#based off one time I was trying to throw a watering can but doused myself

[winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts]

Mission failed, we’ll get em next time

[fandoms-in-law]

Missing Herself

Summary: Inspired by 'It's all True' and 'I miss her and I blame you' by Malinda Steve has worked through who he is, and how she has been made to be. Robin helped. When his parents interrupt a pool party they might just find her family aren't to be messed with.

Author's note: I wrote most of this in 2 writing sprints listening to the songs it's based on, so if it reads weirdly, blame that. The reason I do months writing fics daily is to remind myself I can get the words out and use the too many ideas I hoard, not to edit on top of the chaos life keeps becoming.

My Idea for today's fic: 'It's All True' + 'I miss her and I blame you' - Steve's self growth and self hate for who he was, only able to turn some of it onto his parents when they turn up interrupting a get together and judging who he's becoming.

/\/\

Steve had been many things over his life, but especially since befriending Dustin he’d been worried. This was a boy that embodied a lot of the things Tommy used to judge and scoff at, in Steve’s presence at least it stayed that low.

All the rest of the kids were like that too, free in a way he’d never been, but that just gave him more ways to worry about them. Lucas seemed to understand it the best why he worried about their times at school, but then they’d had a conversation once over why that was. Steve was still reeling from the things he’d never have noticed as being different in how the people around him were treated, especially since Billy had been his first thought about racists when that conversation happened.

But then there was Robin, saying he could show the complexity within him, that it didn’t matter if in the past, if upstream of who he was now, he’d been bad, had troubles, because they could flow, run to a better place, and that she’d run with him.

He raced becoming friends with her, thanks in no small part to the truth serum, but wanted to keep running, to make daily life the drama she escalated it to in some of her rambles.

In fact, when Steve explained how he felt towards the kids, Robin said he was the one who was worried and free, and full of contradictions. She saw something in him that he’d never believe was there, and love it, love him for it all.

She even let him embrace the days when masculinity just didn’t fit him. She brushed off the few skirts and dresses he’d snuck into shoe boxes and brought the little girl he wished he could have been sometimes out. She didn’t fit the Harrington expectations, but that was who she was, fluid, between male and female.

He loved her just the same, believe everything could be golden and broken at once in a way he’d been taught could never be true. If people were innocent until they learnt to be jaded, well Steve was pretty sure that he was doing the reverse now, learning to be hopeful that he wasn’t too much or too simple, but just enough for everyone.

Arranging a pool party felt easy with the kids wanting to stick together and including him in that. It was even easier with Eddie saying he wanted to get to know him, and Robin repeating that everything, even the contradictions could be true at once.

He never expected his parents to bring fire to douse everything he’d started growing, or for his friends to throw the water on them to prevent that… He probably should tell El that it wasn’t sensible to use her powers for that, but it was funny.

/\/\

Steve loved gathering his family around him, laughing with them uncontrollably in ways he’d never allowed before.

The photo boxes and albums his parents had were nothing to who he was becoming but then they had never wanted him. They’d wanted the perfect boy, not the little girl playing with Carol’s dolls, or the teenager trying out hairdos.

Tears had worked for a while; they’d gotten his parents to accept the oddities in his fashion sense that didn’t fit masculinity. Just carrying on got him through when it didn’t, but he still wished he could have had more days trying on dresses or stealing cheerleading outfits because they were the skirts he could most easily get her hands on. The little girl had to be poisoned for the Harrington’s to give him any support but Steve missed her, herself and who she was the times she took his focus.

Robin had met her, had furnished a wardrobe in the spare room with clothes she didn’t like for Steve to wear when she wanted to feel nice, to be feminine for a while.

At the pool party Steve decided to focus on hosting rather than swimming, and having had the remedy to the poison wore a dress for it all.

“STEVEN! What is the meaning of this?” The voice thundered from the kitchen as everyone was by the pool. If he’d been able to get men’s clothes on, he’d have been scrambling to do so, but instead Steve waited, with his family, as his father stormed through to the poolside.

His mother had attempted to greet the guests Steve had over, attempted to appear a good hostess, and failed as his father held a hand up, intending to just get Steve’s attention but instead got all eyes on him. The attention was enough he threw out the strict privacy he usually insisted on for telling Steve off and began listing all the faults he could see in front of him or from the minutes walk through the house.

“You should have kept the friends you had-” The rant had been going on for a while, Max had migrated to be at Steve’s side, Robin on the other, but that comment made Steve laugh, nudging Robin towards the house.

“I still talk to Carol Perkins occasionally. Robin looked her up after school, got some cute pictures from when I was a kid, and I gotta say, I blame you that there aren’t more of them.” Steve stood now, facing her father down in a way she usually wouldn’t but was just fed up and bored enough to do so. The entire scene was making her embarrassed, but of her family not herself for one of the first times. “I blame you for so much actually.”

He could watch his father preparing to yell, but before it could come, Max was there, in front of him, addressing his father in a similar way to how she’d argued with him, but far more icily. “I know a good lawyer, and I bet neglect everyone in town knows about will stick faster than superglue. You don’t know Steve. You aren’t here and he can blame you for so fucking much if this is how you greet him when there are guests over. Await the lawsuit and get the fuck out of here, before the chief of police decides verbal assault is something you can be taken to the station for.”

“It is actually. I just don’t have any handcuffs on me and doubt he’ll come easily. You kids don’t need to see more violence if I can avoid it.” Hopper grumbled, huffing at her somehow while glaring venomously at the Harrington’s.

Eddie splashed, pulling himself out of the pool and heading to his clothes, but calling, “Since you don’t know, Steve acts like he knows nothing but is the man to see if you need strategies to survive, or to find a detail everyone else misses. Even if he seems insane noticing it.” The last bit was added teasingly, grinning over at Steve.

“Yeah! And he’s always ready to help, even if he judges everyone, probably because that’s what you expect of him.” Dustin agreed, hurrying to Steve’s side.

“Well like you jerks, everyone thinks they know Steve, but barely anyone knows a single thing about her.” Mike goaded from poolside, tone making it unclear just who he was insulting, helped by him pulling a face at the group gathering about Steve.

Robin grinned, nudging his side, “Seems straighter than a ruler, but-” He shushed her by shoving his hand over her entire face.

“Don’t set the yelling off again. I already need to get my migraine meds once they’re gone.” He murmured to her, before startling to look between Eddie and Hopper, at the sound of metal hitting the floor at Hopper’s feet. “The belt buckle was actual handcuffs not just a style piece?” His voice was still quiet but Eddie managed to hear and wink at him in reply.

Mr Harrington was glaring over all the kids, kept silent, Steve guessed, by not knowing if anyone who’d spoken up was Hopper’s kid, but he was definitely ready to fight once the handcuffs were seen. “Now see here, you can’t invade a man’s house, and arrest him for no-” A bigger splash interrupted him and it took Steve a moment to figure out what had happened beyond a mass of water suddenly hitting his father.

A glance to the side revealed El, still in the now empty pool with her arm outstretched towards his parents. Silence lasted a few moments before Jonathan burst out laughing. He was on the other side of the pool, from what Steve could guess based on the people around him, having been trying to keep Will and El calm. The laughter soon spreads around everyone, except Hopper and his parents, who found his father handcuffed and them both being led to the police cruiser, still dripping wet with no towels being offered. That was mostly because they’d been stood in front of where all the towels were ready for people getting out of the pool and wet towels wouldn’t help at all.

“I was serious about that lawyer, you know. I’ll get the number off Mum and you can, I don’t know, get independence from their meddling or something.” Max said as they calmed down and Steve had to hug her for it.

“I know, but right now, I’ve got my family and this girl wants to relax and host a garden party since the pool is now emptied.” Se laughed, looking at the mess the pool throwing had left behind. Steve wasn’t going to miss herself if his family had anything to do with it. She knew they’d all be there for her, lawyers, arrests, pool throwing and all.

[inactiive-shit]

I Don’t Have A Name For It

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Masterlist

This is based off the song I Don’t Have A Name For It by Steam Powered Giraffe. I would definitely recommend listening to it. I love that song and have been meaning to write something for it forever, and then, lo and behold, Valentine’s Day and all the sweet mushiness I could ask for.

Warnings: None

Pairing: Romantic Logicality

Words: 1,728

Summary: Logan does not know what to call the feelings that Patton makes him experience.Luckily, it's an easily-solved problem.

Happy Valentine’s Day everybody! I wrote Logicality fluff!

