#art looks a bit off cause its glazed!

[crowingoverthis]

Resent very fun pokemon trainer coмм i got the honour to draw! ✨Comm info on Artistree OR Vgen!✨

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Rift - Chapter One

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: Chapter is T, overall fic is E (18+ only, explicit smut)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Unrequited crushes, yearning, questionable science

Summary: Two weeks after the Rift appears, Marcus Pike and the Art Crimes team have been inundated by black market artifacts, and Marcus is more than happy to use this as an excuse to get closer to the curator who is helping them identify the items. Meanwhile, the perpetrators enlist a supervillain to cause a blackout around the Rift in order to steal even more. Hopefully that doesn't cause anything bad to happen!

A/N: We're building toward something big! One thing that I am doing in this fic, for my sanity and for yours, is identify the POV character whenever it changes. I don't usually do this, preferring to rely on narrative, but when three of your characters share the same name, this gets complicated.

Masterlist | Prologue | Next Chapter>>

(Pike)

Marcus Pike takes the steps to the National Gallery of Art two at a time. At the top, he catches his reflection in one of the large font windows and pauses to attempt to flatten his windswept hair before dashing through the revolving doors. He flashes a smile–and his badge–at the security guard, who recognizes him and nods. Rather than funnel through the ticketing counter with the rest of the guests, Marcus instead ducks through a door labeled ‘MUSEUM STAFF ONLY,’ hops down the stairs–three at a time, this time–and opens another door to the curation department, making a beeline for the now-familiar office.

“I’ve got another one for you,” he announces breathlessly, forgetting to knock.

The occupant startles, sending a novelty coffee mug full of pens and highlighters scattering across the floor. 

“Marcus,” you hiss, pressing one hand over your pounding heart. “Oh my God, you can’t keep doing that!”

“Sorry,” he grimaces. “I, uh, guess I got a little excited.”

“Two thousand year-old artifacts will do that to a man, I guess.” You take in his heaving chest, askew tie, and mussed hair. “Did you… run here?”

Marcus feels heat flush to his cheeks, and he grins sheepishly. Oh, if only he could say that it’s 

not just the startlingly well-preserved bronze comb now sitting in the evidence locker right next to the carefully cataloged Roman coins, ceramic glazed urn, ceremonial dagger, and a scroll of papyrus, all in pristine condition. No, it’s not just the flood of bizarre artifacts suddenly entering the black market that has Marcus’s heart pumping with excitement.

It’s the far-too-cute-for-her-own-good Museum Curator at the National Gallery of Art that has been indispensable in these cases, identifying and verifying the authenticity of each new artifact recovered by him and his team.

“Like you said, ancient artifacts really get the blood flowing,” Marcus grins, daring to chance a wink in your direction. “I dunno if you can really call them ‘artifacts,’ though. Or even ‘ancient.’ Weird times we’re in, right now.”

His thoughts drift to the Rift again–common knowledge, not just in DC but throughout the entire globe now, still less than a month into its existence. Heavily guarded, of course, and entrance is strictly prohibited. Hell, even loitering in the vicinity of the Rift earned Marcus a stern telling-off that even his FBI credentials couldn’t override. He couldn’t get the sight of it out of his mind, though. It was as though the empty space around the Rift simply… broke. Like the universe as he knew it was, and then suddenly was not in the space of around ten feet wide. He tried to look through the hole, through the bit that ‘was not,’ but it was like looking through warped glass. The air itself bent and swirled, and through it he swore he could hear the sound of hooves on cobblestone, snippets of language he had read his fair share of in graduate school but had never heard spoken aloud.

“So you uh… want me to come take a look?” you ask, sounding almost shy.

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

“I’m not running, though, so don’t even try.”

Marcus laughs joyfully. He can’t seem to stop smiling whenever he’s lucky enough to be in your presence, and of late, that means he’s smiling a lot. 

“Walking sounds perfect,” he agrees. “Plus, that was enough cardio for me for the whole week, I think.”

You grin back, and Marcus wonders if you can feel the electricity that seems to descend whenever the two of you banter, or if it’s only him that’s affected. Sounds about right, he muses ruefully to himself. You old sap. Still, the silence stretches out just a beat too long, and it sends his imagination whirling. Coffee dates, long walks through the city, cozy drinks on his sofa oh shit how do you even ask someone out in the age of Tinder–

“Lead the way, Agent,” you smirk, and Marcus feels himself melt.

You click your tongue thoughtfully as you examine the comb. “Bronze, Imperial, I’m gonna guess somewhere around… 500 BCE?”

Marcus whistles through his teeth, impressed. “How do you know that?” 

You pick up one of the coins. “Numismatics. Anyone with a working knowledge of Roman history can place one of these babies within a few decades or so.” You flip it over, revealing the stark profile of the Emperor. “This was around the height of his rule and he died in 504 BCE. Knowing that, the coins are from around 510-ish, so everything else that comes out of the Rift, well…”

“You think all of it’s from around the same time,” Marcus offers. 

You shrug. “They’re all coming from the same hole in space and time.”

“What I don’t understand,” Marcus mumbles, more to himself than to you, “is how the hell people are getting in and out of the damn thing, it’s so heavily guarded.”

“I’ll say,” you comment wistfully. “They’ve got that whole perimeter set up now, you can’t go within a quarter of a mile. Wish I could see it… I mean, talk about a curator’s dream, right?”

“It’s incredible,” he says softly. 

“Wait. You’ve seen it? How?”

Marcus smiles and holds out his hands, feeling slightly guilty. “Managed to hoodwink a few people with my credentials, but I barely got within eyesight before I was politely asked to leave.”

“By politely, I’m assuming you mean ‘with an assault rifle.’”

“Maybe a little.”

“Okay, now I’m pissed at you. And don’t flash those big brown puppy dog eyes at me,” you snap, right as Marcus begins to do exactly that. “Throwing your FBI Agent weight around, and you couldn’t even bring along your consultant.”

“Oh yeah, because I really wanted to put you at the end of some Heroic bigwig’s assault rifle as well,” Marcus laughs. “It was stupid, I let curiosity get the better of me. What can I say?”

“You can say you’re sorry by buying me a coffee. Not the swill they’ve got here, a proper latte. And while I drink it nice and slow-like, you have to tell me everything.”

Marcus can’t think of a single better way to spend the rest of his afternoon. 

Electricity crackled at his fingertips. Even if the paycheck hadn’t been enough to convince him, the ultimate test of his powers was enough for him to agree to something so petty as theft. For that’s what it was, when you took away all the other factors. The Rift was simply a complication. A variable. 

A challenge. 

Giving things power had always been his strong suit. Taking it away was another thing entirely, like flexing an unfamiliar muscle, or wiggling your ears. His biggest undertaking before now had been to shut down electricity to one wing of a building, but a whole city block?

Intriguing. 

Lurking in the shadows, at a safe distance from any of the Heroics security, the man known only as Voltage flared his nostrils, drawing the electricity back up into his body, and then… he pulled. Extracting the electrons from the world around him, his fingers flexed and strained as the current flowed backward, like forcing a waterfall to run in reverse. All the lights within a four block radius from the Rift–from cars, streetlights, personal flashlights, mobile phones, and screens–cracked and popped ominously before shattering and bathing the entire area in darkness. 

(Pike)

Not two miles away, the fluorescent light above Marcus Pike flickers, the unpleasant sound of electricity causing the hairs to rise on the back of his neck. Pulling a face, he rubs at the sore muscle with one hand, sits back in the uncomfortable metal chairs of the evidence room, and yawns loudly. 

“What I find interesting is that there doesn’t seem to be any residue on any of the items,” his partner remarks, seemingly ignoring the yawn.

“What kind of residue?” Marcus asks, curious.

“I dunno, like… time residue?”

The Agent laughs good-naturedly. “Time residue, huh? What the hell is that?”

“Haven’t you ever seen any SciFi movies?”

Marcus shoots the other Agent a skeptical look. “Last time I checked, this wasn’t a movie.”

“Exactly. So we have no idea what kind of thing we’re dealing with. I mean, come on. Black hole guns? Holes in space-time? And you’re drawing the line at residue?”

Marcus laughs again, shutting his laptop with a sigh. “Jesus, I had no idea how late it had gotten. Let’s take a break and start again in the morning, yeah?”

“D’you think anything else has come out of the Rift?” his partner suddenly asks.

“Other than the artifacts they’re smuggling? Dunno,” Marcus answers. “They’ve got that place locked down pretty tight. I’ve been wondering how the hell they’ve been getting this stuff out of there,” he remarks, repeating what he had said to you earlier that day. 

“If a bunch of coins are able to get out, it’s only a matter of time before… other stuff does, too.”

Marcus pauses, one hand reaching toward the door. The statement troubles him more than he cares to admit.

“Above my pay grade,” he tries to joke, but it doesn’t land. “Those Heroics guys have to have a handle on things.”

[starsreminisce]

@crazy-ache and I were talking about windows, and while Elain was usually seen at windows, so was Lucien. We were discussing what kind of literary device the window could represent, considering both Elain and Lucien loved looking through them.

Windows in the books tend to be places of reflection. Feyre would stare at the night sky, finding solace during her times of hardship, which was revealed to be because her mate was the High Lord of Night. At one point, Lucien was staring out the window to Velaris, realizing that Spring Court was never truly Feyre's home and wishing that what Feyre had now could have been how the Spring Court would be.

I found it interesting how windows were used to portray three big moments between Elain and Lucien and their bond. The first time they met was in front of a window, then Lucien tried to feel Elain through their bond, and Elain confirmed there was a bond there. Lastly, they stood together during the meeting after the war.

“There’s a plate of biscuits. Would you like one?” He didn’t expect her to answer, and he gave himself all of one more minute before he’d rise from this chair and leave, hopefully avoiding Nesta’s return. But sunlight on gold caught his eye—and Elain slowly turned from her vigil at the window. He had not seen her entire face since that day in Hybern. Then, it had been drawn and terrified, then utterly blank and numb, her hair plastered to her head, her lips blue with cold and shock. Looking at her now … She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

Outside the house, movement again caught our eye, and we found Rhys and Cassian strolling in through the low front gate, returning from their first meeting with Keir’s Darkbringer army commanders—already rallying and preparing. At least that much had gone right yesterday. Both of them spotted us in the window within a heartbeat. Stopped cold. Don’t come in, I warned him through the bond. Lucien is trying to sense what’s wrong with Elain. Through the bond.

Helion was the last of the High Lords to arrive. I didn’t dare look through the ruined doorway to where Lucien now stood in the sitting room, close to Elain’s side as she and my sister silently kept against the wall by the intact bay of windows.

It's equally fascinating that Azriel and Mor had a big revelation in front of a window as well, after the High Lord meeting where Mor retreated within herself from Azriel's outburst. This moment showed that Az's problem wasn't so much that Elain isn't his mate but that Elain is mated to a Vanserra. It also cemented to Az that Mor would never be the person he wanted her to be.

The fire banked to embers and Helion threw a half smile in Mor’s direction. “Interesting. I heard her family wanted internal ties to power, and that they didn’t give her a choice before they sold her to Beron.” Sold her. Mor’s nostrils flared. Cassian ran a hand down the back of her hair. Azriel didn’t so much as turn from his vigil at the window, though I could have sworn his wings tucked in a bit tighter.

Az's bonus chapter shows his envy about not having a mate and how the third was given to another. However, it's deeper than that because the third was given to a member of a family who had caused someone he loved harm. It's equally telling when he referred to Lucien by his name and claimed he wasn't deserving of Elain, despite Lucien being in a politically advantageous position for Rhys to prioritize his being alive.

This also goes back to the gift Azriel gave Elain—a stained glass pendant where light is needed to show its secret inner beauty. Windows are used for stained glass, where the sun shows off the art. This could symbolize how both of them are looking to each other for what they lack, using each other to fulfill a desire, even though that desire doesn't align with what exactly they need.

Interestingly, Elain held the pendant up to the light, and it ended up with someone who can produce her own glow to show off that secret inner beauty organically.

I could interpret this as Elain telling him that I don't have what you are looking for.

Both of them are seeking light, but as Rhys said in ACOMAF, sometimes too much can be equally deadly. Azriel "protects" Elain to the point where she could feel stifled, and the light Azriel seeks in Elain causes his shadows to disappear, whereas it plays well with Gwyn's gentle glow.

Regardless, Elain returned the pendant to Azriel after he called it a mistake, and Elain seemed unaffected by his rejection.

The next scene we see her in, she is once again close to Lucien during Starfall, in the same clause as his true father, separated by a comma.

If SJM intends to use her characters looking out the window to convey realizations through reflections, she extends the window symbolism for realizations through actions if they are by them.

But what is interesting is that after the Solstice, Lucien and Elain were on a veranda. What’s interesting about verandas is that there are no window panes.

That barrier is now gone.

[qwuilty]

Art Gallery (A general Postal fic)

Hiii it's officially time for my spring semester to be over so i'm on my bullshit again :3

It's rated G, again mainly just a character study type fic with appearances from a couple dudes. Perspective character is meant to be the Art Dealer from Postal 4, be aware of some dream typical fuckery and shenanigans, i hope you like it! ^^

(Also apologies for any errors, i wanted to get this done and out there cause ive had it on the brain for a bit |D)

A little to the left, no, perhaps a little to the right?

She adjusted the painting again and again, partially to make sure it looked just right, and partially because there was nothing much else to do. The Edensin art gallery was effectively a ghost town before its opening with empty frames littering the walls, sure she had gotten that new guy to… Relieve some of the more wealthy locals out of their neglected pieces, but if it was going to take him this long, it was no wonder she was the only one there.

She sighed, resigning with a slightly a little too much to the left but close enough as she walked back to the front, staring emptily towards the door if anyone would come in. Dead silence filled the room, nothing much else to be heard but the sound of her breathing and the dull hum of the lights in the room. Well, if there wasn’t going to be anyone else coming in, maybe she could afford herself a little time to slack off?

Idly her hands moved to put on some music, sitting down on the floor as with a blink of the eyes she faded out of consciousness and into the makeshift headrest in her arms laying on her knees, out of reality around her and into a sinking, dark cloud around her, until she woke again.

Where she woke up however, was another question. 

She stood up quickly, trying not to fumble over her own feet while her eyes glazed over her surroundings. It was another art gallery, though this one seemed more refined, full of paintings and statues, its halls like an ever expanding labyrinth. Off white walls, tile floors, light yellow lighting, frames of ornate gold, but the paintings inside seemed almost unrecognizable. It was like they were on the tip of something she could remember, figures resembling what she studied years ago, but the details got lost in a melding mesh as they all blended together.

As she looked to her side, she noticed a figure looking intently at one of the paintings down the hall, and as she got closer she noticed how similar he looked to her ‘friend’ back in reality. He was several years younger, longer hair too, but his facial structure looked familiar and even with his heavy, dark trenchcoat it seemed they weren’t all too different. 

When his eyes looked over to her from behind his sunglasses her body tensed up quickly, shit how long had she been staring? Her gaze shot to the painting in front of them, something resembling a bedroom full of bright oil colors and yellows mixing in with blues and reds. “So, what do you think of this one?” She tried to transition to something so they weren’t standing in complete silence, anything to get that feeling of awkwardness out of the air. 

“What? Oh, it’s… It’s nice.” It seemed like he didn’t expect her to ask him that at all, trying to find something to say about it for a moment before he spoke up again. “The colors are nice. It reminds me of my home.” His tone felt a bit melancholy at the mention. “Is it nice there?” It was the first thing she could think of, wondering if she said something wrong as he went back to silence for a moment.

“It wasn’t bad, not great, but still. …I don’t know, somethin’ about this one makes me think of how things were before it all went so- so Bad. Do you feel like that too?” She tried to speak up, but he cut her off before she could get a word out. “I feel like that a lot. I miss when things weren’t this bad, but it’s not like I can go back, you know? I can’t just… It’s not gonna to be the same. It’s never going to be my home again.” 

He sighed, his shoulders falling heavy with the weight of a sense of homesickness, one that he could never cure. “I’m sorry, I've been talkin’ your ear off. Have a good day.” He shuffled around her, something in her wanting to stop him to talk, but he seemed already caught up in his own world, maybe it was best to let him think for a bit.

Instead she went back to walking, weaving through the halls as she looked at the paintings every now and then, trying to remember what they were, but it seemed to escape her right as she got to the answer. It felt as if she were a lost child again, wandering through these halls and looking at the art she didn’t quite understand, but the feeling was there even after all this time. 

Her thoughts were cut short as she bumped into the next patron, stepping back to get a better look at them. It was the same guy again, ginger hair, green eyes, still a little younger but he looked like he’d been aged by life itself. The ends of his black trenchcoat were tattered, his blue shirt bearing the image of an alien faded out, and his posture hunched over to accommodate for how tall he was. “Watch where you’re walking.” He groaned, stepping back himself.

“Ah, sorry, didn’t mean to.” She gave a short apology, once again glancing over to the painting in front of the two of them. This one was of a figure on what she presumed to be a horse. On its back was another figure, something large and colored a bright yellowish orange draping over it as it rested on the horse’s back. “What do you think of this one?” She asked, watching him look over to her before lazily glancing back to the painting. 

“I think he looks like a jackass.”

“Look at him, riding on that horse like he’s so important. One stray stick and that guy’s eating massive shit.” He laughed a little, clearly amused by the thought. Maybe he was laughing just at the man in the painting, or maybe it was the thought of others who reminded him of them falling too. “Lot of assholes around here who think they’re just like that, you know? So high and mighty, thinking they’re better than us.” Us? “But they’re not so mighty when they’re on even playing fields. Motherfucking…”

Traces of bitterness and anger coated his mumbles, clenching his fist as he recalled those who wronged him before resting it again with a soft breath out. “Welp, no time to stand around here, got shit to do. See you later.” The man nonchalantly said, walking away from her as her gaze stayed fixated on the painting, trying to imagine what he could have seen until another voice spoke up from behind her.

