#and two: to show her openness as a character and that's got nothing to obscure who she is

[yoinkschief]

Hello Jay, I would like to hear your headcanons about Tom and his mom 👀👀👀 Go on, speak into the mic 🎤

AAA HI NEIL I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED

Taps mic 🎤 ahem

Buckle in cause this got absurdly long I did not expect to get this long omll

So I guess I'll begin when he was younger,, when his mother and father first got married they were just going into their 30s, and while weren't actually trying for a kid they did end up having one: Tom

Barbara (Tom's mom) was ecstatic at having a kid whereas Peter (Tom's dad) was terrified, he knows he has anger issues and is very aware of how he's gotten easily frustrated with children in the past and doesn't want to get angry towards his soon to be son (though Barbs has been a dear with helping him and his anger, truly he'd be in jail by now if not for her)

Fast forward a bit, Tom's born and while Peter isn't magically cured of any anger issues, Tom is just the sweetest little guy and he, genuinely throughout his fatherhood, has not once gotten angry at his son. Gotten angry a good few things, but his son and wife weren't in that list

Tom is also born completely nonverbal (this is a little reference to how 2004 he's drawn without a mouth,,, I know that all the characters are at this time because mmm animation but in most fanart of 2004 only Tom is the one kept without a mouth because that and his one eye gives him creechur vibes I love it so I incorporated it like this) due to his autism, and he did get formally diagnosed early on due to this

It's a bit of a struggle trying to figure out what he's saying but he's a quick learner for how to read and write so if he can't get what he's trying to say through hand motions or actions he'll go and write it down (at least when he gets around 5yo, the years before were hard and they had to learn a weird, Tom version of sign language,, to clarify not actual sign language just learning what motions of his mean what)

One interaction I think about a lot with Tom and his mother is in Tom's youth when he's, maybe, 4? And he sees his mom shave her hair for the first time. Tom didn't like the sudden change as she looked like a different person and was having trouble understanding why it was gone

It took Barb a while to fully understand what he meant, why he was crying and whatnot, but finally able to sit him down in her lap he started making a lot of motions towards his own hair and then Barb's, and the interaction goes something like this:

"Are you talking about my hair?" Barbara quietly concerns, gesturing to her now bald head.

Tom made small grunts with wide eyes, rocking in his mother's lap incessantly.

"Okay, okay," She nodded holding her son's hand gently in her own- less so holding and more resting them in her own. "It's gone, baby."

Tom didn't seem to like that answer, shaking his head no with his hand reaching up to grab and tug at his his in distress. His eyes were screwed shut, why would his mom do that? But Barbara was quick to respond with carefully holding her son's hands again, their fingers interlaced as he squeezed on her hands instead in his temper.

"You don't like that it's gone?" She tilted her head to the side, bringing Tom's hands away from his face and towards her chest.

He shook his head no with an upset grunt, swinging his hands (and by proxy his mother's) side to side to drive the point further.

"Ohh,, pumpkin," Barbara gave Tom a sad smile, resting their hands in her lap as she gave him a small, reassuring squeeze.

"It’ll be alright-”

Tom hated that answer more, giving a frustrated noise as his eyes started welling with tears.

“Honey,” Barbara frowned at the tears coming out of her child’s eyes, it hurt to see him so upset, gently running her thumb along his cheeks to swipe them away. “I’m still mama, I’m still you mom.”

She led Tom’s hand over her heart, letting him feel the steady beating of it. The constant and steady pattern of thumping seemed to entrance him for a moment until his mild rocking and distressed noises slowly came to a halt.

“See? It’s still me, baby.” She cooed, running her thumb along the back of her son’s hand. “My hair is gone, but I’m here.”

“Sometimes, in life,” Barbara began, setting Tom’s hands down in his lap again now that he was calmer. “things change, and we can’t control it. Like my hair, you couldn’t control that, could you?”

Tom looked up from watching his hand feel the steady movement of her heart pumping, looking up at his mother’s face. He still looked displeased and upset, but less so, even going as far as to reach for where her hair used to be, trying to grab at the air around her head like it was still there. Fruitless.

She held his hand again, pressing it against her cheek with a broad smile, one she gave him often. He couldn’t keep his resentment for long, giving his own goofy smile back with a giggle. The way her gap tooth showed when she smiled that big was forever burned into his memory, only disappearing from her face so that she could kiss the palm of her son’s hand.

Tom shook his head, frowning at the thought but keeping a wide eyed expression to his mother as she continued her lesson. She smiled to him once again.

“Well, that happens a lot in life.” She sighed, cupping Tom’s cheek in her hand. “And no one likes it, you’re not alone for thinking that. But what you can control is how you deal with the change. Like how you showed me how upset you were, so now we’re talking about it. Do you feel better about it now?”

Tom took a moment, eyes casted down as he thought on it. He gave a small nod as he looked back up at her.

“Good.” She beamed. “And from now on, I’ll do my best to let you know beforehand when I make a change like that, alright?” She kissed Tom’s forehead, causing the child to give a small giggle. That was her favorite noise.

Now, Tom was always a Mama's Boy (not in a derogatory way, he just loved his mom a whole hell of a lot) but even moreso after his father died. They both were grieving and so it caused them to cling closer together because of it, to the point that had it not been for his friend (at the time only Matt, but later Edd too as this was before Tord was introduced to the friend group) he probably would've completely self isolated

They do a ton of things together as Tom gets over and they both eventually heal from Peter's death, baking, sewing, shopping, watch movies, anything they can do when they have the chance to hang out together

They were so close in fact that Barbara was genuinely the first person he came out to for being nonbinary (He/They pronoun user :) ) and of course she loved him unconditionally, but he didn't even tell Matt, Edd or Tord (now in Highschool and having been introduced to delinquent) that yet

However, later in his highschool years, around late Junior year (11th grade) or early Senior year (12th grade) of highschool his mother dies as well. Not from a freak bear with a gun attack though, instead from Pneumonia, which is something she tends to get a lot and always had in her youth, and while it usually isn't fatal and there is treatment and whatnot and she definitely took as much as help as she could, this time just hit different it seemed.

This really fucked with Tom during some of his most important years of his life and caused him to go into a BIG depressive episode for a long long time

Side note that I guess also kinda applies: Had it not been for Tord being just as stubborn of a jackass as Tom, he would've completely self isolated. Edd and Matt helped a lot in his youth but he also had his mom to encourage him, but now with his immediate family all gone he didn't see much of a reason to interact with people. And where Edd and Matt lack in persuasion, Tord more than makes up for in the lack of giving a fuck and would literally drag Tom outside even if he was kicking and screaming. This is mostly because Tord is second only to Tom himself in how durable he is, like a brick shithouse (built like one, too) and not afraid to make Tom hate him if it meant getting him better in the long run (a running theme I have for their relationship :) they're less so "GRR I HATE YOU I HOPE YOU DIE /GEN" and more of like have this weird understanding with eachother where like "I'll literally kill you if you touch me but I'd kill anyone you touched you" type beat, unafraid to get the other to hate them for the greater good because they have the understanding that they wouldn't do something so wildly stupid for no reason. Yes that plays into The End and the future events of WTFuture)

I love them so much oh my god you have zero idea

Anyway, TL;DR

Tom and his mom are extremely close and helped each other get through the worst of times while Tom continues to learn the lesson of "everything changes, it's out of your control, and you can only control how you proceed with it"

[purgetrooperfox]

15 Lines Game

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture their character/personality/vibe. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you’re free to include those as well.

I'm here from someone's open tags heehoo

passing on npts to @hamburgerslippers @totentnz @killerspinal @kiwikipedia @alwayskote @galacticgraffiti @certified-anakinfucker and anyone who wants to do it!!

“It's not like I frequent these events,” he mutters, feeling like a broken record. “I would appreciate the help though, thank you.”

“A great many things might seem unbecoming when their purpose is obscured, Master Tapal.”

"Peacekeeping has many faces. The diplomats and negotiators do work that I can hardly even imagine." [redacted context] "You're right, all the same. There's a certain naivete and unconscious bias in a lot of Knights. Lack of perspective about what it takes to survive."

“The artist who gave my father his markings was the one to give me mine," he continues, a touch wistful. "Going back home was strange. Seeing the ways it had changed and the ways it was still stuck was… hard.”

"You would be wise not to show your condescension so openly, Skywalker. If I can feel it, so can most beings on this planet. Need I remind you that ties with the Force run deep here?"

“Just Bastra is fine,” Vargdan sighs. The look he fixes on Kenobi is equal parts irritation and resignation. “You said it was urgent, so I didn't pit stop on Coruscant."

“Not the way you do, but my Master did.” His smile is sad, but free from the weight of grief. “He took them very literally, and if you know what they’re like, I imagine you can see how that would toy with one’s mind.”

“The Order is all I have. This is the only reason I ever got off Dathomir.”

“It's not safe to be out here alone,” he says without turning, forcing her to jog a few steps before matching his pace, “especially for unsubtle thieves.”

“Don't say that. Not now. You had your reasons, you had Sifo-Dyas, and I got that. Eventually. It doesn't matter anymore.”

“I know.” A silence, then an admission, “She's not as angry as I was, I don't think.”

"I mean, it's not like I know how to conduct an army. Bones is miles more qualified than I am, so I'll gladly defer to his judgment."

"This was kept from you for a reason. Some stories are best left buried."

"Obi-Wan was killed in action on Utapau," he repeats. "I know nothing more of it."

“I nearly did, after Sifo-Dyas died.” [redacted context] “I was on my own out there, after, no contact with the Temple to replace him. In all that– with that gang, the things I had to watch. The things I had to do. I was right at the edge.”

(nocte and des under there ⬇️)

“It’s not just the job.” Still, Nocte pulls off his gloves and dumps them in a bin. His expression settles into something hard to read. "You're one of us now, whether you're ready to act like it or not."

"I've put myself on the line enough at least one lifetime, but here we are."

"I don't pity you, MacTavish. I didn't come here to fight with you either."

"What was it you said? No room for morality in war?"

"Well," he grunts, "call it a lapse in judgment if it helps you sleep at night. Not like I'd take offense."

“It doesn’t matter, Soap. It’s just not my bloody name.”

"It's exhausting. The upper crust is exhausting. Aren't you exhausted?"

"Price is going to kill me and it'll be your fault. Me and Lee, both," he complains, though it rings hollow when he doesn't stop her.

"It'll grow back, probably faster than the higher ups would like."

"I don't care whose fault it is. Get your asses back here and fix it."

"Are you threatening to blackmail me, Captain? Because that's a two-way street after–"

He whistles, low and appreciative. "That is one big bastard."

"Quit trying to pick me apart, Lieutenant, I'm fine."

"We shouldn't," he forces himself to say. "We can't."

"How do you ever get anything done with your head that far up your ass?"

"You will mind your goddamn manners or you'll see a different 'doc. Do you understand?"

“You came in with a referral, made my life a little easier, so I'll give you a discount. I respect you, Viktor, you're good at what you do. Not to mention your days in the ring – I was such a fan.” His expression twitches toward something that might even be genuine. “How about this, I'll dig up this chrome for you and you'll owe me a favor.”

"I doubt Royce would've let me walk away from that. Heard he's got a new right hand."

"Hard to believe that's true," he said, laughing a little. "Reckon this is more memory than imagination."

“The crew called me Eyes, which was a gonk ass nickname. Stuck, though."

“I’ve known Hands for a long time, grew up in Pacifica. Don’t get me wrong, I heard about you on the street, but didn’t really pay it any mind until he started asking after you.”

"I think you answered your own question. It's a clinic, ain't it? I'm getting doctored."

"Fucking disgraceful is what it is. You build something, pour your blood sweat and tears into it, just for some upstart leadhead to run it into the ground."

“So I’ll talk to him, clear this up,” he says, even though it’s an uncomfortable prospect. “He probably respects me enough to halfway listen.”

"No. No one ever made me do anything. I lost a lot, but I won't lose that."

[helveticandy]

Here is some smut I wrote quite a while back :P. I wrote it before I knew of HDG but i guess I can use it as a stepping stone to writing HDG stuff. The character is a cis female in this one.

TW: non con

Tentacles/vines/sci-fi

Amelia lowers her sleek ship into the pit on the planet’s surface, its blue thrusters kicking up foliage and making the dark plants dance. Its tripod landing gear extends and touches down on the mossy ground, gradually taking the entire load of the ship until the thrusters fully power down, clicking with the undoing of thermal expansion.

Amelia pulls a lever and lowers the loading ramp onto the moist surface. A small laser hologram grabs a few particles in the air, swinging it around making it let off a soft hum. The image warps into a small screen and shows the atmosphere to be breathable and, despite being under a red sun, safe temperatures. Amelia goes back inside the ship for a moment to take off her suit, coming back out in her skin tight jumpsuit and boots, an emergency belt slung over her shoulder as she descends. She had always hated wearing the suits, they got too hot too quick.

The trip had been a long one, the starship’s air always got stuffy after a week or two in the recycler. She had always been tempted to open a few pure oxygen containers to restore the fresh scent but had thought it best to do otherwise.

Amelia takes a long draw of breath through her nose, holding it for a few moments, noting the humidity and greenhouse like smell before exhaling through her mouth. She glances at the hologram.

Time to get this mission done.

She had been sent to this planet so affectionately called [C116-A2] to take readings on the environment. The heavy clouds had obscured the satellites and the probes were all unable to find a foothold due to the ground absorbing their scanner signals. This planet has been a massive resource sink and there are billions more planets to explore. Amelia was essentially a last ditch effort from command before giving up. So she wasn’t given much other than a few basic samplers and a light.

She pushes through the underbrush, the plants are a dark coloration from millions of years of evolution to absorb as much light from their dwarf sun as possible. Amelia gets on her knees and attaches a small white sampler to a leaf. It whirs for a few seconds before blinking green, letting off a cheerful ding, and pricking a hole in the plant like a hole punch. Immediately storing it away in preservative to be taken back to the lab.

Amelia goes around quickly to an assortment of different plants and mosses that cover the environment. Each one chiming in sequence.

She spends the next few Earth hours digging around and recollecting samples. When she is done hauling back all the samples she sits down on the soft ground and lets out an exhausted sigh. Although the nano fabrics of the jumpsuit did their best, sweat was starting to stain it. Nothing a wash can’t fix, she thinks.

She doesn’t even register a nearby plant vine slithering through the brush and opening up to reveal a small prong. By the time she realizes and jumps up to run, its too late, the vine springs forward and stabs into her thigh.

Amelia yelps with shock and rips off the vine. Throwing it back where it came from. Her steps start smoothly but begin to trip over each other as she staggers toward her ship. Her vision tunnels away into a point as she reaches forward. Falling limp onto the ground. Unconscious.

————-

Amelia can feel the dark warmth of the red sun against her eyelids, the ground moist against her back. Her thoughts are a slurry as she tries to form a coherent thought.

What happened?

She tries to roll over but finds that she is incapable of doing so, rings of vines have shackled her to the moss. When she tries to lift her head up another rope of vine has restrained her by the neck. A set of vines squirm against her inner thigh and wrap over where her legs meet her hips into more looping chains of plants.

Shit shit shit. God damnit. I should have worn my fucking suit.

Amelia frantically brings up her cognator to check her vitals.

Pulse, good. Breathing rate, a little higher than normal. Blood, stable. Nutrience, Perfect. Everything is surprisingly ok. Hell, things look great. Wait, what is it doing?!

An exploratory probe vine finds the seam of fabric around her ankle where her jumpsuit meets her skin. It wriggles into the jumpsuit and begins to slither up Amelia’s leg.

Amelia does her best to kick away but the fibers of the vines are like vices. Noticing the fightback, the vine going up Amelia's jumpsuit starts to secrete moisture. Lubricating its way up her back and once around her waist. Eventually to the edge of the jumpsuit’s inbuilt bra.

Amelia arches upward in reaction to the wetness, straining every limb against the foliage. But it strains back, Amelia lets out a sharp and pathetic moan.

It's not hurting me, per say… and my vitals are ok….

She squeezes her thighs together and another vine senses the heat. Bolting for her core. It slides up from the ground and meets the firm fabric protecting Amelia's slick warmth.

No way Im wet from this… I mean… I guess it couldn't hurt…. For science, right?

Amelia untenses her muscles, letting her legs be pulled apart ever so slightly by the vines. The vines take advantage, going up through the thin seams of her sleeves and legs. The jumpsuit strained to keep a skin tight fit. They lubricate themselves and glide across her body, ghosting against her nipple with thin strands while others massage her inner thighs and gently squeeze her neck.

Amelia takes a sharp breath when she feels the two vines on her inner thigh travel to the outer lips of her warmth. Leaving trails of slime. They hold there with a gentle pressure all the while the other vines lift her hips from the ground and spread her a little further. The vines around her outer lips brush against Amelia's clit. She shivers and lets out a soft breath. Feeling herself get a little wetter. The plants feel the moisture and send smaller, string-like tendrils against either side of Amelia's clit and begin massaging out bolts of pleasure that make her hiss out a moan.

The tendril that had laid itself between Amelia's legs digs at the outside of her jumpsuit. Finding a hold and tearing the meticulously engineered nanofiber until there was a hole large enough for it to reveal Amelia's slit to the humid air. The vine draws itself from Amelia's clit down to the source of her moisture. Instinct kicks in and it laps at her warmth, absorbing moisture made with each carnal wave of pleasure. Amelia, through the haze of enjoyment, feels the vines tense up for a moment. The one drinking up her wetness pauses, then, slithers inside of her. It presses up against her g-spot and her mind goes blank. Her muscles in her core and thighs tensing up with the rhythm of the vine within her.

Amelia writhes and moans in ecstasy, the only thing holding her back being the dark, alien vines as she reaches her peak. Falling over the edge into rippling shockwaves of orgasm.

The vines lay Amelia against the soft moss, where they rub out the places they wrapped a little too tightly. Once done, they retreat back into the brush. Leaving Amelia still panting in the quiet clearing in which not moments ago had echoed her moans.

I… Would consider this… successful….

Holy fuck I needed that…

She takes a few moments before getting up, walking to her ship while still shaking with light aftershocks of pleasure and endorphins. She sits in the cockpit, raises up the ramp, completes the startup sequence, and begins her journey to drop off the plant samples at the lab stationed on Europa. She pulls up her holographic screen and marks a personal note about the planet.

[visit again soon]

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Running on Spite and Fumes by Amber McLain

Written for the Phic Phight Prompt: Wes decides to investigate one of Danny's rogues (from @bookhoard)

AO3 Link

[Warnings from past character death (Ember) and fire]

Wes was just about ready to throw in the towel. No matter how many times he said it, no matter how much evidence he provided, no one was ever going to believe that Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom were one and the same. He'd been trying to show people for almost two years now with nothing at all to show for it. Maybe the time had finally come to give up the ghost and direct his efforts toward something else.

He sat behind and to the left of Danny in physics class. That half-ghost bastard was chugging ectoplasm out of a clear water bottle without a care in the world and nobody but Wes thought there was anything suspicious about that. Not long ago, Wes would have practically thrown a fit over it. Shouted, and pointed, and demanded, "Are none of you seeing this!?" but he didn't today.

Even when Danny turned around to make direct eye-contact with Wes, specifically to antagonize him, he didn't take the bait. "You know what, Fenton?" he said. "You win."

Danny blinked in surprise and put down his water bottle. "What?"

"I said, you win," Wes repeated. "Fuck you, obviously, but I give up. I'm not wasting any more of my time. My reputation has taken enough of a hit already. I'm moving on to newer, better things."

Danny scoffed and leaned on his hand, shooting Wes a mildly amused and thoroughly unconvinced look. "Like what?"

"Like, you know," Wes hadn't really thought about it yet, but he'd be damned if he was about to admit it to Danny. "Ghosts that are actually cool!" he spat. "Like Ember! Phantom is old news. I'm gonna figure out who she is, or—was."

"Right, sure you are," Danny rolled his eyes and turned to face the front of the classroom again, grumbling, "Good luck with that," under his breath.

Wes scowled. He'd just made that up on the spot because he hadn't wanted to admit to Danny, of all people, that he didn't actually have a plan, but now he really was gonna do it. How hard could it be to figure out who a ghost was before they died, anyway?

As it turned out, the answer to that question was 'really fucking hard.' Wes had basically nothing to go on except her song. He ran his personal recording—yes he had a copy of it. Mind control aside, it was a good song!—through every music identification app and program he could find and came up with zip. Either she'd written that song after she died, or she was one of those ghosts that formed in the Ghost Zone and only seemed like a normal ghost, or she was such an obscure indie artist when she was alive that no one... remembered her.... Oh.

That would explain her obsession. Ghosts often became obsessed in death with things they wanted or fantasized about when they were alive, but never got. Finally, Wes had a thread to pull on. He went online, surfing indie music forums, the more obscure the better. He posted the same message in tons of different places.

Does anyone recognize this artist? Her name is Ember McLain, but I can't can't find anything about her anywhere! <remember_ember.mp3>

Usually it was buried right away. No one recognized the song, or no one cared. Several times he got made fun of for having to ask who an artist was, even though no one else on the forums knew her either. It was a few days before he got an actual worthwhile response, but he did get one, which broke the case wide open.

Could you mean *Amber* McLain? The music sounds similar to hers, but I guess she's pronouncing her name weird to make the rhyme work.

She's from my hometown, and I saw her perform a couple small gigs at local clubs and stuff, but don't expect her to drop any new singles any time soon. She died like eight years ago.

Bingo. That was definitely something Wes could work with.

It might be. What town? Do you happen to have any more of her music?

The response came several minutes later.

Milton, Washington. And it took me a while to find the songs, but yeah. She only had the one album, 5 songs on it, and she wasn't bad, so I bought it at one of her shows. <running_on_spite_and_fumes.mp3> <homegrown_arson.mp3> <the_curse_of_adolescence.mp3> <feather_heavy.mp3> <daddy_never_loved_you.mp3>

Wes started downloading the files before he responded.

