#and drawing facial expressions in birds. I wanted to do it here but it ended up looking kinda weird. so let's keep things the way they are

[bonicedemandarina]

My piece for the @infinitytrainbigbang !!!!

I really missed drawing my guy Ryan, also I wanted to do that thing where there's like a comic or something going on in the frame(?) Of the drawing bc I saw it on pinterest once and thought it looked cool

[changenameno]

Wild Ride PART 1

(Complete, link to the second part, ⬇️ down below)

Summary:
Having to share a car with your friends Sy and August, you and Walter make do. They won’t catch on, to what you’re doing in the backseat, right?

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Fem. Reader (Sy and August)

Warnings: 18+, cursing, unsafe driving, voyeurism, vaginal fingering, finger-fucking, dirty talk, MDNI (most of the Smut in the second part)

Word count: 1.2 K

A/N: Apparently I’m not able to fit a smutty fic in one chapter, so here we go with two parts, again. But at least it’s complete. Though it’s not proofread, any mistakes are my own. Please be kind, comments/reblogs are much appreciated…Thank you, hope you enjoy!❤️✨



! Neither Nomis, nor Walter Marshall, Syverson or August Walker are my creation!

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PART 1


You weren’t really excited about this wedding. Not that you weren’t happy for the couple. You were.


But you hadn’t had a free weekend alone with Walter in forever, and just missed being close to him. Also very importantly: not having had sex with him, in so, so long either. Ergo being a bit sulky at the fact that you didn’t even get alone-time in the car.

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Walter had surprised you yesterday with the news: “ So you know how August has bought that new car?”

Not liking where this was going, you slowly turned to your boyfriend, who was sitting next to you on the couch, “Yes, why?”

“Well we were talking earlier. And came to the conclusion that it would make more sense to car share, as we, him and Sy have to go to the wedding��,” drawing out the end as he caught on to your irritated facial expression. “Erm, that’s alright, is it not?” he added unsure.

You sighed deeply, technically speaking it was a perfect solution. But you really wanted to have some fun with Walter. Knowing it’d take some time getting there, you’d hoped for at least a quicky, in some abandoned parking lot or something. Seeing as you couldn’t do anything now, because Faye had a friend over for the weekend.

“Well yeah, of course that’s alright,” straining to keep your disappointment out of your voice and failing miserably. Walter knew you to well, raising his brow sceptically,” Mhhm yeah riiight, and I’m Cinderella waiting for her first kiss.”

Making your sour face, light up instantly at the mental imagery that statement had created. He smiled softly at you in return, patiently waiting for your explanation. Giggling you admitted,” Okay fine, I’d kinda hoped you and I could have a little time to ourselves….you know?”

It was his turn to sigh, cursing,” Damn. If I’d known you’d be up for that, I wouldn’t have agreed to car share.”

“Oooh, but Mister Marshall, by now you should know with you, I’m always …up…for…that,” you winked teasingly at him.

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August had picked up Sy first, because his house lay on the way to yours. When he drove up the driveway, your face fell, as you saw the car. More specifically the completely loaded up car. He rolled down the window greeting you both. ”Morning you two, jump right in.” Sy grinned at you from the passenger seat, waving briefly.

Still gaping at the car, you shook your head, “You’ve got to be kidding, what is that?!” Walter didn’t look too keen either, as August supplied you with; “Ah yeah a friend of mine moved and I hadn’t had time to remove all the boxes yet.”

Irritated, Walter remarked, “All the boxes? August, the whole damn car is packed to the roof! You do realise that there’s only one seat not occupied?”

August smiled slyly then nodded; “Well yeah, but I thought you two love birds could share the seat.” And as if that ended the argument, he just rolled his window up again.

Annoyed you glared at your boyfriend; “I’m not getting into that car! We have to drive at least four hours!” Walter signed, shrugging his shoulders, “I know, but I believe we don’t have much of a choice here.”

Nearly growling you answered,” Oh, I’m so gonna kill him.” The detective simply opened the car door, getting in behind the driver’s seat, waiting for you. Seething you made your way over and into the car. Settling down between Walters thick thighs, as best as you could. If there was a moment to curse your boyfriend’s muscled physique, it was definitely now.

Quite literally feeling completely boxed in, you somehow managed to put a seatbelt on. August gleaming blue eyes landed on yours as he pulled out of the driveway. Looking you up and down, taking in your dark blue dress with small white flowers on it. “You look quite stunning, love.”

You on the other hand, were having none of that, “Oooh, don’t push it.”

Sy ever the gentle intermediary, “I have to agree though, you look stunnin’, sugar.”

You huffed in response, but had to admit that all three men looked dashing themselves in their dark blue tuxedos.

Walter snaked an arm around your waist and rested his other hand on his thigh. Not wanting to argue any further you remained silent, resigning yourself to your fate, being squeezed in for the next four hours.

By now you had sat in idle silence for at least half an hour, while the guys had talked about this and that.

Until Sy turned back, beaming at you,” And what’s that grumpy face all ‘bout? Can’t only be the seating.” Damn, you thought no one would notice, that you’d been grumpy since before they’d picked you up. But of course, Sy being your best friend for god knows how long, would notice.

Trying to lighten up, your lips curled into a soft smile, nonetheless lying through your teeth as you answered,” Nothing really. Just tired I guess.” He didn’t look convinced, but knew better than to push, simply turning back to the front.

Suddenly the arm around your midsection, pulled you even closer. Walter leaned down, lips touching your ear, whispering against it,” You know, you can be quite the brat, when you don’t get what you want.” Lightly shivering due to the lewdness of his comment. Heat spread through your body, breathing back just as softly,” Mmmh, well and whose fault is that?”

The resounding growl he let out, travelled all the way down to your panty-covered cunt, which immediately began quivering with want.

Felling his hot breath when he answered, “Looks like someone needs reminding, of who is in charge.” The hand that had been on his own thigh, slowly slid over to yours, inching up from your knee and under the hem of your dress. Already turned on but at the same time alarmed, you took hold of his hand, before it could travel up any further.

“Wait, wait, what if they see,” you gestured towards the front of the car, where Sy and August still chatted. At that Walter pulled back slightly, straitening up. Disappointment settled deep in your stomach. No, why would he stop?

But Walter had no intention of stopping, he just came up with a plan to distracted his two friends best he could. Mentioning the latest game. He knew that would have them quarrel for hours on end at times. And as always they started arguing right away.

Smiling up at your boyfriend you purred; “That worked like a charm.”

“Yeah. And now, where were we?”, his pupils blown wide, as he knew exactly what would follow.

 

 

PART 2

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Taglist:

If you’re interested in being on my taglist, please let me know! And if you want to be taken off (my taglist), feel free to tell me! ❤️✨

[elliott-the-creature]

lol can you tell I like rainwings alot? anyway, here are manatee’s and nimble’s dragonets! they all look stylistically different because I was experimenting with new custom brushes. also I still am struggling with and learning dragon anatomy, so give me a break on the facial expressions and wing structure.

since manatee only wanted to raise one dragonet with their partner (I’ll draw her eventually), and they ended up with three, they gave strawberry’s egg to nimble, and actually gave cownose’s egg to one of their human friends (who lives in a human/dragon village). they kept aracari’s egg, and even though they’re a young parent, they love aracari and is doing their best.

they mainly look rainwing (because manatee is a sea/rain hybrid and nimble is a pure rainwing), but still carry some seawing traits from manatee. strawberry and cownose’s colours are mainly taken from their emotions (cownose more than strawberry), but aracari has so many colours due to her namesake being super colourful; plus she likes experimenting with her colours rather than going off her emotions (I actually really love the bird that aracari is based on, they’re so beautiful).

adding their individual portraits, unshaded version, AND their old designs below (cw for maybe eyestrain; some of their colourations are pretty bright)

[sempsimps]

Gregory violet song scenarios

so this is a bunch of random scenarios and head canons i have of this emo boy and i even made a playlist for it becuse im so prepared for this also i do edit the lyrics a tad to fit the time its set in and vibe of the shorts so like if that bothers you sorry i guess (also i wanted to experiment with the tumbler coloured text i think it looks so cool) but this is mostly x reader so sorry if that's not what you want im just brain rotting at this point i cant do this lmao also i would like to say i unfortunately dont have the manga so i actually dont know whats going to happen sorry

starting with the honourable runner ups i think these songs fit but i couldn't think of what to write for them

Necromancing dancing - bear ghost (pun intended) "when im necromancing, everyone's dancing, no one can stop me i dare you to try! the dead are infused with sentential grove"

i don't wanna fall in love - she wants revenge

ramblings of a lunatic - bears in trees "would anybody listen to this the ramblings of a lunatic"

everything is temporary - cavetown "sticks and stones they say that we dont have bones inside our brains"

mamas boy - Dominic fike "m-a-m-a-b-o-y mamas boy mamas boy"

im not a cynic - Alec Benjamin "i swear im not a cynic im just being realistic"

cats - the living tombstone "meow meow meow meow memeow"

they/them - atlas, jhfly

house of wolves - my chemical romance

plucked - destroy boys "take a bird from the sky and you wonder why she wants to fly"

nobody - mitski

underachiever - NOAHFINNCE "nothing beats the life of an underachiever"

the adults are talking - the strocks "dont go there you never return and i know you think of me when you think of her"

(lowkey heathers the musical JD looking ass)

WARNING ANGST IS HERE

your stupid face - Kaden macay (oh no + verse 2)

Gregory in third person pov - the realisation he liked you

he was zoning out at the swan gazebo and drawing some sketches with his charcoal pencil. The first bit of the facial anatomy was done, and he used French bread to remove the lines. to make the face he slowly did the eyes and made them defined and full of life, the nose features, and soon enough he had nearly finished carefully doing each strand of hair falling perfectly around the face he wasn't even thinking about who it was but when he stopped to finally look at it realised who it was. 'Oh no,' looking at it more, he tilts his head back, closing his eyes shut to not let the sun make him dizzy. 'noooo' now he was roughly pressing the charcoal to the paper. 'i just really like you face' drawing the smile you always wore around him. 'Ugh, you don't have to look so happy..' he kept drawing, now to try and get it just right. remembering all the times you expressed it. 'im not really into the love that you flaunt in some bright font' smirking to himself 'but if that's what you want ill make it snappy.- wait what' he looked around noticing no one was looking at him he sighed 'i just feel so out of place' he finished your face. 'but not when you near me' moving on to the shoulders. 'when your gone, I'm like a plant with no root' he made quick work of the shape and made the clothes 'or a ball that's on mute' he smiled looking at his work 'don't you dare call me cute, you should fear me' a hand on Gregory's shoulder makes him jump, it was bluewer telling him he needs to sort out a purple house conflict, and to bring cheslock to sort out a fight. sighing and carefully putting his sketch away, a small smile on his soft features. 'Now i like your stupid face'.

soundproof - destroy boys (verse 1 before chorus)

panic attack from social anxiety (if uncomfortable then skip it) - he got amongst the dancing and hated it

it was after the big cricket game that he had to be there for appearances, empty streets are just as soundproof as studios and big crowds. and there were people dancing already. It was making him dizzy, just looking. 'keep me away from here' but when he somehow ends up in the middle of the hall he starts to panic 'how'd i appear on this stage' he was amongst all the dancers getting in the way of some getting bumped into. 'im taking up too much space.' his head was spinning from all the movement, and he felt eyes on him. 'Look away, please don't look this way.' Feeling a hand on his arm leading him out of the hall, too dizzy and unfocused to see they walked outdoors, the fresh air bringing him back down to earth. not sure who it was, but he thanked whoever it was as he started to calm down, taking deep breaths. 'i don't ever want to hear myself ever again'

disco! in the panic room - bug hunter (chorus 2)

in your pov third person - dancing again i dont know im losing the plot as i write. sorry to the amab readers this one this feminine

i was in disguise at the school, as ceils older brother, as I saw him as one. and missed being in a dress. so after the cricket game was announced, and shown it was underway, i went behind the door to get into a dress. i was hiding one underneath my cloak, i let the dress fall from the purple robe it set nicely, and i just simply wrapped the fabric around my waist, like a bow. and headed out to find Gregory, he was still upset about the fire, and wanted to leave as fast as he could. and i understood, but i wanted to dance with him just a little. He was just out of view of everyone trying to leave, and i pulled him into a room with a bright smile. "hiya, would you like to dance in the panic room violet?" He simply smiled. "I made a promise so sure." he held my hands, and i started to slowly waltzes in a random backroom. away from the crowed and prying eyes and i could see that every few movement he was getting more and more pale, as we turned slightly in the dance "Now I feel nauseous, As if I drank a cup of stuff you clean your countertops with" i giggle a little as we stop. he lets go of my hands, to hold his head, he feels dizzy but i come prepared knowing about this, with some water in a canteen. "you probably did But Lysol won't solve this, so have some water." i handed his the medium sized flask, to which he hesitantly took a sip with shaky hands. "im out of options, arnt i?" he softly smiled after a few moments, and i was satisfied to get a little dance. making sure he was okay. but i felt bad. "you can head back now i understand this was a lot, sorry" he sighed "oh its okay and thank you, It's past my bedtime and I'm honestly exhausted" i smile as he hands back my water flask. "But if you want me, I'll be here." Gregory and i walked out of the room and said out good nights before he went wherever, and i returned to the ballroom to see Elizabeth and everyone.

fire on fire - sam smith (chorus 1 like half of it)

Gregory pov - looking at you from outside the purple house fire (and i realise that the song is more about love but i want the angst so deal with it)

i stood there, my eyes filled in fear, as the boarding house burned. i couldn't move, I don't say a word stuck in place, you grab my hand i should be used to it, But still, you take my breath and steal the things I know. just like the fire that i couldn't look away from, a soft hand leading my face away to look at you. There you go, saving me from out of the cold, but i couldn't do anything. but blankly stare at you. tired and scared features, eyes slowly morphing to cry. Fire on fire would normally kill us, and this was on the inside. i was breaking down as i saw how distraught everyone was. I couldn't keep it in much longer. but then the other prefects showed up, and i didn't have time for it, so i pulled my hood up to hold it in, letting go of your hand to do something.

