#but apparently once I begin I just cannot stop

[singular-yike]

Barrier Shop "Azumaterasu"

The Sanctuary is the geographical area around the Senri Shrine, within which is the Human Village. The barrier shop "Azumaterasu" can be found within this village, and is the topic of analysis today!

Mainly, I'll be focusing on three aspects of this shop:

The mythological inspiration behind its name

Its history and role within Mugenri

The store's internal hierarchy, and how Tenkai fits into it

That out of the way, let us begin!

Mythological Basis: Tōshō-daigongen

Azumaterasu is named after a Japanese god called Tōshō-daigongen (東照大権現), the "great incarnation who illuminates the east".

The "incarnation" here is because he is said to be the local manifestation of the buddha Yakushi-nyorai (薬師如来), the medicine buddha, under the honji-suijaku theory (本地垂迹) (No we do not have time to go into that this is long enough as is).

Below: A depiction of Yakushi-nyorai on a painted scroll.

When read under kun'yomi reading, Tōshō (東照) is "azuma terasu", and this is where we get the barrier shop's name from. Now , let's take a look as to at why it may have been chosen.

One key thing to note, is that Tōshō was once a human, and not just any human, Tokugawa Ieyasu, the founder and first shogun of the Tokugawa Shogunate.

Below: A portrait of Tokugawa Ieyasu.

This is perhaps immediately notable to you as Ieyasu is likely who Tsurubami Senri is based on. In addition to this, it also furthers Tenkai's own connection to the shogun, whose burial site is referenced extensively in Tenkai's spell cards.

Tōshō is thought to have been created as a counterpart to Amaterasu (天照大神), the "Great Goddess that Illuminates the Heavens". Note the similarity between the names, especially when considering Azumaterasu.

Tōshō is said to be the ancestor and guardian of the Shogunate family, while Amaterasu, is said to be the ancestor and guardian of the Imperial family.

Additionally, the Imperial family was based in the west then, which is theorized to be the reason Tōshō is specifically tied to the east.

The name is likely a reference to the fact that Tenkai was one of the two dictative powers in Mugenri, much like how the Imperial family and the Shogunate were the two ruling powers of Japan.

It may also be reflective of the barrier shop and the Senri Shrine being together in charge of the whole of the Mugenri Barrier, Azumaterasu in charge of the "inner" and the shrine in charge of the "outer" barrier.

History and Role

As previously mentioned, the barrier shop is quite old, apparently with a "long and honorable history" to its name.

While we know nothing about said "long and honorable history", it is not impossible that the "particularly famous barrier builder" that Tenkai Zuifeng apparently descends from relates to this.

In terms of physical appearance, JynX compares it to the Kyoto State Guest House, an expansive Japanese-styled mansion.

Below: Entrance of the Kyoto State Guest House.

As a side note, I really recommend checking out other images of the guest house, it's extremely gorgeous and the entrance honestly does not do its beauty justice. (Official website and Twitter account)

It's fairly clear that JynX considers it a fairly powerful and influential establishment within Mugenri, and this is especially notable in its role to "maintain and repair the 'inner' Mugenri Barrier".

To this end, each barrier builder at the shop is assigned to a particular section of the barrier, which they are in charge of. This is why Tenkai showed up in the RMI extra stage, as the part of the barrier that broke was under their jurisdiction.

We don't know much about how the store operates, but it seems reasonable that anyone who wants a barrier set up can request their services, just as Jinbei did when asking for someone to repair the Mugenri Barrier.

Hierarchy and Tenkai Zuifeng

Here we examine the hierarchy within Azumaterasu, and perhaps more importantly, how it impacts Tenkai Zuifeng as a character.

Hierarchy and Power Balance

While it's not exactly clear, it can be seen that there seems to roughly be 3 hierarchal levels within Azumaterasu: The old masters of barrier building at the top, the average barrier builder below them, and the apprentices at the bottom.

Of course, it's quite likely that there are more distinct divisions of roles within each level as well, perhaps there's a shop owner who lords over everyone else, for example; and the division between senior and junior members as found in Japanese culture would almost certainly exist as well.

Tenkai within the system

Moving onto Tenkai, outside of Azumaterasu, they are "One of the Old Dictators". Their subjugation of Mugenri alongside the ex-head priest of the Senri Shrine, Tsurubami Senri, earning them great respect from its people.

Yet within Azumaterasu, Tenkai is but an "apprentice barrier builder", likely owing to their ineptitude at repairing barriers, despite their talent at creating new ones.

Adding to this, power harassment, the use of one's higher position of power to harass and bully those at positions below you, is apparently quite rampant in Azumaterasu.

We see this in how Tenkai's teachers and superiors often give them barrier repairing jobs, which they claim are to "train Tenkai to overcome their weakness," when in reality it is to attack their prestige.

This culminated in Tenkai's insubordination when fixing the Mugenri Barrier in RMI out of frustration towards their superiors, where they "arranged a very small prank with the barrier," likely altering it slightly rather than returning it to how it exactly was before.

Tenkai as a character

This leads to what I personally find most interesting about Tenkai as a character, and what I think is an important part of their character arc: Their transition between two roles, two stages of their life.

Their role as "dictator" has already reached its peak and come to an end with Tsurubami's departure, leaving them with their role as a "barrier builder" which they have ample room to develop.

They may have several impressive barrier-related feats to their name and be descendant from a famous barrier builder, but their immaturity with the craft (or perhaps even in general) is still evident.

In BPoHC, their character is focused (when not busy expounding lore or reacting to the situation at hand) on their struggle to pull away from the whole dictator business.

They still keep tabs on potential threat to Mugenri, they get involved in the incident even though they didn't plan to, they spend their free time spying on people with bird names, etc.

It's very often that Tenkai is viewed as an "other" to Tsurubami, one half of a whole, and it's certainly not untrue with how much they talk about and miss Tsurubami, and I mean their title even stresses this.

But I think viewed on their own, Tenkai is interesting as a character transitioning from one major stage of their life into another. This is of course triggered by the departure of their dear friend Tsurubami, but its effect ripples much further as well.

It is as they move away from being the "great dictator over Mugenri", that their role as "barrier builder of Azumatersu" rises into prominence, and I for one am quite curious whether they'll settle into this role or find something entirely new for themself.

Ending

That finally concludes this analysis on the barrier shop "Azumaterasu", we don't have much, but it's surprisingly deep when you really look into it.

I did accidentally veer off to talk about Tenkai a while lot, though I wanted to to put my thoughts somewhere anyways, and this post is as good as any.

Though I do apologise if the Tenkai section comes off as rather incoherent, it's quite late at night and I suddenly thought about all this midway through the hierarchy section, hehe.

Also, I did kind of brush past the whole "Buddha manifesting as a local Japanese deity" thing but that's opening a whole other can of worms that would easily double the length of this post.

I'm not opposed to talking about non-Len'en stuff at all, and in fact I have quite a lot of Japanese mythology-based stuff done as well (see here), so feel free to shoot those questions my way too, if you'd like~.

That's a lot more ending notes than usual but now we've finally reached the end. As usual, I hope you enjoyed~! :)

[occamstfs]

Halloween Bacchanal

Greek god of madness just wants to see some fun this Hallow's Eve- what better place to start than with little Theo and his satyr costume.

Happy Halloween! Here's my take on everyone's favorite Halloween TF trope: men dressed as satyrs, knights, cowboys and more become what they wear at this hedonistic Halloween party! Hope you enjoy! - Occam

Greek mythology has been an obsession of Theo’s as far back as he could remember. From what his parents say he would force them to read him myths rather than fairy tales before bed each night before going on to spend his waking hours punching way above his literacy level to indulge in every scrap of the Hellenistic pantheon he could stumble across. His dreams were filled with visions of himself aiding Hermes in his tricks and cheering on Heracles in his trials.

It’s no surprise that his time spent in this mythological world influenced his sexuality. What with all the muscular men and tales of transformation he ravenously consumed it doesn’t take a detective to follow the throughline to his present self. In fact he can clearly remember stumbling on a far too steamy illustration of a satyr right when he was about that age that clearly had some deep-rooted repercussions. Which, no surprise, brings him to his current Halloween costume.

He never thought he’d have the confidence to dress up as one but what the hell right? It’s what halloween’s for, just a spot of fun and indulgence. Once he finally decided on biting the bullet and dressing up as his root and began construction on his little costume it’s like he was possessed. Hands worked deftly sewing goat legs and sculpting horns and hooves and before he knew it he was finished before he even realized he had begun.

When the party finally arrived he found himself walking on his toes with a shocking ease, though despite the apparent expertise, his knees began to shake more with each step towards his friend’s apartment. Theo takes a deep breath before knocking on the door, sweating despite the chilly air of autumn against his bare skin. Before he does so the door creaks open and Theo’s greeted by a man he’s never seen before.

Man is almost too inconsequential to describe him. As soon as Theo’s eyes land on him he feels content to spend every waking moment for the rest of his life simply staring at this figure. Dark skin somehow glimmering in the dim light, his teeth sparkle as his lips pull into a smirk. He then turns his gaze onto, into, Theo. It’s as if he were looking through the costumed man, languishing in his past and imagining his future, taking in everything Theo has been, is, and will be. And before a moment passes he shifts to look Theo directly in the eyes, raising a hand to cup his head as if it were a glass, he rumbles out, “I love your costume dear.”

His touch is electric to Theo’s skin, or no not electric, magnetic. The fingers clutching the young man’s jawline leave him wanting more, needing more. Despite feeling frozen in the gaze of this too-ideal figure he craves more than anything to be closer. Lost in his desires, Theo flinches as his ability to ambulate returns and the figure in front of him laughs as he plays with his words, “Dear- Or should I say faun Ah Hah!” Barely a joke, but as the figure begins guffawing Theo cannot help but reciprocate. Compulsive, heaving roars of laughter fill him with ecstasy and delight as memories of raucous nights and impossible debauchery soar into his mind. More real than reality he sees himself with a cup of wine in hand standing in audience of the man now before him.

Just as soon as it began, his laughter jarringly stops and he pulls Theo close and whispers in his ear, “Call me D.” Theo gasps as he is brought closer to D’s form and the intensity of his delight only continues to heighten. Every inch of his exposed torso is suddenly burning with intense pleasure and he shivers as his neck is grazed by D’s sticky breath. In a moment briefer than Theo is able to even grasp, a thought flickers across D’s expression before he looks down at him and his eyes glow a vibrant violet. D stretches his back, doing something between a shrug and a warm-up. Theo trembles at the feeling of his powerful traps and delts moving, allowing him to feel the power they hold as the men stand in each other's grasp.

D once more grabs Theo’s chin, this time angling it up as he cranes down to meet the party-goer’s lips. It’s not quite right to say the kiss was explosive but Theo has no better way of understanding it. It’s as if he were being suffused with power, as if the man’s lips were casting a spell, as if he were drinking in a force of pure energy. Physically, his taste buds are overwhelmed with the taste of wine, richer than any he’s had the chance to experience heavy and sweet and greater than anything. 

Theo, sure that he’s dreaming, clutches the man tighter as their lips and tongues continue to dance. If D’s laughter instilled him with memories, their kiss infused something far more real in his mind. Mouth awash with wine, touch burning with pleasure from being lucky enough to touch the man’s powerful form, Theo opens his eyes and rather than seeing the world he knows he was in, he sees D tied up on a ship. Before he can make sense of his surroundings the man breaks from his bonds and the men who must be his jailers flee, hopping overboard before D waves his arms and they are no longer men. He knew the true name of D as soon as wine graced his tongue but it is further confirmed by a vision of him carrying his mother from the mouth of a cave before he sees her apotheosis. He sees grapevines sprouting from arid earth and finally sees the man, the god, bestowing Midas’ golden touch.

These are all brief passages however, pauses in between the meat of Theo’s visions. Accompanied by D, by Dionysus’ laughter, Theo sees hordes of satyrs and nymphs dancing in fields and in forests. He sees wine dripping through thick beards and staining hairy chests. Theo watches revelry devolve into madness as festivities rapidly degenerate from dances to orgies in grass fields. Shifting to an aristocratic masquerade he sees a crowd of straight-laced prim and proper nobles spin in clearly practiced circles until Dionysus, sitting at the main table, rolls his eyes and removes his mask. Calling their attention to himself as soon as they glance in his direction they are changed, filled with bestial need as they return to their partners with an animalistic fervor. 

Theo knows these visions should fill him with fear, they are far too real to be dreams. Despite that, despite himself, the scenes only excite him more. He doesn’t know why the god has chosen to show him these events, why he has chosen him, but then he realizes he doesn’t care. He just needs to experience the same. His chest quivers with struggled breaths as he feels consciousness waning as he lies in the god’s arms. With a blink he sees D’s face once more, clearly experiencing more pleasure than Theo could ever offer. His vision begins to fade and his body goes limp in the god’s arms. Theo sees some look of care in D’s eyes that is promptly wiped away with a wink. Smirking, he whispers to Theo, “Hope you lot have fun with my gift-”  The sound of the god’s laugh echoes through his empty mind, lulling him to sleep while whatever gift Dionsysus intends for the party festers within him.

When Theo awakens the party is in full swing. He remembers meeting D clearer than anything but everything between that moment and now is obscured. He feels a wet patch in his crotch and quickly crosses his legs to hide the mess made in his excitement. Seeing that he’s finally awoken, his friend Kevin, clad in a cowboy costume, walks over and greets him. “Yoo dude what’s up! Glad you could make it, you know it’s a costume party though ya? Hahah!” Theo narrows his eyes, preparing to call out his friend for being so drunk as to not see the horns on his head before he feels for them and realizes that they are no longer on his head. Indeed, glancing at his crossed legs he finds he’s fully not wearing the costume he so intently made. 

Clutching at his chest, his face burns with embarrassment as he so clearly remembers working up the confidence to come here without a shirt on and yet, here he is just wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Seeing his friend rapidly nearing tears Kevin puts his drink down and apologizes, “Hey hey buddy- Sorry I didn’t mean to press you. Do you want to go get some fresh air?” Theo sighs looking at Kevin’s outstretched hand, pouting for a second longer before reaching out to grab it. Never could he truly know what he is about to unleash when he takes it.

How could he, he was still under the impression that his little episode with Dionysus was just that, an episode. Some weird little dream that led to him cumming on a friend's couch like a loser. That is, until Kevin grasps his hand and grows glassy-eyed. Natural color briefly overtaken by a lilac haze, Theo is immediately concerned, “K- Kevin? Did you get some, um weird contacts?”

His friend shakes his head, not out of his stupor but further into it. He clears his throat and his voice is unmistakably deeper, rougher, “Now why’d I go and do somethin’ like that partner?” Theo feels the hand in his own thicken and grow calloused as tanner skin leaks up his forearm. Hair pokes out of Kevin’s wrist, rapidly thickening and growing dark as it matches pace with his increasingly sun-kissed arm. He breaks the handhold and Theo falls back in shock. Kevin stretches and whistles as biceps bulge under his costume which similarly changes texture from cheap linen to dense torn cotton that one would need in his line of work. His line of work?

“Whoooee! Maybe we’ll skip the fresh air eh Theodore? Love to see what else yew can do with those hands.” Theo stutters as the man starts rubbing his back, “I- You-” Kevin’s jaw widens and grows thick stubble as his brow hangs lower over his eyes, a piece of wheat lolls out of his mouth as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Theo pushes away and the cowboy raises a hand in surrender while adjusting his large belt buckle with the other, “‘Ey now no problem amigo, we’ll put a pin in it. Check back in after spreading the love-” He scratches his newly stubbled jaw and tug once more at his crotch as an unmistakably growing package begins to need far more room than his chapped levis could allow. Staring at a man holding a few swords with shoddily sprayed green hair, Theo almost swears he can see Kevin’s dick throb as he begins tugging at his belt.