How'd she die?

This time the answer came right away.

Mid-show, the venue caught fire.

One of the amps blew and everything went up in flames. The back door was blocked, I guess, and she was trapped on stage, never made it out. Like six or seven people died in that fire, it was a big deal for a while.

Burned to death in a concert venue, huh? Wes considered Ember, her flaming hair, the way she was dressed, the spectral guitar she could summon and dismiss at will. That would totally make sense.

Once the music downloaded, he listened to the first song. The lyrics weren't nearly as self-absorbed as "Remember Ember", but the sound was the same. It was distinctly her music, her voice, her playing guitar. It was her sound, from before she'd died. Wes could hear her inhaling at the end of a lyric, could hear her voice catch the way a ghost's voice couldn't.

This is her! Thanks so much for helping me find her! Sucks to hear she died, but at least I could hear a little more of her music.

This had been the breakthrough Wes needed.

Yeah, no problem man! Thanks for reminding me about her. The new song is a bop!

Grinning triumphantly, he printed out that forum exchange for his evidence folder. He knew who she was now. All he had to do was find some more evidence of her life. It wouldn't be all that easy to do when all of that evidence was in a small town in Washington state she'd never made it out of, but Wes was never one to shy away from a challenge.

Ember would probably be happy to hear that she did have at least one fan when she was alive. Not to mention, Wes would make an absolute killing burning CDs with all of Ember's songs from before she died and selling them at school. He finished downloading the files and burned one CD for his folder right away.

The next order of business would be scouring newspapers for articles about her. No matter how obscure the musician was, dying in the middle of a performance when the venue burned down was all but guaranteed to make the news, at least regionally. It took weeks to find even a single article, but eventually he tracked one down.

Six die in tragic bar fire in Milton.

The article contained details about the fire, the bar, the cause, and the victims, including photos of them. One of them, the performing musician, Amber McLain was the spitting image of Ember, stage makeup and all, even the guitar she was pictured with was exactly the same as Ember's.

He'd found her.

He'd really, truly found her.

Wes printed out the article. After a little more digging on the bar that had burned down, he also found a scan of a promotional poster for Ember's show that night, and he printed that out too. He slipped those, along with the CD he'd burned, and the printed out forum exchange, into a folder to bring to school.

"Guess what, Fenton, you asshole? I fucking did it!" Wes hollered when Danny walked into physics class.

"Did what?" Danny asked with a scoff. "If this is about proving I'm Phantom, I thought you said you gave that up."

"We both know you're Phantom, and I did give up proving it, but this isn't about that." Wes slapped the folder down on top of Danny's desk and dug his portable CD player out of his backpack. "Read it and weep, fucker. Not only did I figure out who Ember was before she died, I also got my hands on all five tracks of the only album she released while she was still alive." He put the CD into the player and turned it on.

The opening riff of "Running on Spite and Fumes" started playing from the portable player's single, shitty speaker, but the moment she started to sing, Ember's voice, or rather, Amber's voice was unmistakable.

"Holy shit, you actually did it," Danny said under his breath, looking down at the contents of the folder, his expression a mix of awe and horror.

"Is that a new Ember song?" asked Star from the front row.

"Actually, it's an old Ember song," Wes responded smugly. "I tracked down her real identity and got my hands on everything she released before she died. I'm gonna burn more copies later and sell 'em around school."

"Wes, can I talk to you?" Danny said. Snapping the folder closed, he grabbed the basketball player by the shirt and dragged him out of the classroom by force. "You can't do this."

"What? What do you mean?" Wes demanded, shoving Danny's hands off him.

"If Ember finds out you learned who she was in life and exposed her, she'll kill you," he said, waving the folder emphatically in front of him. "Bringing up a ghost's life or death is one of the biggest taboos in ghost culture. She won't just haunt you, she'll straight up murder you. Until you die."

"Oh, please." Wes crossed his arms. In all the time he'd spent trying to expose Danny as Phantom, Wes had studied up on ghosts and ghost culture quite intensely. He hardly considered himself an expert, but quite frankly, his knowledge was on par with some of the leaders in the field of ectology. "Her popularity will skyrocket once her old songs start circulating. Personal obsession trumps cultural taboo every time, we both know that."

"Not during the Truce," Danny refuted.

"Well, yes, obviously the Truce is an exception; it's the Truce," Wes said. "And I'm not so insensitive that I'm gonna tell everyone in school how she died, I just wanted to rub it in specifically your face that I figured it out, seeing as how you doubted me a few weeks ago." Danny narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Wes.

"You'd better not tell everyone," he said, but he took a step back. "And if you do, you don't get to implicate me in any of this, got it? I won't have her after me again now that we're not at each other's throats anymore." He shoved the folder to Wes' chest.

"Yeah, whatever." With that the two of them went back into the classroom, where pretty much everyone was listening intently to the tinny music still playing. Wes discreetly slipped his evidence folder into his backpack before anyone else could ask about it, and wrote down the names of people who came by his desk to tell him they wanted to buy a CD once he had them.

The next day, Wes started selling copies of the CD for ten bucks a pop. Within a week, he had enough money to buy himself a brand new camera to replace the one Danny had destroyed a few months back. He turned out to be right about Ember being cool with him selling her old songs, though she demanded he give her a copy. She was even a little nostalgic listening to them, and she almost cried when Wes told her he'd gotten them from an old fan of hers.

It got Wes thinking about what other ghosts might feel if he reminded them of their past. The next on his list, he decided, was the Box Ghost. Why him? Frankly, Wes just wanted to know what that guy's deal was.

[straysomethinginthewoods]

Pinned

OC RP - Ridley - Stray

Note: Mun is 21+

Active & Open for Anything

X-Men comics-based, but open to crossovers.

Character Description: A mutant whose powers lie entirely in their physiology. A lightweight build with long limbs and a long, prehensile tail lends itself to a stealth advantage, and this coupled with nigh infinite patience makes this one an alarmingly intelligent ambush predator. Despite having fur, the mutant is able to alter its shade and intensity similar to a chameleon changing color, going from bright yellow, purple, and dark gray to pitch black in an instant. Clawed hands have two fingers and two thumbs - one on either side. Feet are similar. Bright, golden-colored mane in place of hair. Raptor-like teeth. Scans show more biological obscurities internally. Approximately 20 years of age.

Vagabond, got nothing to her but clothes that don't fit and a backpack full of trinkets picked up along the way. Ridley, used to running around in the sticks in the deep south, makes her way up to the concrete jungle.

[alexjcrowley]

I see people on here talking about Riget: Exodus and I feel like I have to tell my story. Last year I went to Venice Film Festival and I bought tickets to see Riget: Exodus, of which I knew NOTHING about, except that it was a tv show and it was by Lars Von Trier.

You see, Lars Von Trier is the reason I bought the tickets. I know he is awful human being, but I also know his works are supposed to be good. And I say are supposed because, you guessed it, I have never seen anything by Lars Von Trier. I wanted to start with Nymphomaniac, but I could only find the censored version of the movies and I refused to watch it because it's either the whole thing or nothing for me. Riget: Exodus was going to be first thing I ever saw by Lars Von Trier ever.

So I go buy tickets for a swedish/danish show I didn't even know was a third season, I don't know what it is about, I don't know the genre, I don't know shit, but they're going to show the entire season in one afternoon and it's going to be 5 hours long. I drag my mother with me.

At first we think it's a horror, then the Brooklyn 99esque opening catches us off-guard.

I proceed to be very confused for the first 30-40 minutes, trying to understand if this is a subtle subversive masterpiece I am too dumb to understand, but at some point I get this is a comedy and then just embrace the madness I am witnessing.

You get the first intermission two hour and a half in, I am laughing my ass off, I am loving Alexander Skarsgård's character (fun fact, only now, by seeing other people post, I realised that's Alexander Skarsgård, but his lawyer killed me multiple times), I almost got an heart attack seeing Willem Dafoe, I am shipping the hell out of Helmer and Pontopidan (sue me), I am having the time of my life.

My mother begs me to release her from this torture, she hardly understands the jokes, she tries to say "Well, we've seen half of it, ain't it enough" I say "No, mother, leave if you must, I will stay here, witnessing the peak of comedic craft. And what's not to love about this? Don't you think this is a new height for comedy in the year of our Lord 2022?". She stays with me.

We watch 5 hours of it. Five. Hours. I am exhilarated seeing the milk cartoon scene, I can't stop laughing, I can't stop clapping, I see some other people in the audience are in my same situation.

I realise at the end of the show we have some of the actors with us in the theatre. I am officially going crazy, it's a fever dream.

(And, for pics or it didn't happen, we got Nikolaj Lie Kaas and Nicolas Bro. They're the only ones I got decent pictures of, but I also took some pictures WITH- yeah you could do that- other actors in the show, Bodil Jørgensen aka Karen was super nice, she hugged me and I sort of melted on the spot. They were also super kind with autographs.)

My mom doesn't understand still why I would want to spend five hours of my life like this, but it's fine.

I go home, I want to try and tell my friends about this show, but it feels like a fever dream and they're into internet rabbit holes and obscure stuff, but they've never heard of this. I try to explain how I was killed the scene with the lawyer and Helmer (Halfmer, how it showed on English subtitles) talking about the accusations of molesting the nurse whose name I do not remember (sorry), and at first the lawyer is like "Yeah fuck that bitch" and then it turns out it's also her lawyer so it bills Helmer but it's so complicated to explain how hilarious it was for me to witness that, how I lost my shit at the reveal. I feel I can't put it into words. It feels like I am talking mad.

My mother and I still quote to this day "Little brother" and "Big brother" (I think they were called like that in English, we're italians e we just randomly reference Fratellino e Fratellone and we laugh and the rest of our family looks at us like "everything alright?").

I was starting to believe me and my mum experienced a folie à deux and this show never actually existed and I would be forced to keep all my impressions about it to myself. But it does exist. And you people are talking about it.

So thanks, thank you people talking about this show so I don't feel I went crazy and blacked out for 5 hours during my time in Venice. Thank you.

Also, I gotta ask, people who are fans of this show, how do you came to know it? Is it very popular is Sweden or Denmark? Is it in America? Because I am in Italian gal who spends way more time than she should reading and learning about cinema and I had never heard anyone mention this show in my entire life. I mainly frequent american/anglophone internet spaces and I had never heard of this show (because it's not like I was expecting Italians to talk about it I'll be honest). After Venice all they talked about was Blonde, The Banshees of Inisherin (which I loved!) and The Whale (still have to see that).

I literally saw a post about this show today, for the first time, without looking for it. Fans of the show, this is my weird little story on how I watched Riget Exodus backwards (I actually still have to see the first two seasons, please forgive me). What's yours?

[projecthipster]

Franny and Zooey, by J.D. Salinger

“I don’t think it would have all got me quite so down if just once in a while—just once in a while—there was at least some polite little perfunctory implication that knowledge should lead to wisdom, and that if it doesn't, it's just a disgusting waste of time! But there never is! You never even hear any hints dropped on a campus that wisdom is supposed to be the goal of knowledge. You hardly ever even hear the word 'wisdom' mentioned!”

Everyone’s read J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye, yeah? If not, I’ll review it in this series sooner or later. It’s great, it’s very hipster in its deep character breakdown, multiple layers of storytelling, and its analysis of cynical adolescent disillusionment. It’s one of the best-selling, best-reviewed, most-read books in all of literature. Sounds kinda mainstream, doesn’t it?

The discerning hipster, wanting all of Salinger’s great writing in a package that the mainstream sheep are less likely to know, and that subs adolescent disillusionment for young adult disillusionment, might instead turn to Franny and Zooey, his later and arguably only other novel. Franny and Zooey hit the scene in 1957, at the height of the Hipster-beloved beat era, though Salinger isn’t usually considered to be one of the beats, which is basically to say that I don't think he ever did drugs with Kerouac. Your hipness archivist read this book a couple of years after reading Catcher, mostly on a single slow day while working at a ski hill.

Some say it’s two short stories; truth, it’s more like a novella with a bonus opening chapter that could serve as a short story in isolation but works very well as a first chapter. That opening follows Franny Glass on a lunch date. She’s become obsessed with an obscure Russian religious text, but her boyfriend only wants to talk about his upcoming football game, leading Franny right into a panic attack about how much everyone is only in everything for the ego boost. That main theme is tempered a bit by Franny’s disdain for the dullness, the expectedness of everyone’s bragging topics. Certainly that’s something core to the hipster identity: the mundanity of the mainstream.  That’s part one, the shorter part, “Franny.”

The second part, “Zooey,” makes up most of the book. Smash cut to the Glass household. Franny’s brother Zooey is fighting with his mom. Franny is in the living room, a few days into a serious depressive funk, when Zooey is all but forced to talk her through it. That conversation, replete with italics to show just how emphatic and pointed everyone is, practically ranting, reveals the Glass family backstory, detailed as well in other Salinger stories that I haven’t read. Turns out, nothing about Franny’s identity crisis came on in isolation. The Glass children were child prodigies on a radio show, in the national spotlight until their voices changed and they suddenly dropped from America’s short attention span. That feeling of being puppets on a stage never really left any of them, and led eldest brother Seymour to commit suicide despite an outward appearance of success. Is it any wonder, then, that these siblings are a bit messed up, and see society as being a bit messed up? The conversation barrels on, Zooey trying to rescue Franny from her depression, until it reaches a surprisingly succinct and positive conclusion, which shows Salinger’s increasing interest in spirituality and alternative theological theory, and which I won’t spoil. Suffice to say, the final page has a lesson that you’ll remember if you’ve ever sat and wondered in light despair at why we all go on performing, and who for.

Reading this book will boost your hipster cred, because you can bring it up when people talk about The Catcher in the Rye. But more importantly, this book will raise interesting and impressively timeless dialogues about life and purpose in modern society by means of great writing and impressively concisely developed characters. 

I give this Hipster book five withering glances over an organic cigarette out of five.

Project Hipster is a futile and disorganized attempt to dive into the world of things that the internet has at some point claimed "are hipster," mostly through ListChallenges search results.

This review comes from the first list, Hipster Lit: If You Haven't Read 'em, Pretend You Have.

Stay deck.

[sasha-uria]

Hey there! this is an project me and @misturearaposa (Mix) been working on and now is done ✨

Mix is the master mind behind this cozy and peculiar tale and i did the illustration of our main character.

Hope you enjoy 💖

Marsella’s office was a mess, as usual. Students’ essays and documents covered just about every surface of furniture. There was a wooden desk in front of the only window, illuminated half by the moonlight, half by an oil lamp that sat on top of it. One of the documents on top of this desk was an envelope with some writing in a dark green ink on it. It read “To the current Master at Ecological and Zoological Studies Regarding the Arcanum; Marsella Kampersois.” It clearly had been opened and most of the pages it previously contained were already being read by the professor. She brushed aside how tired she felt and tied her strawberry blonde hair behind her head so it would stop obscuring her reading. Marsella put the first page, which she had just finished glancing through, on the desk in front of her and continued on.

“Our guides are Onlen and Briannee, a local couple who live in a village just outside the Asheyran woods. Brianne is one of yours: Amantenese born and raised, but she moved here after her parents died and, eventually married Onlen. So I’m not that interested in her.”

A warm smile pushed through the exhaustion in Marsella’s face as she read that line. It was clear that her friend was still as blunt and socially “unique” as they were when she first met them.

“Mister Onlen himself, on the other hand, is fascinating! We always hear stories about how mysterious the Folkbound are but let me tell you Marsella: the stories do not do them justice! On our way to their village, we passed through a few Niamenese settlements, but none of them had Folkbound in them. So up until we met Onlen, the team and I had only seen the average person going about their day, not different in the slightest from you and me. I am sure you are curious, so I’ll just get it out of the way first: Yes, he does have them!”

Sketched just below this paragraph was what seemed to be a pair of human ears with pointy ends which slowly curled into something that resembled a short flower’s stalk.

“His canine teeth are also remarkably long and sharp, and his hair has a faint, but pleasant smell that I can’t quite describe. Brianne tells me he never takes baths, only cleans himself in the rain or under a nearby waterfall. He knows an awful lot about medicinal herbs and just plants’ properties in general. His behavior is certainly ‘normal’ most of the time, but sometimes he acts like a completely different person, with periodic mood changes to boot. Nothing too extreme, though.”

Marsella grasped the paper a bit more firmly and her eyes suddenly seemed completely devoid of the sleepiness they were presenting up until then. She saw briefly what the next paragraph started to describe and soon sat a bit more upright on her chair, excitement and curiosity taking over.

“As for his partner: we didn’t see it for more than two full days at first. He assured us it was around, but we never even got a hint of its presence. It wouldn’t be until we were finally preparing for our first deep foray into the woods that it showed itself. And what a sight it was! She was no more than 12 centimeters tall; her skin was a deep foliage green with some protuberances that resembled little thorns all over the legs, arms and back. She did not have wings per say, but instead a pair of cloak-like extensions from the back of her shoulders that resembled long and red silky petals. It was like looking at a walking rose. Her head, at least from the back and sides, also reminded me of a rose bud. I was never able to see her face, however, as she wore a tiny mask made of tree bark which was devoid of any distinct features or adornments. The first time we saw her was when the team was packing our provisions and Onlen came from the edge of the woods to check on us. She was sitting on his left shoulder, legs dangling in a cute, childish manner as he walked towards us. We were stunned, but Onlen never made any introductions or try to explain anything. He acted as if we had been seeing her the whole time. In fact, it was as if he thought we knew her our whole lives. As we made our way into the woods, he finally told us her name: Flian. Nothing more than that, however. None of us asked anything either. Mostly because it felt intrusive, but also because as much as no one on the team had personally seen one before, it isn’t like commons pixies are completely new and unknown in our field. As the time passed and we headed deeper into the woods, she would switch from riding on his shoulder to floating up from tree to rock and tree again, accompanying our pace from above. It’s quite a sight to behold. She really didn’t fly around exactly, it looked more like her little “petal cloak” was carried by a gentle breeze, allowing her to glide and float around. She also never made any sound. I don’t mean just vocalizations. Her movements, her breathing, nothing seemed to make any noise, even a small one.”

Marsella put the finished page on top of the desk and scribbled some notes on a journal that laid right beside the two pages she had finished. Before she could continue reading, however, she noticed that on a corner of the note she had just finished was a sketch of the pixie. She assumed she couldn’t see it before because it was being covered by her thumb and fingers as she held the paper. She took a good look at it and then continued on.

“Something that I noticed after a few hours is how, no matter what she was doing – whether it was floating around, walking on top of tree branches or splashing around in little puddles (still not making any sound while doing it.) She would ALWAYS land right back on Onlen’s shoulder whenever he and Brianne got closer, started whispering to each other, holding hands and so on. She’d always stay on the side of his body opposite to Brianne, though, and start grooming his hair, tapping his cheek and at one point I even saw her tickle his right ear after Brianne, to his left, almost tripped and supported herself on her husband. It didn’t seem to bother Onlen, however, as his reactions ranged from ignoring it to simply looking at her and making weird faces that I couldn’t interpret. At most he once turned to face the pixie and motioned a fake bite towards her, which made her jump off him for a second before landing right back again.”

Putting the papers aside for a moment, Marsella felt her exhaustion creeping in again. She pulled a bottle from one of the corners of the deks towards her and uncorked it. She looked around, searching for a cup amidst the mess of her office, and decided she could not be bothered to get up from her chair for a more thorough search. Bottoms up and she felt a warmth spread from her stomach to her chest and limbs, put the bottle on the desk again and though of sealing it with the cork again, before deciding to leave it open. She picked the papers again and continued to read.

“During our first night, our couple of guides told us a little bit about their lives, how they met, fell in love and all of that sappy stuff. I’ll spare you of that torture, something I wish someone could have done for me. Onlen did, however, sprinkle some interesting information here and there. His bonding with Flian happened when he was fourteen. A little late for the average Folkbound, as you know. Apparently he was a bit of a recluse as a kid and because of that it took him a little longer than most to actually find a Fae partner who’d actually bond with him. He said a year before he met Flian, he almost got bound to a lovely little toadstooler who used to cross his path now and again. But he tells me it bonded with a younger girl who lived close to him one day because she apparently gave it treats and sang to it. When he was telling this story - with a tinge of melancholic nostalgia in his face - I noticed Flian starting to look a bit agitated, fidgeting around on his shoulder. Brianne seemed to notice it too and her reaction fascinated me. She quickly flicked her husband’s forehead and made him change the subject or rather move on with his story. Her tone was playful, but I could see a hint of worry or apprehension in her face. Onlen told us that, eventually, he met a common pixie drowning in a pond and after rescuing her, she would visit him everyday until eventually, they were bound. The details aren’t uninteresting, but it was the known stuff for common pixies. They exchanged vows, she told him her name and she pricked his thumb on one of her thorns and it was done.”

Marsella made some more notes on her journal before taking another gulp from the bottle and continuing to read.

“The following morning we left the forest and the team made a quick trip to the nearest village to buy a few things. Briannee went with them and I stayed behind with Onlen. He did not speak for the whole day. In fact, I barely saw him save a couple of times. First when I was cooking a bit of soup a little after noon and he came out from his house, looked at me and my cooking pot as if he could not even begin to understand what I was doing, before going back inside. The second time was right before Briannee and my team were coming back. It was starting to get dark and I had barely noticed them coming into view on the road when I noticed Onlen sitting cross-legged on top of a boulder close to the entrance to the woods. Flian was in front of him, doing something. It was a bit far and the light was getting dim, so I couldn’t ascertain it, but it LOOKED like she was dancing. I had slept a bit after eating so I did not see when he left his house, no idea how long he was sitting there for. I got up from my napping spot and went to ask him what he was doing, but I was met with silence from him and a furious gaze from Flian. She still had her mask on, obviously, but I could tell because she stopped dancing abruptly and turned towards me with a fierce and almost violent movement. I felt as if I could see a pair of cold eyes staring at me even through the tiny bark mask. I subconsciously turned around and left, but as I walked away, I stole a quick glance back at them and noticed how Onlen had his eyes closed and a stiffness in his posture. After I made my way towards Briannee and the rest of my team, she must have noticed some confusion or curiosity betrayed on my face, because she immediately looked in the direction Onlen was and then back at me again. She started to explain it and as soon as I realized what she was telling me, I immediately grabbed her arm and dragged her as I ran back to the boulder again.”