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

“Virgil, I have a serious query for you. How do you confess that you...experience emotions for someone?” Logan asked. His roommate spun slowly in his chair to face Logan and raised his eyebrows at the flush coating Logan’s cheeks.

“Are you finally ready to admit that to Patton?”

“But I do not know how,” Logan repeated, and he flopped full body onto Virgil’s bed with a groan.

“Wow. The situation must be dire,” Virgil said dryly. “Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?”

“I do not have adequate language to describe my feelings for Patton to myself, let alone to the object of such affections. I always seem to be tongue tied when he is around, and I cannot think clearly enough to even begin to tell him how I feel.”

“You can practice...on...me?” Virgil said quietly. Logan lifted his face off the bed to glare, and Virgil was sending a strange look toward the bathroom door.

“Yes, because you are just like Patton. Perfect plan, Virgil.” Virgil quickly returned his gaze to Logan, though he seemed unamused at Logan’s own problem, which was rather unusual. Logan dropped his face back into the comforter.

“Screw off,” he said, and Logan could imagine that Virgil was probably flipping him off. Then Virgil sighed and the sound of typing accompanied his next sentence. “I don’t know what you see in him, anyway.”

“What!” Logan yelped, shooting off the bed like he had been lit aflame.

“I mean, he’s an okay baker, I guess.” Virgil shrugged but did not look away from his computer screen. “And he’s nice enough. But honestly, I just don’t get it.”

“He-he-I-” Logan took a breath, trying to steady his thoughts enough that he could thoroughly destroy every opinion Virgil held on this particular subject. “He is amazing. He is wonderfully kind, and sometimes when he is standing across the room from me somewhere he knows I don’t want to be, he’ll wink at me. I nearly fall to the floor every time, and then he’ll smile at me like he knows, and I do not even have the words to articulate how gorgeous he looks. His whole face lights up like a spiral galaxy, and though I know it does not make sense, not every star in the known or unknown universe could come together and look more radiant than Patton does when he smiles like that. I am always...starstruck.

“When he laughs, it is the most joyful sound I have ever heard. He laughs like every little thing that happens to him is worth it, and like he is simply so ecstatic to be alive that he cannot help but love every bit of it. And he cries whenever he sees babies, be they animal or human. Like they are simply too cute for him to handle, but even with puffy eyes and a stuffy nose he is still the most resplendent thing I have ever laid eyes on.

“And when he takes my hand to lead me,” Logan added, eyes closing slightly, “I would follow him without having to see where we are going. Our hands fit perfectly together as though we were made for each other, and I trust him no matter what he is doing. I could not doubt anything that Patton did.

“I don’t have a name for the way Patton makes me feel. It something else entirely, and I am made speechless every time I begin to think about it all. About him.” Logan sighed softly, lost in his own thoughts.

“I don’t know,” Virgil said dismissively. Logan’s eyes snapped open like he’d been electrocuted. “Doesn’t really seem all that special to me.”

“But-but it is!” Logan jumped up and began to pace the room, hands moving wildly through the air. “He makes me feel so special. When he looks at me, and asks me for help in performing some task that he finds difficult or even that he simply did not want to do alone, I am always astonished. He comes to me when he wants company, and he trusts me to help him. He can find fun in any job, regardless of the monotony, and he is so beautiful when he focuses. He’ll stick his tongue out just slightly enough to be seen, and he doesn’t even know he does it. And he always works so hard on whatever he has given his attention to; it does not matter to him how important the task is, only that it is done well and with love.

“And I can talk to him about anything in a way that I have never been able to before. I marvel at all the the things he says, how wise he can be when most of the time he acts so silly. He loves talking about the universe as much as I do, and he can listen to me explain it for hours without tiring of it. He loves debating if we have an ultimate goal, a reason for being, and he does not think any opinion on it is not worth hearing.

“And he is still so wonderful and fun-loving other times. Sometimes he will turn on music that he enjoys and dance around the room singing along, and then he’ll wrap his fingers around my wrist and pull me up with him. I am not a good singer, but when Patton urges me to sing my heart out with him I find it impossible to refrain. His voice is so sweet and I am always left in awe of how every song can fall from his lips like he is giving each story they tell life without a thought.”

Logan stilled, hands lowering slowly. “I have been trying to find a reason for this strange feeling I get whenever I am in Patton’s presence. I have looked and looked for something that could explain the unique way he makes my heart race and my face blush so that it is not an unpleasant experience. I cannot find one. I do not think there’s a name for it. The whys and hows of my feelings for Patton are a mystery, but I do not need a name for them when they are so encompassing that I can barely think about anything else.”

Logan turned to face Virgil, but froze when he saw the smug smirk curling his lips. “You egged me on so that I would rant about him again. Damnit.” Logan shook his head and rubbed his temples.

“Always works,” Virgil said quietly. Then, louder, “Logan, buddy, I have to tell you something. But first, that was great. If you said that exact thing to Patton, I’m sure he would love it.”

“No,” Logan said vehemently. “I will stutter and lose my train of thought because his eyes are so distracting and I will never get it out. I will look like a fool, Virgil.”

“Or not,” Virgil said. “I’m just saying, I don’t think it would be half as embarrassing as you think. I hope not, anyway.”

“I would not make any plans on a hope,” Logan muttered.

“Too late for that. And it’s been working so far.” Before Logan could ask what that was supposed to mean, Virgil spun his chair around again. “Do you wanna come out of the bathroom or are you planning on spending the night in there?”

The blood drained from Logan’s face when the door swung open and an open-mouthed Patton shyly stepped out.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Virgil said, getting out his chair and cracking his back. “Don’t have sex on my bed.” He stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him before Logan could throttle him or beg him for help, leaving Logan alone in a room with Patton. Patton, who was still staring at him like he was an exhibit at the zoo.

“I am so sorry,” Logan immediately said. “You weren’t supposed to hear any of that.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Patton rushed to say, finally regaining animation. “It’s amazing. You have no idea how happy I am.”

“What?”

“You’re pulling all my heartstrings, Lolo.” He crossed the room carefully and took Logan’s hand, pulling him to sit on Virgil’s bed. He didn’t let go. “My heart has been singing for you since the beginning, and I’ll say it proudly. This feeling,” he laid a gentle hand over Logan’s heart, “is staying. You set my heart on fire, Logan, and it’s not a fire that any kind of water is going to douse.”

“What about baking soda?” he said, choked.

“Dad joke.” Patton booped his nose with his free hand. Logan could not even roll his eyes, not with Patton looking at him like that. “I think you are the most stunning person I have ever met. You dance with me, and you can keep me balanced and in the moment always. You are always willing to come with me or invite me along with you when you have a crazy science scheme you want to test out. You’re my partner in crime. The texture of your hair is so soothing when I touch it and it curls around my fingers, and,” Patton paused, tears in his eyes, and collected himself. “And it’s the look in your eyes when you finally connect all the pieces of a mystery that’s been bugging you. You practically glow when you’ve figured something out, whether it’s for you or someone you love.”

Patton flattened his hand over Logan’s heart and Logan could feel the steady thumping reverberate. “Our hearts beat in sync, in the same pattern, in the same rhythm over and over and over again. One and the same.” Patton smiled up at Logan, a tear slipping out.

“I don’t have a name for it either, Lo.” Patton leaned in a little. “But it’s kind of like being in love.”

“Oh,” Logan breathed.

“Yeah,” Patton said, and he laughed and it was enough to throw Logan over the edge. He leaned forward and caught Patton’s lips in a searing kiss that felt just the way Patton’s heart does, like the fire was spreading all over them both and every last one of Logan’s nerves and synapses was been branded with Patton.

It’s not a branding that Logan has any issue with.

[elliyoyo]

Naughty School Girl (Roger Taylor/Reader)

Warnings: Swearing, heavy smut, teasing, semi-exhibitionism, humiliation if you squint, oral sex (male receiving), unsafe sex (hi, please use condoms, people!), and a pretty dominant reader.

Words: ~2.3k

A/N: This is the first fanfiction I’ve written in almost 9 months, so please go easy on me. I’ve seen lots of people saying 80s Roger is 110% a dom, but I beg to differ a bit. This was also directly inspired by the attached picture. Hope you enjoy and much love to all of you!

A/N 2: After finishing this fic, I’ve realized it’s much dirtier and longer than I thought it was going to be in the first place. Enjoy this while I go bathe in holy water :’)

This now has a part two called Good Girl!

“So, what d’you think? I like the length, and they’re giving me tights so I probably won’t have to shave or anything to be convincing…” Roger surveys himself in the mirror of his dressing room. You give him a once over before pushing yourself up off of the couch to see it a bit closer.