Love me not - eimi (verse 3?)

the part that's always on TikTok but it is a good song- anyway this is at the dating stage and you try to get help from your friends idfk

Sitting on the grass, in front of the bench in the middle of a courtyard, talking with Ciel, soma, and your best friend, the latter two interested in how the relationship was going with Gregory. so far all you could describe it as was confusing, when they asked how. you stood up and started pacing in front of them finger to your chin like how a detective dose it but moving to act out and get you point across better. "Does he really love me? Does he think I'm too much." My pacing stops as i shook my head and returned to walk around. "Am I hanging by a string? Am I pushing my luck?" I looked at the two with confusion, hands out, doing some gesture. they were still intrigued, and i just wanted an answer. "He says I'm his beloved. He says I'm enough. but every time I kick and scream, he tells me to shush!" waving your arms up and down in frustration, and at this, the friends pay more attention. shock on soma's face, making an o shape. "He told you to what!" My best friend joining in, equally surprised. "he told you to, huh!" Ciel bored of our shit huffed out a sigh before speaking. "I think you shouldn't really worry. and you're blowing this up," and I hastily replied, almost yelling. "But I'm falling in love! Does he wanna break up!?" I gripped the hood of my purple house uniform, pulling it over my face, which was red in embarrassment, and I felt some paper in there. taking it off my head a small envelope fell out of my hood, it had a clear purple wax seal with the house cress. 'That wasn't there before'

absence - Rio Romeo chorus + verse 3

Gregory in third person this is angsty, and sad. description of dying

he was thinking about what was going to happen all the experiments, but he unwillingly took part in. he couldn't shake it a feeling of impending doom. he knew the things he did, and that didn't warrant him to be sorry for himself, but he couldn't eat or sleep, even drinking something seemed impossible. then his thoughts came back to his friends. He couldn't stop thinking about how they would react, to him dying. 'If i just vanished, do you think you'd manage' laying in his bed contemplating how you would miss him. 'Or would you disappear right besides me?' A tear came into his eye. As he continued to think of you, how would you react to what he's done, more and more tears came out, little by little. 'Do you think you're ready? When i went unsteady,' his tears ran down his checks, smearing the eyeliner. 'lover, please prepare for my absence.' he stifled his cries with the ball of his palm, keeping it in. lipstick smearing on his hand as he bit down harder, more tears rolling down, landing on his pillows staining them. 'absence makes the heart grow stronger', wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. 'pray my baby will not squander everything to gain by my leaving' taking his hands away from his face, to look at them they shook, as he starred at them blurry vision from crying, the bite mark on his right one blending red. 'and if i return the favour.' thinking to all the sweet parts you shared together. 'pray my baby always saviour, every moment we were both present' sitting up to hunch over head in his hands quietly sobbing, the walls were thick and he knew it but it hurt to cry louder.

oh boy that took some effort i was going to so many more but i just cant but i do kinda love what i did i think it matches his character well I hope it matches at least and again here is a link to my playlist i hope it works if not i have the same name on Spotify but non the less i hope my writing doesn't suck :) (feeling like the Q.A from welcome home "I want it out open open open" lmao MAYBE IM A LITTLE DELULU RN WHO KNOWS) ALSO ive never written angst before so i hope that was good idfk

https://spotify.link/tg5qbp9ZgJb

[cebwrites]

“men don’t cry” (law, drake)

a/n: i was gonna stop at just the first one, but of course i got a hankering for law’s headcanons on this too so here we are- 🙈💖

masc reader, he/they genderfuck law word count: 1k

Law

Although Law never took that sentiment to heart consciously, it’s definitely permeated in the back of their mind in slower, more subtle but overall effective ways (that said he ages his feelings by never expressing them like fine wine)

Law put on a persona to make them seem cruel and heartless, unhinged even, telling himself that this was all to build a reputation that would bring in strong pirates for his cause - taking down Doflamingo 

Of course not accounting for the fact that they’d end up getting attached to these goobers, or at least caring enough to not want to see them hurt at Doffy’s hands, and ultimately leaving them on Zou where, in his mind, they’d be safe from harm 

Law kept it up for months, playing it up for the sake of appearing as a fearsome pirate, even indulging in darker parts of their brain that they’d usually ignore - but the second the lines between personal and persona started to blur, the moment that this whole charade registered a little too close to that accursed bird; they stopped leaning so heavily into it

He’s still very emotionally guarded, though, Law has and always will be - they were never the most sociable as a child even before a hundred metric tons of government issued trauma, and Doflamingo, that demonstrably just made everything to do with their emotional state worse

Getting Law to open up is like pulling teeth, you’d have better luck trying to draw blood from stone - at least the cuts from each slash would tell if you were making progress or not - there are few and far between who actually manage to do it and it’s definitely not easy

Law’s crew, or at least a few notable members, have been painstakingly trying to get their captain to open up for years, by god they know Law needs the emotional support

So if Law were to lean on anyone, it’d have to be someone who’s been at their side for a while - someone who didn’t necessarily start out with romantic intention but now that they’re here is in it for the long haul

Platonic connections are important to, Pen and Shach almost wept in relief when Law started showing the first signs of vulnerability with them about two years after leaving Swallow Island (Bepo’s always been Law’s best friend and squish, though)

To their own surprise, Law finds that their love language is physical - not necessarily sexual, but sensual affection, especially in small to medium doses throughout the week with plenty of space in between for them to recoup is essential - it’s a comfort to know that when words fail him, Law can turn to simply holding his partner while they air out all their grievances in his arms, rubbing a reassuring palm on their back

Law would need a man understanding of their emotional struggle without judgement, someone ideally in the same boat recovering from the same toxic masculinity - maybe even joke that, sure, men suppose don’t cry, but in that case Law can thankfully fall back on the fact that they’re not a man and laugh when their captain shoots them the flattest look imaginable, followed by exasperated but loving kisses, laughing when their respective facial hair tickles each other

Drake

Drake considers his emotional state to be relatively stable and, especially in comparison to the other disaster here, it kind of is - but only by proxy

Drake was raised by a single father who was loving and kind in his early childhood but, due to reasons unclear and untold to him, grew into a day-drinking useless bastard by his teens and turning to piracy to make ends meet - to an extent, that was true; some days their choices would be down to stealing something or starving after Barrels lost his job as a marine

This would obviously trickle down into how Drake grew up, shape the young, bright-eyed marine who swore to take down corrupt people in this world like his shitty father so no one would have to suffer like he did - that’s what he told others, but Drake’s internal monologue wasn’t so naïve after what he’d been though, he wanted to believe it though, oh he so desperately did

Sengoku swung around every now and again to check up on him as a budding marine but it was hardly anything that could be considered parenting; Drake doesn’t blame him, he was the Fleet Admiral at the time and couldn’t afford to put all his focus into raising some kid they picked off an island ravaged by some lunatic pirate, those were a dime a dozen 

He appreciated the effort, though, and still holds the old man in somewhat high regard even if Drake’s been at least somewhat disillusioned with the idyllic Marine Dream™ at this point

Growing up in the navy, Drake was praised for his ‘cool headedness’ and ‘bravery on the battlefield’ or in other words, lack of emotionality - Drake was used to growing up quickly under his father, and with his superiors’ approval on this pattern of hiding vulnerability, he didn’t see a reason to stop any time soon

It’d be hard for him to open up to a partner, entertaining the idea of a partner is already awkward on it’s own (it’s not that Drake doesn’t want companionship, romantic or otherwise, but he knows that it’s a lot of work to build something like that from scratch and he just doesn’t have time for that right now, so he doesn’t go out of his way to look for it)

If Drake did find someone, it’d be a person whose connections completely snuck up on him; a person who he was so comfortable with that Drake wouldn’t even realize the years flying by - maybe it’s a man he shared an infantry with, or just a shopkeeper he ran into often on his daily routes before being sent off to Wano as a double agent

Drake would pine for them unknowingly, yearning for their touch at night without consciously thinking about it; it’d come in the form of an itch in the back of his mind that he just can’t pinpoint to scratch, but when the time comes for him to see them again?

Gosh

The moment that man runs his hands up the small of Drake’s back, whispers sweet words of how much he worried and missed him, lizard man is going to crumble

[sereneshymn]

The consolation Fiora offers to Rafiel is accepted with gratitude, and though the long and stiff beak makes facial expressions more difficult than human-like lips, a shade of it can nonetheless be discerned on his features.

"Is that so? I have heard pegasi can take a considerable amount of effort before they open their heart to you, though I cannot claim to know it from experience. Perhaps you can tell me more of your stories someday, if you do not mind, of course."

Swimmole and Museon walk up closer to him, mouths agape. Rafiel chuckles softly before initiating another song, which Museon is quick to eagerly pick up. Swimmole, meanwhile, stares up at him with big eyes, and Rafiel soon understands what it wants. Once the tune ends, he sits down on the ground to allow the smaller of the creatures to climb onto his back. Nesting among his soft feathers, the little guy's happiness soon resonates with the Heron's heart.

He then turns his attention back to his human companion. "I do apologize if I surprised you with the transformation, by the way. I should have made my intentions clearer. I'll stay like this for a bit, if you don't mind - I think Swimmole is tired. Oh, and I don't mind being touched in this form."

As they continue, he remains in this form for the time being to allow Swimmole the ride, walking gracefully on the long legs of his bird form, Museon by his one side and Fiora by the other.

The valley between the mountains is lush and scenic, quite a reprieve for both of them from the view before. Eventually, they come upon a stretch of the river where the waters seem darker and deeper than before. And in one spot, the banks split off into an oxbow. Here, the waters dry up completely — at least so it seems, until they draw closer and realize there is actually a hole, leading deep into the ground, in the middle of the oxbow.

Near that hole, resting in the shallow waters along the bottom, is what looks like a brightly colored slug.

Immediately, Rafiel feels a sting of hesitation - surely, a slug would find itself intimidated by a large bird - but begins to softly hum nonetheless...

Rafiel attempts to Charm the fiend! Success! -1 Wildness Sligment is caught!

... and in spite of his worries, the colorful creature eyes him curiously, before coming closer, until it is right in front of him.

He lowers his head, the slug simply climbs on top of it, and as he raises his head back up, it simply sliiiiiides down his neck onto his back, where it cheerfully says hello to an excited Swimmole.

Rafiel then freezes as the orb begins to speak again.

SLIGMENT, THE DELIRIUM FIEND. SOUL TYPE. THE BRIGHT COLORING OF SLIGMENT'S BODY AND THE OOZE IT LEAVES BEHIND HAS BEEN THE SOURCE OF COUNTLESS STORIES, WITH A COMMON BELIEF THAT LOOKING AT IT TOO LONG MAY CAUSE HALLUCINATIONS. TRAVELERS ENCOUNTERING A DISCARDED SLIGMENT SHELL IN THE WILD KNOW NEVER TO PICK IT UP AND PUT IT TO THEIR EAR.

Oh, okay.

"Well... looks like we have a new friend," he says to Fiora. "Certainly easier than the previous one. Should we keep going, or do we rest?"

Filling Our Emblemdex

Team Sheep, Team Four Creature Campaign

[big-brainrot-hours]

More Xiao plz..?

Xiao || General Headcanons

Hehehehe lucky for you I have SO many thoughts about Xiao. He is on my mind all day every day. I also decided to do softer headcanons for this one since I’ve been hurting him a lot on here recently lol

These headcanons are a mix of sagau and non sagau, so enjoy!!

Warnings: sagau, mentions of past abuse, overall it’s very soft tho

Headcanons under the cut!

— — — — — — —

Xiao is actually a fairly merciful being. Yes, he murders people, but that doesn’t mean he feels good about it. He would rather avoid it if possible, and after he clears out an area, he usually makes sure to light some incense and say a prayer for those who were slain. If he can’t do it then, he always makes sure to come back and do it afterward.

He has a personal rule about never killing those who don’t deserve it, and that includes the monsters of Teyvat. He only does so if he’s left with no other choice. That doesn’t mean collateral damage doesn’t happen though. It’s canon that Xiao’s so strong that no living mortal has ever seen him fight, because if you’re that close, it’s pretty much guaranteed you’ll die just from how much power he emits. Which is why the rituals and prayers that he does afterward are so important to him.

Y'know how Rex Lapis has like, a human body and a not human body?? I believe that all of the adepti do, and that includes Xiao! I haven’t decided exactly what I think his alternate form looks like yet, but he has wings! He hasn’t flown in forever, but he does take good care of his wings to keep them looking somewhat nice after his feathers grew back. In his human form, he can summon his wings, and if you ask, he will take you flying somewhere! Sure, he’ll get flustered, but he’ll do it :)

During his youth, Xiao traveled a lot, so he didn’t really have a dedicated shrine or altar for you. Now, though, he has one of those adeptal realms in a teapot, and he has a small altar dedicated to you. It’s nothing big or fancy like many of the other people of Teyvat have, and definitely not anything one would expect of an adeptus, but it’s what Xiao prefers. He knows that when it comes to worshipping you, it’s the thought that counts, so his altar consists of only a small statue of you and a pretty incense burner. The other things on the altar are offerings that he’s brought and felt like you’d like enough, so they stay.

His offerings typically include almond tofu, qingxin flowers, crystal cores, pretty shiny rocks/crystals, or drawings of you.

OKAY SO! This one isn’t that sagau related, but he is a bird!!! He likes shiny rocks!! He’ll never admit it, of course, and no one really knows. But if you know him well enough to tell apart his different cues, even though his facial expression doesn’t change, there’s no denying the way his eyes light up when he sees a particularly shiny rock. Sometimes he'll pick one up and bring it back to you.

Aside from Morax, Xiao is the strongest of the adepti in Liyue. He can summon winds strong enough to form hurricanes if he’s mad, and his more extreme battles typically end up leveling whatever was around him at the time, whether it be villages, hills, or even mountains.

Okay, so I know this is completely wild and out of nowhere, but I headcanon that Xiao is an artist. Both sagau and not sagau, he was tortured by Osial and wasn’t free from his abuse until the end of the Archon War. During that time, he wanted to get to work ridding Liyue of demons, but Morax wouldn’t let him. He basically demanded that Xiao take time to heal. His wounds were extensive, and he had not only fresh ones from the war, but many, many, many untreated injuries from his time before. This causes him to need rest for a while. Xiao hates that he can’t do anything, and it makes him feel like he’s trapped again, so some of the other yakshas will bring him things to maybe keep him occupied. It works, but only for so long. He refuses to read if he finds something boring, and he reads fast anyway, so the books they bring him don’t do much, and he doesn’t care much for mortal games or puzzles. However, one of them brings him a journal and suggests that he write in it because it might help keep his mind occupied. He ended up doodling in there instead and found that he had zoned out during that point. So, bedridden and bored, he began to learn how to draw.

And even now, after all these years, it’s still something that he does often. Whenever he gets a break from fighting demons and doesn’t have any other business, he retreats into his adeptal realm, where he has some art supplies stored away and lets himself get lost in the art process. Most of his works are landscapes with pretty lighting and colors that the human eye can’t perceive. In Sagau, though, half of his works consist of his god enjoying their creation. Relaxing beneath the shade of a tree or under the stars. Some are just doodles, though. However, no one knows he’s an artist, and he intends to keep it that way. The only person he’d even consider showing his art to is you, and that's only if you ask about it first.

However, if he’s feeling really soft, he might come up to you, scowl on his flushed face, and hand you a folded up piece of paper. Unfold it and you’ll find a picture of you, drawn in exquisite detail, looking as lovely as ever. He won’t look at you, afraid of your reaction, because what if you don’t like it? But looking from his slightly red cheeks to the way he glances at you only to quickly look away, it’s pretty easy to piece two and two together.

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

What if... you are what we needed?

Corin keeps in the background when the kids are gathered, as usual, but his clever eyes are locked on Davarax and he’s hanging on his every word. Dulsissia can’t help but to smile at the sight of her son not only listening to what Davarax says, but how he says it, how he’s standing while he’s talking, his facial expressions, the gestures of his hands, everything. It’s like watching a baby bird imprinting in real time and Davarax being adorably oblivious to what is happening.

And Corin is not alone.

Din has begun to roll up the sleeves on his shirts like Davarax does, Barthor has adopted the same rest-head-in-hand-while-reading posture Davarax has, Paz suddenly decided to change his hairstyle into the very one Davarax has and Dulsissia had to send her embarrassed husband a pointed look when Raga had uttered some very salty and familiar curse words only yesterday.

But as cute and funny it is to watch Corin, it is also painful to see him desperately want Davarax’ attention but at the same time not dare to draw any attention to himself to get it. He will hover near him but with a skittish nervousness that Dulsissia knows comes from the years with Macero.

Macero had barely been present in the boy’s life, but whenever he was, Corin quickly learned that his father’s attention landing on him was rarely a good thing. Around Macero, it was best to be invisible. She’d tried to shield her son as best as she could, but it was impossible to block all of the cruel comments and mean remarks.

Today, Din, Raga and Barthor are going to head into town to pick up supplies, while she and Paz are set to do a complete check and cleaning of their weapons collection.

Corin is to accompany Davarax on some minor repairs on the Razor Crest and her soft heart aches with worry.

She’s not worried that Davarax will even think a harsh word in her son’s direction, but Dulsissia knows how anxious Corin will be with no buffer between him and Davarax. So she worries, but she also have faith in Davarax.

-

Carrying a large bag with equipment, Corin trails after Davarax, who has one in each hand and is leading the way to their ship.

Usually Din would be the first to volunteer when it is something related to the Razor Crest, but it was decided they all needed to learn about the ship and ships in general, so everyone has to take turns whenever some work needs to be done on it. Today is Corin’s turn and he’s more than a little nervous.

Corin knows he doesn’t have the knowledge that Din has about the ship and maybe Davarax thinks he does? There is no way this can end well…

When they arrive at the ship, to his utter relief, Corin is explained what they’re going to do, what the problem is and how to solve it, and in a way that actually makes sense despite him not being as smart as Din. And after getting a couple of easy tasks that he completes without any trouble, Corin starts to think it might not be such a horrible experience after all.

Especially after he’s finished switching a fuse and Davarax gives Corin’s shoulder an approving squeeze after he inspects the job.

The gesture brings a fierce burst of happiness inside his chest, it feels like he grows two inches taller, so Corin eagerly moves on to the next assignment given to him and then awaits Davarax’ verdict with a hammering heart.