Realization also dawned on Marsella as she read that last sentence and she quickly pulled her journal closer, preparing herself to make more notes as she read on, excitement inundating her mind.

“It was a scouting charm, apparently. I could not believe it. Sure, I had expected to see a genuine Folkbound spell at some point during the expedition, but to finally see it after studying and reading so much bout it, I could barely contain my excitement. Briannee explained that he was probably preparing it to scout the woods in search of a better path, since the previous day we didn’t see any signs or tracks. She also told us how it worked, or at least she tried her best to pass on what he had told her: As we know, common pixies can connect their senses remotely to many different species of flora in a certain radius. What we don’t usually hear about is how they can supposedly share this connection with their bond partners. This is what was happening, apparently. At that moment, Onlen’s mind - or more accurately, his senses - were jumping from flower to flower forest inwards, searching for a better direction for us to travel in the next day. When my team finally caught up to us, they also observed Onlen with me, making their annotations quietly after Briannee reprimanded us for the distraction when we were talking amongst ourselves and sharing insights. She went inside and we only followed after we finally felt like we had enough of observing that man sitting motionless on a rock and his little Fae companion dancing.”

“The following night we stopped and made camp after a whole day of walking through the woods. Onlen had been quiet, even more so than usual. We had, in fact, made our way towards a completely different direction from the previous day as he assured us that Flian helped him see that this trail would be more successful in finding what we were after. Speaking of Flian, she had a very different demeanor this time around. Instead of playing and floating around like the previous day, she had been tucked away inside Onlen’s clothes for almost the whole day. With all that in mind, when we finally had our little camp set up come night, I asked Onlen if there was anything we should worry about. He asked all of us in the research team how much we knew about the Fae. Honestly, I had expected this talk to have come much sooner, seeing how hard we had to search in order to find a Folkbound who would agree in guiding us for this expedition. Even when we found Onlen, a little over two months ago, we had to go through a lot to convince him. I told him we were no experts in Fae, specifically, but also assured him we were pretty competent researchers. After a few minutes of discussion, he still seemed apprehensive, but decided to give us a more in-depth lesson. Onlen explained how the Fae are usually regarded as two different categories or tribes. There are the ones with whom the Folkbound usually bond with, the ones they call The Seelie. On the other hand, there are those with whom no Niamenese should ever partner with. The Unseelie.”

For a second, Marsella fought back an urge to roll her eyes. Her friend knew she was aware of these classifications, so if the next paragraph was going to be a lengthy explanation about the grouping of “good” and “evil” Fae folk, she would have to remind herself to smack her good colleague the next time they saw each other. However, as her eyes glanced at the first few words of the next sentence, her frustration was quickly replaced with curiosity and she prepared herself to make more notes in her journal.

“Apparently the fools who published the studies on these classifications either did not pay a lot of attention or they simply were not smart enough to understand. As Onlen explained it, the Seelie and Unseelie tribes - or courts, as the Niamenese usually refer to them - do not, in the slightest, depict the moral standings of their members. It is not as simple as ‘good faeries’ vs ‘evil faeries.’ According to him, a faerie of the Seelie court can very well be evil and cruel, SPECIALLY when partnered with a morally contentious human, as they are as much susceptible to their partner’s influence as their partner is to theirs. What sets an Unseelie faerie apart from a Seelie one, then, is the kind of bond they form with their partner. You see, Marsella, as we learned very recently, a faerie can bond itself to any species of living creature, it doesn’t need to be a human. In fact, it is more common for other animals and even plants to be bonded to Fae folk than for humans. However, no matter what kind of creature is bound to them, there is ALWAYS a component of trust and consent or respect and care, in the case of plant life. A Seelie faerie will never forcefully bond with an unwilling creature or do so with ill intent. That’s where Unseelie Fae come in. As Onlen put it, the Unseelie will almost always bond with an unwilling partner, be it to exploit them, consume them, corrupt them, you name it. They disregard a rule or instinct that all faeries should acknowledge and respect. He explained to us that there ARE some faeries who don’t force themselves upon their partners and, when bound, don’t exactly act to harm them, but are still considered part of the Unseelie court because of another crucial taboo that they violate: The ‘rule of attachment’ or ‘rule of the veil’, as Onlen described it.”

Marsella placed the finished page on the desk and quickly began reading the next. She no longer felt like she needed another drink to stay awake. Her attention to the letter was unwavering now.

“When you, as a Niamenese, willingly make a pact with one of these types of Fae, you are immediately ostracized. Depending on the specific species, you may be exiled, imprisoned for life, or even hunted down and executed. No other Folkbound will ever accept you as one of their own. And this ‘rule of attachment’ or ‘rule of the veil’ is the reason. He explained that in a ‘normal’ bond, whenever one of the partners dies, the other has to accept, mourn and never bond itself to another. That usually addresses the faeries, since they live much longer than their human or animal partners. But if in any circumstance, a Folkbound were to lose their faerie partner, they have to adhere to this as well. What the Unseelie Fae usually do, however, is disregard this rule. It varies from species to species and how powerful they each are, but it can range from a Fae keeping the corpse of their partner as a cadaver host from keeping them alive in wrong and wicked ways, with some of the most powerful ones even bringing them back to life entirely. Some of them may not have the power for any of that, but they still violate the taboo by bonding with new partners after their previous one died. It started to occur to me, as I’m sure it is occurring to you now, where the problem in this expedition lied, in the eyes of the Niamenese.”

As her friend correctly deduced, the realization indeed hit Marsella and she let herself melt onto her chair. She felt the shock of new information reshaping her views and shedding new light on their whole topic of research: This wasn’t just foolish and dangerous in the eyes of their local guides. It was a matter of searching for a creature who defiled their beliefs and way of life. She straightened herself and pushed through her conflicted thoughts before continuing to read.

“As we talked more through the night, Onlen finally addressed the reason why he agreed to guide us in looking for our research subject. He wasn’t doing it to educate other people about their culture and the ways of the Fae. He said Flian was actually the one who told him he should accept it just for the small chance that ‘the outlanders might help find a way to understand and correct that dark and sad side of her people.’ As he told us that, I noticed how Flian was standing on the ground between him and I, the light from the campfire illuminating her in a way from an angle that made me unable to see the front of her head. I must admit that hearing that this tiny, almost otherworldly creature was the one who pleaded with Onlen and reached out for us was a bit unnerving to me. And judging from the fact that the whole team had difficulty sleeping that night, I’d say it was unnerving to them too.”

Below this paragraph, Marsella saw a drawing of the pixie as her friend had described above: A sketch of the faerie’s head looking up directly at them but with the whole “face” - or bark mask, in this case - shadowed by a source of light behind her. She felt a sudden chill permeate her and quickly moved on.

“The next morning was uneventful, the whole team clearly was still a little shaken up by Onlen’s words from the previous night. We kept walking in the direction he had scouted with his Folkbound charm two nights earlier. Briannee made us a quick lunch at noon - or what we supposed was noon, it was very hard to tell so deep into those woods - and we kept going without stopping for as long as we had light. As the day went on and the little glimpses of sky we could through the canopy would get rarer, we started noticing a cold mist settling all around us. Or to be honest, we noticed it after we were completely surrounded by it. It wasn’t thick enough to completely obscure our visions and it mostly stayed low, at most reaching 10 to 15 centimeters high. But it certainly felt like a sea of cold smoke extending to every direction. Everywhere we looked, there were two certainties: giant, old and shriveled trees and thick and white mist on the ground stretching for as long as our eyes could see. We kept marching on for another hour or so and by the end of that time, only torches and lamps lit our way. At one point, one of the team members stepped on something and as he reached down to see what it was, we were all a little unsettled. A human skull, looking like it had belonged to a young child, was resting on his open palm. Onlen shouted something in Niamenese and quickly ran from his side to stand closer to us in the research team. We felt a tension in the air, but I believe it only really dawned on us that something was amiss when we saw Flian float out from her little refuge in Onlen’s clothes and start moving erratically through the air around him. She would float in one direction, point at something that we couldn’t see, float in another direction and point that way. When I asked Briannee what was wrong, she only said that ‘we had found them’.”

Marsella’s eyes opened wide as she put the finished page down and immediately saw what started the next one. Before the first paragraph in this new page, a new sketch greeted her. A human skeleton partially covered by moss and dead leaves, stared her down through the page. On its head - skull - a long and dark crimson cap hung to the side. Covering the left eye socket. From the skeleton’s torso, a squiggly arrow sketched pointed to the writing “host?”, while from the skull, another arrow jotted out with the tip pointing to the word “subject?”.

“From the ground, previously concealed by the thick mist, three fully grown human skeletons rose. We had indeed found them. After months of research, travel and local convincing, we had finally stumbled upon our subjects. I was so excited that I momentarily ignored the danger of the situation, even as I heard my team screaming in surprise. Briannee yelled for me to stop and only then did I realize I was walking towards the creatures. Onlen was a few meters in front of us, between the subjects and I. I saw him run towards them with Flian floating away in the same direction, but as one of the skeletons made an erratic swipe of its arms to presumably try and grab him, Onlen stepped aside and ran past it. He kept running away from our group and all three of them turned around and started chasing him and his faerie companion. Their movements, for the brief moment I was able to see before they were all gone in the darkness of the forest, was unnerving. It felt wrong, as if all the bones were being dragged around by some invisible puppeteer. We all stood there with bated breath as Briannee told us to watch our surroundings and make sure no other skeleton arose around us. My heart was racing and my thoughts were running wild as I took out my sketchbook and subconsciously started drawing right there on the spot, standing up and having only the faint light of my lamp to help me see the result. Before I even finished, we heard Onlen returning from the shadows and Briannee ran to check on him. That took me out of my trance and I immediately asked him where the subjects were. He said he got rid of them and before I could even protest it, he tossed something my way. Only after I caught it, despite my surprise, did I notice it was a burlap sac with its ‘mouth’ tied in a knot. After feeling it around a bit, I noticed a faint movement coming from within. Onlen told me my ‘target’ was inside and that I was not allowed to open it until after I left Niamenese lands. I thought of protesting that, as well, my curiosity clouding my judgment, but one look at his face, illuminated in a somber way by the faint lamp lights, made me reconsider it. After carefully analyzing his expression I also noticed Flian standing completely straight on top of his right shoulder. Her petal cloak was wrapped around her, covering her arms and most of her torso, instead of hanging behind her like usual, it gave her a resolute and unpleasant atmosphere.”

Marsella once again felt a sudden chill and fought the urge to check if her window was open. It wasn’t, it never was and she knew it. She put down the newly finished page on the desk and went back to reading.

“The whole way back to the entrance of the woods was filled with a strange tension. No, it would be more accurate to say there were three tensions in the air, competing to see which one would make the group crack first. One was the tension that team and I constantly felt since Onlen handed me that sac. The pressure we fought hard to keep in check, the NEED to open it and immediately start our long awaited research. To think our object of study was there in our possession, but we were not allowed to study it was almost killing all of us. The second tension was the total silence tha Onlen immersed himself in since he told me not to open the sac. His steps, his breathing, his occasional whispers to his wife. None seemed to make a sound, but at the same time, it was a silence that felt heavy in our eardrums. It was almost as if he exuded an aura of stillness around him that pushed outward from him and collided with us in its way. Flian, of course, also seemed closed and distant. Even from Onlen himself. Despite riding on his shoulder the entire way back, she did not play around with her Folkbound at any time. Briannee did all of the talking with us during the trip back out of the forest, but even she sounded quiet and drained. Then, there was the third tension… This one, I suspect, was only felt by me. It was a strange mix of almost palpable feelings coming from within the sac. I could feel the subject’s fear, curiosity, and loneliness. At one point, I could swear I heard something like a faint voice coming from it and I had to fight really hard to keep myself from opening the burlap sac. When we finally exited the woods and arrived at their home, two full days after our encounter in the mist, Briannee quickly helped us pack while Onlen disappeared in the direction of a little stream which ran down from the nearby waterfall where he usually bathes, as his wife told us days earlier. She made it clear that he would not be coming back to see us off and that she would, in fact, like us to depart as soon as possible so that she could go and join him. I should also point out that as we exited the forest, I noticed that Flian was no longer riding on Onlen’s shoulder. No one in my team seemed to notice when she left or where she went, so we just left it at that. Despite our exhaustion, we respected Briannee’s wishes and departed as soon as our travel preparations were finished. We traveled for almost four more days before finally officially being out of Niamenese lands and one full morning on top of that to reach the first Amantenese settlement. By this point, the team and I had already grown used to the urge of opening the sac, so we refrained from doing so immediately upon arriving in Amanten. We decided we were all too tired and we’d wait until after we rested at an inn before digging into our research.

That night, however, I felt that third tension from the track back from the woods pulsing in my ears again. As I lied in the bed of my room in the roadside inn we came across, I looked at the sac resting on top of the little bedside desk. I got up, opened it and let its contents slide onto said desk. An adult human skull covered in dirt and riddled with little cracks in the bone stared at me, devoid of any life. On its side, spread onto the desk like a soft fabric, the long and crimsong little hood or cap that adorned it before. As I started to reach for it, I saw movement. Subtle, slow, weak. What I thought to be a dark red fabric revealed itself to be a sort of amorphous, living substance and from the borders of what would be the opening of the cap, parts of the ‘cap’ started to stretch out towards the skull like little tentacles. It latched itself to the bone and moved until it was ‘upward’ and close to my face. Suddenly, a pair of black beads showed themselves. Little dark eyes looking at me with intense curiosity and longing. There it was, finally! The creature I had waited so long to meet. Seeing it up close and harkening back to Onlen’s explanation of the Unseelie Fae, I immediately understood its common name. This was never a deceased human who came back to hunt the living in violent revenge.

No… this was a fragile, desperate creature who clung to its deceased host/bound partner even after their demise. Manipulating its animated corpse and feeding on its clotting blood as it deteriorated and nothing but bones remained. Bones and a little, bloody Red Cap.”

Marsella put the last page down on the desk and noticed she had been staring at her journal for quite some time, pen in hand, but nothing came to mind. She opened one of the desk’s drawers and pulled a sheet of paper more proper for a letter and started to write a reply. In her excitement, she failed to notice she did not read the final sentence in her colleague’s message.

“It was speaking to me, Marsella. It was scared and starving and I felt for it. I hope you understand.

Your friend and colleague, W. Asarui.”

[tardis-stowaway]

I got tagged by @mcbangle for a WIP snippet game, choosing snippets from my WIPs with the following words: evening, spell, color, slow, blue. (The tagging was a while back; I accidentally left this post unfinished in my drafts, which is fitting).

Thanks for the tag! My WIP folder is really more a folder of UFOs (unfinished objects, no progress is being made, I might make progress again later but don't bet on it). Still, I wanted to play, so here are snippets from the least fully dormant stories.

-Color

She longed for nothing more than to find a way out of her small, drab house into a land where she might be a princess or ride a unicorn or simply live a big, colorful life. So she began to search. She shone a torch down rabbit holes and pushed through hedge gaps. Her parents were forever losing track of the girl, eventually finding her in the neighbor’s garden or feeling the back of the linen cupboard in an aunt’s house or wandering into the employee breakroom of a shop, having pushed open the door marked Authorized Personnel Only. Her parents chastised her and told her that opening strange doors without asking them was dangerous. It turned out they were right, though not in the way they imagined.

From a Magnus Archives S5 canon divergence fic that I'm tentatively calling "The Anchor, the Eye, and the Corridor." Jon and Martin see an opportunity to fix the Eyepocalypse hellscape through (among other things) true love and the power of portal fantasy, but first they're going to need Helen's cooperation.

-Blue

It was a cloudy day, cooler than average for so early in autumn, so he threw on a blue flannel shirt over his black t-shirt and jeans, then added sunglasses to make himself a smidgen less recognizable. Generally people didn't bother him much in public (Lee preferred to attribute that to their Canadian good manners rather than the obscurity of his show), but he didn't want even one besotted fan approaching today.

This comes from a fic for Tanya Huff's Smoke series of urban fantasy books. The fandom is minuscule but I deeply love the characters. The fic so far is a lot of fun banter set between books 2 and 3 while Lee Nicholas pines and tries to work through his Crisis of Surprise Bisexuality and Also Magic is Real and His Crush is a Wizard.

-Slow

There was no path. It was slow going, but somehow it didn’t feel like the island was hostile or unwelcoming. It simply didn’t have a place for them yet, though they could perhaps make one.

From a post-canon Magnus Archives fic wherein Somewhere Else is more or less the afterlife.

-Evening

As they grew older, Natasha (Natalia back then) and the other girls learned how to pretend.  They practiced slipping between identities as ordered:  Russian or American, innocent or cosmopolitan, ditzy or intellectual, fighter or apparent victim, Morning or Evening.  Whatever would best allow them to control the target. 

From a Natasha-centric sedoretu AU (MCU), wherein the Red Room raised its operatives without belonging to either of the two moieties that determine how a person forms relationships, and Natasha has to figure out her later life without this very basic aspect of identity. I am fond of the existing parts of this story, and occasionally open it up to give it a poke, but realistically am never going to finish it due to the immense size this story wants to be and my lapsed interest in MCU fandom.

-Spell

I couldn't find this word in any of the fics I checked.

OK, that's mine. New words: fire, table, fresh, peace, and hand.

No pressure tagging: @kaydeefalls, @destinationtoast, @blasphemous-lies-and-deceit, @vulgarweed, and whoever else wants to play.

[seadeepywrites]

bleeding from the storm

Character: Haven Vasselon Words: 6139 tw: death, depression, fantasy violence

1. like an ambulance that's turning on the sirens

"I can fix this," Haven says. In panic, she says it a few more times. "I can fix this! I can fix this."

There's nobody to hear her babbling except the dead — the truly dead, like Siggi, who lies motionless on the bloodstained deck, and the undead, who crowd in around Haven and Siggi with gaunt, grasping hands. The possessed navy crewmates have a terrible slackness to their faces, eyes rolled so far back in their heads that only the whites are showing, but Haven's attention remains on the gatekeeper. It is something that should not exist, something Haven had not prepared for, and there is a very real possibility that she is about to die alongside Siggi.

The gatekeeper says nothing as the echoes of its Toll the Dead spell vibrate through the floorboards. It only stands before her implacably, its scythe glinting in the darkness and its withered face obscured under the deep cowl of its tattered cloak. 

Haven licks her lips, noticing absently how dry and cracked they are. She can taste blood beading up on them, then hardening almost immediately into a grainy crust. She feels cold, all the way to her core.

She has to leave. Now, while she still can.

"I can fix this," she says, more faintly this time.

She leans on her Staff of Power for support, bends down to touch Siggi, and tries not to lose her balance as her vision swims and tilts with the motion. Gripping Siggi's collar in her fist, she mumbles a few arcane words. She steps backwards, away from the gatekeeper, and through the gleaming golden outline of a door that has opened behind her.

She sags almost immediately upon emerging, sinking to the deck in exhaustion, but her Dimension Door sent them where she intended — strong hands support her as she falls. Haven knows those hands intimately, very literally. Even as she blinks to stay conscious, she gestures towards Siggi.

"I'm fine," she wheezes, which isn't actually true. "But Siggi, he's..."

Whisper eases Haven to the deck, sparing half a second to brush one hand against Haven's cheek, then nods and reaches for Siggi. She pulls a small pouch from her belt, empties it over his body. Diamond dust spills downward like a waterfall, glittering in the lanternlight.

Haven relaxes, closing her eyes. The Nightweaver still lurks, less than five hundred feet away — Haven can be sure of that distance, considering her Dimension Door — but she got them out.

Whisper can do the rest.

~

2. like a loser that's betting on his last dime

Haven's nerves haven't settled since the gatekeeper fight. Even after the Magic Missiles hissed outward from her Staff of Power and shattered the gatekeeper's final ward, and even after Jaeldirra, tears streaming down their face, summoned shadowy spider legs to cram Whisper's soul back into her body. Even after Haven held tight to Whisper, touching her face, her shoulders, her hands, over and over — reassured herself that Whisper was alive again, was still here.

Haven kneels on the deck of the Abyssal Gaze, hand in hand with Whisper, and wonders why she can't quite manage to catch her breath.

It takes her ten minutes to identify the anxiety that buzzes inside her like an unquiet hive of bees. The telepathic bond has faded, its hour elapsed, and one of the last messages exchanged through it was a hazy reassurance from Klaus that he was conscious and swimming to the Munafik with the Kraken. So Haven knows Klaus is still alive, but knowing that intellectually doesn't settle the discomfort, the occasional little sparks of adrenaline.

Haven, it would appear, cannot trust the fight is over until she sees Klaus with her own two eyes. His stealth and his alacrity and his caution mean that by the time she's realized there's a threat, he's already vanished, and the devastating barrage of his black-feathered arrows is sometimes her first clue there's anything wrong around her. Conversely, she relies far more on his ability to sense danger than her own, and she knows he never appears back on deck until he's confident that all the enemy combatants have been dealt with.

But here, in the exhaustion after a fight that claimed the life of two crewmates, Klaus is absent. He's on board another ship, tending the Kraken's wounds, which were moderately serious — as well as his own, which were significantly worse than anything he usually suffers. There's no particular reason Haven needs him here, no practical justification she can find to demand his presence. She just cannot relax, cannot make herself believe this horror-filled night is over yet.

