#but i also believe i could have made it in 1

[thiquefunlover63]

Pretty much! I was in New Orleans with my family for Christmas and we stayed at a really lovely Airbnb. Next door to it, there was cemetery with the huge headstones. I also love horror movies and I have seen them in a lot of those headstones in those movies, which fascinated me. My dad was driving us back from the French Quarter and I asked him to stop so I could walk around and look at them. My mom and sister were like 🫣🫣 and my dad slightly laughed. Not one of them behaved like this was out of the norm for me🤣🤣🤣

As I was walking around and looking at them, my dad eventually came with me. My mom basically made him walk with me because she was scared-LOL. I was not scared at all because: 1. the sun was still out; 2. I know not to disrespect gravesites because of watching those horror movies and I am a decent human being who was raised with sense. 3. I believe in ghost hauntings and I am not playing no games!!!

Of note in learning something new: some of those headstones are so huge because several members of the same family are buried there. My dad & I saw one headstone with NINE FAMILY MEMBERS!

I told my BF and others about it and while they said it was creepy, not one person said it was out of the ordinary for me. So yea, being the weird girl does pay off because people already know how you roll.

[wtfaniii]

I can do it alone, but he can also save me

Fem reader x Hwang In-ho / Fem reader x Hwang Jun-ho

Part 1 // Part 2

•Summary: Jun-ho's girlfriend was a decorated policegirl, strong and brave, she, along with Gi-hun were taken to the games to stop them, however, there was a setback in between

•Note: Thanks for the support! Here I bring you the second part of this one shot that is personally one of my favorites.

•Warning: Maybe some drama, Some violence and attempted abuse, ¡Don't worry! this man arrives on time like a prince on a white horse

N/A: I haven't checked this yet, sorry if it has spelling mistakes

Gi-hun had told some participants that the next game would be dalgona, but it was not so and now they were upset with him, surrounding him and complaining about his mistake, calling him a "liar."

—You guys decided to play these games —the girl said standing in front of Gi-hun —Face the consequences and don't expect someone to come and save us.

—He's a fraud! —Player 100 shouted at him, pointing at accusingly and with contempt.

—ibelieve in him word —001 interrupted, standing next to her.

Due to the first impression that the two made on all the players, the complaints immediately stopped and retreated.

—It's nothing, I really believe you —Young-il said with a friendly expression

—And if you allow me... I would like to be on your team.

The next game would be in teams of five players, counting the girl, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho and now Young-il, they were full, however, when they were talking to get to know each other a little, a woman with the number 222 on his uniform approached them cautiously.

—¿Can I be on your team? Please —Jung-bae was going to interrupt her to tell that they were full but the young woman finished his sentence first —I'm pregnant.

The five pairs of eyes fell on the small bulge of her belly and noticed that it was true. Immediately, the woman spoke. —I'll look for another team.

—¿Are you sure you'll do it?— In-ho asked, looking at her carefully. A person who looked out for someone else's well-being in these games was rare to see, but considering the situation, it was quite understandable. He wouldn't give up his place if he wasn't so interested in his enemy.

She nodded confidently and left to find another team, it didn't take long, after all, most people took advantage of having someone like her on their team just by considering the word "police" in their introduction.

Once the teams were formed and they were told what had to do, they sat on the floor to wait the turn.

As time passed and gunshots mixed with screams sounded in the background, the young woman thought silently.

¿Will Jun-ho be okay? She really hoped so, she had known him for four years and knew that there were times when he could go to extremes to get what wanted.

It was something she loved about him but right now just worried about.

—¿What game are you going to play? —246 asked sitting next to her, momentarily taking her out of his thoughts.

—Gonggi —answered immediately, she was very good at that game, it had been his favorite since she was a child.

The others nodded and continued talking, she didn't go there with the intention of socializing too much.

For starters.

She was only there because Jun-ho had asked her to.

Jun-ho...

She just hoped him could find her and Gi-hun in time.

The policeman had no intention of stopping now, even without having the tracker active and with the fact that apparently someone was sabotaging them from inside, he was not going to stop searching.

The woman he loved was in those games, that wasn't going to be the plan, she was only supposed to be Gi-hun's bodyguard but things didn't go as planned.

—I think we should stop, it's almost time to eat and we're a bit far from the shore.

—We can't be so close now —he said, somewhat irritated and helpless. —Every minute they spend on that island is a danger.

He felt guilty for having dragged her into his own problems.

He remembered the last conversation he had with her before he lost sight of her.

[...]

—We are police officers —Jun-ho said, showing his badge to the guard who was guarding the entrance of the place

—Just like everyone else tonight —the man said with a mocking laugh, pointing at the long line waiting to get into the Halloween party.

Jun-ho didn't have enough patience to tolerate this, so with no other choice he went up to the man and took his gun out of his pocket.

—¿Do you want to see if this is a toy?

The guard stepped back in fear, giving them free passage.

The girl smiled proudly and waved her hand as if it were hot while sighed.

—That's my man —she boasted to the guard as they crossed the entrance. Jun-ho managed to hear her and inevitably a sly smile appeared on his lips.

—We have to find him before they do —he said, referring to Gi-hun searching the crowd but no masked pink guard was visible.

—It will be faster if we separate —she added, taking out her weapon and pointing it at the ground just to be ready in case used it —When we leave here it will be fondue night —she said without losing her charming touch.

It was something they both shared, despite being in tense situations like this, comments like that were never lacking, especially from the girl and that was something Jun-ho adored, her daring was part of what made the policeman fall in love with her.

—Maybe I should drag you into my problems more often —He replied with a smile and separated from her.

The girl was the first to find Gi-hun and surprisingly they let her get into the limo with him.

Jun-ho was unhappy about that but he couldn't change her mind and just when they thought they could intercept the front man of those suicide games they were forced to make a last-minute decision by shooting at the tires of the cars.

[...]

His stomach turned just remembering what people go through inside those games, he trusted that she could survive but the odds of not making him tremble and want to vomit.

—Okay... we'll call off the search —He relented after a few minutes.

He looked up at the sky and asked whoever would listen him to keep the woman he loves alive.

Meanwhile on the island, they had managed to get through the second game alive, she was sitting with Gi-hun's team silently watching around them when 001 sat next to her.

—Hi... —he greeted her with a soft smile, hoping that the mask being Young-il was convincing enough to fool her —I'm curious... if you're a police officer, ¿how did you end up here?

—¿Debts? —She replied with a false smile —My job was to take care of Mr. Seong but it didn't turn out the way I had in mind —she admitted, looking away again but feeling Young-il's intense gaze on her.

—So... ¿you're here as an undercover agent? —he asked, feigning surprise and curiosity.

He himself was the one who gave the order to allow her to also get into the limousine to accompany Gi-hun.

In-ho knew his brother would be worried about her, searching for her relentlessly, but it was inevitable, he needed to meet her in person and be sure how good of an influence she was on Jun-ho.

Or at least he thought it was a good excuse.

—Yeah... —She looked at him silently and attentively when she noticed a certain peculiarity in him appearance —¿Do I know you from somewhere? I feel like I've seen you before...

Him face seemed familiar but she couldn't figure out why. In-ho kept eye contact with her, waiting for her answer.

It was a pity, if she recognize it him had no other option to let her die in the next games but luckily for the girl she denied it.

—Forget it, I'm just stressed ¿And why are you here?

—My wife is sick and pregnant.

She looked at him with pity as he told her his story, it wasn't a lie, it was just that it happened years ago and he couldn't do anything to keep her alive.

—I'm sorry —The girl said after he finished his words.—I promise we'll get out of here and I'll help you as much as I can with the expenses.

The police had money, not to say that she was a millionaire but she lived in a good social status, she was willing to help him only because her heart was softened by him story.

–You barely know me, ¿why would you do that?

—My boyfriend has also had a somewhat hard life and I took this job for a reason, to help others.

She did not consider herself a saint, but if she had the opportunity to do something good for other people, she would do it regardless of the consequences.

—Also... I think I'm pregnant —She said with a small smile.

How chaotic and unfair could fate be that just one night before she was to go to the medical laboratory for her results, she was taken to those games against will.

On the other hand, she could also feel a slight connection with this stranger, which was why she revealed that to him so naturally, but she still didn't know exactly why.

—I have to go to the bathroom, I'll be right back.

He nodded and watched her leave but his eyes also noticed three other suspicious looking players who followed her into the bathroom.

Without thinking twice he also stood up.

Not even two minutes had passed since she entered the bathroom when a woman grabbed her by the collar of the jacket and threw her backwards, making her fall on back.

–¿You remember me? —the woman demanded, looking at her with disdain and annoyance

—No —She answered standing up.

—You threw my husband into prison and won't be out for another twenty years —The woman pulled out a small pocket knife and another woman stood behind the police girl to hold her —I thought about how to kill you for days.

—Very cute, I still don't know who you are.

Those words only made the woman even more furious as lunged at her and tried to stab her,

Her hard training served her well in this unarmed fight.

But she was counting on another man to come in to help the two players who were trying to kill the young policewoman.

—Three against one unarmed is not fair... —she gasped for air as saw that he had a small opening in his head, her had hit himself on the sink at one point during the fight.

—¡It was also not fair that my husband was sentenced to twenty years in prison for attempted abuse!

—Oh, believe me, I tried to make it forty.

A kick to the face from one of them managed to stun her long enough to give them time to pin her down on the cold, damp bathroom floor.

She couldn't hear clearly what they were saying but when she saw how the man placed himself on top of her, their intentions were quite clear.

She didn't have enough strength to continue defending himself, her felt bleeding from his leg from the knife and the cut on his head hurt, but like a hero coming to save the day, Young-il walked through the door and shouted "Hey!"

That small interruption was enough for her to hit the man in the genitals with her knee, making him move away and moan in pain.

She was too stunned to see what was happening, but before she knew it, he had her in him arms and walked out of the bathroom leaving the two women unconscious on the floor and the man with a bleeding nose.

—¡You should do a better job as guards! —he yelled at the two pink soldiers guarding the door, she didn't know it but that scolding was enough to fire those two.

He carefully led her to the men's room where, due to his front man advantages, he was able to have a guard deny another player access until he said so.

—Thanks... —Her murmured as he dropped her on the ground—But I had it under control.

She let out a giggle that made his ribs hurt, In-ho refrained from laughing, now he had to focus on fixing her wounds.

—Being a police officer you made many enemies —He said while using his jacket with some water to clean her.

—You have no idea.

In-ho continued to clean her wounds and after a few minutes everything was better for her, the girl stood up cautiously because of the wound on her leg and thanked Young-il with a small bow.

—Thanks for helping me, for the second time.

—I hope it doesn't become routine —he said with a soft smile, looking her up and down unconsciously.

When they came out of the bathroom there were suspicious glances but neither of them cared.

It was cute, she liked the way this man treated whenever her found himself in trouble, in a way he reminded her of Jun-ho,

She liked that even though she could defend herself, there was still a knight in shining armor who would arrive in the worst situations.

Young-il, the gentleman who arrived just in time and the only one who knew about her suspected pregnancy.

tag list:

@raya4643 @lvspedri @iloveoldermen0204 @ravenslocked

[rose24207]

No, you’re not

Summary: You and Lando have been inseparable since childhood, both secretly in love with each other but too afraid to confess—he believes you deserve better than him, and you think his flings mean he could never see you that way, leaving your feelings tangled in unspoken fears of ruining your lifelong friendship.

Genre: angst, fluff

TW: None!

A/N: wow this is a long request! Thank you!! I really hope it’s like how you wanted it! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Based of this request

Masterlist

The Brazil Grand Prix had always been one of Lando’s toughest races. The circuit wasn’t just a test of his skill; it was a mental and physical marathon. This year was no different. After a grueling 71 laps that left him finishing far from where he wanted to be, he was wrung out, mentally frayed, and questioning every decision he’d made during the weekend. The lack of sleep afterward didn’t help, and by the time he boarded the flight back to Monaco, he was barely holding himself together.