Davarax reaches out, tugs gently at where Corin has attached the wire and makes a pleased sound when he finds it securely fastened. “Perfect. Good job. Keep this up and we’ll be done in no time.”

There is that fierce burst of happiness in his chest again. Corin nods.

Davarax absently twirls his welding gun when he looks at the next panel, considering what to do next, so Corin does the same thing with his wrench and feels incredibly cool.

They work together in the cargo hold for a while. Davarax opens panels, points and explains, then often steps back and lets Corin do the actual job, only offering advice or coming in to help when Corin meekly asks for it. It goes so well that Corin actually forgets to be afraid and just has fun.

“I need to head up into the cockpit and check out some data. You okay here? You got this?” Davarax asks while Corin is halfway into an open panel to try to reach some wires.

“Yup.” Corin replies, making a triumphant sound when he gets a hold of his prey. He hears the man walk away but he’s too busy focusing on doing a good job to get anxious over it. He can do this.

Turns out, he can. Corin fixes the problem with the wires, checks they are securely fastened before putting the panel up again and fastening it as well. When Davarax is not back by the time this is done, Corin simply moves on to the next panel.

Removing the bolts, he lowers the panel to the floor and Corin eyes the now revealed wires with a critical gaze. Yeah, there is rust and muck on them as well, so they definitely need changing too. He gets to it, eager to show Davarax that he can manage on his own.

He has just managed to loosen the wire at one end when Corin somehow manages to drop his wrench into the mess of wires below where he’s working. It must either tear something loose or connect something that shouldn’t be connected because only half a second after the wrench falls, there is a fierce crackling of electricity, sharp glimpses of light, and just as Corin makes a panicked grab for the wrench; flames jumps into existence and forces him to withdraw his hand with a pained cry.

Cradling his aching hand to his chest, Corin backs up to the opposite wall and stares with wide-eyed horror at what he has done.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” Davarax slides down the ladder, lands on his feet with a heavy thump before trotting over to where there now is a thin line of smoke emerging from the wall. He grabs a small bottle of something that is hanging on the wall and he sprays the content on the fire that is quickly extinguished.

Tossing the bottle away, Davarax turns to look at Corin.

“I’m sorry!” Corin blurts out before Davarax can say anything. “I didn’t mean to-It was an accident and, and I’m sorry!” He heaves for air, struggling against tears. “I’m sorry!”

Davarax merely shakes his head and grabs Corin’s wrist to pull his hand out to inspect it. “Did you get burned?”

Corin yanks his hand free, cradling it protectively once more, backing away from him. He can’t even look at Davarax and has to stare at the floor. “Please, I’m sorry.” Why did Corin have to mess up everything? Davarax had been so nice to him and now Corin has angered him. He’d set fire to his ship! Davarax had to be furious. Everything is ruined because Corin can’t hold on to a kriffing wrench! Stupid, stupid, stupid! “I’m sorry!”

“Corin…” Davarax takes a step after him but stops when that makes Corin back up again.

“I’m sorry!” Corin shouts, really on the verge of crying now.

“Corin, it’s okay.” Davarax says.

Knowing how this will not only make the man angry with him, but also ruin his mother’s happiness as Davarax is bound to turns his bad mood her way as well, just like his father always did, Corin almost buckles under the weight of the guilt. “Please…” He whispers, agonized. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I know you didn’t mean to, Corin. I know it was an accident. Hey, come on, look at me.” Davarax’ voice is gentle. “Don’t worry. It was an accident.”

Corin dares to steal a peek up at Davarax and is surprised to see no trace of anger on his face. If anything, there is concern and… sadness? It gives Corin hope that maybe he can take the brunt of the anger and spare the others. “I’m still sorry. I’m sorry I set your ship on fire.”

Davarax nods and gestures towards one of the fold-down seats. “Could you just… take a seat? Let me look at that hand of yours? Please?”

Corin shuffles over and sits down, like a doomed man going to his execution. It’s difficult to breathe. If feels like someone is sitting on his chest.

Davarax crouches down in front of him and eases Corin’s hand into his to examine it. He hums at the sight of it. “No burns, that’s good. But you got awfully close.”

Corin stares at the floor and shrugs. Maybe if he’d been burned then that would have been punishment enough and Davarax would be pleased?

Sighing, Davarax pulls out a thin strip of a bandage from his belt and begins to wrap Corin’s hand. “Corin, listen to me. I need you to really listen to me. Okay?”

Corin glances up at him and when their eyes meet, he gives a faint nod. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to make up for what he did.

“I will never, and I do mean never, be angry with you over an accident.” Davarax fastens the bandage and gives his wrist a light pat. “You hear me? All I care about is that you’re okay.”

That… does not make sense to Corin. But he’s kind of afraid to anger Davarax further by asking what he means. So he merely nods and hopes that is good enough.

It clearly isn’t, but this time Davarax is the one to look down at the floor. “Was… Was your dad like that? Angry over things that wasn’t your fault?”

“It was my fault.” Corin whispers. It always was. Otherwise his father wouldn’t have been that angry with him, right? And his parents wouldn’t have been arguing so much if not for him.

Davarax shakes his head and sighs, still looking down. “I don’t think it was, Corin. Not then. Not now.” He pats Corin’s wrist again. “I don’t mean to speak ill of your dad, Corin, but he was a complicated man and he made mistakes too. Getting angry with you was a big mistake.” He finally looks back up to meet Corin’s eyes again. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Corin. I promise.”

Tentative hope flutters in Corin’s chest as he hears how sincere that promise is. And Davarax really isn’t angry with him. He’s not. The relief makes Corin a little dizzy as well as giddy with joy.

“And you can always talk to me, you know? Tell me things. Ask me questions.” Davarax says.

Back on Seswenna, Corin learned the hard way to never ask his father any questions, but seeing how not even setting the ship on fire had caused Davarax to become angry, Corin does not hesitate to make a grab for the wealth of knowledge Davarax is offering him. There is one thing...

“Can you show me how to shave?” Corin blurts out in an eager rush. Ever since Paz started shaving, he has ‘complained’ every morning about the hassle of it. Corin suspects Paz only has about six strands on his chin and does it to rub in the fact that none of them have reached that stage yet. But, it would be cool to know how to, for when the day comes. He’s fairly sure not even Din knows how to shave.

Davarax bursts into a brief laugh at his question, but it doesn’t hurt as there is no trace of malice or mockery in it. He reaches out to pat Corin’s shoulder. “Absolutely. First thing tomorrow.”

Fire all forgotten, Corin grins and sits up a little straighter.

“Now, do you want to wait here while I do the rest of the repairs, or do you feel like going back to work? Your choice, Corin. Either option is fine.”

“I think I would like to go back to work. If that is okay…?” Corin says. “I promise I won’t drop the wrench again.”

“You got this, no problem.” Davarax reassures him. “And if you need a little help, I’ll be right here.”

-

Dulsissia is on her way back to the room where Paz sits half-asleep over the dismantled blasters, oiling each part meticulously and bored out of his mind, when she sees Davarax and her sweet boy returning from the ship.

There is an instant stab of worry as she sees the bandage of Corin’s hand, but that is quickly drowned out by relief and raw happiness as she sees her son march next to Davarax with a confidence she’s never seen before. He’s doing something close to a swagger! And he’s chattering away like he usually only does with Din.

It’s hard to believe it is the same boy who had looked at her with anxious eyes before following Davarax to do the repairs on the ship. Her son looks proud. He looks confident and happy and shining in the spotlight of Davarax’ attention.

That man had made her baby walk tall and she had thought she couldn’t love him any fiercer?

Wiping away a tear, Dulsissia heads to the room where Paz is currently lamenting his fate and decides to make this a memorable day for everyone. She hands the puzzled teenager some credits and tells him to bring Corin along, head into town, find the others and have fun. Dulsissia even grants them permission to try out the speeder-bike grounds as long as Paz promises to make sure nobody gets hurt. He nearly hurts himself eagerly nodding his promise.

The boys are out of the door and heading towards the town before Davarax is done washing his hands.

“Dulcy?” Davarax calls out, somewhat confused by seeing the dust in the boy’s wake, walking out of the refresher room while absently drying his hands on an old towel.

She grabs a hold of him when he walks by their room and yanks him inside, causing Davarax to drop the towel with a startled sound and stumble to regain his balance. The unexpectedness of it all makes it easy for her to push him lightly against the wall and crowd up against him with a smile. “I just sent the kids to find the others in town and gave them some credits to burn. We’re all alone, for once. You want to fool around?”

It’s not like her to be this direct and his face is a mix of surprise and fascination. “Uh, yes, please?”

Dulsissia takes a hold of his shoulders and jumps up to wrap her legs around his waist, which she knows will cause him to automatically reach out and take a hold of her hips to hold her up. He does. That frees her to lift one leg, get the bottom of her foot against the wall behind him and give it a firm push. Davarax makes another surprised sound as her act makes him stumble towards the bed with her. Oh, the sweet man... He has no idea what is about to hit him...

Later, while he’s lying on his back in bed, still trying to catch his breath with a slightly shell-shocked expression on his face, his body covered with nothing but sweat and a flimsy sheet, Davarax watches her as she gets up and puts on a robe.

“You have to be hungry after fixing the ship. I’ll get you something. You stay and rest and I’ll bring it here. I think we have more of those spicy noodles you like so much.” Dulsissia adjusts the robe and tightens the belt before heading for the door.

“Dulcy, wait…” Davarax eases himself up his elbows, looking hilariously dishevelled with his dark hair poking up at every angle. “What… what did I do? What did I do to be blessed with this?”

Dulsissia glances back at him with a grin before she merely slips out the door.

“Dulcy, tell me.” Davarax whines, but when there is no answer, she hears him flop back down and start mumbling to himself; “I gotta know so I can do it again. And again. And again.”

But Dulsissia knows she doesn’t have to tell him, because he will do it again and again anyway. Being an amazing father is in his nature and he will continue to bring out the best in those children without being motivated by anything but love.

Which is why they all, her included, love him.

[laniidae-passerine]

okay went back to long post 2.0 and the Pictionary concept so now I’m going to create an insanely long list of Pictionary pair-ups and how they’d work in the cottage on game night

Here are all the people I presume would be allowed in for game night:

Reynie, Sticky, Kate, Constance, Martina, S.Q, Jackson, Jillson, Mr Benedict, Number Two, Rhonda, Milligan, Miss Perumal

Here we go! Reminder: this is crazy long so only about a sentence each unless I’m inspired

Reynie - Sticky: absolutely killing it, definitely come in second if not first because while neither of them can actually draw that well, they’re in tune with what the other person is trying to get across. even if it looks like nonsense to everybody else, they understand

Reynie - Kate: not amazing but pretty good! Half the time she doesn’t know what on earth he’s drawing or her gesturing is just confusing him even more but the other half? really accurate

Reynie - Constance: good but only because she has trained him in the art of Not Losing. Constance does not do the losing thing Reynie and she’s also not bad at drawing so they’re getting by okay

Reynie - Martina: consists mainly of ‘uhhhhhhhh’ noises at each other and then a guess that’s kinda right. Dead bird is kinda a roast chicken right?

Reynie - S.Q: amazing perfect legendary! but not when Reynie is drawing. S.Q hasn’t seen a lot of things so it’s kinda hard for him to guess, especially when it’s all quite wobbly

Reynie - Jackson: fine, weirdly. Jackson is less intense than Jillson during game night so as long as they’re not coming last he can handle it.

Reynie - Jillson: she is yelling loudly and Reynie is a human question mark. He needs to learn that when it looks like a cornflake, it’s meant to be a bird

Reynie - Mr Benedict: really good! Reynie loves reading just like him so they kill it on the literature round and also Reynie and him are just messing about

Reynie - Number Two: eh? No money is being on them winning but they’re not. Appalling

Reynie - Rhonda: fun! Rhonda knows it’s just a game and Reynie is just a kid who wants to enjoy himself.

Reynie - Milligan: slightly stilted but Milligan is freakily accurate at guessing. He gets a massive hug at the end too which makes him feel very safe (you may guess which he I’m talking about)

Reynie - Miss Perumal: oh, fantastic. She’s encouraging of him and even when they mess up they end up giggling about it

Sticky - Kate: Kate has pulled 17 new facial expressions at Sticky’s drawings and he is astounded by the way she keeps guessing bucket. Somehow still in 3rd

Sticky - Constance: oddly good. Constance can be patient with Sticky and she coaxes out that side of him that Needs To Win. All of the adults sort of skipped over mean!Sticky so their faces are priceless when Sticky tells them they can suck it because he’s the goddamn best

Sticky - Martina: average because neither of them are world’s best drawer or guesser but they can muddle by

Sticky - S.Q: great!!! Sticky has encyclopaedic knowledge and S.Q is a fantastic drawer! also terrible because S.Q doesn’t know what many basic things are and Sticky can’t draw for shit

Sticky - Jackson: cordial and calm, doing pretty alright. Two rather formal children with a pen it might feel a bit like a meeting between people trying to come up with new ideas for Pictionary rather than a game of Pictionary but they’re alright!

Sticky - Jillson: she is chasing him around the garden with a harpoon

Sticky - Mr Benedict: rather sweet, they’re failing miserably but at least they’re supporting each other all the way. To the bottom of the scoreboard though

Sticky - Number Two: competent but I feel like Number Two is not that great at Pictionary unless she’s teamed up with specific people

Sticky - Rhonda: let’s just enjoy ourselves :) maybe Sticky needs to give her a few hints though because optimism can only take them so far

Sticky - Milligan: even though Milligan is actually a really good guesser and drawer he takes the blame for every loss to make Sticky feel better because he thinks Sticky is very sweet

Sticky - Miss Perumal: weirdly this works. She knows what he’s trying to convey even if it’s just literal scribbly chaos and there’s even a chance of them doing well!

Kate - Constance: they are yelling violently at each other but if someone else dares insult one of them for being too bossy, prepare for their rage to be turned on you

Kate - Martina: banned from playing together. Pictionary should not be used as a vehicle for flirting and/or fighting about tetherball

Kate - S.Q: doing great!!! he’s amazing at drawing and she’s also pretty good too so they’re in with a high chance of winning

Kate - Jackson: weird dynamic. If she draws and he guesses, they’re doing good. Opposite way around and it’s not terrible but it is. Questionable

Kate - Jillson: two headstrong girls refusing to lose creates a team that is too busy arguing with each other to actually achieve anything. Luckily they admire the other person’s refusal to lose so they don’t stay mad at each other

Kate - Mr Benedict: her wild enthusiasm carries over to him and this is when you catch him actually getting competitive. Prepare to see the very minimal part of his nature that will remind you of his brother

Kate - Number Two: Kate has her head in her hands and Number Two at least has the decency to look a little ashamed

Kate - Rhonda: woooooooh girl power!!! c’mon let’s win this through the power of friendship (and end up in second still vibing)

Kate - Milligan: unified. He draws a line and she guesses it instantly. They’re the perfect father daughter team and he’s so proud of her that nobody can even be mad that they lost

Kate - Miss Perumal: okay! she’s very nice and Kate likes her so they get along well enough to achieve a good ranking

Constance - Martina: oh they understand each other. They’re above everyone else and they will win and they will rub it in S.Q’s face and then one of them will secretively give him a brownie slice if the jeering makes him feel bad

Constance - S.Q: oh she’s so pleased. She demands they win but because she cares about him (shut up) she will compliment all of his drawings in a veiled way. Of course she guessed it, she’s a genius and it’s also so obviously an airplane (translation: S.Q is very good at drawing and I believe in him)

Constance - Jackson: he’s afraid of her. However he will turn that fear into strength, mainly because that walking stick is way too close to Constance for his liking

Constance - Jillson: hell hath no fury like these two trying to win Pictionary. They will kill you and your mum and your dad and they are on the warpath. The only pairing so scary it makes S.Q draw appallingly

Constance - Mr Benedict: he can’t stop falling asleep when she insults him for being unable to guess accurately because he thinks she’s adorable and funny. He loves her so much and she’s secretly too happy about it to be mad

Constance - Number Two: who even knows what’s happening here? They sure don’t but whatever, Constance is willing to take the L, she wasn’t gonna win this one anyway

Constance - Rhonda: Constance has hidden respect for this woman. She will listen and pay serious attention to Rhonda while she is drawing and does her best to make it easy for her when it’s Rhonda’s turn to guess

Constance - Milligan: she’s still got insults left to give. Milligan is perhaps a little taken aback by the tiny child yelling at him but she’s a decent drawer so they’re getting along just fine (also she’s mean to anyone who is mean to him so he actually likes her)

Constance - Miss Perumal: you’d think Miss Perumal would be affronted by the rudeness but she actually just treats Constance with a lot of kindness in return. She apologises for getting things wrong, congratulates her for being a good drawer and so Constance is confused and actually. Stop working your magic on me you witch why am I so fond of you now

Martina - S.Q: hi bitchy S.Q we’ve missed you. They’re getting picky and irritated and being assholes to each other but they will win and they will totally high five when they do it. They have a victory song that Martina composed on a mandolin and it’s fifteen minutes long

Martina - Jackson: neither of them are afraid of the other. Will they use ‘I’M AN EXECUTIVE I’M BETTER THAN YOU!’ as a defence when they’re messing up? Yes. Is it completely useless? Also yes.