As it turns out, she is entirely correct. Even Haven can recognize the percussive roar of cannon-fire when she hears it. There's an awful crunching, splintering noise. The entire ship lurches suddenly, and chips of wood begin to rain down from above as the canvas of the sails folds and crumples. A few seconds later, another impact, and the deck begins to list beneath her.

Haven jumps like a startled cat. Looks around wildly, struggles to her feet. Her heart is in her throat, but she still does not understand what's happening. She saw the conjured crew of the Abyssal Gaze using crane equipment to move the Nightweaver's cannons across to their ship, so where is this damage coming from?

"Under attack," Whisper signs. And when Haven stares at her uncomprehendingly, she just points — across the dark, storm-tossed waters, through the drifting snow.

Towards the Kraken's ship, where its sails paint a blood-red pattern against the night.

Haven understands then, as Siggi begins barking orders to the crew and Nitha yells something about the Haste spell and a bottle. But her heart trips and stutters, one question swelling up to eclipse the rest. The details of why the Kraken betrayed them, and why now — they aren't important.

What she needs to know, so desperately that it feels like the question is carving its way out of her chest, is whether Klaus knew about it.

~

3. like a junkie tying off for the last time

Haven has cried so much in the last twenty-four hours that her eyes are sticky, her throat is parched, and she cannot breathe through her nose. Every time she thinks there are no tears left inside her, she thinks of something new the shipwreck has cost them, and her eyes well up again.

But before breakfast, before the seafloor search for their various possessions, Haven attends to the most important item that's missing — the former captain of the Abyssal Gaze.

From the unfamiliar surroundings of a cabin on the Nightweaver, she casts Sending, picturing Slark in her mind. His mottled skin, his webbed fin-like ears. The glittering diamond scars surrounding where his eyes once were, and the starry black orbs that replaced them.

The relief Haven feels when the Sending connects is like a rope snapping, tension evaporating into mist. She mumbles the words aloud as she thinks them.

"Are you okay?" she asks. "It's Haven. We couldn't find you."

The surge of distress at the memory scrambles her concentration, and she finds herself repeating, "Are you okay?"

It's all she can think to ask. If Slark's in trouble, he can tell her where he is and they can come find him. They can save him. She waits for a few seconds, then finishes with, "Love, Haven."

At least with Sending, the response is almost immediate. Slark's voice, nasal and as rapid-fire as his pistols, rings out inside her head.

"I'm okay! It seemed like things are getting pretty dangerous with you guys, so I think I'm gonna leave. Good luck with everything."

And that's it. Haven blinks a few times, lips parted in shock. It shouldn't surprise her — the day she met Slark, he told her that he was in Savnaer because, faced with a difficult conversation, he'd simply leapt off a pier and started swimming. He's even more flighty than Klaus, frequently choosing to vanish into the walls of the ship when combat erupts rather than stay and lend his gunfire to the fight. The idea that the Abyssal Gaze sinking — and therefore severing Slark's bond to the Shiplactery for good in the process — would cause Slark to panic and leave them is, unfortunately, wholly in-character for him.

It hurts anyway. Haven has known Slark for over a year, and shared a room with him for half that time. He was her first friend on Savnaer. She saved him from aliens, then debated a gatekeeper to call his soul back from beyond the Shell. They've faced Trihorn Behemoths and hyenas and aliens together, and Haven thought—

Haven thought he might have said goodbye. To her, if to nobody else. She'd thought their friendship was worth enough to him for that, at least, but it turns out she was wrong.

She's crying again, stomach muscles shuddering and shoulders shaking, but there are barely any tears to accompany the sobs. She just has nothing left to give.

~

4. like a child looking off on the horizon

The Nightweaver flees the harbor at full speed, sails snapping in the wind. Behind them, only half-visible behind the dark silhouette of the peninsula, the Disciple burns.

Haven watches from the sterncastle of the Nightweaver, clutching her Staff of Power close, because it seems like the right thing to do. Nothing else about what they've done to Bless and her crewmates felt right, and this is the best she can offer. To witness the destruction, to acknowledge it.

Haven only manages this vigil for a few moments, however, because Siggi quickly calls her over to the sails. She remembers why they came back to Farwater in the first place — they don't even have enough crew for her to remain at the railing and protect them. Setting her staff aside and shaking out her fingers, she stretches sore muscles and trips over to take her place on deck with the other Corsairs. Her arms and back haven't stopped hurting in the week and a half since the conjured crew liquefied into seawater. Keeping the Nightweaver moving requires everyone to pitch in, even pink tieflings who can barely hold a line taut without trembling.

The work is physically demanding, but only in intervals. Haven has altogether too much time to huddle on deck and be buffeted by the wind and the wet, driving rain, which combine to leave her freezing cold and even more thoroughly miserable. She can't stop replaying it all in her mind: the blue and red lanterns signaling for the Nightweaver to slow, the flurry of action to hide the illegal goods, the hasty conversation to agree on a story to tell.

They all knew why the Peaceguard was waiting at the mouth of the harbor, after all. The crew of the Nightweaver were returning to Farwater to reap the rewards of a sin they'd already committed weeks ago. They just hadn't counted on Bless and the other residents of Farwater putting the pieces together so quickly.

Haven hopes she never has to experience that awful feeling again — standing in front of Bless, drenched in sweat, stomach twisting with fear and guilt. Fever-hot tides of nausea and vertigo, piling up on top of each other and then crashing like waves on the shore. An echo of the feeling passes through her even remembering the moment, aftershocks following an earthquake, and she clenches her teeth until her jaw protests.

She couldn't lie to Bless, when the time came. Bless looked at her with those luminous green eyes and just — asked.

Haven, do you know what happened to Bessie?

Yeah, Haven said, shutting her eyes tight. I do.

At the time, Haven was solely concerned with getting Bless off the deck of the Nightweaver. Haven pleaded with her to stop, to let them leave, to stay away so Haven wouldn't have to hurt her. Yet no matter how many times Haven shoved her back onto the Disciple with Bigby's Hand, Bless kept leaping the gap and re-entering the fray, bruised and bleeding and relentless.

Haven was wholly focused on the delicate maneuver of keeping Bless alive. It would have been far easier to blow them all to hell with her magic, but that's always been true, hasn't it? Haven's an abjuration specialist for a reason — she flatly refuses to enact the indiscriminate violence that comes so easily to most wizards. Not against sentient creatures, and certainly not against someone she considered a friend. Bless was trying to die for Farwater, and Haven was just as incapable of allowing that as the day that they met.

But in that single-minded state, Haven didn't notice Nitha stealing the diamonds — or didn't realize the consequences. Haven torched the sails of the Disciple to stop pursuit, but never thought what that might mean for a port town already missing their monstrous defender.

It's far from the first time that Haven's been sideswiped by the unforeseen impact of her actions, but rarely has the impact been so widespread or so universally harmful. And she has never, not once, heard the kind of hatred that burns like wildfire through the Greater Sending that she establishes with Bless on the evening following the confrontation.

It was a mistake to befriend you, Bless says through the Sending, and I don't trust your word, or your crew.

Haven can't find the words to refute her. She isn't even sure that Bless is wrong.

We've made the decision to abandon Farwater, Bless says.

There are a thousand excuses and apologies that seethe on Haven's tongue, but in the end she shares none of them. She has already witnessed the tempered-steel strength of Bless' convictions.

What has been broken is already damaged beyond repair.

~

5. like a son that was raised without a father

Haven's conversation with Bless hurts worse than the time Haven got chewed up by giant hyenas, but when it's over, she swallows the heartache and casts Greater Sending again. She reaches out one golden thread of magic, seeking the brightest soul she's ever encountered. She holds his image in her mind's eye — his poncho from Pentibor, the shaggy mop of his hair growing too long, and that faint blush that always seems to dust his cheekbones.

Haven is seeking answers — she can rationalize Slark's abrupt departure, as painful as it has been for her, but Zeremy? He started teaching her Celestial only a few days ago, and he wants to explore the world. The garbled explanation that Nitha gave the crew on his behalf just doesn't make sense. There must be something that Haven is missing.

This conversation lasts twice as long as the one with Bless did — Haven has to burn through the entire day's reserve of her high-level magic to keep fueling the spell that connects them. And Zeremy assures her that he doesn't hate her or the crew, which should comfort her, but it doesn't.

Zeremy, formerly the Zenith of Tillnette Isle, still beloved of Vrent, cares most of all about the truth. And he tells Haven in no uncertain terms that the truth and the Corsairs are incompatible.

I realized, he says, that I had to choose between my god and my friends.

Bless' hostility has scorched Haven, has left her raw and open and stinging with humiliation. Zeremy's disapproval passes through her flesh entirely, exposing the darkest parts of her to an unflinching, unforgiving radiance. And even as she burns, Haven finds herself sick with jealousy. She wishes she possessed even a shred of Zeremy's confidence, or at least his conviction in the path forward.

What does it mean if someone that holy can't stay with this ship, despite knowing their mission and how little time is left to accomplish it? Haven has convinced herself so many times that she needs these people with her to save the world — that despite their lies and thousand little cruelties, she is stronger when she is with them. She loves her friends, even knowing how much blood is on their hands. Even when traveling with them bloodies her hands too, more vivid and indelible with every day that passes.

In the last minute that the Greater Sending grants her, Haven whispers to Zeremy her hopes for his happiness. Doubt in her own decisions mantles darkly above her like dragon wings, like thunder. There is silence in the room after the Sending, and she stares unseeingly into the corners without any expectation that the shadows will yield the solace she seeks.

She knows what she could have done differently — has scrawled it in ink-splattered words across countless pages of her notebook as some form of self-punishment, as if repetition alone can atone for her mistakes. The past cannot be altered, but that doesn't blunt the sharp edge to her sorrow, or season the bitterness that fills her mouth like blood.

Later, on the map in the captain's quarters, Haven traces a line from Coalition Cove to Tillnette Isle, from Tillnette to Veville, and from Veville to Farwater. Her fingers are shaking, but the path of destruction is all too clear. When she closes her eyes, she can see the scenes overlapping on the canvas of her eyelids.

The fleet burning in Coalition Cove, masts and sails ablaze as Peaceguard and priests lie slaughtered on the shore nearby.

An airship and its crew consumed in an explosion of blue light, all because Haven agreed to lend her magic to someone she should have known better than to trust.

A child kidnapped from Tillnette Isle, an entire community left in darkness without its sun-blessed figurehead.

The rumors of a prison break in Veville, gang violence surging and civilians caught in the deadly crossfire.

Most recently, Farwater. Families scraping together their possessions and leaving behind what they cannot carry. Bless, teeth bared and shield gleaming, leading them into the wilds of Benatia.

There is good that Haven has done — she can even call to mind some of the details, like the defeat of Xatroch in the Shadowfell and the exorcism of her brother. But right now, the rest of it eats at her with serrated teeth, and Zeremy's departure is one more loss piling up. One more crack widening in Haven's fractured heart.

The Corsairs might have kidnapped Zeremy, but it also brought him the freedom he'd only dreamed of. They gave him a new name and brought him to new continents, but it seems that wasn't enough.

Haven isn't enough.

~

6. like a mother barely keeping it together

Magical Darkness boils up from beneath the deck, and from the shadow-smothered hatch in the floor emerges a midnight-blue tiefling. Haven's first instinct is relief, but her stomach plummets a second later as she remembers Whisper's warning. She curls her fingers tighter around her Staff of Power, breathing shallowly.

Haven wishes she could be unilaterally glad to see Siggi, because it's only Haven and Whisper on deck right now — Klaus is entirely absent, in a way that actually concerns her, and after a few minutes of muffled screaming from beneath the floorboards, it seems Nitha's voice has given out entirely. Jaeldirra is working against the crew, possessed by a rabid fervency that is not their own, and Haven and Whisper by themselves may not be enough. 

The howling void that parts the stars above the ship has broken the minds of the crew as easily as it broke the Shell itself. And Haven was slow to acknowledge the spreading fissures through her own her heart, her trust, her hope in the world. But she has learned her lesson by now. So she doesn't step towards Siggi, doesn't smile. Doesn't take her eyes off of him, even as Jaeldirra gurgles something incoherent from the ocean on the starboard side of the ship.

Siggi waves one hand in a lazy gesture, banishing the Darkness, and climbs out onto the deck. His ascent is hampered by the sword in his hand, which gleams like glass and measures easily six feet long.

The sight of it confirms all of Haven's worst suspicions. She asks anyway.

"Siggi, what did you do?"

Siggi smiles, looking down at the blade. Haven's not good at reading people, but something in Siggi's expression makes her skin crawl. It's not as obviously, abhorrently wrong as Jaeldirra's current insanity, but it's terrifying nevertheless.

"I have this now," Siggi says slowly. He looks at her, his gaze curiously vacant. His tone is all vague surprise on the surface, but there's an undercurrent of satisfaction running beneath it.

"Where's Lastiar?" Haven asks. She asks it slowly, nausea already roiling in her gut because she knows the answer to this question too.

"Downstairs," Siggi says.

His reply is smooth and instantaneous — simple enough when it reveals nothing important. The cuffs of his shirt are dyed crimson, but his gait is loose and even as he strolls across the deck towards Haven. He is casual, uninjured and intact. That's what fills in the remaining details for Haven — those stains on Siggi's shirt aren't his own blood.

Even as Haven processes this, Whisper has already taken a step, placing herself between Haven and Siggi as he approaches. Whatever Whisper has already seen belowdecks was enough for her to condemn Siggi, it would appear. Haven recognizes the iron hardness in Whisper's posture — instant and unyielding protective instinct. A choice to defend. It is the way Whisper faces her enemies.

Haven looks away. Moves to the railing again, even though each step feels like wading through mud. She is so tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

Jaeldirra is swimming back towards the Nightweaver, if it can be called swimming — an odd, disconnected movement that involves flickering closer by several feet at a time, disappearing between one clumsy stroke and the next.

Whisper's hand closes on Haven's elbow. A surge of warmth, of healing and strength. Something unspoken must pass between Whisper and Siggi behind Haven's back, because Siggi speaks again.

"I love Haven," Siggi says, higher-pitched. True surprise in his voice. "I would never hurt her."

Haven curls her hand into a fist, summoning Bigby's Hand to smack Jaeldirra, and wishes she could still believe him. He hasn't attacked her yet, though, so she says, "I can stop JD. I just need someone to hold them still."

"On it," Siggi says promptly. He takes a few quick steps to the railing and dives overboard in one graceful motion. He disappears into the dark waters with barely a ripple, resurfacing only to strike out towards Jaeldirra with Presvyre, and Haven has just enough time to think — wait, isn't Jaeldirra an elf? Won't Presvyre object?

A wave submerges both of them before Haven can judge the result. She blinks and squints against the salt-spray, lifting her hand in preparation for another push with Bigby's Hand. It is only Jaeldirra who comes back up, and it sends a shock of terror twisting through her throat, so she responds with a shock of her own — golden lightning crackling out from her staff, racing across the water towards them.

It's not the first time Haven's caught Siggi in one of her Lightning Bolts — it's not even the third or fourth time — but she worries anyway as the seconds pass and there's still no sign of Siggi. He has disappeared into the depths, and she and Whisper are alone again against Jaeldirra.

Except — there's someone else behind her on the deck, dripping seawater. Haven spins around, fearing another threat, and cannot quite bring herself to relax when she meets a familiar set of lime-green eyes.

"What now?" she asks, heavy with dread.

Klaus looks down, nocking an arrow to his bowstring with slow, methodical precision. "The sky," he says after a moment, "is really scary."

Well, Haven can't argue with that. Klaus does look afraid, wild-eyed with some emotion that seems different than his usual paranoia. It is less controlled, more unsettling — but it isn't that different. He is here with Haven. He vanished, but he came back, like he always does. Haven almost smiles.

But then Klaus stiffens, staring hard at the weather-scarred boards of the deck. "They're belowdecks," he says, low and urgent. "Heading for the stairs."

Haven calls her Hand to her side. It swivels to place itself in between her and the stairs, coloring her vision in a shimmering, translucent pink. When she looks up again, Klaus is gone, but that doesn't surprise her. Hopefully he is hiding away to help her, not merely to hide, but she'll find out soon enough.

It ends like this: 

Jaeldirra slithers up the stairs and pushes through Bigby's Hand, which shouldn't be possible. Then they phase partially into Haven, which really shouldn't be possible, and tangle their grasping fingers into her hair. They force her head back, even as she gasps and struggles, and the sight of the sky above drills into her. Encompasses her. Obliterates her entire being. 

Haven gapes as the stars dance above her. Only for a few seconds, before she wrenches herself back to reality, but it is enough. Jaeldirra passes a hand through her flesh again, and Haven's knees give out.

As she crumples, she summons her Hellish Rebuke — a last act of futile desperation, because her tiefling flames have never burned very bright, but it's all she can think of. The fire is only a few flickers of gold in the darkness. Not enough. 

Her staff clanks to the deck, rolling away as she loses control of her limbs.

The last thing Haven remembers is the hiss of an arrow above her head, passing directly between the prongs of her antlers. A masterful shot, but Haven would expect nothing less.

She sinks into unconsciousness hoping Klaus can finish what she could not. 

~

7. like a soldier coming home for the first time

Haven comes to in the medical bay of the Nightweaver, splayed out on one of the cots. She keeps her eyes closed for a few minutes after she wakes, in a meager attempt to ward off the headache that has her skull in a vice grip, but eventually she acknowledges the futility of the act. She rolls over, opens her eyes, faces the world.

The world turns out to be Whisper, Nitha and Klaus at the moment. Whisper is lying motionless on the cot next to Haven, and she waits for a few trembling seconds — but yes, Whisper is still breathing. Nitha huddles on a stool in the corner, resembling nothing so much as a ragged bundle of red and white feathers. Her good eye tracks Haven as Haven sits up, but when she cracks her jaw open, only a wheezing rasp comes out. 

It takes another few moments to find Klaus — even in this small, crowded room, Haven’s attention skips right over him at first. He is making no effort to hide, but he simply blends in with the teetering piles of supplies in his corner, possibly by pure instinct. He has something in his hands that he is fiddling with, fingers moving rapidly.

“How are you feeling?” Klaus asks without looking up.

Haven considers the question for longer than it truly merits. She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes, applying grinding pressure until her vision bursts with sparkling swirls of colored light.

"My head hurts," is all that she says out loud.

It is hardly the only part of her that is wounded. Whatever Jaeldirra did to her left deep bruises that throb with pain, and they are layered over several weeks' worth of other combat injuries. Her heart keeps its unsteady rhythm in her chest, but even that is conditional, held captive by the amulet around her neck. Any other words she might say have withered in her throat, stifled by her deepening misery.

Klaus doesn't reply, though, and Nitha still cannot speak, so they sit in silence for a minute or two — just the three of them and an unconscious Whisper. Haven dredges up a flickering wisp of curiosity, some fading echo of a sense of responsibility.

“How long have I been out?” she asks.

Klaus does meet her eyes now, gaze steady. “About an hour.”

Glancing at Whisper, Haven recovers a blurry memory of Jaeldirra attacking Whisper the same way they attacked Haven. Of Whisper hitting the deck shortly before Haven did. And if the ship’s only cleric is still unconscious, then that means…

Haven swallows, hard, and forces out the next question. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Jaeldirra left. Siggi hasn’t come back. Lastiar’s dead.”

Klaus sounds so calm about it, so matter-of-fact. Even about Jaeldirra, whom Haven thought he genuinely liked. Haven buries her face in her hands again. Quite independent of her intentions, her brain whirs into motion again, churning out her usual iterative lists of options: spells to cast that might help, clarifying questions to ask, people to check up on after the immediate crises are resolved one way or another.

She doesn’t reach for her notebook, though, or a scrap of parchment. She just lets the thoughts ricochet off the inside of her battered skull, splintering into pieces and disappearing again when she does not focus on them or transcribe them as is her usual habit. She’ll reach for them later, and probably only be able to come up with half the checklist, and hate herself a little for being unable to remember.

Instead, Haven thinks: there have always been words clouding the air between herself and Jaeldirra. It is rare that Haven finds herself so frustrated by language, because it’s usually one of her greatest tools. But the slippery consonants of Undercommon continue to elude her, and she never found a way in any language to reassure Jaeldirra, despite her repeated attempts.

When the Abyssal Gaze first sets sail from Veville, even Haven could see Jaeldirra's misery. And she wanted to help, of course, if she could. They were both children of Povrunei, though Haven was raised on the sunny surface and Jaeldirra in the unforgiving depths of the Underdark. So Haven shared some of the convoluted tangle of logic and emotions she has constructed through intense consideration over the past couple years. Magic and its morality are topics she ponders frequently — which is apparently unusual behavior for a wizard, but that's not the point. 

The point, which she tried somewhat incoherently to explain to Jaeldirra, is that power on its own isn't inherently evil. That using magic to save people isn't wrong just because other people have used that same magic to cause harm. Jaeldirra listened to her explanation, watching her in thoughtful silence, but Haven doesn't think she made them feel any better.

Later, she offered to teach Jaeldirra arcane magic, which they refused — of course they did. Haven only wanted to offer another option, one that didn't require worshipping a god of deception and pain, but it was probably tactless. Another clumsy reminder of Jaeldirra's rejection from the Unwoven.

Haven's request, then, to learn Undercommon from Jaeldirra, was made as politely and unobtrusively as she could manage. She tried her hardest to adhere to to Jaeldirra's rigid curriculum and strict lecturing style — Jaeldirra, normally level-headed and almost as quiet as Whisper, was brisk and unforgiving as a teacher, right up until Haven broke down crying during one of their lessons. After several earnest apologies on both sides, the two of them reached a workable compromise. Haven was making rapid progress, too, and estimated she'd only need a few more weeks to attain reasonable fluency. She planned to have another conversation with Jaeldirra about magic, maybe in Undercommon this time, when—

The sky split open.

Something monstrous took up residence in Jaeldirra's body.