“Damn, look at that guy!” She nearly spun around a full circle to look at him, he looked almost like the man before her but just off enough to differentiate himself. He had a fuller face, now sporting a light tan trenchcoat and a green shirt, his voice sounding more raspy than the one before. “Looks like he’s having quite a good time, don’tcha think?” 

She looked back to the painting, trying not to freak out over the man who appeared so suddenly behind her. Something felt different, as if the moment she looked away, the details changed from orange to red, shades of dark blue now introduced when she only turned for just a moment. “Ah, yes. I- I guess it would be a good time.” He let out a hearty laugh, gently smacking her on the shoulder. 

“Yeah! Course, I'd never wear anything like that, way too much shit when you’re moving around on somethin’ like that. Still, it’s like he’s enjoying that feeling of…” He paused, trying to think of a good word before his face lit up. “Conquest! Yeah, he’s totally conquesting all those guys in the back. Lucky bastard.” Her eyebrow raised a bit, now trying to decide which of the two’s opinions held more weight in her view of it. “Welp, gotta get moving, don’t get too lost now.” Again he roughly patted her shoulder, his tone dropping and before she knew it, he was gone again. 

Rubbing her now sore shoulder, she tried to get her mind off the strangeness around her. There had to be some kind of exit around her, but it seemed any sign pointing to one was met just down the hall by another pointing in a completely opposite direction, some even insisting she go down when the only thing below her was the tile floor. 

Time had slipped past before she noticed yet another patron looking at some of the art. The man was rather muscular, looking out of place in such a soft art gallery with his tank top and combat boots with his pants clumsily shoved into them, furrowed brow indicating confusion at whatever painting was in front of him as he sat down on a small leather bench in front of it. 

She looked over towards the painting as she sat down beside him, spotting what seemed to be the figure of a woman wearing something dark teal, brown haired and facing some sort of white silhouette on her hand. He spoke suddenly, words flowing out in a language she didn’t understand fully and struggled to translate until he abruptly stopped. It seemed he noticed her lack of understanding and began again, now in words she knew better.

“Pretty. It is a very pretty painting, with a lot of warmth coming from it.” Even when she understood him, his word choice felt blunt, almost crude even when he spoke of something that seemed so delicate. “A very beautiful woman with love from another. But something feels sad about it.” The man seemed conflicted, and for a moment she wondered what was going on in his head, but she didn’t want to interrupt him. “As if she does not want the letter, if the bird means something bad, or if their feeling is…” He stopped, muttering in his native tongue as he tried to find the words to speak. 

Her eyes focused more on the man than the painting at this point, and from the way he looked back, it seemed he noticed. His muscles tensed up, withdrawing into himself as he stood up. “Stupid. It’s stupid, and she is stupid too. Stupid bitch.” The man spat out his words and though she tried to stop him, he stormed off too fast, almost refusing to look back and have to contemplate more on it. All that was left behind him was her and the painting hanging solemnly on the wall, one she wished she could see as much as he did.

She stayed there for a moment, lost in thought before finally standing up again to continue walking on. At this point it all almost blurred together, finding herself passing the same paintings, statues repeating indefinitely on and on in a hopeless maze she was beginning to feel she’d never escape. Sure, it was beautiful, but it felt like if she stayed here any longer, she was going to be sick.

She almost hadn’t noticed another patron gazing towards a painting hanging on the wall at what was a dead end, stopping in her tracks to try and see it too. Even with it being blurry she could tell this one wasn’t exactly coherent, a mixture of white, orange, reds, yellows, green, and blue, all meshing together to create some sort of figure with a gaping hole in it, another in white behind it. The man was wearing some sort of medical robe and fuzzy slippers, looking as if he escaped a facility somewhere nearby, and judging by the look on his face, he seemed just as confused by the painting as she did.

“The fuck does this even mean? I mean, it looks like something I'd see in a drugged out nightmare, you know? Just a mesh of fucking… Things.” He spoke up, looking over to her. “Ah, yeah. I suppose it does, doesn’t it…” She replied, though he was rough about it, just trying to understand it gave her a headache. “But y’know, kinda tilting my head a little, it looks like two people to me. Maybe they’re friends or something, or maybe they’re trying to sneak up on ‘em, maybe they’re the same person. But they’re looking at something, just looking at something. Looking at us.” 

There was a noticeable gap of silence, him gazing towards the painting and almost now entirely not giving any notice to her at all. He seemed to turn to his side for a moment, then back to the painting. “Yeah, maybe it’s just a crock of shit anyways. I don’t know, something about it makes me feel confused, but something else understands it perfectly. …Maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all.” He said, groaning a little as he wandered away, past her and back down the infinite halls. She tried to watch to see if he’d be okay, maybe he was some sort of medical patient in need of care, but as soon as she blinked he disappeared out of sight. 

And with nowhere else to go but back, she found herself transfixed by it, staring into the gaping void in one of the figures while everything else seemingly slipped away behind her, the lights turning off one by one until she was encased in darkness.

The sound of a door creaking woke her quickly, looking around her in a daze while her mind tried to catch back up with her. Right, it was a dream. Just a strange, weird dream. She groaned a little as she stood up, looking towards the door to see a familiar figure. But this one wasn’t wearing a black trenchcoat, nor a blue or green shirt. He wasn’t wearing anything out of the ordinary, in fact he looked just like when she saw him last, it was almost relieving in a way. Though he looked disheveled as always, part of her had begun to miss his dingy purple bathrobe.

“Yeah, sorry about the door, I kinda… Bumped into it a little too hard.” He said, his hands were full of stolen paintings as some shards of glass laid on the floor behind him from the door he kicked in. “It’s… You got the paintings, right?” She tried not to think about it, she’d get that fixed later when she wasn’t trying to come back to reality. “Oh yeah, I got tons of ‘em. Lots of folks leaving their prized art out for anyone to take.” He said, beginning to unfurl them to show her so she knew he wasn’t bullshitting until she spoke up again. “Hey, this is kind of a strange question, but which one was your favorite? Of the ones you grabbed and all…”

He raised an eyebrow, but seemed amused at the question. “Well, maybe we should actually get these framed first, but if you’re that interested, I'm sure we could talk a little.”

(Author's note, if you're curious the paintings are as follows: P1 is The Bedroom by Van Gogh, P2/P3 is Napoleon Crossing the Alps by Jacques-Louis David, Corkscrew is Love's Messenger by Marie Spartali Stillman, and BD is Oreste and Pilade by Giorgio de Chirico!)

[the-black-reaperarc]

I like the idea of Kakuja/Half-Kakuja play fighting.

[Not strictly Kakuja/Half-Kakuja, started like that tho]

This entire idea happened because of a cute dream of Centipede and T-Owl getting caught play fighting on camera or something.

Opinions? (Ask abt the dream, I have it written down!!)

[] I will be referring to Centipede as they/them.

Headcanon: Agender/Genderfluid, they/them and it/its but he/him is okay sometimes, she/her is good, more often, as well.

(This is mostly a 'Sasako needs more attention' thing, cause they kinda just glazed over how good Haise was at it. So I have a feeling they crossdressed/dressed femininely prior to that) []

Dream goes as this:

Someone is watching through a camera or something.

Centipede is sitting on top of a tower of some kind, it has a large square and flat top and it's all white. The towers isn't outside, it's inside of like a circle of some kind. There are other towers that line the walls just like it, in a circle, with a spiral staircase in the center with walkways leading to the square towers.

(I think this might be Coaclea, but I'm unsure; I've only seen the anime and that was 2-4 years ago.)

Their tails/rinkaku kakuja are kinda sprawled out behind them. They are clearly looking down at something, watching.

When T-Owl comes up over the edge behind them, very sneakily. He wanders close enough to Centipede finally, before gently (though at the beginning they didn't know that) biting one of their tails, making a noise similar to a puppy trying to play.

Centipede flips around, clearly caught off-guard, while hopping up into a mildly defensive pose. They are crouched down, on all fours, watching T-Owl.

[]

(Truly both are on all fours, I'm a sucker for quadrobics)

[alt. text to be added, you can ask if you want to do it.]

T-Owl chirps/sneezes.

Centipede does it back, before tackling T-Owl.

They duke it out in a similar way to both cats and dogs. Occasionally bitting each other, not aggressively or sexually but playfully.

Just nipping at each other.

Just playing together. The CCG won't admit this.

Until, accidentally, T-Owl bites them too hard and ends up actually hurting them. While it heals almost instantly, Centipede still yipes and leaps away from T-Owl.

T-Owl, recognizing what he did, purrs as he gets closer to Centipede. To any outsider this would look like T-Owl is trying to lure them into a false sense of security, but to other ghouls/half-ghouls he's clearly apologizing. Saying "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to." purely by action.

T-Owl gets closer to them before nuzzling into their jaw with his beak, quietly chirping to them until they chirp back. Both recognizing his apology and their exception of that apology.

Centipede purrs.

T-Owl purrs.

They just sit there for a minute, calming each other down. Just affectionately chewing on each other. (Like dogs and T-Rexes, called craniofacial biting)

-Until an incredibly high-pitched and loud alarm goes off and spooks them both.

[] End of dream.

Just for reference, the art was found at;

Top left is by ArtStation found through Pinterest

Top right is by idk, someone please tell me

Bottom left is by Tobias Kean found through Pinterest

Bottom middle is MER on Tumblr

Bottom right is by Rara G. on Pinterest

[czolgosz]

I am asking about the guy who stole the mona lisa !!

ok ^_^ hopefully everything is in order? i skipped around a bit bc i forgot some parts and had to go look them up later, so things were done kind of haphazardly... and jsyk i left a little bit of detail out bc i got tired of writing after a while lol...

vincenzo peruggia was born on october 8, 1881 in dumenza, italy. there, vincenzo learned decorative painting, and at 12 years old, he went to milan and worked as a housepainter.

at the age of 18 he went off to france, which was a popular place for young italians from vincenzo's region to move to, due to the region's poverty. he continued to work as a housepainter there.

also, this will be important later: his father was in debt and vincenzo wanted to help his family (consisting of his father, mother, younger sister, and three younger brothers) financially in any way that he could.

then when he was 20, he moved to paris.

in june 1908, he was drunk and waiting for a train to paris when he saw some children rolling terracotta pipes down the street. he yelled at the children, they ran away, and vincenzo picked up the pipes and dropped one. some people passing by thought he was stealing them bc he's italian and these french people are xenophobic. he was arrested for attempted theft.

around 12am on january 24, 1909, vincenzo exited a bar in the place de la republique. he was approached by a sex worker named abeille kauffman. he allegedly tried to attack her. he was arrested for carrying a weapon and not having his immigration papers, and he was in prison for eight days.

because of these two incidents, he hates the french.

anyway, in paris he continued to work as a housepainter until he fell ill from lead poisoning, which was a very common illness for painters to have. he had to stay at the lariboisière hospital for 15 days. the lead poisoning probably caused some brain damage.

after quitting his dangerous painting job, he worked for a glazing (as in doing stuff with glass) company called gobier.

(also, while working for gobier, his coworkers called him "dirty macaroni" and now he hates the french more.)

two paintings in the louvre were slashed within two months of each other. security at the louvre was considered comically bad. journalists stole art to show just how bad it was. to upgrade security, the louvre got a team of dogs and nightguards and decided to put 1600 of the paintings under glass cases. gobier was the louvre’s official glazier, usually repairing windows and skylights, so they were now the company responsible for this. vincenzo was one of five workers who cut and cleaned the glass for the cases. the work took place november 1909–january 1910 and november 1910–january 1911. while working there, he became familiar with the layout of the museum.

also while working there, vincenzo wondered why all this italian art was in a french museum. so he asked the louvre’s picture framer, pavard, why it was there, but pavard was just smugly like “haha how do you not know??” and wouldn’t tell him. one day, vincenzo found the answer: napoleon had stolen a bunch of italian art and sent it to paris. vincenzo was disgusted, and decided that he wanted to return at least one painting to italy...

once the glass casing job was finished, he left gobier and returned to housepainting.

then, on monday, august 21, 1911, vincenzo decided that today was the day to steal that painting. he woke up at 6am, got dressed in his white louvre worker’s uniform, and left his room in the tenth arrondissement (which had a large italian population btw), which was about two miles from the louvre. at around 7:05am, he arrived at the louvre, which was closed for its weekly cleaning. he entered through the jean goujin entrance and went through the first floor room, up the grand staircase, went left through a hallway, and turned left into the salon carré.

vincenzo had not previously decided to take the mona lisa, but chose it in the moment because it was the smallest painting there. this kind of ruined the whole “returning stolen paintings to italy” thing, because it had been bought by king francis i of france from leonardo da vinci while he was at his court. in france. it had moved around a bit since then, but has been kept in the louvre since 1797.

(the mona lisa was hung between the paintings "mystic marriage of saint catherine" by antonio da correggio and "the allegory of alfonso d'avalos" by titan. not important but just an extra detail...)

something to note: usually, the louvre had 166 guards; on mondays, it only had 12. the salon carré had no guards.

so, vincenzo took the painting off its four metal hooks, quietly walked out of the room and went into a service staircase. he hid the mona lisa behind some copies that had been made of various paintings (students frequently came in to copy paintings) and went to see if the door at the bottom—which would help him make a quick exit of the museum—was unlocked. it was not. he took out a screwdriver and removed the doorknob, but he still couldn’t open the door. he heard someone coming and sat down and tried to look inconspicuous. the person coming down the stairs was a plumber named jules sauvé. jules went to unlock the door, noticed the doorknob was missing, asked vincenzo what that was about, and vincenzo said he didn’t know anything about it. jules went through the door and locked it behind him.

accepting that he couldn’t leave through that door, vincenzo removed the mona lisa’s frame, which probably only took around a minute, and hid the frame behind those painting copies. he wrapped the painting in his smock (part of the uniform), placed it under his arm, and went back the way he entered the museum.

he left the louvre around 7:30am. a shop clerk on his way to work named andre bouquet was across the street and saw him carrying what he thought was a package and also saw him throw something into a ditch—the doorknob.

vincenzo got on a bus and immediately got off, realizing it wouldn’t take him back to his boarding house. instead, he got in a cab and went home.

some guards noticed the painting was missing, but just thought that it had been taken away to be photographed (paintings were often taken to be photographed on mondays. the photographs were to go on postcards and magazines), and didn't pay it much mind.

the next day, the louvre reopened, the mona lisa still wasn't there. around 11am, a guard found the painting's empty frame. the museum was searched, they thought it had to be around there somewhere, that maybe it had been hidden as a joke. but, to be careful, georges aaron bénédite, a curator substituting as the museum director (the actual museum director, théophile homolle, was away on vacation), contacted the prefect of police, louis lépine, who sent a bunch of detectives to go find it. they, of course, couldn't find it.

the theft was immediately international news. the mona lisa had been considered a masterpiece among french art fans since the 1860s, but now it had achieved proper fame, and literally everyone knew about the mona lisa. but the fame wasn't instantaneous—6500 flyers with pictures of the mona lisa were distrubuted so people would know it if they saw it and american newspapers misspelled the name and published photographs of the wrong painting.

a week after the theft, the louvre reopened, and people flooded in to see the empty spot on the wall (franz kafka was one of the people who went there to see it btw).

some famous suspects for the theft included: pablo picasso, bc he was an artist and (unknowingly) had stolen statues from the louvre in his possession; guillaume apollinaire, for similar reasons to picasso; jp morgan, bc he liked art and there was concern in france that american millionaires were buying all the good french paintings; kaiser wilhelm ii, bc france and germany had some pre-ww1 tensions going.

then some fingerprints were discovered on the glass by alphonse bertillon. 257 louvre workers had their fingerprints taken. then the gobier workers who had helped with the glass cases had their fingerprints taken, except for vincenzo, who didn’t show up.

meanwhile, vincenzo is still in paris at his little 9×16 room at 5 rue de l'hôpital st. louis. he first kept the painting on a table in his room covered by a piece of linen, then just had it sitting in his 6×6 closet. while it was just sitting there in the closet, inspector brunet of the sûreté came to interrogate him and quickly determined that he had nothing to do with it.

vincenzo’s life was normal, he just kept painting houses. he didn’t want to go to italy yet—he wanted to let everyone forget about the theft before he returned it so he wouldn’t get arrested.

btw, the whole time he had been in france, vincenzo had sent letters to his parents back in dumenza. after stealing the mona lisa, all his letters mentioned a “fortune” that he would soon have, and that he would share with his family. here we see vincenzo’s actual primary motive: getting money for himself and his family.

anyway. he showed the mona lisa to his best friend vincenzo lancellotti, who was also a housepainter and from the same region of italy. they played music together and ate together and dated women together <- examples of their best friendship activities. in winter of 1911, peruggia let lancellotti hold on to the mona lisa for six weeks while he built a crate with a false bottom to keep the painting in.

peruggia’s (i’m going to return to calling him vincenzo after this) girlfriend, mathilde, saw the crate. she told vincenzo that once they were married, she would get rid of it. but they were never married bc mathilde broke up with him after she found letters from other women in his room, and eventually she left paris permanently.

allegedly, in the summer of 1913, vincenzo went on a trip to london. while there, he went to see the art dealer henry j. duveen and tried to sell the mona lisa. we’ll get back to this later.

btw, people were beginning to think that the mona lisa had been destroyed, it had been years and no one could find it.

then, 28 months after the theft, in late 1913, vincenzo contacted an antiques dealer named alfredo geri, who he had heard about in an italian-language newspaper called the corriere della sera, about selling the painting. he signed his letter to him "leonardo v."

on december 7, 1913, peruggia had a meal at his favorite cafe and gave the waitress a tip of five francs. he announced that he was to be leaving for italy the next day. he told his assembled family and friends that he would be receiving “fortune, glory, and honors.” back in his room, he filled the top part of his mona lisa crate with clothing, tools, and his mandolin, and on december 8, set off on a train to florence. at the border, the crate was checked and the painting wasn’t found.

so alfredo and vincenzo meet. vincenzo offered to sell the mona lisa for 500,000 lire ($2,970,000 today). vincenzo said the painting was back in his room at the hotel he was staying at, the albergo tripoli-italian hotel (since renamed the hotel la gioconda). alfredo persuaded giovanni poggi, director of the uffizi gallery, to come with them (vincenzo specifically wanted the mona lisa to go be kept at the uffizi gallery). they all went up to room 20. vincenzo took everything out of the crate and revealed the painting. giovanni said he wanted to take the painting back to the uffizi gallery to see if it was the real deal. he and a few other experts examined it, and lo and behold, it was!

they then contacted the police and vincenzo was arrested, which he really was not expecting.

meanwhile, the italian people celebrated the mona lisa’s return to italy. it was kept in room 28 of the uffizi gallery. over 30,000 people visited the painting in just four hours; those who couldn’t get into the gallery rioted.

after a week in florence, the mona lisa traveled to rome, where it was handed over to the french ambassador. a good deal of italians wanted it to stay in italy, but y’know napoleon had never actually stolen it so they had no claim.

the mona lisa was exhibited in rome for a bit, then in milan, then it was returned to the louvre on december 31, 1913.

back to vincenzo: vincenzo’s trial began in florence on june 4, 1914. many italians still regarded him as a hero and a patriot. he denied ever trying to sell that painting to that guy in london and was angered by the accusation. his defense went for insanity; dr. paolo amaldi, the psychiatrist who examined him, had declared him "mentally deficient.” however, it’s possible that he lied about this because he supported vincenzo. paolo was a member of the socialist party, and vincenzo was probably some kind of leftist. also, paolo may have sympathized with vincenzo’s dislike of the french due to his (vincenzo’s) experiences as an immigrant worker.

that didn’t really matter though, as vincenzo was sentenced to one year and 15 days in prison. however, his attorneys filed an appeal and he was released after seven months and eight days.