Martina - Jillson: you ever met two girls and seen them exchange a look and you know they just nonverbally said something bad about you but you’ve got no clue what it was? Now take that mean girl power and translate it into Pictionary. They’re gonna beat you so badly

Martina - Mr Benedict: something about the way that she’s so self assured and cocky makes him feel so happy that the cataplexy kicks in. He’s slid entirely off the sofa and when someone explains how that’s a good thing to Martina, she’s hiding a smile all night

Martina - Number Two: hand gestures and odd noises abound. Number Two can’t draw for shit but Martina refuses to give in so she will make them practice outside of game night so she can try understand what the hell Number Two is drawing

Martina - Rhonda: actually okay! not fantastic but Rhonda has such amazing vibes that Martina is learning to just relax and have fun

Martina - Milligan: he likes her. She’s occasionally mean and quite cocky, but she’s amiable to him and while she likely was at the start, she isn’t cruel or mocking towards him now. Yes he may be extremely tall and buff but the real matter at hand is if he can draw and thank god for the fact that he can

Martina - Miss Perumal: this child needs actual affection holy shit. C’mere Martina Miss Perumal will tell you that you’re funny and friendly instead of just smart. She ignores the actual game in favour of letting Martina feel cared for

S.Q - Jackson: terror from both of them but they think the other person has power. Jackson was told to leave the headmasters son alone and S.Q just thinks Jackson is scary so they’re playing a weird game of chicken where they both the chicken. Figure it out boys

S.Q - Jillson: when Jillson clocks that he’s a sweetheart she relaxes and then enters Oh We Will Win mode. S.Q is unnerved slightly but also it’s nice to be wanted with a borderline ‘I will be violent to other people if I don’t get him as my Pictionary partner’ intensity

S.Q - Mr Benedict: his nephew. Oh he loves him so much. Perfect boy, wonderful child. However this poses a slight problem because Benedict is talking too much about how amazing S.Q is and how much he loves him to actually guess what the object is. It’s okay though because they’re hugging by the end of it and that’s what matters

S.Q - Number Two: what is happening. Number Two can’t draw and S.Q has not seen most films or read most books or been beyond the island. He’s guessing bird 50% of the time

S.Q - Rhonda: oh they’re gonna win and Rhonda is on point with the positive reinforcement. Prepare to get a sweet chucked at you for every point you score S.Q

S.Q - Milligan: it’s odd because S.Q feels like he should be intimidated but he just feels safe. They’re doing very well together and it’s sweet to see the way that S.Q tentatively smiles when they do well and has the smile softly returned

S.Q - Miss Perumal: oh you want a mother? You want a mum? You want a brand new mum? What’s Pictionary do you need adoption papers? I can be your parent S.Q just sign here I love you

Jackson - Jillson: creepy twins out of the Shining x1000. Constance is not the only telepathic weirdo here. However if they hit a low streak they will start yelling at each other like little children

Jackson - Mr Benedict: uh. An adult being sincerely nice? Oh, yeah it’s fine. He’s fine. It’s cool. Does anyone have a tissue? also they’re doing decently, even if it’s hard for Jackson to see through happy tears

Jackson - Number Two: why are you both yelling at each other. None of this makes sense you’re not even being comprehensible anymore someone take the pen away from them

Jackson - Rhonda: good! Not much different to average people playing Pictionary it’s nice to watch

Jackson - Milligan: this man is TERRIYING. Jackson is afraid of him to the point where he kinda just stays weirdly quiet during rounds. Everyone is just waiting for him to realise that Milligan is an angel (when he does, they’re going to be a surprise powerhouse)

Jackson - Miss Perumal: she’s nice to him and it makes him wanna do well. Even when they do badly she’s still friendly to him and it’s good vibes all arounf

Jillson - Mr Benedict: this girl is insane. And he has a habit for thinking mean teenage girls are intensely funny so he’s not conscious almost every time she’s doing the guessing. On her end she’s just completely thrown by the Curtain clone thinking that she’s funny (…he really thinks that? Oh. That’s… fantastic, actually)

Jillson - Number Two: this works. The freaky teenager and the woman that she will one day be like are on the same wavelength so they’re actually guessing each other’s horrible drawings correctly. They’re so goddamn weird and yet winning. How the hell are they winning

Jillson - Rhonda: Why are you being nice? Stop It Now. No stop being friendly and kind and amusing. Shut up. (no don’t actually shut up you seem like the kind of person I wanna hang out with with)

Jillson - Milligan: this man is a social oddity. However she has spent more time on the Milligan Boat than necessary so she is starting to comprehend him. They’ll do fine

Jillson - Miss Perumal: okay Jillson is maybe one of the few people Miss Perumal just doesn’t get. But when she’s punched in the arm by Martina and told to be nice, they can actually get along fine and do quite well

Mr Benedict - Number Two: this is deranged. Perfection and insanity in one combination. They’re winning and Benedict has passed out but the answer was narcolepsy and technically that counts as correct. Everyone is losing their minds watching this occur

Mr Benedict - Rhonda: yeahhhhhh it’s time for two people who can’t stop giggling at each other. Everything is so funny to them and their positivity is infectious. Everyone can have been having the worst day of their lives but if game night rolls around and these two are a team? You’ll be happy by the end of it

Mr Benedict - Milligan: assured and calm. They know each other very well but their communication is a bit strange. Expect longggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg pauses and extended direct eye contact. It’s… really something however they’ll do well

Mr Benedict - Miss Perumal: the vibes are good with this one. For a man who often supports other, he’s a little thrown and very appreciative to have someone who treats him like he needs the support. She’s very kind to him.

Number Two - Rhonda: mainly Rhonda politely going ‘hmmmmmm. well. maybe…’ to make up for the fact that what Number Two is drawing is nonsense. Very ‘two sisters being unable to communicate and fighting about it’ until they inevitably reconcile

Number Two - Milligan: vibes. Doing well and nodding a lot at each other. He has very poetic ways of describing her awful drawings

Number Two - Miss Perumal: somebody try save Miss Perumal because none of this makes sense. No seriously is she dreaming did she eat cheese before bed

Rhonda - Milligan: actually they can both draw and they’re buddies. So it’s going pretty good and also they share Looks that have secret meaning so have fun figuring those out

Rhonda - Miss Perumal: if they are cheating via sign language that is none of your business. Stop reporting them for it you’re all so annoying god bless <3

Milligan - Miss Perumal: she’s a bit unnerved and then she gets to know him. Pretty good they connect over parenting and they can both draw so. Bisexual rights!

[franniebanana]

CQL Rewatch - Episode 4

Okay, it’s been a hot minute since I was able to get to watching this episode, but here we go!

Great intro. Remember last time how Lan Wangji got to pick Wei Wuxian’s punishment? Well, it seems that Wei Wuxian was up late into the night working on transcribing and, surprise! he’s not done. And unless I’m mistaken, he’s actually spent days doing this, because when they first arrived, the salute ceremony was ten days away, and here we see Wei Wuxian is almost late for it. So by this point, I’d expect Wei Wuxian to have some serious hand cramps from all that calligraphy.

While I enjoy this comical moment and introduction to Nie Huaisang, I have to wonder why he thought bringing a bird into the salute ceremony was a good idea. Birds make noise—they tweet, flap their wings, try to escape cages! Anyway, it’s a goofy moment, but we got some cute expressions out of Xiao Zhan and some disdainful looks from Wang Yibo, so I can’t complain.

Xiao Zhan does a really good job of looking very young here at the beginning: his mannerisms, his facial expressions, how he carries himself, all really creates this feeling of being young and carefree. On the other side, Wang Yibo (who is six years younger than Xiao Zhan) does an equally good job of portraying someone more severe, mature, elitist. Lan Wangji has a reputation for being above people—for creating an aura that implies other people aren’t worth his time. In fact, he doesn’t even have any friends, as we found out in the last episode.

Wangxian really suit each other, even before they know each other at all: Wei Wuxian has this light, carefree nature to his character, while Lan Wangji’s is darker, more austere.

First of all, those fuckers. Gossiping about his lineage in full earshot of not only Jin Guangyao but also Jin Zixuan. This poor guy has practically clawed his way up to where he is, only to be an attendant to a clan that he has no blood relation to. His own father refuses to acknowledge him, his mother is gone, and these jerks gossiping—ugh! Hate it, regardless of who he grows to be later on in the series.

I really love Jin Guangyao and seeing how he changes from beginning to end is honestly a delight to watch. Like most of the characters, he seems so pure, so simple, such a kind person, and his relationship with Lan Xichen is something that you can’t devote enough time to. I think it gets shortchanged a little, but they only had 50 episodes, so I’ll take what I can get. Even in the book, I was left wanting to know more and see more about them (but I wouldn’t trade my wangxian content for that, so I guess I shouldn’t complain).

Last thing I want to say is, DIMPLES! Look at those adorable dimples!!

This is so insane—he literally set this guy on fire! How can he get away with this?! Anyway, enter Draco Malfoy—I mean, Wen Chao. Ahem. This series wants to throw a lot of villains at you right away: we already have Wen Ruohan, Xue Yang, potentially Wen Qing (we don’t know at this point), and now we have Wen Chao. They’re really pushing the Wen Clan is bad agenda. And as if being generally rude and probably mentally unstable isn’t bad enough, Wen Chao literally sets fire to one of the Gusu Lan Clan disciples, while the other disciple basically does nothing about it (why is that guy so useless? Doesn’t he have some spiritual energy to throw at that magic fire?).

Wen Chao is one of those characters that I think most people love to hate. He’s so evil, so horrible, yet charming, in a way. He is a villain and he’s proud of it, y’know? There’s no ambiguity here about his actions, which is kind of refreshing in a series filled with grey characters (and I love grey characters, don’t get me wrong).

Oh! And I just noticed while I was saving that screenshot that Wen Ning can’t even look at what’s going on. Very accurate to his character—non-confrontational, just wants to float along and do as he’s told. Really shows he’s under the thumb of the Wen Clan. I also like how Wen Qing is the one to put out the flames. You get to see that healer side of her early on.

Jiang Cheng and I had the same expression here—I really wanted to know what their gift to Lan Qiren was. If this is something in the book, well, then I’ve forgotten. Wei Wuxian and I have that trait in common: bad memory.

LWJ: Bro, can I hit him?

LXH: Nah, bro.

I missed this on my first viewing—or just forgot, most likely. Lan Wangji is so poised and collected, but also so defensive. He’s the brother who will be the first to go on the offensive if he sees something wrong happening, which I love. But I also love Lan Xichen’s chill attitude—yes, this guy is clearly a troublemaker, and he’s dissing our clan, but let’s settle this in an adult manner. According to the wiki, Lan Xichen is only a few years older than Lan Wangji, but you can see that he is a lot more mature in just those few years. Like I said in the last episode, he kind of had to be a parent to his younger brother and set an example of how you should behave. Of course, he’s also the clan leader, so he can’t really act like a spitfire.

Of course, if anyone is more defensive than Lan Wangji, it’s Wei Wuxian. Even though Lan Wangji has been a bit of a pain in the ass to him, Wei Wuxian still rushes to their defense. Even this early on, he’s started to form an attachment to the Gusu Lan Clan, whether he’s really aware of it or not. I’m wearing my wangxian goggles, but the “you offended the Jiang Clan because my brother was in the middle of his salute” kind of feels like an afterthought.

But of course it’s in Wei Wuxian’s character to be heroic like this—to rush to the defense of others, whether it’s asked for or not, and I don’t get the feeling that Lan Wangji disapproves of this. I think he takes note of this and future events, adding it to what he’s compiled of what makes Wei Wuxian tick. And by this time, I think he’s also decided to give Wei Wuxian another chance—Lan Xichen has planted the seed in his mind that he could be a good friend to Lan Wangji.

I know he’s not supposed to be gay.

I know.

But…come on. The way he’s looking at Lan Xichen right now—it’s a look certainly of deep admiration and respect. And there’s not a hint of jealously either, even though Jin Guangyao has every reason to be jealous of Lan Xichen: the respect he commands is great—he can even subdue the Wen Clan. But instead of hating Lan Xichen, Jin Guangyao instead becomes close friends with him, very much a parallel to Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian. Fascinating! These characters are so rich—so many layers, so much to talk about!

The first time I watched this, I was so annoyed with Nie Huaisang—any additional scenes that were added just drove me crazy. But now, having watched it all, I actually really appreciate these moments of comic relief, even the ones that are unique to CQL. As the series progresses, it gets darker and darker, and these lighter moments are honestly precious when you know what’s coming.

Someone explain to me why Jiang Yanli is making soup when meals are being provided to them? Yes, we know she takes care of her brothers, but why is it always her making soup? This is the first of many soup scenes, and at a certain point, it’s like beating a dead horse. I actually would have appreciated a little scene of them eating Gusu Lan Clan food and getting to see Wei Wuxian complain about it. I wouldn’t mind a disapproving look from Lan Wangji at overhearing it either.

Yeah, remember when I was saying Lan Wangji was taking note of the good things Wei Wuxian did? Well, he’s also very aware of how naughty he is. At the beginning, Wei Wuxian’s good traits are heavily outweighed by his transgressions, though, by comparison, they are minor ones. It’s ironic that later on Lan Wangji will overlook major transgressions without a second thought. Shows what a deep relationship they are able to cultivate.

I feel like, in a way, this is Wei Wuxian’s way of apologizing for offending him earlier—like, I’m being cute, Lan Zhan! Obviously it only makes Lan Wangji more annoyed, but it’s the thought that counts, right? Wei Wuxian is really testing boundaries here. He has such a fixation on Lan Wangji, one that definitely annoys Jiang Cheng (and makes him jealous to boot, in my opinion), but it works to his advantage, since Lan Wangji can’t really keep his eyes off of Wei Wuxian either. And the circumstances that follow just keep drawing them together.

After Wei Ying gets told to leave the lecture and go to the Library Pavilion, he doesn’t look at anyone except Lan Wangji. I wonder if he wants to know Lan Wangji’s reaction—is it disappointment, anger, something else? Whatever it is, he wants Lan Wangji’s attention—that’s what he seeks above anything else. You could argue that he doesn’t look at Jiang Cheng or Jiang Yanli because he knows they’re disappointed or upset with him, and I think that’s fair. And maybe he doesn’t seek their attention because he knows he has it—but he doesn’t feel like he’s gotten Lan Wangji’s attention here and that bothers him.

Other episodes: 1 | 2 | 3 |

[imaginaryari]

Welcome to the Show

Part One

The prisoner looks up as her least favorite cop comes into the interrogation room. Officer Warren has awards for rounding up the enhanced, people like Silver. He walks and talks like a man the people respect and fear. Talks to the enhanced like they’re close on first name bases and revels in the fact that he put them in their cells. What she would give to lay one finger on him. That’s all she needs. Unfortunately, her hands are gloved and bound because officer Warren also knows that. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure officer.” She asks.

“How would you like to get out here?”

It’s a trap. Silver knows this. The enhanced don’t get second chances especially not from officer Warren. 

 “Wasn’t I supposed to rot in here? Just as you said?” Silver asks.