The young man doesn’t have time to question whatever unthinkable thing he just did to Kevin as he is struck with a headache greater than anything he’s experienced before, as if something were pushing its way out of his head. Throbbing with pressure he clutches at his head and feels two bumps forming and his eyes widen in fear as he remembers the parting words of the olympian, hope you lot have fun with my gift- Across the room Theo hears the voice of the swordsman grow gruffer as Kevin puts an arm on his shoulder. He hasn’t a chance to investigate as itchiness begins to rise across his body. 

Theo quickly lurches to his feet and finds it difficult to keep his heels on the ground, as if he has always walked on the tips of his toes. He grunts and keeps his head down, trying to not draw attention to himself as he stumbles to the bathroom. He bumps into another party goer wearing a homemade spiderman costume who grabs him before he can fall. 

Fearful that he’s introduced another point of impossible contagion into the party, he looks up and confirms his fears as the padded muscle disappears to be replaced by the hardened abs and arms of a superhero. The man takes off the mask to reveal he’s Theo’s friend Mark, though eyes exposed Theo can’t help but see the lavender corruption in his taking over as his hair throws itself into a middle-part. Grunting as he inches taller, his other web-shooter begins to poke into his friend. Theo runs before he hears whatever smarmy one-liner falls from the lips of a man whose name is Mark no longer.

Miraculously the bathroom is unoccupied when he stumbles in, painstakingly ensuring that his heels stay on the floor with every step. As soon as Theo crosses the threshold he is overwhelmed with a burning itch. Before he even has a chance to check his reflection he’s filled with a supernatural urge to remove his shirt. Ceding to the impulse he no longer sees the unimpressive chest he woke up with this morning, pecs have begun to pad his chest while his few chest hairs have begun to spread like weeds in its center. He clutches at the new pounds of meat piling onto his form and bites back a moan as it fills him with visceral pleasure as his fingers trail through the field of chest hair that is growing thicker. 

Only then does he turn his eyes to the mirror and discover that the changes are not limited to his newly-muscled chest. While hair continues to trail down his thicker torso to his similarly strengthening stomach, the hair on his head begins to lengthen and curl as two horns begin to rise above them. His shaky hands go to tug them off as if they were an accessory which only causes his neck to jerk. Leaning in close he parts his hair and clearly sees the keratin growing forth from his skull. Beyond his new spikes he has somehow missed the darkening of his face as just like Kevin, stubble has begun to make its home on his cheeks. Rapidly growing sideburns shoot down his jawline as a real goatee lengthens on his chin.

In shock he falls back against the wall of the bathroom, accidentally losing his footing and catching himself standing on the balls of his feet like he has so pointedly tried to avoid. No longer is it possible to force his heels down as his toes are overtaken by the transformation, hardening and becoming impossibly imobile as they are covered with black keratin. New hooves burst out of his shoes while his pants begin to stretch at an odd angle from legs changing beneath them. 

Falling to the floor Theo cries out as he tears at the pants he swore he didn't throw on as his legs irrevocably leave humanity behind. Voice pitching deeper and shifting rougher as his thicker hands struggle against his clothes, he feels the new treasure trail on his stomach thicken as it rises from a bush of pubes so dense that they could be labeled nothing other than fur.

While his hands are unable to make progress tearing at his pants, his growing thighs make light work of the garment as they begin to flourish with fur, rapidly covering with curls thick enough to totally burst the tight pants to tatters. His hands trail upward from his hairy legs, feeling the forest of fur give way to the thick human hair that covers the rest of his torso. He blushes imagining finally becoming a creature he always dreamed he could be.Thick hair trails down his forearms and the smell of the wild rises from pits to be evermore unwashed. His hair continues to lengthen and tangle as he truly becomes a spirit of the wild, a spirit of unchained lusts and unending gaiety.

Rubbing his sweaty body against the floor, hearing his new hooves clatter against the tile, Theo feels his mind begin to be overrun with the instincts and ideas of a creature whose primary goal is the spreading of mirth and the heightening of hedonistic desires. Fear of what he wrought upon Kevin and whatever other transformations launched on the other side of the door falls completely to the wayside as the idea suddenly does nothing but increase his own excitement, his own lustful desires. Groping at the decidedly still human cock hanging in between his thick thighs, Theo finds himself certainly more gifted in this department as well, heavy balls send lustful hunger coursing through him while his new powerful rod stands high and drips with pre. Theo smirks as sweat more powerful than any aphrodisiac trickles from his pores and he stands to a new height.

Were he to exit he would stand a few heads taller than anyone else fortunate enough to be in a room with him, his cock would be fencing with their torsos, and something within him tells him that it’s not beyond him to grow even more formidable. Though latching onto that idea, he realizes the true nature of the gifts bestowed unto him. He instead shifts into a form more enticing to whatever partygoers remain that need further enticing. The new satyr hides his beastier parts and watches as his reflection seamlessly shifts into that of a wild man whom no one would be able to turn down.

His hairy torso still glistens with sweat while he trades his hairy legs for sweatpants that could scarcely hide the powerful package hanging from his crotch. Smirking at his new form, Theo steps out to see what has become of his new domain. Exiting back into the steamy gathering he finds that festivities have not slowed down in his absence. The crowd around the cowboy has multiplied and devolved into quite the intimate pile of bodies, muscled arms and deep moans shoot through the air as every outsider that the horde bumps into finds the idea of joining rather appealing. He sees a man dressed as a caveman beating his chest as weight piles on and instincts take over.

Likewise the costumed superhero that was once Mark has found a crowd of his own. Mask pulled up over his mouth to find dozens of other costumed men wanting for him. Even before he changed he was charming, and now with a body made for the big screen it’s no wonder the crowds are clamoring for him. Though he hasn't the time to spend nearly as much time as his fans desire, after the shortest of moments spent with the amazing man himself they likewise begin filling out. Costumed congregants soon enough find themselves more than willing to spread their gifts with any number of lolling mouths around them.

Theo’s hungry eyes and wanting cock feel the compulsive awareness that there remain attendees deliberately avoiding the pleasures that await them. Point in case, he turns to the balcony to find one of his friends, Peter, dressed up as a knight and hiding from true jubilation. Theo’s lips twitch as he imagines corrupting his bookish friend into someone that can finally let loose.

Prior to the party the two discussed their costumes at length. Both spent a good chunk of energy and care in preparation, Peter’s dressed as his longtime DND character. Just like with Theo, the costume had long been a fantasy for the young man. That is to say, isn't it only fair that he get to experience the real thing just like the satyr? Theo doesn’t hesitate to answer the question as he makes his way towards his friend. Peter jumps as the sliding door creaks open and his friend steps out onto the balcony.

“Jesus- oh? Theo? Is that you?” The satyr smirks as he sees Peter’s anxious eyes appraise him. He contorts his body in just the right ways to get the paladin off his guard, stretching to show the power that rests within him rather than simply flexing. Inviting Pete to wonder what this new form is capable of rather than simply performing a brash display of brutish strength.

Peter blushes though remains guarded, “I um, I thought you were dressing up as a satyr?” Theo tilts his head before laughing at having forgotten his glamor, with the flick of his hand horns return to his head and Peter once more jumps back, though now facing the satyr this sends him far too close to comfort to the lip of the balcony.

Seeing Peter bump against the railing, any playful plans of slowly bringing him into his own euphoric transformation vacate as he instead moves with inhuman speed and pulls the paladin close to him. The clink of Pete’s chainmail and plate echoes on the balcony as the sound of the party behind the two men fades from their ears. Everything in the world around them is instantly muted and dulled besides each other.

Peter’s eyes grow clouded as he has no choice but to inhale breath after breath of the wild man’s sweat as he’s held close. Theo watches his eyes start to flicker violet like the dozens of other men in attendance. He grimaces and clenches at the neck of his armor as he grows unreasonably warm. “Th- Theo. What’s happening to me-” spit trails from his mouth as the metal of armor begins to grow heavier as it turns into the real hammered iron chestplate that a paladin of his station would be expected to wear. He stammers out for help and begins clawing at the suit now too heavy for him to wear, and Theo is more than happy to help.

The satyr feels his hunger for the man in front of him grow with every inch of further revealed skin. Sweaty chest now exposed, Pete’s heaving breaths begin stretching his ribcage larger. When Theo’s hairy hands begin to creep into his kilt Pete pushes the man away despite his own wanting cock begins to stir. This isn’t right, something horrible is happening. 

Theo steps back, resigned to just watch for now, and Peter goes to scratch at his arm as a nervous tic. Only then does he notice the great changes that have begun to overtake his physical form. With each movement, small as they may be, his biceps have begun to pulse larger, veins trail down new meaty arms that rival the size of his head. Powerful biceps and defined traps demonstrate his prowess in combat without his even needing to pick up the sword.

His chest tightens as he sees his hands twitch and bulge larger, calluses forming from training for hours, for years, for longer than he could recall spending on anything. His new rough hands race to his scratch at his torso, to remove a costume he’s no longer wearing, but they only find more evidence of growth. Under his chin pecs have clearly burst into existence, below them meticulously carved cobblestone abs that would make any lord proud. 

His lavender eyes twitch as the idea strikes him like a club, he’s losing his mind as well. Theo continues patiently watching and waiting for his chance, not to strike but to personally usher Pete into the bacchanal, and as the knight tears off his codpiece to make room for the surging cock beneath it’s clear that moment is rapidly approaching. Tearing off greaves and gauntlets he roars as his neck thickens from that of a modern squire to a proper knight of old. Voice deepening and growing resonant enough to shout orders and taunt those he is to meet at the other end of a blade.

Speaking of blades, returning to the present as his jaw sharpens he sees quite the specimen standing in front of him. Peter’s cock easily pokes through his skirt and stands like a beacon as he ravenously desires the spirit of sex standing opposite. The knight is more than eager to meet the satyr on a decidedly different kind of battlefield than he’s used to. As soon as Theo sees the throbbing cock he pounces and the two enjoy their new forms together on the balcony, in view of the party and the city. Deep, wild moans of pleasure echo through the streets as Theo traces battle scars on the knight's form and Peter tugs at patches of hair that cover the satyr. 

Inside, the festivities have devolved into precisely the orgy that the god of revelry and madness had hoped. Cowboys and Spidermen using their webs and lassos to quite creative ends, demons finding the new nerve endings in tails and horns, werewolves truly unleashing the beast and finding more than common ground with vampires who are likewise finally sucking something other than blood. Briefly checking in, he’s pleased that the satyr found his way to the armor wrapped gift intended for him,  fingers crossed Aphrodite doesn’t mind his brief step into her domain. But more than that he can’t wait to see where the satyr goes from here, after all, his gifts don’t stop on November first- once a sex spirit always a sex spirit. Theo’s going to find people lining up all the time to experience the reverie he now inherently offers. As the night goes on and the pair rejoin the party it becomes clear that he is not to mind. 

[kayceecruz]

Ok, here's why I didn't have a problem with Colin in Part 2. He was processing so many emotions.

1. This man is so in love with Pen, has been by his own admission, for a long time that he was completely blindsided by her secret. Colin is unhinged with his love on good days. Their confrontation was heated, but his devastation more than his anger was the focus. He loves her, and she's been lying. So, he lashed out and said things he didn't even believe because he couldn't process his feelings.

He gets to feel this way, imo. Penelope of all people knows him best and what he was going through, which is why she was so gently firm and understanding with him.

2. Once he processed the lie, then came the feelings of fear for her and them if Lady Whistledown was unmasked. It's a big deal if not handled right. (Book made a point of this, too) She doesn't quite have that fear, which pisses him off because anything could happen to his wife, and Colin is not having that shit. So they fight, and she stops him cold with her yelling her love at him, which leads to heavy petting session and his beginning to thaw.

3. He honestly can not understand why Penelope loves him. This one is really his own self-worth, which he has been wrestling with his whole life, but he looks at her, this amazing woman who apparently is one of the most influential people and he cannot grasp why she loves him. He doesn't understand that she loves the bones of him and he is afraid she can't love him they way he does her.

4. He wants to be her hero so badly because she is his. He doesn't realize he already is by just being him because he has never been enough before.

5. He literally wants her always, and no matter how mad he is, that doesn't change, so he needs to reconcile that.

Imagine you are Colin and having to process all of this in the span of like a week? It's a lot, friends. It's why Pen gives him so much grace but forces him to confront those feelings.

From where I was sitting, they handled all that really well.

[snufflesw]

The Reader learns about Aqua's newest plan to destroy his father.

Aquamarine Hoshino x Reader (gender neutral) One Shot. Word Count { 1241 } Spoilers for Chapter 148!

You're So Crazy, Manipulate Me. Title is lyrics derived from the song "Ecstacy" by SUICIDAL-IDOL .

You traversed the sparse wooden area. The summer wind was warm against your bare arms and the smell of the sea filled your nostrils. The seawater clung to your hair after swimming. Now, however, completely dry to search for the person who’d suddenly disappeared from the beach.

    The boy sat near the edge of a cliff, watching the sun as it was beginning to set.

    ”There you are”, you said, loud enough for Aqua to hear, and walked up to him.

    He looked up at you and his blue eyes met yours for a second.

    ”What are you doing here?” he said as you sat down next to him. You wrapped your arms around your legs and hugged them close to your chest.

    ”I noticed you left and went to find you”, you said and wiggled your toes to take off the sandals irritating your feet.

    Aqua looked back to the sunset.

    ”Just needed some time to think, that's all”, he said.

    You could almost see the cogwheels turning in Aquamarine Hoshino’s head as the sun reflected in his eyes. His expression was similar to that day the two of you first met; lost in thought. Scheming.

    You sighed and rested your head on your knees, ”We’re close now. The movie’s almost finished and we’ll have him. He’ll be ruined, once and for all. You’ll have your revenge.”

    Aqua bit his lip, ”But what if that’s not enough? What if the movie’s not enough?”

    You raised an eyebrow at his statement. He’d been so certain before, almost to a horrifying degree, that the movie would be the thing to put Hikaru Kamiki in an early grave; his scheming and heinous acts would be revealed for the whole world to see. He’d have to disappear; go incognito.

    ”What do you mean?” you asked.

    ”Ruining his status wouldn’t be enough to keep him from committing another crime”, Aqua said through gritted teeth. ”We cannot have another Ai-incident happen. His punishment shall be permanent. I want him to be removed completely.”

    Aqua turned slowly towards you as he said the last sentence. His eyes were wide, stars apparent in both despite his fringe covering most of his left eye. It was the eyes of someone who’d had enough; someone who was willing to go to any length to make sure his revenge be executed wholeheartedly. He looked maniacal, insane, beyond repair… and you thought he’d never looked more handsome.

    You chuckled. Aqua’s gaze softened at the reaction.

    ”You’re quite bold by actually telling someone of your desire to kill, Aquamarine”, you couldn’t help but grin.

    Aqua scoffed, ”I believe you of all people should know. You’ve helped me thus far.”

    ”It was our agreement, was it not? You helped me flawlessly exact revenge on my former life’s pathetic excuse for a husband. In return, I vowed to make Aqua Hoshino’s father pay for what he’d done”, the grin curled on your lips. ”So… of course. If you’ve changed the plan to instead kill Hikaru Kamiki, then I’ll happily follow your lead.”

    Aqua stared at you sitting beside him. All he could do was stare at the grin on your lips. The same grin you had on your face once your own revenge had finally been executed. You looked calm, but the grin curling at your lips told another story. It always did.

    He let out a chuckle. Your face was the one to soften this time by the reaction. There was no sign whatsoever of the maniacal grin plastered on your lips a mere second ago.

