brought with it a cunt between her legs.

Aridatya gasped and whimpered at the sudden, aching loss which drove home just how much dignity and power she’d lost. Her name, her face - those things were precious, yes, but losing a part of her body that was so symbolic and fundamental for an incubus was even more of a violation. With her hips and thighs still shifting to accommodate her new anatomy, Aridatya squeezed her legs together, hoping to feel something solid between them. Instead, she just felt a sharp, shock of pleasure race up her spine from the unfamiliar stimulation to her new, sensitive pussy.

It was humiliating, and worse, the demon couldn’t suppress a low whine of pleasure. Lenora, of course, just laughed at her plight.

“My, my,” the witch commented. “Enjoying yourself already?”

“Shut up!” Aridatya huffed. She was incandescent with shame and rage, and she couldn’t do anything about it. She couldn’t hide. Couldn’t flee. Couldn’t stop what was happening to her.

“C’mon,” Lenora giggled mockingly. “Don’t you kind of like it?”

Aridatya had to look away because the truth was that, on some level, she did. Somehow, having a cunt instead of a cock just felt right. It made her feel more like herself, perversely; desirable and sexy in all the right ways for a succubus like her. Knowing that she’d been an incubus minutes ago and had a dick seconds ago didn’t help. It made her seethe with rage and burn with humiliation, yes, but it didn’t make having this body feel any less deliciously affirming.

So, instead, the contrasting emotions inside Aridatya - new and old - were forced to curdle and mix together as reality fought for a stable configuration. They became complimentary, mutually-reinforcing. Her humiliation became a pleasure all of its own, sinful and tempting, spiking her arousal even higher. Her anger, directed so singularly at Lenora, twisted and became a very different kind of craving, one that was predatory and carnal.

A succubus’s hunger.

It was a heady, dizzying cocktail of feelings to be struck with, and it made keeping Aridatya’s identity straight harder than ever. Instinct was taking over. It infested her body language, making her pose and preen and smile, directing all of her hellishly tempting appeal straight at Lenora. The witch was clearly amused and enticed in equal measure.

“Wow,” she remarked, cocking an eyebrow. “Maybe that was the magic ticket. Feeling a little more agreeable now?”

“Absolutely,” Aridatya replied, her voice a vicious purr. She was desperate. She couldn’t let this go any further. She needed Lenora to let down her guard.

“Fascinating,” Lenora breathed. For a moment, occult curiosity took over, although the color in her cheeks made it clear her interest was far more than just academic. “I suppose it is the lynchpin of the succubus/incubus distinction - in some schema, at least - so it makes sense it would have rather dramatic ripples.”

“Dramatic,” Aridatya echoed pleasingly. She bent forward, showing off her new assets. Her tits had become impressively large and pert, and it was dawning on her that she could use that. That she knew how to use that. “Hey, so how about that itch you needed scratching?”

“Yeah?” Lenora couldn’t help but stare, Aridatya noticed with pleasure. “You’re interested.”

“Oh, I just can’t wait to sink my teeth into you,” Aridatya cooed. She giggled. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

The plan, of course, was to seduce her, and then, once she released Aridatya from the magical circle, subdue her and force her to undo all the changes she’d made. At least, that was what Aridatya was telling herself. In truth, it was rationalization as much as anything else. Beneath it all was a simple, heartbeat-drum of need and desire, driving her towards Lenora’s warmth.

"Wow,” Lenora breathed. She wasn’t so quick-witted now. Aridatya could tell she was succumbing to her own desires, now that her summoned demon was in a form far, far more agreeable to her tastes. “But… sink your teeth into me? That sounds a little…”

“C’mon.” Aridatya tried to affect a high-pitched, feminine voice. It came effortlessly, and she was as dismayed at that as she was pleased with her success. “You can trust me. I just want what you made me want.”

Lenora almost went for it. Almost. But in the end, she pulled back and shook her head. “I wish. This version of you is pretty great, if I do say so myself. But… I can tell this isn’t going to be a good idea.”

“N-no.” Aridatya’s smile faltered.

“Perhaps I’ve been going about this the wrong way,” Lenora mused. “It’s not enough to make you a succubus. Not anymore. You’ll still remember what I did, at least a little, and you’ll still want revenge. I need to address that.”

“My… memories?” Aridatya was aghast. How could she fight that?

But Lenora shook her head. “No. Something deeper: your past.” She lifted the ur-candle and toyed with it in her hand, an egomaniacal smile playing across her face. “A true name is such a potent thing. It contains everything about you. Even your very history. Change that, and there’s nothing to remember.”

“Wait!” Aridatya called out, as Lenora started to tip the candle, but she already knew that wouldn’t stop her. Her next word tasted like bitter tears. “P-please!”