All he wanted was to get home and shut the world out. No cameras, no engineers pointing out his mistakes, no fans bombarding him with well-meaning but exhausting messages. Just silence.

Except, as soon as he opened his front door, he realized he wasn’t going to be alone.

The lights in the living room were dim, but the faint glow of the TV illuminated the familiar figure curled up on his couch. You.

Lando’s heart squeezed at the sight of you, a feeling so achingly familiar it was almost painful. You were his best friend—the one constant in his life, the one person who saw him as just Lando, not a Formula 1 driver, not a public figure, just the boy you’d grown up with.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You were his best friend. The girl he’d been in love with since he was sixteen. The girl who deserved better than someone like him.

You looked up when the door clicked shut, your eyes immediately finding his in the dim light. “Finally,” you said, your voice soft but teasing. “I was starting to think you’d sleep at the airport.”

Lando let out a breathless laugh, dropping his bag by the door. “Not sure I’d get much sleep there either.” He leaned against the wall, exhaustion radiating off him in waves. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” you said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I figured you’d be in a mood, so I let myself in.” You gestured to the half-empty bowl of soup on the coffee table. “I also raided your fridge. You really need to go grocery shopping.”

Lando shook his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “How’d you even get here?”

“I have a key, remember?” you said with a smirk. “And I used that thing called a car. Revolutionary, really.”

He rolled his eyes, but the warmth in his chest spread. You were always like this—casual, unbothered, always knowing exactly what he needed before he even realized it himself.

You stood and crossed the room, your smile fading as you got a closer look at him. “You look terrible,” you said, your voice dropping into that soft, concerned tone that always made his chest tighten.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“I mean it,” you said, tugging gently on the sleeve of his hoodie as if inspecting him. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“That’s because I haven’t,” he admitted.

You frowned, your eyes narrowing. “Lando...”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, though the hoarseness of his voice betrayed him.

“No, you’re not.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the couch. He let you, too tired to argue. “Sit. You need to eat something, drink something, and then sleep for about a year.”

He dropped onto the couch with a groan, sinking into the cushions. You draped a blanket over him before disappearing into the kitchen. He could hear you rummaging around, the sound of a kettle boiling, the clink of a spoon against a mug.

When you returned, you handed him a steaming cup of tea. “Drink,” you ordered, sitting beside him.

He took the cup and cradled it in his hands, the warmth seeping into his skin. He stared at the liquid for a moment before taking a small sip. It burned his tongue, but he didn’t care.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, not meeting your eyes.

“Do what?”

“Take care of me.”

You snorted. “Someone has to. God knows you’re useless at it.”

He looked up at you then, and the small smile on your face made his chest ache. “I mean it,” he said, his voice low. “You don’t have to... be here. I’ll be fine.”

You frowned, your brow furrowing in that way it always did when you were worried about him. “Of course I do,” you said softly. “You’re my best friend, Lando. Where else would I be?”

That was the problem, wasn’t it? You were always there. Always caring, always looking out for him, always steady and dependable. And he was... what? A mess. A guy who jumped from fling to fling, trying—and failing—to get you out of his head.

He knew what you thought of him. You’d never said it outright, but he could see it in the way you’d roll your eyes whenever you saw another headline about him with some random girl. You thought he wasn’t serious. That he couldn’t be serious. And maybe you were right. Maybe he wasn’t capable of being the kind of man you deserved.

“How was the race?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“Bad,” he said simply.

“You want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, letting his head fall back against the couch. “Not really.”

You nodded, not pushing him. Instead, you shifted closer, your shoulder brushing against his. He felt your warmth seep into him, and for a moment, he let himself relax.

“Did you eat?” you asked after a while.

“Not really.”

You sighed and stood. “Stay here. I’ll heat up the rest of the soup.”

He watched as you disappeared into the kitchen, his chest tightening with every step you took. You were too good to him. Too good for him.

By the time you came back, holding a bowl of steaming soup, he’d convinced himself to push his feelings down again, to keep them buried where they couldn’t hurt you.

“Here,” you said, handing him the bowl. “Eat.”

He took the bowl and set it on his lap, picking up the spoon. “Thanks.”

You sat beside him again, watching as he ate in silence.

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” he said after a while, his voice quiet.

“I’m not babysitting you,” you said with a shrug. “I’m being a good friend.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re too good at it.”

You smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in your eyes that he couldn’t quite place.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The only sounds were the clink of his spoon against the bowl and the faint hum of the TV.

“Lando,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

He looked up at you, his heart skipping a beat at the way you were looking at him—like you could see right through him.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said. “Whatever’s going on in your head... you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

His throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. You always knew exactly what to say, exactly how to pull him back from the edge.

“I know,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks.”

You nodded, your eyes never leaving his.

And in that moment, he realized that no matter how much he tried to push you away, no matter how much he convinced himself that he didn’t deserve you, you would always be there.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Thank you for reading!

[hexemil]

1/ I use the labels therian and otherkin :D

2/ My kintype/theriotype is a dream creature that looks kinda cat like (at least the face) and it has 4 pairs of wings (so 8 wings in total), 4 paws, 5 horns made of light, long body, neck and tail. The tail has feather like fur at the tip of it and the creature has curly fur on the head kinda like hair. The colours can be anything except the horns always stay a golden bright light and the eyes are either pitch black or white (if they’re white they glow).

3/ I do have shifts and my most common ones are phantom wings. I don’t think I’ve had a cameo shift.

4/ I just simply feel nonhuman. I have some behaviours that are more animalistic like making random squeaks and chirps. I have other things as well but idk how to explain.

5/ The community is a lot less toxic than in 2018 (I was in therian packs and community on instagram) but I guess that comes with a cost since it has way more misinformation now. I am happy about all the people I have met in the community :D

6/ I have dyed my hair to an unnatural colour, certain necklaces, one a whole outfit, masks, barefoot shoes that I call my paws, quadrobics and all the art I have of my kintype.

7/ I do think I have some species dysphoria but it does mix with my gender dysphoria so it is a bit hard to tell. I do have some stuff like missing my wings, my fangs not being slightly sharp enough and my body feeling wrong. Before I cut my hair short and dyed it I almost tried to rip it out.

8/ Take your time. No need to rush. I took like 6 years to figure myself out and there could be more I don’t know of yet.

9/ As I already said in number six I have stuff like necklaces, masks, a whole outfit, barefoot shoes and art. I do also have a bunch of things with feathers on them that makes me feel more connected to my kintype.

10/ Oh boy do I. Get ready for a long explanation. My kintype is a god like being created by Obsidian or came to be with Obsidian (I’m not entirely sure yet). Obsidian is a higher being (higher beings are above gods so more powerful than them). Obsidian is time, space and antimatter. Obsidians other names are Watcher and Eyes of the universe/multiverse. So Obsidian watches worlds and universes to make sure they don’t try to break the way everything works (you can kinda think of TVA from Marvel). To help Obsidian watch over worlds there are gods. My kintype is one of these gods. It is the god of dreams so it doesn’t really have a physical form in our reality/world so that is why it has mortal vessels. I believe I am one of them. I believe I know of other two vessels. One of them is a Middle Eastern guy aged 20-30 in death and another one is a light coloured wolf with green eyes. You can ask more if you want :D

11/ I don’t have anyone since only person I know is @pixistix-xp also yes I do like that you tag me in these things so I can be more active and stuff :D

If you are a alterhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤ���̈

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 15

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N: I've made some cute headers for the thing!!! What do you guys think??

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13 • Part 14

• ··········· • ············ •

It was fascinating how quickly he realized that, for hextech to go astray, one of them had to die. There was no doubt in his mind that if his tech had been deviated to another path, one of its creators had to disappear.

“That’s a complicated question to answer.” looked back at him, smiling sadly. “If it helps us keep the tech away from her, I need to know.” “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you…It’s just that complicated… The answer is both, neither, and I don’t know.”

He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his hair, frustration written on his handsome features. 

“Maybe… if we could try the rune in a safe environment…” Viktor made his way back towards you, placing his tray on the table you had placed yours on, and sat down. “...we can figure out what it is.”

The taller man gently placed a plate on the piano bench next to your thigh. It contained two of the same creamy strawberry pastries he had given you before. You looked at him and smiled as he mentioned them to you with a tilt of his head.

Jayce immediately grabbed the mug with coffee and took a swig. Viktor, however, had a mug filled with something that was topped with heavy cream and what looked like chocolate powder. If it tasted like it looked, it must just be a sugary bomb to his palate. He grabbed a spoon and took a small piece of cream, bringing it to his mouth, closing his eyes as the sweetness hit his tongue.

It was strange watching him bring any food to his lips since his counterpart almost had to be force-fed. It was even stranger when he actually made a little approval sound of whatever he was eating.

“Councilor Tallis.” A familiar voice came from the entrance, and the clicking of heels followed it.

Jayce immediately looked back at Mel’s approach, straightening up and pushing a hand through his hair, trying to comb it back in place.

The beautiful woman walked towards the piano, the golden lines on her skin shimmering and reflecting light. You had to admit, Mel Medarda was perfection. Add that to her cunning and her smarts, and it shouldn't surprise anyone that she became a sorceress herself. 

“Ah, the troupe is all here.” She said, jokingly, her smile not reaching her eyes but seemingly honest nonetheless. She looked at you and extended a hand. “I don’t believe we have been formally introduced. Mel Medarda, Head Councilor.”

You got up from your seat at the piano and shook her hand, wanting to add “universe hopper” at the end but deciding not to.

“That was quite the first impression.” She kept smiling at you, placing a hand on Jayce’s shoulder, and the inventor smiled up at her.  “Not my usual MO, but unfortunately it couldn't be helped.” You answered, smiling back at her, sitting back down. “I look forward to speaking with you in the future. I do need to steal Councilor Tallis away for a moment. Governing body business and all that.” She rolled her eyes as she squeezed Jayce’s shoulders, and the man stood up.

If you had to hazard a guess, the 'governing body business' involved Jayce recounting what had happened in the lab with her mother and Salo on their little impromptu inspection.

“No need for stealing council Medarda,” Viktor said, not looking up at her from his sugary delight. “We gladly offer him over…”

Jayce looked back at his partner with an unamused expression.

“We’ll finish this later.” He looked at Viktor and then back at you.

As they both walked away, you resumed your playing, your fingers drifting over the keys spontaneously. You saw Viktor’s head snap up as he scooped the last drop of cream into his mug, leaving only a beige-looking liquid in it. 

“I take it you don’t know how to play.” You looked back at the keys, gently swaying with the melody. “I write numbers on a blackboard, and I tinker with things that more often than not explode in my face. Much like writing music, playing music escapes me.” He pointed the spoon to the keys. “Wanna try?”

You suggestively raised your eyebrows and tilted your head to the keys, enticing the poor scientist. Sliding over to one side of the bench, you patted the space, taking the small pink pastry and eating it in one bite. He looked confused at first, but his curiosity got the better of him. The need to know things and try things were always qualities that didn't seem to waver in any iteration of Viktor—the passion for learning never ceasing or decreasing.

He sat next to you, adjusting his leg and leaning his cane on the side of the piano. Viktor cleaned his palms on his pant legs and cleared his throat. You heard the barista groan.

“Oh Gods. Not the scientist at the piano...” he mumbled loud enough for both of you to hear. “I do believe our friend Loriel is not happy about this turn of events…” Viktor announced just as loudly as the bartender, and Loriel took a very deep breath. “He is going to love what comes next then.” You added turning back to the ivories.  “Maybe the Academy's cafe isn’t exactly the best place for piano lessons.” Viktor whispered, turning his back to the bar, some doubts in his voice. “Then they shouldn’t have placed the piano in the cafe.” “Why is the piano in here anyway?”