(and remember vincenzo lancellotti? he and his brother, michele, were arrested and subsequently released without charges.)

world war 1 began a few days after vincenzo peruggia’s trial ended, and when he was released vincenzo joined the italian army. he was then captured by the austrians and was a prisoner of war for two years. at the end of the war he couldn’t find work in italy, so he went to paris with his wife annunciata. to avoid being detected by the french government who still hadn't gotten over the whole art theft thing, he adopted his birth name, pietro. they visited the louvre and saw the mona lisa.

also, he had a daughter named celestina. vincenzo died when she was a toddler. she said that her mother had told her to run toward him. she did and he collapsed, dead of a heart attack. also he was holding a tray of champagne & cookies at the time. this was on october 8, 1925, his 44th birthday.

30 years after he was buried, the cemetery needed the plot where he had been buried and what was left of him was moved into an underground locker thing.

and uh. i don't know where to put this but he was 5'3

[jnixz]

Concept art turned illustration, because I cannot stop myself when I have a vision. Right well I just popped off from inspiration from @aquato-family-circus  post and this post too :) 

Green area is like the brainframe and works like the backrooms in Hollis’s hotstreak. 

Staticky snow because its causing interference

So little set up before the panic attack, the heartbreak phase starts off with the hyperhyglaciator activating and freezing everything in the mindscape. It literally freezes over the sea of emotion and flees, ignores raz and lili and distracts itself by finding a way to repair its broken arms. 

This is where this part where a weird audio thing happens. They can still hear the frantic breathing, even though 0tt0 is far away, but its less staticky. Raz and Lili are confused on what to do since they can’t fly and ask the psychic 7 for advice/help, except well– due to 0tt0’s hyperhyglaciator still active, there is a snowstorm. And in snowstorms its pretty hard to get a signal. 

So Raz and Lili has been cut off from the psychic phone call and are alone, just the wind of a snowstorm and frantic breathing with no source they can discern from.

At the same time, the psychic 7 are concerned for the kids. They’ve been regulating something in the mindscape so Otto doesn’t completely and utterly collapse from and sending the rest of their spare energy to support the more nimble kids at fighting the boss.

Their psychic call can’t reach them, and while the adults can multitask in talking irl and projecting at once, the kids can’t so they don’t know what’s their status since heartbreaker started without pulling out the smelling salts (and they could be in the middle of something so they don’t do that just yet).

Granted they haven’t even had the time to consider as they see Otto eyes flutter open but have a glazed and panicked look to him. 

Literally having a panic attack while dreaming and the rest of the psychic 7 could recognize it and oh boy that’s not good. First he falls unconscious when the psychoportal got placed, which is suppose to put you in a trance instead of that. 

Now there is this, which is like, a person with their eyes open while having a nightmare. Ever get woken up by being too anxious in your dreams? Yeah that happened to me a couple of times and like its so disorienting and jarring, real bad way to start my day I tell ya. 

0tt0 has been damaged enough that Mental Otto got enough energy to do something than just receiving and sending emotional feedback. I got this little visual of like, seeing both mindscape and irl like its glitching in between tv channels. 

So like, Otto manages to calm down a bit with the physical help from Compton and Ford since the Panic Attack can’t be mentally beat up yet. He calms down enough to be able to use his powers to like control the railing so he could go up to where Raz and Lili are at. 

Unfortunately the panic attack suddenly blocks the way as it lurches for the Plant Mech, and Otto basically smacks on top of the Panic attack, grabs on as it surfaces. Now comes the challenge of defeating a Giant Panic Attack which oh boy the kids don’ have their mech and Otto doesn’ have enough mental energy to do big psychic construct stuff. 

 I’ve got like 2 versions of how to continue but this em like a good stopping point. 

edit: fixed the format

[aemonds-sapphire]

Quirkplay — Natsuo x Reader

Natsuo would rarely use his ice quirk, but whenever he did so, he always made sure you enjoyed it.

Warnings: NSFW. Quirkplay, vaginal fingering, ice cubes, praise, needy Natsuo, hot Natsuo, sexy Natsuo, precum, mouth fucking.

Word count: 1.6k

“Can I use my quirk?”

Natsuo’s voice was but a whisper as his gentle and expectant eyes bore into yours. The thought alone had your heart race skip a beat immediately.

Nothing was off limits for Natsuo so long as it would magnify the pleasure he could provide as far as you were concerned.

You promptly nodded at the man on top of you, moaning softly as his hardening bulge pressed against your covered pussy.

The coldness that spread across his palms as he quickly undid your shirt was met with a jerk of your hips.

“Calm down…” he hissed and you felt his cock twitch as he fumbled with the tiny buttons keeping you hidden from him.

Natsuo would rarely make use of his quirk in his daily life, and had resorted to using it under very specific circumstances.

You weren’t a stranger to it, and had had the opportunity of being on the receiving end of the coldness that would emanate from him in such occasions.

Your clit throbbed in anticipation once he pulled your bra down, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze.

He shifted until his face was but a mere inches away from your flushed skin, and you vaguely wondered what he had in mind.

The answer to that thought came soon enough.

His lips puckered as he let out a stream of stinging cold breeze graze over one nipple, causing it to swiftly harden.

“Always so sensitive…” he smiled proudly, repeating the motion on the other one.

Damn Natsuo’s extensive knowledge of the human body.

The familiar coiling feeling in the pit of your stomach had your eyes flutter shut, and he seized the opportunity to wrap his cool lips around your nipple. He wasted no time, alternating between slow and long suckles, and quick and hard ones.

If quirkplay was an art form then Natsuo mastered it with jaw-dropping proficiency.

He’d switch nipples every now and then while his freezing hands remained plastered on your ass cheeks, angling your body with his and allowing him to dry hump you.

“N-Natsuo… slow… d-down…” you stammered, hands fisting his pale hair in the hopes of breaking the grip he had on you.

It was all to no avail.

One of his hands found your soaked panties and pushed them to the side.

You gasped and your eyes flew open at the sudden coolness that contrasted nearly painfully with the heat radiating from your swollen clit.

Natsuo released your nipple with a wet pop and fixed his eyes on you.

“How cold can I go today?” he asked teasingly, fingertips barely brushing along your sopping slit.

He’d always ask you, but not because he feared going too far — your body language would tell him that —, but merely as a way to have you beg for it.

“As cold as you can get…”

The pad of his thumb immediately pressed down on your clit and you jolted in surprise.

“Icy cold?” he asked, an excited smile tugging at his lips.

You squirmed under his touch. “Whatever you want… just….” fuck me…

Natsuo kept one hand between your thighs as a reminder of the pleasure he could so easily deliver; the other snaked under you skillfully and he undid the clasp of your bra, before sliding the fabric off you.

He took a deep breath, taking his sweet time to admire your body. If there was one thing Natsuo excelled at was making you feel pretty and wanted.

Even though school crammed most of his schedule and robbed you of his focus, he would always find a way to make it up for you.

So when he pressed his cold palm just below your ribcage, eye never tearing away from yours, you felt a rush of hotness splatter your cheeks.

And then something else…

Something hard and cold and wet was starting to dig into your skin. You eyes traveled down to stare at his still hand, and you saw a faint glaze of icy blue coat it up to his wrist.

“Natsuo…”

The young man lifted his hand, revealing one ice cube that he had to keep in place with his fingers to keep it from sliding to the side as your body temperature caused its underside to melt and have droplets rolling down your skin.

Two cold fingers dragged along your pussy lips to smear your own wetness and earning a hiss from him.

“I love that you’re so wet… so ready for my fingers…” he cooed, sliding one digit inside your heated pussy.

The melting ice cube started glinding down your torso, leaving a wet trail in its wake which prickled your skin with goosebumps. He lowered his head and planted a few open-mouthed kisses, following the path laid out by the byproduct of his quirk.

You arched your back reflexively when he added a second finger inside you, drawing out a groan of pleasure mixed with momentary discomfort as your body adjusted to the never-ending temperature fluctuations.

“Ah… fuck…” you suddenly heard him cuss in annoyance, halting his ministrations.

The subject of frustration was his own cock, apparently. A big wet spot stained his pants, and you almost smiled at how adorable he looked as as his cheeks gained a faint reddish tint.

All that sweet precum going to waste as Natsuo struggled with holding himself back.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek as you watched him undo his zipper and yank down his pants, exposing his long cock.

A sigh of relief left him, and he swallowed hard once he realized your eyes were dead set on the thick strings of precum that dripped from the tip.

The two fingers buried inside your pussy cooled down, causing you to clench around him vigorously.

“Natsuo! Why—“

He merely smiled while his other hand conjured yet a new ice cube — as the previous one had completely melted away.

The slow and teasing pace his fingers set was almost agonizing, and you kept on rolling your hips as a way to instigate him to get bolder.

But he had other plans.

The cube in his hand came into contact with your clit and you yelped at the chilling sensation. He made sure your folds enveloped it on either side as your grip around his digits only increased.

“Look at the way your pussy is eating me up…” he groaned, sliding it down to collect some of your juices. “Babe… look at your pussy lips.”

The moment you did as you were, a raspy moan fell from your lips and you felt several knots tightening in your lower abdomen as a clear warning that if he kept this pace you’d reach your high soon.

A needy moan echoed through his room, and you clasped one hand over your mouth.

His sister was at home, and so was his younger brother.

“Keep it down… can you do that?” he inquirer sweetly, sliding his fingers out completely and earning a disappointed mewl from you. “Mouth open.”

His two wet fingers slipped past your lips and you promptly wrapped them around him, sucking and tasting yourself.

It was definitely an effective way of shutting you up.

“You love sucking, don’t you?”

You batted your eyelashes innocently while nodding, twirling your tongue around his digits as if they were his cock instead.

He bit his lower lip to muffle a moan, nudging the ice cube against your pussy.

You looked up at him, eyes widened.

“Grip it for me.”

His eyes were heavy with lust, and you felt a gush of wetness drip from you at his request.

The frozen cube poked at your entrance once more, and you felt him push it inside just enough for you to hold it in place with your walls.

Natsuo’s cock twitched several times at the sight of your pussy gripping the ice cube.

His voice was now low and filled with perplexity. “You need to see this.”

In no time, he had his phone in his hands to snap a quick photo. You clenched briefly as you glared at the screen. Honestly, you had to commend his self-control, because you looked really, really inviting in that position.

“Pretty girl…” he praised, flicking your clit with his thumb, bringing you closer to the edge.

You were grateful that he had no intention of removing his fingers from your mouth, otherwise your moans would be heard throughout the entire place.

The ice cube wasn’t able to endure the heat of your pussy, and you felt cold droplets sliding down your ass crack.

Natsuo kept his eyes on you the entire time. “Suck harder… please…”

You did as you were told, in an attempt at keeping some control as waves of unfathomable bliss rippled across your entire body. At that point, you could no longer prevent your pussy from completely sucking in the ice cube and with a seering pinch on your clit, he managed to have you trip over the edge of your sanity.

Flashes of technicolor swarmed your vision as you parted your lips in a silent scream. Bless Natsuo and his quick reflexes, because he had your mouth covered in no time, preventing any obscene sound from being heard by anyone but him.

He kept his cold thumb on your clit, alternating the pressure on it, but his pace never faltering.

Your hips bucked desperately and your arms wrapped around his neck as if you were holding on for dear life, riding out your orgasm.

“Ouch!” he said playfully after losing balance and nearly crushing you under his weight. “Do you like my quirk that much?”

No coherent thoughts came to your mind as you panted heavily. “I… fuck…”

He placed a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. “I love you, too.”

-

Masterlist

[xlovelyyoongix]

wake up | myg

summary: reader wakes yoongi up in a special way.

paring: non-idolYoongi x Reader (established relationship)

rating: 18+ ONLY

genre: fluff, smut

w/c: 1k

warnings: cursing, oral sex, (m. receiving) switch reader, switch yoongi. (If you catch anything else I forgot to add, please don’t hesitate to let me know)

a/n: I wrote this in under an hour cuz ima hoe... 🤣 anyways, please enjoy 💕

Getting the chance to witness Yoongi as he slept was a rarity of its own. The raven-haired male was infamous for waking up before the early chirps of newborn birds and falling asleep only after you've drifted off into dreamland, so today was something special. Having him rest so soundly beside you, warm sunlight spilling across his flawless skin, and thick lashes soft against the apples of his cheeks as the rhythm of his faint breath exhaled past his lips.

"You're so beautiful." You soundly whisper, watching as Yoongi slowly began to wake from his slumber.

Your fingers begin to dance along the flesh of his ivory chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps down it’s path. The further you venture, the more you notice something twitching underneath the thin fabric of the sheets. "Oh," You giggle, eyes panning to the stiff erection, standing proudly beneath the linen.

"Baby~?" You mew softly, fingers trickling past his torso to the edge of his waistband. "Is this okay?"

Yoongi's lashes slowly begin to flutter open, tongue darting across his dry lips out of habit. It takes a moment for his vision to come to, but when it does, you're the first thing he sees. Your wild bedhead framing around your delicate face, eyes narrowed seductively low, and plump lips formed into the shape of a wicked smirk. It was then he noticed your hand, so dangerously close to the needy dick twitching in his boxers. "Please."

Never one to turn down your lover, your hand slips beneath the thin layer of fabric, immediately met with the heat of Yoongi's manhood. Your fingers find the thick base of his shaft, palming around the veiny, hot flesh.

Yoongi utters a grunt, stuttering his hips upward due to the bewitching sensation of your sweet touch. "You're always so sensitive when I touch you here." You giggle, palm slowly beginning to work up and down his shaft.

Yoongi's breath staggers in his throat, eyelids riding low as a familiar tightness begins to coil within the pit of his abdomen. "I-I had a dream..." He struggled to articulate his speech, your soft hand around his dick having an effect on him. "A-about you."

Your tongue flirtatiously darts across your bottom lip, "Oh, yeah?" you start with a smirk, antagonizing his sexual frustration. "What was your dream about, baby?" You squeeze your hand tighter, just how Yoongi liked it.

Yoongi's throat releases a hiss, eyelashes fluttering as he takes a nibble out of his lip." Y-you were s-sucking me o-of." He stuttered in the form of a slight pout, and fuck did you love it when he pouted. "B-but you didn't l-let me c-cum." Jet orbs glossing over

"Aww, that's so mean of me." You reply coyly, fingers teasing around his mushroom tip, massaging in his sticky pre-cum. "Do you think you deserve to cum, Yoongi?" you ask, toying with his dick as if it were your own personal plaything.

"I- I do deserve it." He finds the strength to say. "I'm a good m-man to you, aren't I?" He makes sure to add as if to plead his case.

"Yes, you're very good to me, Yoongi." His body shivers as you whisper into the shell of his ear. "So I'll give you what you want." After maneuvering under the sheets, you slowly peel back the waistband of Yoongi's boxers, allowing his tall erection to spring free. You lick your lips at the mighty sight, pre-cum glistening at the tip, healthy veins protruding from the sides, and a thickness that made you crave him even more. "You always look so yummy," You say, tongue darting out to collect the first taste of his red tip.

"Shit," Yoongi grunts, uncontrollably jolting his hips upward.

You were never one to leave your boyfriend unsatisfied, so opening your mouth wide and swallowing him whole was always the option with the best results. The tip of your nose reaches the forest of his pubic hair, tongue massaging the bottom of his shaft. The grunts and moans slipping past Yoongi's lips give the encouragement to hold your gag reflex, allowing you to relax your throat.

"Oh, fuck." Yoongi's hands move on their own, gripping the back of your hair to hold your mouth in place. With eyes rolled back, he's inching his shaft as far as it can reach. Your mouth feels immaculate around him, the thick wetness of your saliva and the tightness of your throat, fuck he could orgasm then and there. "C-can I...?" Yoongi mutters, almost too afraid to ask.

You know precisely what Yoongi means by his question; he wants to take control. The very thought of him using your mouth and throat for his sexual leisure causes a spike of pleasure to pulse between your thighs. So, of course, you nod to his request.

Gripping at the back of your hair tighter, Yoongi guides your hollowed-out mouth slowly up and down his thickness. "T-tap me if y-you need to b-breathe." He utters, eyes rolling back to the erotic sensation your hungry mouth was providing.

You nod to the suggestion but also know you won't be needing air anytime soon. After years of being with Yoongi, you've perfected the art of inhaling and exhaling through your nostrils.

"Shit, y-your mouth is so good." Yoongi stutters while you bob your head to the speed that he desired, erotic wet sounds exuded from beneath the sheets. "I-I fuckin love you." With every passing moment, the pulsing in Yoongi's dick intensifies along with the aching to release. "Wanna swallow for me, baby?"