Officer Warren gives her a sick grin. “I thought you would be interested in parole but if you aren’t...there’s plenty of you in here. “

The promise of seeing the outside world again would sway anyone.

“How can I trust you?”

Officer Warren beckons one of the guards. “Remove her cuffs.”

“Sir?”

“Now, please.” Warren orders.

Silver immediately rubs her wrists when the cuffs click open. The relief is almost overwhelming. She quickly reminds herself not to do anything stupid, no matter how satisfying it would be to knock Warren’s lights out.

-

“There’s a group of enhanced kids going around and robbing people. Messing with their heads. You’re fond of doing that so I thought this would be the perfect way to end your sentence.” Warren had said as he escorted her out.

Silver squints. Nothing about that story adds up. Robbing civilians while common isn’t a team effort especially if you can mess with minds and memory. A group would actually draw more attention and a tight knit one wouldn’t take the risk of losing a member to officials. 

Unless your Silver’s ex. Hm. Things are starting to make sense. 

“You’ve tried to catch them before.” Silver states. 

Warren doesn’t even look ashamed admitting his failure. “Physical powers are one thing. Mental ones are harder. But from my experience you can catch ‘em with a little trust.” He begins to walk away, leaving Silver at the gates. “You have three weeks.”

—

It’s no fancy hotel, barely a motel, but it’s a place and it’s furnished. Officer Warren had said it was hers for as long as it took her to finish her task. Silver won’t complain, before she was arrested, she was constantly couch surfing. Never out staying her welcome and never spending too long on the streets. She had made friends this way but contacting them was out of the question. Getting caught means getting blacklisted. A means of protecting themselves. Well, Silver had been thrown under the bus. Semantics. She won’t see them again and hopefully they’re doing okay. 

She shakes her head, never mind that. She has a job to do and extraordinarily little to go on. 

The neighborhood is different. She didn’t expect it to be quite the same after lock-up but the changes are more than jarring. New buildings going up, less of the spots her old friends used to hang. Silver is so sure the neighborhood has been purged of the enhanced until she decides to hit up one of the cafés. She stares at it; upset she can’t remember what it used to be and then enters reading the weirdly named drinks on the menu.

“Are you new around here?” another patron asks.

“Not exactly,” Silver says with a shrug, eyeing the stranger. He’s handsome even if he looks like he should have taken a sip of his drink before speaking. The bags under his eyes scream exhaustion but he still sounds awake. And happy about it. “It’s just a while since I’ve been round here.”

“Ah, try the mint hot chocolate. It’s a crowd favorite.”

“Is that what you’re having?”

He chuckles. “No…this is way too caffeinated for the masses.”

“Is the inevitable crash worth it?” She asks.

“Always.” He says as Silver is called next to order. “See you around.” The stranger says exiting. She thinks about the encounter for hours afterwards. The enhanced were still around even if they were muted.

—

She finds what she’s looking for the next day, right before the sun sets. It’s a large tent set up in a nearby park. Big enough to draw attention but lacking the actual necessities to pass as a real circus. No animal trailers, no confection stands. To anyone paying attention there’s no possible way it could have been set up so quickly. Definitely the work of the enhanced. 

Civilians flock to the tent with the promise of entertainment. Silver by-passes the line and taps a potential viewer on their shoulder. “You don’t really want to see this show, right? I can take that ticket off you.” The man blinks and then hands over his ticket. Silver quickly takes it and makes her way to her seat.

-

The spotlight lowers, illuminating what has to be the ringleader. He’s barely dressed for the occasion. Top hat donned but instead of a blaring red jacket, a black T-shirt with a tuxedo print and black jeans contrasting nicely with white sneakers. 

“Hello everyone. Welcome to your wildest dreams. I’ll be your guide. Whenever you need me you can shout More!” Silver snorts at the corny introduction but still applauds with the crowd. It takes a moment but she recognizes him. The man from the café with the over caffeinated drink. Interesting. So far he’s just the host, maybe the leader of this whole operation, but Silver can’t place an ability just yet.

“Please give a round of applause to our first act, Mirage, master of illusion.”

Silver is willing to bet he’s the one responsible for the tent. His set isn’t too extravagant; he just has smoke and card tricks. It’s what he does with them that counts. Shifting the smoke to look like a bird that soars over the crowd. It lands ever so gently on the empty seat in front of one of the viewers. The spotlight shifts to them, a young boy, and he offers a nervous smile, not prepared for the attention. The guest looks to Mirage who gives a cocky smile. “Blow it away.” He instructs through his mic. With a shrug he does. The smoke dissipates to reveal a real bird. A stark white dove. The young boy reaches for it face lit up in wonder, but it takes off landing right on Mirages shoulder. He pets it to prove its real and the dove seems to love it. However, it then dissipates into smoke after Mirage blows on it. That confirms it for Silver, the dude simply makes illusions.

“I need a volunteer for my next trick.” Mirage says.

He and More look around at the audience and More locks eyes with Silver. There’s a connection, a shock of understanding, and something else she can’t quite place before he says, “You, cutie with the hood. Would you like to help Mirage?”

Silver nods unable to break eye contact.

“Don’t be nervous, it’s just a simple card trick.” Mirage says, a deck of cards pulled from his pockets. Silver keeps her head down and her hood on as she walks into the ring. She wasn’t supposed to draw attention. More finally backs away giving Mirage the stage.

It is a simple card trick, with a lot of flourish. Silver selects a card, memorizes it, puts it back in the deck. Mirage is skilled making the cards seem to dance, shuffling and tossing them even pulling some from behind Silver. Sleight of hand can be learned, however,

“Is this your card?”

“It sure looks like it!” Silver says, and the audience applauds. Her choice in words don’t go unnoticed by Mirage. He smiles, like he just learned a juicy secret and gestures for Silver to return to her seat.

More passes her on his way back to the stage and gives her a similar smile to Mirage’s. She can’t help but feel she shouldn’t have done that.

“Our next act goes by Charlie. He doesn’t say much but he’s loads of fun!”

Silver immediately understands how the next act earned his name. Charlie dances out, encompassing Chaplin’s energy. He dons a similar top hat to More, and shirt except his is white instead. More comments on this with a laugh. “Clearly one of us has to change!” As corny as Silver finds More, she can’t say she’s not amused. Charlie looks More up and down, and then gets into a stance. He’s posed like a batter on home base and leans back and forth on his toes. He swings and More ducks, his top hat flying across the ring as if a real bat had hit it. The trick ears them impressed gasps and amused giggles from the audience. From Silver it earns a disbelieving stare. She’s never seen an enhanced like Charlie yet.

Charlie continues, his set like any traditional mime. Tripping over objects that aren’t there, pushing invisible walls, overexaggerating his facial expressions. Except Silver thinks, knows, he isn’t. There is a wall the audience can’t see. Silver can’t prove it, and wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining Charlie to officer Warren.

“Give it up for Charlie everyone!” More says shaking Silver from her thoughts. Charlie leaves the stage with the same comedic swagger and a wave.

“Now our next act is unfortunately our last. But we always go out with a bang! Please welcome to the ring, Star!”

With the snap of More’s fingers the lights go out. Another snap and they’re back, along with a woman sitting on a trapeze. She’s beyond beautiful, it could be the lighting, or the slight shimmer she has, but she’s captivating all the same. Her hair is pulled into two puffs and her smile dazzles the audience. Silver notes that there is no apparent netting beneath her, that should be concerning.

The music starts, a haunting melody punctuated by a bass that Silver feels in her chest. Star is flying above the audience on her trapeze. She hangs by her legs and lets her arms hang. If Silver focuses, she can see what looks like dust, her charisma spills off of her, entrancing the audience. She makes another mental note, three out of four isn’t bad. Maybe she wrong about him being enhanced. He could just be the fall guy if this all goes to shit. Authorities like Warren wouldn’t keep a powerless civilian. It’s smart. The doubt lingers. She knows what she felt.

Silver almost misses the end. Stars trapeze returns to the ring and she waves before letting go and falling to the ground. The audience gasps bracing for an impact that never comes. Star vanishes in a puff of smoke that settles all over the ring. The applause is stuttered out, the crowd is impressed and worried.

When the smoke clears the applause picks back up as all the performers are safe, taking their bows.

“Thank you all for coming!” More says. The lights go out. When they come back on the group is gone. Well, that’s one way to end things.

-

“Like the show?” A voice comes up from behind Silver. She’s just as dazzling up close and silver can see how she captivates the audience. The charisma wisps around her like smoke. 

“Sure did. Wasn’t expecting to be part of it though.”

“Yeah, More can be a bit impulsive,” Star says apologetically. She steps closer to whisper. “But his guess was right! You are like us.” 

“All of you? Special?”

“Yup!”

“What gave me away?”

“You didn’t immediately fall for my charm.”

“...really?”

“That and More caught you using your gift to get a ticket.”

“Also caught her struggling to order at the café,” More says rounding on them. “We should stop meeting like this.”

[earliebirb]

From the sick fic prompts, (20. “Will you carry me to bed?”) for stevetony

Thank you for the prompt. I hope you like it! 

love me tender

steve/tony, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 1701 words

(20 from this list)

“Sweetheart, you ready to go?”

Steve looks around the workshop, frowning when he doesn’t find Tony. Just as he is about to turn around and look elsewhere, he spots tufts of dark hair sticking out from the side of the workshop couch.

He grins, bounding over excitedly. He expects to find Tony lying on the couch with a tablet in hand, distracted in the way that he tends to get with work, giving it a single-minded focus that is almost eerily intense. Steve likes to joke that Tony probably wouldn’t even notice if Steve walked in naked, but Tony has vehemently rejected that suggestion, saying that if anything could take his attention away from work it would be the sight of his husband in his birthday suit. 

Steve has yet to test his hypothesis, but one of these days he might be tempted to actually do so.

What he finds instead, however, is his husband asleep on the couch, body curled in tightly on himself in a fetal position that looks highly uncomfortable. He stirs awake at Steve’s presence, eyes squinting open. It takes a few seconds for Tony to register the sight of Steve looking down at him.

“Oh, right. Burgers. Let’s go, baby,” Tony says, standing up slowly. His voice sounds odd and gravelly with something other than sleep, facial features set in a grimace. 

Steve steps closer, eyebrows furrowing when he spots the beads of sweat near Tony’s hairline. He presses the back of his palm to Tony’s forehead and isn’t exactly surprised when he finds it burning hot to the touch. 

Sighing with fond exasperation, he dabs at Tony’s sweat-damp forehead with his shirtsleeve. Tony sways on his feet, trying his best not to look as sick as he must be feeling and failing spectacularly. 

“Change of plans. Chicken soup for dinner, meds, and then a night of restful sleep.”

“What? No. I’m fine, honey. Come on, I promised you we’d go to that new diner you wanted to—”

“The only place you’ll be going to is straight to bed, mister.”

“But—”

“Burgers can wait.” Steve squeezes his shoulders, thumbs drawing circles reassuringly. 

Tony blinks languidly before succumbing to Steve’s embrace with a defeated sigh. The way he surrenders without putting much of a fight is a testament to how awful Tony must be feeling. Steve wraps his arms around him, rubbing his back soothingly. Tony’s shirt is already damp with sweat. 

“Sorry, baby. I know you were really excited about checking out that diner.” 

The reason Steve has looked forward to this diner date has more to do with the thought of spending much needed quality time with his husband than with the prospect of eating delicious diner burgers, although he suspects Tony thinks otherwise. Steve presses a gentle kiss to his temple. “Don’t apologize, silly. It’s not like you wanted to get sick.”

Tony’s eyes fall shut and he rests his heavy head upon Steve’s shoulder, like the mere act of standing upright is proving to be too much of an effort at the moment. 

“Will you carry me to bed?” Tony rasps weakly. He coughs a few times, sore throat protesting. 

“Of course, my darling.” Steve bends down to gather Tony in his arms, lifting him up bridal style before planting a kiss on his forehead. “I wish it were this easy to get you to come to bed most nights.”

A wan smile peeks out from where Tony’s face is buried in the crook of Steve’s neck. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I know you better than that, sweetheart.”

After tucking Tony in bed with multiple layers of blankets to keep him warm, Steve leaves for the kitchen to grab a glass of warm water. While he’s at it, he asks JARVIS to order a considerable amount of Tony’s go-to chicken soup from his favorite deli.

When he walks back into the bedroom, he feels his lips curve up into a helpless smile at the adorable sight of Tony on the bed, buried almost entirely under the sheets with only his head visible, propped up by several pillows. 

Kaleidoscopic lights dance on Tony’s face, projected from whatever is playing on the TV screen. 

“What are you watching?” Steve asks, making his way towards Tony. Whatever it is, it seems to have captivated most of Tony’s attention. 

“My number one feel-good movie,” Tony mumbles distractedly, eyes glued to the screen. Steve sets the glass on top of the nightstand before turning to see what movie is playing. 

Upon recognizing the film, his breath catches in his throat. 

He watches his own eyes staring right back at him from the widescreen TV. The familiar baby blues on the screen hold his gaze for the briefest of moments before dropping down to the ground, an easy yet bashful smile blooming on his face.

As he takes in the sight of the unadulterated joy on his own face, he thinks that even if a complete stranger were to watch the video, without any reference as to how various kinds of emotions would play out on Steve’s face, there would still be no mistaking the expression of his face on the screen for anything other than one of a man in love. 

The videographer’s voice comes through, off-camera:

“When did you know that Tony was the one?”

The camera maintains a cinematic close-up of his face as he ponders the answer. Steve remembers that day as if it was yesterday, sitting on a plush armchair in a wooden cabin, early morning sunlight streaming through the sheer white curtains. He remembers hearing the chirping of birds—a sharp contrast to the distant cacophony of Manhattan traffic that would usually accompany his mornings at the Tower. The lodges they had rented for the wedding were situated within a forest. A beautiful yet secluded area in the middle of the woods was the venue of their small and private wedding, attended by only the closest of family and friends. 

It was a wonderful day and he had felt jittery all morning, butterflies wreaking havoc in his stomach at the thought of pledging his life to Tony in just a few hours.

Steve sighs as he glances at Tony, smiling fondly at the way his husband continues to watch the film in silent rapture. 

“Aren’t you tired of watching this over and over again, sweetheart?” Steve asks, cupping the back of Tony’s neck and stroking his hairline with his thumb. 

“Shhh.” Tony reaches up to halt the movement of Steve’s hand, holding it in his instead. “We’re getting to the best part.”

Steve lets Tony pull him by the hand so he ends up seated beside Tony on the bed, joining him under the covers. He curls an arm around Tony’s shoulder and he feels Tony’s head shift from its position on the pillows, relocating to Steve’s chest with a quiet sigh.

On the screen, Steve looks off-camera at the videographer as he says:

“I think it was when… it occurred to me one day, that whenever I thought about the future, Tony was always in it.”

The Steve in the video smiles to himself, nodding wordlessly for a few moments.

“It’s like… the rest of my life won’t make sense unless he’s right there, by my side.” 

The video cuts to a picturesque, slow-motion shot of Tony in a separate cabin, staring at his own reflection in the mirror as he buttons up his dress shirt, looking nervous and pensive all at once. 

“I can’t—and I don’t want to—imagine my life without him,” Steve says, voice continuing as a voice-over as the video cuts again, this time to a shot of Rhodey helping Tony wear the jacket of his suit. Gentle music plays in the background, a heart-fluttering combination of piano and orchestral strings. 

“You looked really beautiful, sweetheart,” Steve whispers into Tony’s hair, his mind recalling the memory of himself tearing up when he first saw Tony all dressed up in his wedding tux. 

Tony huffs. “You have the makeup artist and hair stylist to thank for that. I was too busy trying to not have a panic attack.”

Steve chuckles. “So I heard. Thank God for Pepper and Rhodey.”

“Thank God for Pepper and Rhodey,” Tony echoes with a nod before letting out a series of violent coughs. Steve reaches for the glass on the nightstand and hands it to him, watching as Tony downs the water in grateful gulps.

After murmuring a quiet thanks, Tony settles back in his arms with a pained and miserable moan. Steve runs his hand up and down Tony’s stomach, frowning in sympathy. 

“Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll wake you when the soup’s here.”