Viktor looked back at Loriel, who shrugged and mouthed something to the tune of 'to torment me.' You laughed, and Viktor followed with a snicker. He straightened up, as best as he could, squared his shoulders, and placed his hands on the keys. You mimicked his stance and realized that all of your right side was touching all of his left. From shoulder to knee, and yet there were no feelings of panic bubbling in your stomach.

“Why are we so stiff?” You whispered to him, moving your head slightly to look at him. “Is this not how professional piano players play?” “Not unless they want to look like a douchebag.” You shook your shoulders a bit and relaxed; he did the same. “May I?” You pointed to his hand, asking permission to touch and move them. He nodded, and you placed his two index fingers on two specific keys. “Now you do this.”

(Chopstick piano)

You placed your own index fingers on the ivories, slightly away from his, and moved them in sync, both fingers reflecting what the other was doing. The melody was simple and repetitive, and the movements were pretty mechanical. Easy to learn.

Viktor caught on quickly, the movements coming out slowly and clumsily at first but becoming familiar with every try.

“Please play something else!” Loriel half shouted exasperatedly, and you looked back at him, about to give him an angry look but noticing he was half joking.

“Remember when I told you magic is just like music?” You whispered to him, and he nodded, excitedly looking at you. His golden eyes were bright and joyful. “Yes, once you’ve played a note the first time, the next time it becomes easier.” “And what we did in the closet.” You looked down onto your side of the keys, missing the red tint that appeared on his cheeks. 

Nudging his knee gently, you made a gesture for him to start playing his little tune. At some point, you started to add another melody, a rhythmic thumping that intertwined with the simple notes he was playing. You heard rather than saw Viktor's little gasp of excitement.

“Thank goodness.” You heard Loriel say. “Now keep moving along the playlist.”

When you ended the music, he followed your lead and stopped his actions but did not take his fingers from the keys. 

“You know what? Let’s switch it up.” You slid from your side of the bench and nudged his shoulders to the side where you sat, him clumsily going and readjusting his leg.

You sat where he had been before and showed him the repetitious keystrokes you had added previously to his beginner lesson. His long fingers easily managed to touch the keys as you started to tap your foot on a steady tempo. Slowly but surely, the scientist managed to accompany your foot-tapping with his playing.

Letting him go over the chords a couple of times, you jumped in. First doing the same simple two-finger melody and then jumping to a more complicated part, completely changing the melody.

You felt Viktor slowly swinging to the melody, his shoulder bumping into yours as he enjoyed the music. You followed his movements, and the two of you went on playing. He would stop whenever you played a more complicated part, a little laugh coming out of him,

With a final pressing of the keys, the song ended, and you smiled triumphantly at the scientist beside you. He looked down at you; it was noticeable that his cheeks were becoming a pretty shade of red, while his eyes looked at his fingers and then shifted back to you.

Even though you had noticed how you had been closed before, now it dawned on you just how close you two were. You could see the brown flecks in his eyes, the small scar he had on his forehead from the goggles digging into his skin, and his pulse quickly beating on his neck.

You felt a small touch on your little finger and glanced at it, surprised at the sudden contact. His hands had moved, and he was brushing your pinky with his, slowly as if not to scare you. You felt your heart quicken and turned back to face him, eyes wide.

“Should I have asked?” He mumbled slowly, tilting his head down, his brown hair falling from behind his ear. “About?” you let out in a breathy whisper, doing the best you could to keep your eyes from wandering around his face.

He moved his finger to interlock with yours, the corners of his lips tilting up.

 “It’s fine…” And it was. There was no panic or anxiety. There were no urgent or nightmarish visions of hexangels.

Gently he pulled your little fingers towards his hand, adding your ring finger to the weave of hands. You managed to breathe and blink, your eyes unfocusing on his face, waiting for anything to happen. When it didn't, you went back to those golden pools of his.

Viktor looked at you waiting for a protest, but you said nothing. No constructs, no golden enemies. In a moment of boldness, you moved your hand under his and turned your palm up, him giving you the space you needed to do it. When you were comfortable, you slotted your fingers in his. You didn’t squeeze or grab his hand, just letting the weight of him become familiar. 

Much like in your universe, his hands were long and bony, with callouses from using every tool at his disposal. They had a tepid warmth to it, the playing of the piano letting the blood flow to his extremities. 

“My hands are always cold.” He noted, scratching the back of his neck, and you looked at his long fingers on yours. “Should wear some gloves.” You joked, nudging him and squeezing his hand tentatively. “I like this better.” He raised an eyebrow smugly, and you snorted, looking away in fake annoyance. You felt his hand squeeze back and looked back at him. The expression on his face was far from embarrassed; if anything, he knew exactly what he was doing, a loopy side smile plastered on his face. You shook your head, a smile on your own face. “You’re a sneaky one…” “Heh…I do hail from the Undercity." He joked, and you laughed out loud, placing your forehead on his shoulder, feeling him laugh too.

“Viktor!!!” A smooth, hurried voice came from the corridor, and a bouncy Sky Young walked into the cafeteria.  “Miss Young!” He half-shouted back, making his assistant's head snap to him.

He moved your still intertwined hands away from the keys and in between both your bodies. He gave you one last squeeze before letting go.

“Oh…I have been looking for you.”  “I have been here for the last two hours,” he said, stretching in front of you, reaching for his cane. “Sorry. Jayce is with Councillor Medarda, and the door is locked, and Councillor Salo took my key from me and…” She looked at you, her exasperated ramble coming to a halt. “Oh. Hello. Sky Young, a pleasure to meet you!”  “Hello.” You told the younger woman, smiling, and answered with your name. “I thought you two knew each other…” Viktor said, getting up carefully and moving to stand next to his assistant. “I said I’ve seen her around…I never said we had been introduced.” You quickly retorted. “Also, do I need to reschedule the appointment for this morning?” “Ye—” she started, but Viktor interrupted. “No need; we can do it now.” “But their name is on the morning slot.” Young noted, grabbing a small planner. “It’s not their fault we had an inspection on their fault. If anything, the council should be the one to schedule their appointments.” He said with finality and turned around. “Come now, you two. Time to get to work.”

You and Young stared at each other and both shrugged, smiling at each other.

“Thank you, Loriel.” You shouted and waved back at the barista as you walked away from the cafe. “You’re welcome! Come back any time... Seriously!”

• ············ •

“So, you can now combine runes?” Viktor asked, sitting at his table at the lab, writing furiously in his little notebook. “And I’m also starting to…not need to push them out…like…physically.”

The scientist looked at you. You've been sitting here for 40 minutes; 20 of those had been Viktor trying to shoo Sky out of the room.

“Example,” he prompted, and you nodded.

You faced him, the big front doors behind you. You cleared your throat and drew the known string of runes in front of you. Waiting for a second, with your hands by your side, you blinked, and the runes disappeared. The door behind you whooshed open.

“That’s new.” Viktor’s eyebrows shot up. “Can you reverse it?” “I can close the door, but not lock it.”

His eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched. He started to go back through the notebook, getting to the pages where you were both annotating the runes and suffixes.

You walked towards him and leaned into his table, looking at the notebook. You had feared that after the little moment at the piano, the rest of the evening would be awkward, but no. He hadn’t mentioned it, but he wasn’t tiptoeing around you. It was just good old Viktor.

“You’ve never shown me this rune.” He pointed to the mend rune with his pencil and looked up at you. “Technically, you've seen it. But I can show you again. May I?” 

You pointed to his purple-colored pencil, and he gave it to you with a doubtful expression. With a bit of force, you snapped the pencil in two, and he groaned.

“Please do not break my writing utensils. I really don’t want to explain to the council why I need to buy more colored pencils…It’s already a hassle as it is.” He swiveled the stool to turn to the table where you placed the pencil. “They apparently don’t understand the concept of color coding.”

You snorted while drawing the rune. The small tendrils that came out of it searched the pencil for where it was broken and joined it, making it whole again. The only trace of something happening was the shimmering blue vein where it was snapped.

“Fascinating…” He grabbed the pencil and inspected it from every angle. “Have you tried this with a bone?”

Blinking slowly at him, you squinted your eyes and furrowed your eyebrows, the doubt he had previously now written on your face. 

“What?” “A bone.” He shook his arm to demonstrate.  “You want to break some for me to try?” You retorted sarcastically, but the thoughtful look on his face made you shake your head. “No…I have not tried it in a bone. I haven't encountered a broken bone to try it on, and you will not provide me with some.” “Oh no…not mine.” He made a few swirls with the pencil on the notebook, finding out it worked just like before.  “Whose bones are you gonna break, stick bug? You’re all length and sharp corners…” 

You crossed your arms, raised one eyebrow, and leaned into the table with your hip, your face bearing a mask of doubt. His expression shifted to unamused, his lip pinched and his eyebrows knotted. 

“First of all…stick bug?” He spat the word out comically, and you laughed, nodding. “Second of all, some bones can be easily broken by applying pressure in certain key points. No need for brute strength.”

“Yeah? And how many bones have you broken, Mr. Applied Pressure… you joked, shifting to sit on the table. “Several, actually…” “Yours don’t count…”

Viktor opened his mouth to argue but closed it with a humph, turning away from you. You snorted at his spoiled expression.

“How many have you broken? all talk, I bet..." He mumbled, turning the stool fully towards the table. “Several, actually... and not mine either.”

You thought of those last few hours on your timeline, grunting and fighting. Violet had given you some sort of lesson on what she called ‘blocking with your face’ that somehow involved not just that but also punching, kicking, and general shit talk. 

You missed Vi. The one that chuckled when you talked back to her. The Vi that had looked at you weirdly when you asked her to punch you because you needed to know how it felt and not be scared of it. The undercity fighter, who looked impressed when you managed to punch her after dodging a blow.

“The music schools where you come from are very competitive…” Viktor’s voice snapped you back to the lab. He frowned when he looked at you, his expression shifting from annoyance to concern. “Are you alright?” “Yes… Sorry…” You cleared your throat. “If we find someone with a broken bone and willing, we’ll try it on them.” “I guess we can do that…” He flipped the book back to the page where he had taken notes. “You should use that rune to lock the door.” “The lock is not broken, though.”  “True…but I think we may need to go in a more…symbolic route. The pencil, after you mended it, reverted to its original form. In if core, that’s what the mend rune does when spoken.” “So I'd be reverting the unlocked door back to its original state." You mused, and he nodded. He patted your knee and pointed to the door, encouraging you to try it.

Still sitting on the desk, you spoke the runes: wind, coda, mend, unlock. In a second the door drifted closed, the door locking with a click. 

You looked at Viktor, who had a winning smile on his face.

“This stick bug seems to be pretty good at this magic thing.” He swiveled his stool back around to turn to write his findings.

With a swish of your finger, his little wheeled bench rolled back away from its original location, while he made a squeaky surprised sound with his throat.

“That is not fair.” He said, pushing the stool back with his feet. "I thought you hailed from the Undercity." You joked, getting up from your sitting place and going behind him to gently push back to the table. "Yes, I do." He said proudly.

You squeezed his shoulders and turned to walk away, unlocking the door with a flick of your finger.

“Where are you going?” He inquired, turning to watch you walk away. “Mother is expecting me.” You walked backward, looking at him and smiling. “Some sort of dinner celebration, event…I don’t know…I just know that I am now obliged to be there, but here…”

With another flick of the wrist, the ceiling above his head became filled with little shimmering stars.

“To keep you company…” You finished with a wink and walked out the door.

You didn’t hear the happy sigh Viktor gave as he looked up at the soft, shimmering lights. And you didn’t see him placing his notebook on the table, walking to the couch, and just staring contently at the little starlight you manifested in the ceiling while gently stroking his palm, remembering how it felt against yours.

• ············ •

The smile on your face as you made your way to the elevator was cut short when the thing pinged open.

Rictus stood, eyebrow raised, staring at you from inside the empty elevator.