You thought it cute that he even asked, and if his dick wasn't being shoved halfway down your esophagus, you would have giggled, but instead, you nod to his request.

"G-gotta see you," Yoongi yanks away the sheets, revealing your sexy mouth gobbling away at his dick, thick saliva collecting at the base of his shaft and your alluring, hazed eyes gazing up at him; his own personal goddess. "My sexy girl gonna take my load in her mouth? You gonna do that for me?"

You don't stop bobbing, sucking him all in as your eyes screamed the words, "yes, please."

As if on queue, the rubber band sensation, stretching in the pit of Yoongi's abdomen, finally snaps. "Oh, fuck!" He yells, holding your head in place to collect the large amount of cum releasing into your throat. He thrusts a few final times, colors exploding in his vision while riding the explosive high of his orgasm.

And just like he asked, you have no problem swallowing it all, gulping down the salty evidence of your boyfriend's orgasm, before your lips release the tip of his dick with a -pop-.

A satisfied smile gleams across Yoongi's rosy cheeks as he grabs your arm, gesturing you to lay beside him, "Come here."

Doing as you're told, your head plops into the pillow beside Yoongi's head, gazing into his glossy, hooded eyes.

"You're so fuckin perfect," Yoongi says, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead, thanking you for the happy ending he'd just received. "What do you want for breakfast?" his fingers stroking throughout your hair as he watched you in awe.

The light glaze of sweat glistening across Yoongi's skin and the softness in his deep, onyx eyes melted you inside. You loved him so much that after 2 years of being together, butterflies still managed to flutter in the pit of your stomach. "Pancakes!" You nearly shout, a bit too excited at the mention of breakfast.

Yoongi chuckles at your animated behavior. "Let's get showered, and then I'll make you a tall stack of pancakes." He watches as the excitement grows in your eyes, reminding him of the many reasons why he fell hard for you. "I love you." Yoongi manages to sneak in the phrase before you could respond.

Your heart did that thing where it nearly somersaulted out of your chest. How did you get so lucky to have such a beautiful, perfect man in your bed every morning? So, without hesitation, you respond, "I love you too, Min Yoongi."

date posted: 4-6-2020

[writtenvisionary]

please don’t hurt me.

wrote for the prompt “start a story with ‘please don’t hurt me’” sent in by an anon to @mlwritersguild!

Summary: Tom says something that strikes Adrien the wrong way. Sabine goes into mama bear mode.

tw - mentions of abuse, small panic attack

Read on Ao3

“Please don’t hurt me.”

Sabine Cheng stares, mouth agape, at her daughter’s boyfriend. Her heart clenches at the tremble in his voice; the quiver of his bottom lip; the shakiness of his hands. The words he had just uttered came at an unexpected time and she’s now realizing that there’s something very wrong.

Adrien had been coming to the bakery for weeks now, both to see his girlfriend and to learn the skill of baking. He never explicitly said it, but he left hints that father had been controlling his meals. Already having a daughter with a fast metabolism, she knew that it was important for teenagers to eat well and often; it’s imperative for their health. This is why she encouraged him to join their family dinners almost every night, and Tom had invited him to learn how to bake.

Getting out of his father’s grip was hard, she was aware. He had to lie consistently, both to his bodyguard and his father’s assistant, in order to have dinner with his girlfriend and her parents.

She notices how jumpy and skittish he can be sometimes. This behavior only ever increases around Tom, and she wants to believe it’s because he’s a big, burley man with a drive to protect his only daughter, but she knows it has to do with his father.

(But to be honest, she forgets these things sometimes.)

Like tonight, they had been rolling the dough for a new batch of bread and joking around, when Tom said something that struck a nerve.

He had said, “Don’t disappoint me, son.”

Tom meant it jokingly, as their previous conversation had been about how Adrien might want to pursue a degree in culinary arts when he goes to university, and he fully supports this decision.

Both parents realized too late that Adrien isn’t used to hearing jokes from the adults around him. Words like that are only said in a negative connotation around him, so they really should have known better.

Adrien had gone pale, pausing his kneading of dough, and his eyes lowered to the ground. She watched in growing concern as he gulped and clenched his fists tightly for a short moment.

After sparing a glance to her husband, she took a tentative step over to Adrien. She placed a hand on his shoulder and he violently flinched away from her touch. Her heart dropped.

“Honey, he didn’t mean it like that…”

Her attempts at consoling him fell flat, because he didn’t seem to hear her. His glazing eyes stared past her at a blank spot on the wall. His breath became shallow, and he brought his arms up to wrap around his chest as a form of security.

“Adrien, I—“

Tom stops short as the young boy in front of him squeezes his eyes tight and takes a step backwards.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

It was a feeble request, his voice shaking with every word.

“Adrien, honey, no one is going to hurt you,” she says softly, holding one of her palms up to show that she has no intentions of putting it near him.

He still doesn’t open his eyes, instead his breath quickens even more. Tom bites his lip as he leans towards his wife, then whispers, “He’s having a panic attack. I’ll go get Marinette and some water for him.”

As a silent thanks, Sabine places a hand on his large forearm, and sends him a sad smile. He walks away, leaving her with a panicking Adrien.

She’s not sure what to do; Marinette had never told her that Adrien experienced bad anxiety. Her daughter is keeping a lot of secrets from her (which she is frustrated about, because she should know certain things as her mother; but also, she understands that Marinette is a teenager and she’s happy to respect her boundaries), but Sabine wishes that this was something she had told her. That way she might be able to help.

The sound of footsteps trampling down the stairs makes her whip her head around, seeing Marinette running hurriedly towards Adrien.

She slows, letting out a slow breath as she takes in the situation.

“Kitty, hey, hey, hey…” she says loudly, but not loud enough to where it startles him. “I’m here. You’re panicking. Kitty, can I touch you?”

Subconsciously, Sabine wonders where the nickname ‘kitty’ came from, but that’s not something to worry about right now.

Adrien, his breathing still unchanged, manages to crack open his eyes into slits. They dance around the room wearily, before landing on Marinette. Sabine swears she can see his fists uncurl slightly.

“Hi, kitten. Could I hold your hand?”

It takes a minute for him to acknowledge that she had asked a question, but then he just barely nods. Marinette takes this opportunity to move closer, cautiously, and slips her hand into his’. She meets his eyes.

“Okay. I want you to tell me five things you can see right now. Anything.”

His lip quivers and he lets out a small whimper, before blinking out a slew of tears.

“Uh. You.”

Sabine is astonished at how Marinette is able to stay calm in this situation. Her smile to him is forced, but comforting, and the mother can’t shake the evidence that she’s done this before.

“Amazing,” she hears Marinette say. “What else?”

Adrien sniffs, shifting his eyes to the wall behind the girl in front of him. “Th-that poster.”

“You’re doing great, kitty. Three more.”

Tom joins Sabine, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his side. She exhales at the contact, watching as Adrien rattles off item after item, feel after feel, sound after sound, smell after smell, and can’t help but wonder how often her daughter has helped bring him down from a panic attack.

Another question she has is, what prompted this? She knows that he’s not used to hearing jokes told in that manner, but that’s not enough to send someone into a spiral. It was his reaction to the specific words said to him.

There's one thing she can figure out right away; Mr. Agreste calls Adrien ‘son’; that may have reminded him of the man. Adrien is a people pleaser; just the mere thought of disappointing someone could cause him to spiral.

Although, even with this information, she still feels like there’s a part of the puzzle missing. She replays the scene in her head over and over again until she can’t take it anymore, and nothing.

Words cannot describe how dumb she feels when Marinette talks to them, once Adrien is asleep in her room.

“His father is, cut and dry, mentally and physically abusive.”

Marinette speaks with such vindictiveness that it takes Sabine aback for a moment.

“Abusive? I know he’s a bit overprotective, honey, but—“

“Mom.”

Marinette’s tone makes Sabine stop in her tracks.

“He gaslights him constantly, telling him that he needs to be perfect and that if not, he’s a disappointment. That’s why your words struck something in him, dad. And Gabriel locks him in his room, doesn’t let him see his friends for weeks, and when Adrien can finally hang out with us, it’s only for an hour. He doesn’t join him for dinner — Adrien has to set a damn appointment to get this luxury — and hugs from him are rare. He’s neglectful and says things that hurt, and….”

Sabine’s eyes are wide in shock hearing everything. She’s sure that’s it, but when her daughter trails off, her fear only grows.

“What, sweetie?”

“…He hit him the other day.”

“What?”

It wasn’t her that spoke, but Tom. She glanced over to see him fuming. His eyebrows are narrowed and jaw is clenched. She can feel anger surging in her chest, as well.

Marinette shifts on her feet, seemingly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, and nods.

“I don’t know exactly what happened, but I met him for pa— for a picnic in the park, and his shirt rode up. A huge bruise was on his abdomen.”

Sabine felt that she was telling a white lie there, but there are more important topics at hand.

“Has Gabriel ever hit him before?” She asks, worried for the boy she considers a son.

Marinette shrugs, “Adrien hasn’t admitted it, but I suspect that he has. Its not the first time I’ve seen him with bruises. They’re in different places all the time, though, so I just passed it off as clumsiness… but…”

“But you’re clumsier than him and come home with less bruises,” Tom breathes, finally pulling his hands away from his face and looking at his daughter, who nods.

“Gabriel doesn’t even talk to him unless he does something to disturb the appearance of his brand and reputation. But when he ‘acts out,’ Adrien gets more than enough attention from him; the wrong kind.”

Tom gulps.

“Right. And who really knows what goes on behind closed doors?”

The room falls into a tense silence.

“I understand that you were just messing around, dad. It’s just… when those words are something he hears almost every day, he’s going to take it seriously. Especially when he was raised to be perfect, and any little mistake will get him punished.

“It’s a reflex. He trusts you, dad, but years of trauma build up.”

Marinette’s explanation helps the older couple understand the situation a bit better. Tom suddenly feels extremely guilty. He holds his head in his hands, grumbling to himself. Sabine rubs his leg, keeping her attention on Marinette.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner, Marinette?”

“I wanted to, and I was getting there. Adrien just…” she sighs. “He was afraid that things would get worse if someone found out.”

“Well, things will get worse before they get better…”

She looks to the ground. “I know. And he’s already been suffering so much that I…”

Marinette trails off, feeling her eyes well up with tears. Instead of fighting them, she lets them fall.

Sabine frowns, taking everything that’s been said into consideration.

“Do you have any proof of the bruises?”

Tom perks up, “Yes! If we collect evidence against his father, there’s a better chance to get him out of there.”

“I snuck a few pictures here and there. I wish I had a video, though…”

Sabine raises an eyebrow, “The mansion’s security cameras?”

She watches her daughter’s eyes light up, then dim, and then light up again. There’s a flash of determination in them, as well, and she can’t help but wonder what she’s planning.

“You’re right,” is all she says, before her optimistic facade turns sour.

“But I don’t know how I’ll get to them without being caught.”

The room falls silent for a minute as they all think about the best course of action.

Tom coughs, catching his wife and daughter’s attention. He shrugs.

“Is there anyone at that house Adrien can trust?”

“Umm. The only person I can think of is his bodyguard, even though we’ve run from him plenty of times,” Marinette says. “He’s pretty quiet, though, so I don’t know if he agrees with Gabriel’s parenting or not. I’ll ask Adrien, though.”

“I’d say it’s worth a shot. Every encounter with that man has been lovely. I’d like to think he’s still working there just for Adrien,” Tom says.

Sabine nods, letting her mind wander. She can’t help but think of every time Adrien has faked a smile, rubbed his arms, rocked back and forth on his feet… Every time he’s had dark circles under his eyes and the ghost of tear streaks on his cheeks... She’s starting to realize that those were all tells, and she should’ve noticed sooner. She feels guiltier than ever.

“Mom?”

Marinette’s voice pulls her away from her thoughts. She blinks, feeling tears gather in her eyes.

When had I started to tear up?

“Sorry, sorry! Let’s, uh—“ she pauses, not knowing what to say, before choosing her next words. “Let’s have him sleep here for the night and see what we can do tomorrow?”

Tom nods beside her.

“Yeah. It might be too soon to worry about all of this right now. Adrien will want to know that we know, too.”

Marinette sighs, “You’re right. He’s not going to be that happy about it. I mean, it took a while for him to understand that the way his father treats him isn’t right, but he’s still working out that concept with you guys. Getting the police involved will just overwhelm him more.”

“True,” Sabine agrees, “but I will not let him stay at that house any longer if that’s what he’s dealing with. No kid should ever go through that.”

She’s serious. No matter what it takes, she will make sure that no one hurts Adrien ever again. Especially not Gabriel Agreste.

[2lim3rz]

THE HATE OF LORGAR [40k FANFIC] [LORGAR X READER]

This has been sitting in my head since April, so it's about time I wrote it!

Lorgar really didn't deserve some of the shit he got tbh, he just needed a better life. Anyways..

WARNINGS: Self-flagellation/harm , Lorgar's moods are pretty flip-floppy

You were a Remembrancer aboard the ship that held the Primarch of the Word Bearer's themselves, Lorgar Aurelian. You didn't know much of the other Primarchs, just that not many of them were... least to say, much fans of your job title.

But it was your job. You had been selected by thousands who were desperate for the position you were in. You had worked your literal and proverbial ass off. On the ship, you lost some of your flow at the complete master-crafters of the various historical arts. You felt incompetent, a mere toddling child amongst some of them.

Did you back down? No. You were close to it once, but some other Remembrancers and even a couple of the Astartes helped your courage. Even though you couldn't fathom why, as one the Astartes clearly held some form of disdain for baseline humans and had a sickly sweet charming voice. Most of the Word Bearers were very charming with their words, but his always had an undertone you never liked; yet given his rank, you couldn't do anything about it.

Of course, his help was the entire reason of why you were Lorgar's personal Remembrancer. Or.. that's how it began. Your meetings getting more frequent despite both of your myriad of duties to attend. You both found excuses. You both grew to know each other. Maybe that's why you paced in worry in the massive in-between hall of his grand room. Two doors on either side, one leading to the ship and one to his room. Maybe that's why you paced, the tip of your thumb in your mouth as you gently gnawed.

You felt his hate. You felt his grief. In fact, you felt all of their grief and hate. Even the most terrifying of the Word Bearers aboard the ship almost seemed to shake. Lorgar, and in turn the Word Bearers, felt as though they were an extended family.. so when you heard the news.. Monarchia was attacked. What was the galaxy turning to if the Ultramarines was turning against them? You took a shuddering breath. You wished you could have gone, but you just couldn't keep up with the Astartes, that was fact and he convinced you of that. So you were here, waiting for Lorgar to come and share his feelings and whatever else happened in the day. For your tradition.

Thoom, thoom, thoom, thoom. You heard his steps. Your head lifted, thumb drifting away as you wiped your hand on your clothes. He was coming, that was clear from the weight of the steps. Your instincts screamed at you, however, at how quick they were. At the clash of something hitting the metal wall. In the distance, a low sort of howl from a grieving beast. Oh, how lucky you were that you pressed yourself against the wall due to the sheer force the doors slammed open. One giving a horrible groan as if it cried out.

You felt your heart drop. His once shining armor was covered in grizzly ash. From his ear was caked blood. The man's eyes was wide and terrifyingly feral, tears had carved rivers in the ash smeared on his face. The already perpetually overwhelming feeling of being near a Primarch grew tenfold at how terrifyingly heavy his breathing was.

"Lor..Lorgar?" you hesitated, feeling as if you couldn't breath. Like a predator, his head snapped towards you. All before he fell to his knees, a sob causing a roaring racket in the silence. Stumbling one step forward, followed by another, you rushed towards him and fell to your own knees, clinging to his hand. "Lorgar! Lorgar, are you- What happened?"

He wasn't looking at you. It was as though you could have disappeared and he wouldn't have noticed one bit. His once beautifully clear eyes were almost glazed in a trance. Tears still falling steadily, his face slack. It was a grimly pretty sight, in the same way one would admire a sad painting. You knew you could not get to his mind when he was so emotional, recalling how he got when you not-so-politely stated how Kor Phaeron didn't deserve his rewards for what was clearly abuse to the Primarch you adored out of all the rest (despite not really meeting any others quite yet).

So it was silence you both dwelled in. Silence that shattered as Lorgar lunged. A roar bellowed from his lips as he tore forth one of the massive doors off its hinged and slammed it against one of your favorite murals on the wall. One of the many dedicated to the Emperor of Mankind, your favorite because it was Lorgar's masterful work. You wisely screamed in fear, stumbling back from the crumbling debris.

"He murdered them all." you thought his eyes were wild once. You thought once that you had seen a feral light in his eyes when he was angry. You thought you would see grief. Sad, sad grief in those eyes. Instead, there was only anger. A roiling blaze in this tear-filled orbs. His ash covered face torn asunder in a snarl. "He killed them because I was right! I was right and he murders millions for it!" your ears hurt. Oh, stars they hurt so bad at the force of his screaming. Letting go of his hand and covering your head, your back slid against the wall as he slammed his fist against the crumbling facade of the Emperor.

"All this sacrifice! All of humanity's blood spilled, all of my blood spilled! And this is what we get?! The moment I tell him the truth, I am spat upon and treated as a mutt!" the Primarch screamed to the air before snapping towards you. Your vision blurred as your own terrified tears emerged. It was as though he had to remember you were there.

"You write the truth, and nothing but the truth, right," never before had your name felt so terrifying. The way he snarled it in his question. You knew he wasn't angry at you and yet you felt so scared. Hiccuping, you frantically nodded, not trusting your words. "Write this. Let the galaxy know He forced the Word Bearers to kneel. He forced me to kneel. He allowed Gulliman to murder entire cities of innocents. All because the Emperor wishes to live a lie."

Just as soon as he spoke those seering words, his eyes staring so deeply in your eyes you swore he could melt you from within, he whipped away. Stomping heavily towards his room. Instincts within screamed at you to turn away. To run when Lorgar was so volatile. He was always emotional and you adored the fiery passion he showed for things.. but sometimes it was too overwhelming, like now. Perhaps some inane part of you figured you could still offer comfort.