    ”I’ve never seen that expression from you before”, you raised an eyebrow. ”Only when you’re acting.”

    The genuine smile didn’t leave Aqua’s lips once he stopped chuckling. The residue of laughter was apparent on those lips who had just told you about his plan to murder.

    ”How fortunate I’ve been to find a partner in crime who wouldn’t think twice when it comes to abandoning morals”, he said,

    You blinked.

    ”Akane plans to stop me”, Aqua continued and looked down at the ground. ”Despite everything he’s done.”

    You snorted, ”Her and what army? Last I checked, she’s the only one who even knows the basics of what’s truly going on. I’d like to see her try to stop us.”

    Aqua stared once again at you beside him. Awe, was how he’d explain it. You thought like none he’d ever met before. You were intelligent beyond adequate measures. To have someone going through the same thing; someone to once again be reborn into a younger; someone who wasn’t his sister; someone who wasn’t afraid to get their hands a little bloody. It was as if the Gods had answered his prayers.

    He placed his finger underneath your chin. You looked at him with a brow raised. He gently stroked your chin with his thumb, looking into your unfazed eyes. A small sparkle. He could feel your breath sharply against his lips. You’d mastered the way your eyes worked, but the rest of your body still reacted in the way of a teenager. Featherlight touches did the trick.

    You stared intently into his eyes, never once averting your gaze. He wondered what you saw every time those eyes looked into his. Perhaps you could see his wants, his needs, his desires. You’d seen almost all of them before. Almost.

    Aqua closed the gap between your lips. A jolt of electricity soaring through his body at the connection of your mouths. You tasted like saltwater, and smelled like it too. But underneath the salt lay something addicting. Another scent adorned by your lips on his.

    You didn’t push him away. Instead, you tilted your head to give him the ability to move more freely. His lips grazed over yours and you felt the stinge of what was Aqua Hoshino. His lips were chapped, but they reminded you of the taste of coffee. A bitter taste incredibly difficult to swallow; but one with the power to have someone energised for hours.

    Aqua cupped your cheeks with his hands. Your hair tangled in between his fingers, curled like the grip you were holding on his lips. 

    Breathing was secondary, especially when your cold hands touched the base of his neck. An electric shock. You felt it in your fingertips as you touched the bare skin of his neck. Slowly grazing over his adam’s apple. He shuddered. It wasn’t even cold outside.

    Slowly, but surely, your lungs were greeted by the blissful feeling of oxygen entering your suffocating bodies. Your lips parting from one another’s, panting heavily by the lack of air for who knows how long. Time seemed to have stood still; the sun slowly setting in the horizon.

    You felt Aqua’s heavy breaths on your lips. His forehead rested gently against yours. Your hair was still tangled between his delicate fingers. Intertwined.

    ”That was very out of character of you”, you said in between breaths, grinning ear to ear. ”Are you sure you’re not acting?”

    Aqua’s face was flushed. Yours wasn’t any better.

    ”I’m not an actor”, Aqua said and forced you to come closer with the help of his fingers curled in between the locks of your hair. ”You just make me feel… so many things.”

    You smiled.

    ”All because I said I was going to help you kill your father?”

    Aqua nodded against your forehead, ”Yes.”

    ”How romantic of you, Aquamarine Hoshino.”

It was psychopathic, really. You were both psychopaths.

https://snufflesw.fandom.com/wiki/Home

[didyoulookforme]

walkabout

your teacher asks you to tutor none other than matty healy. the very beginning of the bf matty au.

warning: cheesy fluff. teenagers being dramatic. grammatical errors, typos.

au masterlist here

-----

you cannot believe your luck.

of all the people mr. davis could assign you to tutor, it has to be matty healy. matty, who sits at the back of the classroom, half-asleep, drumming on the desk like he’s got an entire band in his head. the boy who’s always late, looking as if he just rolled out of bed. the one everyone can’t stop whispering about—quiet, untouchable, with that mess of hair and a permanent slouch that somehow makes him even more infuriatingly attractive to every single girl in school.

“so, you’ll do it, yeah?” mr. davis asks, holding you both back after class, his tone practically daring you to argue. his eyes flick between the two of you, clearly expecting some kind of protest.

no. absolutely not. you want to say, mr. davis, i will do literally anything else. mop the floors. clean the whiteboards. just, please, don’t make me do this.

but instead, you say, “of course,” because that’s what good students do, isn’t it?

mr. davis turns to matty, who, by the way, hasn’t even looked at you once. not even a glance. “and you? will you actually show up?”

“yeah. sure.” matty shrugs, voice low, casual, not impolite exactly but not making any promises either.

when you leave the classroom, your brain is spinning. how is this your life now? you spend the rest of the day picturing every way this could go wrong. matty showing up late—or not at all. matty being too quiet, distant, barely meeting your eyes. matty fidgeting in his seat, counting the minutes until he can leave, not paying attention whatsoever.

and after school, you unload all your frustration onto your friend, desperate for a shred of sympathy. but really, you should’ve known better.

“shut the fuck up.”

her voice slices through the air, sharp and disbelieving. she’s already sitting up, magazine abandoned, eyes wide like you’d just confessed you were moving to mars. “are you serious?”

“unfortunately,” you groan, covering yourself with your favourite pillow, your words coming out muffled. “apparently, someone thinks i’m a miracle worker who can make him care about school.”

“holy shit.” she leans forward, her grin stretching wider by the second. you can feel it without even looking. “you’re kidding. matty fucking healy?”

“yes.” you drag the pillow over your face wishing it could block out her inevitable reaction. “he doesn’t even try in class. now i’m supposed to magically make him care about algebra?”

“oh, who gives a flying fuck about algebra!” she waves a hand dismissively. “you’re gonna be sitting across from him. alone. for an hour. every week. that’s… basically the fucking dream.”

“oh my god,” you collapse further into the bed hoping the worn sheets beneath can provide some sort of comfort. “you’re delusional.”

“no, you’re delusional if you think this isn’t fate.” she’s practically vibrating with excitement now. “you have to find out everything about him.”

“he’s not some alien experiment,” you deadpan, lifting your head just enough to glare at her. “he’s just a guy who probably can’t add fractions.” still, the thought lingers. maybe you do want to know more—just a little. not because you care, obviously, but because it’s… curious. infuriatingly so.

“and yet, he’s also the hottest guy in school. don’t even try to deny it.”

you hesitate. she’s not wrong, exactly, but you can’t admit that—not out loud.

“there’s no—”

“don’t.” she cuts you off like a stern teacher catching a student mid-lie. “i know you. i remember. you had the biggest crush on him.”

you can’t help that your face burns instantly. “that was years ago.”

“doesn’t matter,” she sings songs, her grin practically glowing. “you were obsessed. you used to be like, ‘oh my god, matty’s curls looks so soft’ and ‘did you see how he dressed today?’ you were embarrassing.”

“i was twelve.” your voice cracks, too defensive, maybe too high-pitched. “it doesn’t count.”

“oh, it absolutely counts.” she leans closer, “plus, you’re really flustered right now.”

“i’m not!”

“you so are.” the smile plastered on her face is absolutely wicked now. “you still like him, don’t you?”

your stomach warps into knots. “jesus christ, no!” you practically shout, burying your face in your hands.

“sure,” she drags the word out. “but just so you know, louise totally made out with him at that party last month.”

your head snaps up so fast you’re pretty sure you strain something. “what?”

“uh-huh.” she looks far too pleased with herself. “she said he’s, like, weirdly good at it.”

“matty healy?” those two words don’t even make sense in your mouth and brain anymore.

“apparently, he’s super eager and… sweet. can you imagine? matty fucking healy being cute?”

you snort, because no. you can’t.

“right? same. but louise swears it’s true. she said he kept pulling her closer and saying, ‘is this okay?’ and ‘you’re really pretty.’”

your gut twists again, this awful, fluttery thing you refuse to acknowledge.

“you’re so full of shit.”

“she’s full of shit,” she corrects, laughing. “but honestly? if it’s true, it makes him even more confusing. how can someone be broody and sweet? pick a fucking lane.”

and there it is again—that thought you don’t want to have. matty healy. sweet. yup.

he barely talks to anyone, always hunched over a notebook or sketching weird little patterns on the edges of his papers. he’s quiet in this intense, self-contained way, like he doesn’t want anyone seeing too much. he doesn’t seem like the type to ask ‘is this alright?’ or let alone call someone pretty.

but what if he is? what if there’s something softer under all the sharp edges, something he keeps hidden on purpose? what if—

no. fucking. way. it’s ridiculous. you shove the thought down, locking it in the imaginary safe inside your brain. plus, he’s probably never even thought about you twice.

“he’s not like that,” you say finally, more to yourself than to her.

“oh, yeah?” she raises an eyebrow, daring you to argue. “guess you’ll find out, won’t you?”

“jesus christ, stop it.” you grab the nearest cushion and launch it at her, but she just laughs, catching it before it hits her face.

“hey, i’m just saying,” her grin is downright evil now. “if he’s a good kisser, you’re practically obligated to confirm it.”

“get out,” you groan, flopping back down.

but even as you bury your face back in the pillow, you can’t stop thinking about it.

what if she wasn’t wrong?

—

by the time the first session rolls around, your nerves are a complete wreck. your hands are clammy, you feel a bit lightheaded, and you’re already regretting every decision that’s led you here. the library is practically dead—just the low buzz of those ancient fluorescent lights and the occasional shuffle of someone flipping a page somewhere in the distance. it smells strange, this weird mix of dusty books and that lemony floor cleaner that somehow always feels sticky no matter how fresh it is.

your swear your bag is a million pounds, stuffed to the brim with textbooks and notes you’re not even sure will matter. every step toward the back of the room seems slower than the last, as if your feet are trying to talk you out of this whole thing. but you press on, your heart hammering, every instinct screaming to spin around and hide in the safety of the nearest aisle.

he’s already there when you stumble around the corner, looking exactly how you expected. his hair’s a reckless mess, all careless pieces falling into his face because gravity’s obviously playing favourites. his shoulders droop so far it’s a small miracle he hasn’t slid off the chair entirely. his tie’s hanging on by sheer willpower, slack and crooked, and his shirt—don’t even get started on the shirt—looks like it’s been wadded up at the bottom of a gym bag for weeks. yet by some ungodly miracle, he still looks stupidly good. you’re sure the universe must’ve bent the rules just for him.

you stop dead in your tracks, your stomach doing this annoying thing once again, but this time more from dread than nerves. he’s not quite intimidating but there’s something about the sheer disinterest radiating off him that makes you hesitate. you’re clutching your bag so hard your knuckles are white, and for one brief, tempting second, bolting feels like a legitimate option. but then he glances up, his eyes widening just enough to make it clear he didn’t think you’d actually show. the expression isn’t inviting, but it’s enough to stop you from finding the exit. barely.

“oh. hi.” his voice is soft, so quiet it takes you a second to register that he’s spoken.

you swallow hard, willing your nerves to calm, and walk over, lowering yourself into the seat across from him. “hi.” your voice comes out steadier than you feel, the single word hovering awkwardly in the air.

you pull your bag onto the table and set it down with exaggerated care, as if even the slightest sound might disrupt the fragile calm between you. he doesn’t say anything else, just shrugs, his movements loose and lazy, still half-melting into the chair. 

“are you ready?” you manage, keeping your tone neutral, polite, professional even.

another shrug. “yeah. sure.”

his voice is low and rough. perhaps it hasn’t gotten much use today. it’s still not exactly rude, but it’s not encouraging either. you nod, your hands fumbling slightly as you flip open your notebook. you start simple, writing out a basic equation: 3x + 4 = 10.

“try this one,” you say, sliding the notebook toward him.

he picks up his pen, taps it rhythmically against the table for a few beats, then scribbles something down. x = 2.

“good,” you say before you can stop yourself, a flicker of surprise coloring your voice. you didn’t expect him to nail it on the first try, and the unexpected ease of it catches you off guard. “okay, what about this one?” you write out another problem: 2(x - 3) = 8.

he stares at the equation for a long moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he traces the numbers with his eyes. his lips press together in concentration and for a brief second, you think he might actually be invested in figuring it out. then he bites his bottom lip, and it’s glossy and pink when he lets go, and you have to snap your attention back to your notebook, pretending you didn’t notice.

“uh… x is… 11?”

it’s wrong, obviously, and you should’ve seen it coming, but something about the way he says it—hesitant, unsure—makes you bite back a laugh. instead, you shake your head, the corners of your mouth tugging into an involuntary smile. “not quite. here, let me show you.”

you walk him through the steps, breaking it down as simply as you can, and to his credit, he listens. his eyes follow your pen as you write, nodding slowly while he tries to piece it all together. his hair falls into his face as he leans in, the faintest shadow of understanding flickering across his expression.

“oh. so x is 7.”

“exactly.”

he leans back with a soft sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. his fingers catch in the tangles, but it doesn’t seem to bother him—it’s more automatic than deliberate. “right. makes sense, i guess.”

you glance at his notebook, curiosity tugging at the edges of your focus. it’s open, but not to anything remotely useful. instead of math problems, the pages are crammed with chaotic scribbles—tiny guitars, abstract shapes, half-finished stick figures tangled with half-finished sentences. words scratched out and rewritten so many times they’re barely legible, spiraling across the margins in waves of ink that don’t seem to lead anywhere.

you try not to stare, but it’s impossible to ignore the sheer disarray of it. it feels oddly intimate, a window into his head he hasn’t really hidden but hasn’t offered up, either.

“this one’s hard,” he mutters, pulling you back. his voice is quiet again, but there’s a faint sense of frustration as he frowns at the problem you’ve written: 5x - 2 = 3x + 6.

“it’s not too bad,” you say, leaning forward slightly, your tone gentle. “just move all the x terms to one side and the numbers to the other.”

he scratches something down, his pen pausing mid-air as he hesitates, then scribbles a little more. finally, he looks up, the faintest smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “x is… 4?”

you nod, feeling a flicker of warmth at the small victory. “exactly. see? you’re getting it.”

his lips tug into a smile—small, tentative, almost reluctant—and it’s not much, but it’s something. you look away, turning the page in your notebook, refusing to acknowledge the way your chest flutters for half a second.

the hour drags and flies at the same time. he tries, which surprises you more than anything else given that he has the attention span of a newborn goldfish. his foot taps a steady rhythm against the floor, and his fingers keep tugging at the frayed edge of his sleeve, but when you gently redirect him, he comes back.

the more time you spend with him, the more details start to sink in. the way his voice softens when he’s unsure of something. the way his nails are bitten down to jagged nubs. the way his lips part slightly when he’s thinking, his gaze flicking back and forth between the notebook and the table as if the answer might reveal itself if he stares long enough.

when the hour’s finally up, you take your time packing up, every movement drawn out and careful, watching out of the corner of your eye as he shoves papers into his bag. half of them are crumpled, a few look like they’ve barely survived, and none of them seem to end up where they’re supposed to.

“thanks for this,” he mutters, barely loud enough to register, his focus stuck on cramming his notebook into the disaster zone. “i mean… yeah. thanks.” 