• ············ • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat @kneelarmhstrung @dedicated2viktor @elvishstudies

[highbabyofthenightcourt]

To say that Azriel only feels lust for Elain, because of the bonus chapter, is irrational. From the moment Azriel met Elain, their relationship has been building a solid foundation. Their conversations had substance. She asked about his wings even though it was not relevant at all. He showed her such a gentle side of himself in an attempt to make her feel calm around him, even speaking poetically “we are born hearing the song of the wind.”

When Elain was taken to the cauldron as a human, Azriel was unconscious because of hybern’s arrow. He did not see what was happening and part of me believes that it is because it would be too much of a spoiler for their story, similar to the way Cassian’s reaction for Nesta was a give away of them ending up together.

After the sisters were made, once Feyre decides to take them to the town house, we have the scene between Elain and Azriel where he asks her if she wants to see the garden. Noting that he knew and remembered that she liked flowers. And Elain, does not balk from him, takes his arm and marvels at his scarred hands. She is not afraid of him. Not at all. She accepts his touch and finds beauty in him, even in her broken state.

Once she starts behaving abnormally with her new abilities, everyone assumes she is unwell. Even her mate. The only person who realizes she is a seer is Azriel. Which is interesting timing considering Madja’s words of mates knowing what is amiss with one another.

In the meantime there’s a lot of moments where we can see that Elain and Azriel enjoy spending time together. He lays in the garden reading work reports while she gardens. Feyre mentions that Elain clings to him for comfort in social settings. Even Nesta does not protest to their proximity. It’s logical to assume there are reasons for this.

When the cauldron lures Elain away, the only person who realizes that she is missing is Azriel. He is adamant that he will get her back. This is reminiscent of Rhysand’s attempt to kill Amarantha, and Cassian’s crawling to Nesta when she was to be thrown in the cauldron. He does not care if he will die. This could be taken as him just doing his job, but once they are back to safety and he is horribly injured, he still does not put Elain down from his arms. She has to be taken from him.

Fast forwarding, we see that Azriel has become very jealous of her mate being near Elain. We see that Azriel has spent his time trying to find her a necklace perfect for her. For a year, he has fallen asleep looking at the gift she had gotten him. Once Rhysand interrupted them and she returned his present, he had to be rid of it because he couldn’t bare to have it as a reminder of the pain of that night. He questioned the deity that decided he couldn’t be with her.

To say that all of this is dismissed by the fact that he is also physically attracted to her is ridiculous. To argue that this is true because he hadn’t “planned what to do afterwards” is nonsense. Attraction is actually enlarged by feelings of love. And he didn’t “plan” what he was going to do about it because 1. He had given her the space to be with another 2. He felt that he wasn’t good enough for her 3. Because he didn’t know if she felt the same 4. Because there is a God-like power who is against it. But all of this became irrelevant once he had her before him, once she knew she wanted him, too, once he knew she was aroused by a simple act of his.

And also, i would like to point out that Azriel never tried to initiate contact with Elain. Ever. And he probably never would. He said there was never unrestricted contact between them. She was the one to want his hands on her. She was the one to whisper “yes” to him. Because she wants him, too. She wants him innocently and sexually and romantically, and as does he. Nothing anyone says will discredit all the beautiful build up behind Elriel 💞💞🌸🌸🦇🦇🫶🏼🫶🏼

[apalapucian]

1:31 AM

they moved the bed by the window two weeks ago, for something to do, for harry to watch the birds from. for them to feel closer to the world as much as the house can afford them.

james used to put two-way soundproofing charms in his room, on the curtains around his four-poster. he needed the quiet to sleep, and he needed sleep to win the quidditch match the next day. lily used to put the wireless on to drown out the world, the more mellow weird sisters b-sides echoing in the background of her dreams.

now, they welcome the clatter. they eavesdrop on their neighbors, revel in them singing and fighting and discussing, live in the pauses of their lives, in their leaving the door and coming back home and settling back in. tonight, crickets chirp and an owl hoots close by, and lily closes her eyes in content, ventures back out to the world through these sounds. sinks further into james's embrace. her head on his chest and their hands laced together. new moon tonight, but the street light permeates the room through the window. half of james's arm is bright orange.

his gryffindor hoodie is old and soft and familiar. he is warm. he is home.

"the cat learned how to knead," she tells him, eyes still closed.

james shifts. "huh?"

"the cat made biscuits today. on the couch."

"out of nowhere? are you sure?" he asks, in awe and disbelief. "it's been two years!"

"i know."

"and we researched."

a lifetime ago: going to a muggle library in muggle clothes, lily finding him so fucking cute in that environment and feeling the need to kiss him every two seconds. but also reading there that cats who get taken too early from their mothers don't learn how to knead. that some cats just don't do it. they were worried about the cat (that's just the cat's name, sirius named him) not ever doing it, but it turned out it's normal. but today —

"i had the same reaction," she says. "he seemed hesitant at first, so i thought he was just scratching it again, but it was actual kneading! he did it, like, a good five minutes."

"did you watch the entire time?"

she chuckles. "i burned my lunch, yeah."

"i can't believe i missed that."

"i can burn it again tomorrow."

he reaches up to pinch her nose. "the cat."

"you needed to see sirius."

quieter: "i did, yeah." it was driving him crazy. the house, not being able to fight. she could tell. besides, she felt it, too.

"he'll do it again," she reassures him. "he did it quite a few times after that, before you came home."

"why do you think is he only doing it now? he has no one to learn from here."

"i don't know. maybe it took him two years to feel comfortable with us?"

"oh my god, he likes godric's hollow? he likes it so much he literally summoned his ancestral abilities?"

well, at least one of us likes it here, she thinks, but doesn't say. she laughs — he does, too — and then they go quiet, and she knows he's thinking the same. knows he also chooses not to say it.

"what did you have for lunch?" he remembers to ask, and it's when he does this, asks these mundane questions about her in a way that makes it seem like it's the most important, most interesting things in the world, that she feels the biggest about him. that she feels a sudden surge of optimism, like she's bigger than the prophecy, than the war.

she says, reeling from the intensity of it, trying to stay in the pace of the conversation, "bacon." she feels like laughing at the whiplash. sometimes she legitimately thinks she's going crazy. "and, um. the last of the sourdough from remus."

"we should ask him for some more. that was really good."

"agreed."

"you okay?" of course he notices.

"yeah. sorry. i'm just — feeling it again."

"the house?" which is to mean everything that comes with it. the dread. the frustration. the hopelessness and uncertainty and unfairness of it all.

"yeah."

he holds her tighter, presses a kiss on the top of her head. "it's not always going to be this way, lil." he's said it so many times. to his credit, the conviction has held up. james is home. james is home.

"i know," she says, even though she doesn't. not really. "i know."

"i'm sorry it's the way it is right now though."

"you're in it, too."

"i know. i'm sorry still."

"hey."

"hm?"

"i love you. you have no idea how much."

he reaches up a second time to tip her face up and kiss her.

in another universe they don't need the neighbors to fight and the crickets to fucking chirp just to feel sane. in another universe the night can be dead still and it is fine. they kiss in the silence and it is fine. he goes out to meet his best friend and lily doesn't need the cat to distract her from being a hair away from a panic attack the entire time he's away, almost crippled with worry, her thoughts spiraling into images of unseeing hazel eyes and broken spectacles. in another universe she loves him and he loves her back and they make out in his old school hoodie as husband and wife, as parents, and that is all there is to it.

"i love you, too," he says, "and i'll live my entire life trying to show you how much."

she chuckles a bit. "geez. it's not a competition."

he laughs, the sound reverberating through his chest, literally felt on her skin. "if it was, i'll win. you'll see."

she will, unfortunately.

but for now there's this, home in her palm and the entire world through the window, her heart soaring and breaking at the same time.

//

[read/subscribe on ao3]

[venomous-ragno]

A soulmate AU fic with Ghost/Soap/GN!Reader where their first word is tattooed on you. Also "What kinda name is Ghost and Soap? Sounds like a Men's 11 in 1 body wash together" or something along the lines (Don't feel pressured to write this! If you don't like the premise you can just ignore this ❤❤❤)

Hello dear! I now how old this request is, and I'm sure you've either forgotten about it or given up on it.

I'm sorry it took me so long, but I had a day ofd today and checked up on this blog; your soulmate request simply sparked smth and I had to write it. Soulmate au's are one of my favourites!

Tbf, I haven't written in a long while, so I'm a bit insecure about this one despite spending all day on it. Hope y'all like this one still :)

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

It was ridiculous. It was surreal. It was a body wash advertisement, come to life. And somehow, despite everything, it felt perfectly, undeniably right.

Back then it had sounded like a magic trick, something that belonged in a fairy tale. You'd spent hours trying to figure out who Ghost was. Maybe that one weird kid from school? Or a character in a book you hadn’t gotten to yet? You had no idea.

There had been a point in time where you would've killed to know this "Ghost". A character made up of theories, hopes and your boundless imagination - all of it so alien you lay awake at night, caught between fiction and reality. Warmth spread from that name. Oh, how it'd keep your mind running as your fingers brushed over those letters. Careful, like a porcelain vase, too precious to even touch.

It'd have you giggle and sigh at the type of person behind these rough, uneven edges. How long would it take for them to show themself to you? Perhaps you were naive to believe it'd be soon.

The years passed, and the mystery of Ghost remained.

The second word, "Soap," arrived when you had already given up on ever finding this Ghost, nestled just above your ankle. This time, you were about to board a flight to Mexico, announcements blasting left and right, people hurrying all over the place. You noticed it almost immediately. It was a different font and unlike the first name, rather cartoonish. You stared at it, a weird mix of excitement and utter bafflement swirling in your gut. The flight attendant called out your flight number, but your thoughts drowned it out; Ghost and Soap? You thought, what kinda names are those? Sounds like a Men’s 11 in 1 body wash together!

Your friends had found it hilarious, of course. They’d joked about meeting Mr. Ghastly-Clean and Mr. Sudsy-Lad, and promised to buy you a "Ghost and Soap" bath bomb for your birthday. You’d laughed along, but a strange feeling had started to settle in you, a yearning that you couldn't quite explain. That book you'd brought along to your eleven hour long flight lay long forgotten at the bottom of your carry-on.

You were no mere teen anymore. Now you were a journalist and war photographer, intent on finding your oen truth. The chaotic energy of a battlefield somehow soothed the constant itch of the two names etched on your skin. You'd met lots of people, exchanged thousands of words, but none had felt like they belonged with Ghost and Soap. For all your eloquence, nothing could put those feelings into words. Again those voices of loved ones telling you to let go, to search harder, to do this and that. What did they knew though? What did they expect to happen, miracles?

One particularly hectic night, you were in need of one such miracle. Your ever so feverent pursuit of the truth brought quite a bit of danger along; nothing you couldn't handle, picked up a few tricks on your travels here and there. Yet this... Was much too big for any of this. There was no article to be written and no photo to be taken when sirens wailed like banshees and grey smoke drove tears into your eyes.

The city was a symphony once. A vibrant, chaotic melody of honking cars, chattering crowds, and the rhythmic clang of street vendors. Now, it was a dissonant cacophony of explosions, the sharp crack of gunfire, and the terrified cries of the few souls still daring to breathe. You? You found yourself swallowed whole by this chaos, a lone note desperately trying to find its escape in the maelstrom.

A child cried, another salve of shots silenced the sound.

Silence was eerie. Silence was deadly.

Mouth dry and nose covered, you fought against the fear that tried to take over; the adrenaline, the stomping beats of your own heart. Too heavy and too sudden was the attack. The soldier that was assigned as your bodyguard just yesterday... You'd swallowed hard when he made you promise to save yourself.

Every little sound had you stop and check corners. A wheezing breeze? Scratching along cement? Some stray cats meow nearly caused you a heart attack.

Just gotta keep moving forward, you reminded yourself, just gotta-

Breathless coughs, two. Some low murmurs. Swearing if you'd heard right. One of the guerilla fighters?