So you followed him. Watching from the doors that closed behind you as he took off his armor. If it was any other day, perhaps you two would have traded jokes. If by traded jokes, meant you joked about as he sheepishly stammered his way through it. An unseen side of the Primarch, really, was that he always seemed to stumble his words around you. But not now. Not now as he barely bothered to don a robe before going low onto his knees again, hanging his head low.

You jolted, surprised as he spoke a low order and a man emerged with a large bowl that he seemed to struggle holding. Dark powder emerging in the air as he quickly sat it upon the ground and skittered away. It was as though you were invisible in your terror as he withdrew a long glittering object that was clearly barbed. A whip of sorts.

"Lorgar....?" your whispered voice almost echoed as he splayed his hands across the ground. His tears were back again as he silently dragged one large hand into the bowl of black powder.. no, it was ash. The ashes of Monarchia. The other hand lifted the whip and you covered your mouth with a shriek at the horrid crack it made. How Lorgar hardly winced.

"LORGAR!"

You were shocked, you knew this. But you couldn't move. You could barely breath as you watched Lorgar perform the wretched flagellation. Somehow, you broke your grim reverie to stumble forward, nearly knocking the bowl of ashes away as you threw your arms around his neck with him finally being low enough for you to do that.

The whip was so close to hitting you, but that didn't matter as he stopped. You could feel the hot blood and sweat making your sleeves and skin sticky. You were sobbing into his neck, clinging tighter. "Stop! Stop, please! Just stop!" you pleaded. You had no right to order a Primarch, but you couldn't stand to watch whatever wretched ritual was happening. He was hurting in his grief for Monarchia, but there was no right for him to hurt himself for whatever wrongs the Guilliman and the Emperor did.

Silence passed between you, Lorgar feeling limp in your arms as his own breath hitched twice before a sob broke forth. You heard the rattling clank as he let go of the torturous whip and clung to you as though you were a lifeline. "He forced them to kneel..." the Urizen whispered in another whimper "He looked at m..me with such hatred. At my sons as though they were not worth the dirt beneath his foot, the spit in his mouth."

You opened your own mouth to speak, but he continued. One large and bloody hand stroking yours as you felt a tremble wrack his body. The power of it shook you and it took all your might not to go into blubbering sobs of your own. "I hit Malcador. I hit Guilliman, my own boot-licking brother." a low snarl began to enter his wavering cry "I hit him. And.." he murmured your name, pulling you back so he could look you in the eye.

This was not your Lorgar. Your Lorgar was smiles and stammers. Your Lorgar had a serene focus about him as well as an intensity when he spoke. This man torn asunder with grief and anger was not yours. "It felt satisfying." it seemed to hurt him as he said this "It did not give me joy but I was satisfied at the Sigilite's pain." you trembled at the whispered words.

"Ven...vengeance is not worth the effort, Lorgar.. you.. you've said this-" "This is no longer vengeance, this.." for once he was lost for words, trying to grasp for one before a hiccup tore through his throat with the faint repetition of how the Emperor forced him to kneel. "Just.. please, Lorgar.. Look at me.. Look at me.." you murmured gently, pulling your hands away from his neck to cradle his face. You knew you would cringe later at the sight of the blood and ashes covering you, but for now you were here.

"He does not see the truth.. all I have spoken is the truth.." it was then you saw what was wrong. He was growing lost. If there was the one and only thing you appreciated of Kor Phaeron and the rest of the Word Bearers, it was they they helped Lorgar stay on track. They were more of his family than anyone could have been.. Kor Phaeron more literally even if he was the worst parental figure you could think of.

"It's.. it's not okay what he did, Lorgar.. but please, get cleaned. This isn't healthy." you stroked his ashy skin as he leaned his head against your hand. Closing his eyes and taking a deep shuddering breath. "You are right. There's much to do and.. and my Legion needs their Primarch." that wasn't what you meant. Everyone needed a break sometime or another, Lorgar especially right now. "Y..yes.. they do.." you mumbled after him. If he wanted to work, you would let him work. Anything to stop him from his self abuse. Anything to help comfort him, you would do.

[wisteriashouse]

falling (i).

pairing: rengoku kyoujurou x reader

genre: fluff, dark

warnings: gore, murder

word count: 4212

remarks: i have absolutely no idea what i’ve just done, please tell me if this is considered psychological horror or if it’s just me trying to be edgy and turning out cringey. also please note the warnings above!! if you want fluff, just stop reading at the ‘>>>’  i might delete this in the morning out of embarrassment lmao

i. for your lies

The tea is piping hot when you run into Rengoku Kyoujurou for the first time.

His frame is broad, an immovable mountain, and it’s no wonder that you were sent stumbling while the man before you seems to have barely taken a step backwards. The force of your collision sends the porcelain teacups hurtling off the tray you’re carrying, scalding water splashing over the delicate skin of your hands with a gasp. Your heart lurches into your chest as you fall, but before you can crash painfully to the ground, a pair of strong arms wrap around your middle, pulling you upright. Instead of the floorboards, your nose collides with a firm chest and immediately a slightly sweet, earthy scent fills your nose.

Behind you, there’s the sound of porcelain shattering, the clatter of your tea tray hitting the ground. You stand there for a moment, stunned, trying to register what has just happened. You didn’t even see him move.

“My apologies!” The man apologises to you immediately, although it was you who crashed into him first. His voice is loud and booming in the corridors of the brothel, and the stark contrast to his unassuming attire takes you by surprise. It’s as though he is attempting his best to stay indistinguishable from the crowd - the colour of his robe is a dull, earthy brown - common attire found on most of the chōnin who frequent the red light district of Yoshiwara. However, it does little to mask the brightness of his hair, his smile, and most importantly, his eyes - they burn like twin suns in the sky, and you find that it is near impossible for you to meet his gaze. “Are you alright?”

You bow low immediately, hiding your face from those piercing eyes. The hairs at the back of your neck prickle. “No, no, it was my fault.” You say. Glancing behind you, you see broken shards of porcelain scattered across the ground, hot tea seeping between the cracks in the floorboards. “I’m so sorry that you had to see such an unpleasant sight. I’ll clean up the mess immediately.”

Turning around, you drop to your knees to pick up the pieces, but before your fingertips can so much as brush one, the man is already kneeling before you, gathering up all the shards into his sleeve with one hand and picking up the fallen tray with the other. “Okyaku-sama, I-”

“It’s no problem! It was my fault, after all.” His insistence makes you hesitate for a beat. Perceptive eyes pick up your uncertainty in an instant and he’s quick to reassure you, flashing you a quick grin. “Besides, you shouldn’t be aggravating your injuries!”

Surprised, you glance down at your hands and see pink splotches forming over your skin. A small wince leaves your mouth, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the man in front of you. “You should get the scalded area under some running water! It’ll help cool down the burn.”

You swallow, looking over at the broken teacups in his sleeve. “But…” 

“Oi, [name], what’s with the hold up? Why hasn’t the tea arrived yet?” A snappish voice interrupts you and you turn around to see a middle aged woman stomping up to you, arms folded across her chest. You’re about to explain yourself when her eyes narrow at the mess on the floor, her lips twisting in a satisfied sneer. “Well, well, well. Even the owner’s favourite makes mistakes, I see.”

It takes a significant amount of effort to conceal the roll of your eyes.

“Sorry, Masako-san.” You force a polite smile onto your face, inclining your head to the overseer of the brothel. “I’ll get another tea set prepared right away-”

“It was my fault.” 

Surprised, you glance up at the man standing next to you. There’s a polite, apologetic smile on his face as he speaks to Masako. “I am the one to blame here, I bumped into her.” At the sight of him, Masako’s eyes widen - she must have been so fixated on you that she completely missed him - and she hurriedly bows before him. “Okyaku-sama!”

“I’m sorry that I broke such a beautiful piece of art.” He inspects the shards in his sleeve with a cursory glance, brow furrowed. “From the glaze, it must have been a rather expensive set. I’ll pay for it, if need be.”

“There’s no need to. You’re a customer, I’m sure the owner would not hold it against you.” Masako replies breathlessly, shaking her head. You keep your mouth shut. If the man had not taken the blame onto himself instead, you’re sure that she would have insisted you pay every bit of it. “If you would come with me, okyaku-sama, it would be my pleasure to bring you some of the most beautiful girls in the establishment-”

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m not here for such pleasures.” The man cuts her off politely, yet his voice is firm. One of his hands comes to rest on your shoulder. “This lovely lady said she would show me where to dispose of the pieces, so we should get going before I drop any of these and cause an accident.”

Taking his words as a subtle cue, you nod in agreement. “Then, I’ll be leaving first, Masako-san. I’ll bring up a fresh set to the room later.”

Unable to argue with a customer, Masako can only watch as you lead the man down the hallway and around the corner. Once you’re out of her line of sight, you heave a sigh of relief, shaking your head. 

“Thank you for helping me back there.” You murmur softly as he falls into step next to you. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s only natural to help someone in need!” He smiles, jovial, and you find the sight about as radiant as the sun. “I’m glad that I could be of assistance to you. Besides,” his smile turns a little sheepish, “I was speaking the truth when I said that I was not here for sexual services.” 

“What are you here for, then?” Your question seems to be something he wasn’t expecting, because he raises a brow, lips pursing slightly. You put up your hands immediately at the guarded expression that flashes across his face. “Apologies, I appear to be overstepping my boundaries. You don’t have to answer my question, okyaku-sama. I’m just a servant here, after all.”

The corners of his lips dip into a frown. “Do not speak of yourself that way. You and your work here are valued, I am sure!” The cautiousness of his face seems to have abated slightly, because he ponders your question a little more seriously this time. “Well, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I am searching for a friend, whom I was supposed to meet here.”

“Friend?” You ask, curious. Your footsteps halt before a sliding door that you make quick work to open, revealing a kitchen behind the screen. “I’m the cook of this establishment, so if you describe them to me briefly, I might be able to tell if I’ve seen them around.”

“Well, his name is Yugou Fukuzashi.” the man begins. He seems oddly nervous now. “He has a pet crow.”

You pause for a moment, musing over the past few days before you let out a little gasp of recognition.

“Oh, yes, I think I’ve seen him before! His crow looked so cute, I couldn’t help but approach him and ask him to let me pet it.” You tell him enthusiastically, watching the way his eyes light up. “He mentioned that he was heading out for a while and wanted me to leave a message for the next person looking for him.”

His back straightens almost imperceptibly, eyes sharpening. If you hadn’t been watching him out of the corner of your eye, you would have completely missed the sudden, subtle shift in his attitude. “Would you care to tell me the message?” 

“Well,” you step into the kitchen, and the man has to duck his head slightly to enter after you. “He said that he was investigating an urgent, new lead about something, and that you should wait here for a few days until he returns, in case he needs your immediate help. That was all.” 

“New lead?” He repeats to himself under his breath, brows furrowed. Stepping over to the sink, you gesture to the trash bin in the corner of the room. “You can dispose of the pieces there. I’m truly sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you, okyaku-sama.”

“It was really of no trouble to me!” You hear the clink of pottery behind you as you hold your hands under tap, cool water streaming over your skin. “And please, don’t call me okyaku-sama. It makes me feel strange, considering that I’m not here for the services on sale!”

You blink over your shoulder. He’s seated himself at the kitchen table, both hands resting lightly on the tabletop, eyes bright as he regards you. That sight is incredibly foreign to you - no one has sat in your kitchen that you remember, with good reason. “Right. What should I call you, then?” 

He beams at you. Sunlight streams in through the open windows, casting shadows over his hands. “You can call me Rengoku! That’s my name, Rengoku Kyoujurou.” You repeat his name slowly, testing it out on your tongue, intonation slightly stilted. “Rengoku-san. That’s a rather dramatic name, don’t you think?”

His name means inferno, purgatory. A divine fire that burns away even the deepest, darkest sins of men, unrelenting in its pursuit for righteousness and justice. Your mouth pulls into a thin line. 

It suits him, you think, with the flame tipped hair and the burning coal of his irises that seem to scorch you bare to the bones with his gaze.

You introduce yourself to him in turn, and he repeats your name back to you with bright enthusiasm. “You have a beautiful name.” He smiles. Although his expression is relaxed, his back is still ramrod straight, one hand constantly hovering at his left hip. You swallow silently, heart racing in your chest. 

“Flatterer.” You reply lightly, turning your eyes away before he can notice your staring. Pulling your hands out from beneath the tap, you hold them up to inspect them - the pink is already beginning to fade, and with a little ointment, they’ll be as good as before in no time at all. “See? They’re perfectly fine.” You show Kyoujurou your hands with a slight smile. “There’s no reason for you to feel bad at all. In fact, I should be thanking you instead.” 

“There’s no need to!” Kyoujurou laughs. The sound is bright and clear and honest, unlike the poisonous titter of the prostitutes you hear so often in the private entertainment rooms, or the delighted chuckles of the conmen and schemers that prowl the streets, looking for a quick coin. “As I said, I only did what anyone else would have done. It is nothing to be thanked for.”

What he says makes you pause in your step, your throat tightening. Does he truly believe that, or is he simply spouting empty words, a hollow vessel echoing the words of others? “You are a very kind man, Rengoku-san.” Is all you end up saying softly instead, and Kyoujurou looks startled at your words for a moment. Before he can find some way to excuse that as well, you continue, lightening the mood with a quick smile. “Besides, you did save me from having to pay for those cups. They’re part of an expensive tea set, and if any of them did break, I’d probably be punished by Masako-san.” You catch Kyoujurou’s lips pulling into a frown at your words and quickly continue. “I’d like to treat you to a meal to repay you! As I mentioned earlier, I’m the cook of this place, so I’m sure I could find some way to satisfy your palate!” 

Kyoujurou stares at you for a moment before he shakes his head. “No, it’s quite alright-”

“This place might be a brothel,” you say, suddenly a little put out at his refusal, crossing your arms over your chest, “but our food is pretty good too, you know.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Kyoujurou hurries to clear up the misunderstanding before you can continue to insist, eyes wide. “Your hands are injured, so you should abstain from using them in the meantime! After they are well, I’d love to try your cooking!”

“Oh.” You pause, suddenly embarrassed. Momentarily flustered, you step over to the cupboards, pulling out a small tray piled high with elaborately made wagashi. “Then, Rengoku-san, in the meantime, please have these instead.”

His eyes widen with almost unbridled excitement as he looks over them, before he turns to you. “You made these yourself?” There’s such honest joy in his voice that you can’t meet his eyes, ducking your head to the side a little awkwardly.

“It’s a hobby of mine.” You say, rubbing the back of your neck. “Please, eat up.” 

Kyoujurou doesn’t need a second invitation, picking one up and admiring the detail on it briefly before putting the sweet into his mouth whole. He chews for a moment, and as much as you try not to, you find yourself watching his face in anticipation. Are they any good? Do they suit his taste?

He swallows and takes a deep breath.

“Delicious!”

You nearly reel at the volume of his declaration. “Absolutely delicious! Delicious!” He continues to exclaim, reaching out for more, and within minutes the staggering pile of handmade sweets have been completely demolished by a man alone. You watch the scene unfold in shock even as he gathers the crumbs off the tray and pops them into his mouth with a final proclamation of ‘delicious!’, said with great gusto.

You stare for a moment before shaking your head, rendered quite speechless. It’s as if he’s been famished for years. “I assume they tasted good?”

“They tasted fantastic!” Kyoujurou beams at you, one hand reaching up to wipe away the few stray crumbs clinging to the side of his mouth. “You are an amazing cook! I am very lucky to have the privilege of having your food!”

You give him a slight smile as you reach over to pick up the tray. “Well, you’ll have plenty of chances to taste them over the next few days, since you’ll be staying here. I hope that I’ll get to know you better during your time here, Rengoku-san.” Your words are sweet, and so very simple.

He smiles back at you, completely guileless.

“I look forward to getting to know you better too!”

>>>

When night falls, the sun extinguished by shadows and darkness prowling the streets, the red light district comes alive, a nocturnal beast raising its slumbering head. Kyoujurou has long retired to bed, citing a need to wake up early the next day, but you wonder if part of his reason for doing so is to avoid the depravity that settles over the floating world of pleasure. Upright, moral and righteous, adhering to a strict code of conduct and self discipline. 

That’s what you’ve picked up about Rengoku Kyoujurou so far in the time you’ve spent together.

A covered tray in your hands, you make your way down the hallway, ascending the stairs to the very highest floor of the building. Here, the walls are lavishly decorated with various signature artworks from famous artists of different eras, glazed vases and pottery, the tatami soft and firm under your feet. It’s almost as if you’ve entered a different world altogether, compared to the lower floors of the brothel, this would be a place almost fit for royalty. 

Almost no one knows of the topmost floor and the secrets it hides. 

Quietly, you knock at the door. Your knuckles whisper a secret pattern into the wood. “It’s me.”

There’s a long pause before you hear a familiar series of clicking and whirring, hundreds of locks being undone from the other side. You wait patiently, and with a final click, the door slides open for you. 

You take a single, deep breath, and step into the lion’s maw.

It’s dark, the only light source the candles scattered about the room, their meagre light throwing eerie shadows at the walls. The interior is even more decorated than the exterior, rich, soft carpet lining every inch of floor, gilded ornaments dotting the space to its owner’s every whim and fancy. Yet, it cannot hide the heavy scent of iron that suffuses the air, thick and poignant.

Carefully, you make your way to the front of the room, where a figure sits cross legged on a raised dais.

Its leering smile sends chills down your spine, but you continue walking towards it with as much calm as you can muster, although every nerve in your body tells you to run in the opposite direction. To your side, a kneeling figure trembles. You don’t spare him a second glance.

You stand before the dais, setting down the covered tray before you. Two simple words leave your lips.