“Even if they give you tights, your hair will stick through it and look like a mess, Rog. I’ll give you a hand in shaving, but for the love of God, please do it,” you quietly say, wrapping your arms around his waist once you reach him. He’s still dressed as normal besides the skirt, but there’s something about it that gets you going more than usual.

“What if I catch myself on the razor?” His hands go down to his legs, where he messes with some of the hair for a moment, trying to imagine what it would feel like bare.

“Then I douse your boo boo in alcohol and we move on.”

“That hardly sounds pleasant, (Y/N),” Roger complains with a frown (which looks more like a pout in all honesty), draping a hand over yours on his waist.

“Tough shit, sweetheart. Pain is beauty when you’re talking about maintaining your body 101.” You lean up and press a kiss to the back of his neck as he laces his fingers in with yours.

“I’m gonna need more help than I think on this one, aren’t I?”

“Absolutely, yes. After all, which was of us was actually a school girl?” You drum your fingers over his a few times before pulling away to help him adjust his current outfit to be more realistic. You take his jacket and tuck it into the skirt, unzipping the top a tad so it wouldn’t bunch up every time he lifted his arms. Then, you push one of his socks down towards his ankle more, leaving the other pulled up as it was.

“Any mental notes to keep track of or are you just making me look risque?” He watches your motions in the mirror, eyes following every move.

“The main factor of being a naughty school girl is a little something known as shock factor.” You end the sentence with a loud, perfectly aimed slap of his ass, causing him to gasp and jolt forward.

“(Y/N), what are you doing, that hurt!” He rubs a hand on his ass and takes a moment to attempt to glare at you, but you’re just standing with a smirk on your face.

“I’ve been waiting to do that all day, seeing you prancing around in that skirt and talk about being in tights and— uuugghh…" You roll your eyes, a large grin plastered on your face as your thoughts progressed to what was under the skirt and how you hadn't had Roger in days. "Babe?"

"Hmm?" He had a wary look in his eyes, and for good reason. He knew exactly what was going through your head— a dynamic that you two hadn't really gone back to since he cut his hair because he felt it didn't seem the same.

“Can I take the lead today?” You teasingly press your hand to his hip, drawing small circles with your thumb as you get closer and closer to the small tent in his skirt.

He nods in response, but you want more. You firmly grasp his cock and he lets out a whine, bucking his hips slightly.

“Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you, babe.” You innocently smirk up at him, slowly beginning to run your fingers over him through the thin fabric.

“Please, I want you to, (Y/N), it’s been so long since I’ve been on the bottom,” he rushes out, biting his lips so hard it might begin to bleed soon. He meets your eyes in the mirror again and gives you the needy puppy dog eyes that you can’t help but give in to.

“Okay, sit down on the couch and take everything off.” He reaches to pull the skirt off, but you stop him with a shout of, “Except the skirt!”. He nods, going for his jacket instead, slowly untucking it and sliding it off.

You walk over to him once he has taken off the jacket and skirt underneath, bringing yourself down in front of him with your hands on his inner thighs. You spread his legs apart and lightly drag your nails down from his thighs to his knees, causing him to shudder.

“Alright, I’m going to give you exactly what you want, but if you try to mess with the pace I set, I’m stopping. Got it?”

He nods, looking down at you expectantly with hooded eyes. You flip the skirt up and see that he was wearing what was most likely the tightest, shortest pair of boxer briefs known to man, showing off the wet patch on top of a very obvious outline. You grab the waistband and pull them down to his ankles, then kiss a line from his knee, up his thigh, finally planting one on the head of his cock. He lets out a moan and his hands go to instinctively shoot to your hair, but he stops himself with a nearly inaudible groan.

“You look so helpless, Rog. What do you want me to do? All you have to do is tell me with that filthy little mouth of yours, honey.” One of your hands reaches up and cups his cheek, a finger grazing over his lip.

“I… Please use your mouth on me. Please, I need it, it’s been so long since you’ve sucked my cock, (Y/N), please.”

“That’s all you had to do, Roger. Now, you know the drill,” you say before taking all of him in your mouth in one go, bringing your hand down from his face to circle around the base of his cock that your mouth couldn’t reach. You didn’t have the time or patience to tease anymore, so you didn’t bother. Plus, there hasn’t been a day in your life where Roger’s whiny begging didn’t convince you to do whatever he needed, so you got right to it.

He tensed up and let out a loud moan, his knuckles going white with how tightly he was gripping the edge of the couch since he couldn’t weave his fingers into your hair. You bob your head, your hand stroking him at the same pace so no part of him was left untouched at any moment.

“(Y/N)- fuck- I’m ‘nna come soon, please let me come, please…” His face is flushed red, both from the amazing blowjob he’s receiving and from the embarrassment of being so close to climaxing so soon. You pull off and look up at him with pseudo-innocence, running your tongue up the side of him while your hand is focused on the head.

“You want me to make you come? Huh? Do you want to come down my throat?”

“Please, yes, God, I want to watch you swallow all of it,” he whines, finally losing his patience and bucking his hips to try to get himself back down your throat. You pull off of him and completely away from him, licking your lips as you stand up. He looks up at you, his hands releasing the couch as he gives you a confused look.

“Well too fucking bad. What did you just do, sweetheart?”

“I… I don’t know! (Y/N) please, please keep going, I’m sorry!”

“How can you be sorry for something you don’t even know you did? Look at me!” You grab him by his chin and jerk his head up to look at you. There are tears forming in his eyes as he frantically searches his mind for what he did wrong before he remembers what you had said before. “Oh, yeah, that. Want to tell me what you did?”

“I… I bucked my hips when you told me not to mess with t-the pace, but I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to, I just wanted more, I wanted to feel you, (Y/N), I’m sorry!”

“Really? It sounds to me like you’re just being desperate.” You shrug and use your foot to drag his underwear from his ankles so he could widen his legs. “I didn’t want to have to punish you or anything, but if you’re going to be bad, I have no choice, babe.”

“What d’you mean… punish me?”

“You can’t come till I do. And if you do, I’m gonna overstim you until you’re a shaking, sobbing mess. This time you’ll behave for me, right?”

“I promise. I swear I’ll be good.” He goes to reach for you, but you step away from the couch to undress, knowing that he’d end up taking over and screwing you against the wall if he had to chance to hold you.

“Stay there. No touching until I say so. You’ve already been naughty, sweetie, don’t push it.” You take your shirt off over your head and throw it at his face. He lets out a small laugh, knowing it was still his sweet girlfriend underneath the dominant attitude. You take your pants and underwear off as well, before strutting over to him to give him a kiss on his forehead.

You straddle him for a moment and make the split-second decision to give him a moment of freedom during this. You sink down on him slowly while also guiding his hand down to your clit so you could come quicker.

“Go ahead. Like I said, you come when I do, so the quicker I get there…” You lean in, pressing kisses to his neck and ear as you whisper, “The quicker you get to shoot your fucking load in me, Roger.”

He lets out a loud moan at your words and quickly begins to circle your clit with his fingers as you ride him at an equal pace. You put your hands on his shoulders, giving yourself the power to keep riding him instead of having your entire body give out the moment he hit the perfect spot inside of you.

“(Y/N), are you close? God, please tell me you’re close to coming, I want to fill you so bad,” he whines out, groaning when you tug his head up by his hair to look in his eyes.

“I am. I’m reeeally close, Rog. Fuck, let me know when you’re close and I—”

“I’m close, (Y/N), I’m close right now. I’m just imagining how tight you’ll be when you finish and how you’ll look with my cum dripping out of you and—”

“If you keep talking like that I’m going to come, babe,” you moan out, not even minding when his grip slips to your waist to push you down in time with his thrusts. He leans up and kisses your neck, desperately leaving a large hickey in his wake. When he begins to leave a second hickey, you feel yourself getting closer and closer. “Fuck, fuck, Roger, I’m going to come!”

“Can I please come with you? Please, fuck, I don’t think I can hold it back, I just want to come, please!” He feels you clenching around him and he begins to thrust even harder, shifting his focus from hickeys and the grip you have in his hair to how amazing you feel around his cock at the moment.

“Yes, come with me, babe! Roger, fill me with your cum like the fucking good girl you are!” At the last bit, his hips stutter and his eyes shoot wide open, so turned on he couldn’t control his orgasm if he tried. He lets loose and lets out a scream that can be described as nothing but guttural and intense. You can feel him coming inside of you and you simply let out moans rivaling his as you feel it drip out of you and pool on his thighs along with the inside of the skirt.