Tony hums before turning to sleep on his side, body curling into Steve’s and face pressed into his neck, seeking warmth. Soft brown hair tickles Steve’s jaw and he presses a lingering kiss to the top of Tony’s head, wishing fervently for his husband’s speedy recovery. There are few things in life Steve hates more than a hurt or sick Tony.

The videographer asks Steve another question. “Three words to describe Tony?”

On the bed, Steve feels the way Tony’s breathing turns slow and steady, body going lax against his.

The Steve in the video turns quiet at the question, thoughtful eyes staring out the window as he gathers his thoughts. He remembers Sam chiding him for constantly looking out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tony walking by. Their friends had insisted that they had to go at least an entire day without seeing or talking to each other before the wedding ceremony. 

Although they had definitely spent weeks away from each other before due to work, Tony’s absence was acutely unbearable for Steve that day. He was a cocktail of emotions, and the very person that was turning him into a mess of nerves was also the one person that could usually calm him down. 

When he finally turns to the videographer again, his blue eyes are bright and confident. As he answers the question, his smile morphs into something soft and private, the way it tends to at the thought of Tony:

“My better half.”

[goonlalagoon]

A smile in your heart (no better place to start) || Second Star to the Left

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33459862

(Spoilers through to end of ep 10 ahead)

It’s been weeks - months - and Bell’s thought about what they could say, when they’re finally on the ground and face to face with Gwen for the first time. Thank you, that’s a strong contender; they know themselves well enough to know they’re more likely to go with how did you do it? Maybe this time they’ll actually be able to say I love you, though Gwen seems adept at picking it up even when they can’t put the words to it. In their head, they planned for it to be - not dramatic, because they’re supposed to be a fugitive and they don’t want to draw attention, but meaningful. The kind of memory that’s something to think back on with misty eyes and fond words.

Capital-R-Romantic, as Gwen termed it so long ago, that first grudging conversation.

What they actually say is,

“Wow, you really do have a great jawline.”

It’s…admittedly not the worst thing they’ve ever said to someone they have a crush on, but that isn’t exactly the metric Bell wanted to measure this by. They’re standing just feet away from each other, drinking each other in. The silence starts to shade awkward before Gwen swallows, shrugs, gives a shaky smile. Bell remembers a letter, one of the first, remembers reading the clouds are all blurry and the twisting mix of regret and guilty relief, because they didn’t want Gwen to be upset but they couldn’t help but cling onto the fact that she was, that someone was upset on their behalf.

“Well, I never got to see your school graduating photos, so I had no expectations of your jawline, Bell, but hey! It’s a pretty good one too, so congratulations!”

Gods, they’ve missed that laugh.

Someone interrupts them then, of course, because the settler ship has just landed and scout Hartley is very much in demand by everyone, not just Bell. There’s a whole crew of people looking to start a new life, and all of them need their scout to tell them what to do, where to go, what to watch out for. They wave a forlorn goodbye, find a place to sit and idly look around, trying to match this new settlement (very new, scout Summers could probably gauge to the day when these buildings were set up by the wear and tear, even after all this time) to every overheard exploit they’d listened in on over the years.

Gwen had moved the settlement into the trees, combined the natural firebreak with dug trenches to add a layer of defence. There’s a clear track that Bell would bet leads straight to water by the quickest route, an escape path to the coast. They think that perhaps the two of them should put their heads together, figure out emergency bundles for evacuation protocols. Food and water, a spare repair kit for any prosthetics…by the time they find Gwen again, hours of running around helping the settlers - the other settlers - move in, Gigo has a whole list stored. Ideas and checks and suggestions that Bell got halfway through recording before realising that maybe Gwen already thought of all of this and they no longer needed to jot everything down to cram into their four hour window of contact.

They live on the same planet, now. There’s no limit on contact, except that the first several months after settlement are absolute chaos for the scout, and from what Bell recalled hadn’t seemed likely to slow down even before the apocalypse threw everything out the metaphorical window.

Maybe with two of them with scout training it’ll be less…just less. Gwen might be able to get if not the mandated six hours of sleep at least enough to average out more at four or five. They weren’t going to comment on it, but it was easy to tell she hadn’t been getting her full rest anyway - probably hadn’t for months, dark circles under her eyes like permanent bruises.

They’re standing awkward feet away from each other again, and Bell knows there’s going to have to be a conversation about that soon, because it hadn’t really occurred to them before that they know a lot of things about Gwen, years and years of stories and rambling conversations, but there’s things you don’t learn without being in person. Personal space, definitions and comfort thereof, the body language and facial expressions to interpret to know what’s welcomed and what isn’t.

“Hey, so, uh…I know there’s a protocol that I’m supposed to follow when my settlers arrive, and all, but there’s something else I want to do instead.” Bell huffs a laugh, steals a shy glance to see Gwen’s answering smirk.

“Another sworn class tradition to fulfil?”

“Nope! We never talked that far ahead except as jokes. We knew the stats, y’know? But - you told me, the first day, that I should watch the sunrise, that that was something I shouldn’t miss, my first morning. And I don’t…we don’t have that, but I’ve had a long time to find my own wonderfully inspiring views of nature here and I wanted - Bell, you haven’t been on a planet for years and you were with me through everything, but you’ve never seen any of it in real life and I want to show you all of it, and I know where to start.”

Bell thinks about muttering about protocol, for the form of it, for the joke that can be dragged out of it, familiar banter, but they decide not to. It’s no longer their job to care about protocol, and anyway the only reason they cared about the protocol was to keep their scouts safe. Gwen is standing right in front of them, leaning gently against Boots with a casually familiar stance - if they pointed it out, Bell knows she wouldn’t even have thought about it. This is just what Gwen does, when she’s standing about with nothing to do with her hands; rests an elbow companionably atop Boots, one foot hooked around a standing leg and balanced on the toe of her boot.

Gwen is standing right there, safe and alive and happy, so protocol can sort itself, thanks.

(Bell realises they have their own hands in their pockets, their own casual stance, and wonders if Gwen is noticing that too, drinking in all of the unconcious habits that it would never occur to either of them to verbalise. All the little tics and quirks that don’t translate over a FTL comms.)

It’s not a long walk, and it’s more silent than Bell would have guessed, but it’s comfortable. Novel, really, to not have to narrate things aloud because they can just look and see what Gwen is doing, can point at a bird with a dorsal fin and pause to watch it flutter around rather than try to describe it.

They can’t stop stealing glances sideways, catching Gwen more often than not doing the same, both of them collapsing into giggles about it each time. It’s just so surreal, to be walking side by side, after all this time. It feels like a dream, like one of the stories Gwen tells Boots at night - once upon a time, there were two explorers, setting out through the trees…

The light dances on the waves, well below their cliff edge destination. At some point Gwen must have rolled a fallen log over to act as a bench, because it’s too well placed to be natural and there’s a fire-pit dug and lined with careful stones. Close enough to be cosy, but far away from the treeline itself to be safe. The light is dancing on the waves and the grass is drifting in the breeze, a periwinkle blue that Bell is used to seeing in photos if they thought of it at all. Something that had seemed so wonderful and new, when scout Hartley made her first observations, but had drifted into commonplace. A detail that wasn’t worth mentioning any more.

“One day, I’m going to make a boat and go explore that.” Gwen waves grandly at the horizon; she’s leaning her head on Bell’s shoulder, and Bell has decided that they will happily never move again. The two of them can just stay there, forever, Gwen’s head on their shoulder and the soft whisper of waves below. “Once my settlers are…settled, and can be left without supervision for more than a few hours at a time.”

“Already missing the solitude? Mourning all that lovely peace and quiet?”

“What solitude? I had a very efficient scout minder in my ear, I’ll have you know! I didn’t have time to get used to the peace and quiet before beep, time for another check in. Hartley, have you followed the itinary, Hartley, did you maintain a reasonable sleep schedule, Hartley, have you eaten a balanced meal at your officially directed time selected for nutritional optimisation…”

“I’m honestly surprised that you went for reminding me of my remote presence first rather than protesting that Boots was with you the whole time. And I would also like to ask, in the spirit of enquiry, have you done any of those things without my input?” Gwen shakes with barely suppressed laughter and doesn’t bother answering; Bell tries not to join in, because Gwen’s head is still on their shoulder and they’re still determined not to dislodge it until they really have to. “And…hey, I also told you to go watch the sunrise, and you found this instead. I - when did you find this? You never mentioned a little ocean watching viewpoint.”

“I - uh, set it up a few months ago. I didn’t know if it had worked, or if it had all gone wrong, or - and I spent so long pacing around here and wondering what you’d think of the view…”

“Aw, and you say I’m a romantic.”

“With a capital R, yes, you so are. I’m your favourite person, you said so, it was very romantic.”

“That was possibly the least romantic declaration of love that has ever been given. I congratulated you on your jawline, Gwen, I write poetry in my spare time and that was the best I could come up with. I should have just stopped talking - writing, I don’t even have the excuse of not being able to edit it out, the first bit was fine but I kept rambling.”

“It was romantic and I loved it and I have saved all of your letters in three separate back ups to make sure I don’t lose any of them.”

Bell laughs, curls an arm around Gwen’s shoulders as easy as breathing, and lets themselves relax for what feels like the first time in months. A flock of birds takes off from the trees, darting past them over the cliff edge, setting out over the waves. The sun glints off their feathers, the raised fin, a riot of colour catching the light as they watch, leaning against each other, shoulder to shoulder. Gwen is beaming out at it all, and Bell can feel their cheeks creasing to match.

It isn’t a sunrise, but this - this is something close enough, a snapshot of a new world, a new horizon that they get to learn, the first day of a new life.

[aineirisha]

What I confessed while daydreaming

It all started that night, that dreadful night. It all started with their threatening voices of fake silk. It all started with their eyes on you ready to devour you, ready to take away what was rightfully yours. 

It all started with ignorance. 

Myths and legends and things that are not human.

It all started...

Or perhaps it started centuries ago, you couldn't tell. You never really knew...

Things that are not human...

Stories that don't belong to humans...

And yet... 

You were...

Human...

...frightened by their energy, by the way they looked at you.

You couldn't trust them. No matter how they tried to convince you, you wouldn't trust them, your instincts told you not to. All your senses screaming at you, 

"RUN!!" 

But you couldn't move. You didn't understand. 

Why were you so scared? Why weren't your legs responding? Why couldn't you stop quivering? Why were those men...?

"Do not worry Hime-sama, we will not hurt you"

"We are just here to please you"

"Let us please you, Hime-sama"

"We are just going to play a little game, shall we Hime-sama?"

But they did not carry toys with them. No dolls or balls, no wooden horses.

What were four men trying to play with a seven year old girl?

Why are these men trying to play...

... With me?

You raised your eyes to meet theirs and fear took over. Thirst for power dripping from their gaze, running through their veins. 

You shed no tear, you voiced no scream, you made no expression. 

The moment their hands were over you, your chakra unfolded, piercing their bodies, breaking their bones, and exploding their organs. 

A lot of blood was shed that night, not one single drop was yours.

It all started that night with that dreadful feeling. 

The power of destruction. The drunkness that comes with it. 

 It started with you, with all that you never really knew... 

Urging you to flee...

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

Working at that restaurant had turned out to be an excellent choice. It gave you enough money to sustain yourself and the opportunity to meet the daily life in the village. Every day you got the chance to practice all that you couldn't practice on the training grounds. Your power was about sensations and emotions. To recognize those emotions you had to be around living things, preferably humans, and what better place than a restaurant. 

Dozens of different chakras came into the restaurant daily. Each time they became easier to identify and distinguish. Bit by bit colors started to appear and, if you concentrated enough, you could even perceive each one of the 7 pools of chakra. 

It was very challenging at first. Allowing yourself to be affected by other people's energy was a burden really heavy to handle. Lots of emotions were mixed in that closed space. And it could hurt, to feel other people's feelings as if they were your own. It was overwhelming.

Some time ago you had found your peace extending your own chakra around you far enough so that other's energy couldn't reach your core, you strengthened your vibrations to a point they were stronger than everybody else's, preventing your energy and emotions from being polluted with those around you and prevailing over them. And now that you needed to move forward, that you wanted to learn about control, you had to make your peace aside to prioritize knowledge. Ironic. 

It was an exhausting exercise, way more exhausting than shinobi training. But it was rewarding, what for so many years you did by pure intuition, now you were doing consciously. 

Besides, it wasn't all dark and gloomy. Your power gave you the possibility to have things your way if the situation turned out to be more than you could handle. That usually meant, as a result, a feeling of tranquility, a feeling of certainty that it was all gonna be ok.  The power was way easier to bear when people's energy was bright, so it was kind of for selfish reasons but the results were convenient for everyone. If needed, making other people feel at ease was the easiest thing to do; it didn't hurt, it protected your core from other's pain or low-frequency emotions -usually negative- and it always ended up working in your favor.  All you had to do was extend your chakra and sync your vibrations to the ones of the human in question. Truth was, you didn't have to do it on purpose anymore, your vibrations were so strong everyone else just synced to them almost by accident. 

Lots of clients came to the place when you started working there for that exact reason. Unconsciously, everyone kept coming back to feel that lightness, that warmth.  

Nevertheless and despite everything, manipulating emotions wasn't your favorite thing to do even if it was for a good purpose. Life felt more real when you let others be honest. 

That and... maybe if you didn't fear your wounds that much you could... 

Maybe if you could let go of the past... 

Maybe if you weren't so scared of your own darkness...  

When it came to your power you were always careful. Perceiving chakra and observing its behavior was a safe zone and you found the way to work from there. It was like experimenting. Sometimes you'd try with certain words or phrases, other times facial expressions, and you awaited the reaction. It was particularly interesting when you found an energy that changed with the presence of another person, whether it was a loved one or a hated one. 

********

The afternoon was perfect. The sun was up, shining bright and warm, only cooled by the blowing of the wind. The sky was blue and eventual clouds floated miles above your head. The day went by at work without much to worry about. Megumi-san was kind of a weirdo and you two got along perfectly. She was teasing and playful. You were always joking and laughing. 

You took a deep breath and looked up to the sky. Some birds were flying by. You smiled. The sound of your steps on the ground made everything feel real. 

The buildings were all painted with messy patterns that seemed to have no order or purpose. Maybe there was going to be some kind of festival or something... 

No, the paintings were too messy to look good. That couldn't be for decoration. 

What happened here?

And then you bumped into him. Green goggles on his forehead, blonde spikey hair, evil giggles, with a bucket and a painting brush on his hand. 

 You had felt his energy a block ago. 

Was he trying to get revenge?

Was he just playing games? 

It felt like both. A dark type of amusement. A mischief. He knew he was doing wrong and he was enjoying it. 

As you approached him, the feeling of mischievousness increased. 

Intrigued by the kid, you walked towards him and stood by his side. With your hands in your pockets, you contemplated his painting. 

"Is that a hat?" you asked, tilting your head trying to get the shape of the drawing.

He turned around to see you with a defensive attitude, used to people scolding him for everything. 

"Maa maa, nee-chan, it's not a hat, it's a snake, see? It has an eye" he said while pointing at the spot on the lower edge.

"But why does it have a...That?" you were certain that you had never in your life seen a snake with a bulge, that looked more like a camel with no legs. 

Or a hat...

"It's fat cause it ate the entire bowl of ramen, dattebayo," the blonde said while nodding, a huge smile on his face. He seemed really proud of his creation. 

You laughed noisily, completely amused by the kid's imagination. 

A neighbor came out of the building, shouting.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, LITTLE BEAST?!!" He threatened as he started walking towards the child furiously.

The blonde stared back at him for an instant and panicked. 

"RUUUN!!" He shouted at you as he sprinted to get as far away from there as possible. 

You did as told not giving it a thought. That man seemed terrifying. 

When you two finally stopped, you were safe, many streets away. You paused to catch your breath. He was already searching for his next victim with a malicious grin. 

He was punishing the people, you realized, and by doing so he was getting himself into so much trouble. 

Punishing them for what?

"Hey kid" you called him. "I know of a fence that is in desperate need of some painting" your house wasn't that far away. 

He followed you ready to attack, wielding the brush like a kunai. 

Your fence was wide enough to keep him entertained for a while. 