“no worries.” you aim for light, casual, as if your pulse isn’t doing that weird, too-fast thud in your chest. “that’s why i’m here. see you next week?”

he nods, barely, and there’s this tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth—a smile that doesn’t quite make it but lingers just enough to be noticeable. “yeah. see you.”

he walks off, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his bag hanging awkwardly from one shoulder, papers still sticking out at random angles. you’re just about to leave when your eyes catch something on the table. a crumpled piece of paper, left behind in his whirlwind of packing.

you pause, glancing around like you’re about to commit some kind of crime, but the library’s empty. no one’s watching. your fingers hover for half a second before curiosity gets the better of you, and you pick it up, smoothing the wrinkles carefully.

the handwriting is a mess—words scratched out and rewritten, lines twisted into tangles of uncertainty: and this is how it starts

take your shoes off in the back of my car van

you share my shirt, looks so good

when it’s just hangin’ off your back (???)

you stare at it, the edges still crumpled, the ink smudged in places where his hand must have dragged across the page. it feels too personal, but you can’t stop looking. your fingers hover for a second before folding it up and slipping it into your bag, your thoughts buzzing with questions you’re not sure you should even want answers to.

[azriels-shadowsinger]

you should totally do number 12 with az or rhys 🥺

“When have you ever cared?” “I’ve always cared.”

Azriel x Reader

wc: 2k

a/n: i always love a good rivals to lovers story. warning: descriptions of blood and injuries.

prompt list

You hate Azriel. Absolutely hated him. You hate his cocky attitude, you hate the way he never wants you on missions, you hate the way girls seem to fawn over him at Rita’s, and most of all, you hate the way that you can’t stop being attracted to him. Which made the current situation worse, because you were having trouble focusing on training when Azriel was shirtless and sweaty sparring with Cassian across the ring.

After the fifth time of you getting knocked onto the floor by your sparring partner after getting distracted, Emerie eventually gave up on you.

“How are you supposed to be ready for your mission tomorrow if you are so unfocused?” she laughed.

“I’ll be fine. I do-“ You stop speaking when you feel a shadowy presence lurk over you.

“Can I help you Azriel?” You ask sarcastically, turning to face him.

“You’re not going.” Azriel replied gruffly.

“Excuse me?” You scoff.

“I said you’re not going on the mission.” You roll your eyes. Of course he would try to keep you off of yet another mission. You had prepared for that and got Rhysand to personally ensure that you could go this time.

“Take that up with Rhys. He said I’m going.” You say with a victorious smirk.

“We’ll see about that.” He grumbles, storming off towards Rhysand’s office. You wait patiently with a smug smile on your face, pretending to be preoccupied with sharpening your daggers, as he returns.

“You will not do anything without my say so. You will not stray from the mission at all, under any circumstances. If I give an order, you follow it. Do you understand?” He spits angrily, obviously upset over Rhysand’s decision.

“Whatever you say, spymaster. I’ll see you at 6 AM to head out.” You say smugly and turn to leave.

———

You meet Azriel the next morning, and he is already visibly agitated. After an overly detailed discussion of the mission plan, he winnows the two of you to the mission spot.

Azriel made sure to reiterate the plan again once you arrived, earning an annoyed eyeroll at the implied lack of faith in your skills. The plan was that he would infiltrate the safe house, capture the enemy, and extract him from the building to bring him back for interrogation. You were only there to help carry the unconscious body, apparently. You reluctantly agree to the plan, realizing that arguing would get you nowhere. At least you were allowed to join this time.

“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Be ready to winnow.” He whispers before disappearing into the shadows.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. Then thirty. After forty minutes, you were fully convinced something had gone horribly wrong.

Fuck it. You didn’t care if he got pissed, you’re going in to check that everything is okay.

You move closer to the building and peek into the window. No movement. You sneak closer to the door, slipping inside inconspicuously. Upon entering, you begin to scan the area for any signs of Azriel. You walk further inside turning the corner, and that’s when you see it: blood on the floor, and Truthteller lying discarded next to it. That cannot be a good sign, you think while trying to shove your panic down deep. You quickly pick up the abandoned blade and examine the area closer, following the trail of blood and the sound of voices through the halls. When you finally reach a large room, you see exactly what you were afraid of. Azriel is bound against the wall unconscious and bloody. The target is watching him while conversing with someone, twirling a knife in his hand.

“Just kill him already.” The other fae complains.

“No. Do you not realize who this is, you imbecile? This is the spymaster of the High Lord. Once Rhysand realizes he is missing, he will come try to rescue him, and then we can finally take that undeserving half-breed out. Hopefully, he brings the general, and we can kill the bastard too. Only then will I kill the shadowsinger, but not until we get to have our fun with him. I’m sure there are some juicy secrets of the court we can carve out of him.” You feel nauseated at the sickening grin on the male’s face.

Your duty is to this court, and cannot allow Rhysand and Cassian to be put in danger over this. Nor can you sit by and watch Azriel be tortured by this cruel, idiotic male. Idiotic because he didn’t use magical bindings to lock Azriel up, allowing his shadows to roam free. They circle their master, obviously frantic that he cannot hear them.

A small shadow darts towards you, and soon the rest follow. The shadows swirl around you, expectantly, going completely unnoticed by the two males.

“Um, I’m not entirely sure if you can understand me, but I have a plan. If you all could make it very dark in here, that would be great.” You ask awkwardly, hoping the shadows understand. They apparently do, because soon the entire room goes dark, except for the path between you and Azriel.

“What the- hey!” You hear the other male yell and footsteps run towards you. Unable to see through the shadows, you throw a dagger towards the noise. Without checking to see if you hit your target, you hurry to free Azriel from his chains. Once his hands are free, you grab onto him and attempt to winnow.

Winnowing long distances was always a challenge for you, you’re not sure why. What takes others a single jump takes you five. You hold tightly to Azriel and try to winnow. The world around you begins to fade, turning into blackness. Before the sight can completely fade, however, you see a knife come hurdling towards you, landing directly in your thigh.

The sudden burning pain causes you to lose focus, and the world abruptly reappears around you, causing both you and Azriel to land face first in the dirt of a random forest.

“Fuck!” You yell in pain. Either the fall or the sound of your yelling seems to have roused Azriel because you hear faint grumbling beside you before he falls unconscious again. As you attempt to stand, searing pain shoots down your leg from the wound in your thigh. You bite your lip, trying to ignore the stabbing ache. Now is not the time to focus on your pain. You need to get the two of you to safety, you remind yourself. You pull the blade out from your leg with a cry. Once you compose yourself again, you wrap a piece of cloth torn from your shirt around your leg to stop the bleeding. You grab ahold of Azriel again and attempt to winnow, but for some reason, you can’t. That’s when you notice the faint green tinge on the discarded blade.

“Gods damned faebane.” You curse lowly. You won’t be winnowing anywhere for a while. It’s likely in Azriel too, meaning you two are stuck. Great.

———

It took over an hour to drag the giant Illyrian through the forest, finally finding an abandoned cabin. By the time you reach it, you feel lightheaded from the blood loss and from hauling Azriel. There is absolutely no way you could lift him, so once he is safely inside on the floor, you search the cabin for first aid materials. You find a roll of gauze and a bottle of liquor. That will have to do, you think.

You manage to bite your tongue through the pain of cleaning and dressing your wound and begin to work on Azriel’s. As soon as the alcohol-soaked cloth touches his cut, the male jolts up in a panic. One quick look around at the unfamiliar cabin and you tending to his injuries, and Azriel freaks.

“What the hell happened? Where are we? Are you bleeding?” He fires on a string of questions, one after another.

“Breathe. We’re okay. You got captured, not entirely sure how honestly, and I had to save your ass. We are waiting here until the faebane leaves our systems.” You try to sound calm, but that doesn’t stop your racing heart. Azriel thinks for a moment, looking around the cabin. His eyes land on the bloody bandaged wound on your thigh again, and he immediately becomes angry.

“You came in after me?” He barks.

“Uh, yeah?” You ask, confused at his anger.

“You disobeyed a direct order!” Azriel growls.

“You were in trouble!” Why the hell are you having to defend yourself for saving him?

“I don’t care. You should’ve followed orders. I would’ve gotten myself free eventually.” He snaps. You huff in annoyance.

“You stupid arrogant male, they were going to torture you! And then use you to lure Rhys and Cass and kill them too! How the hell was I supposed to sit by and let that happen?” You scream angrily. He attempts to stand, wincing at the pain. You want to tell him that he should stay sitting, but it’s unlikely that he will listen.

“You should’ve stayed outside.” He growls, stalking closer.

“You would be dead if I did that!” You stare him down in defiance.

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t have gotten hurt!” That makes you pause. Is that why he’s angry, you wonder.

“Despite what you may think about my skills, I’m perfectly capable of withstanding a minor injury from a mission!” You argue.

“You shouldn’t have to.” He spits coldly.

“Since when do you care what happens to me?” You scoff.

“I’ve always cared.” His voice drops to being barely audible and he turns away. You freeze.

“What?”

“Nevermind. I’m gonna start a fire while we wait.” He grumbles. You walk around him to face him, blocking the fireplace.

“No, what did you mean you’ve always cared? You hate me. Everyone knows it.” You ask hesitantly. This must be some new attempt to embarrass you or something, you rationalize.

“I’ve never hated you.” He whispers, avoiding eye contact by staring at the floor.

“I don't understand. Then why do you always keep me out of missions? Why do you ignore me any time I try to be nice?” You ask angrily.

“I… fuck.” He runs his hand through his hair before looking you in the eyes. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt. Either from missions or by me.” The last words come out quieter than the rest. “I thought that ignoring you and keeping you off missions would keep you kept you at a safe distance. I didn’t want to risk you being targeted just because of how I feel about you.” Your eyes soften at the admission.

“That wasn’t your decision to make. I get to decide what is worth the risk for me.” You say in a gentler tone. Azriel looks at the floor again, shaking his head.

“You don’t get it. Today is a perfect example. The people in my life that I care about are constantly at risk.”

“Did I not handle myself?” You ask, causing him to sigh.

“That isn’t the point. You don’t-“ You cut him off, pressing a kiss to his lips. Azriel stands frozen for a second, before quickly wrapping his hands into your hair and holding you closer. “Fuck it.” He mumbles while kissing you, backing you into the wall.

It’s safe to say that you and Azriel found very good use of your time while you waited for the faebane to wear off.

———

Rhysand was less than thrilled to hear about the unsuccessful mission when you returned. After you two showed him what happened, obviously leaving out what happened at the cabin, the three of you made a plan to go back and capture the two males. Azriel tried to argue about you going, but one stern look from you and he quickly shut up.

“Well, it seems like you two sorted out your issues.” Rhys laughs, not noticing Azriel’s smirk.

prompt list

tag list: @fxckmiup

[rhaenella]

CL16 | Is It Over Now? | pt.7

pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader

genre: social media au

summary: you and charles have been everyone's fave couple on the grid, but when you somewhat unexpectedly break up, you turn to songwriting to cope with the pain

face claim: léon

a/n: the finale... once again, all songs mentioned are either by taylor swift or léon. happy reading x

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

masterlist

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Liked by taylorswift, danielricciardo and 1,292,849 others

y/n: End & New Beginnings. ONE WEEK.

✨Is It Over Now?~Say Don’t Go~Bigger Than The Whole Sky~You’re Losing Me~Now That We Don’t Talk~Pretty Boy✨

View all 12,138 comments

user55: y/n’s latest masterpiece is incoming!!

user56: YES GIRL LETS GO

user57: omg finally 😱

user58: can’t fucking wait 💛

user59: babe are you realizing you’re releasing on friday the 13th 💀

user56: y/n is like “i’ve conquered all this year’s bad luck already, no one can stop me”

6 October

Liked by carlossainz55, maxverstappen1 and 1,450,288 others

y/n: It feels like it’s been a long time coming and now it’s here, my new EP ‘End & New Beginnings’ 🤍 Been a few sleepless nights making this to be honest. Ups and downs like always. But now I’m just so happy to let go of it and let you have it, and hopefully you’ll embrace it and make it yours. 

To the incredible people who’ve been a part of this record, THANK YOU! Couldn’t have done it without you… 

Here’s to the end & new beginnings 🕊️

View all 14,159 comments

taylorswift: Perfection 🥰✨🎼😍💋

y/n: ❤️❤️❤️

danielricciardo: ART.

Liked by y/n

lilymhe: Beautiful work sweetie, I can’t with how talented you are 🥹 You made me cry the entire 23 mins (and then again cuz it was on repeat)

y/n: Awww, thank you love 🥰 and I’m sorryyyy 🙊

alex_albon: It’s so so good! I didn’t cry tho…

lilymhe: Liar

Liked by y/n

landonorris: Wow 💕

Liked by y/n

yourbestfriend: You’ve outdone yourself once again, darling, love you

y/n: I love you more baby

user60: as someone who’s just gone through a terrible breakup too, i cannot express how comforting it is to hear these songs and realize i’m not alone

Liked by y/n

13 October

—

You let your phone drop to the bathroom counter, blinking slowly, unable to fathom the conversation that had just taken place. Had he really just said those things? Scrolling through the texts confirmed that yes, he had indeed. The bastard.

Charles had always been the jealous type. But attacking you like that when he had been the one to… It was absolutely ridiculous. Apparently he still couldn’t—or wouldn’t—grasp the depths of how much he had actually hurt you.

You’d loved him with all of your heart. Until he had ripped it out and hurled it to the floor, letting it shatter into a million tiny pieces. Yet, even then, you would’ve forgiven him. If only he’d apologised. If only he’d shown true remorse. But he hadn’t. And so you’d been forced to walk the path of mending your own heart, and move on with your life.

Perhaps a small part of you had hoped that he could be happy for you. That somehow, even after everything, you would be able to greet each other normally—that you could coexist peacefully. But as his texts just now had demonstrated, that wasn’t going to happen. Not right now. And definitely not next week in Texas. You sighed. It would’ve been too good to be true, anyway. Especially considering who you were currently seeing…

A light knock sounded at the door, startling you out of those thoughts. 

“Are you almost ready to go, darling?” a male voice asked, soft.

Right. Dinner. Celebrations. 

You had been in the midst of applying the finishing touches to your makeup and outfit before Charles had interrupted, quite literally shocking you to the core when his name had appeared on your lock screen. He’d been the last person you’d expected to hear from today.

You swallowed the bitter taste that Charles’ texts had managed to leave behind. He wasn’t worth it, you repeated to yourself. You weren’t going to let his shenanigans ruin a perfect night—a perfect date. You ran a hand through your hair and readjusted the necklace around your neck when the bathroom door creaked open behind you. 

Looking up, your eyes met your handsome, new boyfriend’s through the mirror. He was smiling, eyebrows raised in silent question, ever patient as he waited for you to finish up. You felt your pulse quicken at the sight of him, dressed to perfection in a dark suit, hair neatly tousled.

As always, his presence was able to reassure you within the blink of an eye, the tense muscles in your neck and shoulders relaxing as you gladly let all of your complex emotions fall away.

“Yes,” you nodded, a genuine smile spreading across your lips. “I’m ready.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

THE END

but who is she with? well, there’s a little (and not so subtle) easter egg that refers back to the beginning of part 6 that will confirm certain things… have you spotted it?

thank you everyone for coming along on this ride! it’s been a hell of a lot of fun writing and creating this story 🥰 my apologies to all the y/n x charles shippers out there, but as our songbird said: here’s to the end and new beginnings…

Now, if you'd like, please cast your votes below :)

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Tags: @sukisheadlights @eviethetheatrefreak @blueflorals @kiskso @dessxoxsworld @treehouse-mouse @dangeroustacoalienbiscuit @clown-fc @stopeatread @vanishingcherry @bb-swift @leclercdream @scenesofobx @kagatinkita @allywthsr @evieepepi08 @viennakarma @riverjane-d @httpjeonlicious @madnesstaking0ver @futurecorps3 @celesteblack08 @sadg3 @simxican @glow-ish @spideybv28 @laneyspaulding19 @tswizzleismother @slytherinfolk25 @merchelsea @1655clean @urgirlnextdoorr @cixrosie @lightdragonrayne @lxclerc @hopexcroc @nichmeddar @imthebadguyyy

[o-sachi]

Fell First & Fell Harder Pt. 2 - Blue Lock Chars.

you fell first, but they definitely fell harder

characters; oliver aiku, bachira meguru, gagamaru gin, shidou ryusei

tags; fluff, gn reader, no y/n

Oliver Aiku

"It's just you. I promise. No one else is in the picture."