You both take a moment to calm down, him letting some tears run wild and you breathing as if you had just run a marathon. When you were both back to the point where you could talk, Roger gives you a teasing smile and suggestive raise of his eyebrows.

“Good girl, huh?”

“Oh, shut it… it was a heat of the moment kind of thing,” you mumble, cheeks flushed bright red.

“No... No, don’t get embarrassed... that was actually one of the hottest things I’ve ever heard, (Y/N).” He starts gently caressing your hair, pressing a small kiss to the top of your head as you continue to hide your face in the nape of his neck. “I just... I thought I was supposed to be a naughty school girl for you today.”

“Oh, well, would you rather I call you my naughty girl next time?” You lean in to kiss him on the lips, but you’re interrupted by a loud, boisterous laugh from outside the dressing room’s door, which causes you to jump apart.

“If you’d like my humble opinion, I think you should call him your little bitch, dear!” Freddie’s laughing continues and John quickly joins in, too busy giggling to even try and think of a joke to add on. “Brian, what do you think? Naughty girl or little bitch?”

“I frankly don’t care, I just need him ready for costume fittings,” Brian says with a rapid succession of knocks on the door. You and Roger get up and dressed as quickly as you can for two fucked out, still horny people still dripping with a mixture of bodily fluids. Meaning, you took forever.

As you head out the door, you slap Roger on the ass even harder this time and joke, “If I’m acting like this now, just imagine how I’ll act when I see you in the full get up, naughty girl.”

His knees nearly give out at the thought.

[muchadoloo]

Hold Me By the Heart: A Peek Into the Story

Hold Me By the Heart by: muchadoloo

Description:

It was Cara who unwittingly laid it out for him.

“You hand the kid off a lot.”

The comment didn’t seem antagonistic, just thoughtful. Something about him must have screamed confusion because Cara, ever-so-observant, continued.

“Like I said, it could be a loose lead…I didn’t think it mattered at the time, just an observation. But it must be a lot on the kid, not knowing who wants him or where he belongs.” She shrugged and sipped her canteen. “Don’t get me wrong, I get it. That kid’s got a bounty over his head. Someone’s gotta protect the little guy. You can’t just stay in one place. Hell, you can barely hold him for long. I just figured the constant movement… Must be a lot.”

Din felt like someone had doused him in cold water.

———–

Or, the story where the child has separation anxiety and, go figure, refuses to be separated from Din.

Inside the Story: An Extensive Analysis

The Beginning

I started writing Hold Me By the Heart after finishing the Disney+ series. Though I absolutely adored the show, the characters, and the cinematography work, I kept questioning the developmental psychology and realism regarding Din’s relationship to the child. The more I watched the show, the more I noticed how often Din left the kid on the ship, asked a random bartender to watch him (only for the kid to wander outside with his bone broth in chapter four), gave him to other people, and rarely held the kid for a long period of time. Though I understood Din’s choices (e.g. as a bounty-hunter and Mandalorian tasked with protecting the child, there isn’t much time for nurturing), I began to wonder how Din’s way of life, the kid’s past, and both of their developmental stages would/could clash or deepen their characters? Thus, Hold Me By the Heart was born.

The Process of Writing Din Djarin

I rewatched The Mandalorian at least ten times (maybe more?) and I found myself fascinated with Din Djarin as a character. Though there is much about himself that he hides from others, there is even more that Din hides from himself. In particular, his emotional state, desires, and wants. It’s my belief that humans, more often than not, are not just their rational brains or cognitive make-up (thank you, Enlightenment). Though we’d like to think we’re purely rational creatures, I believe we’re, more often than not, directed by our loves and desires. Basically, we all have a chief love or desire that directs our hearts unconsciously. In literary or character-development terms, this is what experts call ‘the motivation’ or ‘the character’s goal.’ In every story, a character has some goal that’s motivating them throughout the storyline. What’s fascinating about Disney+’s The Mandalorian is that Din’s ‘hero’s journey’ is constantly shifting and as such, so are his desires. At first, Din is motivated by base needs (Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs) such as: food, fuel for the ship, security, etc. Basically, he’s just trying to survive. However, the introduction of the child literally reshapes and changes his desires and motivations. Now, as a side note, Din’s morality is insanely grey and his understanding of ‘what’s right’ in a situation changes based on the situation, rather than a strictly moral code. Thus, Din doesn’t really bat an eyelash when he breaks the Guild Code. Actually, he first begins to diverge from the Code when he asks the Imperial Client, “What are you going to do with it?” He’s never asked that question before — no one does. Thus, this moment shows us how his moral compass is altering, but alas — I digress.

In a story, the main protagonist’s desire is almost tied to their greatest fear. For instance, Din clearly loves the child and is attached to him (desire), but he’s also terrified of what he’s feeling. He doesn’t know how to be a father or be attached to anyone. Moreover, before the child, I doubt Din ever had to examine his emotions or desires closely. However, the child’s distress and separation anxiety trigger’s Din’s own anxiety. Here, is one area where Din isn’t competent: fatherhood. Din can barely take care of himself and now, he’s tasked with caring for a child. Thus, in Hold Me By the Heart, Din vacillates between keeping the kid at a respective distance and nurturing the child. The kid’s presence reminds him of the internal change and revolution Din is going through. In the story, Din’s desire to keep some distance (or, to put it better, not get too attached) has less to do with the child and more to do with Din’s own feelings. It’s easier to push something or someone away than deal with how their presence is changing you as a person. 

 When I began writing Hold Me By the Heart, I really wanted to capture Din’s character well (I’m sure there’s glaring flaws though). More than anything, though, I wanted to put his chief desires on display — his relationship and growing attachment with the child. As the series shows, Din rarely (and I mean, rarely) explains, names, or even presses into his feelings. Rather, his emotions seem to surprise him often (case study: his sorrow over the droid’s self-sacrifice). Din’s emotional world is not only foreign to him, he’s also unaware of how often his emotions seep out through his actions. Thus, I wanted to capture this behavior in the story. For instance, Din rarely names his love for the child. Rather, other people have to name it for him and it’s almost like an eureka moment for him like, “Oh, so that’s what I’m feeling!” When someone else names it, he never corrects them. Now, just for the record, Din isn’t emotionally incompetent or dumb. He’s just never needed to assess his internal world. He was raised in a strict warrior culture that focuses on strength and physical capability. The internal values (e.g. courage, bravery, honor) of the Mandalorian system is defined by their physical expressions of said values. In other words, they show what they value, rather than spend time assessing it. Moreover, their values are inextricably tied to their role as warriors. A Mandaloran shows that they are courageous through battle. Thus, Din is extremely action-oriented and active. He isn’t a static character, but rather, he’s always on the move.

Thus, I wanted to strike a tension between Din’s Mandalorian upbringing and the demands of parenthood. Because Din operates on Maslow’s lower base needs, he rarely thinks about higher ones such as: self-actualization, emotional health, etc. His context shapes him to focus heavily on survival. So, when the kid is placed in his care, Din focuses on the base needs. He makes sure the child has a comfortable place to sleep; he feeds the kid. He keeps the baby safe. Unfortunately, with the presence of the child’s separation anxiety, Din realizes that the child needs more. The kid demands the full involvement of an engaged physically and emotionally present adult. 

The Process of Writing the Child

One of the things I realized about the Disney+ series is how often the series showcases fluff between the child and Din. The fluff is so good and needed, but unfortunately, the show fails to portray the difficult realities of adoption, attachment, and development. In the series, the child is a source of innocence and cuteness in, an otherwise, violent context. Though his innocence is endearing and warrants so many heart-eyes from me, I think the child needs more nuance. The babe can eat frogs and throw a fit when Din attempts to leave. He can suck on the metal ball from the ship and have nightmares. He can be Force-sensitive and still operate as a baby would. In other words, all of us —including the cutest of children— are products of complicated stories and live in complicated narratives. Moreover, adoption isn’t as easy as — “here, I have a working ship and some (constantly depleting) money. I can protect you from danger and, since you’re just a baby, you’ll be happy and grow up healthy.” Rather, adoptees have rich and complicated stories that they lived into (and still live into) prior to their adoption. As a writer and psychology nut, I really want to face these realities head on. In Hold Me By the Heart, the child struggles with separation anxiety, abandonment issues, and object permanence. The presence of the issues are not meant to be some weird fetish of sorts or act as entertainment factors for readers. Rather, the kid’s issues are real, present struggles that impact his development. So I really wanted to contrast the child’s innocence with his trauma and, by doing, articulate that both realities CAN exist in one person. 