The rest of the Corsairs also descended into various levels of insanity, and Haven was left standing alone on deck, trying to stop Jaeldirra's rampage without killing them.

Haven wishes now, here in the medbay, that she had been more ruthless. The crew could have brought Jaeldirra back from death, but cannot rescue them from the all-devouring obliteration that awaits them beyond the Shell. In trying to save Jaeldirra, she has damned them to a fate that is even worse.

Despite all that time Haven spent with Jaeldirra, she never really connected with them. It was only Klaus who seemed to see the world in a way they understood, who could speak to that restless uncertainty at the core of them.

Haven chooses her third question carefully. She’s watching Klaus’ expression, but she also knows he could easily hide his emotions from her even if he did feel something.

“What do you mean by ‘left,’ exactly?”

Klaus blinks. His voice is very level when he says, “They sort of… turned into spaghetti. And went up into the sky.”

“Oh,” Haven says. “Um.”

She thinks about that — what kind of spell it might have been, and how it correlates with the rest of the strange new abilities Jaeldirra developed in the short minutes before their ascension. It explains why Klaus couldn’t stop them, at least — he can obliterate any mage that sticks around long enough to fight him, but his arrows can’t counter teleportation spells. Only Haven or Siggi can do that, and they had both already been eliminated from the fight.

“They said something about Sty’ryk,” Klaus adds, helpfully. “That they were returning to it.”

Haven scours her memory. The word doesn’t spark any kind of recognition, but maybe there’s something in her notes. Then again, since it’s probably a place or entity beyond the Shell, her chances aren’t good.

From the hammock, Nitha makes a kind of creaking noise. Her eye is wide, but her voice is still too ruined to form words. Maybe she knows more than Haven does — it will have to wait until she’s recovered from the special brand of insanity the sky awarded her.

Haven makes ready to stand up, reaching out with one hand. She hesitates.

One last question, then — an important one. “Where’s my staff?”

The silence stretches a little too long before Klaus replies. Haven’s already sinking back to the cot, strength draining from her limbs, as Klaus says, “JD took it with them. As a gift.”

She doesn’t cry. She can feel her dismay in her chest and throat, thick as smoke and sharp as broken glass, but it only gathers there, dense and aching, without breaking open or spilling out.

“I can cast Gentle Repose on Lastiar’s body,” Haven says dully, falling back on those mental lists. “And, um, I’ll Send to Siggi, I guess. To see if he’s okay.” After a moment, she glances at Klaus, then Nitha. “Are you guys okay?”

Nitha can’t answer, and settles for an eloquent shrug. Klaus looks away. There is a strange sadness in his expression, a vulnerability that looks entirely unfamiliar on him.

“I want to go home,” he says softly, “but I don’t know where home is.”

Haven doesn’t know what to say to that — she can count the number of times on one hand that she's tried to offer advice to Klaus, rather than the other way around. It is a conversation that will have to wait for later.

Instead of speaking, she unwinds what's left of her bun, yanking her wand from the tangled mess. Her hair tumbles down around her and spills across her shoulders, down her back. She stares at the wand, readjusting to the feel of its wood in her hand, and bites her lip as she fights again against the burgeoning cascade of tears.

The Staff of Power was more than a lucky find — it was a trophy she and her friends had to defend over and over again, at the cost of two of their lives. Haven only took it originally because she wanted to keep it from Ally, but it has become her most powerful tool to keep them all safe. Not that Haven's done a very good job of that, recently. But now it is gone, along with Jaeldirra, to a place Haven could not follow even with twice the power she currently wields.

Haven tries to summon up optimism from a well that is rapidly running dry. There is no way to make this latest crisis more bearable, but the rest of it — she can still try. She has to, or risk losing her mind completely.

Half of her friends might have left her, but at least most of them are still on this plane of existence. And healthy and safe, as far as she knows. Klaus is still here with the Corsairs, and not with the Kraken, despite the memories that haunt him on the Nightweaver long after the more literal ghosts have been vanquished. And at least the Corsairs recovered most of their possessions from the wreck of the Abyssal Gaze, and were able to commandeer the Nightweaver.

At least they have a ship, and some of their crew.

But as Haven looks around this small, cluttered room, it all seems like slim comfort indeed.

[sophiethewitch1]

Whispers Of You

Chapter One - Torn From Home

Warnings: Mentions of University. Kinda mean Parents. Self-hate. Yandere stuff. And cult themes for future reference.

=

You stare up at the rain behind your red umbrella, watching the drops fall in torrents. It was a cold and wet day, but you still were outside. You liked the rain, after all. It was a deafening sound, one that quietened the rest of the world. The curtain of water drips down past you, obscuring the rest of the world from view.

 A happy bark sounds beside you, and you look down with a smile.

 A giant white samoyed sits beside you, her body bigger than the umbrella's covered area. Her tail wags back and forth, and her giant pink tongue hangs out. She’s half drenched, but she’s still happy as ever. You wish you could be as stupid as her, never having to worry about anything. Her name was Soup, and she was your best (and only) friend.

 You’d bought her a few years ago, on another one of your buying sprees. Seeing as you had literally no friends, you’d thought a pet would be nice. You’d been right, and for the next few years she accompanied you everywhere. Soup was the reason you thought the phrase ‘money can’t buy happiness’ was bullshit. And also manga, anime, video games… the list goes on.

 Your gloved hand moves to ruffle her fur, and her black eyes close in pure bliss. The two of you are sitting on a small bench at the park, near the lake in your town. Living in an upper-middle class area the park was pristine and beautiful. Near you were some gorgeous purple pink hydrangeas, flourishing in the current rainy season.

 You look up at the cloudy sky again, some rain drops hitting the edge of your chin. The rain falls beside your feet, making your shoes wet. You don’t mind, ignoring the feeling. It was worth it. There was nothing better than the rain. 

 Ah well, not everything, you suppose.

 “Haahh… Soup, I wanna go home and play games…”  you say, your voice barely heard over the torrential downpour. 

 “But Mum’s home, and God-” you cut off your mumbling with a shake of your head, choosing to ignore your rampant thoughts. It was like this every Friday when she got home, and it would be like this till you finally moved out. You didn’t hate Mum, or Dad You just… weren’t good enough. You were always tired, and depressed, and stupid. University sucked, and so did everything at home. Always nagging you to do more studying. Like you even wanted a job...

 You wouldn’t be able to go home and play anything, read anything, watch anything… 

 Your eyelids sag slightly, your body growing sleepy. What time was it anyway? You pull out your phone, opening it up to the home page. 12:03. Ah, good morning dear world. Your thumb slides across the opening screen, tapping in your password with one hand as you hold the umbrella precariously. 

 You click on twitter, scrolling through post after post of mind-rotting stupidity. Some people are talking about the new Genshin update, showing off their characters with pride. You frown slightly, thinking back to the ridiculous amount of money you’d spent on said game. You had your own job, and plus the allowance from your parents, you had gotten quite a bit of cash. You just spent it on manga, anime and… the black-hole that is gacha games. And it was likely you’d be spending even more in the future.

 Another reason to disappoint your parents. You should move out.

 You wonder to yourself if you want to play right now, but decide against it, opening up another dumb gacha game on your phone. Anime boys and girls, the true ichor of your life. The hours pass by with your tapping and playing, wishing you were at home and could play on your pc where it was warm. 

 Eventually the screen before you starts to blur, and your hand sinks into your lap. Vaguely you think you shouldn’t fall asleep here, that it wasn’t safe. But it wasn’t like you’d get any sleep at home...

 Your eyelids slide shut without your consent, and you fall asleep with the rain still pattering above you.

 -

 The sun filters in through your shut eyes, and you squeeze them closed tighter. What time was it? Why hadn’t your alarm started, screaming at you to wake up? It was a Saturday though, right? Ah, but you skipped dinner last night to stay at the park. Wait, didn’t-

 Shit.

 You shoot up, head whipping around in shock. When you don’t see the park, or even your bedroom around you, your heart nearly falls out of your chest. You make a panicked whimpering noise and fall off the surface you were on and onto the cold floor beneath you. Black and white marble tiles break your fall, freaking you out even further. Nowhere in your house did you have these tiles.

 You shuffle backwards on your ass, your back eventually hitting a wall. A bookshelf falls down beside you, and you shriek. Your hands immediately slap to your mouth, and you bring up your knees in front of you, hiding in a fetal position.

 “Bark! Bark!” a familiar barking makes your head whip to the side, and you find Soup sitting beside you. You nearly weep in relief when you see her, your arms wrapping around her into a hug.

 You squeeze yourself as close as possible to her, trying to quell your rising panic. It’s hard, and you almost feel it overcome you, but eventually you let out a quiet gasp as you sink into her side, withstanding the panic attack. You listen to her rhythmic panting beside your ear for a bit longer, slowly letting your rampant heart beat settle down. 

 You curl away from Soup’s side, wide eyes staring around at the room. Were you dreaming? Had you been kidnapped? No, why would someone kidnap you and your dog. That’s insane. Plus, Soup barks when there's a bird less than three blocks away, she’d go insane if someone touched you. ...But this doesn’t feel like a dream, does it?

 “Where the fuck are we, Soup…?” her big white face simply smiles up at you in that same dog-like way, and you press your face into her fur. Once again, you desperately wished you had the ability to be as stupid as her.

 Your eyes move up again, taking in the… strange… scenery around you. You seem to be in an old European room. Littered on desks inside the room is… science... equipment? Bottles and scrolls, aligned with concoctions and tinctures that almost remind you of potions. At the back of the room by the window that is letting in the soft morning light, sits a pin-board full of papers and research notes.

 You get up from the tiled floor, letting Soap carefully down. Her paws quietly pad against the marble tiles, and you slowly move away from her. Your feet move over to the window, and you stare out it, squinting at the bright light.

 The first thing you notice is how old this place is. And then that you’d never seen it before.

 A church bell chimes in the distance as you rub your eyes in shock. The sun shines to your left, cresting over the eastern skyline. It’s gorgeous glow setting the small part of the city you see in a faint light. There’s a small mansion, city walls, various red-roofed houses and… a windmill? Something about this view sparks a memory inside you, but-

 The door behind you creaks open, and you whirl around, slamming your back against the window. Your eyes are wide open when they meet the equally shocked eyes of the man in front of you. His blond hair hangs in his face, half up and half down, but you can still see his startlingly bright aqua blue eyes.

 Your mind stutters for a moment, eyes twitching around you for a moment, desperately looking for a weapon. Eventually, you just dart forward onto your knees, hiding behind Soup.

 “She- she bites! Don- Don’t come any- any closer!” you stammer out the words, dragging you and Soup’s huge body behind one of the desks. 

 “Ah- no, wait! There’s no need to be afraid, I won’t hurt you,” the male’s voice calls out to you, and through your panic you feel a pang of recognition, but the sensation falters under your fear. 

 “I- I said stay back dammit!” you respond, hearing his footsteps clacking against the marble floor. He stops at your words, hesitating for a moment. 

 “...Okay, I’ll bring someone else here. You’ll like her I promise, just… please stay here, Your Excellency,” he says, his voice low and soothing, like you were a scared animal. You were. You totally were.

 Wait, ‘Your Excellency’? Was this guy- well, insane, obviously. You wondered what his delusions were exactly. Did he think you were a princess that he’d saved? Or maybe he was part of a cult. Fucking rich people, they had them in spades.

 You realise the mistake in falling asleep at the park. God, if you are out there, please, I’ll be smarter next time-

 “Ah! Ah! Is she here?! Can Klee really go meet her?!” a kid yells out from the doorway, and you curse under your breath. He’s got kids too? Now you couldn’t just escape with you and Soup-

 A head darts out from around your hiding spot, and for a second your world stops.

 A small girl with blond hair in two pigtails, bright red eyes and pointed ears. She wears a red hat along with a matching red dress, a feather sticking out from the right side of her head. Her smile is wide and excited.

 That’s… that’s Klee. From Genshin Impact.

 That- wait, the guy was Albedo! How did you miss that?! And how did- they looked just like you’d expected, did he use plastic surgery?! Their costumes were absolutely perfect too, looking like real leather and high quality cloth and metals. Could cosplaying fanatics turn out… like this? Was he a pervert or something?! You were so screwed…!

 The little girl in front of you gasps, her hands flying to her face.

 “Oh my gawsh! It really is you!” she darts forward, throwing her arms around your neck. This puts her right next to Soup’s face, who immediately moves forwards and starts licking the fake-Klee.

 You just stare forward, too shocked to move. 

 “What the��” brushes past your lips.

 “It’s so good to see you! Klee really missed you, you know?! Ah- we have to go fish-blasting, and treasure hunting and- and-!” the end of her words becomes a high pitched blur, and you still don’t know what’s going on.

 The pervert rounds the corner, and you immediately hug the girl to your chest, doing your best to protect her. Soup instantly notices the shift in your attitude and moves in front of you, standing guard.

 “Klee, you’re overwhelming her. Calm down,” he says, and fake-Klee nods her head, a small pout on her face.

 You stare up at the man, wondering what he wants. A soft smile sits on his face, and when his eyes meet yours, they dart away. One gloved hand moves upwards, rubbing the back of his neck. Your eyes catch on the tattoo on his chest, a golden star symbol.

 This was bad.

 Soup lets out a quiet growl, and fake-Klee whirls around in your arms. She turns to Soup with a pout on her face and says.

 “Mr. Soup! You can’t treat Albedo like that, he’s very nice!”

 You blink.

 How did she know your dog's name? Was this guy stalking you?

 You slowly move to get your feet, staring the man in the eye. He looks stiff under your gaze, uncertain what to do. What? Did the guy think you’d go along with the kidnapping and freakish dress up?

 Hell no!

 “You… are going to let me and-” your eyes dart down to the girl clinging to your arm. She gives you a bright smile, her eyes squeezing shut. She really thought she was Klee, didn’t she?

 “...Her… go. We are going to leave, or-” you start but the girl cries out.

 “What?! But you just got here! Can you please play with me? Please, please, please?!” she shouts, tugging at your arm and bouncing up and down. Your eyes dart to her ears, flopping up and down with the movement. ...Realistic, all of this feels way too realistic. Like a scene that’d happen in the game.

 You gulp down that impossibility, nodding your head slowly. 

 “...Sure, but first, I’d like to go find your parents! Doesn’t that sound nice? And you’ll let us do that, right?” You move your eyes back to the pervert, distrust shining in them. He looks at you for a moment, sighs and shakes his head, and turns.

 He moves over to one of the tables, grabbing a piece of chalk. He holds it in his hand, his cerulean gaze moving back to you for a second, and then falling back to the chalk.

 And then the chalk shifts.

 You stare in horror as the chalk stretches into the shape of a flower, the refined limestone turning into soft, weeping petals. You blink, once, twice. It doesn’t change back. He watches with quiet eyes, moving forward to you.

 Your muscles tense, and he stops for a moment, analyzing the set of your shoulders. After a second, he takes another step forward.

 His hand extends, the impossible chalk sculpture moving towards you.

 “For you, Your Excellency,” he says, and you feel your mouth open to say something. Anything. Anything would be better than the silence.

 “Ahhhh! Albedo! Gimme the flower! I wanna give it to (Y/n)!” the girl beside you whines, and you notice she says your name.

 You look back up to the pervert- Albedo’s eyes, a worried look in them. He gives you a small smile, tilting his head to the side slightly.

 You think you’re going to faint.

Next Chapter

[jtrokujo]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐇𝐘 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐎𝐗𝐈𝐂¿

paring: Mikaela Hyakuya x fem!Reader

(they’re 18+!!!)

word count: 4k

warning: this story contains sexual content

gerne: smut

summary: there are days when they get along well but there were also days when they hated each other like the plague and even though they love each other?

—

The weather is neutral, but I wish it got better.

The sun is obscured by the gray clouds, but it's not windy or anything.

You could even go out with a top.

However, y / n decided to take a seat in the four walls with a number of different books and a tall pile of books right next to them.

As she gently leafed through the pages of the somewhat older book, she felt a stab.

Of course it didn't hurt since no one was attacking her, but it felt like someone was watching her.

Without presenting her feelings, she took some books and put the rest where she got them.

Immediately after leaving the library, she stopped in the middle of the path and said with an annoyed sigh, "Bathory, I know you're here."

He stands grinning in front of y / n, but could hardly show a disappointed face.

With his head tilted to one side, he looked at his prey and smiled at her immediately. "I prefer you to call me by my first name, dear."

“I do what I want and not what you want, Bathory. Besides, I have better things to do than waste my precious time being influenced by you. "

When they told the vampire, she continued on her way, or at least intended to.

As quickly as he came, he grabbed her arm just as quickly. "But y / n, why is it in such a hurry?" asked the vampire, amused, pressing more and more on hers with every second, so slowly you could hear her bones. Y / n had to react immediately!

Without thinking for a second, she dropped all of the books on the white floor and immediately grabbed her gun. "You should let go of me!" y / n's voice rang out down the hall and immediately shot the vampire in the arm.

His blood spurted around her.

Y / n got his blood on her face as well as on her clothes - it was the same with Bathory, also the wall and especially the floor got his blood.

"Disgusting." mumbled y / n and wiped the blood on her face, although she knew herself that it would be of no use.

"What's going on here?" Everyone but not him.

"Hello Mika!" said Ferid with delight and turned to get a better look at him.

"Have you lost your nerve again?" he asked me annoyed, but he only looked at me for a few seconds and immediately saw Ferid's blood spatter.

"What do you mean 'again'?"

Even if we've known each other for a long time, we both have to admit that one and the other have diverged. Sometimes it was his fault, sometimes it was me. There were of course moments when we got along really well, but in the end they weren't enough in my opinion.

"Since you've lived with us, at least one vampire must have got something from your weapon."

Said the blond-haired vampire while his eyes stared at me.

I'm not understating when I say that his eyes alone make me feel naked.

Mika only manages to control me through his eyes, even though I should be the one who should control every vampire or the various books I spend most of my time on just one more bad joke.

It was enough for vampires to exist and more than hundreds of people took their own lives just to be able to enjoy themselves. To this day I cannot forgive any of the vampires for what they did to me or those around me. I know myself that there are bad ones, but what is their goal?

Or do you have a goal?

"Y / n." I heard his voice.

Awakened from my trance, I see his eyes again. However, they do not have this previous aura, no, they are a little stricter this time. When I gave him a sign of his attention, the lecture immediately came, "You are old enough to know how to behave and with whom to behave. If you show this behavior to someone else, I'll let that person do it . " and do what they want, because I haven't had the nerve for someone like you for a long time. So finally know your limits before I use my weapon against you! "

Impressive. From sentence to sentence his voice grew louder and louder. Seriously, I never expected or even had the idea of ​​this side of Mika in my life, but here it is. Wonderful y / n, now you have managed to sink deeply with Mika, which is actually the very last thing I ever wanted to achieve in my life, but life has never been a paradise.

With a chuckle, Bathory put his arm and my shoulders and spoke to Mika.

"But, but Mika shouldn't be so strict with her. She's just a little girl again, not even now, is she?" "If I were that little girl, you would surely have two arms instead of one." After saying my sentence, I picked up the books that were still on the floor and didn't say goodbye to anyone, why should I?

Bathory is nothing more than an idiot who uses his satisfaction to see others suffer rather than provoke them too.

While Mika nudges both children like a father, although the other is to blame for everything.

When I got to my room, I put the books on my table and sat on my bed, thinking about the old days. However, I don't think of the days with loved ones that I lost, but of those that I spent with Mika before he gave me a “better life”.

I could leave it all behind at any time and either not start an old or a new life, but I love to have him in my heart for it.

Sighing at my thoughts, I give up and stood in front of my closet for the next minute.

While the lukewarm water felt the white bathtub, my clothes landed on the floor.

This life is more of a calling expected of others than a life of its own. A break does no harm to anyone.

I said to myself and after a few seconds I closed my eyes.

After my bath or a break from the real world, I'm just choosing which book to read.

As I was about to start the new book, someone knocked on my door.

Hesitantly, I said the door was open and waited for the person behind it to appear. Please leave it all but Bathory.

Sighing, I immediately put my hand on my left breast and saw him, Mika.

To be honest, I'm happy to see him, but I'm not, but I don't need an explanation. "Good evening." he said in his usual tone. Without making a big head out of it, I repeated it myself, but added if he needed anything from me.

Shivering, I answered my question in the negative and came up to me with slow steps.

The only thing I could do was do nothing. I stopped. When our faces are a few centimeters away, his arm came slowly towards my body, until he reached for something, when he had this in his hand, he came back with a few steps and immediately held a book in my face.

"I really recommend it, I have to say, you have pretty good taste when it comes to books. I've read it several times because these stories, the writing style, the plot and most of all the characters are up to me." uniquely well written down to the smallest detail. "

I looked at the vampire in amazement. "You read that too?" "Y / n, if I hadn't read it, I wouldn't have a clue either."

A little ashamed of my oh-so-intelligent question, I also looked at the floor.

The whole time there was nothing to be heard, neither a little intoxication, nor even breathing. But after a few seconds, Mika also broke the embarrassing silence by taking a few steps and holding out his arm to me. I don't understand it about myself. When Mika is around, I either act annoyed or neutral. However, countless butterflies gather in my stomach when I think of him alone!

"Y / n ... y / n?!" Mika looked up, gave me a neutral look and at the same time held a few strands of my hair and asked me if he should tie my hair up with a towel. I gently took the wet strands of hair from his hand and began to giggle at my discomfort and nervousness. The thought of me being weird was always out of the question.

"I think I'll blow dry my hair. I'll see you at dinner or tomorrow."

"I'll see you at dinner or tomorrow." repeated Mika before she disappeared from my room.

Locked in the room and caught in his deepest thoughts, he stared over the ceiling.

The reviews of that day haunted him to this day when he also dreamed them.

Sleeping now wouldn't be for him, even though it is shortly before 2 o'clock.

But what can you do about it?