He was faithful... to an extent. The most that he did, after all, was be too friendly with others—which could be mistaken for flirting. But all you could do was sit there and hope that he'd stop it soon.

Although, at some point you reach your breaking point. You bring it up again and it blows up into a huge fight. The conclusion was to have an indefinite break from each other.

In that time you were away from each other, he realizes how big of a fumble that was on his part. Now was the time he'd start missing you SO MUCH. It was so bad that he couldn't think of anyone else but you and he didn't even have the energy to entertain people that weren't you.

One day you two get to talking again and it leads to a mini reconciliation. He promises with his life that he'd take you more seriously and that you'd be the one and only person his attention would be on.

Bachira Meguru

"You're the cure to my boring life."

You quickly realize that he's not the type to be super serious about someone early on. He's not too experienced with dating, so he's complacent in the simple fact that you like him and he likes you.

Nevertheless, you love to indulge him with his whims. You were determined to be his ride-or-die and it showed. You supported him through every step he took, offering gentle pieces of advice every once in a while to keep him grounded.

There were rare occurrences when he'd be self-aware. He'd realize that sometimes he was going too fast without taking into consideration the feelings of other people. Then, he'd be hyper aware of what you felt towards him and your relationship.

Your impact in his life becomes more apparent in these moments. Bachira eventually begins to consider you more in his life—integrating you in everything that he does. In due course, football wasn't just an outlet for him, but also a way to make you proud of him.

Gagamaru Gin

"Love? Huh... I guess that's the word to describe it."

The falling harder part certainly took a while to happen. Similar to Bachira, Gagamaru doesn't have much experience in the world of dating. The idea never intrigued him, so he figured there was no point in entertaining it. But your persistent ass came along.

This would certainly be a first love type of scenario. The newfound feelings and experiences you had to offer him overwhelmed Gagamaru in a good way.

He had nothing else to compare this to; he believes your love is the one of the greatest things in his life (close competition with grilled meat).

Cannot get enough of you now. It's like a drug to him—addicting and it consumes it. Before you know it, he's absolutely worshipping the shit of you—doing everything in his power to make you the happiest human alive.

Shidou Ryusei

"You make it throb... my heart, I mean."

His previous relationships were also short-lived primarily because he was too intense (freaky) for his partners to handle. It was set in stone: starting now, he would never settle for anyone who cannot match his enthusiasm (freak).

Out of all of them, he's probably the one that falls harder the fastest. But it's no easy feat to achieve. You really need to capture his attention—make him fascinated by your very existence. Do those simple things and he's yours in a flash.

But here's the surprise—with him, there's another layer to it. Sure, he could be deeply interested in you. But can he be serious with you? Can he honestly say that he's committed to you? Those are important questions that pop up once you've been together for a while.

You only know that he's 100% serious about you when he can finally sit down and talk to you, heart-to-heart. His vulnerability is something that he would only show to the most special of special people in his life. That happens to be you.

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms

[behoright]

console me l m. barzal

how it feels to rest / on your patient lips

summary: as angry as mat is after the season loss, he cannot hide it from you. mostly plotless smut

wordcount: 4.6k

warnings: minors DNI! 18+ only. smut, sexual situations that include rough sex, degrading language and behaviors, pain/pleasure dynamics, pet names, consent break/check, bodily fluids. mentions of size difference and love lol.

a/n: for all my sad, islanders girlies. masterlist is fixed! muah.

read me please:  i cannot say this any more clearly: this is not for everyone. read at your discretion. the warnings are stated as clearly as i can my loves. my inbox is always open to have any discussion about writing, relationships, sex, bdsm and kink. if this makes you uncomfortable or simply is not your cup of tea, move on my dear. love u guys always.

⊹　 　　🎧　 　　 ⁾⁾　

It really took only a day to figure out.

As much as he tried to hide it, leave it at the rink.

Anger. 

Mat had never been so pissed before. 

For once, he knew that he had given it his all. 

He had sacrificed, time and time again. 

Played through sickness, injuries, birthdays, and special events. 

Harder than ever before.

Despite knowing that everything passes, he couldn’t shake the thought, or perhaps the fact, that there had been other factors that cost the team the cup. 

Things out of his control. 

And it drove him to the edge every night.

Having to see his teammates get more disappointed with every passing second on the ice. 

Knowing that their dream was slipping away from them, no matter how much he had clawed and fought to hold on. 

He spent extra time at the gym, on the ice, hours after the last painful loss, just to attempt to get rid of the anger. 

But it wasn’t working. 

Instead, it just fueled the apparent neverending and burning cycle.

The last thing he wanted to do was bring his negativity home. 

Back to you. 

To the safe haven you had both built so meticulously. 

The only person that stood by his side, in every sense of the word, didn’t deserve to take the brunt. 

However, you could see the cracks. 

He was very good at veiling it, but not good enough for you. 

The past couple days had brought you a huge sense of gratitude, knowing you were in a relationship that stripped your souls and bodies. 

Fully being yourselves at all times. 

So, as you packed to begin your various summer travels, you knew you had no other choice.

Something was pounding, deep from inside you, to open this door for you two. 

You stood in your shared room, watching Mat’s muscular back crouched down in the walk in closet as he messily threw his shirts in his luggage.

“Mat?” you called him, voice shaky.

“Hmm, babe?” he asked, still packing. 

“How are you feeling?”

The question wasn’t anything new, a domestic ritual you two had to keep your connection based in truth wholly. 

Since you had both promised to listen without any stories or distractions in exchange for the complete truth, every single time, it had become easier to share.

“Well, love…” he sighed, not daring to face you as his face stiffened, your question bringing up his most repressed feelings. “I’m angry. I’m fucking frustrated at how it all ended, you know?”

“You are?” you said, walking towards him, picking at the skin on your hands nervously.

“Yeah, baby. It’s okay, I mean, it’ll pass. But I’m angry.”

“Take it out on me.” you blurted out, strong in your stance and words, now only a couple of feet behind him. “Fuck me as hard as you can.”

Mat stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening as his mind emptied, only being able to stare at the half empty suitcase in front of him. 

Whether he liked to admit it or not, he knew that you could see right through him. 

There was no hiding from the woman he loved. 

“I know that we’ve talked about this before but… are you sure you can handle it?” he questioned, turning around to look at you. 

“I know I can, Mat.”

“Baby…”

The overhead warm light surrounded your head like a halo as he looked up at you. 

He wondered, during a poetic moment, how his angel could be giving herself over to him like this. 

“I’m asking for it.” you said, taking a step closer to him. “Can you handle it?”

For a moment he forgot that his sweet angel was no such thing behind closed doors. Ever since the first night, he saw that dark fire inside you, and it hadn’t gone out in years. 

Mat was the perfect fan to your flames.

“Oh, so it’s like that huh?” Mat answered, his lips curling up into a smirk as he stood up to tower over you. “Will you tell me if you need me to stop?”

“Yes.” you gulped as you two stood just inches apart. “I remember my word.”

“You do, huh?” he asked as you saw his feet take one last step towards you, the fabric of his shirt ghosting over yours.

“I can take it.” you repeated, getting lost in his eyes as you looked up into his dark eyes.

“Yeah, we can take it, right, baby?” he uttered, his fingers wrapping around the sides of your neck as his eyes looked down upon you. “We fucking can.”

His lips finally met yours, Mat’s tongue swiping feverishly on your bottom lip before invading your mouth, drippingly meeting yours in a heated makeout session.

The belligerence of his kiss sent a moan reberverating inside his open mouth. 

Mat loved to make out. He could do it for hours, until his cock began to twitch restlessly in his denim. 

He opened his mouth fully, letting you invade each other messily. 

Lately, he had taken it as far as to spit in your mouth. Not forcefully, but just letting a trail of spit drip from the tip of his tongue into your throat, the height difference coming to his advantage.

It felt so fucking primal to him that it always sent you flying against a wall everytime he’d see the look of passion and satisfaction in your eyes after you swallowed his saliva.

“Is this what you’ve been thinking about? All those times I was heated, venting at you?”

he asked, forcing you to take steps back into the bedroom, still holding you tightly, the tips of his fingers pushing against the ridges of your scalp. 

“Yes.” you whispered into a kiss. The sensual murmur drove him to bite your bottom lip, pull it towards him as he stopped your motions.

“Oh, what is wrong with you, baby? That’s so fucking bad.” he said, watching the bite swell up exquisitely as you smiled, enticing him into more kisses. 

More spit, boiling into each other and pushing each other unconsciously as you two ondulated in your heat. He began to shove himself intensely against you, getting more of those moans he loved so much. 

“You can’t even be quiet when I kiss you.” he said, shaking his head slowly as his hand came to rest on the front of your neck. He flinched backwards when you attempted to kiss him again. 

It was his bedroom now.

“Come here.” he barked, sitting down on the bed. “This will shut you up.”

He didn’t have to repeat himself before you kneeled in front of him, not even giving him a chance to undo his pants before your mouth salivated over him. He rested his long fingers on your shoulder, almost keeping you tamed as he pulled out his erection.

“Eager, eager girl.” he chuckled, watching you leap onto him.

You wished you could take him entirely the second your tongue met the salty precum that had dribbled down his shaft, but that had never been a possibility. 

Unbeknownst to you, Mat fucking loved it. 

He adored that you struggled to take him, that you wanted so hard to swallow him whole at a first try. 

His head fell back, exposing his thick adam’s apple as it thumped in his throat, Mat trying to hide his gulps every time your lips wrapped around him lower and lower. 

You knew just how to please him, swirling your tongue and hollowing your cheeks just at the right minute spots that still took his by surprise every single time.

Mat felt your desperation as you kept taking him down, so eager to please him. For a second, it enchanted him, filling him with gratitude that he had a partner that so badly wanted to destress him. 

However, it was short-lived.

It was not what you wanted, or what he needed.

“Fuck.”

It felt good, his toes slowly beginning to curl as he felt strings of precum coat the back of your throat, but the more he channeled the feeling that he had pushed away for so long, the more restless he became.

Every time you gagged, your muscles would clench around him, shocking him with exhilarating stimulation.

“Sit up. Now.” he said, strictly, jumping out of his experience. You tentatively moved away from him, the only thing connecting you two now being a sloppy trail of saliva.

“Baby, I-, I-...” you said, uncertainly.

“You what? Hmm?” he asked, undressing as you stared at him dumbfounded. 

Throughout the years, Mat had never sounded so stern in the bedroom as he did now. 

“You asked for angry Mat, didn’t you?” he continued, tapping your head demeaningly in an effort to sit you up. “Beggars can’t be choosers, doll.”

The register in his voice was forceful and humiliating enough to send your desire running down the inside of your thighs, his muscular hands working on practically ripping your clothes off so harshly that he had thrown you off balance a couple of times.

Your heart began to race in anticipation as he silently threw the half-trashed garments through the room. 

He was decisive, precise in his actions, and it made you slightly trepid.

Prolepsis and nerves mixing acidly in your stomach; you knew you had the choice to revoke consent anytime, but you were grounded enough to know that Mat was the safest man to do this with.

Apart from working up to it for months now, and seeing him slowly come out of his shell and let go further every time he got you to himself behind closed doors, you knew how much you wanted this. 

Your body knew as well, your blood rushing rapidly to your cunt as he kept grazing against your skin, snapping the back of your bra before discarding it mindlessly. You could feel the flames of his subjugated feelings simmering again, coming to the surface the more he got out of his head and into his body, his breath becoming deeper and hotter against your skin, breathing out frustration with low, vibrational groans.

“Get on the bed.” he yapped as soon as you were fully naked, his hand pushing you a tad bit too potently onto your bed; so much so that you naturally rested your sweaty limbs on the blankets on all fours.

“Look how wet you are. You’re not embarrassed?” he spit out, running his finger up your slit sloppily as he set himself behind you. “I haven’t even touched you, Y/N.”

He was just a hair over the line, authoritative in his colloquy and pinpointing his acts precisely to get you where he wanted. 

He didn’t care to run himself on your slit, not tonight, his cock still dripping with your thick spit. He thrusted entirely into you, his pounding head coming in contact with your cervix instantly, making your body barely jolt forward. 

“You should be fucking ashamed, Y/N, not moaning.” he barked, as he began to move painfully slow. His thick length, running in and out of your tight walls at a lethargic pace. 

Still, feeling every inch so powerfully split you apart with no preparation, the ridges of his member and his veins skimming your engorged insides ripped moans out of you like never before. 

“You just love being a fuck toy for me, don’t you.” he said, roughly intensifying the grip on your hips as he gradually sped up his movements. He sounded just as rough, doing his best to hold back any signs of satisfaction, but it wasn’t easy. He had made you into a mess so quickly and it mostly came down to his demeanor. 

Ever since he met you, he knew he’d treat you right and respectfully, only you.

He never cared to seem friendly to other girls, truthfully; because he had you. 

The only girl that had naturally commanded such a soft love and tenderness out of him. It was almost ironic to him how the tougher he was with you in between the sheets, the more you melted. 

And god, did he love to see you like this.

Spread vulnerably and already on the brink after a handful of thrusts. 

It drove him mad, struggling to keep any self-control just to have you on a tittering edge. 

But feeling you drip around him, your yearning for him ebbing and flowing out of your pussy as it mixed with the spit that you’d left on his cock, now all of it mixing and coating both of you. 

“Yeah, my little doll.” he said, masking his exasperation as he found a steady rhythm that made your ass recoil delightfully against his pelvis, the chiseled V that framed his cock pounding hard into your flesh as you began to see stars.

Your mouth was stuck open, wanting his call out his name miserably but finding it impossible as the tension kept building within you, tightening your pussy all around and sending shivers down his back as his legs began to tense, inch by inch.

He groaned deeply, squeezing his eyes shut and striving to pivot on that feeling he adored so much, all the sensations that came with being buried deep inside you. 

But all he found was that anger.

The emotion he had tried to leave at work, to get past.

The one that you had noticed.

For good reason, because it was unignorable.

And so he focused on it, the frustration that he had accumulated for months beginning to expand and find its way insidiously through every vessel, every corner of his being. His jaw clenched, the more he let it take over him, the more pleasure would grow, passing from you to him and burning brightly in his belly.

The hinges of the bed creaked and slammed against the wall, his bedframe scratching against his beloved wooden floor as his ears were blessed with your saccharine moans, leaving you unexpectedly and unplanned. 

Your body knew how to take him precisely as his thrusts moved you forward, encouraging all the natural sounds to come out of you instinctively. 

He was afraid that if he let go of your hips that he would lose it. 

He was afraid that he’d pound you right into the mattress; instead, he had a set intention to make this last, to see how far he could take you.

Mat had never heard you sound so beautiful, he thought, just as his rage came to a peak; he could feel his joints begin to sore as he gave it his all, unwilling to stop and let go, fully zoned into unloading his stress. 

He never knew it would bring you so much bliss as he looked down and saw the consequences, heavenly squelching echoing against his growls. He knew you were losing it, micro mannerisms in your body letting him see that you were reaching your orgasm hastily. 

He didn’t need to see your face.

He knew that that familiar blush had knocked at your door, covering your cheeks expansively as your moaning got more high-pitched and frenetic, your pussy twitching around his moving cock. 

“Slow down, you’re making a fucking mess.” he commanded, smugly knowing it would allow it to rip through you, just as it did. 