She didn’t beg. For all that had changed, that remained true. But this was her limit. This was the end. And so, Aridatya begged.

It didn’t matter.

This time, the way Lenora altered her true name was anything but subtle, even if it was artful. Using her stylus, she worked wax and ink all over the grimoire’s page, inscribing a fresh pattern that seemed to make the entire sigil shift into a bold new configuration.

“And,” Lenora murmured as she worked. “Why not push a few other things a little further, too?”

The sight made the succubus’s head throb, especially when Lenora looked up at her and said:

“Your name is Arideniya.”

“My name is… is Arideniya.”

This time, Aridenya didn’t bother to fight it. She just let her new reality wash over her, and accepted whatever her new self turned out to be.

It felt good, as it turned out. Arideniya couldn’t even perceive the changes as they occurred. Each one etched itself into her memory and her past, as if things had always been that way. Aridenya was left completely, blissfully ignorant of the fact that once, maybe, for a different version of herself, things had been very, very different.

Her tits had always been this huge. Her cunt had always dripped enticing wetness down her thighs when she was turned on and hungry. She’d always been a succubus, a woman, an embodiment of female sexuality, ready to feast on any mortal who came within reach. And when they were around her, they wanted to be feasted on so very, very much.

Arideniya didn’t just feel feminine. She felt powerful, and she took to her power like it was second nature. She stood tall, practically filling the room from floor to ceiling. Her horns were a crown upon her head, and her clothing was royal robes, no less revealing and suggestive for their grandeur. As the wax dried, Arideniya looked down at Lenora like a queen looking down at someone presenting themselves as tribute.

“Master,” the succubus purred, her tone anything but submissive. “Allow me to show you true pleasure.”

Lenora started to sweat from sheer temptation. Her magic circle offered scant protection against the raw, mind-bending power of Arideniya’s presence. She was overwhelming in every sense. She was any mortal’s fantasy given form, and Lenora was far from immune.

“W-what,” the witch struggled to say. She was drooling, but her mouth sounded painfully dry. “This isn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

“Oh, yes, you did,” Arideniya countered. “This is exactly what you wanted. Exactly what you summoned. I’m all your handiwork, Master. It’s time to enjoy me. Time to take down this silly little circle.”

Lenora twitched abruptly, like she was struggling not to obey. Temptation was overriding her reason. Arideniya’s wicked grin widened. She had no particular animosity towards this mortal - but she needed to feed, and she liked to drink deep.

“I don’t u-understand how…” Lenora stuttered, flustered. She took a single step towards Arideniya, taking her perilously close to the magical circle’s boundary, before something seemed to click in her head. “Oh. Oh! I know what I did wrong.”

She stepped back, and hefted the objects in her hand - a leather-bound grimoire and a strange-looking candle. Arideniya’s eyes flew wide as she noticed it. The object seemed to trigger a memory from another life.

“Is that a-“ was all she managed to say before Lenora once again tipped the candle wax all over the grimoire.

This time, Lenora wasn’t artful or sparing. She poured as much wax as she could, obliterating almost all of the succubus’s true name in a single gesture. The succubus was rooted to the spot as a strange, unearthly sensation swept through her, making her mind flash white and robbing her of all sense of self and purpose. The sensation only grew stronger when Lenora started writing with her stylus in wax and ink, replacing some of what had been blotted out and altering what remained.

“It was obvious, really,” Lenora murmured as she worked. “I was too focused on what I wanted to change. Lost sight of the big picture. I was adding, each and every time. More letters, more sounds, more changes stacked on top of changes. I made a name that was impressive. Magnificent. Powerful.” She grinned. “But I think this will do the job just fine instead.”

The succubus standing before her just stared, dumbfounded, struggling to comprehend the meaning of her words.

“Your name,” Lenora told her, slowly and deliberately, “is Aria.”

“My name…” Aria echoed, “is… Aria!”

She brightened as she said it. It felt so right, and the rightness of it made her giggle a pretty, air-headed giggle. Aria licked her lips and arched her back, and reached up to jiggle her own, massive tits experimentally. Doing that made her giggle even harder.

“Maaaaster,” she drawled, pouting. “Don’t you wanna, like, fuck me?”

Lenora laughed. “No need to worry about hidden agendas now, I think,” she said. “So - time to make a contract?”

“A contract?” Aria snorted. “That stuff is soooo boring. Um… let’s see… I’ll give you whatever you want if you’ll, like, make me feel good?”

“Deal,” Lenora announced. She stepped forwards and used the tip of her shoe to erase the boundary of the magical circle on the ground. As soon as it was broken, Aria bounced on her, kissing and squeezing and groping with overeager lust.

Lenora laughed, and her laughter soon turned to moans. It was time to get that itch scratched.

---

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