The vampire rose from the bed, stretched out, and decided to go for a walk immediately.

As he walked through the empty corridors, he always hoped not to meet anyone.

Whatever stays that way.

Bored and hands in his pockets, the floor caught his attention. It didn't take long, however, because he was amazed to get up when he saw the light coming from someone's room.

He was more than sure whose room, or rather chamber, it was.

It was Y / n's.

He stopped in front of it, thinking, held out his hand and wanted to knock on the door. At the same time he quickly put his hand in his pocket. This scenario takes about 3 minutes. But it wasn't the vampire's nervousness that was unusual, no, why should he be at y / n's door? This is funny.

Doesn't he often seem annoyed or stern in your presence?

Well, he doesn't even know what's going on in his head.

After an eternity, the vampire finally knocked on the human's door and immediately heard "Come in" from the other side.

Without telling himself twice, he opened the door and saw her. He saw her spread out on the large bed with several notes and books.

Stressed out. You can't see it from the outside, but even Mika can confess that he thinks it is strange to see y / n at this time.

"Do you need something?" she asked him and fixed him with her gaze.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping long ago?" he asked and at the same time crossed his arms over his chest.

"Mika, I could ask you that too, don't you think?" sigh y / n and slowly start piling up her notes and books together.

When Mika offered her help, she politely declined and slowly and carefully put the things on her desk.

"If you have nothing special to do, you can always keep me company, you know?"

Yes, even if there is an argument between the two, they still get along well. However, they don't seem to be as close as they used to be. Without saying anything, Mika accepted the offer and sat next to y / n.

Was that really wise?

The smell of y / n gets over his head, but he's not as easy to lose control as other vampires.

Breathing hard, Mika rubbed her eyes and hoped that this unbearable smell would go away any moment.

Easier said than done.

If only I had drunk blood in the last few days. The vampire cursed.

Y / n noticed his unusual behavior and tried to communicate with him, but to no avail. She called his name several times, tapped him on the shoulder, and shook him a little. He seems trapped in his own world. For the first time she seemed to see someone so trapped in his own world. When will he regain his senses?

Annoyed, she hit his skull with her fist, which led to a groan of pain from Mika's mouth. "What does this mean?!"

“If you are tired, please go to your room and sleep there.

Both rolled their eyes in annoyance.

"You have nothing to say to me, human."

"Oh really? What are you going to do about it, vampire?" It wasn't a mistake by y / n, but rather Mika's mistake. If he hadn't called her a human, she wouldn't have called him a vampire. Nobody except Mika knows right now how much he hates vampires and yet he is one himself, but you have to remember that he never wanted to be one. Not everyone is lucky in life.

As I said, even if it was his own fault that she reminded him, he completely lost his nerve. Slowly she approached y / n, she already felt the dark aura coming towards her. However, y / n did not want to show the fear that is in her and slowly rising above her head. She will regret it. "Repeat when you have the pity." "What is the problem? You called me human and I called you a vampire, but you know what makes me be silly, get out of here, vampire. ”Without further ulterior motives, Mika grabbed her wrist and squeezed the bones with her hand listened from print to print. When she wanted to reach for her gun, which is under her top, Mika was a second faster and threw it directly to the end of the room. When Mika immediately released his hand from Y / n's wrist, she saw an emotion in his eyes, sadness.

He was hurt, but shouldn't he care? What should a little person who plays with little guns do against a vampire, ask him about a game? However, he saw her more as a person, he saw her as someone he can love, with whom he can laugh, of course he had had these people before in his life, but they have long since disappeared. Oh how much he loves her.

If only she knew how many letters he wrote her, but never gave them to her, but hid them in his room.

"I'm really stupid." Mika muttered trembling to herself. Y / n heard it and slowly walked up to him "Mika, that was very childish of me and, to be honest, I'm sorry." When she tried to touch his shoulder, he knocked her away and looked into her eyes, it was their fault.

“I don't want your decisions! I never wanted to be a vampire! If you don't know anything about me, please be quiet and think twice before you open your door! ”The whole room went quiet, pretty quiet. It was rather uncomfortably quiet for y / n, but she preferred to keep her mouth shut because it looked like Mika was looking for the right words. "Why do I love you? Tell me Y / N, how can I love you when you hate me so much?" His voice was fragile and it was tormented to hear it that way. "Mika, I had never hated you before." Exhausted, Mika sat down on the floor and looked at the gun at the other end of the room. "Every time I see a gun like that, I hate myself even more." “Even if it sounds a bit clichéd, for example because of the current situation, I have to and want to admit that I love you Mika. You are in such pain and apparently you have torn old wounds. You didn't deserve that, nobody deserved that. ”Y / n sat like Mika on the floor and hugged him. Her warm body against his cold one. As if in slow motion, their faces stood a few inches apart until their lips met.

𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏

With my hands on the back of his neck and my tongue seeking his, his fingertips dance from my thigh under my top.

Only he managed to make me shiver everywhere in a few seconds with the help of his touch. Not through his ice-cold skin, no, only through him. In keeping with the mood, the cold raindrops hit my window pane. "Waiting." he whispered to me.

Not a second later it was pitch black in my room. The butterflies in my stomach just like Mika don't know when to stop, but I love it, never let it stop! His lips kissed every inch of my skin and whispered to me how divine my body was. His hands slide up my top until it finally brushes over my head. The first item of clothing is already on the floor. My legs were around his waist so he could pick me up and lay me on my bed. When he did that, his lips were still on my skin.

As I lay down comfortably, I watched his clothes land piece by piece on the floor. His belly is built like that of a Greek god and although it is dark the moon shines on him. One could have immediately thought it was a godsend. The boxer shorts were the only items of clothing that remained. While I was about to take off my pants, Mika took my hands and indicated that he could do it himself. When my pants peeled off my skin, he looked at my legs in admiration and immediately threw my pants on the floor. Now stand half-naked in front of my bed. The red cheeks on his cheeks were clearly visible. "Are we really supposed to pull this off?" I asked Mika and looked him in the eye. His lips approached my ear and he breathed softly, "Y / n, the question is not, we should, but we can. A human and a vampire, is that a good chemistry?"

"Why don't we want to find out?" I whispered and kissed his shoulder in time. Now he looked at me again, but with clearly red cheeks you could have thought he had a fever, but I can't blame him, because even when his ice-cold body is on top of mine, my body manages to have a hot temperature.

As our tongues played with each other again, our hands explored each other's bodies. While one hand pinches my buttocks, the other is right on my bra clasp.

Moaning slightly, I also pinched his buttocks and felt my muscles tense. A low gasp left his delicate lips, which made me even weaker. My temperature rises more and more with each of his touches.

I can not stand it anymore!

He knows very well that he has the upper hand!

When my bra, like the rest of the clothes, landed on the floor, his ice-cold hands brushed my arms up to my hips and brushed the last piece of clothing across the floor.

I was breathing hard down in my zone.

His hands were on each thigh so I couldn't pinch my legs together. Apart from the horniness, I could hardly move my legs because of his strength, you can not say that he is so strong. The horniness in me is going like crazy! With every breath Mika takes against my area, the butterflies in my stomach fly crazier.

When his tongue brushed my cervix for less than a second, I let out a gasp. Immediately afterwards he pressed his tongue against it and danced with it at the same time. That I'm getting wetter is not only clear to me, but also to Mika, when he was his tongue in my entrance, she explored every single inch inside.

Overwhelmed by shame and lust, I pressed one hand against my mouth so as not to make a noise from you, and the other on his white-blonde hair.

Every time his tongue penetrated deeper and he spread my thighs wider and wider, it honestly hurt, but I don't care about that at the moment because as good as he makes me feel no one is going to do it and I want it too nobody does it because I just want them. Because I just want Mika.

When I thought it couldn't get better, I was wrong. When he started sucking, I was done. My lustful moans got louder every time I sucked, but I do my best that nobody but Mika can hear it. When he freed his tongue from the entrance again, he stuck his middle and ring finger in the next second and didn't give me a second to get used to it. The speed of his fingers is unique!

No matter how much I press my hand against my mouth, my moans stay louder.

Several times his name groaned, which only drove him to increase the speed. My orgasm is nourishing. When I groaned and said I was about to be there, he didn't stop but continued. His tongue dances on my cervix and his fingers successfully hit the G-spot every time, it's just breathtaking!

When my orgasm came, I screamed his name with relish and breathed heavily as I stared at the ceiling.

His beautiful face approached mine, but he devoted his lips to my ears and whispered, "A second round won't hurt you." Aren't my trembling legs enough for him? In the middle of the kiss, I slowly felt his member inside me, but my nails clawed behind his back in pain, we continued the kiss. Now it was Mika who groaned in the middle of the kiss. He closed his eyes and kissed my chest as his hips began to dance. Is it still normal for him to make me feel this way? Because on the one hand I can no longer, on the other hand I want more! Mika's one hand is on my thigh while the other is on my chest. The way he plays sensitive nipples is superb.

I don't know how he makes me feel so good, but I want him to never stop. "Mika, don't stop." I moaned in his ear and wrapped my legs around his waist. When he saw me, I didn't know how to feel. Because his eyes are blood red! He slowly approached my neck. That cold breath worried me even more. He didn't bite me, however, but instead scratched his designated spot with his fangs as the blood flowed from the wound, so it propelled him and made him much faster than before. The clap of our skin was just as loud as the satisfying moans from our mouths. "Y / n." he groaned my name and immediately turned me around. Now my back was visible to him. With both hands on our hips, our bodies clapped together. When I moaned his name one last time, the orgasm came, Mika pulled his member out of me and rubbed it with his hand until finally the white sperm speared out of his body.

𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏

After Mika helped me cleanse my body, we are back in bed naked. "Do you think we can do it?" Mika asked out of nowhere. “I don't think so, I know, Mika. And I think you should too. "The vampire looked at me lovingly and finally kissed me on the lips and immediately afterwards whispered" Good night, y / n. " "Good night, Mika."

[shadowsong26x]

So, I have seen variations on this take several times over the past few days:

Image description: a tumblr post from a user whose handle has been obscured with a red block. the post says: “anne rice has been in the ground for nine whole months and they’ve already got louis and lestat rawdogging on tv did they greenlight that the second her heart stopped or what”

There is nothing particularly Special about this post, it just happens to be the most recent one I’ve seen. And they all sort of have the same theme: “The TV show is Super Gay, Anne Rice must be rolling in her grave.”

And I’m like.

“How to tell me you’ve never read the books without telling me you’ve never read the books.”

Look, Anne Rice had an extremely contentious relationship with fandom for a lot of reasons. I’m not in any way denying that, although I’m not going to get into all of that here because it’s off-topic. The point is, queerness was not really one of those issues.

Admittedly, I haven’t actually seen the show yet--I don’t have AMC+ and I need to catch up on Andor first anyway--but I have read the books an embarrassing number of times; I’ve seen both movies ((for the purposes of this post I am going to acknowledge the existence of QotD)); I have bootlegs of both the San Francisco and New York versions of the stage musical.

So you can believe me when I tell you that the books have always been super queer.

And, honestly, some of Anne Rice’s other work has been, too--Cry to Heaven, which came out in 1982, between when Interview with the Vampire and The Vampire Lestat, heavily features an MLM relationship ((there are some. Very Necessary trigger warnings for Cry to Heaven, which I am happy to share if you’re interested; I actually think it’s one of her better works)).

Also, the musical I mentioned above came out in 2005/2006, which was while Anne Rice had decided to stop writing about monsters and erotica and monster erotica and write about Jesus instead (I read the first Jesus book. It was...I have very little memory of it other than a general impression that her writing style for a 10-year-old POV character was. A Choice). Anyway, the stage version pretty explicitly frames Louis and Lestat’s relationship as a marriage; Lestat’s relationship with Nicki is just as clear and present; the Foe Yay with Armand is arguably ramped up compared to the books. How much involvement she had with that show is a little unclear, but she never attempted to disavow it or anything; there are interviews with her from the Broadway opening night, etc.

The only place where the queerness of this series is really downplayed are the two film adaptations. The IwtV film, while otherwise excellent, definitely has that problem, but Tom Cruise was involved in some of that decision-making. The QotD film straight-up cuts Nicki and Louis (among other Problems), and I have no idea of the behind-the-scenes factors there.

There’s also the fact that one of the things AR was doing with the IwtV novel was processing the death of one of her children; Louis and Lestat are essentially stand-ins for her and her husband (I forget which is which).

Not to mention everything with Armand and Daniel. And Armand and Louis going off together for like thirty years at the end of IwtV. (Also Armand and Marius, but that is. Uh. Problematic; most of the relationships Armand has in his memoir/titular book are but the details about his relationship with Marius are. Something Else.)

Also, if you look at the last few books that she wrote--which she was working on while the TV show was in the early development stages--they are pretty overt. I’ve only read the first two, and it’s been a while since I have but two things I remember are:

I definitely recall a conversation with Louis and Lestat that is basically framed as marriage vows.

Gabrielle has a girlfriend (I want to say Pandora?) in Atlantis.

Also, as a note, Lestat is pretty explicitly a bi disaster/disaster bi in the books. Even leaving aside his relationship with Gabrielle (which was also cut from the QotD movie but for Much More Understandable Reasons); there’s references to him sleeping with women before being turned, and in Tale of the Body Thief he has a brief relationship with a human woman while he’s human. Louis’ sexuality is a little more ambiguous; apart from a retconned backstory giving him a dead wife, he only really has two prominent relationships with women. One of them is Claudia, and the other actively put a spell on him. Armand is a Mess for many reasons. Marius has relationships with both men and women as well.

((Tangential but somewhat relevant--there’s an intersex vampire in Blackwood Farm; she generally uses female pronouns IIRC and, like Marius, dates back to the Roman Empire.))

Quotes from some of the books are below the cut because they have always been queer and I am citing my goddamn sources. (I own all the core books, but I only grabbed the ones Lestat narrates because I was looking for a specific quote about his bisexuality and I’m too lazy to go back to the bookshelves and get the others; suffice to say there would be Many from The Vampire Armand; and quite a few from Interview, at the very least.

The Vampire Lestat [published 1985]

My beloved Louis [...] Of course I hated him for the lies he told about me. But the love was far greater than the hate. He had shared the dark and romantic years of the nineteenth century with me, he was my companion as no other immortal had ever been. And I ached to write my story for him. [pg. 16]

“Ah, you are a dreamer!” [Nicki] said, but he was delighted. He was beyond handsome when he smiled. [...] He reached out and put his arm around my neck and kissed me. We almost upset the table we were so blissfully drunk. “My lord, the wolfkiller,” he whispered. [pg. 48-49]

I was still sitting there, too unsure of myself to say anything, when Nicolas kissed me. “Let’s go to bed,” he said softly. [pg. 75]

Carefully I opened my eyes and looked at him again. All his natural gifts were there in a blaze of light: the delicate but strong limbs, large sober brown eyes, and his mouth that for all the irony and sarcasm that could come out of it was childlike and ready to be kissed. [pg. 128]

Heartbreakingly innocent [Armand] seemed in the midst of the crowd. Yet I saw crypts when I looked at him, and I heard the beat of the kettledrums. I saw torchlit fields where I had never been, heard vague incantations, felt the heat of raging fires on my face. And they didn’t come out of him, these visions. Rather I drew them on my own. Yet never had Nicolas, mortal or immortal, been so alluring. Never had Gabrielle held me so in thrall. Dear God, this is love. This is desire. And all my past amours have been but the shadow of this. And it seemed in a murmuring pulse of thought he gave me to know that I had been very foolish to think it would not be so. Who can love us, you and I, as we can love each other, he whispered and it seemed his lips actually moved. [pg. 275]

By the time I left Italy I was playing dangerous little games with mortals. I’d see a man, or a woman--a human being who looked perfect to me spiritually--and I would follow the human about. Maybe for a week I’d do this, then a month, sometimes even longer than that. I’d fall in love with the being. I’d imagine friendship, conversation, intimacy that we could never have. [pg. 337]

Shortly after reaching the colony, I fell fatally in love with Louis, a young dark-haired bourgeois planter, graceful of speech and fastidious of manner, who seemed in his cynicism and self-destructiveness the very twin of Nicolas. He had Nicki’s grim intensity, his rebelliousness, his tortured capacity to believe and not to believe, and finally to despair. Yet Louis gained a hold over me far more powerful than Nicolas ever had. Even in his cruelest moments, Louis touched the tenderness in me, seducing me with his staggering dependence, his infatuation with my every gesture and every spoken word. [...] But I loved him, plain and simple. And it was out of the desperation to keep him, to bind him closer to me at the most precarious of moments, that I committed the most selfish and impulsive act of my entire life among the living dead. [pgs. 497-498]

“Is this an offer, Louis? Have you come back to me, as lovers say?” His eyes darkened and he looked away from me. “I’m not mocking you, Louis,” I said. “You’ve come back to me, Lestat,” he said. [pg. 531]

Queen of the Damned [published 1988]

But to continue with the review--the concert was a success. I had my moment of triumph before fifteen thousand screaming mortal fans; and two of my greatest immortal loves were there with me--Gabrielle and Louis--my fledglings, my paramours, from whom I’d been separated for too many dark years. [pg. 5]

Honestly, the entirety of ‘The Story of Daniel, the Devil’s Minion’ [pgs. 73 - 118], but a specific notable quote:

[A]t other times, he burned for Armand as if for an elixir without which he could not go on. The dark energy that had fired him for four years was now missing. He dreamed Armand was near him; he awoke weeping stupidly. Then the morning would come and he would be sad but calm. Then Armand had returned. [...] He’d come silently out of the shadows into the moonlight, a young boy in dirty jeans and a worn denim jacket, and he had slipped his arm around Daniel and gently kissed Daniel’s face. [...] They had entered the dark, low-ceilinged rooms, the press of Armand’s arm against Daniel’s back oddly comforting. Ah, yes, this intimacy, because that’s what it is, isn’t it? You, my secret... Secret lover. Yes. [pgs. 91-92]

[to avoid getting sidetracked by the Issues with Armand and Marius’s relationship, I haven’t included a quote that revolves around them, but it’s on pgs. 273-275]

“No,” I said. I wished I could speak of it, all the things that were in the book. “You know, we were lovers, she and I, so surely as a mortal man and woman ever were. “Of course, I know,” [Louis] said. I smiled. I kissed him suddenly, thrilled in the warmth of him, the soft pliant feel of his near human skin. [...] There was so much I wanted to say to him, to ask him. Yet I couldn’t find the words really, or a way to begin. He had always had so many questions; and now he had his answers, more answers perhaps than he could ever have wanted; and what had this done to his soul? Stupidly I stared at him. How perfect he seemed to me as he stood there waiting with such kindness and such patience. And then, like a fool, I came out with it. “Do you love me now?” I asked. He smiled; oh, it was excruciating to see his face soften and brighten simultaneously when he smiled. “Yes,” he said.

I can keep looking, but it’s late and I’m sick of skimming; I might come back and update this post to add more later. For one thing, I remember a quote that I’d really wanted to cite--I couldn’t find it; I think it’s in Tale of the Body Thief--where Lestat says something along the lines of “I’ve fallen in love with men more often than women, because until recently, the women I met just weren’t very interesting.”

But the point of all this--the quotes, the rambling--is that, no, Anne Rice is not turning over in her grave over the queerness of the new TV series. The movies downplayed/cut the subtext, the first largely due to Tom Cruise, the second for reasons I can’t really fathom. The books have always been super queer. The stage musical acknowledged this and leaned into it. Other Anne Rice novels also prominently feature queer characters.

...and yeah, posts saying otherwise make me mad. There are plenty of reasons to take issue with Anne Rice, with her writing, with her relationship with fandom, and so on. But this isn’t one of them. And I can’t quite articulate why this bothers me, but...it does. A Lot. And so here we are, one very long post later, with all the proof I can muster in a couple hours on a Thursday night.

Because Lestat has been a bisexual disaster from the start. And claiming he isn’t is just. Vexing.

[stillness-in-green]

I'm still of the belief that Tsu would have made for a better 'rival/counterpart' to Spinner than Shoji, but I'm glad he's gonna get some of that lovely screentime.

A belated enough answer that I have to wonder if you still feel the same, @shockersalvage.  XD  Tsuyu, though…  Man, I wonder what happened with her.  Like, she ranked on the first few character polls, and it’s not like she’s fallen into complete obscurity since, but it feels like after Kamino, she’s just had nothing to do.  Appearances during school activities, of course, the requisite showing vs. Edgy Deku, but as far as the overarching plot goes, the best she’s been able to do is piggyback on Uraraka’s ongoing plot with Toga, and even there, she’s always showing up halfway through, never around from the start

I wonder if, rather than foiling Spinner in some fashion, she’d be better served to actually be an equal player in the Uraraka/Toga drama.  Specifically, one of the problems Uraraka and Toga have is that Toga is just so bad at communicating her feelings in a way Uraraka can grasp, so even though Toga made a real good faith effort to open her heart for Uraraka, Uraraka just got indignant and angry about what sounded to her like claims of unrepentant violence.

Tsuyu, by contrast, is far more level-headed(1) and has, via her middle school friend Habuko, considerable prior experience with someone who acted creepy and predatory and was really bad at communicating, but who ultimately just wanted to be friends.  Tsuyu’s emotional intuition was totally on the mark, helped along, I don’t doubt, by an impressive ability to remain calm, rational and observant under pressure.  I wonder how Toga’s plot would be looking right now if she’d gone to Tsuyu to ask her question about what these young heroes wanted to do with her?

As to Tsuyu’s actual place in the story, she feels like Hori had a strong idea for her first major plot (being the Lawful voice in the room after the training camp), but, unfortunately for her, that Lawful voice means she’s just very ill-suited to carrying much plot in a genre that deals as much in Trusting Your Gut And Fighting For What’s Right as Shonen Jump battle comics.  And anyway, there’s not much point in having a voice that advocates strongly for Following The Rules when your main character will ultimately prove so disinclined to challenge authority.