His knuckles turned white just as yours did, the grip on your sheets fatally unyielding as you let go, coming over Mat. 

The pleasure sparking every synapse in your brain, the cozy feeling flashing through you over and over again as he kept fucking, still roughly and aggressively. 

“You’re fucking gushing.” he said, brave enough to let a hand come down, hard on your ass. The nonchalant tone of disgust in his voice made your whole body light up, tiny bumps forming on your skin at his words as you began to come down from your orgasm.

Mat kept relentlessly, only speeding up, just edging at the border of being too much. As he hit the same spot over and over again, forcefully, your limbs became weak, succumbing to the tremoring that Mat was sending through your system. 

The more you came on him, the more degrading he’d become, periodically spitting onto your core. You knew it wasn’t for any functional purpose more than for humiliating pleasure, giving you everything you craved and more. You couldn’t ask for more, his groans and insults filling up the room; however, the needier you acted, the more Mat would crack under you. 

And the more you pretended you didn’t notice it, the harder your eyes would roll back. 

“You’re so fucking loud, god damn. I’d tell you to shut up, but I know you can’t do it, you’re so heated up.”

Your muscles started to twitch faintly as he snuck his hand around you to rub your clit vigorously, pushing against your skin with sadistic pressure. As much as you tried to get any words of warning out, your body betrayed you, falling pathetically flush against the mattress, the only thing leaving you a whimper. 

The movement wasn’t surprising to you; you had noticed the build-up and distress signals a while ago but had stupidly given in to the thrill instead. 

For Mat, however, it was a different story.

Seeing you tremble against his milky sheets, writhing around slowly and whimpering had him worried immediately. He pulled out swiftly before turning you around.

Thankfully, your eyes found each other, giving him an encouraging sign of lucidity from you.

“Look into my eyes. Are you okay?” he said, clenching his fingers underneath your chin. 

“M’kay.” 

Through blurry vision, you were able to find his dark gaze, regardless of how he was touching your face. The grip on your cheek was so protective and yet you couldn’t ignore the hedonism in his touch.

“What is it? I’m not going to keep fucking you if you’re lying to me.” he said, harshly.

Your brain had melted, completely caved into him, his energy and touch that had brought you to this place so quickly. The unfamiliar floaty feeling neighbored you as you began to tranquilize your boyfriend.

“I’m not lying.” you muttered lazily, gaining enough strength to prop yourself up on your elbows, your nose now touching his. “It just feels so good, Mat.”

Your confession took Mat by surprise. 

His worst fear was taking it all too far, unwillingly hurting you in any way, whether that be physically or otherwise. 

All the same, here you were, in all of your splendor under him, shaking from pleasure. 

It didn’t take long to realize that perhaps he had induced some sort of high, if that was possible.

“You need a kiss?” he asked, his eyes still diligently studying your face. “You need a kiss, don’t you, yeah, come here.”

It wasn’t frenzied or fiery, and still, it told him everything he needed to know.

“That’s all? Better?” he looked at you once more, running his mental checklist.

Eyes were good, skin not too flushed, she can kiss normally, and speak. Not dehydrated or pale.

“Much better.”

The transparency in your speech set in stone what he had thought of.

The words that so easily came out of him, his mannerisms and gestures had sent you haywire, quivering with vibrant intensity, the bliss forcing its way out of your pores, steaming from your skin.

“Good job.” he coaxed, mentally patting himself on the back with a smirk as you fell back down onto the cloudy mattress with a dreamy sigh, a hazy look fixated on him.

Drunk on pleasure, he thought, snickering.

“I bet you feel so dirty, don’t you?” Mat said, his chest heaving with warm sweat dripping from his stubble down onto his pecs. Vulnerability surrounded you both, your eyes running upon each other’s bodies. Taking this moment to pause made sure you were attending to each other fully and completely, the desire still consuming you thoroughly. In the quietness, Mat took his fingers and began running them down your abdomen, barely grazing your clammy skin. 

“I asked you a question, doll.” he said, moving his touch again up your centerline. You could only nod, his fingertips electrifying you with eternal bliss as they found their resting place on your plump lips. 

“Are you having trouble with your words?” he said, breathlessly mocking you before you stuck your tongue out, soaking his digits by letting them sit on you. 

After all, Mat didn’t think he could break any further. 

Until then. 

Seeing you embrace the feeling gave him the reassurance that he was subconsciously looking for.

He was incredulous at your actions, sticking your tongue out fully, with no shame or guilt, and only for him. 

Letting your spit absorb into his calloused skin, while more saliva pooled visibly at the back of your throat. 

Disgustingly.

And it made his throbbing cock twitch, heedlessly slapping against your cunt in a wet motion. 

“Fuck, angel.”

He pushed it further by entering your mouth and your pussy simultaneously, a choked moan surrounding his hand as your eyes flew back.

“That’s my fucking girl.” he said, his eyebrows furrowed as he wasted no time in his fucking, militantly filling you fully again. “Doesn’t it make you feel so good, baby?”

“It does.” you moaned, obediently answering his every question and request.

“Doesn’t it feel so fucking good to be so dirty for me?” he asked, flush taking over him again. 

It was so delightful to see him let go, fully, just as he thought the same about you. 

“So nasty, such a sick little girl.” he continued. “Turn around, come here.” 

Mat sat back on his heels, guiding you to sit on his cock. 

The will was stronger than logic, your thighs quivering as you sunk down on him. 

Mat always hit deeper at this angle, his cock bulging out on your lower tummy as your ass came flush with him.

“You’re so bad, so fucking bad. And look at you, you don’t even care.” he said, moving your hair to the side as his lips grazed against the shell of your ear.

“What would everyone say if they saw you acting like this, huh? Begging to take me after I’m so mean to you. After I slap you, choke you, and spit on you. After I say the most degrading fucking shit to you, you don’t care. It makes your panties drenched, doesn’t it?”

Mat’s hands ran up past your tummy and found a tight hold on your tits, variating between letting them bounce in his palm and gripping them so desperately that it left marks on you. Your chests moved in synch, up and down with your motions; you let your head fall back on his shoulder as you unavailingly rebounded briskly, tightening just at the perfect moment, when your opening came in touch with the delicious curve between his pelvis and the base of his cock. 

“Just as I fucking thought, you can’t even hold back.” he said, grinding ever so slightly against you. The recognizable feeling started to take over you for the millionth time, candied moans causing Mat to jolt against you unexpectedly and thrust deeper.

“You’re going to cum again, aren’t you?” he asked, slapping one of your breasts. “Your body gives you away so easily, angel face.”

He was solid under you, your loving foundation as more juices ran out of you, covering his thighs in sticky squirt, your whole being quivering in delight with his arms instinctively holding you through it. 

“That’s because you’re mine, yeah?” 

Your eyes, stuck on the ceiling, recognized just how close his face was to yours, gaze fixated on your expression as it furrowed and sweated the incessant orgasm. 

“Yeah, I don’t even have to fucking ask.” 

Mat kept talking, kept grinding, as his hands got more desperate, undecided between all the layers of skin and flesh. The more he focused on you, the more he felt like he couldn’t hold back any longer, and as much as he felt that most of the night, he knew that the simple intemperance that had built inside him was about to burst. 

“Look at you. You need more? You always fucking do.” he coaxed, settling his left hand on your throat as your whole body kept aching, spasming sweetly on top of him. 

Totally uncontrolled. 

Unaware of what liquids were leaving you and what noises you were making. 

Your brain only handling and pining for pleasure. 

More and more. 

“It’s never fucking enough for you, is it? You love it when I cross the line with you, you needy, needy girl.” he said, his grip on your throat tightening slightly enough to make your dotted vision fill with sparkles. 

Your head snapped up as your abdomen contracted, almost painfully sore, finally letting you breathe deeply as your body gave you a second to recuperate. 

Tears involuntarily left the corners of your eyes, perhaps from the delectation of it all, the intensity, the overwhelm, or the tiredness. 

“It feels so, so good. You make me feel so good.” you managed to find the strength to whisper against Mat’s lips before letting yours fall on top of his in a loving kiss. 

“Oh, god, you’re going to make me cum, baby.” 

Mat’s voice quivered, as he stared into you; he had never breathed deeper and yet hyperventilated at the same time, just as he'd never felt so much rage and frustration mixed with pleasure all at once. 

“Like that, like that, like that.” he said, through gritted teeth. “Fucking look at me.” 

He grabbed your chin roughly, your face pouting under his touch in the cutest way, he thought. “Like that, baby, fuck.”

Mat exclaimed loudly as he colvulsed forward, his cum filling your tight hole with a growl so deep that you felt yourself vibrate at the power in his voice. You sloppily kept jumping on his dick, every single muscle of his being flexing in concentration and gratification as his warm seed seeped inside you and overflowed, running down his hips before he had the chance to pull out. 

“Oh, fuck, baby.” he moaned, breathlessly. You finally fell, completely limp, into the puddle that he made you in since the beginning. 

“That’s okay, that’s okay, fall into my arms.” Mat reassured, still firing under you. “You did so good. You were so, so good, angel.”

Mat had enough of a size advantage on you to manhandle you, this time turning you both onto your sides after a couple of quiet moments, keeping his cock warm still inside your folds. 

“I love you, I love you, baby. So much. Thank you, thank you. Come here.” he whispered against you, running his hand through your locks as he pulled you closer to him by your waist. 

“Are you good, baby?” he said, watching you nod with a sweet smile on your face. “Why are you crying?”

“It just felt so good, babe.” you reassured him, turning slightly to play with his shining chain that sat damply on his collarbones. 

“I would never hurt you, yeah? You’re safe with me.” he whispered into your cheek in between kisses. “I got you always, babe. Nothing’s going to hurt you while I’m here.”

“I know, baby, I love you.” you said, your eyes into his. “Are you okay, Mat?”

“Oh, baby, yes, yes I’m okay don’t worry. Was I too rough? Too mean? You can tell me, love.”

“No, no, it was perfect.” you repeated. You’d say it as many times as it was needed. 

“Good. You were perfect.” he said. 

You didn’t know, but he thought the same. Reassurance had no limit for him.  

“I see you, I see you fully and I love you, I love everything about you.”

“I love you more, Mat.” you said in between kisses. “Do you feel better now?”

“Oh, baby. So much fucking better.”

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

Okay so in the same vein as this post, I want to reality check the people who keep asking (yes I've been this person too, don't @ me) why oh why are Jews the only group leftists are willing to categorically deny self-determination to, and the reason is that most of them are tits deep in Christian supercessionism and don't even know it and have absolutely no desire to change that.

The reason they deny self-determination to Jews is the same reason that they would deny any claim to self-determination of, say, Mormons. If the Mormon church tried to claim Utah because it's the epicenter and birthplace of Mormonism [Edit: apparently the birthplace of Mormonism is western New York and not Utah whoops, but the point stands] and therefore they may as well have an indigenous claim to it, people with brains would rightfully lose their shit.

"But it's a culture too, not just a religion!"

So? Have you met any Mormons and spent time with them? They have their own culture.

"Okay but Jews are an ancient people!"

Please look at the batshit Mormon theological view of the Twelve Tribes and their attitudes towards Native Americans.

"Okay but our history is real!" Yep! These people don't know the first thing about Judaism and Jewish history and don't care.

The reality is that most westerners are hellbent on ignoring Jewish history and ethnoreligious identity because literally all of western civilization is built on Christian supercessionism. Even the people who leave Christianity and hate it (and "all religions") with a violent passion still refuse to engage in learning about Jewish cultural and ethnic history because you cannot do it without engaging the history and texts that they blame as the roots of Christianity and therefore they discredit all of it out of hand.

Obviously they're super fucking wrong about this. You, my fellow yid, and I, both know that. But unraveling the supercessionism means understanding their culpability in Jewish suffering and how they benefit from institutionalized antisemitism.

They are extremely unlikely to do that.

Why? Because if they unlearn Judaism as "just a religion" &/or "Christianity without Jesus" and begin to understand it as an indigenous Levantine group, they then have to reckon with the reality of how much Christianity has stolen from Jews and how much of their hatred for Jews is baked into their western goyische psyche by intentional Christian misunderstandings of Judaism.

Am Yisrael cannot to them be a real people with deep tribal roots and a strong culture, because then they would have to separate Judaism from Christianity and question their assumptions about us and our history.

"But Judaism accepts converts!"

Okay, as someone who "converted," I'm going to say no, not really, actually. Conversion is a convenient shorthand, but it's not accurate. Converting to Judaism means a mutually consensual adoption into the Tribe, after thorough vetting, at least a year of study and perseverance but probably more, and the main, primary promise that you make is about choosing to share the collective fate of the Jewish people. Yes, this adoption and naturalization is through the medium of the spiritual/religious aspect of Jewish identity, but it's way more than that. To be a Jew is to know that I might get stabbed on my walk to shul for being visibly Jewish, and to accept that possibility because the idea of not living as a Jew is worse. Gerim have to be ride or die because a serious chunk of Jewish history is on the "die" side of that equation. You have to be just a little bit nuts voluntarily take on that risk (reminder that I say this as a ger who is happily Jewish) and it must come from a place of profound love for and identification with the Jewish people. And once you join the family, that's it. You don't get to ever stop being a member of the family, even if you become estranged from it.

It's a people, with a deep history and culture, and anyone who joins it takes on both. Obviously your genetic makeup and ancestry don't change, but everything else does.

Understanding that major difference in Judaism in a serious way means that they would have to let go of their world view that their religion and culture are separate, that Christianity intentionally divorced faith from culture in order to acquire as many converts as possible, and then begin to understand how Christianity has shaped their understanding of culture, tradition, what religion is, ethics, and values. And they would have to then make an effort to separate their understanding of Judaism and what they think they know about us from Christianity, however they do or don't relate to it.

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

I cannot emphasize enough how much everything In-ho did during his time in the games was in service of breaking down Gi-hun. Every glance, every story, every comment was incredibly and deliberately calculated.

His first interaction with Gi-hun immediately places the blame on Gi-hun for the games continuing: "I pressed the O because of you." He also explicitly asks for Gi-hun's help on behalf of the group. This sucks Gi-hun into being a mechanism of the games themselves (not just a player, but one telling others how to play) while robbing him of his agency to do so: whereas he was confident in helping during the first game, because it was his choice, In-ho's request forces him to share about the Dalgona prematurely, and he then has a nightmare about misleading the players. This also leads to many players becoming hostile when the game is not Dalgona, which--who could have guessed?--In-ho jumps in to stop. He orchestrated the situation so that Gi-hun would feel maximum pressure and guilt, before In-ho himself relieves it to build trust between them.

Then there are the introductions. In-ho uses Gi-hun's name before they are introduced, which may have been a genuine slip, but was very likely intentional given his response. In-ho's method throughout the games is to parallel and associate himself with Jung-bae, Gi-hun's only actual friend (he saves him during the merry-go-round games; he eavesdrops on Jung-bae's conversation with Gi-hun and directly uses the "get me a soju" line from that conversation to subconsciously build Gi-hun's trust in him during the firefight). So when he uses Gi-hun's name, he says he does so because he heard Jung-bae doing it, and Gi-hun allows him to continue--this creates the first of the links between them. But then, when they are properly introduced, In-ho laughs that "Seong" just means "last name;" in doing so, he implies to those who don't know him that Gi-hun may not be telling the truth, and in context of their conversation (focused on the significance of their names) highlights how Seong Gi-hun is "no one special." He's just an everyman.