You watch with emotionless eyes as a dark tendril lowers a single squawking shape down to your eye level, the kasugai crow letting out a stream of desperate, high pitched shrieks and caws. That’s the last sound it ever makes, because in the next second the tendril squeezes, and the little bird simply splatters over the ground in a mess of blood and black feathers. The room abruptly falls silent, devoid of the bird’s wails. “That’s far better, I was getting tired of its ceaseless noise. The curses it hurled at me, you wouldn’t have believed how unkind its words were, darling.” You remember how soft its feathers were under your fingertips.

“He’s here.” You say, simply.

The creature before you lets out a low ‘oho?’, and all around you, you hear a unsettling concerto of dry, raspy slithering, as if there are a thousand snakes in this very room with you. You’ve only seen its true form once, and the nightmarish sight still haunts you till this day. “So the little bird was right, after all.”

“You didn’t have to wait till now to kill it.” You answer, impassive. The demon tilts its head as it regards you, one corner of its mouth tilting up in a grin. 

“I had to let it know that it failed its mission at the moment of its death. Just thinking about the agony it felt in its last moments sends shivers down my spine. It’s all about the despair.” It coos, voice dangerously soft with glee. “So, a Pillar has really come to my humble establishment? Have you convinced him to stay for dinner?” 

The tea had been piping hot when you had run into Rengoku Kyoujurou for the first time.

Watching from the upper floors, fingers dancing over the boiling kettle, you had been waiting the entire morning - eyes on the streets, looking out for a man who fit the description of Flame Pillar to approach. It’d been around midday when you had caught sight of him, guided to the front of the establishment, and when he’d tilted his head upwards to take in the building, you had instantly known that the man before you did not belong in this pit of depravity.

It was him.

“I have.” Your words are short and curt. “He’s meeting his friend here. Yugou Fukuzashi.”

“The poor man will be waiting a long time.” With a soft, poisonous chuckle, the demon reaches forward to lift the cover of the tray, and there’s a choked scream of terror behind you at the sight it reveals.

Yugou Fukuzashi’s severed head sits on a platter, neatly slicked chunks of raw, red meat set around it in a perfect circle. You don’t even bat an eyelid, hands clasped behind you as you continue staring at the wall opposite you. “Thigh, chest and shoulder meat. Just like you wanted.”

“You’ve done perfectly, as usual. Lovely, absolutely lovely. You’re an astounding cook, truly.” The shadows against the wall amass and morph into the distorted shape of a hand, reaching down with a pair of chopsticks to dip a slice of meat in soy sauce before lifting it into its mouth. “Slayers always have the best meat. Their well trained bodies are so firm and juicy. I can never resist a beautiful meal.”

The person on the ground next to you scrabbles to his feet, babbling nonsensically at the grotesque sight as he tries to flee on shaky legs. Before he can take so much as a step, there’s a soft, silent breath as the air itself is cleaved in half and the man goes crashing to the ground once again, screaming terribly as blood gushes from the back of his calves. Achilles tendons severed, the man has no way of escaping - well, not that he did, in the first place.

None of them ever have.

“I wonder,” the demon says thoughtfully, over the din of the screaming man, “what the flesh of a Pillar would taste like.” Its eyes come to rest on you, and the hairs at the back of your neck prickle. “What do you think?”

You exhale. “I don’t know.” The screaming jarring your thoughts, and you take a deep breath to regulate your emotions. “But I can bring him to you, if you want.”

It coos. “And that’s why you’re my favourite, darling. So obedient, so willing. It’s no wonder why you’re the only one I’ve kept around for long.” The shadows surge, shifting restlessly before something unnaturally cold touches your cheek, dangerously tender. “That Masako should really learn from you.”

Next to you, the man screams again, trying to crawl away, gasping for air through his tears and the taste of his own blood in his mouth. “No matter. She won’t be around much longer.” You don’t flinch when the demon’s tendrils snake down to play at the delicate skin of your neck, taking steady breaths and counting your heartbeat in your mind. “She’s far too noisy, much like this slab of meat here.”

The shadows wrap around the man’s ankle right before he can make it to the door, hoisting him into the air and he lets out a terrified shriek, thrashing about madly. “If only you hadn’t tried to steal from that previous meal of mine. I hope that gold embroidered coat you’re wearing now is worth the life you’re about to pay for it.” The demon hums lightly, shaking his head. The man sobs and screams, all dignity abandoned, his sounds melding together into a desperate cacophony. “You should have to pay a far greater price, considering that it was your silly mistake that brought the demon slayers knocking on our door. But because I’m merciful, I won’t drag it out for you.”

A seam opens up in the writhing mass of shadows to reveal a maw filled with rows and rows of jagged teeth. The man cries for mercy, pleads with the gods for salvation, before he turns his eyes to you, desperately begging you to save him with the last of his breath. You don’t even spare him a glance when his words are cut off abruptly, the sound of bone crunching and breaking as the demon swallows him whole.

The room falls silent once more.

“And that settles one little problem we have.” The demon says with a satisfied sigh. You don’t move a muscle, hands still clasped behind your back. “If only he were more like you, he wouldn’t have died. The silly man.”

You snatch your air back into your lungs, searching desperately for your voice. “He shouldn’t have stolen that coat.” You breathe out. Your blood seems to have turned to ice in your veins.

“He shouldn’t. If they were all more like you, they wouldn’t have died. He was a selfish, materialistic man.” The demon agrees, its voice a playful hum. A gentle weight rests on top of your head, and suddenly you feel as though you can’t breathe. “I know you’ll never be like that, my darling. You’re my favourite, after all.”

You take that as your permission to leave. “Then, I’ll take my leave first.”

You turn around and walk slowly towards the door, careful to avoid the trail of blood smeared over the carpet. The ominous feeling of death chases at your heels, but you don’t let yourself look over your shoulder as you continue to put one foot in front of the other. When you finally step out into the hallway, you turn back to slide the door shut, and hear the shadows whisper your name.

“Bring me the Pillar’s head, darling.” Even through the gloom, you see its mouth curve into a terrible grin from the dais. “I know you won’t disappoint me.”

You bow your head low.

The door slides shut, the locks and bolts clicking back into place once more. Taking a deep breath to steady your legs, you make your way to the stairs and descend, leaving the locked room behind you like a bad dream pushed to the very recesses of your mind.

Almost no one knows of the topmost floor and the secrets it hides, except for you.

Because you’re the only one who’s walked out of it alive.

[oh-no-my-hand-slipped]

Pssoibly a vampire dude with 🤐 and/or 😏??

Idk >.< You’re writing is incredible also!!

Thank you so much for both the compliment and the ask! I actually have an affinity for vampires, since they are so serious and regal. That makes it especially interesting when their sensitive noses begin to work against their image.

I know that there are a lot of people who like flower allergic reactions, but I just finished a huge allergy fic not too long ago for @daystar428 (they have awesome art ‘n stuff, I would 100% check them out), and even though it was an awesome write, I need something a little different. But I still want a nice allergy...

Oooooooh.

I have an idea, but...I’m not sure how I feel about it.

Man vampire, woman maid.

One can be dom, the other sub. Which one, though?

There aren’t enough woman doms in this world...

Hm...

This may be my first NSFW post...

Pro-write Edit: Yep, NSFW. Or, sorta. Maybe. I’ll say 13+ anyway.

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

“You called for me, sir?”

Maria curtsied, waiting for her master, Nikolas, to face her. However, he just kept looking out into the garden, breathing in the air from the open window.

“Yes, indeed. I called you to give your list of chores for the week, as the Blood Moon Ball is coming up, and there are special preparations to be made. The written instructions are on the dresser next to the door.”

Maria blinked and furrowed her eyebrows. If she was going to be brushed off like this, one of the errand boys could have given this list to her. Nikolas must have sensed her frustration - he could sense heartbeats, after all.

“I apologize for the inconvenience. I thought perhaps your visit could deh...distract me.”

Nikolas lifted a gloved hand to his face and turned around. His eyes were glazed over, and his usually neat nose was swollen and pink. A knuckle rested below his septum, as if barely keeping everything together.

“I have had a...snrk...sneeze coming on all day. I thought the pollen from outside could coax it out. Wildflowers tend to aggravate my allergies, but now they aren’t doing much good.”

Maria took a closer look at her employer. His fangs sat crookedly on his lower lip, which were slightly agape from many a failed hitching. His nostrils flared, aching to be relieved.

He was on the edge of release.

With a swish of her skirt, Maria sashayed over to Nikolas’s desk, grinning.

“You know,” she said, holding up her feather duster, “I have just finished cleaning. And nothing makes a sensitive nose sneeze more than a bit of stray dust. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Nikolas sniffled. “I...I suppose so.”

Maria ran her hand through the feathers, causing a cloud of dust to fall to the floor.

“Imagine,” she said. “A strong, powerful vampire kept at bay by a little tickle. You do want to be free, don’t you? To release what has long been kept prisoner?”

Nikolas stared at the duster, transfixed by the debris slowly floating through the air. Finally, he looked back at Maria.

“Are you...? W-would you...?”

Maria giggled, plucking out a feather and using it to gently run it up the vampire’s throat and chin, but snapping it away before it got to his nose. Nikolas’s nostrils opened like a rose, quivering.

“I won’t let you be relieved so easily. Half of the fun is the journey, wouldn’t you say?”

Maria wrapped her fingers around Nikolas’s tie and pulled him to her face. He cried out, but was too shocked to pull himself away.

“Especially when the destination is over and gone so soon...”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” Nikolas stammered. “I haven’t any idea...”

“Of course you don’t. You inherited this house from money, not from work and cleverness. You haven’t had a single thought in your damn life.”

Maria, still holding Nikolas’s tie, led him to a nearby wall, then pushing his shoulders into it. They were shaking - either from fear or the sneezing welling up yet again. Noticing this, she held her employer’s nose between two fingers, watching intently as his eyes began to flutter.

“I want you to earn something,” Maria snarled. “I want you to gasp in desperation, and to know what it truly means to want. To be kept from something for so long you can barely stand it.”

Nikolas nodded, trying to open his mouth to speak, but Maria shushed him and put a finger over his lips, which were still ajar.

“What a fight,” she said, raising her finger up to rest on Nikolas’s nose. “You’d think it would succeed, trembling like that. Like a little bunny.”

Maria started tracing his nostrils with her fingernail. They shivered, overwhelmed by the urge to be rid of the foreign feeling, but unable to pull themselves away.

Nikolas snorted and hitched, his watery eyes rolling back. Maria grabbed his nose again.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Nikolas gritted his teeth, his fangs extending ever further.

“Peh...please,” he begged, “I...c-can’t...guh...HUH...!”

“Need to sneeze, Master? Oh, but it wouldn’t be proper to relieve yourself in front of a lady!”

“Ho...G-god...I...GEH...!”

Snot streamed down Maria’s fingers and dripped onto the floor.

“Oh, what a mess,” she said, cocking one eyebrow. “What a wonderful mess. However, I simply must clean it.”

Maria let go of Nikolas, then started sweeping the duster around his neck. The poor vampire had his hand halfway to his nose, trying to catch a sneeze that was as fickle as the maid that stood before him.

“Oops! I seem to have missed a spot!”

Maria wiggled the duster in Nikolas’s face. The many feathers tickled every nerve, causing him to recoil, his long-suffering nostrils to quaver and wrinkle and buck, finally finding enough breath to end its suffering.

“Guh...huh...HAH...!”

Nikolas leaned back, his nose trembling with effort. His eyes flew shut and his quivering lips opened to welcome the long awaited release.

“GHAH...HAH’SHUH! HAH’SHOO! CHOO! HAH...HSH’SHUH!

Each sneeze released a cloud of liquid particles, which danced in the sunlight from the open window. Nikolas could barely contain what Maria had let loose, and his sleeves became stained with spray after spray.

After several minutes of tending to his itchy nose, the fit subsided, leaving Nikolas sprawled in his chair, exhausted. Maria squatted down to his level, waving the duster.

“Anything you’d like to say?”

Nikolas blew his full nose into a handkerchief that was much too small for the job.

“T-tank yeh...HSH’CHOO!”

The sneezing began with a new vigor, the master’s scratchy throat adding a note of desperation. Maria smiled and almost skipped out the office, her dust-filled weapon still in hand. She couldn’t wait to tell all the other waitstaff the good news.

There could simply be no work today.

Master Nikolas had unfortunately come down with something.

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

So...that...happened. Wowie. Not NSFW but reeeeeeeeaaaaalllllly close. I guess I have some fantasies that I didn’t even know were in my brain. I still can’t believe I wrote this in one day. That never happens...

Anyway, @mochiochiochi , I hope you enjoy your fic. Remember, if you hate it, I’ll write you a new one! Hand Slipped Guarantee!

[nurvuss]

I Watched the First Episode of Every New Spring 2021 Anime Airing on Crunchyroll

Hey, are you like me, and feeling like you're not getting the most out of your Crunchyroll subscription? Sure, there's stuff on there that you know you like. But whenever I look at the big long list of simulcasting shows, my eyes glaze over and I don't even know where to begin.

I wanted to change my habits and see if there were any shining gems that I should be watching. So, as per the title, I watched the first episode of every new Spring 2021 anime on Crunchyroll. And guess what? There’s a lot of crap! But indeed, there’s some stuff that’s worth your time.

Some clarification: I've only watched shows that began their first season in April 2021.

Backflip!!

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The Lowdown

As Futaba Shotaro comes to the end of middle school, his interest in baseball has begun to wane. Soon he notices the Ao High Boys Gymnastic Club and becomes enthralled, especially after seeing them perform. Once he learns they're down two members, he chooses to sign up and pursue the art of gymnastics. The club is also joined by Misato Ryoya, a star solo gymnast looking to expand his technique through teamwork.

Our Thoughts

Pretty formulaic shoujo sports anime: you've got your himbo, your thug, your ladies' man, your stoic guy, with Shotaro rounding out the cast as the shy and awkward audience surrogate. It looks wholesome enough, and the choreographed routines employ CG in a way that's quite convincing without being hideous.

Who It's For

Fans of  FREE, or Yuri!!! on Ice, or any similar shows about cute boys who succeed at athletic feats. 

Borscht Rating

Burning Kabaddi

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The Lowdown

Legendary high school soccer star Yoigoshi Tatsuya has given up on sports! That is, until he's blackmailed to join the high school kabaddi team, under threat of his online persona being leaked to the entire school. Although Tatsuya initially writes kabaddi off as stupid, the unexpected happens as he begins to have fun.

Our Thoughts

Kabaddi is kinda like competitive tag, or dodgeball but with your body instead of a ball. Burning Kabaddi is basically the shounen alternative to Backflip!! above, replete with nosebleeds, pratfalls, and dudes punching each other. The main cast don't seem to like each other very much; that probably changes as the show goes on but at first blush it's a dynamic I always find annoying.

Who it's For

Fans of Haikyuu!!? Maybe?

Borscht Rating

CARDFIGHT!! VANGUARD overDress

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The Lowdown

The newest series based on Bushiroad's collectible card game, featuring character designs by the beloved collective CLAMP. Petit middle schooler Yu-Yu just doesn't know how to say no. As his older students dress him in drag to use as live makeup practice, he suffers a panic attack and flees into the streets. After being accosted by a pickup artist, he's befriended by Megumi, who invites him to witness a Cardfight match at the local abandoned amusement park. However, Yu-yu is too shy to tell Megumi he's actually a boy…

Our Thoughts

What an unexpectedly weird concept for a show about a card game. Our hero spends the whole episode in drag, whimpering and simpering at the sight of any conflict. Then they show off the latest series of cards, which all seem to be giant buff knights with names like "Bad Steve" and "Violent Bruce". Your guess is as good as mine.

Who it's For

Cardfight!! lovers, Japanese gender studies majors, or the most desperate fujoshi. 

Borscht Rating

Cestvs: The Roman Fighter

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The Lowdown

The year is 54AD, and Nero has taken the throne as the youngest emperor of Rome. At the bottom of the population, Cestvs is a young slave training to be a colosseum boxer. Reluctant, his only choice is to fight or die.

Our Thoughts

Seeing Nero depicted as a gentle little twink is pretty funny. It's also pretty funny that the central character is named after a Roman boxing glove. The animation style transitions to some very uncanny CG when a major fight takes place, and I didn't like that one bit! This seems like a pretty average tournament anime but with a historical setting. It's currently unknown if any of these dudes are fucking each other. I'm gonna say probably.

Who It's For

The venn-diagram of Greco-Roman history buffs and lovers of tournament series?

Borscht Rating

Don’t Toy with Me, Miss Nagatoro!

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The Lowdown:

Hachioji Naoto is a nerdy, introverted student who spends his time studying and avoiding socialising. When pages from the fantasy manga he's drawing fall out of his bookbag, they catch the attention of a younger student named Nagatoro Hayase. Nagatoro begins to tease Naoto for his otaku interests and awkward demeanour, peppered with some suggestive flirting.

Our Thoughts:

What would you do if a younger girl flirted with you? Would you cry? Piss your pants maybe? Maybe shit and cum? Don't Toy With Me… attempts to barely conceal its BDSM fantasy with its comedic elements, but it's incredibly apparent as Nagatoro always wipes away Naoto's tears as a sort of aftercare. It's like a lighter, comedic version of Aku no Hana, but lacking any of the ponderings or danger that made that work so special.

Who It's For: 

People who search Pornhub for "bratty sister femdom".

Borscht Rating:

86 Eighty-Six

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The Lowdown

The Republic of San Magnolia and the Giad Empire, have been at war for nearly a decade. Using advanced military technology, the frontlines are fought by giant mecha drones called Juggernauts, controlled remotely by Handlers. Major Vladilena Mirizé is one of the military's most talented Handlers in the 1st District, and one who is constantly teased by her peers for the humanity and empathy she shows her squadron. The government line is that drone warfare has kept casualties to zero, but unbeknownst to the public these "drones'' are piloted by 86ers—the lowest class of citizens, forced to live in military internment camps in San Magnolia's 86th District.

Our Thoughts

This is incredibly my kind of thing. We've got a dual narrative being set up here: Vladilena as the kind, reluctant officer of a fascist regime, and the Bad Company-esque antics of her new ragtag squad, Spearhead. The first episode is split pretty evenly between the two, with each story converging at the end as Vladilena "meets" Spearhead for the first time through her comms station. It's an explosive and enticing first episode, and I can't wait to watch more of it.