You took the lead, dipped your fingers in the bucket, and started doodling on the wood. His mesmerized gaze fell on you like a stray of sunshine. Finally, he had a partner in crime, and it wasn't Choji or Shikamaru, it was an adult. 

He didn't feel like the enemy anymore. 

You two started playing. Your clothes were probably going into the trash after this, the paint wouldn't wash off. 

"Too bad we don't have other colors," you sighed, enjoying your time with the kid. He had a nice laugh and three marks on each of his cheeks that made him look adorable. It had been a long time since you last played with a child.

"Maa, maa; when I become the Hokage I will have all the colors I want and people won't tell me what to do" he smiled satisfied. "You can come paint with me"

The Hokage?

"Why are you painting fences?... and walls?" 

That's not exactly something the Hokage would do... or maybe but not like this.

"I want everyone to acknowledge me," he said decisively.  

His energy amazed you. It felt like he was... broken?... but more than broken, cracked. It was like cracked glass refusing to shatter. His determination and wishes holding him together, helping him stand (like a tape or a band-aid). There was no nostalgia in him. Only the hopes that things would be better in the future. No, it wasn't hope... it was... 

Certainty.

You smiled to yourself with a lump in your throat and resisted the urge to hug him.  

What could have happened for a child to be so fractured?

And yet he seemed so brave, so strong. 

For a moment you forgot about his malicious shenanigans. His vibrations were so strong they were competing with yours. 

"You missed painting here" you teased him, passing your dirty fingers over his recent doodle. 

He pouted. "You need a little color too, nee-chan" his brush painted over your lines. "Now it's a clown" he giggled.

You burst in laughter. He looked at you surprised by your reaction. You hadn't scolded him or criticized him once. You were definitely a weirdo. 

He started laughing too. 

The game began, whoever covered most of the fence would win. He was already winning.

"That's not fair!! You have a brush!!" you complained. He stuck out his tongue to mock you in response.

"Naruto!!" you heard Iruka shout at the kid. "What do you think you are doing??!!!" he quickly grabbed the child's hand. 

You signaled Iruka to stop, your hands over your neck telling him to cut it. Naruto didn't know that was your house. As far as he was concerned you were manging a mischief together. 

Iruka looked at you startled and let go of Naruto's hand. 

"Iruka-sensei hi" you waved at him. It was time for your lesson. 

"You know each other?" Naruto was suddenly very confused. He stared at you and Iruka back and forth.

"Yeah, he's my sensei" you smiled. 

"You are a student?!" he was shocked.

You nodded. 

"But you look old"

"Hey! I'm not that old!" you put your fists on your waist, pouting.

Naruto thought about it. Maybe you weren't that much of an adult, not of the same kind as Iruka at least, or as the villagers. Old people don't do funny things and they don't paint fences. 

"Naruto go clean yourself" Iruka took the bucket and the brush away from him and sent him home. 

"YN-san I apologize for Naruto, he's just... I'll make it up for you" he said.

"Don't worry" You giggled "I bumped into him while he was using the village as his canvas and a man came out to beat the crap out of him so I thought it would be better if I just..."

 Teamed up with him. Take him out of there. Be friendly. 

"I'm sorry," he repeated while looking at your dirty fence.

"Don't be. It has potential. This right here looks like an eagle, and if I fix these, they could be mountains, and these right here..."

He just looked at you and smiled. You were kind and tender. Not ruled by people’s ideas of how things had to be done. You always... behaved unexpectedly. It was as if you could see beyond things. Whether it was a landscape behind the doodles or a friend behind a missbehaved boy, you never settled with appearences. 

 There is always more than meets the eye. There are always things we don’t really know.

But you wanted to know...

"Is he the student you always talk about?" Of course Iruka had told you about him. Sometimes you didn't even train and all you did was talk about your lives. Whenever any of you had a bad day you would always put support first. It was pretty comforting to have someone to talk to. Iruka's energy was one of the warmest, sweetest, most compassionate you've ever met, you admired that. It made you feel safe. 

"Yeah" he scratched his head.

"Oh, I get it now" you laughed as you got into your house. 

************

CH 4  CH 6

Masterlist

A/N: Ok, guys so first of all sorry for my grammar, spelling, syntaxis, and everything that has to do with writing structure. English is not my first language and boi this is harder than I thought (I'm better at writing in Spanish I promise)

Second: reader has been through a lot and I mean A LOT. She's been through so much I have enough material to write an entire ff about it like hell maybe even two who knows, so I'm struggling with how to tell you all that information. Maybe you won't get to know everything, just the important things. Bottom line she's had a rough time. (I'm actually a little bit scared to write that part cause it's pretty angsty, like right now she chooses peace and nice feelings but back then she didn't and turned her life into hell but I don't feel my writing is good enough to do justice to all that so... hope I get better) that doesn't mean there won't be angst i mean, there's no way to avoid angst when it comes to kakashi, so wish me luck.

And third: I suck at drawing so I can't show you what her power, energy and vibrations and all look like. I hope I was clear enough to give you a general idea (I'll probably get deeper into it later) but if I wasn't please let me know and I'll explain it better, it would be soooo helpful to know what you understood. 

And last but not least: THANKS FOR READING. let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :3 <3

@femboyneji @spnningtop @strawberrycakesstuff @cosplayartponypoli @ren-hatake

[ducktracy]

190. porky at the crocadero (1938)

release date: february 5th, 1938

series: looney tunes

director: frank tashlin

starring: mel blanc (porky)

at long last, frank tashlin has succumbed to putting porky on a diet. this is the first tashlin short to have a slimmed down porky, officially putting an end to “fat porky”’s reign.

the story credit goes to lew landsman—a bit of an anomaly, considering this is his only credit. much of the scoop on him has been lost to the sands of time, but evidently he was a gag artist, selling comic drawings to magazines and even touting showings of his art throughout the ‘40s and ‘50s. you can read more about him here.

porky aspires to be a bandleader at the prestigious crocadero (a parody of the cafe trocadero, a bumping nightclub on the sunset strip from 1934-1947), but quickly realizes he’s too poor to afford its flashy admittance fee. he works as a dishwasher, hoping to catch a whiff of the festivities, but is quickly let go after he proves too incompetent for the job. nevertheless, an impromptu change in plans finds porky at the bandstand conducting a number of acts, including a high-energy cab calloway finale.

the typography of the title card melts away, the camera panning out as we get a full view of the crocadero, illuminated by the moonlight and its flashy neon sign. pan back in to the sign and fade to a standee:

all of the selections are references to pieces of music, with said music serving as accompaniment. the score begins with “little man, you’ve had a busy day”, switches to “in the shade of the old apple tree”, and closes with a carl stalling favorite, “the lady in red”. 

pan over to porky, eagerly ogling the sign. volney white’s animation and mel blanc’s vocals combine to make an energetic performance that will only grow in fervor. “hot duh-dee-duh-dee-duh-diggity dog! all thuh-the-thee-the big shots in person!” the detail of porky’s little hat flipping around, staggering in time to his stutter, is not only funny, but elevates the energy of the sequence. “someday, i’m uh-guh-geh-uh-gonna lead a band, too! s-see?”

porky unfurls a diploma, to which we get a close-up of his not-so-trustworthy credentials (fingernails and all):

volney’s animation continues to be full of character as porky blabs on about how he’s gonna become a famous bandleader. “and meh-muh-mee-mm-maybe i’ll be eh-feh-eh-famous, like eh-leh-lee-le-leopold eh-seh-stokowski!”

a nice change in camera angles as we turn to an upshot of porky, furiously conducting his imaginary band to a rousing rendition of “poet and peasant overture”. 

the mood changes from fervent conductor to crooner as he chooses to mimic rudy vallee, conducting along to vallee’s 1937 “vieni, vieni”, complete with a hilariously amiable facial expression--a stark contrast to the fit he was throwing mimicking stokowski just seconds prior.

another seamless transition in tone to an impression of eh-buh-bee-beh-benny goodman, the song this time being “sweet georgia brown” in the stylings of the king of swing himself. the changes in mood and tone, in both the animation and the music, are as smooth as butter, especially for such drastic shifts in expression. frank tashlin doesn’t skip a beat with his pacing. this is especially true as the camera pans over to another nearby sign, a hilarious sight gag quickly putting an end to porky’s festivities:

dejected, porky rifles in his pocket and pulls out a lone coin emblazoned with a skunk—“one scent”. he trudges along solemnly, away from the crocadero, when all of the sudden a sign catches his eye: BOY WANTED. though porky has been slowly growing more consistent in his characterization, his age still fluctuated from picture to picture. frank tashlin would also portray him as a young boy in wholly smoke just a few months later.

tashlin flaunts his need for speed as porky wastes no time doing the signature volney white eye take and darting into the crocadero, a cloud of dust and the swinging of the doors serving as the only indication of his presence just milliseconds prior.

although the sign doesn’t elaborate on what job it is that porky is doing, the tower of dishes blocking the screen as we fade in to the new scene answers any lingering questions. pan out to porky, happily scrubbing away, while his boss, a pretentious walrus whose vocal stylings are hilarious and borderline incomprehensible orders him around. the bargain—if porky does his job, then he can “watch the orrrrrrchestrey, maybe, hmmm?”

a throwback to the days of working with disney, carl stalling “mickey mouse”’s a little penguin waiter—that is, his quick little steps are fervently timed to the jaunty tinker of an xylophone. the walrus blocks the diminutive penguin, peddling a platter of soup. after they inadvertently do a tango of side-stepping, the penguin wordlessly slides down the walrus’ back, zigzagging around a sea of tables, and right over to a lone giraffe, elevating the table like a car jack to fit the gjraffe’s height. the giraffe laps up his soup with ease. though not the funniest gag ever, tashlin’s quirks—the quick timing, hiding the penguin behind the plethora of tables, etc, make it more endearing.

back to porky, carrying a dangerously tall tower of plates with him. a fly causes him to nearly spill his goods, but ducking in place renders the pig safe. that is, until he throws all of the dishes in the air, swatting the fly spastically. the music cue of porky ducking, looking around to make sure the fly is gone, sounds eerily similar to the stylings of norman spencer, who scored the cartoons up until mid-late 1936. 

without a break in pace, porky catches all of the dishes he threw into the air in one fell swoop. more buttery pacing from tashlin, who is able to switch tones and moods at lightning speeds without missing a beat. this is INCREDIBLY difficult to pull off, and he makes it look too easy.

as to be expected, the fly lands right on porky’s snout. instead of attacking it without hesitation, porky slowly reaches for a spoon on the kitchen counter... and THEN disregards his duties as dishwasher, carelessly tossing his pile of dishes aside to swat furiously at his foe.

the pompous walrus from before spots porky’s silhouette from outside the kitchen doors, flailing and waving around like a madman. “der loafer!” his boss interprets porky’s frantic waving of the spoon as a frantic imitation of a bandleader, promptly tossing him out. porky recovers in the back alley, left with his diploma and metaphorical birds of cartoon pain as the boss scolds “today, you are a ham!”--a take on the bar mitzvah declaration “today, you are a man”, which has been spoofed previously in cartoons such as egghead rides again.

it doesn’t take long for the boss to eat his own words. frank tashlin does a great job of creating a genuinely anxiety inducing mood as a crowd of people, now filling the crocadero, chant “we want mu-sic! we want mu-sic! we want mu-sic!” the musical accompaniment is more akin to the stylings of scott bradley, in the sense that it’s purely atmospheric and contextual, rather than an actual melody. the chanting and disconcerting music get louder as we cut to dramatic up shots of hands clapping to the beat, down shots of foots stamping, etc. it’s genuinely unnerving--and the manager agrees, pacing circles around his office, muttering incoherently to himself about the absence of “the musicmaker”.

knocking on the door serves as a symbol of hope as the manager whips around. “who’s dere?” 

“telegram, i bet’cha!” inside bursts a total loon of an old man, his long, white beard whipping in the wind as he does donuts on his bicycle inside the manager’s office. if it weren’t for his looks and speech patterns, which already tell a story, carl stalling’s score of “the woods are full of cuckoos” certifies that this old coot definitely has some screws loose. 

the old coot reaches into the depths of his beard and pulls out said telegram. “y’ owe me sixty cents, i bet’cha.” the manager unceremoniously dumps a handful of coins into the coot’s possession, who does a few more donuts in the office, indicating his exit. that is, until he suddenly halts, tipping his hat to bid “g’bye, i bet’cha.” such a scene is nonsense--and it’s hilarious nonsense rather than perplexing nonsense. it makes no sense, and yet it’s speedy enough to get its point across AND not overstay its welcome. had the same gag been executed by someone such as ben hardaway, who probably would have LOVED this gag, it would have been milked to death and bloated to ensure the audience “got it”. here, frank knows when to start and when to stop, an incredibly valuable skill not all directors possess.

contents of the telegram include a rather morbid nod to the hit ‘20s song “i faw down an' go boom”:

to add insult to injury, the old coot sticks his head in the door and adds “yeah, and they won’t come ‘t all, i betcha!” before slamming the door. though i can’t place the animator, the style of the animation looks eerily similar to that of izzy ellis’, from the spiral motion lines to the thin, squished look of his face. izzy ellis would animate in the clampett unit after leaving ub iwerks’ studio, later animating under norm mccabe, frank tashlin himself, bob clampett again, and then bob mckimson. an example of some of his work under frank tashlin here. 

back to the crowd, still demanding their music in the same unnerving drone. the manager continues to pace in his office, until a bright idea hits. “that sving dishvasher! i must get him back schnell!” 

a moment of frank tashlin greatness: the entire cartoon screeches to a halt as a narrator explains “ladies and gentlmen, ‘schnell’ means ‘quick’!” and, just like that, cartoon hijinks resume. this joke is hilarious 83 years later--imagine the reaction it evoked from theatergoers in 1938. once more, the matter-of-fact execution of the gag is what sells it. no build up, no cool down, no bloating of anything. short, sweet, and to the point. it’s so hilariously and purposefully redundant that you can’t NOT laugh at it.

speaking of quick, that would be an understatement to describe the rapid cutting after the fact. the manager rushes outside, whipping around street corner after street corner to find the dejected dishwasher he berated just minutes prior. he finds his target, grabbing porky and rushing backwards--the same way he came at the same exact lightning speed--all while monologuing about how porky can be a bandleader and break all of the dishes he wants.

again, no breaks in momentum whatsoever as the bandleader tosses a nonplussed porky into a bandleader’s outfit, stuffing a pillow under his shirt (had this cartoon been made a few months prior, there’d be no need for a pillow!) and giving him a fake mustache/curl of hair via makeup. “pull de vool over dere eyes!”

thus cues the music portion of the cartoon. a spotlight shines on a sign introducing porky as “the jazz king”, much to the pleasure of the audience. a giraffe in the orchestra introduces the song with a clarinet solo of “rhapsody in blue” before getting down to business.

porky, dressed as paul whiteman, conducts whiteman’s “avalon”, as indicated by the music stand. volney white does some great animation here--porky struggles to keep his own weight afloat, his giant pillow-stomach sinking to the ground. he readjusts himself a few times, enjoying the spare seconds of peace where his outfit stays intact, only for the same charade to repeat. fun eye takes and volumetric animation from volney. it’s no coincidence that he was one of tashlin’s best animators.

the crowd shots in this cartoon are not to be overlooked--kudos and apologies for the poor people who had to ink and paint all of that! the crowd dances along to the stylings of porky’s music, including a pair of kangaroos and their joeys slow dancing together.

back to the little penguin waiter from before, tinkering along to deliver a drink. a spare trombone sucks up all of the goods in the glass, prompting a hilarious grimace from the penguin who just stands still, silently glowering before traipsing backwards (mickey mouse timing and all) to refill. 

cut to porky, who appears much more jovial. a clever pan out reveals that he’s enlisted in the help of a car jack to keep his extra weight afloat. and, with that, curtains (animation reused from the introduction to tashlin’s porky’s romance) close out on the pig. applause from the audience.

next up, “guy lumbago and his boiled kanadians”, a not-so-flattering nod to guy lombardo and his royal canadians. porky, dressed as a canadian mountee, directs “cryman lumbago”. carmen lombardo, brother to guy, was often poked fun at for the excessive vibrato in his voice--people would liken him to sounding like an old man on his last legs. not only that, but even by the ‘30s, guy lombardo’s music was often dismissed as slow, sappy “old person’s music”. the 1954 woody woodpecker cartoon, real gone woody, also makes fun of lombardo, also dubbing him as “lumbago” and calling him a square.

indeed, cryman lumbago is a decrepit old man with--you guessed it--lumbago, singing in a hilariously obnoxious vibrato. even the dancers in the crocadero stagger along to his vibrato, their dancing stuttering. the benign facial expressions of the crowd, despite all of this, is the perfect cherry on top. one wonders if guy/carmen lombardo ever saw this cartoon, and how they reacted to it...

just as the gag threatens to overstay its welcome (and, admittedly, it has), a screwball assistant who looks like a relative to another random screwball in porky’s duck hunt scoops lumbago into a wheelchair and wheels him off stage. the audience applauds, and there’s a feeling that they aren’t just applauding the music.

cue the most controversial, uncomfortable, yet also complex part of the cartoon: a tribute to cab calloway, or, as he’s dubbed here, cab halloway.

for today i’ll spare you the imagery, but we’re greeted by a (thankfully) rare anomaly in the porky pig-verse: porky and his orchestra are dressed in blackface, conducting a rousing rendition of “chinatown, my chinatown”.

obviously, any and all blackface is abhorrent, but this is an interesting case. it’s clear that this was meant to be an homage and celebration of cab calloway’s music. a certain level of care seems to have been put into this sequence—it’s not a cheap throwaway “haha blackface” gag purely just for laughs. the animation is FILLED with a surprising amount of energy and vitality, and the vocals of the calloway impression are eerily spot on. analyzing the animation from a technical standpoint, it’s VERY skillful. it is NOT easy to convey such high energy and such elasticity. the animation is vivid, rapid, and invigorating. for 1938 especially, such energy is jarring. this feels more like the climax of a 1945 bob clampett cartoon, not a run of the mill 1938 porky pig cartoon.