Moreover, I’ve grown more and more curious about the child’s origin story. Though the babe could have been born into a loving family and was simply taken away (and that’s trauma too), I truly believe the kid has more experiences of being stolen over and over again by random hunters. This reality creates an attachment insecurity, primarily because the child doesn’t know who his consistent guardian is. Moreover, as a baby needing care, he doesn’t know who he can rely on to care for him. 

A Brief Word About the Plot

Originally, I’d planned to contain the story to four elongated chapters (like a short story). However, the more I wrote, the more I realized how impossible it is to write about the complexities of separation anxiety and wrap up such a story in four chapters. To do so, for me, would result in a rushed or under-developed storyline. Thus, the story, as of now, keeps expanding. 

Moreover, I realized that for Din to grow as a human being and a father, he needed to brush shoulders with other people for more than 10 minutes. As a character, Din is so zeroed-in on his goals, he doesn’t really see people (at least, enough to get an inch-deep into their stories). However, knowing that Din would never stay in one place for long of his own volition, I needed to throw a wrench in his plans. Hence, his injuries and the ship’s damages. Though Din would definitely push through an injury, if his ship were trashed, even he’d recognize he couldn’t go anywhere. Hence, the chapter where he drops into Dantooine (and Maisy’s turnip garden). 

Now, before I wrap this up (if you’re still reading, God bless you; you’re a literal saint), one last word about the presence of OCs in the story. Many readers have commented on the nature of the OCs in many fanfics and how, usually, they’re not a welcome addition (same, honey, sameee). Thankfully, a lot of y’all actually seem to like the OCs in Hold Me by the Heart, which is incredible. Here’s my two cents and promise as a writer — I do not believe in filler OCs or OCs that do not enhance the main plot. Period. I honestly believe you can smell a filler OC (or, one that takes the focus away from the main story) from a mile away. In Hold Me by the Heart, I really try to be careful to keep the main thing the main thing, which is Din and the baby’s relationship (I mean, that’s what we’re here for). So, usually when the OCs are in a scene (and, let’s say, the child isn’t present), I try to keep the focus on Din and the kid’s relationship even then. Though Din definitely needs to interact with others to learn more about being a parent, I never want those interactions to take away from the main paring. We’re here for papa Din and baby-bean, so let’s keep them as the focus.

A Note for the Fans

I’ve had the immense privilege of chatting with many of you through AO3 in the comments section, and I cannot stress my thanks enough. You all are, no lie, THE REASON this story has continued. I just had a small idea for a fanfic, but y’all believed in it. Honestly, I’ve only written four chapters (as of now) and y’all have showered the story with kindness and love. Your belief in the story and profuse compliments have meant the world. Please continue commenting and I hope to keep responding. I love interacting with y’all and gleaning from your analyses. 

Thanks for all of your support!

XOXO 

[otonymous]

Slick (SLBP Kyoichiro - NSFW)

Description:  To turn up the heat with Kyoichiro, just add oil. Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language - reader discretion is advised Word Count: 2050 (~ 10 minutes of smut/fluff/angst; perfect for your morning or evening commute) AO3: Read here

Author’s Notes: I’m currently playing Kyoichiro’s route in SLBP and it is giving me feels left, right and center!  So of course, I had to write about everyone’s favourite Sengoku era Robin Hood.  Hope you all enjoy this messy, mixed bag of a story! 

Tagging: all the other Kyoichiro fans that I can count on one hand 😆: @dear-mrs-otome, @quincette: THANK YOU BOTH for all the naked sprites @ieyasu-tacogawa:  Because I live for your Kyoichiro nanban hero comic strips. @saizoswifey: Whose awesome Kyoichiro headcanons I may have read a million times once or twice Other lovely readers:  @pseudofaux, @all-my-cuffs-have-buttons, @artemira-sengoku, @fieryanmitsu, @belxsar, @suzi-q-uinn, @otomediary 

All characters & SLBP owned by Voltage Inc.

“Watch it, bumpkin!”

It was too late.  The terracotta jug lay shattered on the shop floor, the golden liquid contained within slowly spreading out in concentric circles on the tatami.

Freezing in place at the jarring sound of the crash, you gradually bring yourself to face Kyoichiro, all the while mentally calculating how many years the accident will add to your indentured servitude.  His eyes are wide, the whites almost swallowing up the vibrant peridot of his irises; their perfect roundness only challenged by the shape of his mouth suspended open in disbelief.  

“Do.  You.  Have.  Any.  Idea.  How.  Expensive.  Olive.  Oil.  Is?!”

If it wasn’t for the fact that Kyoichiro’s face was completely drained of colour, you might have been tempted to unleash your horrible habit of laughing when nervous.  But his look of utter devastation channeled your jittery energy into quickly fetching a bowl from the kitchen instead, kneeling over to scoop up whatever was left of the liquid into its new container.  

“I’m so sorry!  There’s still a bit left.  Look!  A whole bowlful!”  You venture a smile, raising the offering up to the prickly merchant for inspection.  A hand shoots out to stop you in your tracks.

“Stop.  Just stop.  No one is going to want damaged goods and I sure as hell am not going to stake my good reputation on trying to pawn off merchandise that’s less than pristine.  Keep it for yourself bumpkin…”

Your eyes lift in surprised glee.

“…you’ll just work off the entire cost of the jug.  Gods, you’ll be here for a million years.”

Only to drop again like the stone that sinks to the pit of your stomach.

“Why are you naked?!”

“Really?  You come into my room, throw something at my face and that’s the first thing you think to say?  What is that anyways?  Don’t tell me that’s the olive oil you spilled earlier?”

The look of indignation leaves your face as you consider Kyoichiro’s words, feeling guilty for the second time today.  But evidently not guilty enough to avert your eyes from his body, your gaze drifting from his broad chest to the firm grid of his torso and finally, to the dark shadow trailing down his pelvis, the tantalizing preview cut short by the scarlet haori held up around his waist.  You discretely clear your throat before continuing.

“I-I thought you were a ninja of Iga, creeping around the way you did!  My body just reacted and tried to attack you with the only thing I had on hand.  But why are you naked in the first place?”

Kyoichiro shakes his head in exasperation.  

“Your furry, freeloading comrade happened to lose control of his bowels when I carried him home tonight, making a mess of Ishikawa Goemon’s extremely expensive, scalloped nanban shirt.  As such, I thought it prudent to clean up by the well outside before bringing the stench indoors.  But I suppose you just had to add insult to injury by dousing me in oil the second I entered my own home.  Bah, it’s all over the place!”

Securing the haori around his waist, Kyoichiro struggles to wipe the oil from his face, grimacing as his glancing touches prove unsuccessful.  

“Here, let me help.”

Gingerly, you approach him, his balled-up fists rubbing at his eyes the way a child does when fighting sleep.  The sight imparts an air of vulnerability to the seemingly invincible man that gives you pause.

“You really got me good this time, bumpkin.”

His voice, soft despite the accusation in his words, jolts you from the thicket of your thoughts, and you carefully bring your hands up to cradle his cheeks, thumbs gently sweeping along the thick fan of lashes lining his closed eyes.  The contact makes Kyoichiro’s breath hitch, and the sensation of his jaw relaxing under your palms makes you brave.

“Kyoichiro, you must know by now how...how I long for you.”

It was true.  Slowly but steadily, your fellow runaway had unobtrusively crept into your heart like smoke from his kiseru pipe, clinging to its deepest recesses the way the scent of tobacco clung to your clothes.  Unlikely though it was, his acerbic tongue only served to accentuate the kindness behind his actions, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself wishing to be the sole recipient of his special brand of tenderness.

But your admission is met with an excruciating silence, only broken by the sound of him removing your hands from his face to fall impotently by your sides.  His wavering voice, so low as to almost be a whisper, is heartbreakingly raw when he responds:

“You’ve got the wrong person.  I’m not the man you think you’re in love with.”

Kyoichiro makes to leave, turning away from you.  

Stop running!

“Tell me who you are then, so I can judge for myself!”

Your voice turns shrill in its desperation as your hand whips out to grab his retreating body, only to catch onto his haori, the luxurious fabric unravelling from his tapered hips with a flourish that was as dramatic as the man himself.

Hardly cognizant of the fact that your jaw had dropped, your gaze traverses the trails blazed by the viscous oil that had continued to run down his body during your heated exchange, the faint sheen highlighting every solid plane and sharp angle in the moonlight.  A sudden heat courses through you and you swallow dryly, feeling parched in the presence of the cool drink of water that was a bared Kyoichiro.  