But, those are just my thoughts on Tsuyu and her current rather reduced presence.  I admit I draw a bit of a blank on foiling her with Spinner because I don’t think she and Shouji are hugely different, personality-wise, so I don’t know how much difference it would make, save utilizing a character who’s been more prominent in the story up to this point.  She has a less traumatic backstory, for sure, but it’s not like we knew about the extent of Shouji’s horrific childhood back when this ask was originally sent (and sorry again for the delay in answering)!

That said, I’m curious, shockersalvage, what you would do with her to foil her with Spinner!  Tell me about your BNHA AU where they’re written as proper foils from the start!

---

1:  I got an anon ask about this back in March and it's still true: the two most level-headed people in the class are both heteromorphs, and it's entirely possible that that's no coincidence. If anything, it's been made more explicit than ever with Shouji's recent explanation that he wears the mask because he already knows what kinds of conclusions people will jump to if they see his scars.

[piecksz]

starstruck | (m)

pairings: rockstar!eren yeager x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, penetrative sex, fingering, creampie, roughness, drug use, explicit language

words: 4.4k+

summary: you and your friend decide to sneak backstage at your band’s favorite concert and the vip treatment you recieve is more than you bargained for.

inspired by 

a/n: you know the drill :p obey (with YUNGBLUD) by bring me the horizon it’s literally not a sexy song so don’t go in listening to it expectin to get horny LMAOO it’s just the kind of sound i imagined eren’s band to have, but it was sexy to me bc the image of rockstar eren tormented me the entire time i wrote this 

“I can’t believe I agreed to this. This is fucking crazy.” Your friend’s voice was a fidgety whisper behind you. Her face’s close proximity to the back of your neck had her heavy expiration fanning over your nape every time she opened her mouth to reprimand herself for allowing you to beguile her into illegal trespassing.

“You’re fucking crazy,” she whispered again, tugging the leather sleeve of your jacket with a pesky grip.

You shrugged her touch off of your arm and took a brief glimpse over your shoulder to offer her a sour look. “Can you be quiet? You freaking out is making us look suspicious.” You whisked your head back around, peering around the corner of the vacant merch tent.

“No, us creeping around to sneak onto a fucking tour bus is making us look suspicious,” she retorted.

The corner of your mouth tightened at your friend’s concern and you lifted your hand to give her a dismissive wave. You were astounded when she had originally agreed to your brazen proposal, although it took minutes of incessant pleading for her to actually give in. Her veiled reluctance surfaced the minute you two had separated from the concert’s crowd at the end of the show and snuck around the stage to the back of the venue. What began as her unease and quiet suggestions that maybe your idea wasn’t so smart, intensified into irritating nagging. You gave her the option to turn around and wait for you back at the car, but as your companion, she sighed and remarked that something so stupid couldn’t be done alone.

“I see it,” you said eagerly and with a proud grin. The vehicle was stationed a decent distance from where the two of you had been standing, but you measured the stretch with your eyes and figured that if you walked quickly enough, you’d be able to make it on without being caught.

“How do we even know they’re on it?” Your friend craned her head past yours to get a better view of what you saw.

“We don’t. I’m just guessing.”

“Oh great, that’s exactly the answer I wanted.” She released a tense and quiet laugh before retreating back behind the screen of the tent.

You surveyed the security guards as they patrolled back and forth along the premises, waiting until the coast was clear. Once you noticed an opening, you forcefully grabbed your friend’s wrist, ignoring her silent grunt of protest, and pulled her along. She stumbled into your stride and peered over at you, doing her best to follow your quick feet while mirroring your nonchalant guise.

Closer and closer, the two of you neared the tour bus until it had to have been only yards away. You tried to remain composed through your excitement, making sure you didn’t break your character. No fucking way your plan had actually gone off without a hitch, it almost seemed too easy.

“Hey!”

You kept walking. Maybe the exclamation wasn’t for you, but once the holler was thrown again, your body went rigid, and the tempo of your steps slowed until you stopped in your tracks. The adrenaline that commanded your legs had been substituted for lead and it kept your feet pinned to the ground. You couldn’t even run.

“Hey, you two aren’t supposed to be back here.”

You blinked once, long and hard, before pivoting on your heel. You watched, mortified, as a burly security guard started in your direction and got closer until he loomed over you both with a threatening advantage in height.

He looked even angrier now that you could see the way his thick eyebrows creased together and created a ripple of lines above them that disappeared into a bald head. His hefty arms were crossed against his chest while he glowered down at you two, waiting to hear a story. You could tell your excuse wouldn’t matter though, it was obvious he wasn’t in the mood for jocular conversation.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, we were looking for the bathroom,” you explained, clasping your hands together and feigning an apologetic smile. You turned your head from side to side, looking around innocently to sell your lie, and then looked back up at the guard with a nervous laugh. “And I guess it’s not here.”

Your friend shook her head and said nothing, but you were certain she was drawing up a creative speech in her head, wondering how she would tell you that she “told you so” this time.

“Nice try.” The guard curled his lip angrily. “Come on.” He reached out a thick hand and wrapped it around your bicep while grabbing the back of your friend’s shirt with a crude yank. Your eyes went wide at his hostile grip and you jerked your arm, trying to free yourself of his hold.

“Hey, whoa!” His grip only tightened. “We can walk ourselves!”

The guard forced you two forward, prompting you to walk so he could escort you off the grounds.

“What’s going on?”

You looked up and your writhing ceased. Instead, heat flushed your cheeks and you stood dazed. It didn’t take long before you recognized the owner of the voice because, naturally, you would have been able to recognize him from a mile away, but luckily you didn’t have to. He was right in front of you.

It was Eren, the lead singer and guitarist of the band you had been screaming your heart out to not even an hour ago. He was your favorite member, meaning you’d watched countless interviews and had several pictures of him saved on your phone, but nothing could have prepared you for what he looked like up close. His long brown hair looked like it was still damp with sweat, a sign of his showmanship on stage, and it framed his face in careless wisps and fell loosely past his shoulders. His torso was unclad, showing the dark inkings that adorned his biceps and stretched all the way up his shoulders until they met at the detailed design of wings in the middle of his chest. Dark ripped jeans sat loosely, just below his hips, and teased a peek at deep v-lines that ran underneath the top of his waistband.

You fought off the urge to drop to your knees and pray for how sinfully hot he looked.  

Trailing behind him were his bandmates, Armin and Jean, the band’s other guitarists, and Connie, the band’s drummer. You had never seen such an attractive circle of friends where you would have been satisfied taking any of them, and although you avowed to your friend that Connie was hers since she favored him, you absolutely would’ve allowed him to do whatever he wanted to you.

“Caught these two trying to sneak onto the tour bus.” The security guard thrusted you two ahead with an unsatisfied huff, and you shot him a glare.

Eren’s attention dropped from the security guard’s face and drifted over to your friend first before settling on you, eyes sweeping over your face and falling at half-mast. He arched an eyebrow then averted his gaze from your chest.

“It’s cool, let them go.”

“Are you sure?” The security guard’s grip on you loosened, and you pulled out of his hold the minute you felt him unhand you.

Eren shrugged. “Yeah. They can hang.” He quickly dismissed the security guard and casually sauntered past you before disappearing onto their bus.

You glanced over at your friend who looked like she was still in the process of trying to grasp the situation evolving in front of her.

“What kind of assholes turn away fans?” Jean teased, giving you a warm smile before he lifted his half-empty water bottle to his lips.

Connie switched his drum sticks to one hand and slipped them behind his back into his pocket.  “You guys are fans, right? You’re not trying to steal a couple of used water bottles to sell online are you?”

You took a lengthy pause and waited for your friend to answer, giving her an opportunity to converse with him, but she said nothing. She just rocked back and forth on her feet, staring at the ground timidly to avoid looking Connie in the eye.

“No,” you answered for her. “I mean yes, we’re fans. Big fans. No to trying to sell your DNA.”

Your response earned a chuckle from Armin and a hearty laugh from Connie while he nodded in approval. “Alright.” He tilted his head in the direction of the bus as though encouraging you two on.

You watched as the rest of the members filed inside, and then your friend seized your hand frantically.

“Holy shit. Y/N, holy shit!” She squealed, and you snorted at her sudden ability to talk once again. “You saw him right? You saw him.” It didn’t take much detail for you to gather that she was gushing about Connie.  

“Did you even see him? Your head was down the whole time, you didn’t say a single word to him.”

Your friend’s animated face slackened into a placid expression. “I didn’t trust myself. If I opened my mouth I would have asked him to put me in a headlock.” She exhaled. “Jesus Christ, those arms.” Your goading smile stretched into an amused grin, and you shook your head at your friend’s hysterical behavior.

The inside of the tour bus was much larger than you would have deduced from its seemingly modest exterior. Its floors were dark and polished wood that matched the ceiling, both surfaces lined with subdued yellow light. Aside from the sizable kitchen to your right, large leather couches sat on either side of the lounge area, and stretching to the bus’ rear were dimly lit bunk beds that were half-obscured by a dark curtain.

“Holy shit, this is a house on wheels,” your friend breathed, mouth agape.

“Well we’re on the road most of the time, so it might as well be,” Armin answered, throwing himself into one of the sofas with a labored sigh. He threw his head back in exhaustion and brought his arms up to rest against the top of the couch. “We never caught your names by the way.”

Both you and your friend introduced yourselves, forgoing a proper introduction from the band’s members. You evidently already knew who they were.

Armin smiled. “Nice to meet you guys.”

Jean shuffled through, handing you and your friend a water bottle, which you accepted with much appreciation. You hadn’t taken heed of how thirsty you’d been, and you hadn’t had anything to drink since the concert had started. Even while you swooned in the crowd between sweaty bodies, dehydration threatening to ruin your fun, you’d refused to pay $4 for a beverage.

“Make yourselves at home.” He threw another bottle to Armin.

“Oh no, we’re not planning on staying that long.” Your friend laughed, clutching onto her drink so tightly that the plastic squeaked in her grip.

You nudged her in the ribs with an assertive elbow and said her name quietly through clenched teeth, barely audible enough for the two of you to hear. She looked at you with uncertainty, and you gave her a forced grin.

“Don’t be rude. They said we should make ourselves at home.” You obliged to Jean’s invite, taking a seat in one of the leather cushions.

The situation you were in was a rare opportunity, the type of opportunity you’d only heard from other people, the type of opportunity you’d read fanfiction about in your early adolescence. If anyone told you that you’d be living such an opportunity, you weren’t sure if you’d really believe them, but had you declined to appease your friend’s irrational concern, you knew you’d regret it for years.

“Did you guys enjoy the show?” Connie leaned against the wall of the bus and wedged a rolled stick of paper between his pursed lips. He brought a hand-held lighter to the end of the stick, sparking it a few times with his thumb before a small flame engulfed the thin paper and thick smoke billowed from its tip. It only took a moment before the pungent, herbal stench of marijuana invaded the inside of the tour bus.

“Of course, you guys are amazing.” You nodded, perching yourself up in your seat and clapping your hands together excitedly. “We’ve been trying to see you guys in concert for a long time now.”

Eren fell into the seat beside you, and your body tensed up almost instantly. You’d managed to feign calmness from your first encounter because it had been easy to masquerade your nervousness from a distance, but now that he was even closer, surely he could have heard your heart palpitating against your ribcage. Its beating grew even quicker once Eren sat back and slid his arm behind you to lay it atop the backrest.

“Yeah?” His voice was languid. “What’s your favorite song?”

“That’s a hard question,” you chuckled, suddenly becoming very interested in the sleeves of your jacket. “I seriously don’t know if I can pick just one.” It hadn’t been a hard question at all, but you simply couldn’t think through the smell of his faded cologne and the feeling of his naked chest up against the side of your arm.

“That’s cool,” Eren smiled, but responded plainly. “You smoke?”

Your eyes drifted up to see Eren offering you a partially-burnt joint in between two fingers. He inhaled deeply from his hit and exhaled, a thick white cloud rolling past his lips.

You hadn’t smoked before, and you weren’t an avid consumer of weed. One edible at a party had you manic until your friends had to calm you down in a separate room and reassure you that you weren’t dying, but you still accepted it hesitantly. You brought it to your lips and took a deep draw before erupting into a fit of coughs.

“Easy,” Eren laughed, and his warm hand rubbed the nape of your neck soothingly. He took the joint from your hands and held it towards Armin.

Your chest and throat heaved with the searing sensation of a foreign substance, and your body racked with an incessant wheeze until it was sure it had expelled all of the stuff. Eren beside you thought it was the funniest thing.

“So you guys in college?” Connie asked, this time directing his question to your friend since you clearly couldn’t respond.

She nodded quickly, still avoiding making eye contact with him. He must have noticed and thought it was endearing because the corner of his mouth quirked upward into a knowing smirk.

“Sick,” Eren remarked. “I dropped out of college, but you guys should stay in school, seriously.”

“Don’t worry I have no plans to drop out and become a musician,” you rasped once your coughing subsided.

He paused for a moment and then looked at you. “What about a boyfriend?” His eyes drank you in from bottom to top until he met your clueless stare.

“Do I have a boyfriend?” You blinked, and then the tip of your ears went up in an uncomfortable heat that spread over the side of your face until your skin was aflame with realization. “No.”

“That’s good.” Eren studied you from behind heavy lids and he lingered on your lips, his own spreading into a suggestive grin. “So it’s cool if I do this?”

He leaned in and affixed his lips at the curve of where your jaw met your ear. His mouth was hot and the kiss was wet against your feverish skin. He planted another one lower, against the hollow dip where your neck curved, and then he bent the arm resting behind your head, using his hand to turn your face toward him so that when he tilted himself forward again, he could kiss you without interference. His lips were soft and slow as they commanded your mouth to follow his rhythm, and you withheld a desperate and excited whimper once Eren slipped a seductive tongue past your teeth.

He relaxed another hand on your leg, rubbing slow circles into the top of your thigh while edging closer and closer to the top of your waistband. Once his leisure fingers skimmed over your pants’ button, he skillfully undid the first hole before moving on to your zipper. You made a small sound of protest and pulled back in embarrassment.

“In front of your bandmates?” you questioned in a breathy whisper.

Eren shrugged, looking unfazed. “They don’t care. Nothing they haven’t seen before.”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. He was a goddamn celebrity for crying out loud, had you really thought you were the first girl he brought onto the bus to fuck? And he’d done it in front of his bandmates? You shifted uncomfortably, looking to Armin, Jean, and Connie who were now occupied with showing your friend pictures they’d been sent from professional photographers after past shows.  

“I don’t know,” you admitted timidly.

Eren rolled his head to the side, visibly bothered by your response. He glanced over to his bandmates and swept through his locks with a lazy hand. “Hey, why don’t you guys go show her the stage set before they pack up?”

Your friend looked away from the laptop they were gathered around and over her shoulder. “But—.”

Eren’s fingers trailed up and down the side of your neck, clearly eager to resume your previous matters. Were you really about to pass up this chance?

You gave your friend a reassuring thumbs up alongside Eren’s suggestion. “I’ll come find you later.”

It almost seemed like Eren sent his bandmates an unspoken cue, because Connie quickly chimed in before your friend had another turn to object. “Yeah. It’s okay, we’ll take care of you.�� He wrapped a tattooed arm around your friend’s shoulder and gave her a friendly shake.

You could almost see the rise and fall of her chest cease, and you actually grew worried for her. It looked like she had nearly died and came back to life, but her stunned face melted into a flustered smile and she laughed sheepishly. “Okay.”

Connie nodded and gave Eren a two finger salute before escorting your friend off the bus with Jean and Armin following closely behind.

Once the door to the bus closed Eren shifted his attention back to you.

“There. Problem solved.” His green eyes had darkened and clouded over with desire again. “You feel better?”

“I guess,” you murmured.

You didn’t get a second chance to speak because Eren’s lips coupled to yours once more, and his hands continued against your zipper before he slipped his fingers into your underwear. He brought two fingers to your slit, skimming lightly over the delicate skin before sliding his middle finger between your folds to part them.

You released a sharp gasp against Eren’s mouth as you felt the cold metal of his rings against your cunt, but he made no efforts to pull away. The earthy taste of marijuana on his tongue caused your head to swim and you began to feel the drug’s intoxicant effects yourself. Your limbs grew heavier as you lay slack against Eren’s body while the sensation of his soft strokes against your tender clit had you whimpering against his lips.

He dipped his finger down to your body’s orifice, sliding it into your hole to glaze the digit with your arousal.

“God, you’re so tight.” Eren’s voice was deep as he pulled away from your mouth and both of you looked down to watch the way he worked you. “I want you around my cock.”

Your hips jerked involuntarily against his hand with the mention of his desire, and he brought his touch back up to your clit, using your essence as lubrication. The bus was quiet except for the symphony of Eren’s husky pants and your lewd whines as he slowly quickened the pace when he felt your body begin to tremble against his.

“Fuck, Eren—,” you mewled. You hadn’t even given thought to how unusual his name sounded coming out of your mouth. Eren, the singer and lead guitarist of your favorite band had his fingers inside of your pants, and here you were moaning his name. “Oh fuck—.”

Your orgasm intensified quickly after its onset, you hadn’t even realized you were climaxing until your body was convulsing and your fingers were digging into Eren’s biceps.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—Eren—,” you cried.

“That’s it,” Eren cooed. “Atta girl.”

His fingers continued working against your clit until you wrapped a sweaty hand around his wrist, a silent plea for him to stop before he sent you into overstimulation.

He hummed in amusement and heeded your request before pulling his hands out of your underwear. Now he worked his hands against his own belt, unfastening the buckle before pushing his jeans down with his briefs in one swift and eager motion. His cock was half-hard and continued growing rigid after he took himself in his hand and began pumping his throbbing length.  

You watched in wonderment as his palm worked painfully slow against his thick shaft, and pearls of precum gathered at his tip before dribbling down his swollen head. Your own dirty fantasies where you’d tried to envision how big Eren was hardly did him justice.

You rose to your feet, kicking off your shoes with haste, and stepped out of your pants. You shrugged off your jacket as well, realizing how uncomfortably sticky your sweaty arms felt against the leather material.

“Come here,” Eren hummed, and released his cock. He held his hands out for you to take, and he pulled you onto his lap. He supported your waist until your knees were mounted on either side of his thighs, and you pulled your underwear to the side, allowing his pulsating tip to prod your entrance.

“You gonna show me how well you ride?” he asked, thumbs rubbing circles into your hips.

You nodded, resting your hands on his shoulders and undulating your wet folds against his cock. You released a desperate whimper every time he nudged your clit.

“Yeah? Show me.”

Eren watched as you slipped him in, and what started as a whine deepened into an obscene cry while you felt him stretch your walls out. You eased down until you sat at the base of his cock and he’d filled you to the hilt.

You dug your teeth into your lower lip, waiting to adjust to his girth before you slowly started moving up and down. Eren’s shallow breathing encouraged you while you lifted yourself up and then back down, each time releasing an agonizing sob.

“Good girl.” Eren’s large hands traveled up from your waist and rested on your chest. “Just like that.” He loosely cupped his hands over your clothed chest, adoring the way your quickening pace caused your breasts began to jounce underneath your shirt, but your ache to feel his touch everywhere along your skin became uncontrollable.

Your fingers curled around the hem of your top and you quickly slipped the material off, tossing it onto the couch beside you. You did the same with your bra, too impatient to fumble around with the pesky hooks.

Eren grinned lazily, before resting his palms against your breasts and giving them a small jiggle. He leaned forward, lolling his tongue out, and flicked its tip against the hardening bead of your nipple. He looked up at you with half-lidded eyes and smiled at the way you murmured his name before rolling his thumb over the wet skin.

“So fucking hot,” Eren praised. He gave your other breast a brisk slap, watching it shake with the impact, and then he took you in his mouth. He sucked hungrily before taking your nipple between his teeth and tugged on it.

You continued bouncing on Eren’s cock before he released a guttural groan and threw his head back. “Fuck, don’t stop.” The tattoos along his sweaty chest expanded with each uneven breath. “I’m gonna cum.”

Eren’s hands traveled down to your ass, and black-painted nails dug into your skin while he directed you up and down. You rolled your hips against him until you felt his cock jerk inside you, and then he was filling you up.

Eren unloaded himself into you and your walls fluttered around his quivering length. His balls spasmed, making sure he’d jettisoned every drop of thick, white cum. He pulled his cock out before your knees gave way and you collapsed next to him. Your pussy clenched around nothing, still adjusting to Eren’s absence, and you felt his release leak out of your hole.

You heaved, eyes strung tightly, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You had to have been dreaming. You kept your eyes closed, fearing that you’d wake, but they fluttered open instinctively when you felt Eren’s weight lift from beside you.

“Where are you going?” You watched as he tugged his pants up and fastened his buckle before shuffling around the bus looking for something. Jesus Christ, just how much stamina did this guy have?

“Your friend’s probably wondering what’s taking you so long,” Eren replied, disappearing behind the curtain leading to the bedroom in the back of the bus.

Your hand flew to your forehead and you sat up, feeling guilty that you had completely forgotten your friend. Knowing her, she was probably worrying herself sick wondering what Eren had possibly done to you. You started retrieving your clothes and getting dressed, but you paused momentarily, calling out to wherever Eren had been on the bus.

“I should give you my number.” You stuck a leg into your pants. “You know, just to keep in touch.” You stuck your other leg in and hopped around, pulling your pants up.

Eren reappeared from behind the curtain, tugging on a fitted black t-shirt. “Don’t worry about that.”

You popped your head out from under your shirt and reached for your jacket. You laughed lightly and gave him a confused look.

“Safety and shit. We can’t give our personal information out to just anyone.” He gave you a pitiful smile, but you could tell it was more for you than for him.

“Oh,” you responded quietly.

Eren seemed unconcerned with the guidelines he was given, as though he didn’t care much about whether he even remembered your name once they were on the road again.