As if moving in slow motion you peaked aroung the corner. Eyes checking every centimeter of a half lit allyway-

Your eyes met his.

Heaven and hell would laugh at you for dying like this. Covered in dirt and blood, lost in a war zone of your own fault. If only you'd listened to your mother telling you to stop being so goddamn curious.

He flinched slightly, then coughed, his voice raspy but with a hint of a playful lilt. “Well, hello there.”

That doesn't sound like someone trying to kill you.

"I see you. Why don't ye come out? Am wounded anyway, won't be able to kill ye even if I wanted to."

Your brain protested. This could be a tactic. Lure you out of hiding and into the light, makes it easier to kill you.

But you moved still.

"Come on closer, will ye?"

Eyes stayed fixated on yours like a trance.

His jaw tightened when you finally knelt beside him. Only now did you notice the blood seeping through his black shirt, streaming down a toned biceps like small rivers.

"You don't look like a guerilla fighter."

He chuckled. "Ye don't look like one to me either. Can't hurt be careful though." The blade in his hand reflected the moonlight.

You froze, your eyes snapping to his. His lips quirked into a small smile, but it faded slightly as he noticed your expression.

"Everything okay?" He asked, his voice a low murmur.

"Soap. You're Soap. The Soap."

Soap's eyes widened... As if he recognised you.

The cold metal pressed to the back of your skull, a chilling whisper against the warmth of your skin. The soldier’s breath, ragged and harsh, fanned the hairs at your nape. You could feel the tremor in his hand, the desperate tension that vibrated through him, yet beneath it all, a resolve as solid as the steel he wielded.

"Step away from my partner."

The words, simple enough, landed with the force of a physical blow. They weren't a plea, or a desperate yell. They were a command, delivered with an authority that sent a shiver down your spine. You had never heard this voice before, but instantly, it felt so right. Like the missing piece you hadn't even known you were searching for.

The chaos of the savaged city faded into the background. All that existed was the look in their eyes, the names on your skin, and that strange, overwhelming feeling of finally coming home. Even if your soulmates smelled of sweat and gunpowder rather than roses and honey.

[izurelia]

MIDNIGHT RAIN

p a r t 1

wc: 937

warnings: fluff, a little bit of angst

•••

it was the first day of summer, school had ended about three hours ago, and all you had done was sit on the doc in your backyard. as you let the wind blow through your long blonde hair, you took in the true beauty of the outerbanks. but your thoughts were interrupted by a call.

you picked up your phone and read the caller id: rafe 🤍. you quickly clicked the green button on your phone.

"hey, what's up?"

"are you coming with us?"

"coming where, exactly?" you laughed as you swayed your feet on the edge of the doc.

"to the boneyard, obviously. dont tell me you forgot, we've been talking about this all day!" there's a faint hum in the back ground of music and a running car.

"also me and kelce are already here, we're gonna pick top up on the way back."

"seriously rafe! i'm not ready im on the doc right now." you say as you quickly stand up, walking back to your house.

"well hurry up princess, we don't have all night." and with that he hung up, causing you to let out a groan as you walked back to your house.

•••

after about 15 minutes you were dressed and ready, wearing a short jean skirt and a red lacey tube top paired with birkenstocks. you quickly made your way over to the car and opened the passenger door, throwing your purse onto the car floor.

"the fuck are you wearing?" rafe turns to you, giving you a disgusted look.

"whats wrong with it? it's cute." you say, furrowing your eyebrows. rafe's mouth slightly drops, looking at you as if you were the most stupid person on earth.

"whats wrong with it? it looks like your wearing a fucken' napkin!" he slightly yells. "you're not goin' out like that." he turns the car off, waiting for you to get out and change.

you scoff and stare at him in disbelief. "i'm not changing rafe, it's already seven! can we please just go!"

"y'know what- fine. but your wearin' this." he takes his jacket from the backseat and shoves it into your chest. you reluctantly take the jacket, rolling your eyes at him and turn to face out the window.

rafe sighs, feeling sorry for yelling. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to yell, okay? you want aux?" he holds the cord up for you even though you weren't facing him.

"no."

he furrows his eyebrows, confused. "come on, baby. you always want aux." he places his hand on your bare thigh. you turn to face him, seeing the sorry look on his face and giving in. 

you try to compress the smile creeping through your lips, but it's almost impossible. "fine." you give in, reaching for the cord and plugging it into your phone.

"knew you couldn't stay mad at me for too long." he smirks, kissing your cheek as you choose a song.

•••

during the party you distanced yourself from rafe, mostly hanging out with sarah and some of your shared friends.

the group of girls talking about boyfriends, crushes, ect. you mostly stayed quiet though. you had never had a boyfriend. yes, you had kissed people and you weren't a virgin. but the boys never stayed around long enough. you didn't know why. you always thought it was something you did.

"so scarlett, you and rafe together?" your friend lucy asked with a smirk on her face as she raised her eyebrows up and down, eliciting a few laughs from the group. "no, no. we're just friends." you smiled sweetly at her, though she didn't seem to believe you.

"you sure? cause the way he looks at you... god i would die for a man to look at me that way." she sighs turning to look at rafe who was engaged in a conversation with topper and kelce.

"yeah, im sure."

•••

after a few more hours the party started to die down, you met with rafe so that he could drive you home. "hey." he greeted you, wrapping and arm around your shoulder. you smiled up at him, relaxing under his touch.

"why don't you spend the night at mine? it pretty late and i don't want to wake up your mom." he suggested, already knowing what your answer was.

"yeah, i'm fine with that." it was normal for you to spend the night at tanney hill, whether you were with sarah or rafe, you were constantly there.

when you arrived at the house you made your way up to rafe's room, throwing yourself onto his king size bed. you immediately melted into his navy sheets, his cologne embracing you. he threw an old t-shirt at you, telling you to get changed.

you made your way into his bathroom, changing then taking off your mascara. you went back into his room and climbed into bed next to him, snuggling into his embrace.

your head rested on his soft-but-hard chest and your legs became tangled with his. he loved this. these moments where it was just you and him. he may not be able to have you as his girlfriend, but he got to have you as his bestfriend. and he dreamed of the day you gave in, letting him have you as truly his.

you quickly drifted into sleep as rafe placed a kiss on the top of your head and snapped a quick photo, one that he'll probably post later. mostly to remind all the boys on the island who you really belonged to.

~

a/n: i did not proof read one bit!! next chapter coming soon...!

[b0tsbby]

Signifying Meaning in Tristamp’s Vash and Knives S1 Designs and Visual Cues: Part 1

TLDR: How Everything but Stamp’s dialogue supports it’s characters

With the release of Trigun Stargaze looming over our heads, I wanted to look back at the Season of Trigun Stampede and really commerarate the efforts of Orange on what I think, was clever character design.

As I am not an Orange employee, I have no idea if any of this is true or even intended, but creativity lies in speculation, and analysis is really fun for me so here we go.

(If you didn’t know, I started this back in early 2024, but got hit with life and my short attention span. Better late than never.)

Tristamp spoilers and potential 98/Max spoilers.

Millions Knives

Part 1 goes to my almost favourite twin to think about, naturally. That means the elusive and infamous Stampede Millions Knives. I’ll be looking through both the character designs as they change throughout the season, with the omission of Nai and Vash on the ship as kids, as the twins hadn’t really diverged on their separate paths here.

Ep.3: A coat of one million knives

This is where it all begins. Episode 3, the alien man in a chromium coat of a million knives.

Now, Knives’ coat holds a plethora of meanings. It’s his shield, it’s his weapon, it’s what separates from him and humanity. It’s his comfort, his safety, his very own butterfly cocoon.

I feel the shield/weapon meanings are quite straightforward: This coat is impenetrable. It’s also deadly. It’s what Millions Knives shows up with to cover his ass at Jeneora rock, despite his very clear god complex.

And in that way, we’re already given simultaneously very little, and a lot to work off of, mimicking a lot of his Stampede arc in general. We can’t see past the coat, Knives has already been introduced as a mystery, but that in itself, tells us he doesn’t want to be seen. Doesn't want to be touched by both the hands and minds of the humans he deems less than him.

Furthermore, this coat is how he separates himself, physically and visually, from humanity. Beyond simply shrouding himself in mystery, Knives’s coat is aesthetically foreign and alien. It is how he ‘others’ himself on his first appearance. He’s not a part of humanity and dismisses embracing it even slightly. He is a singular, isolated entity. A herder among a flock of wild sheep. An angel among men.

But not a God.

The shape of the coat resembling a blanket is not lost on me. Please take note of the bubble formations that are littered everywhere on it, mimicking bubble wrap.

So we have a coat that looks like a blanket (warmth, safety) and is textured closely to what we could perceive as bubble wrap (again, protection but also comfort), and considering the coat is an extension of himself, (I can even go as far to say that, it is quite literally made of himself), his mental state is manifested into the physical. He is a man (or, more accurately a plant) bubbled up, kept safe and warm in his own embrace, much like his mind is coddled, isolated and protected by only his own ideas. Someone stubbornly stuck in their own world, in their own head.

While his 98/Max iterations are not any less intimidating, Stampede Knives (in S1 anyway) takes a completely different visual direction because truthfully he is a different character.

Alas, there's one more thing we can relate his coat to.

Most importantly, Knives' coat is a cocoon. I believe this was confirmed by Orange themself, but nonetheless it’s the most logical connection we can make, because I can distinctly remember the theme of butterflies in another Trigun iteration.

It’s a great callback to the symbolism in 98, and extends the butterfly metaphor across the whole season. We’re seeing what comes before the butterfly, the cocoon, where the cocoon symbolises, not vulnerability but metamorphosis.

And I think in a Stampede season 1 context, this is a huge revelation.

Hold that metamorphosis thought though. Let’s keep going.

Ep. 9: Where Knives doesn’t know who he is either.

I struggled analysing Knives design as a teenager for a while. It contradicted a lot of the ideas and cues I picked up in his older design.

Until I realised that’s the point.

While Tristamp takes a different direction in constructing Knives as a character, I’d like to assume some significant Maximum events still will occur in some way for the purpose of this. In that way, this is the first time we see Knives as a child, sometime after the fall but significantly before the July incident, the midpoint between his initial strike against humanity and the event that would lead to his resurrection as the brand new Millions Knives.

That said, Knives design choice here actually communicates his mental state and the strength of his morals and values at this point so incredibly. He is, conflicted, at best. Scared, confused and too unsure of himself to confidently embrace his planthood, instead still wearing clothes like humans and a cape to cover himself, over his plant undersuit.

Teenage Knives’ design comes across a lot like an underdog, a heroic saviour from the shadows. This is where he establishes himself as Millions Knives, but doesn’t exactly dismiss the existence of Nai, the boy raised by a human, and ‘betrayed’ by a human, completely. Millions Knives exists as a name, but still holds no real meaning yet. He’s fear driven with no real goal at this stage, despite what he says…as usual. He is also still the Knives that hasn’t constructed an identity to distract him from his underlying trauma.

Spoiler for Max and Trigger Warning for Self Harm up ahead: In Max we are shown that Knives bites his nails to the point of bleeding after discovering his sister. While it’s purely speculation, the inclusion of a bandage around Knives right arm could allude to some self harm occurring behind the scenes. Knowing he works with Conrad at this stage though, it could also suggest an undergoing of various experiments or tests.

Ep. 11 - 12 : Something to desire, someone to lose, somewhere to belong

And here comes the truly terrible pinnacle of Knives arc in S1, one I’d almost rather forget entirely. But like unraveling an onion while crying through it, at this point we get to the core of his design.

Right off the bat with the metamorphosis theme! Knives in the finale, represents a freshly emerged butterfly. His design signifies the birth of a whole new form. (He did jump out of his cocoon shaped coat so).

Many of the basic design ideas from episode three can be repeated here. Knives rejects humanity completely, going so much as to not wear anything not fashioned from his own skin. Knives takes some superior pride in his planthood. Though fitting for his character, there’s a bit of circular logic in how this is presented to us.