“Is it not enough to strip me emotionally that you also feel the need to strip me physically too?!”  

The dusting of pink on his cheeks has now reached the tips of his ears, and you heave an inward sigh of disappointment as his large hands move to cover up a groin that couldn’t quite be masked despite their size.

“Fine!  You say you hate ninjas because we keep everything close to our hearts, always unwilling to take the first step in trusting anyone.  Consider this my attempt at meeting you halfway then!”

Caught up in the heat of the moment, you reach behind you to untie your obi, hands tugging at your kimono until it falls in a disheveled heap by your feet.  It isn’t until the cool night air sends a shiver through your naked body that you feel slightly sheepish at your impulsive behaviour.  

For once however, Kyoichiro’s smart mouth is rendered speechless by the sight of you before him.  No, he can tell by the artless way your fingers clench and unclench into nervous fists at your side that this is no ploy of a kunoichi; that maybe, just maybe, you are being honest with him.  Perhaps then, he could be honest with you.  After all, the unveiling of your secret skin conspired with the mystery of your curves to ignite a fire within him like no other, and even Kyoichiro had to admit that the body doesn’t lie.

“Please Kyo!  What can I do to make you love me?”  Your plea comes out in a rasp as you move to close the distance.

“I don’t deserve your lo—.”

Unwilling to listen to another disparaging word, you press your lips to his, allowing the sounds to die in your throat as your tongue slips into his mouth to swallow his bitterness for your own.

“Let me be the one to decide that.”  

His eyes, dark with desire, fixate on your mouth as you leave that whisper on his lips.  Finally released from the bounds of propriety, your hungry hands fly over Kyoichiro’s body, his shaky breaths encouraging your fingers to continue gliding over every dip and peak, borne on the slick oil coating his hot skin.  How many nights have you lain awake, hands moving furiously between your legs, imagining this very moment?

Linking your fingers behind his neck, you press the length of your body insistently to his, relishing in the slippery slide of your supple flesh against his firm muscles and caring not a whit about the mess.  And when you finally feel his hesitant hands alight on your skin, infinitely careful in their reciprocity, your ecstatic joy has you arching into his touch.

Kyoichiro’s breathing becomes shallow when you tiptoe up to suck the tender flesh of his neck into your mouth, his groan only adding to your desire to mark him boldly enough to necessitate the buttoning of every last button on his collared shirt for weeks to come.

“Hmm!  You don’t — ah!…don’t understand.  I’m not a good man.”  Kyoichiro utters his confession in between moans, his eyes half-lidded as you make to straddle his lap on the hurriedly made futon.  His cock pulsates under the undulating pressure of your hand, stroking torturously from thick base to smooth tip and back again.  At his protest, you slow your movements to take in the expression on his face, asking,

“Kyo, do you want this?  Do you want…me?”

He closes his eyes, their corners damp with the unfathomable weight of profound sorrow as he solemnly nods in affirmation.  Of course he wanted you. He’s wanted you ever since the day he first saw your face, when the clenching grip around his heart made him bristle and unleash ugly words designed to keep you at arm’s length.  He didn’t want you to sully yourself by associating with him, damaged and dripping in sin as he was.  The way you made him feel was altogether much too good for him, far surpassing his worth as either Narukami Kyoichiro or Ishikawa Goemon.  

Breathing a sigh of relief at his response, your lips taste the salt of his tears as they kiss them away.  “I’m glad.  Because if a man like you is considered bad, then I don’t want to be good.”

His eyes snap open to stare into yours, a softness pervading their emerald depths as the wall of ice starts to melt, signalling you to slowly lower yourself onto him while studying his face to catch every wisp of emotion.  The endeavour proves difficult however, as the delicious sensation of being overwhelmingly filled threatens to drive every semblance of thought from your mind as surely as the moans leaving your lips.

Wrapping your legs tightly about Kyoichiro’s waist, you start the slow rock of your pelvis into his hips, each swing ending in a grind of your sensitive clit against the hardness of his groin, already glistening from the commingled smears of olive oil and your mutual arousal.    

With you still perched on his lap, Kyoichiro takes your breast into his mouth, and you delight to find that his clever tongue is as skilled with pleasure as it is with sarcasm.  Suddenly, you start from the sensation of his teeth lightly grazing your nipple, earning a chuckle from him as he cheekily says, “Can’t have you being the only one with tricks up their sleeve tonight, now can we?”

“Do you always have to have the last word?”

“Yes, at least when it comes to your pleasure.”  

And with that, Kyoichiro lays himself flat on the futon, his strong arms keeping you in place above him as his hips thrust up impossibly fast from below, hitting all the right angles to make your mouth gape open in a silent scream.  The addition of his thumb drawing slippery circles about your clit proves to be altogether too much for you to take, and your climax has you collapsing onto Kyoichiro’s chest, panting as he tightens his grip on your ass to chase his own release.

“So, about that olive oil.  Seeing as the final dregs were used on you, perhaps you can cut me a deal and shave a few years off my debt?”

You pose the question to Kyoichiro, angling your head to face him as you lay on his chest, basking in the afterglow of intercourse and the sound of his heartbeat against your ear.  One look at the mischief on your flushed, smiling face is all it takes for him to know that you are the one thing he cannot give up.  

“I think not, bumpkin.  You see, I’ve already decided to never let you go.”

Incredible.  Also, slightly sexy.

Thanks for reading!  More stories available here! 💕

[qm-vox]

Sigilverse Fanfic - In It To The Death

The completely unasked-for continuation of What You Think Of Death, this time without pay or prompting, and still set in @periakman‘s Sigilverse. Go poke her page, find out what it’s all about! I can vouch for Warlocks of the Sigil and Heroes of the Sigil as fun and unusual reads.

As before, we have content warnings for violence, suicide, and child abuse, as well as a certain amount of imprisonment. Do as thou wilt.

Vellkill Island, Grevelt. Early Autumn

“Tell me what you think of death,” Deirdre ordered. Monika spat a thin line of blood into the dirt of the training yard and shook her head; the older warlock beckoned another soldier into the ring, bringing it to four on one. Her teenage apprentice squeezed the handle of the dulled practice knife in her hand and lowered her stance. “They will hurt you, kid. Last chance.”

“Eat me,” Monika growled.

Deirdre shrugged. “Have it your way. En garde!”

The first soldier in caught a stomp to the side of his knee that shattered it with a grisly snap; Monika turned with the motion, clocking him upside the temple with the hilt of her knife. The teen whirled, seizing her victim’s falling body and using him to catch a pair of slashes directed at where her torso had just been; the man’s fellow soldiers recoiled.

Their mistake. Monika threw her shield at one, forcing the soldier to drop her knife and catch the man, and faked a lunge at the other. He fell for it, moving to meet her; the teen faded past him, slipping through his peripheral vision. The dull edge of her knife touched his throat (”Kill” she muttered in a quick, low voice), before she turned and kicked him in the small of the back, sending him sprawling.

At the sidelines, Deirdre’s eyebrows raised beneath her red hair. “Good!” she called out, even as her apprentice ducked. Her attacker now was a friend she’s made here at Fort Vellkill, a greyshade named Sasha, but you couldn’t tell from the way Monika took them out. The teenager locked their arm and brought them down into a vicious knee that broke the soldier’s nose and sent blood spraying all over the dust.

“I yield!” the last soldier said quickly, still holding her friend. Monika nodded, breathing hard, and sat down in a heap.

Ysabelle, the Fort’s healer, ran over from the sidelines with the look of pure malice they generally reserved for any and all times Deirdre was in their presence. Their assistants brought stretchers to haul the wounded away.

“You know I’m just going to keep asking you,” Deirdre said after a moment, but she got up and brought a canteen of water over to her apprentice. Monika doused her frizzy hair with it, then took small sips. “I can always throw more soldiers at you.”

Monika swallowed a gulp of water. “Sounds like child abuse to me.”

“No shit. Would you like an award for that amazing discovery, you impertinent ass?” Deirdre paused briefly, then switched topics. “You gonna be okay with Sasha?”

The canteen was passed back. Monika swallowed hard, took a deep breath to get air back in her lungs, and nodded. “We talked, awhile ago. They know how it is. I’ll check on them after we’re done for the day. If this is a day when we’re done?”

Deirdre snorted. “I’d ask where you found the nerve but I damn well know where. Let’s -”

“Deirdre!” the unmistakable voice of the island’s master called out, thick with outrage. “What in the rippling Void are you doing to my men?”

“Run,” Deirdre muttered, and Monika got up and ran.