BUT, with that said, it’s still extremely uncomfortable--blackface is blackface, and just because the techniques behind it are good doesn’t mean the material being animated is good. as i mentioned, the intentions don’t entirely feel as nasty as other examples we have/will seen, but that doesn’t negate the harm it does. you can have affectionate homages to cab calloway and his music without blackface--look at betty boop’s snow white. plus, because the song is “chinatown, my chinatown”, any nuance this scene had is discredited when porky switches from blackface to dressing up as a stereotypical chinese man. uncomfortable and unnecessary--THAT is a cheap throwaway gag. 

nevertheless, it’s not in my place to preach about what is racist and what isn’t. speaking purely from a technical standpoint--the techniques and processes that went into the animation itself--this is a very impressive performance. high energy in both music and animation. the elasticity, speed, all of it is very impressive. the content BEING animated, however, has aged like rotten milk. though this isn’t as meanspirited as other instances that we’ll explore, it still absolutely has its problems and definitely encourages mindful thinking.

regardless, the number ends to uproarious applause, and porky successfully lives his dreams of being a bandleader. the cartoon closes on the penguin waiter, once more peddling a drink. just as the offscreen trombone threatens to steal his drink, the penguin swallows it all in one go and blows a raspberry to the trombone as we iris out.

an interesting entry for sure. frank tashlin’s talents cannot and should not be understated--his speed and timing of the cartoon are certifiably one of the most impressive aspects of the cartoon. indeed, a lot of fun music in this one, whether that be underscores or otherwise. the design of the cartoon holds up very well--tashlin’s streamlined backgrounds and layouts are always a treat to look at. porky is very endearing, especially in the beginning with his imitation of all of the bandleaders, and the incomprehensibility of the walrus is too funny not to laugh at.

of course, the elephant in the room is the ending tribute, which we already discussed. from a technical standpoint, the vivacity of the animation should absolutely be commended and appreciated, especially this early on. the music is VERY fun. but blackface is blackface, and it just hasn’t aged well and comes off as uncomfortable--at least--regardless.

with that, whether you choose to watch this cartoon is up to you. i think this is definitely one of tashlin’s best porky cartoons, and despite its gags and references that have now become dated, it still serves as an enjoyable watch. the whole blackface thing, however, is why this isn’t a cartoon i frequent often. i would trepidatiously recommend this, either skip the calloway sequence or watch it with an open mind. in all, a fun cartoon that i unfortunately can’t quite appreciate to its fullest extent.

with all that said, here’s a link!

[girlpornparadise]

The Caged Bird Moans (pt 1)

Pairing: Diego Jimenez/f!Reader (Power - Starz)

Word Count: ~2600

Warnings:  It's a bit Stockholm syndromey, but that's not a real thing anyway (look it up). Not exactly non-con, but it skirts the idea, so if power disparities aren't your jam, please move along. It just real dirty. SMUT!

Personal ramble: Would anyone actually react like this to the situation I've set forth? No. But just as the pizza guy is never hot and doesn't offer you his extra sausage, this is porn people! So suspend your disbelief and don't hate on me for my bullsh*t.

I also wrote all this nonsense a week ago before I read anything from the lovely @1zashreena1 , @heresathreebee or @nicke0115 so sorry if it looks similar, I swear it's a coincidence.

"Ouch", you think to yourself but instead swallow the pain. Your arm hurts under the firm grasp of the thug dragging you from the elevator into the spacious penthouse.

"Be careful with that." Says a commanding voice from across the room.

The grip loosens, but he's still using your momentum to force you forward. You stumble, unsure of just how much danger you are in.

As you take in your surroundings the owner of the voice turns around and approaches you. He looks you up and down, examining you like a prize he had won.

"We can't afford to damage her." He states plainly, looking at the man still holding you in place.

As he examines you, you examine him right back. Whereas he is doing it in an obvious way, head nodding to rake his eyes over you, you move your eyes only, unable to control your body in this moment. You follow the carefully polished boots up past the fitted black jeans to the black buttoned up shirt with the slight sheen to it, that accentuates his frame. Everything is obviously expensive and very deliberately chosen. As your eyes settle on his face, a recognization dawns on you. Diego Jimenez. One of the heads of the Jiminez cartel. His reputation was well known to you. An unstable, merciless man whose penchant for partying made him a big name in certain circles. You were scared before, but now your body goes rigid with fear and your gaze hits the floor with force.

Though you're no longer looking at him directly you can sense his smugness and satisfaction at knowing you are now showing the appropriate amount of fear for the situation you're in. Maybe it's your hind brain telling you you are in the presence of an apex predator. Maybe it was the clipped snort he let out, tinged with amusement as he nodded with approval.

After what feels like an eternity, but was probably mere seconds, he speaks again.

"Take her to the guest room." He orders the man still firmly gripping your arm. "Lock this little bird in her cage."

Dragging you again, this time down the hall, Diego's orders are followed to completion. You are practically thrown into the room as the door slams shut behind you.

You stumble, catching yourself on the bed. You collapse onto it as tears prick your eyes and subsequently fall down your cheeks. You begin to sob, but muffle it in the covers, assuming someone is standing guard outside and not wanting to seem even weaker in such an intense situation. But the tears flow freely as the shock of what's happened slowly wears off and you begin to process the details of your abduction.

You hadn't grown up in this world, though your ties to it were strong. You were part of the Bennet family, a rival cartel, headed by your grandfather. He insisted you grow up distanced from this world. A world of violence and cruelty. A world of drugs and guns and transactions ending in death. Based on your current reaction, you couldn't help but think maybe it was because you're so weak. Both you and he knew it was true, you were too soft to be a part of the business, too kind to do what would be required of you. So he kept you away, from his city and his dealings and all of the darkness that came with it.

You were in town for a rare family visit when you were taken without warning, snatched from the street at gunpoint. They were able to do it without drawing attention, entirely professional, and you complied with their every demand as a sense of terror ripped through you.

And now here you were, trapped by a barbarous stranger who could end your life at any moment without a second thought.

As you wore yourself out from crying, you began to take in the room, determined to get your bearings. It was sparsely decorated, obviously the work of a man unattached. It was also immaculately clean, obviously the work of his maid. As your breathing slows and your senses sharpen, you become aware that the comforter you are still on top of is plush and expensive, like the kind found at a swanky hotel.

Curiosity returning with your senses, you walk over to the window that stretches from floor to ceiling and take in the impressive view of the city. If the long elevator ride weren't a clear enough indicator, the view tells you that you are in the penthouse of a very upscale building.

Next to the window is a large bathroom and you walk in. You splash cold water on your face and dry it on one of the plush towels. You can't help be momentarily amused by how well stocked the room is with soaps and lotions. There were definitely worse places to be trapped. Was this the definition of a gilded cage?

As you settle down, you take off your shoes and sit back down on the bed. You're exhausted to your core, and you sink into the mattress, wanting to disappear. You want to keep your wits about you, alert and on guard, but instead the stress combined with the late hour forces you to sleep.

You are woken up abruptly the following morning when the door swings open and you are literally dragged out of bed by the same man as yesterday. 

You're a bleary eyed, rumpled mess and the same fear and pain shoot through you as you remember where you are and how you got there. Your breathing is shallow as you try not to panic.

You've been dragged before Diego who is standing imposingly before you, hands clasped in front of him, chin slightly upward so he can look down his nose at you.

He examines you once more and you can tell he's disgusted by what he sees.

"Get our guest something to wear." He barks. "And get her something to eat. We can't bargain if she's broken."

As he turns away from you to resume whatever you interrupted, you catch the flash of the gun in his waistband and the fear settles once again in the pit of your stomach.

You are escorted back to the room forcefully and your mind is racing. You know everyone who comes through the penthouse is armed to the teeth and there's no chance of escape. You're not just weak, you're helpless. You assume you're being held for some kind of ransom, probably territory or resources as opposed to money, and you silently pray that a deal for your release is struck quickly so this nightmare can be over.

Soon after, the door opens and a housekeeper enters carrying a couple of bags of clothes. She doesn't look you in the eye and you wouldn't know what to say to her anyway. 

Once she has left, you rummage through the clothes. There's nothing there you'd pick for yourself, but you settle on a white fitted t-shirt and jeans. You carry them with you into the bathroom along with a handful of drugstore makeup you find in the bottom of the bag.

You look at yourself in the mirror and the reason for Diego's revulsion becomes clear. Your clothes are wrinkled and creased and your mascara is smudged under your eyes. You lock the bathroom door behind you, strip down and take a shower. The running water calms you and once you finish you get dressed and approximate your normal makeup routine with what you have. If you're going to put on a brave front, you need to be as put together as possible.

When you emerge from the bathroom a tray of breakfast is waiting on the nightstand next to the bed. Eggs sunny side up and toast, simple and straightforward. You devour it greedily since you haven't eaten since lunch yesterday.

The day passes with 2 more meals brought to you by the same housekeeper at the appropriate intervals. In the absence of your phone, you distract yourself with mindless TV on the rather large set opposite the bed. You don't take in much as you think about your predicament and then try to force those thoughts of the worst case scenario from your mind.

Your sleep that night is restless.

You are brought before Diego once again in the morning, shortly after you wake. 

This time you are allowed to walk under your own power, though your legs feel wobbly and your feet unsure as you approach him.

You're wearing a cotton t-shirt and shorts,  the closest thing you could find to pajamas. As he looks at you, you become painfully aware that you're not wearing underwear, his eyes seeming to stop at all the places where it should be.

You are at least able to look at him and take in more this time. He's clad in a similar black button up shirt and black jeans as yesterday, a uniform of sorts to convey his status. His hair is neatly cut and accentuates his angles, sharp jaw and well placed cheekbones. His greying facial hair gives him some earned distinction and his expression is hard and deliberate to elicit a specific reaction of fear. Through the careful tailoring of his shirt you can see that his body is sturdy and muscular. His tense posture using his frame to his advantage, making him seem larger than he actually is. You know to fear him, but he may be the most attractive man you've ever seen in real life.

He obviously cultivates an aura of power, and you can't help but be drawn to him as an Alpha Male. As you steel yourself, you dare to look him in the eyes. His eyes are cold but impossibly magnetic and you can't look away. He's looking back at you now, into you. Your heart forgets how to beat in rhythm and you swallow thickly.

He sees your fear and is clearly amused by it.

"Breakfast will be ready soon. You should go take a shower." He says, his lips curling upwards. 

"I, I was going to." you stammer.

"Good girl." It comes out as almost a purr and sends a shiver down your spine.

This time it's Diego, not his associate who accompanies you back to the bedroom. His hand is hovering above the small of your back, ushering you forward while maintaining a small distance. You enter the room and the lock clicks behind you.

You turn to see that he's still in the room and with his gaze set upon you, you begin to back away towards the bathroom,  afraid to turn your back on him. This was clearly his intended effect.

You expect him to leave, but he's doing the opposite. He is stalking forward. Your heart is pounding out of your chest and your uneven breathing becomes gulping for air.

As he closes the gap between your bodies, he repeats his suggestion. "You should go take a shower." It's not a suggestion though, it's a command.

He leans in. "Go on." His lips are close enough to your ear that his breath catches in your hair.

His thick body is now urging you through the bathroom doorway by its approach. You back through it, still transfixed by his gaze. 

You glance side eyed to your left at the shower that takes up the far wall. It's one of those large walk-in showers with a stone floor and a rain showerhead. It suddenly seems less like a shower and feels more like a trap about to spring shut.

"Take off your clothes." He says. He's not asking.

You gulp, your eyes have gone wide at the demand.

"Take. Off. Your. Clothes." He repeats in a tone that is both amused and losing patience. He raises his eyebrows slightly as he says it.

You look away, ashamed, and slowly and nervously acquiesce. You stand before him completely naked and try to avert your gaze. You are drawing your body inward, trying to conceal yourself in any way you can.

"Turn on the water." he says with his wicked smile widening.

You turn on the shower and wait for it to warm. It dawns on you that there's no shower curtain to protect you or glass wall to hide behind. You are fully exposed and will remain so.

You step under the water, unsure of what to do next. You'd obviously showered hundreds of times, but this wasn't a shower. It was a show.

"Wash yourself." His voice is quieter, more of a harsh whisper.

You grab a washcloth and pump the foaming body wash onto it. You rub it on the back of your neck and slowly work your way down to your shoulders. Your nerves have subsided a little as the water washes over your skin.

He's mesmerized by the motion of your hands and you drag the washcloth across your collarbones and down to your breasts, where you languidly rub them with the cloth as well as your free hand.

Your nipples harden at your own touch. He notices and his tongue drags over his bottom lip. You close your eyes in an attempt to momentarily escape.

When you open your eyes you notice him shift his weight and catch a glimpse of the shift in his muscles under his shirt. You get a rush as you feel the power dynamic shift slightly. You are slow to rub the washcloth down your legs and you arch your back slightly as you bend over, purposely sticking out your ass more than you naturally would. 

His eyes are dark with lust and you can feel the warmth radiating from between your own legs.

"Rub your clit." He says, reclaiming his power.

You look at him with shocked eyes and your eyebrows knit.

"You heard me." he says. "I won't ask again." His head tilting slightly.

You put the washcloth aside and tentatively slide your middle finger between your thighs to your bundle of nerves. You notice how wet you already are and using gentle pressure you begin to rubbing in circles.

You close your eyes and swallow as your walls contract and release. Your breathing gets heavier and heavier until you're panting. Panting and touching yourself for this fixated man. 

"Cum for me." He demands. "I need to see you cum." 

You think to fake an orgasm. To end this little game he's playing, but it's too late. Your finger presses harder on your clit and you tremble as the real thing rips through you. You close your eyes and cry out with abandon.

When you regain yourself you look at him. You are raw and exposed and at your most vulnerable. His mouth is in a wide smile and his eyes gleam with satisfaction. 

He reaches out to you, towel in hand. You steady yourself, turn off the water, and take the towel from him. You wrap it around yourself, suddenly panged with shame at how readily you revealed your most intimate self to this menacing stranger. Your posture closes, and reflects your return to shyness.

"Good girl." He says, and you feel the words like honey dripping in your ears.

He turns and leaves, his confident stride drawing your attention to how his jeans hug his perfect behind. 

You dry yourself off and as you get to your inner thighs you're reminded of how wet you are. How wet you are for him. You want to blame the shower, but you know the truth. You're spellbound by this man, and god are you in trouble.