Who It's For

Fans of Fullmetal Alchemist, Psycho-Pass, Gundam, or any number of anti-imperialist war stories.

Borscht Rating

Fairy Ranmaru

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The Lowdown

In a quiet corner of the city sits Bar F, a modest drinking establishment staffed entirely by five hot young men. Unbeknownst to the general population, these men are a crack team of fairies sent to the human world to gather the latent energy of "attachment". They do this by solving the problems of young women, taking their hearts in the process.

Our Thoughts

Hubba hubba, a little something for the ladies! It's Weiẞ Kreuz with a bar instead of a flower shop, fairies instead of assassins, and some pretty revealing outfits. There's definitely a little Persona 5 inspiration here too, from the punctuating phrase "Take your Heart!" to many of the visual cues. Make of that what you will.

Who It's For

Fans of Weiẞ Kreuz, slash fic authors.

Borscht Rating

Farewell, My Dear Cramer

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The Lowdown

Onda Nozomi was once the star player of her middle school football team. Completely unmatched, she no longer plays as there's no opponent she deems to be on her level. Meanwhile Suou Sumire far outpaces her teammates, causing her frustration. By a twist of fate, these two girls find themselves joining the scrappy Warabi Seinan High School FC as they begin to learn the value of teamwork and friendship.

Our Thoughts

I don't know sports. And I really don't know football. I had to look up what the title meant, and now I barely know who Dettmar Cramer is. I'm really not the best person to judge this, but it seems like a pretty good female-driven sports anime. 

Who It's For

Fans of Ace o Nerae! or other sports manga/anime about those ever burning bonds between young teammates.

Borscht Rating

Gloomy, the Naughty Grizzly

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The Lowdown:

Pitty lives with his pet Gloomy, a massive pink bear. Can a boy and a bear truly get along?

Our Thoughts:

This is a series of minute-long gag episodes in which Gloomy mauls Pitty and blood squirts everywhere. It's definitely meant to be a morbid parody of Sanrio or San-X; it might be a Rilakkuma parody in particular? Gloomy is the kind of thing you might laugh at if it came on in between shows, but it's pretty slight to go through the trouble of putting on.

Who It's For:

Gag anime fans with one minute to spare.

Borscht Rating:

Higehiro: After Being Rejected, I Shaved and Took in a High School Runaway

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The Lowdown

After a night of drinking in Tokyo, slovenly salaryman Yoshida encounters a teenage runaway sitting under a lamppost. She offers to sleep with him in return for letting her spend the night in his apartment. Yoshida refuses her offer but allows her to stay. The next morning the girl, Sayu, reveals she's travelled all the way from Hokkaido, sleeping with random men in return for lodging and money. Feeling responsible for her safety, Yoshida agrees for Sayu to stay indefinitely in return for handling household chores.

Our Thoughts

This is kind of the inverse of Koikimo (see below), but without a scumbag character and from a male perspective. It's not nearly as nauseating as that show, but it's still a fantasy about living with a busty teenage girl.

Who It's For

Libertarians.

Borscht Rating

I've Been Killing Slimes For 300 Years And Maxed Out My Level

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The Lowdown: 

Office lady Aizawa Azusa dies of overwork in her early 20s, and finds herself standing before a lecherous goddess. Allowed a wish as compensation for her untimely demise, Azusa wishes for an endless life of leisure. The goddess reincarnates her as a 17-year-old immortal witch in an RPG-coded fantasy world. Thrilled, Azusa lazes about, brewing potions for her neighbouring villagers, and kills a small amount of slimes each day to supplement her income. After doing this every day for 300 years, she inadvertently finds herself at Level 99. Her peaceful life is soon upended as adventurers and dragons come from miles around to challenge the legendary witch.

Our Thoughts:

I'm not really an isekai fan, and that goes double for series which aren't set in an RPG, yet use RPG mechanics. Levelling up, grinding stats, min-maxing, as if it's a part of the fabric of the setting. I don't get it. I like watching numbers go up as much as the next dork, but I don't need to watch numbers go up in absolutely every piece of media I consume. Just play a fucking video game, Jesus Christ almighty.

I thought this might be setting up a fun series in which a layabout is reluctantly called upon to undertake a dangerous quest, but I don't think that's what's going on at all. When the red dragon Laika wrecks Azusa's house, she transforms into a cute young girl and the two begin living together, teaching each other the pros and cons of hard work and slothfulness respectively. The trajectory of the series might be as laid back as its protagonist in the end, which, ultimately, would be fitting.

Who It's For:

Isekai fans, slice-of-life fans. The twain have met!

Borscht Rating:

Joran: The Princess of Snow and Blood

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The Lowdown

In alternative history Japan the Meiji Period continued well into the 1930s, and the ongoing Tokugawa Shogunate has brought technological prosperity to the nation through a magical energy source called the Dragon's Vein. Sawa Yukimura runs a bookshop where she lives with her little sister by day, but by night she's an assassin for Nue, the shogunate's secret police. As the terrorist group Kuchinawa deploys transforming beasts in an attempt to topple the shogunate, Nue springs into action with their own abilities.

Our Thoughts

There are a lot of concepts competing here, and a few too many flashy transformation sequences for my taste, but I'm really into it! Nue are made up of sex workers and street musicians, often overlooked and therefore easily able to blend in. There's a supernatural Standalone Complex vibe to how the team operates, and they're almost assuredly on the wrong side. Worth a shot!

Who It's For

Fans of alternate history science fiction, Ghost in the Shell: Standalone Complex, Demon Slayer.

Borscht Rating

Koikimo: Koi to Yobu ni wa Kimochi Warui ("It's Disgusting to Call This Love")

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The Lowdown

Amakusa Ryo is a womanizing salaryman concerned with nothing but his own base desires. As he slips on the train station stairs one morning, he's saved by the swift action of Arima Ichika, a kind-hearted high schooler. When it turns out Ichika is friends with Ryo's younger sister Riou, he decides she's his soulmate, and begins to pursue her no matter how many times she refuses him. Comedy ensues!

Our Thoughts

Yeah, OK groomer.

Alright look, Korikimo is written by a woman and told from Ichika's perspective, so this is obviously meant to be a lighthearted "older man" shoujou romance. As an older man, all I saw were the adventures of a paedophile and the teenager he's stalking. Fuck off.

Who it's For

There's probably other stuff like this, right? If you like that, here you go.

Borscht Rating

Let's Make a Mug, Too

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The Lowdown

After the death of her mother, Himeno and her father relocate from bustling Tokyo to quiet Tajimi City in Gifu Prefecture. The former salaryman opens a quiet cafe using the remarkable mugs made by his late wife, while Himeno follows in her mother's footsteps and joins the school pottery club. Although her first project ends in disaster, Himeno makes fast friends with the eccentric pottery enthusiasts who make up the club.

Our Thoughts

It's no Eizouken, but I guess it's probably not meant to be. I'm not a big iyashikei genre fan, but if that's your thing, you might enjoy the wholesome non-adventures of three girls trying to make a mug. It's worth noting these episodes are only about 12 minutes long, with the remaining runtime segmented into live action episodes where the voice actresses tour Tajimi and unconvincingly pretend to be interested in Gifu's famous mino-yaki pottery. I think this must be a tie-in with a local tourist board. 

Who It's For

People who enjoy stuff like Aria, actually.

Borscht Rating

OddTaxi

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The Lowdown

In a Tokyo populated by anthropomorphic animals, a solemn walrus named Odokawa spends his nights driving his cab around the bustling metropolis, spending his free time drinking with his pals. Odokawa soon finds his quiet life disrupted by a caper involving a missing girl, some crooked cops, and the animal yakuza. 

Our Thoughts

A deft blend of working class slice-of-life with mystery, cute animals, and striking visual design. OddTaxi might be the sleeper hit of Spring 2021.

Who It's For

Fans of existentialist film noir with absurdist comedy, Polar Bear Cafe, walrus lovers.

Borscht Rating

Osamake: Romcom Where The Childhood Friend Won't Lose

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The Lowdown

Suehiro Maruo Sueharu Maru has his heart set on Shirokusa Kachi, the hottest girl in school. When she begins dating a young actor, Sueharu confides in his childhood friend Kuroha Shida, who's openly in love with him and he rejected in the past. Kuroha suggests the two get revenge on Shirokusa by pretending to be in love. Will Sueharu fall in love with Kuroha for real, making her dreams come true?

Our Thoughts

Give me a fucking break.

Who It's For

I don't know and I don't care.

Borscht Rating

SD Gundam World Heroes

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The Lowdown

The newest instalment of the SD Gundam media-mix franchise. In a world populated by super deform mecha, a burning meteor lands in the middle of Captain City. From it launches a terrible mechanized beast: Naughty Lion. When the police are powerless to stop it, a crack team led by Zhuge Liang Gundam and Liu Bei Gundam sorties to bring Naughty Lion to justice. When the beast stops rampaging, it transforms into Sun Wukong Gundam, a youthful amnesiac mecha horrified at the destruction he wrought. The Three Kingdoms Gundams welcome Sun Wukong into the fold to make sense of this mysterious event.

Our Thoughts

I'm an 80s kid, I know a 30-minute toy commercial when I see one.

No, seriously though, I'm aware of SD Gundam's merchandising—they're cute designs, and I even used to have a bunch of the gum rubber mini figurines. I've played the SD Great War Super Famicom games, they're fun! This is a vehicle to get kids hyped up about the latest toys, which are...based on  a hodgepodge of Journey to the West and Romance of the Three Kingdoms this year? There's even a little SD Guan Yu Gundam with a big long beard!

I kinda wanted to like the idea of a bearded robot, but the mechas are super busy and overdesigned. I guess there's only so much you can do to make your next series of toys bigger and better, so these guys are all decked out in gold accents, capes, horns, and antlers, and half the time I couldn't parse what I was seeing.

I'm so glad I don't have to watch any more of this. 

Who It's For

Very, *very* young mecha fans.

Borscht Rating

Seven Knights Revolution: Hero Successor

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The Lowdown

Long ago, the Dark God Nestra ruled the world through fear. Standing against him were the Seven Knights, seven brave warriors chosen by the Light Goddess Serrass. With their powers combined, Nestra was defeated and the lands returned to peace. Hundreds of years later the wicked Physis Cult seeks to revive Nestra, summoning undead beasts to ravage the countryside. With the Seven Knights long dead, the Granseed Academy has risen to train the next wave of heroes to combat this threat. Using special cards, the students of Granseed are able to call upon the power of the Seven Knights to guide them in battle.

Our Thoughts

As soon as the opening started with its transforming heroes and lovingly depicted weapon cards, I realised this must be based on a mobile game. Indeed, this is based on a free-to-play gacha from Korean developer Netmarble. Even before I was able to confirm this, Hero Successor failed to draw me in, eschewing details on the nature of its world in lieu of a glamourised marketing push for its source material. What's here is incredibly slight, and likely to be of little interest to anyone who isn't deep into this game.

Who It's For

Seven Knights whales, I guess.

Borscht Rating

Those Snow White Notes

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The Lowdown

Sawamura Setsu mourns the death of his grandfather Matsugorou, a talented shamisen player who refused to pass his secrets on. Not knowing what else to do, he leaves his remote village for Tokyo, taking nothing but his shamisen along with him. Soon he finds himself wrapped up in the complicated life of aspiring actress Yuna and her scuzzy rockstar boyfriend Taketo. When Setsu opens for Taketo's band, he stuns the audience with the raw emotion of his playing. However, his heart is still tumultuous. 

Our Thoughts

An entertaining first episode of a speciality music series, which is the kind of thing I have a place in my heart for. I couldn't shake the feeling of some latent misogyny that suggested the role of a woman is to inspire a tortured artist, but I might be wrong. The final few minutes take a twist by introducing Setsu's weird, horny mother who seems to have her own personal SWAT team, and it looks like the series becomes a more conventional high school anime from episode 2 onwards. Don't know about that!

Who It's For

Fans of Kids on the Slope, Sound of the Sky.

Borscht Rating

Tokyo Revengers

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The Lowdown

Former delinquent Takemichi is unsatisfied with the way his life turned out, living alone in a paper-thin apartment and working a minimum wage job under a boss who doesn't respect him. When watching the news one evening, he learns that his highschool sweetheart Hinata was killed, alongside her little brother. On the way to work the next morning, Takemichi falls in front of an oncoming train and wakes up 12 years in the past. Armed with foreknowledge, he attempts to turn his life around and save his onetime lover.

Our Thoughts

This is drawing from a lot of sources; the whole train sequence is lifted straight from Gantz, while the story itself initially seems like a Life on Mars kind of deal. In fact, Tokyo Revengers sees Takemichi jump back and forth between the present and the past, seemingly making small changes until he achieves his desired outcome. It feels like a very video gamey depiction of time travel, and one that's not super interesting.

Who It's For

Steins;Gate fans, maybe? Delinquent manga (Shonan Junai Gumi, Crows, etc.) fans, maybe? It's pretty self-serious compared to any of those.

Borscht Rating

To Your Eternity

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The Lowdown

An immortal being in the form of an orb falls to earth and becomes a stone. Years pass, an ice age sets in, and a white wolf stumbles onto the tundra and dies. The orb, able to take the form of anything that leaves a strong impression on it, transforms into the wolf and slowly learns how to use its newfound ambulatory body. The creature treks back through the tundra where it meets a boy living alone, after the rest of his village left in search of a better life. The boy recognises the wolf as his beloved pet, Johann, and the two begin living together in the harsh, lonely wastes.

Our Thoughts

I'm being a little coy with the synopsis here, and there's a major shake-up at the end of this debut episode. This one's based on a manga by the critically acclaimed Yoshitoki Ooima (A Silent Voice), and it's a depressing, compelling, and exciting start to a series. Lots of potential here!

Who It's For

Fans of NieR, Fragile Dreams: Farewell Ruins of the Moon, Last Exile, Kino's Journey.

Borscht Rating

So, there you have it. I'm hoping this will be of use to anyone who experiences a similar sense of dread when faced with so many choices. Maybe we’ll do this again during the Summer 2021 anime season.

Also, please don't get mad at me if I'm snarky about your new favourite show! It’s just TV and I'm a big idiot anyway.

[oddaodd]

Body And Soul

· The reader convinces Tommy to paint · 

Warnings: a bit of angst and a bit of smut at the end (barely there, but still) 

She spun around in their bedroom to Billie Holiday’s voice. Her dress flowing around her and a half empty wine glass resting safely in her paint stained hand. She had started working on a new painting, having found inspiration in her internal turmoil and in the worry she was too keen in not feeling for her husband who was God knows where. He was supposed to take her to an art gallery in London that day, but after a short and urgent visit paid by Arthur to tell Tommy that something went wrong with business she knew he wasn't going to take her anywhere.  She would be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed, upset even. She had been so happy at her little triumph of finally managing to get Tommy to take a day off and with her only for it to disappear into the blue of his unapologetic eyes as he left her with a hurried goodbye.

A bottle of wine later, a few tears glazed her eyes as sinister thoughts about Tommy’s  whereabouts danced in across her mind. She put her paintbrush down and  urned up the volume of the music as if Billie’s voice had the power of silencing them. She downed the rest of her glass and placed it carefully atop the vanity, continuing swaying to the music only coming to an abrupt halt when she heard the bedroom door opening. She immediately turned to look in its direction only to find the cause of all her worries walking into the room.

“I already know what you are going to say…” he started, sure that she would be mad.

And she was mad, but in the tipsiness she felt from the alcohol, his presence didn’t mean a broken promise, it meant absolution from her worries. She made her way towards him and threw her arms over his shoulders. Taken aback by her reaction he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her.

“I thought you would be yelling at me” he murmured into her hair.

“It has no use, Tommy” she murmured back sadly.

“Are you drunk?” He asked an air of amusement to his tone.

“It was just a bottle of wine”

She wasn’t drunk. She could hold her alcohol, that much he knew.

They softly swayed in silence for a few minutes, both lost in their own thoughts. His of regret and hers of bittersweet emotion.

“You painted a new one?” He asked spotting the fresh painting next to the window.

She nodded parting from him and holding his hand, leading him to her canvas.

“Its not finished yet” she confessed, handing him a paintbrush.

He looked at the small object in her hand and chuckled “Oh no, love”

“Come on, you owe it to me”

He felt a small pang of guilt and gave up, holding the thin brush in his fingers and dipping it in a small jar of yellow paint as she leaned back on the wall admiring the view. It wasn’t a common view. She had to admit it felt nice finally seeing something she had only imagined before playing in real life. Nobody’s mind could conjure up the sight of The Thomas Shelby trying to paint. Nobody’s but hers.

“You must know, I’ve never painted before” he confessed, hesitantly guiding the brush across the canvas.

“Oh so I’m your first?” She teased, using the same words he had used many moons ago when he had first made love to her. Finally smiling, the bitter part of her feelings dissipated in the sweet part.

He rolled his eyes and a small smile graced his features at the memory. She continued admiring him in silence as he painted and when he felt her unwavering gaze, he turned to look at her to find her lovingly staring at him. He didn’t deserve her.

She smiled when their eyes met and he handed her back the brush after a second  “Sorry for ruining your painting”

She walked closer to him and took the brush in her hand, not breaking eye contact. “You didn’t ruin it”  she said going to stand before the painting and signing it before turning to look at him, handing him the brush one more time “and its our painting now”.

He sighed contently and humored her, painting his signature under hers before placing the brush in the nightstand nearby not caring if it got stained.  

He then placed his hands on her waist, bringing her closer to him and feeling lucky to have her, her hands immediately making their way to his shoulders. She looked him in the eyes, feeling an intense urge to be even closer to him overflowing her senses and then she joined their lips in a passionate kiss.

He immediately kissed back, letting his tongue travel into her mouth and his hands to her bum, giving it a rough squeeze, bringing her even closer to him and earning a soft moan from her pretty mouth. She lead him to the bed not breaking the kiss and falling on top of him when he fell onto their bed. Her hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as his hitched her dress up. All the negative feelings the day had brought being made up for by the events of that night.