*

In the nearly six months that she’d been on Vellkill, Monika had come to know the infirmary intimately. It was state-of-the-art, as these things go; spacious, well-stocked, in possession of a pair of warlocks with healing affinities and trained staff besides. Though the island rarely had to deal with military attack or mass monster incursions, it was prepared for them.

These days what it mostly dealt with was her and Deirdre and the latter’s idea of training exercises. Monika winced as she passed the guy whose knee she’d broken - he’d be in here for the better part of a month. Ysabelle’s main power was to speed up natural healing, essentially passively, and the Fort’s other healer was away getting some license or other renewed and wouldn’t be back until spring at the earliest.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Ysabelle snapped, the moment Monika crossed into the threshold. The teenager caught a bundle of medical supplies. “Go dress Sasha’s nose. You and that Master of yours are a plague on honest people.”

“I didn’t choose this!” Monika protested.

“She says, knowing damn well she could have just answered Deirdre’s stupid question,” Ysabelle mocked. Monika let out an exasperated sigh and went to go treat her friend.

|She’s stressed.| Sasha signed; the greyshade was mute, and had been since birth. |That was a good hit.|

“You coulda slipped it,” Monika chided, as she got to work. “You haven’t been keeping up on your practice. That’ll get you killed.”

|By what?| Sasha asked; the look on their face made Monika laugh so hard she had to stop what she was doing. |Things don’t happen to Fort Vellkill. We happen to things. Deirdre, mostly, happens to things.|

Monika sighed and got back to work. “Yeah, I bet. We still haven’t worked on unlocking my affinity. It’s been months, but I haven’t exactly brought it up to her either...”

The greyshade soldier tilted their head at their younger friend and signed a question. |Why not? You bring up other stuff, like when you wanted to learn rappelling.|

Sasha drew back, gingerly touching their nose to check it while their younger friend sighed and looked away. Monika seemed to sigh a lot any time she wasn’t around Deirdre. The young warlock’s master got her blood up like nothing else, and Sasha wasn’t the only once concerned about that. It was, what, Midsummer that Monika’d lost her temper during a sparring exercise and fucked Otoya up bad enough that she’d been sent home with a medical discharge? The kid had been torn up about it for weeks. Now she just looked out the window instead of at the people she’d so recently maimed.

Monika looked back over at her friend. “I guess because she said we can only do one at a time. I keep telling myself she’ll stop this part when I’m ready, but what if it’s another test of...of...my nerve? My judgement? Am I overthinking this?”

|You could talk to Lee| Sasha pointed out.

“I could -”

Shouting, through the window. Deirdre’s voice, her usually flat and dead inflection colored by a hate only rarely heard from her: “You cannot give orders to me about my apprentice! I have absolute authority over her education and if you think for one fucking second -”

The master of the Fort cut her off, his own voice a deep bass roar: “You forget yourself, Silencer! I own you and all that you have, are, and could be. If I tell you to drown that brat you will.”

Monika rushed to the window, Sasha close on her heels. Deirdre had her employer’s head by the hair, her dagger - glowing a dull cherry red, like forge-metal - pressing into his throat. All around them, soldiers leveled crossbows.

“If she so much as scratches me, throw her bitch from a window,” the man snarled.

“You can’t play this game with me forever,” Deirdre warned, her voice back to its low, lifeless tone. “You lay a hand on my apprentice and I will cut that hand off. You speak her name and I’ll rip the tongue from your mouth, and before I do it I’ll call the dogs in so they can hold you down for me. Are we clear?”

“Stand down,” the island’s master ordered. “My threats move faster than yours, Silencer.”

A heartbeat. Two.

Dierdre let go of her superior officer, who immediately backhanded her hard enough to put the pale warlock into the dirt. His men started forward, only to be halted by a sharp gesture.

“From whom do you take your orders?” the island’s master demanded.

(Up above, Monika’s fists clenched hard enough that her nails cut her palms, drawing blood.)

Deirdre drew in a shaky breath and picked herself up. She sheathed her knife before standing at attention with a sharp salute. “Colonel Jared Ashe, sir.”

“Good,” the Colonel spat. “Tame your cur. Dismissed.”

Monika took off running for the stairs back down. She didn’t stop long enough to catch Sasha’s hurried |Wait!|.

Or the greyshade’s resigned |Goodbye then.|

*

Deirdre’s furious bellow of “to your quarters!” had shocked Monika enough that the apprentice obeyed without even a token argument, running like a little girl from her mother’s wrath. Hours later, with the sun setting, she was still up with a mixture of anger and worry, trying and failing to focus on her book. She hadn’t touched her fiction in months (admittedly in part because she’d read and re-read it to death); the book on the bed in front of her concerned locksmithing and lock-breaking, not that it was doing her much good, both because the door was unlocked and because she’d read page fifteen six times now.

A knock at the door, and then Lee’s voice: “May I come in?”

Monika smiled to herself. Deirdre did the same thing but she always made such a big deal out of it. At first Monika had thought her master was trying to impress her with how tolerant and accepting of the teen’s need for space she was being, but lately the apprentice had come to the conclusion that the person Deirdre was trying to convince of that was, well. Deirdre.

“Yeah, it’s open.” Monika sat up and closed her book while Lee slid in and closed the door behind him. Deirdre’s factotum looked as sharp as ever, though on base he’d traded his traditional suits for a sharply pressed uniform. You could shave with the creases.

“You are not in trouble. You’ve done nothing wrong,” Lee began. “Deirdre wanted me to assure you of that earlier but I...needed to be certain she was okay in her own company, before I left her side.”

“That man had no right,” Monika whispered.

Lee nodded. “But the situation is more complex than that, to the great misfortune and sorrow of many. And there are those who would say your master has no right to treat you as she does.”

“I picked her.”

“No. She picked you.” Lee crossed the room in slow steps and put a hand on Monika’s shoulder. “I have been asked to reiterate the offer Deirdre made when you landed on this shore. Do you wish to leave?”

The apprentice laughed, a bitter sort of laugh that sounded all too much like her master’s to Lee’s ears. “Don’t insult me, alright? If I wasn’t going to leave when she told me point-blank that she picked me up as a human sacrifice, I’m not gonna leave now. I’m in it to the death, Lee. You hear me? To the death.”

Lee closed his eyes and sighed. “You have no idea what that means,” he murmured. “But so be it. You are summoned to Deirdre’s quarters to begin your magical training. Sasha and I will take over your physical training regimen. I will not lie, it will be greatly reduced. I believe you discussed this with your master before?” Monika nodded. “Then attend to her, quickly.”

The apprentice stood, shook Lee’s hand, and then left as quickly as possible. She still wasn’t certain of her own technical rank, but no one seemed to expect her to salute and she wasn’t about to start until someone told her the rules. Lee would close her door behind him. He always did.

Deirdre’s quarters were in the highest room of the tallest tower, because of course they were. They weren’t used to meet or instruct Monika a whole lot, in part because no one wanted to deal with the amount of stairs they entailed. Still, the apprentice felt almost lighthearted when she ascended to the top floor and found the door open. She’d been looking forward to this for awhile.

Her master was more of a wreck than usual. Deirdre had cloaked herself in metal again, the full rusty regalia she favored out in the field, and her eyes were bloodshot from crying. Monika stopped at the door with her hands folded behind her back.

She’d long since given up on trying to comfort her master in moments like these.

“Lee told you it’s time, then,” Deirdre croaked. “There’s a couple of options, and surprisingly enough it’s not between bad and bad. Just annoying and frustrating. Option one is I take control and burn you through this. Now, that could be nothin’, or it could be an instant eternity of searing fucking agony that will scar you for life. Based on your ball, I’m leaning more towards nothing, but the risk is always there. Or you can try and breach on your own, which takes longer but has no risk. You can come in, by the way.”

Monika stepped fully into the room and pulled the door shut behind her. “Why offer to take control here when you wouldn’t for my combat training?”

“This is just to open the door, kid. Training with your affinity can only happen once we’ve got an idea of what it is.”

Ah. Monika nodded and drifted over towards the window. She could see the spot down below where earlier, Deirdre had -

“I’m not entertaining other conversation topics, kid.”

“Fuck you too,” Monika said in a light tone. “Why didn’t you kill him? How is it that you just hate everyone all the time without trying but you can’t stand up to that piece of -”

Deirdre appeared behind her apprentice. Monika hadn’t heard or felt her move

“It is the business of the dead to hate the living,” Deirdre murmured in her apprentice’s ear. “And I am not having this conversation tonight. What’s it gonna be?”

Monika thought it over a while longer, and then turned to meet her master’s dead green gaze. “Burn me through it.”