Orange takes a really interesting approach by making his ideal physical image the height of human desirablity, something so conventionally perfect to human standards.

Now If you’ve dabbled in art history you know, the obsession with the ideal human form in highly religious, mythical contexts and political settings is not really hard to find in classical art. However one distinct group really stands out when analysing Knives whole, thing, and that’s the Ancient Greeks (and Romans, if I may add dear Lady Justice.)

“Classical Greek sculpture aimed to depict the human form in its most beautiful and balanced state.” - Anna Gustafsson via The Collector, (2024)

Like most archaic societies, art was made as a tribute to gods, goddesses and heroes, this was naturally no different for Ancient Greece, particularly in sculpted works. My main idea turns to the aesthetic conventions of these sculptures, with idealistic realism of the athletic human form being the ultimate goal.

The Ancient Greek obsession with the human body and athletic skill was so prevalent during the Classical era, that athletes competed in the nude to essentially show off. Damn.

The artistic resemblance is something I find noteworthy, and if I’m being honest deeply appreciated as an art kid who loved theory more than the actual art-making, a lot.

And oh how well it works with this particularly narcissistic iteration of this character. While I’m not stupid, and aware that Orange could simply have made the decision to get some money out of reliable ‘ol fan service, it’s also not, completely out of character. It’s incredible funny how Knives finds a sense of safety in being different, and yet, he couldn’t fall any harder into the trap of conformity any harder if he tried. Finding his insecurities around his planthood in his childhood pretty easily, it makes sense why subconsciously he’d find pride, in not being human, but being human better than everyone else actually. I wouldn’t expect less from someone who renounces humanity while using quotes from checks notes the fucking BIBLE.

There’s a sadness to this idea as well. While I do think Knives finds some form of solace in being ‘perfect’, his objectification because of this decision almost feels like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Knives does becomes an idea, a dream, an exotic fantasy, for better or worse. In my opinion, this type of attention, is not something he’d want, but it makes me wonder, with his cult and all, how different from Vash he really is, simply masking the want to be admired, accepted, desired by humans with indifference and superiority.

P.S I also just like how this reference insinuates he’s so fucking dramatic and living life with a bizarre form of theatre kid main character syndrome ANYWHO-

It’s here we see even in his design, Knives starts to adopt the same human mentalities that triggered this existential flight or fight response of his to begin with.

What really supports this point for me, is the fact his design changes (or is ‘revealed’) after he makes the conscious choice to cut the rope of Vahs’s grappling hook, dropping him into the tank below. (Someone else please pick up on this umbilical cord symbolism, because i do not have the space to do it in this essay! Sublime level of detail.)

I’d like to first thank my bestie and much more knowledgeable beta reader @rainbowfoam for bringing this next point to my attention. There’s really a constant push and pull between this idea of rejection and subconscious embracing of humanity. The whole concept of his ‘nudity’ also could be tied back to the book of Genesis. Knives reverts to a state back before the forbidden fruit of knowledge was bitten. After all, Adam and Eve had not known shame before committing this sinful act.

So, Knives presents himself as this pure, unadulterated form, even if he has already had a bite of the apple, even if the knowledge of Tesla and humanity has injected him with shame and fear. He knows, but he wants to desperately go back to when he didn’t. When he was but a child under God’s gaze. This driving force to go back, and rewrite his story is an integral part of his character in S1.

Meaning and what can be associated with humanity in each brother’s eyes is actually incredibly important. Ya know, one of the obvious conflicts that drive Trigun!

Humanity to Vash means, change, a chance to grow. Humanity to Knives, means violence and betrayal and exploitation etc.

So when we see Knives reject human norms like human clothing to the best of his ability in Trigun Stampede Season 1, we are seeing a Knives that is still emotionally affected and steered by his childhood fears enough to consciously reject his perceived idea of humanity. We are seeing a Knives that is still consciously driven by his hatred for/fear of humanity more than his concern for his sisters.

And that fear for what he believes humanity stands for, unfortunately, is a part of him. It is a part of who he is after Tesla. Take that away…and you don’t have any semblance of Nai anymore.

So why I say having Knives in that silly ass plant marked under suit exclusively, was such an incredible design choice is because it shows that Knives is at a middle point in his arc where yes he’s crossed the line to controlling, abusive but he still closely holds the genuine childhood fears of Nai to motivate him. He still holds the hopes of Nai with him. To reiterate, he’s prepared to do anything to rewrite his childhood, to give the child within himself another chance.

But that never happens and the reality that he can’t go back and recreate the love he felt on Ship 5, is staring him in the face as he hurtles to his death. It’s why some of his last words to Vash in the finale were so significant. Not all of Nai died when he saw Tesla. Nai truly died at July.

To conclude, a lot of the themes in Tristamp revolve around the formation of identity in this post-fall landscape, and how each character changes so rapidly. Knives is no exception to the very messy and adolescent struggle of being shoved into adulthood while still desperately, irrationally clinging to the frayed ends of an unattainable childhood. I think if there’s one character really let down by his dialogue, it’s this guy. I’ve come to hope that that too, was furthering this idea of him holding an invisible wall between the audience and his true character. (Quite a lot implies that the Knives of this season is a big fucking fraud but idk.) In that regard I love dissecting Knives specifically, because I find this iteration particularly enigmatic.

Part 2- Vash the Stampede

[anneangel]

Aziraphale is not bad or foolish nor stupid in the last 15 minutes of S2. And he is clearly suffering when Crowley didn't agree to go with him to Heaven, that is noticeable to anyone (or so I suppose).

But, in the same way that Crowley is sad about the whole situation (and about Aziraphale's choice), the audience felt the same way (ok, I know Crowley would never hate Aziraphale, while some fans condemned him and hated him a lot after that). But, getting to my point: I believe that, for most of us, Aziraphale is not "the bad", it's just that the entire 15 minutes were played to make us feel more empathy for Crowley.

He is the one we can identify with the most in the 'lover who declares his affection and is rejected'. Meanwhile, the 15 minutes still have Aziraphale saying that heaven 'is the side of the good guys' (something that would consequently be rejected by Crowley and the audience, who would agree with him in 'Heaven and Hell are toxic').

Its much harder to understand Aziraphale's side when the whole scene is played out in Crowley's favor. Aziraphale ends up coming off as the "poor naive" who leaves his love behind in exchange for trying to make Heaven a more decent place.

But listening: I also don't think Aziraphale thinks Heaven is perfect, he has shown that he doesn't always agree with God's plans or ways (he knows not to ask questions, he warns Angel Crowley, he gave his sword to Adam out of pity after the couple was expelled from Eden, he also didn't agree to kill Job's children). Aziraphale doesn't think Heaven is perfect, just that it's better than the alternative (Hell).

You see, both "Crowley book" and "Crowley show" fear the reprisals of Hell. It's not like Hell in GO isn't bad, because it is.

A while back I saw a poll that asked if you would like to be an angel or a demon, most people chose demon, but only because they use Crowley as a parameter, they want to be like Crowley, so they chose demon, but the question wasn't if you want to be Crowley, but a demon. Crowley is an exception, not the rule. Being a demon is not about being like Crowley, Crowley is the gray aspect between the black and white that Heaven and Hell are (he and Aziraphale are the gray aspect).

So Heaven is relatively more pleasant than Hell, that is beyond doubt. I think that when Aziraphale says "it's heaven, the side of the good guys", he didn't mean that it's the side of the "perfect and good", he was just replying that, compared to the alternative (Hell), Heaven was better.

This doesn't mean that Aziraphale support the publicity of heaven: He doesn't understand all the ordinances of Heaven, but he fears that disobedience and associating with demons (Crowley) will lead to his downfall, he feared that he had fallen after the whole "arc of Job". And he has reason to believe that he could fall if he is disobedient, or if he allies himself with "the wicked".

Angels did not fall only with Lucifer, mind you, biblically speaking 1/3 of the angels allied themselves with Lucifer's rebellion and fell with him (including Crowley). But after that there were other falls, before the flood for example, about 200 angels also fell: for having fallen in love with human women, having sex with them, creating Nephlins, and teaching forbidden knowledge to humans, all of this caused evil to be perpetrated on earth and it hence the flood.

So it is possible that an angel can fall at any time, if he does not fulfill the tasks of heaven and associates with the "wrong people".

Aziraphale does not think that heaven is perfect, but falling is still not a better option: Hell is not a better option.

Furthermore, he does not understand or obey all of Heaven's ordinances: he associated himself with Crowley, as well as committing sins (gluttony?), and others things. But he also knows that "running away" from Heaven (as Gabriel did) is not a good option in the long run.

So Aziraphale made the decision he thought was wisest in relation to Metatron, to find out what was happening in the management of Heaven, and trying to change what he believe is wrong.

See, Crowley's plan to run away isn't ideal, it's also naive foolishness.

Crowley would certainly agree with Aziraphale on "hell is toxic", they are in consensus on that. But, see, in the end of S2 Aziraphale and Crowley were both purposely put in a difficult situation, Metatron knew he would separate them by confronting them with a topic they would disagree on: Heaven.

Aziraphale, by saying "Heaven is the good guys' side," claimed to believe in the status quo. As if he believes that Heaven is broken, but can be fixed. But Crowley, by saying that "Heaven and Hell are toxic," doesn't believe they can be fixed, that it are both toxic precisely because it are functioning as it should.

I don't think either Crowley or Aziraphale is wrong, they just have different opinions based on what they believe. They shouldn't have to apologize for that. Aziraphale hurt Crowley, but Crowley also hurt Aziraphale. They're both hurt.

The reaction to Aziraphale was only so antagonistic because, as I said, the audience tends to identify more with Crowley and his idea that "Heaven and Hell are toxic", so they tend to give him more credibility during these last 15 minutes. But he was also wrong in the way he conducted the conversation.

Aziraphale saying that they can both go to Heaven as angels, is like having to accept that there is only Heaven and Hell and they need to join one of them, in the classic "if you can't beat them, join them". On the other hand, Crowley does not believe that it is possible to "join them", he believes that it is only possible to play against the system and outside of it, as an "us".

Only the plot of the sequel will show which one is being wiser (and I really hope the plot doesn't do it in a way that blames and ridicules one of them).

They both ended up saying things, and acting, in ways that hurt each other in S2. But that happens at least once in a couple's life, doesn't it?

So you see, the second season only separated them to bring them back together in the "sequel" in a more epic way (or so I hope❤️).

[rubywillkins]

Franco colapinto| Caffeine

Pairing franco female reader

Warning smut, pinv, love at first sight

The café was cozy and bustling, tucked away in the corner of a charming little street in Monaco. Franco Colapinto, a celebrated Formula 1 driver, had stumbled upon it during his winter break. For once, the roar of engines and blinding flashes of cameras were replaced by the soft clinking of cups and murmured conversations. He was used to adrenaline, speed, and applause, but something about this quiet escape felt… grounding.

That was when he saw her.

Behind the counter stood a girl with chestnut brown hair tied in a messy bun, a pen tucked behind her ear, and a smile that seemed to light up the room. Her name tag read Y/N. She was graceful, quick on her feet, and laughed in a way that made everything else fade into the background.

Franco didn’t believe in love at first sight, but in that moment, he felt something shift within him.

The next day, he returned. And the day after that. For someone who thrived on risk and competition, his heart pounded nervously every time he ordered his coffee.

“Double espresso again?” Sophia asked with a teasing smile after his third visit.

“Yeah, you could say I’m a creature of habit,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck.

“You must be new around here,” she said, leaning slightly over the counter. “I’d remember someone with an accent like that.”

“I’m here for a break,” he said, keeping his answer vague. He wasn’t sure he wanted her to know who he was just yet. For once, he wanted someone to see franco, not the celebrity.

Y/N, a college student juggling her studies and her part-time job, didn’t press further. She liked that he was polite, funny, and surprisingly down-to-earth.