@captivatedbycillianmurphy

[anyoneseenadam]

Home: Chapter Five

azriel x reader (acotar)

summary: (y/n) is a daughter of Persephone, still recovering from the trauma of her fall into Tartarus and doesn’t have time for a stupid, handsome, annoying, stunning, injured man. But now they’re stuck together in the middle of nowhere and there only chance of getting home is if she can heal him, and fast.

warnings: big spoilers for mark of Athena and house of Hades, also some for the acotar series, eventual smut, blood, PTSD, graphic descriptions of violence, injuries and torture, enemies to lovers so az is a bit of a dick to start, swearing, THIS PART HAS THE SEXC TIMES YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

word count: 4k

a/n: this is pretty much just fluff so pls enjoy :) also please comment you have no idea how much it means to me I cry when I get them lol :) also I have a playlist for this one so go listen if you would like!

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When you woke Azriel had somehow wrapped his entirety around your frame, including his wings, tucking you tight against his chest. You pulled back slightly, moving your legs, trying to regain feeling in your muscles only to be greeted with a grunt and being pulled even tighter against his chest.

“Good morning to you too,” You giggled reaching up and pecking his jaw, smiling when he tilted his head to look down at you. He had a frown on his face but a playful look in his eyes none the less.

“Morning,” The deep tones of his voice vibrated through his chest and you bit your lip at him as he chuckled at your reaction. You lay your head back down on his chest listening to the soft patter of the rain on the roof, the storm had hugely calmed down however it was still raining lightly outside. Azriel’s hand moved to your back and you tensed as his hand moved over your scars, tracing pictures, and admiring them as if they were a piece of art. You lay in silence for minutes or hours, losing track of time as his scarred hands and your scarred back became one, soft murmurs keeping you barely awake as you spoke about nothing.

You eventually had to pull away when Azriel’s stomach was too loud to ignore. A shiver went through you as you sat up, not only losing the direct body heat but also the comforting press of his shadows as they had settled over you. The feeling of their embrace was an odd one; they were cold, and their darkness was everything you had grown to despise, yet they made you feel safe, indestructible. They felt like armour passed to you by the man you were falling for and gave you the feeling that as long as he was beside you, nothing would hurt you again.

Your eyes moved to where he was pulling on his trousers, the expanse of his back rippling with restrained strength and making your mouth turn dry. He turned when he felt your gaze on him and you were once again shocked by how pretty he was. You had admired handsome celebrities before, but he was different, he had an elegance you hadn’t seen before. Every movement was planned and smooth, no stumbles or mistakes as he moved, even when he was ill he still held that perfectly poised form, you presumed centuries of training did that to a man.

“Are you going to stare all day or are you going to get me some food woman?” he said, grinning cheekily when you smacked his shoulder.

“I will hurt you.” You scrunched your face at him, pulling your underwear on and rolling your eyes when you picked up your ruined bra.

“I promised you wouldn’t need it didn’t I?” He smirked, climbing over you, and pressing wet kisses into your neck. You smiled leaning into his attentions, bursting out laughing when you were once again interrupted by his stomach and he looked at you with pleading eyes.

“Ask nicely,” you nudged his cheek with your nose, and he rolled his eyes.

“Oh please my darling, please do me the honour of eating your food so I may have the pleasure of devouring you on a real bed.” You laughed and sat up again, pulling your shirt over your head.

“Better.”

--

You were sat on the small balcony you had fashioned, leaning against Azriel’s firm chest, his arms tight around your waist. The clouds had cleared away and the forest was filled with the smell of evaporating water, you had been pointing out and naming species of lizards you saw basking in the morning sun, trying to get their internal temperatures back to a temperature they could function at. Azriel listened patiently as you spoke animatedly about the Komodo dragon you had seen the first night, he was in awe of how excited you were talking about animals, smiling as you explained how reptiles had always fascinated you.

“We once had a quest in L.A and I made everyone stop for like twenty minutes cause I wanted to take pictures of this frog I saw.” You giggled craning your head back to see him shake his head at you.

“You’re insane.”

“And what about it?” You closed your eyes, leaning back against his shoulder, letting the sun sink into your skin and imagining you could feel the individual particles wake up with the newfound energy.

“How are you feeling anyway? Do you think you could get us home today?” You asked, pulling away to sit next to him cross legged, your head resting against his bare shoulder.

“Probably, I just need more food and I don’t actually know where your house is.”

“Do you need like coordinates or something cause I don’t have that.”

“No, more like the area, it would help if I had been there. I could probably get us to the alley in that tall city again.” You laughed at his phrase.

“Okay that’s fine we can get a cab.” You stood up and climbed down the ladder, moving to a fresh patch of earth.

“A cab?” he appeared besides you, making you yelp and press a hand to your chest.

“I hate you, and yes a cab, it’s a car.” You explained, passing him an apple.

“Car?”

“Gods, an automobile. A carriage that isn’t run by horse but instead machines.” He just made a sound of agreement and you giggled.

“Oh you’re going to love it, those big ol’ wings stuffed in a metal tin.”

“Please no,” he dropped his head on your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss there and you debated the question that had been stirring in your head all morning. You frowned and focused on the potatoes you were growing, trying to still the thoughts gnawing at your brain. Was this a one-time thing? Gods he’s going to go back to his world and forget about me. I mean he’s immortal. But we’re acting like a couple, is that what we are now?

Azriel sensed your panic as your eyes glazed over, the vacant expression a sign that you were too deep in your own thoughts. He quickly looked around for something red, ready to get rid of it at any cost, but couldn’t see a glimpse of red in the green that surrounded the two of you, so he instead tilted your head to look at him, your eyes wary.

“What’s wrong baby?” he asked, thumb stroking your cheekbone reassuringly.

“It’s nothing, I’m just being stupid,” you tried to laugh it off, but he persisted. “I just- where do we go from here?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that, you’re immortal right? And I’m not. And you’ve probably got other girls lining up back in your other world and I,” He motioned for you to continue, eyes unbelievably soft.

“I don’t want to be alone again. I was alone when we met because I can’t socialise like I used to, but I’ve got so used to this, and I want- no I need you to be happy and I’m sure that’s home for you but. I don’t want you to go, I don’t want you to become a memory that I think of when I’m sad.” He didn’t know what to say, hadn’t even considered it really. After he realised you were mates all he could think of was a house that you would make a home, he imagined a cat and maybe chickens and you with a rounded belly and a toddler on your hip. He hadn’t thought of the reality, you were mortal, you wouldn’t have eternity with him, your body couldn’t bear Illyrian children and he would lose you before you had really even had time together.

His heart broke as you took shaky breaths, hidden in his chest, and he wrapped his wings around you. He was determined, he wasn’t going to let fate cruelly pull you away from him. The first women that had ever loved him in the same, deep, all consuming way he loved her.

“I don’t know yet, but we’ll figure it out okay. And in the meantime you could come with me?” You looked up at him with glassy eyes and smiled sadly.

“I think I’m falling for you.” You whispered into the crook of his neck and he smiled tightening his arms around you.

“I already have.”

--

A few hours later you were standing looking up at your makeshift hut as Azriel readied to leave behind you. You watched as a finch flew over and perched on the side of your hut, a small twig perched in its beak, bristling its feathers as it rested.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Azriel sidled up beside you, an arm wrapping securely around your waist. You turned into his embrace.

“My thoughts are much more expensive than that.” He laughed at your difficult answer and tilted his head down, pressing his forehead to yours.

You sighed, tilting your head back to the side. “I think I have to destroy it. Keep the natural world natural y’know.”

“I suppose you do.” He said, the same sadness in his eyes as he looked at the makeshift home you had created him. The one where you had coaxed him through countless sleepless nights as he was overcome with sickness. The house you had shared as he took you for the first-time last night, and then the countless other times that followed.

He frowned but watched in awe as one hand reached out towards the house, your other wrapped firmly around his neck as you grounded yourself. The walls starting to warp and flow back into their original pattern and even when you dropped your hand, a faint sheen of sweat coating your brow, the branches still moved slowly.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked softly, picking you up despite your protests, walking the two of you out of the glaring sunlight and into a shadowed area.

“As I’ll ever be,” you whispered, looking up at him with those impossible soft eyes. To think not so long ago he couldn’t read them, believing that they were emotionless and cold, only to now feel his chest grow tighter and the air escape his lungs every time he locked onto them.

As he looked over your campsite one last time, the small fire pit sitting next to a vegetable patch where you had slept. The river where he had seen your scars for the first time. The whole place was filled with countless memories and as he thought of them, holding onto you tightly, he heard your soft voice.

“I think I’m going to miss being the only person in the world with you.”

--

You forgot how much you fucking hated shadow-travel. At least when he first did it you were hopped up on adrenaline and traumatic memories. This time however you were mentally present for the whole experience, feeling the sickness overcome you the way it did in the early days of autumn. There was a complete lack of life in the shadows, yet somehow the dark was still grasping at you. Azriel’s shadows had a different feel to them, however. Like the difference between a domesticated and wild dog, and you felt comfort as they protected you against the dark.

Thankfully, soon you were back in the light. The onslaught of noise making you flinch as cars honked and voices filled the air. You looked at Azriel to see he had a similar disgruntled face on as he gently placed you on your feet, steadying you when you wobbled.

You surveyed your surroundings, realising he had taken you to the exact alley you had met him, and you fought away the image of his weakening body on the ground, blood flowing out of him, when you saw the dark stain. You looked at him now, colour in his cheeks and the stern expression he had when you first saw him on. His eyes visibly softened when he saw you staring at him and he grasped your hand tightly.

“Come on,” he said, walking forward briskly, still not at all accustomed to the strange world he was in. it had seemed more familiar when it was just the two of you, but now as he watched you march ahead of him, a tight grip on his hand, head up and face impassive as you stared down anyone who so much as blinked at him the wrong way, his heart tightened again and he pulled you into the next alley he saw. You blinked at him confused but he just pressed his lips to yours in a deep, fierce kiss.

“What was that for?” you asked when he finally pulled away, breathless.

“You’re so hot when you’re scaring people.” He muttered and you giggled, repeating the sentiment, and standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips again. He smiled into the kiss, confused at how naturally it bloomed across his face and gathered you up in his arms, taking off with a strong boom.

You shrieked and he laughed, holding you tight as he swooped about, before starting a steady pace and looking down to where you were huddled in his arms, eyes clenched shut.

“Open your eyes baby, you need to give me directions.” He said into your hair and smiling as you hesitantly opened your eyes, swearing as you saw the sight of New York below you.

“It’s beautiful.” You muttered, completely sincere as the view took away any sarcastic comments you had bubbling. He grinned and did another loop as you laughed loudly, hair flying about your face. He finally stopped and nudged your head with his nose, you slowly lifted a shaking hand as you released it from the death grip you held him with a pointed in the direction of your home. He took of that way, with you sometimes muttering more specific direction until he landed you on the road in front of the gate that led to your cottage.

Your legs were shaking when he let you down, but you pulled him along the small path that led to your front door, whispering to the plant that kept your spare key and smiling when it passed it to you. You pushed open your door and Azriel followed inside, smiling when he was overcome by your scent. His gaze trailed over your house as he moved through the archway that kept the entrance from the rest of the house. The kitchen was simple, wooden with old fashioned dishes kept in glass cupboards and sage green accents, a worn-down table with mismatched chairs and a simple stove with a kettle and more sage green cupboards underneath. He looked then to the living area, there was a small fireplace and a few armchairs around, the whole house filled with natural light, plants and books in a language he didn’t recognise, but he also noted the string lights you had looping around the beams in your roof, interwoven with trailing ivy.

You wandered over to him, smiling as you tugged on his hand leading him upstairs into a small bathroom. He cringed as he caught sight of himself in the mirror above your sink, before laughing as he saw even more plants on the windowsill over-looking the road.

“Now I really like you Az but I’m afraid this relationship will be over quickly if you don’t shower right now,” you laughed at him as he frowned sniffing himself before grunting in agreement. You reached into the shower and turned the nozzles letting a stream of warming water run, then peeling of your old clothes. Once you were done you stepped under the water, groaning as it hit your aching muscles and Azriel joined soon after, his hands finding residency on your hips and pulling you in for a kiss. You reached around him when you pulled away and grabbed your shampoo, rubbing it between your hands before moving to massage it into his hair, laughing when his expression became that of a blissed-out cat. Practically purring under your touch.

You pulled away allowing him to rinse off as you did your own hair. Soon after the two of you were done cleaning up he pushed you against the wall of your shower, kissing you harshly and pressing the length of his body into you, smirking when you mewled and arched your back into his wandering hands. One of his hands groped your breast as his other travelled south, gentle fingers trailing between your legs and stroking your wet folds. He moved to press kisses against your neck when you gasped for breath as he pushed two long fingers into you, the texture of the rough scars adding to the euphoria you felt as you moaned into the steamy room. His thumb moved to rub softly against your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you, your walls tightening around his fingers as you neared your orgasm. The pads of his fingers pressed into the spongy spot inside you that always made you see stars as he tugged on your nipple and rolled you clit under his thumb all at once making you fall over the edge with a silent cry.

He grinned as he pulled away from you neck, obsessed with way you fall apart from just his fingers. HIs hands usually only brought him shame and guilt but now were filling him with pride as you clenched around them. He pulled them out slowly, sucking your essence off them as you slumped back against the wall, spent. You reached a hand to his erection, but he pushed it away and turned the shower head off and stepping out of the shower, wrapping you in a fluffy towel.

“Later baby, you need some rest.”

You both slowly dried yourselves in silence and you groaned when you looked at your dull skin in the mirror and turned to Azriel biting your lip.

“What?” he laughed,

“Can we do facemasks later?” He looked at your hopeful smile and rolled his eyes, unable to say no to you.

“Later.” He muttered and you smiled before walking through to your bedroom, Azriel trailing like the lovesick puppy he was. He smiled at the sight of your room; it was so very you. The sun was glowing over the unmade bed that was covered in pillows and blankets and, upon further inspection, stuffed toys, making it look ethereal. There was even more bookshelves and a wardrobe and burnished mirror, your windowsill had soft cushions on it and a pile of stacked books next to it. And of course, plants. Everywhere. He walked further in as you fished out clean clothes and he frowned when you passed him a pair of boxers.

“Whose are these?” he asked, trying to keep his possessiveness tamed as he thought of another man living with his girl, his mate.

“Mine, they’re comfy.” You shrugged, pulling an oversized sweater on and bringing it to your nose, revelling in the clean smell. Azriel blushed bright red and quickly pulled them on, adjusting them as he watched you bend over to pull on another pair of boxers. You moved to sit in front of your mirror, fixing your hair as he ran his hand over the spine of the books, not recognising any titles, jumping when he heard music suddenly play and quickly searching for the source. He moved over to where you were looking through folders of disks.

“I lost my phone and I only have my dad’s old disks so it’s a lot of 50’s sorry,” you giggled as he stared in wonder, listening to the soft tunes. You turned to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, swaying softly to the music, your head on his chest.

There's a place where lovers go To cry their troubles away And they call it 'Lonesome Town' Where the broken hearts stay.

You can buy a dream or two To last you all through the years And the only price you pay Is a heart full of tears.

He smiled and held you softly, dancing with you as your breathing slowed, completely relaxed. Soon the song finished and a new one started but instead of continuing to dance you looked up at him with tired eyes and a soft smile and he tugged you over to your bed, laying you down gently. Your body sank into the impossibly soft mattress and he laid down next to you, your arm waving slightly as your trailing ivy tugged your thin curtains together. His shadows settled over the two of you and you grinned up at him, as sweet as spun sugar.

“I love you,” you whispered softly, voice shy.

“I love you.” He repeated, kissing your head gently as you burrowed deeply into his arms, the two of you falling asleep as soft music played through the room.

--

Azriel woke alone, golden light in his eyes as he noticed the lack of your weight pressed into his side. He panicked instantly, jumping out of bed, and racing down the stairs, only calming when he saw you in your kitchen signing quietly along to a song coming out of the radio on your table. His heart rate returned to normal as he moved wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing the side of your neck as he watched you flip pancakes.

“Pancakes?”

“I’m allowed to be a stereotype if I want to be, it’s my house.” He laughed and moved to where a pot of coffee sat on the table, preparing his cup. His friends always laughed at the feared shadow-singer when he put two sugars in, and he was struck with homesickness when he did it now. You turned off the stove and put the plate in front of him, pouring your own coffee and drinking it black with a longing sigh. He groaned as you laughed when he reached for the creamer.

“What was it you did for a living again?”

“Shut up.”

You giggled and took two pancakes, coating them in fruit and syrup as he followed suit. They both devoured the mountain in minutes, and he reached over, pulling you onto his lap, your kisses sticky and sweet with sugar coated tongues. He took you again right on the table, before carrying you back to your room to take you there too, addicted to the soft sounds that fell from your lips.

When you finally pulled away from each other, some hours later you reached for your laptop. “I believe I promised you movies and Tony Stark,” you said, fingers moving across your keyboard as Azriel watched over your shoulder as the screen changed before his eyes. You found the first Iron Man movie and started it as Azriel stared at the screen, blown away.

“So this is your technology?” he asked, eyes filled with childlike joy as the movie began.

“Yup, and this film had technology we don’t have in its universe.”

“Cauldron.”

“Plus I figured I should introduce you to the loves of my life that are the marvel men,” his grip on your waist tightened and you laughed, “they’re not real Az, I’m not going anywhere.” You pressed a kiss to his lips and leaned back. You brain finally at peace as you laid back in the arms of the man you loved.

You tensed when the suit first appeared, the red colour of it making you clench your hands into fists and Azriel was quick to reassure you, moving to turn the film off, but you stopped him.

“This is my comfort film, and if I don’t start somewhere I’ll not make any progress. Just- can you hold me please,” you asked him, and he kissed your temple.

“Always, my love.”

You finished the movie together and moved to watch the next, hours passing as you found yourself completely consumed by the man by your side, ignoring the pressing concerns for now and instead focusing on his steady heartbeat. Content to stay in his arms forever.