Another reason that "slip" was almost certainly intentional is that In-ho is very deliberate about showing moments of weakness. His breakdown during the Six-Legged Race was designed to both further stress Gi-hun (and if Gi-hun had failed, they were in the very last groups present, so they could have been selectively spared as needed) and to strengthen their bond, as Gi-hun got to "encourage" In-ho; then In-ho helped Gi-hun and the team win by kicking with him the final time. Even cheering along with Gi-hun while the other teams went was in service of cementing their connection; and, any time a team failed, In-ho got to observe Gi-hun's reactions under the guise of empathy. In-ho may have felt some genuine emotions while cheering or comforting Gi-hun, but they aren't to be trusted.

That's particularly true because of his biggest "weak" moment: telling Gi-hun why he is in the games. The show confirms, when Jun-ho finds the winner file, that In-ho actually did join the games years before (from his family we know that it was because of his wife's illness), and that he won them himself. So he isn't lying about the details of his personal story--and he even gets emotional--but it is, once again, all in service of ensnaring Gi-hun and earning his trust. In-ho is not faking all of his emotions, but he is controlling and weaponizing them, which is why none of his apparent fondness for Gi-hun can be trusted. He uses his emotions as a tool, rather than being affected by them.

The ultimate result of this manipulation is that Gi-hun is made to feel that everything that happens is his choice (even the things he didn't choose). From the beginning, In-ho has said his choices are because of Gi-hun; throughout the games, there are several moments where In-ho suggests an approach and Gi-hun shoots it down, and In-ho always coalesces. Gi-hun gets to have "his way." But "his way" doesn't seem to work, and he, like the rest of the players, is changed by the games. His final plan, as In-ho forces him to face, involves a sacrifice of some for the good of the many. Only after he admits this (through his silence) does In-ho agree to help. Then, during the firefight, when Gi-hun tries to give In-ho the ammunition he risked his life to get, In-ho asks, "Are you sure?" Gi-hun's choice to trust In-ho leads to him running out of ammunition earlier, forcing his surrender; meanwhile, In-ho still "dies," and Jung-bae is shot in front of Gi-hun's eyes. None of Gi-hun's choices made things better--they made it all his fault. He is left with the blame, as the Frontman (who is In-ho! And always has been!) tells him point blank.

But none of Gi-hun's choices have really been choices. They have all been based on lies, within a system that uses the information they have to actively orchestrate events against him. The same is true of the players in the game; their choices are not free, because their circumstances (largely caused by unfairness in the world) have trapped them. The baseness they resort to is not what they would do if they really had the choice, and some are even able to choose virtue within the hellscape, but over and over, the system facilitates the dominance of cruelty. And In-ho, the personification of that system, targets Seong Gi-hun, the "Everyman," to make him submit to it--to make him choose to believe that there is no other way.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Pride! One of the genderbendy stories, please? Lady Mo, maybe?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

Xuanyu groans and rolls her eyes when Lan Wangji insists on treating her wounds before they continue, but apparently decides she's tested his patience enough for one evening because she says, "Fine," and and begins to untie her robe.

He steps closer and grabs her wrists. "What are you doing?"

She looks up at him and this close he can see the exhaustion lingering in her dark eyes. "You just said you wanted to bandage me up before we left again!"

"You cannot undress in front of," he gestures around them.

She frowns, following his hand, and then looks down at herself. "Oh. Right, forgot that mattered now." He quirks an eyebrow and she blinks, face going a shade paler before she pastes a too wide smile across her face. "Okay, well, the carriage then?" She doesn't wait for him to answer, instead raising her voice to shout, "Sizhui, make sure our guests get something to eat before we get moving."

"Yes, Lady Xuanyu," Sizhui says, more formerly than he would normally, but Sizhui takes after him in that he tends to fall back on formality when he's feeling out of sorts.

Lan Wangji sighs and leads her to the carriage with a hand on the small of her back. His instinct is to grab her arm and drag her there, but she gets squirmy and argumentative, and he's had quite enough of both.

She hops into the carriage, only wincing at little at the sudden motions, and he follows her in, setting down the supplies he'd grabbed and then closing the doors firmly behind them.

"It's really not that bad," she says as she undoes her robes and slides them down her shoulders. "We'll have time to bathe when we arrive at Koi Tower and I could have just cleaned them there. They don't really need bandages."

He ignores her and doesn't let his eyes linger on her breasts even as he gets flash of memory of closing his lips around a small, dark nipple and biting, his tongue running the indents his teeth had left in soft flesh.

"You didn't need to go running off alone," he says, hoping it's dark enough that she doesn't see the flush he can feel crawling up his neck.

She scoffs as he presses a damp cloth against the stab wound between her shoulder and collarbone, cleaning away the tacky blood. "Song Lan needed help and he's my friend."

Lan Wangji wants to ask once again how in the world she knew were Xiao Xingchen was, how she'd been able to lead Song Lan right to him, but one issue at a time. "You could have told us that and we would have helped."

"Uh huh," she says.

He presses down harder than he'd intended and she hisses in pain. He pulls back, grudgingly admitting to himself that she was right. The wound has already closed and the bruises covering her chest have turned a sickly yellow, looking days old rather than hours. He's never seen anyone improve a golden core so quickly before, especially using such dubious methods.

He doesn't want to say the wrong thing, so he gives himself time to gather his thoughts as he wrings out the cloth. "We are not the Mo. Or the Jin."

"Uh, yeah? I noticed," she answers, pulling her robes open even wider to reveal even more bruised skin and the curved slice around her right hip.

"Have you," he asks quietly, keeping his touch gentle as he cleans the blood from thigh. "You are not - you don't have to," he stops, taking a deep breath and pausing his motions so he doesn't accidentally hurt her again. "You are not required to tell me anything that you don't want me to know. However. I am your husband."

"I noticed that too," she says, voice coming out low, and Lan Wangji does not allow himself to be distracted by the fact that he's kneeling over his mostly naked wife, her body small and soft and strong, evening bleeding and bruised.

"Then you should act like it," he returns, and odd reversal of their argument after the waterfall. "In the Lan you are not a bastard daughter but my legitimate wife. If you'd told me you wished to assist Song Lan, I would have helped you, and others would have volunteered to accompany us. You would not have needed to go alone. "

Xuanyu glares at him, somehow even more compelling with the anger brightening her eyes. "I was fine alone. I didn't need you."

"This is not about needing," he says softly, "but about having. Whether you need me or not is irrelevant. You have me. Next time I hope you remember that."

He ties her inner robe together before jumping out of the carriage, leaving her to redress herself. He feels the weight of her gaze on him, but she doesn't say anything.

Lan Wangi sighs, rubbing at his forehead. He drops into the seat next to his brother, noting Sizhui and Jingyi sitting at the same table as their guests and insistently putting more and more food on their plates over their protests. Well, Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen's protests. A-Qing seems quite happy to eat everything put in front of her.

Xichen raises an eyebrow.

"How long did it take Jin Guangyao to trust you?" he asks impulsively, regretting asking almost as soon as it's out of his mouth.

Xichen sighs, "Oh, Wangji," and doesn't answer.

[journey-to-the-attic]

3rd anniversary req 21: [DDVD] levi, satan, beel / babysitting

ao3 link

note: i tried to incorporate most of what the request form said - hope you're happy with this, anon! this one's just precious <3

∎ ∎ ∎ ∎ ∎

“Behave,” Lucifer says sternly, and shuts the door.

Levi exchanges a look with Satan. For some reason, he gets the feeling that Lucifer was talking to them, and not the toddler clinging to the back of Satan’s leg.

He cranes his neck down. IK is already staring wistfully at the door. Satan would probably compare her to a lost kitten; Levi thinks the look is more akin to a sad Lotan.

“Beel’s in the kitchen,” He says to Satan in an undertone, and the two of them hastily adjourn to three-sevenths of a family meeting.

Couldn't Lucifer have picked any other day for whatever fancy reservation he's made for their date? It's clear he doesn't entirely trust the only three babysitters available. He knows this because Lucifer added all three of them to a hastily-made, very secret group chat a few hours ago - to warn them of what would happen if anything went wrong. 

The three of them sit silently around the kitchen table for about five minutes. Finally, Satan clears his throat, and looks at Levi.

“You’re the oldest here,” He says. “You should know what to do.”

Levi grimaces. “Well, I don’t.”

The three of them look to IK, who is sitting solemnly in the head chair. None of them know where Lucifer keeps her booster seat, so she can only just about see over the edge of the table. (IK usually protests about having to use it, so she seems happy with the situation.)

“It can’t be that hard,” Satan mutters, mostly to himself. “If Lucifer can handle it.”

Usually that means no one else can, Levi thinks, but wisely chooses not to say this out loud. But it can’t be that different to what we usually do… right? I mean, I guess we don’t really do the proper care stuff. That’s Zhao’s thing. We just hang out with her…

“Pom-pom,” IK mumbles.

Satan blinks, then tilts his head to the side and leans forward. “Sorry?”

“Pom-pom,” IK repeats, louder this time.

“I don’t… what’s ‘pom-pom’? Is it one of your toys?”

“Hmph,” IK says, then hops down from her chair and toddles out of the kitchen with such authority that none of them think to stop her.

It takes Beel’s phone going off to bring them back to reality. Lucifer has sent them, rather aptly, a parenting book. Satan decides to stay behind to read it while Beel and Levi are sent to wrangle the kid - and figure out what she’s actually after.

IK hasn’t made it far. She still can’t get up the stairs on her own, nor can she open any of the doors without full-body ramming into them, so she’s only managed to make it a little way down the corridor.

“Pom-pom,” She insists when they catch up with her.

“We don’t have pom-pom,” Levi says a little breathlessly, even though he really didn’t go that fast. “Can’t you just tell us what you want?”

IK cannot, apparently. She leads them on a merry chase in about five circles around the ground floor (she kicks every time they try to pick her up) before finally sitting down in a huff in the middle of the living room. Levi’s secretly a little grateful for the chance to rest his legs - this is the most he’s moved in the last month.

“The floor’s cold,” Beel says patiently, attempting to pick her up. IK manages to wiggle cleanly out of his hands and goes straight back to the ground. “Come on, let’s go sit somewhere comfy, okay?”

“Pom-pom,” IK mumbles, beginning to look a little tearful. The look on her face makes it clear: if Lucifer was here, he’d totally know what to do by now. 

It’s, quite frankly, unfair. He’s already good at everything else. Levi had really expected childcare to be the one thing to trip him up.

Situations like these really call for Asmo. Once again, Levi finds himself wondering why in hell he’s here.

“IK,” He tries - unable to muster one of Asmo’s many pet names and resorting instead to sounding as pathetic as possible, in hopes that she’ll take pity on him. “IK, c’mon. Wanna come see Henry? You like Henry.”

Beel tries to pick her up again. IK gives him a severe, uncannily Lucifer-like look, then stubbornly slips down until she's lying flat on her back.

“We need some blocks,” Satan announces, walking into the room with far too much confidence. “Do we have blocks?”

“Of course we don’t,” Levi says miserably, about two minutes away from lying on the floor himself. “Why would we?”

“Then I will go find some blocks,” Satan says decisively, and walks straight back out again.

IK stays on the ground, staring blankly up into the ceiling. She doesn’t look as if she’s throwing a tantrum so much as she looks like she’s lost all hope in the world. It kind of hurts his heart.

He glances up at Beel. His brother’s brow is deeply furrowed in thought. After a moment, he sits down, and carefully pushes his palm underneath IK’s head. If she won’t get up, at least he can give her a pillow.

Satan comes back with a crate that he says Lucifer’s been keeping in his study (which is supposed to be locked right now, but that’s on Lucifer for not using a strong enough charm), and produces a set of patterned blocks that he attempts to gently encourage IK to play with. All IK does is hold them limply.

“Maybe she needs a nap?” Beel suggests, but IK doesn’t seem to like that idea. In fact, after hearing the word, she appears to start deliberately keeping her eyes open for as long as possible out of spite.

Satan looks something up on his phone - steadfastly refusing to call Lucifer - then abruptly hurries off again. He comes back with some cardboard, a ball of wool, and a pair of scissors. IK lifts her head to watch him with interest as he sets about snipping and tying. Finally:

“There you are,” Satan announces triumphantly, and presents IK with a little green ball of fluff. “A pom-pom.”

IK sits up and holds it blankly. Then she shakes her head.

The dismay on Satan’s face would be funny if Levi didn’t feel terrible for him. “No? Is it the wrong colour?”

“Pom-pom,” IK says sadly.

“Fine…” He reaches out to take it back, only for IK to snatch the pom-pom-that-isn't-the-right-pom-pom back. “Hey. I thought you didn’t want it.”

“Mine,” She mumbles stubbornly, and dodges his next grab as well. “Mine!”

“But it’s not your pom-pom, is it?” Satan asks, now beginning to grin. “Come on, give it back.”

“No!” IK scrambles to her knees, then shuffles to hide behind Beel’s broad back. “Mine!”

“I made it! Give it back!”

“NO!”

Clutching the pom-pom, IK jumps to her feet - and, wobbling unsteadily from side to side, full-on sprints out of the living room.

Satan reacts first, almost as if he were expecting it. Hauling himself to his feet, he practically gallops after her, leaving Beel and Levi in stunned silence, still sitting helplessly on the floor.

“I didn’t know she could go that fast,” Levi says after a moment. “Do you think Mammon’s been teaching her?”

“We should probably go after them…” Beel glances down at the crate. “Should we bring the blocks?”

Satan has cornered IK in the library when they catch up with them. Even as they sidle awkwardly through the door, she looks sharply around the room, spots the still-ajar door to Lucifer’s office, and promptly zooms inside. Satan, of course, doesn’t hesitate to do the same.

Levi follows just in time to see him double-evade her around the desk, then shoot forward and sweep her cleanly off the ground - “Got you!”

“No!” IK insists, even though she’s giggling so loudly that the word is barely discernible.

“No? Certainly looks like you’re— ow!”

Something has flown out of Lucifer’s desk and propelled itself directly into Satan’s face - so hard that he’s shoved backwards into a cabinet and knocks a bottle off its stand. IK does not help things grabbing a fistful of his hair to keep herself steady.

“What the—” On closer inspection, the thing that came out of the desk appears to be a little stuffed pigeon. As Satan spins around, attempting to regain his bearings, it folds its wings and jabs its little felt beak at his eyes.

“What do we do?!” Levi yelps, hands braced to do something, though he hasn’t the faintest idea what.

IK isn’t giggling so much as she is wailing now - Satan, though still reeling, has enough sense to pass her off to Levi before attempting to wave the pigeon off. His arms windmill around so wildly that it’s only a matter of time before he—

“Oof!” Levi manages to shield the back of IK’s head with his hand, but his own nose isn’t so lucky. “Watch where your hands are going!”

“I’m getting attacked!” Satan snarls, and looks one peck away from zapping the pigeon into dust. “Do something!”

“What am I supposed to do?!”

Beel, at this point finally stepping into the situation, clearly has more wits about him than either of them. He surveys the situation, steps forward, and plucks the pigeon cleanly from the air.

It goes straight to ferociously attacking its fingers. Without the momentum of flight on its side, though, its blows are virtually harmless. At this, Levi hesitantly lowers his hand from IK’s head.

“This definitely has Lucifer written all over it,” Satan grunts, a hand pressed over his eye. “Smug bas… ahem. Am I bleeding?”

Levi leans over and peers at his face for a moment. “Nah, you’re good.”

He lowers his hand, but he doesn’t look any less mutinous. “Who gave him the idea of putting toy security in his desk?”

“I don’t think it’s security,” Beel says, holding the pigeon’s head still with one hand and reading its label with the other. “I think it’s a toy for IK. See?”

The company name does check out. That doesn’t explain why it comes to life and attacks people, though.

“Well, it’s not a spell I’ve seen anywhere before, so don’t look at me,” Satan grumbles.