Days turned into weeks. Franco made the café his second home. He learned that Y/N was studying literature, that she loved old movies, and that she had a habit of doodling little flowers on napkins when the café was slow. He also learned that she had a sharp wit and wasn’t easily impressed.

One evening, as the café was winding down, Franco finally gathered the courage to ask her out.

“Y/N,” he began, leaning against the counter, “would you let me take you out for dinner? I promise it’ll be fun.”

Her smile faltered. “Franco, you’re sweet, but… I’m not looking for anything serious right now. I have school, work, and… I just don’t think I can do this.”

Her rejection stung, but Franco wasn’t one to give up easily.

Determined, he stepped up his efforts. He brought her flowers with little notes about how her smile brightened his day. He started helping clean up the café when things were busy, insisting that he just “needed the exercise.” He even began learning about her favorite books and quoting lines to make her laugh.

Slowly but surely, Y/n began to lower her guard. She saw the sincerity in his eyes, the way he listened when she spoke, and how he didn’t try to rush her into anything.

One cold evening, as they closed up the café together, she sighed and looked at him.

“Franco… maybe I was wrong,” she admitted softly. “You’re… different. I’d like to give this a try.”

That night, they went for a late dinner, talking and laughing as if they’d known each other forever.

When franco walked her home, the tension between them was undeniable.

“Y/N,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face, “you’re incredible. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone.”

She leaned into him, her lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow, tender, and electrifying all at once.

When they stepped into her apartment, the world outside ceased to exist. Their connection deepened as they explored one another’s vulnerabilities, their kisses turning urgent, their touches leaving no part of each other unexplored.

Franco slowly slid his one hand inside her undie, while roughly kissing her. His one hand was drawing circles on her clit while his other hand was kneading her breast. His mouth was doing wonders on her chest.

You were truly a moaning mess then. Both of your hands were playing with his hair.

He slowly removes his hand from your clitoris and puts his finger inside you.. he starts moving his fingers. First, it was one finger and then two. Then three.. he went from slow to fast... when you were about to cum he started to kiss you.. on the lips... lower lips.. he slowly moves to your clit again making you groan. From kissing he went to roughly suck your clit while pinching both of your breasts.

You were on cloud 9. You cum all over again and he cleans you with his mouth.. "just put it in franco.. I just can't..." " Be patient baby girl... I am gonna make you feel good". He inserts himself into her... and starts to pound into you.. the to and fro motion was so good.. first it was missionary... you both were staring into each other's eyes... then he just flipped you with his one hand and started to take you from behind.. honestly you were shocked by his strength but it was hot.

He flipped you again this time it was lotus and then another position then another...

Franco’s hands were strong yet gentle, and Y/n responded with a passion she hadn’t realized she was capable of. That night, they let themselves be vulnerable, their bodies speaking in a language words couldn’t capture.

As they lay tangled in each other’s arms afterward, Franco pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’re worth every effort, Y/n. And I’m not going anywhere.���

Y/n smiled, resting her head on his chest. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe, seen, and cherished.

Little did they know, their love story was just beginning.

[somepsychopomp]

A Fair Contest

So a little bit ago I drafted an idea for an AU where, instead of the golden apple saying 'to the fairest' it says 'to the most amorous king'

And instead of the ladies fighting over the apple, it's Zeus & Poseidon. In order to determine who exactly is the superior lover (and king + who gets bragging rights), the two brothers select one (un)fortunate mortal that both of them shall take to bed...

and the judge they select for their little contest is none other than Odysseus.

(Takes place pre-Trojan War. In fact there's basically no Trojan War to begin with. Also Odysseus is betrothed but not yet married to Penelope)

Consider this chapter 1 of this fic. I really hope I can finish it because I stayed up to almost 4 am writing this, which is amazing because I've been dealing with a major cold and writers block for a while now

Word Count: approx. 4400

There's no smut yet but I do confess to giving Ody a bubble butt. Also in a world where Ruthlessness never happened/is yet to happen... Poseidon has a thing for strong thighs & is absolutely smitten with Odysseus

Also in my head, I'm imagining Neal's character designs but I think I've kept it vague enough for now that you can imagine whatever designs you like

+++

The wedding had been a most splendid sight, with revelry among both men and gods. The small mortal king, Peleus, was of course honored to host such a wide variety of the gods and have them witness his union with the divine Thetis. Zeus gave the couple his own blessing and permitted Dionysus to pour out his strongest wine for the occasion. 

Well into the night, the attendees danced to a tireless band and feasted upon the finest foods available. Gods mingled with mortals, some sneaking off with a young maiden or cupbearer for some more illicit fun. 

All was going well until the first beam of daylight shone upon a pedestal that no guest noticed before, where a golden apple awaited. 

Curious onlookers clustered around it, wondering where it could have come from. The mortals believed the apple to be made of real gold, thinking it was a lavish wedding gift. The gods were equally mystified, knowing that something so perfect and beautiful could only be given by one of their own. Hera pursed her lips at the sight of it. 

The king of the gods made his way to the center of the crowd, the other guests parting for him with their eyes averted in deference. He regarded the apple with mild curiosity, having a treasury greater than all of Greece’s wealth upon Olympus. A ribbon was tied neatly to the apple’s stem with a message embroidered upon it. 

“To the most amorous king.”

Zeus chuckled at the oddity of this little present and moved to take the apple. 

Only for another hand to grab it at the very same moment. 

The two gods stared at each other. 

“What do you think you’re doing, dear brother?” Zeus asked, the smile falling from his face. 

Poseidon rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Taking my prize.”

“You?” Zeus said, his voice dripping with outrage, “You dare defy your king like this?”

Poseidon’s voice turned sharp and cold. “I am lord of the seas! The gift doesn’t say ‘to the king of the skies’, now does it? No, you read it yourself.”

The mortal guests, including King Peleus, began to make their quick exit from the venue. Some of the lesser gods were also making their sneaky escape, fearing the worst was about to come. 

Hera approached her husband and wrapped her arms around his own, “Darling, it’s just an apple. If you want one, I’ve got a whole orchard full.”

It was true that Gaea, the very earth itself, gave Hera a grove of enchanted apple trees as her wedding gift. The trees were immune to all illnesses and sprouted fruit of pure gold all year round. In all likelihood, this very apple was stolen from the Queen’s orchard.

The god-king’s most favorite child appeared at his other side in an attempt to soothe his growing rage, “Father, listen to Queen Hera. This is a trick meant to sew discord, nothing more.”

Zeus ignored his daughter Athena as if she weren’t there. 

“Let it go, my love.” Hera said, “After all, why have one apple when you could have hundreds?”

Zeus gave her a sharp look, his golden eyes burning with a harsh, radiant glow. The queen of the gods was so taken aback that she shrunk away under the weight of his glare. Zeus said, “I am the god of judgement! No matter how trivial of a token it is, I will not let my brother take what does not rightfully belong to him!” 

Poseidon threw his head back and laughed, not one to be daunted, “Oh, is that so? And how will you prove that it doesn’t belong to me, hm?”

He tossed the golden apple into the air, catching it in his other hand. Zeus bared his teeth and snatched Poseidon’s wrist, unwilling to let elder brother even hold the thing. 

It was now apparent to all the remaining gods what this was really about. 

Neither king would secede when their pride and egos were in jeopardy. For either of them, letting the other take the apple now, after they’ve already started bickering, would mean admitting they were the more feeble lord, a less competent lover. And such a slight against their reputations would never stand. 

“Ahem,” a voice said. 

A lovely woman with flawless bare skin for all the world to admire, a translucent shawl draped around her arms and roses in her pale tresses, stepped forward. 

Zeus barely spared her a glance. “What is it, Aphrodite?”

She smiled, though not without a hint of mischief in her eyes, “I think I have the solution to this little conflict of ours, one that will minimize any substantial damage to our family… or the known world.”

Zeus inclined his head in interest. Poseidon gave the goddess his ear, as well. Zeus let go of his brother and the sea god set the apple down. 

Athena bit her lower lip, knowing that Aphrodite’s schemes were almost never more than just that: schemes. Games to amuse herself with. She had something else in mind. 

Aphrodite snapped her fingers. A large, circular mirror gilded in silver and gold appeared in the air behind her. The surface rippled the same way a pond did when met with rainfall. 

A beautiful young maiden with a long braid of black hair tended to her garden. The image rippled and was replaced with what was clearly a princess being dressed for the day by her servants. Again, the image shifted and showed a handsome young man in a short chiton as he shepherded his flock of sheep. 

Aphrodite said, “Now, I’m sure you two could spend eternity bickering back and forth, boasting of your skills and past conquests, but as the goddess of love myself… why not have more of a practical examination?”

The two brothers exchanged a look, coming to the same conclusion. 

“You want us to share a lover?” Poseidon asked. 

Zeus added, “And have them decide?”

Aphrodite winked and gave them a cheerful smile. “Well, what do you say? There’s no shortage of pretty boys or girls across the land. Come, take your pick!”

Zeus stroked his beard, a few sparks crackling across his fingertips. Poseidon crossed his arms in contemplation. 

“Father, Uncle!” Athena said, trying to catch their attention, “This is madness, can you not see?”

But neither god answered her. Athena was in disbelief. 

All this over a golden apple that neither needed or really wanted. This was all about their reputations as accomplished lovers, which they shouldn’t even have considering they were both married men. 

And Aphrodite, it was clear she was only doing this to make a story out of it, the way she and her son Eros loved to couple mortals together, only to break them apart. No doubt some terrible fate will befall the chosen victim, no matter who they named the superior lover. 

In Athena’s mind, she could only imagine the loser of this game casting some bitter curse upon the poor mortal as revenge. But that was the fun of it for some gods, to see the doomed fate of some poor soul after getting mixed up with the divine. 

Behind Zeus’ back, Hera threw her hands into the air before storming off, summoning her chariot pulled by winged horses to return her to Olympus. 

Athena threw a disappointed look at Aphrodite before leaving as well, deciding to go where her counsel would be appreciated. 

+++

By mid-morning, Odysseus’ back and brow were already covered in sweat as he endeavored to finish the roof over his wedding bed before an unfortunate rain could sully his hard work below. 

The house he was raised in was perfectly fine, but with all the servants and guards on top of his family, it was not the largest of castles. It was also an old thing in constant need of repairs. Odysseus always envisioned a proper palace atop Ithaca’s mountains, one where his own family could grow large and have plenty of space to themselves. 

So, before the eve of his wedding, he endeavored to complete the house of his dreams for his new wife to enjoy. He started with their olive tree, a living symbol of his devotion to his betrothed. Odysseus labored day and night to carve part of it into one of the four posts for his wedding bed, taking extreme caution to not cut away so much that the tree would die. 

The largest bough of the olive tree would overlook one of their windows, with a perfect view of the vast ocean beyond it. Odysseus already carved the other three bed posts and constructed the frame, but there was always more work to do. As the common larborers constructed the foundation and walls for the other rooms in the palace, Odysseus went to work constructing the roof for his bedroom. 

With a sizable living tree in such close proximity to his quarters, he trusted no one but himself to complete the project without damaging it. 

Taking up hammer and nails, hauling wood and stone, and fitting everything into place almost entirely on his own was unusual for a king. Odysseus knew this, but the labor brought him joy like no other. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, imagining opening the door for the very first time as a married man. He would carry Penelope to their wedding bed, built entirely by his hand, and spend the rest of his life with her. 

Focus, he told himself. 

For now, Penelope still dwelled in her natal homeland of Sparta. As soon as her new home was completed, she would set sail for Ithaca.  

Odysseus wiped the sweat from his brow as the sun beat its rays upon his back. Maybe it was foolish to fear the coming rainfall, but he could see the grayish clouds on the horizon.