Deirdre nodded and slid away from her apprentice. “Never did lack for guts. Step into the center of the room. Safest for us both, all things considered.”

Monika did as instructed, clasping her hands in front of herself. She shifted uncertainly in place. Deirdre’d never actually used the tattoo before. Was there a warning? A build-up? She tapped a foot and her mind was slip-zip-slip-sliding, grease on grease on rubber, look closely, look closely, watch it bend, watch it flip!

When did the floor become the ceiling?

Wait. Monika was falling.

“Ah fuck,” was the last thing Monika heard from her master before her head hit the edge of Deirdre’s bed and she blacked out.

[pelagaios-a]

♡ + powers

yet another hc meme || accepting

going to try and keep this as short as possible.

lmao good question nonnie. for this I’m actually going to mooch off my citta app since I have all his powers written out and stuff there !!! mooched from the wiki a bit this topic is rather broad and pretty well shows how generally overpowered Percy is, but this is a good question just to give people an idea since I’m sure a good portion of my followers don’t quite know who Percy is / how ridiculously op he is. to quote myself:

ABILITIES YOUR CHARACTER POSSESSES: Referred to as one of the most powerful demigods to date, Percy holds a wide breadth of powers related to his lineage, as his father is one of the Big Three…

why is this you may ask? well, it seems Rick Riordan ( referred to in the fandom as “rr” or “uncle rick” ) just knowns no chill and Percy just gets more and more powerful as the books go by. the general explanation and argument is that Percy has “always” had these powers and it just learning more and more as he goes. which, in part, does make sense. a lot of our understanding of his powers we have found through him stumbling across them himself. the way I explain this on his blog, and you will see pop up now and again, is that his powers ( the water related ones at least ) stem from one general ability since it’s not the most addressed topic in canon outside “he gets them from his dad.” in this blogs canon you need to almost imagine that he’s talking to it, asking. reading through the books ??? thats how I see it. Percy asks the water to do something and it does. “commands” could certainly be one way to say it as well, seeing as he is its “prince” of a sort ( which is also addressed in canon ). his father’s domain canonically listens to him due to his lineage. therefore, I don’t think this is to far off the mark.

so onto actual powers — Percy canonically has control over anything water based. when you look on this, think on this, you can start to see how ridiculous this is. almost everything on this planet is water based. no matter where you are there is water ( in the air, the water table, he can canonically create his own water, etc. ). then not only does he have a semblance of control over these things, but he gains a lot of benefits with them. one example is that while immersed in water he heals over a period of time length of which depends on the injury.

WATER-INDUCED ABILITIES: When in contact with or in the presence of water, Percy gains a disproportionate amount of superhuman clarity, strength, speed, agility, and endurance equaling a god and he has shown to be more powerful than Ares while in this state. However, this only lasts for a limited amount of time unless he is completely submerged in water. He also heals himself from any wound and most poisons when he comes into contact with water, the amount of water and time needed for the healing being proportionate to the severity of the wound.

HYDROKINESIS: With the power of the sea within him, Percy can control every form and great volumes of water, being even able to summon and heal his wounds and cure himself of most poisons with it. Percy can control water almost omnipotently. He can control it in order to make it explode, or use it to grab something, etc.

GENERAL HYDROKINESIS: He can create water from petrified seashells, as well as being able to create water with his own energy and summoning the “force of the ocean” to his will, as long as he concentrates hard enough. He can also harden water into an almost solid shape.

HYDROGENESIS: Percy can create water from his own power, though it takes much of his energy for him to do so. He uses this skill while creating his own personal hurricanes.

HEALING FACTOR: Since he is the son of Poseidon he can heal most wounds and cure most poisons when in contact with water.

WATER PROPULSION: He can control the water around him to propel himself through water. Percy can shoot water, not only from being in water, but he can blast the own water he creates.

UNDERWATER BREATHING: Percy can breathe underwater and diffuse the oxygen in the water to create oxygen bubbles that allow his non-hydrokinetic friends to breathe underwater.

WATER IMMUNITY: Percy can fall from great heights into water, and is unaffected by any amount of water pressure. He does not get wet if submerged in water, unless he wants to. Percy can dry items underwater (as long as he holds onto it), such as a lighter.

WATER SOLIDIFICATION: Percy can harden water into an almost solid shape. He can use this power to walk on water, by increasing the surface tension of the water to the point where it is solid enough for him to stand on, and water constructs. So far, he has demonstrated creating a strong water shield and on two instances he hardened the water into giant hands that followed and imitated the movements of his own hands.

and ignoring the water thing, his father is known as “the earthshaker.” in a historical sense, Greece is on a series of fault lines that run throughout the Mediterranean. a lot of seismic activity was through to have come from the sea itself, and the following seismic activity has repercussions along the coastlines. then there is the whole storm thing associated with the sea. Zeus may be god of the sky but within Greek mythos the water and everything around it belonged to the sea god. literally Poseidon is one of, if not the most, powerful gods in Greek mythos. a lot of who Poseidon is got passed onto Percy for no reason I can figure out other then he was the protag for five books and important for another five. he canonically again has some geokinesis / atmokinesis because of this. so yet again he grows more op. throw him anywhere you want and he is not powerless. you see where this is going ???

ATMOKINESIS: Percy can summon hurricanes and other types of storms, but the extent to which he can control them is as of yet unknown. Percy’s hurricanes have been shown to be powerful enough to douse the fires on Hyperion’s body, leaving the powerful Titan vulnerable to attack. By events later shown he is able to sustain the storm with less effort than his first use of the skill against the Titan Hyperion, although it still drains him over time.

ELECTROKINESIS (LIMITED): Percy used this skill unintentionally on one occasion, while creating his own miniature hurricane to fight Hyperion. Sparks of lightning appeared as his hurricane increased in power. His control of this ability, however, is far less than that of a child of Zeus and appears to be a limited side effect of his storms.

AEROKINESIS (LIMITED): Percy can summon strong winds, which he could use to create storms such as hurricanes and typhoons.

GEOKINESIS: Percy can generate earthquakes and (consequently) cause volcanic eruptions, but his control of this technique is less than that of a child of Hades.

looking on all of this you might go “well kat, thats a lot but thats all pretty simple. I don’t quite see where you’re going with this.” and friends let me tell you it gets better. rr really does get into the more technical pieces of this at times. Percy canonically bloodbends. think of the smaller things ( one example is poisons, they are water based ) and he has some control over it. he has even gone as far to pull water from plants / etc. then there was that whole debacle with the volcano which shows just how integrated his is into his fathers domain. heat / fire / etc. does not stand up to the sheer cold power of the ocean — lava only goes as far as the edge of the sea. it’s literally ridiculous. these are just a few pieces touched on in canon that really make you think on the greater scope of what Percy can do. ( other little things — talk to equines / water creatures, perfect bearings at sea, he possesses an innate awareness of any type of water vessel and can telekinetically operate it….. of a sort ).

CRYOKINESIS: Percy can use cryokinesis to a small degree. He is able to use the ice and snow around him to make an icy hurricane, as he does during the battle in Alaska. He can also manipulate frozen or icy water around him.

HEAT RESISTANCE: Percy has a far higher than normal resistance to heat and burns, similar to that of a Cyclops, due to his father’s oceanic nature. He was able to survive being engulfed by lava thrown by the telekhines, though it began to get more painful the longer he was in contact with it, as well not being killed by the super-heated steam from the eruption of Mount Saint Helens.

TOXIKINESIS (LIMITED): Percy can control and manipulate poisons. This is limited, though, as poison is only part water. The full extent of this power is unknown although he is able to control it well enough, when angry, to the point of terrifying others. Percy himself is scared of this power

Percy canonically is described as a “demon” when fighting / using his powers. hell, his name means “to destroy.” he took out a whole Roman legion single handed and caused general mass issue and thats all without the Curse of Achilles ( which he had for the fight against the Titans in the Battle of Manhattan which threw him even more out of proportion power wise ). you could say part of is the demigod thing ( ADHD = supernatural alertness and keen senses that keep him ready for, and alive, in battle. aka superhuman battle reflexes ) or the general enhanced physical condition of demigods ( faster, stronger, more agile and durable then a mortal ) but when it comes down to it a lot of blame I think can be blamed on who his father is. Percy is as he is because of the general ability to command his fathers domain. 

either way kid is still overpowered as all hell, especially since what we know he can do keeps on growing as each new book comes out… I hope this all makes sense and explains some stuff / my own thoughts cause I feel like this turned into a lecture.