“Don’t look so sad babe. You’re lucky.” He tilted his head toward you and raised his eyebrows. “Not everyone gets to fuck a rockstar.”

[starshipsofstarlord]

Okay rockstars, settle down

rockstar!bucky barnes x assistant!reader x rockstar!loki laufeyson / masterlist

summary; having previously worked for loki, it causes a heat to burn within bucky’s already accumulated hate towards the musician / warnings; threesome, smut, mxf and mxm sex, mentions of sex with other characters, oral sex (male and female receiving), creampie, unprotected sex, double penetration, degradation, swearing, orgasm denial, cum eating

“Can’t believe you worked for that wanker.” Snarked Bucky as an image of the well known, musically spread, and acoustically acclaimed, Loki Laufeyson was shown on the screen of the dressing room television, as the other artist stretched his clothing bare arms across the back of the couch. “Come here sweet cheeks.”

At his command, you dismissed the paper work for a moment, trailing over and straddling the inked hunk’s chain belted lap, digging your manicured set of nails into his shoulders, as you seated yourself over his crotch. “I’m happy I work for you now Buck, you treat me so good.”

Punctuating your words, you pressed your teeth into your bottom lip, giving it the appearance of being more plump, as you batted your dark eyelashes up at your employer. “I do, don’t I?” He rhetorically asked, skimming his fingers across the length of your arms, before moving them to sloppily cup your jaw, ensuring that you would not look away from his wild and dilated pupils. “Tell me what I do better than the lead singer of the god of mischief.”

At his words, a small yet peaceful contortion of uncomfortableness split a skin grafted line through the centre of your forehead, stating that you had no wish to do so. And thus, as punishment for your self aversive silence, Barnes braced his knuckles into your skin, causing you to keen out, and tap his shoulders in verification for surrender.

In turn, you lowered your hands, dragging the tips of your nails, absentmindedly running them down the expanse of his waxed chest, conveniently passing the silver hoops that were attached to his nipples on the trail to a less dominant ground. “I prefer the way that your songs have a heavier bass and-“

“Uh uh uh, not the music. Think of something that has you, let’s say, screaming, but definitely not in a crowd. Though, we may have to try that one sometime; show the world how hungry you are to assist me.”

“You, James Bucky Barnes,” he loosened his grip to your relief, which lead to you hugging in spite, “are the best fuck I have ever endured. Loki has nothing on you, he deems himself a god of the arts, but he doesn’t see how you paint me so perfectly with your cum, nor how you bend my body to your whim, as though I am a tool in the midst of your creations, useful, but disposable.”

“I like the sound of that doll. Disposable, now that really does you make you sound like my personal cum dump.”

“That’s was certainly interesting to listen to...”that voice had your body jolting in shock, and it appeared that Bucky too was surprised by the presence, though, he steadied his well versed hands on your hips, claiming you to the intimate spot.

“What the fuck are you doing in my dressing room you greasy haired weasel?” Bucky sneered, his nose turning up at the sight alone of his competition in the lyrical world. Loki, he had graced you with his presence, and you had to look away; he admittedly looked good.

His shirt was open chested, leaving you with the memorable impression of all the times that you had left crescent marks upon that particular surface, a few times you had even drawn blood, but that had only fuelled his mission to fuck you into a propeller of urgency.

“Our new album Laufey has just been released, I can confirm my dear, you shoulda stayed around and knelt in our success. The records are certainly going to have more sales than what was it called again? Ah yes, the red star. I could tell it was about this one, so much passion, a sultry tune, that did little to justify what it means to be with her.”

Loki’s hands waved around as he spoke, and you could only picture the past whence he penetrated your with those long and talented fingers of his. He had drawn orgasm after orgasm out of you, resulting you to be nothing more than a withering mess, as he digressed the option to simply stop. There was nothing simple about him, nor the time that he demanded that he shared you with his brother.

That thought alone had you mindlessly grinding upon Bucky’s covered cock, plucking at your lip with the keys of your teeth, though Bucky’s voice brought you back to reality, causing you to pause your movements embarrassingly, venting a clear out of your head to process the situation that was before you. The two were bickering like two teenage girls, and it was quite exhausting to listen to.

“Answer the question trickster, else I’ll have you fed to the infamous black panther, and let’s just say that he is the best bodyguard I have ever hired. So, are you going to speak, or will I have you dragged out of here like a damned serpent with a noose around its neck?” Bucky threatened, gritting his teeth together, his nose straining in frustration, drawing more attention to the small stud on the right side of his nose.

“Looks like she needs me Barnes, perhaps your reputation does not proceed you. But to answer in full, my band have made quite the rise, and I thought it would be... fitting to pay you a visit. Though I had no idea that this wonderful woman would be here, pining on your lap like some feline in heat. I see she’s fucking you now, after all my suspicions are never wrong. Or we’ll, Heimdall’s train of thought always ends up at the right station.”

“Can the pair of you stop, for one goddamn minute!” Your hands obscured a path into your hair, as you glared back and forth between the pair of rival rockstars. “I am here, dammit! Stop talking about me as though I am not here, a part of me wishes that I wasn’t so I didn’t have to listen to your bitching.”

Without any thought, you clambered from your perch on Bucky’s lap, walking towards the raven haired gentleman, pointing your finger in his face as you accused him. “You’ve got your point across, but I’ll tell you something. If you don’t leave, Heimdall will see me putting my foot up your ass.”

“Does she speak to you like this Barnes? I thought she had loosened up in more ways than one when I allowed Thor to stretch her cunt, but it appears that that mouth of hers has gotten a little out of hand also. You should do something about that, or else you’ll lose her to someone else like a did. Who knows, could be Romanoff, heard she has a thing for brats.”

Natasha Romanoff, a diverse woman in her ways and songs. She was the queen of the rock culture, tormenting her workers with her verbal abuse and it would undoubtedly be no different for her assistant. If you were to be under her employment, it was certain that you would not get out alive, nor work for another talented person for the rest of your life. To cross her, was a vow to sign your own death certificate, it was plain stupidity, yet people still hustled with her and her limits, resulting in their chances of ever getting hired for any job, vastly slim to none.

At the lack of defence that Bucky provided you, you felt small, your shoulders slacked as you were tortured with Loki’s cold and silky gaze, more so when the man stood up, pressing his bare chest against your back. You could feel the rings that hung off the buds that adorned his chest coil and dig into your back, shrouding your demeanour substantially.

A part of you wanted nothing more than for Bucky to abuse Loki’s face with his fist, specifically the right, since it was the bearer to a chunky silver ring. It’d leave quite the print, however, the unexpected unravelled as his enquiring tone was aimed not at you, but Loki instead.

“You let your brother fuck her, hmm. Maybe she should learn her manners by being shared, that way her retrospective spattering of bullshit may be contained, to a limit of course.” It was unbelievably, you could not believe that Bucky was conferring with the enemy! And not only that, they were talking about experiences of having you literally become speechless from their unprofessional administrations upon your body. “I’d get T’Challa in here, but I know she’s already fucked him. Can’t quite fire him for it though, because who could ever say no to those pretty eyes, and that mouth, god, it is definitely one of her most persuasive attributes.”

“Bu-“ you didn’t even get to finish imploring his name off your lips, about to defend yourself and your previous actions, though, you were interrupted, starved from the opportunity of coming up with an explanation.

“No.” Loki told you, the roles now reversed as he was the one with his index finger aimed at you. He tapped your nose with it, as he began to pace in the room, his wild locks remaining in their place as he spun, before facing Bucky, a sly tranquility of a truce veining out from the pools of his evergreen orbs. “You don’t speak a word to me y/n, not whilst I’m having a conversation with James here.”

James. It was too far a polite way for him to address your boss. They were all hot and ready to tear out each other’s throats a moment ago, and now here they were, having a silent conversation without your inclusion. It had you reeling your mind as to why, until Bucky gathered your hair in his hand to the side, sliding you y/h/c locks over your shoulder, and finally deemed it acceptable for you to hear his voice.

Though, he still was not directing his tensive words in your direction. “Since you had dealt with this subordinate behaviour from her, perhaps you’d like to join us; help me train her to become more...” His breath fanned your the top of your ear, making your skin crawl by not only his warm and inviting breath, but also the offer that he had supposed to the other man.

“Obedient?” Loki asked in turn of his wispy ended offer of optimism, his leather, sharp tipped boots taking a prominent, heart clenching step towards you. He reached his finger out, grasping a loose strand that had fallen out of Bucky’s grip and before your face, tugging lightly on it, as his lips came dangerously close to your own. “Rules aren’t your forfeit, are they my dear? The best assistant I ever hired, with all those unique ideas floating around in that independent head of yours, but you’ve always been troublesome. I remember the time that you bit my cock that day you had attitude. I reckon Bucky here could do a better job.”

“Then why doesn’t he?” You hissed as said man tugged on his handful of your hair, instantly making you regret your phrase in the moment. To a halting surprise however, Bucky released you, lightly shoving you to cause you to fumble forwards, and away from him.

“Maybe I will.” He dared, earning a nod from Loki, whom seductively began to unzip his loose trousers, as Bucky descended to the ground, his hands running up his rival’s thighs, as the material dropped around Loki’s ankles. It would seem, that he had gone commando, and as Bucky grasped Loki’s shaft, you felt a pull in your chest inherently demanding that you play some part in this fornication.

“Wait.” Your hand shot out, as though you had some force to stop them from continuing with their war path to exact all of their developed spit onto you. “What about me?” You were ss

“Oh no doll, you are not pulling any strings here, if you wanna do something useful, come here and warm my cock, you can watch me blow your old associate.” A slither of a whimper fell from your lips, it wasn’t exactly what you were prying towards, but you sure as hell were not going to refuse the contact that Bucky was obliged to give you.

Thus you wandered towards him, your pinkies curling around one another, as you sashayed to the ground beside him, watching as he paid Loki no mind for a moment, ruthlessly in a desperation fuelled motion, unbuckled his thick belt, and shoved the material of his leather trousers to be held accountable against his lower thighs, just above his tense knees.

He too, as their exteriors supposed, had forgone the extra layer that kept his cock tucked away, though it was exposed as he tugged those tight trousers down, and the sight of both his and Loki’s cocks bobbing in the same vicinity had you close to quivering.

It was somewhat of a dream portrayed in the viscous space of reality, the two men half undressed in then proximity of yourself, it was something that you had always imagined, even before you had left Loki’s side, and opted to work for Bucky, but the idea was definitely short lived. They hated each other, but apparently they were willing to put all their issues aside to prohibit you from freely running your mouth.

Bucky’s cock twitched as he patted his own thigh, ordering you without the aid of his voice to commence it as a servant’s throne, or in your case, a stool for you to rest on as he tended to intimate needs of the man that you had once worked for. Finally, with the decision of better judgement, you allowed your grey jumper dress to slide down your body, leaving you nude, and the aspect of the two men’s unforgiving and locked gazes.

“No underwear, and you wonder why your men have no difficulty in her allowing them to fuck her.” Bucky took ahold of his cock, squeezing his cock with one hand, whilst his other aided you in sitting on his muscular legs, as he lightly growled up at the opposing rockstar.

From the stiff grip that Bucky affirmed around his sceptre, Loki gasped, his pale lips instantly shutting once the sound wantonly abandoned him. The last thing that he wanted was for Bucky to see him in vulnerable poise, though with that said, it’d be rather difficult considering the smutty circumstances.

Bucky took Loki’s long, alabaster prick into his mouth, starting from the primrose tip and descending down, reciprocating the action that you did yourself as you sheathed yourself onto his cock, but instead with his lips. A grunt rendered along Loki’s length as the man bit back a whimper, the vibrations running through his veins like a transpiring pulse of sorcery.

Bucky opted for bobbing his head, as you endured the liberation of his very slightly gyrating movement inside of you. Though, despite him being almost completely still and leaving you full to the brim with his thick length, his balls resting against the partition where he was delved into you, you remained transfixed.

The motion image, recording first hand through your own eyes, of him blowing Loki was sinful, but you were drawn to it. If that made you a sinner, one endorsed by the graphic scene, licking your lips from the sight of Bucky running his studded tongue up the length of Loki, dipping the ball of silver metal into his slit, then so be it.

Your heart raced as you were met with an opportunity. A globe of saliva, strung by the lapping muscle of Bucky’s tongue dropped down; you practically saw its fall in slow motion. It was done before you could register your actions, you had leant forwards, catching the trickle of spit in your mouth, thinking not for a moment as you gulped the subjective liquid down.

Bucky’s pace increased, he gagged lightly as he jolted him further down his throat. Loki hummed, harshly grabbing Bucky’s dark brunette locks, biting his lip as he reimagined your little catch. It had him feeling close, and just as he was about to finish, precum furiously pooling out of his tip, Bucky pulled back, a smirk marking his features.

“You’re not cumming in my mouth, I don’t mind sucking dick, nor swallowing, but I have to practically listen to you jizz over your own talent, and prowl over my girl.” The name he labelled you with had your heart fluttering, but not nearly as much as when he lightly pulled out of you, infuriating you with the lack of any pleasurable esteem. “Don’t you worry babes, you can finish with me inside of you, like always.”

That used to be him, Loki thought with a brewing rage in his chest. Though he instead shrugged out of his dull patterned striped shirt that was already loose on his shoulders. The fabric hit the floor, leaving all of you barren to the subject of nudity.

“Always doesn’t suppose the past Barnes.” Loki stated, referring to all the various times that he had found refuge in your spongey walls, you willingly clenching around him, and pleading for him to hit a deeper spot within you. “And I do not prowl, I don’t need to. The evidence is there between her legs, coiling in juices surrounding her ever so willing folds, that are prepared to endure the harshest of penetrations.”

“What are you trying to do, write a fucking song about this?” Scoffed Bucky, rolling his crystallised orbs at the guts that this man had. If he so much as wanted to, he could stop this passage into a three way all together, but he did not, at least he had yet to. He was enjoying the way that you were squirming to yourself, thinking that he didn’t notice, squeezing the sides of your thighs together in an aroused matrimony.

“A fucking song would’ve the correct term - literally.” Was the affirmed words of Loki, as he shoved Bucky to be sat beside you, tilting his messy brush of crazed hair, his untrustworthy eyes drifting to you. “Who’d you want to fuck you, you fangirling slut?”

It was truthfully a difficult decision. “Both.” You admitted, your bones jumping as Bucky pinched one of your erect nipples, continuing to hold a sturdy clasp of his pads around the sensitive flesh; you couldn’t jut choose one of them. Not when they were both in such close range, bore in nothing more than their birthdays suits, talking about your quivering and diversely accepting cunt.

They knew that you couldn’t possibly refuse one or the other. You were vastly too hungry to be filled like you had never been before, shagged by two of three most well known artists in the industry, earnestly and mindlessly earning yourself a title within the circle of uptight yet simultaneously chill performers.

Perhaps, if Bucky we to ever potentially fire you, there would be another pursuer for your articulating talents on standby, awaiting for the moment that you walked out of his complex door to swoop you up as though they were a predatory falcon, flying off into a stationed sunset, those around seeing you as nothing more than a shadow of the ambient orb, but the one who had employed you finding you to be a sufficing inspiration.

Large hands swallows your hips, firmly controlling their angle as they grasped you in their strong, almost super human hold, lifting you so that you were tentatively tucked in a reverse cowgirl position on Bucky’s lap. It was the third time that you had been this close to him, it would almost be intimate, if your legs weren’t strewn in an open, all revealing splay, so that Loki could see your boss tease his tip around your entrance before sliding you down his length, extracting a strong wail from your churning throat.

Your own hand resented down, applying swirls of pressure down on your clit; it appeared that they were willing you to continue without interruption. Bucky lightly, despite the power that he was promoted to in this position, began to bounce you on his shaft, spewing small mewls out from your agape mouth.

Fisting his cock, Loki approached, Bucky reachin this seen hands down to spread te lips of your pussy, so that the other man was guaranteed a crude glimpse of you being stufffed. Though, you weren’t quite filled enough, for Bucky raised a brow and prompted Loki to allow himself to be pulled closer by your axed and whining aura.

He brushed his tip languidly against your buzzing clit, dragging through your slick and jab i at your delicate fingers before probing at the base of Bucky’s cock, and pushing inside, right along his rival’s length, the pair moaning out in a pleasured union. On the other and, you had tears falling from the crescents of your eyes, the stretch so much that it was a blistering pain to your cunt.

“Don’t go all meek dear, you and i both know this is far from the first instance where you’ve had more than one cock in this nasty, betraying cunt of yours.” Loki taunted, gripping the vulnerable expanse of your throat from behind, his icy glazed skin sending provocative shivers down your spine, making your pussy pulse from the chill that ran through your body.

And then, i a split instant, both cocks began to piston into your walls, as though you were nothing more than a rag doll, meant o be thrown around and handled in a disorderly fashion. They ere ruthless, groaning out symphonies in the cursive air around you, as your walls engulfed their pricks more than snugly.

You felt so wide down there, they were taking a pirating toll on your body stealing every breath that dared wither from your lips, tweezing their nimble fingered around various parts of your body, all in due retrospect or coerce you into fucking them back, making all actions in the mass of bodies a mutual effort.

Loki lowered his head down meeting Bucky for a sloppy, brash kiss. It was clear they were simply doing that part to fulfil a greedy desire in your stomach, but you were not one that minded. It was, like the rest of their frenzy of collaborations, a competitive mess. They nipped harshly at each other’s lips, ravenously all in the meanwhile ploughing your body with their har girths.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” Your tongue dribbled, earning satisfied, lust induced smirks from both parties that were currently penetrating you, making you writhe harder against their lengths a new flow of moisture weeping out from your hole, lubricating their movements further, it encouraging them to do nothing more than continue what they were doing, despite their better judgements.

The truth was, they were rockstars. They had no better judgement, which is why everyone like them needed someone like you. Their thought were clouded with one mission, and for once in their spent lifetimes, it was not to beat the others, at least not to a certain extent anyways. It was their assignment, delivered by their own hands, to bring you to the edge, and that’s physically what they reformed to do.

One of them were groping your nipples, whilst the other confined the same treatment to your ass cheeks. Loki found your Rocky enables of positive feedback to be icicles and they were beautiful, he stared at them, as though they were divine ploys extracted from the mythical kingdom of Jotunheim, their residence in the realm to be the peacemakers of all bountiful creatures, much like himself and Barnes.

A rich euphoric groan exuberated from Bucky as he allowed himself to spoil, but he tutted whence he watched Loki’s features suppose that he was to follow shortly behind. “Not inside of her.” Bucky growled, sufficing Loki to roll his eyes, and pull out, the man behind you furiously replacing your hand, rolling our clit in his grasp until a sinful scream enveloped the air, commencing them all to the fact that you had just came.

Loki found the show to be unfair, and instead, spilled his priceless seed onto the huffing skin of your stomach, you eyes fluttered shut at the warm feeling pooling onto you. You leant back, drawing your neck into a crooked angle as you swiped your tongue wordlessly over the piercing on Bucky’s right nipple, metal providing a relief to the heat that your body was and had been swarmed with. “ Last chance you’re gonna have t taste her sweet cunt.”

“You do certainly have some faith in this one Barnes, but I do doubt that it will be the last instance in which i am todo so.” His silver tongue pried at your cum soaked flesh, drinking up all the essence that you had to offer, onshore the flavour that Bucky had brought to the table, i the form of a succulent drizzling of Snow White cum.

As Loki finishes swabbing his tongue over your cunt, Bucky adoringly kisses you, much sweeter than he has before. It was sort, and almost chaste, but his blue eyes roamed your face, delicately observing the high points of your face, that were covered with a sheen of great force making you as he would put it, glow.

The pair of you weer exhausted, there was still some swollen was to his lips from where he had sucked off Loki. His hands cradled you around your waist, his feet kicking Loki back as you whimpered from opaque sensitivity. “I guess that was you bidding me a dew.” Sneered the trickster, fishing for his clothes, as he spared you a spark filled glare, to which you ignored.

Once he was situated back into his attire, he left the sex scented room,a hollow smirk chapping his lips as he strutted th a purpose out into the hallway, taking a left instead of a right, and creeping into barnes’ studio to see what the man was working on in the midst of his enduring tour/ He was always the trickster, and nothing different was to ever be expected out of him.

“That was good.” You mumbled, rubbing your ode lovingly across the scruff that coated his jaw. His fingers made small circles upon your tummy, humming contently as he remained sheathed inside of you. He had to admit, he preferred it when it was just him, but his lonesome, sheathed within your walls, feeling the small trembles of your walls around him. It was practically heaven, and he would say so if he believed in such a place.

A deliberate knock ruined the moment, as the man entered,he quarrelled with himself where her to casually look in the direction of the pair of you or to avert his sight around, and blankly at the all. “What is it T’Challa?” Grumbled the man inside of you, quirking a thin brow at the timing of his presence.

“Loki; he managed to get into ur data, and he’s leaked a whole bunch of your music.” Of course, Loki would not come here to simply gloat, there was alas something extra up his green sleeve, and now it was revealed.

“Son of a bitch!” Bucky made a move to stand, but instead prohibited a whimper out of you as hi ships jutted angrily tip on instinct. “Get Odin on the phone, we’re going to have a little chat about his slippery hands son!” Barked Bucky, prepared t do anything to bring his greatest threat down, compiling him into the put of hate industry, until he was forgotten about, unable to ever produce new music again.

“Talk to Sif.” You whispered, becoming the image of his assistant once more, even if his cum lathered cock was prevailing within a rut of required stress relief, growing in the conjunction of your wall with his body guard there. “She loathes him, and rightfully so. He got her kicked out and she has dirt on him that nobody else has ever heard. If you want to take I’m down, she is your in.”

The strict tone grammatically supported by your logical information was definitely turning Bucky on again. He could handle you more than fine without Loki’s aid, he was just a means to an end, as it was clearly shown in his priorities.