Beel inspects the plush pigeon for another moment, then (still carefully holding it still) holds it out to IK. She looks frightened - but, under his reassuring gaze, slowly reaches out, and bumps a little fist to its beak.

The pigeon immediately stills. Levi would’ve thought he’d just hallucinated the whole thing if it weren’t for the red mark on Satan’s forehead.

“Oh,” says Satan himself, realisation dawning. “He enchanted it. That’s…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but clearly he isn’t angry anymore. Beel gently presses the pigeon into IK’s arms, and it comes briefly to life again to tuck its head lovingly against her cheek.

“That isn’t an easy enchantment,” Satan murmurs, wiping his brow. “He’s probably not done testing it.”

“Looks like it works fine to me,” Levi says, watching IK attempt to feed the pigeon her green pom-pom. “Do you like it, IK?”

“Mmm,” IK says, flapping the pigeon’s wings. The pom-pom falls out of her arms and lands softly on the floor.

She notices its absence after a moment and makes a sound of dismay. Satan huffs, then stoops to pick it up for her.

“At least you like it,” He mutters, passing it back to her. “Are you sure it’s not your pom-pom?”

IK shakes her head seriously. She gazes at him for a moment, then mumbles something and makes a gesture in his general direction. Levi obligingly leans forward.

“What now?” Satan sighs, but ducks down to her level anyway. “Are you going to hit me, too?”

Far from it. IK pats his cheek until he stops frowning, then stretches up to the red mark on his brow and gives it a kiss.

“...oh.”

If Levi didn’t know better, he’d say Satan was dangerously close to tears. His brother clears his throat and offers a slightly shaky smile. “Thanks.”

IK hums, then pulls both pigeon and pom-pom tight to her chest, and tucks her head under Levi’s chin. Before he can stop himself, he lets out a sharp squeak, like a poorly-oiled door.

“I think it’s time for a nap now,” Beel says, watching her with a little smile. “Let’s go.”

“Okay,” He agrees, voice quivering, and follows him out of the office. Satan stays behind briefly to shut the drawer the pigeon flew out of, but doesn’t bother re-locking the door.

The crate of toys is still sitting in the middle of the library. Levi gingerly lowers himself into an armchair and lets IK figure out how she wants to sleep; Beel sits down on the floor directly opposite him and contents himself with watching her.

Satan stands silently for a while, then settles beside the toy crate and starts methodically stacking the blocks himself. Levi watches him, too afraid of disturbing IK to move.

“She’ll probably be hungry when she wakes up,” says Beel, setting his chin on his knees. “I think there are some strawberries left in the kitchen.”

“We need something more substantial than fruit.” Satan sets the final block on his tower, then promptly knocks the whole thing over and starts again. “Sandwiches, maybe…”

IK isn't asleep for long before she abruptly startles awake again. Levi opens his mouth to say something sappy that'd usually come out of Asmo - then quickly realises that something's up. 

"What?" Satan asks, sitting up. 

"I don't..."

IK is practically ramrod-straight in his arms. Her eyes are open, but she stares directly ahead of her, far into the distance.

Beel lifts his head and rises to his knees. "Give her here."

Levi can't do anything but acquiesce. IK doesn't respond at first, but almost as soon as she leaves Levi's arms, she takes in a sharp breath, and begins to whimper. 

"Wait—" Instinctively, he tries to snatch her back, but Beel holds firm. "Why... what's wrong?!"

"Nightmare," says Beel shortly. "Belphie used to do the same thing. Can you go get some water?"

It might be the fastest Levi has ever gone to do something. Beel doesn't get IK to drink it - instead, he dips a finger in, and draws a streak across her forehead. At this, IK pauses, eyes wide. 

Satan darts to pick up the pigeon from where it's fallen to the floor. It begins to move as soon as he presses it to IK's face - fluttering its wings and gently grazing its cheek against hers. Levi imagines he hears it coo. 

"Hi," Beel murmurs, doing the same trick with the water again This time, IK makes a sound of protest. "Don't worry, it's gone now."

IK mumbles something and twists away, attempting to wipe her forehead. Beel smiles and does it for her. "...there. That's how you know she's awake again."

"Bad dream, huh?" Satan clicks his tongue sympathetically, then leans down and kisses her forehead - returning the favour from earlier. "Are you still tired?"

She blinks slowly, then makes a quiet noise of affirmation. Beel nods seriously. "You can sleep again, then. We'll keep you safe, okay? Your dad will be home soon."

"Okay," IK whispers, and closes her eyes again.

———

Some time later, Belphie gets home. By that weird twin-sense he shares with Beel, he comes straight to the library. Since IK went back to sleep, Levi's taken a turn on the building blocks, for want of something to do. 

“Do you know where IK’s pom-pom is?” Satan asks without looking up from his book.

“Huh?” Belphie drops his bag with a loud yawn. “What d’you mean, where?”

“She wouldn’t stop asking about it.” Levi precariously sets one tower on top of another. “We didn’t know what it was.”

“Oh, she wants pom-pom? That’s easy,” Belphie says with infuriating nonchalance, then wanders across the room, where IK is beginning to stir in Beel’s lap. “Hey, twinkle-star.”

The three of them can only watch in dawning realisation as Belphie crouches down, shifts seamlessly into demon form, then offers the end of his tail like it’s some kind of toy. IK blinks at him, then scrambles up and makes a grab for the fluffy bit at the end.

“Oh.” says Beel a little weakly. “You were talking about Belphie’s tail the whole time?”

“Pom-pom,” IK says happily.

[bonefall]

it is healing to come onto this blog and see basic respect for diasbility after being in other corners of the fandom and reading the words “snowkit could never be a warrior because he wouldnt know what anything is. he wouldnt even know what a clan is because nobody could explain it to him” said in full seriousness

Im..... That statement is so ableist I cannot even imagine the worldview you'd need to have in order to come up with that.

They really think the only way anyone learns anything is through verbal-speaking-words-noises? No one has ever observed something before? Not even once?

This is beyond touching grass, this person just fell out of the fucking Jurassic Period when all they had was ferns and stegosaurs.

I just...

OH YES. I remember my first day of Society Lessons as a hearing person, where the everything was explained to me. Via Audiobook. FIRST they spoke and said, "you are standing on the ground." It was a life changing revelation, and the world began to spin.

But it did not stop.

THEN they said, "there are fingers on your hands." The sensation of flesh and bone crackling into existence is indescribable, but I did not yet know pain, until they told me, "that hurts." I began screaming immediately.

And yet... it continued.

They explained so much. Chairs. Tables. Walls. The sky. Frogs. Ionizing radiation. Breathing. I was told all of it, in one sitting, and only then did I understand. Only when my ears were bursting with normal hearing knowledges, did they begin... my final test.

A strange wall-chair-finger emerged from the sky-of-the-wall, stood on the ground several times, until it was in front of me. A second one came behind it, this one slimmer. The audiobook gave these things names;

Human. Father. Mother. Door. Walking. It was completely impossible to know what these things were until that very moment.

I watch a human dip a hook into water and produce a fish, and I recall my Society Lessons where they called that "fishing." I am decked in the face by a nefarious hooligan, and I have only the audiobook to thank when I know I have been "punched" by a "bad guy." It was only the magic of verbal-speaking-words-noise that made me understand that there are "other people" and that they "do stuff."

Sometimes, even, in "groups."

Before the Society Lessons Audiobook, I knew nothing. I was pure, innocent, uncorrupted by concepts such as "parents" and "door." I am grateful every day that there is no such concept as "being shown things" or "simple logical reasoning" or "looking."

Blessed be those amongst us who escape the horrors of the Society Lessons Audiobook. I pray that you never learn what anything is. Be free! Free as a bird, which also knows nothing and famously cannot learn. 🤗

DEAF/HOH FOLLOWERS I'm losing my mind do you want me to bump a 'Hearing Disabilities Herb Guide' to the top of my priorities? Something you can use to bludgeon whackadoodles like that. This is ridiculous

Obviously not a MEDICINE guide but like; common causes of hearing disability in clan cats. Accommodations for hearing loss vs congenital deafness. Actual difficulties of not having that sense Clan-by-Clan. Debunking of misconceptions like... not being able to learn APPARENTLY.

[sortofshea]

On the 12th day of @hprecfest this fandom gave to me...

Day 12: a fic by your favourite author

Title: Heal Thyself by @astolat

Pairing: Draco x Harry

Teen | 46.9k words

Summary:

"Are you going for the course?" Lovegood asked. "You have the NEWTs.”

“What course?” Draco said, then, “No, don’t be ridiculous,” when he realized she meant the notice pinned up on the board he’d been staring at: Applicants To The Introductory Mediwizard Course For The Coming Term Shall Present Themselves In The Chief Mediwizard’s Office By August 24th.

"Oh, I thought you might,” she said. “Well, goodbye.” And off she wandered again in her addled way.

Why I recommend it:

Choosing a "favourite" author from this fandom is an impossible task. Astolat won this spot despite a whole host of other contenders because I cannot simply pick one, but many of my other favourite authors are featuring in other prompts and I've read just about every single scrap of HP fanfiction she's written.

This fic is an absolutely stunning exploration of Draco's journey to redemption after the war. It is very apparent that he only begins the course to become a healer out of pride and spite, but after a few years, he starts to realize that he also wants this for himself. He struggles and fights his way through a wand that is reluctant to cooperate with him and the reactions of the public and his peers to his presence in the course.

Through gritted teeth, Draco works hard to make ammends for his past. He lives, breathes and sleeps his studies and work. This guy stops going out unless his very beneficent senior tells him he must. Even after he graduates and goes on to become a special consultant for only the most difficult of cases, he has to be kicked out of the hospital by the Chief Mediwizard. Not for good, of course, just out of the permanent residences and told to get a real flat and work no more than 5 days a week.

Draco has found something that he is not only good at, but is also benefitting both his patients and himself. His patients recieve care from literally the best Magister in England, and Draco finds that he is able to heal the bits of his soul that have been eroded by dark magic and corruption.

Listen, House, MD is one of my all time facourite shows. Draco doesn't give Dr. House per-se, but he is portrayed as a grumpy, tortured prodigy who is more often than not, the only one capable of saving his patients. The story is full of such beautifully crafted magical theory and magical medical lore, its truly brilliant. I crave this. I eat that shit right up. I will never stop rereading this fic.

As for the drarry of it all, Harry comes into the story when Draco has reached the top of his game, essentially. He's rebuilt his life in as successful a fashion as he knows how, and he's found a certain fulfillment and even peace with himself. Harry is deeply mistrusting of him and holds an unfairly harsh opinion, even after Draco saves his life. Having coincidentally discovered that fragments of all 3 killing curses Voldemort hit Harry with had not exactly vacated his body, Draco begins operating at once. It is a long, exhausting and harrowing procedure, but he does it. After the fact, Harry decides he's lying about something, hiding something and reverts to his basic programming; he begins stalking investigating Draco Malfoy.

When he discovers absolutely nothing, not a single hair out of place, he is baffled. He realizes that somehow Draco has literally managed to cleanse himself of all darkness. Despite all odds, he has crawled out of the corruption that was bred into him and come out a changed man - but also very much the same Draco he has always been. Honestly, after Harry has his come to Jesus moment and realizes he has feelings for Draco, its all very quick and easy between them.

Watching Harry fall into old habits and expect absolutely nothing but the worst from Draco, it's so stunningly relieving when he finally clues into it all. After realizing that Draco is a changed man, Harry mostly just finds it incredibly amusing to hang around and annoy him. It takes some time before he realizes that he has feelings for Draco, but when he does, these two quickly fall into such an easy rhythm with each other.

I need to end this outrageously long rec, thanks for reading for this long. Just do yourself a favour and go read this phenomenal fic. Also go leave kudos and comments!

Honourable mentions also go to Erosmancy, House Proud, The Compact, Reparatio and Slithering, which are some of my other favourites by Astolat.

[sunny374940]

Let me hear your joy again

And I am back. Thank you @mercars-musings for the idea 💚

This is a short (and hopefully sweet) piece about Rook receiving a gift from Emmrich. Also, the purring elves hc is returning as I apparently can't get enough.

Here on ao3

And here is the rest of my stories as usual.

Rook was sitting on the small table upstairs in Emmrich's study, sharpening a dagger. He liked to work there, as it allowed him to be close to Emmrich without disturbing him. It was also a great place for a nap and he enjoyed the way he could lie there, basking in the afternoon sun, listening to the scrape of Emmrich's quill from below.

And he knew Emmrich noticed he favored the spot. Pillows appeared there overnight for Rook to recline on, books were removed from the shelf to make space for whatever he wanted to keep there. He smiled to himself and then his ears twitched, as he heard Emmrich call out from below.

“Rook, darling, do you have a moment?”

“Sure, love, what do you need?”

“Not need, as such. I brought you something.”

Emmrich arrived at the top of the stairs and held a small wooden box out to him.

“Oooh, what’s this?” Rook put the dagger down on the table and jumped up to take the box, admiring the intricate carvings on the lid. There were flowers of all kinds, interwoven to create a little wooden meadow.

“Just a little something I spotted at the Treviso market. It made me think of you.”

Rook opened the box and inside, wrapped safely in a bit of silk (lilac, Rook noticed) was a white ceramic cat with vibrant blue eyes, caught in a moment of play, batting around a tiny ball of yarn. Rook took it out to get a proper look.

“Your favorite non-color,” Emmrich said and there was a teasing edge to his voice.

“I had to leave the actual colors for you. You’re better at being poetic about them than I am,” Rook shot back.

Emmrich’s cheeks turned pink at that and Rook found himself grinning happily. He would never get tired of making him blush. And the revenge for all the times Emmrich had done the same to him tasted quite sweet.

He returned his attention to the figurine. It was artfully made, smooth to the touch and it had a slightly mischievous expression, as if the ball of yarn was only the beginning and the next time you saw the cat, it would be climbing up the curtains.

“Thanks, love, it’s beautiful,” he said, kissing Emmrich on the cheek.

“You're welcome darling. The resemblance was too strong, I couldn't resist buying it. It even has your eyes,” Emmrich added with a smirk that had Rook’s eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Are you seriously calling me a cat?” he asked with a touch of indignation. Emmrich's answering laugh was a warm sound, full of love, and Rook couldn't stay annoyed at him.

“Whatever made you think that, darling? The similarities are purely coincidental, I am certain. Climbing into my lap, making the sweetest noises…” Rook felt his cheeks heat up, mind going back to last week’s revelation of his ability to purr, though Emmrich never once teased him about it. He had actually spent most of the past week trying to coax the sound out of him whenever they were alone (to overwhelming success, as Rook just couldn’t resist him). But Emmrich wasn’t finished with his comparison, it seemed.

“And you move with such grace, every movement so precise, that I am unable to tear my eyes away. When you fight, I see the hunter in you and it thrills me to be allowed to witness your deadly intent, the way your body coils tightly moments before you pounce at your prey, blades ready to strike them down. You have the elegance and wild beauty of a predator and I cannot get enough of you.”

Rook was transfixed by the praise falling from Emmrich’s lips, watching him with round eyes, and he was sure his face was burning up now, but he really didn’t care. Only Emmrich could turn comparing him to a cat into waxing poetic about him.

He felt the rumble begin in his throat and old instincts were telling him to make it stop, but he stamped them down, unwilling to hide his happiness from Emmrich. He surged up to kiss him, trying to make known with a kiss what he couldn't put into words.

Emmrich returned the kiss with enthusiasm and stroked at the front of Rook’s neck when they parted, eager to feel the vibration of his purr, eyes lighting up in delight.

“Darling, your joy is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard.”

Rook felt the blush spread to the very points of his ears and purred even louder.