By midday, he was hopeful he could have the roof finished by nightfall. As Odysseus dropped from one of the wooden rafters into his nearly-complete bedroom, his tunic must have caught on a nail or perhaps a large splinter. He heard the sharp tearing of fabric and grumbled at the gash across his front. One of the room’s alcoves had some of his clothes, since he didn’t have time yet to build the chests or wardrobe. 

Thinking better of a tunic, Odysseus merely replaced it with a rectangular length of cloth fastened at the waist. It was something his mother wove, a lovely shade of blue to match the sea, embroidered with red and white thread. 

From somewhere nearby, he heard the familiar clicking of an owl’s beak coming to greet him. He smiled and turned around, draping his tunic over his arm as his mentor approached him in the form of a brown and white speckled owl. She sank her talons into his arm and flapped her wings as if in outrage. 

He let her perch on the alcove’s lip as he fasted a leather pauldron to his left shoulder. She hopped back on and Odysseus could feel her talons clench and unclench even through the tough leather. 

“What troubles you, Athena?” Odysseus asked. 

He set out through the bedroom’s heavy oak doors, finding himself in a long hallway that was finished, but not yet furnished or cleaned. 

She spoke into his mind, Sometimes, I wish I could belong to any other family but my own. 

Odysseus chuckled. “I’m sorry to hear.”

While he loved his parents and sister dearly, he knew that Athena often butted heads with her siblings and uncle. 

Odysseus counted the windows that still needed shutters and curtains, along with the patches in the roof that had yet to be filled in. Farther along, the great hall where they would entertain guests was still only a skeleton. Only half of the supporting beams and columns were installed and the whole place reeked of sweating men. 

Athena paid the laborers no mind as the citizens of Ithaca bowed for their king as he walked by. 

You know I’m not one for gossip, but I fear something terrible is about to strike the land. 

“Is that so?” Odysseus asked, his smile dropping. 

Yes, a terrible tragedy yet to come in the form of my Uncle Poseidon and my father. 

A servant approached Odysseus with a serving platter. He took a cup of water and drank deeply, and snatched a small bowl of olives before going on his way. 

“They’re angry with us?” Odysseus asked, fearing what this might mean for his people.

No, Athena said, accepting an olive and biting into the tender flesh with her sharp beak, Not quite, but their egos are yet again showing themselves. If you find unusual weather patterns in the next few days, pay them no mind. 

“Ah, I see.”

In truth, he didn’t understand Athena at all. But she seemed in the mood to vent about her personal feelings and seeing as she didn’t do so often, Odysseus was careful to listen. 

Athena clacked her beak in irritation. Odysseus bit into his own olive as he felt a sharp nibble on his ear before she started combing through his damp hair. She must’ve found something in his hair, a bit of dust or a wood chip, because he could feel her tugging at him. 

How goes construction on the new palace?

“Every day, I can see the way it’s growing.”

Odysseus passed by a group of men sitting in a loose circle, taking swigs from a water skin as they fanned themselves. One caught sight of Odysseus and they all scrambled to their feet. 

Odysseus held out a hand to put them at ease, “Catch your breath if you must. A tired man is more prone to making mistakes, and I will not have any in my new house.”

The men all sighed in relief and went back to their break, waving goodbye as he continued onward. Athena cooed to show her approval in his decision. He thought her mood was improving, but not a moment later, she said, I just can’t believe them sometimes. 

“Oh?”

Odysseus thought Athena said her piece already. She clicked his beak right in his ear. 

You would think that the god of law and order would have some sense in his head. But no! Apparently my mother Metis still possesses it. If only Father would listen to her, if not me.

Odysseus said nothing, having never heard Athena speak like this before, especially about her father. He thought it best to remain silent; perhaps Athena could complain about Zeus without punishment, but he knew far better. 

Athena clicked her beak with a different sense of urgency and Odysseus gave her another olive. She held it in one foot while balancing on the other, dropping the pit when she was finished devouring the flesh. 

“You seem awfully worked up,” Odysseus said, “Anything I can do to lift your burdens?”

Athena shook her head. No, I’m afraid this is something that no one man can solve, as frustrating as it might sound. 

He crossed the central courtyard and approached the war room, one of the few nearly-complete parts of the palace, where his chief architects and advisors were waiting to update him on their progress. 

Though Odysseus was primarily trained in the art of war, he was also well-versed in song and poetry, history, oratory, and arithmetic, all courtesy of Athena. He wasn’t an expert in architecture yet, but he had his own hand in designing the layout of the palace. 

“Good day, my friends.” Odysseus said, parting the curtains that served as a makeshift door until the palace was fitted with proper ones. 

One of his elder advisors squinted at Athena upon his shoulder. “My liege?”

Before they could go over any potential issues in the construction or their budgetary concerns, Odysseus wandered over to the window and let Athena take off. She disappeared through the trees, though he knew he’d see her again soon.

+++

Despite the fact the sun was about to set and the two godly kings had been bickering all day long, Aphrodite hadn’t lost her patience yet. In fact, she was even reveling in her task at hand. 

They moved their business to her abode on Olympus, where her many mirrors were put to good use. Zeus and Poseidon scoured the lands for a suitable judge to measure their sexual prowess, each of them interested in different aspects of what made up a potential lover. 

Zeus was pleased with just about any pretty face that breathed, but Poseidon was a bit pickier with appearances. He didn’t want his maidens or young men to be too skinny, and he seemed to have a preference for those with strong legs. Aphrodite could certainly work within those bounds. 

At the same time, Poseidon was more open to sharing a lover with some previous sexual experience, thinking it’d make the whole process easier. Zeus wrinkled his nose at the idea and insisted he wanted someone “new”, not wanting to muck about after some vastly lesser mortal man had his way with their chosen judge. 

Aphrodite agreed that was a good point, so instead of letting the two kings squabble, she put her talents as a matchmaker to good use. After a brief consultation, she put together a list of minimum requirements that satisfied both gods. 

One, their shared lover had to be attractive, preferably with appealing legs. 

Two, they had to be virginal. 

Three, they all agreed that the mortal should come from high standards, so some form of royalty. They could be a princess or a prince, or even someone lesser than that, but anyone of a noble bloodline would be preferable to a random maiden. Of course, both kings had their fair share of peasant-girl chasing, but for such an important competition, Aphrodite understood their concerns well. 

And lastly, the judge should be someone intelligent. Someone who wouldn’t buckle under the pressure of their assigned task and would be able to use not just their body, but logic to determine the true and indisputable winner. 

No doubt each god had their plans to bribe the judge, but who wouldn’t?

If it was Aphrodite competing for the apple, she wouldn’t hesitate to pull out a few tricks of her own. An idiot might be easy to bribe, but that also meant they’d be easy for the competition to bribe as well. To each of the male gods, an intelligent lover would certainly be able to recognize a superior bribe.

“Sadly, your stipulations exclude Helen of Sparta,” Aphrodite said, waving away the image of Helen in her largest mirror, “She’s had children by now, though she’s still quite lovely.”

Poseidon made a noncommittal sound, as if he might reconsider, but Zeus urged Aphrodite to move onto the next candidate with a flick of his wrist. The two of them sat before her best mirror, looking almost comical in her rose-colored, dove-ingrained armchairs. 

They went through a few more potential candidates, including Penelope of Sparta and Ctimene of Ithaca. Neither god was very impressed by her choices, but just as Aphrodite was about to move onto the next candidate, Poseidon held out a hand. 

“Wait a moment,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “Who is that in the back?”

“Oh?” Aphrodite asked. She returned to the image of Ctimene. She was bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, her veil fluttering in her wake as her handmaidens walked with her. They seemed to be exiting some great ruin, but on closer inspection, the gods could see men at work. They were building a great palace, it seemed. 

Well, great by the standards of mortals. 

Behind Ctimene, a bare-chested young man held out a hand and seemed to be directing a group of others. Aphrodite’s mirror rippled and showed them the young man in greater detail, leaving young Ctimene out entirely. 

“Oh,” Zeus said. 

Aphrodite concealed her eager smile, more thrilled than ever at this sudden twist. She examined the young man’s features, including the sharp angles of his nose, his dense locks of dark brown hair, and his high cheekbones. He bore a striking resemblance to Ctimene. As the goddess of love, there were a few other details Aphrodite could parse out just by looking at him, but she would conceal her thoughts for now. 

She said, “Why, that would be none other than King Odysseus of Ithaca!” 

Though the young ruler was about the same height as his sister, he was no slight-of-frame weakling. His broad shoulders complimented his strong chest and arms, certainly the build of a warrior. His stomach was a flat plain and below his garments, well muscled thighs teased them almost playfully. 

A pale scar ran along the inside of one of his thighs, but it only added to his character. Though Poseidon maintained his interest, Zeus scoffed. 

“King, you say?” Zeus nudged his brother, “You know what that means.”

Poseidon was still appraising Odysseus’ thighs, “Plenty of whores in and out of his bed?”

“Actually!” Aphrodite said, clapping her hands, “You’ll be beyond pleased to know that young Odysseus here… is virginal.”

Now that had both gods’ attention. The King of the Gods seemed incredulous.

“How old is he?” Zeus asked. 

“Twenty years, my dearest king.”

“And he’s still a virgin?” Poseidon asked, his eyebrows flying up in surprise. “Why? Is he stupid?”

Aphrodite giggled behind her hand, “He’s determined to save himself for marriage, like a maiden! But it can’t be helped. I do believe he’s Athena’s pupil, after all. And I’m sure she holds him to what she perceives as a high standard.”

Aphrodite rolled her eyes, “Whatever the case may be, he’s remained celibate thus far. Perfectly ripe and ready to be plucked, if you would.”

The gods of the sea and sky shared a look. 

Zeus said, “Show us more.”

Aphrodite was more than happy to do exactly that. She waved her hand and the stationary image of Odysseus began to move. There was no sound to accompany the vision, but all three of them remained silent as they watched Odysseus work. 

He carried multiple rucksacks full of supplies up the spiral staircases of his house while other laborers stopped to eat their dinner. He seemed more than intent to get somewhere, not stopping until he came across a large bedroom with the roof still letting in sunlight in a few patches. Interestingly, while the bed was large and well made, it lacked a mattress or rug thrown over the rungs. Perhaps that would come later. 

Odysseus hopped out the window, seemingly ignorant to the fact there was a steep drop right below him, as he grabbed hold of a tree bough and climbed into the roof. It looked like he was intent on using every last bit of sunlight to his advantage as he finished laying out the clay shingles. 

The sweat across his body glistened like stardust as the sky above him glowed with the most beautiful shades of red and gold. He put his strong body to use by covering the few bare patches of his rooftop, stopping only to retrieve a shallow clay bowl from his pack, filling it with oil and floating a wick on top before igniting his lamp to give him a bit more light. 

Zeus snapped his fingers. In an instant, Hermes was fluttering at his side. 

“Yes, Father?”

Without taking his eyes off of Odysseus, Zeus said, “Contact Helios. Tell him to wait a while longer before dusk arrives.”

Hermes spared Odysseus a brief glance before nodding and flying off. Though the mortal didn’t seem to notice, the sun did indeed stop setting. 

Odysseus set down his hammer to dab his sweat-soaked face with a rag. He was tiring now, but intent on finishing his job if the determined look in his eyes was any indication. 

Poseidon held up one hand and curled a finger toward himself. 

The hammer that Odysseus just set down began sliding toward the edge of the roof. 

“Brother…” Zeus warned. 

Poseidon said, “Trust me.”

Odysseus snatched the hammer before it could fall, but found himself quite close to the edge now. 

Poseidon cupped his hands around his mouth and blew softly. A wind coming off Ithaca’s coast kicked up, carrying the salty scent of the ocean with it. As Odysseus stood with his hammer, he raised his other hand to shield his eyes from the sudden gust of wind that ruffled his hair and clothing. 

Aphrodite’s eyes widened, instantly recognizing the game Poseidon was playing. She added her own flare as well, using just the slightest twirl of her finger to undo the belt holding young Odysseus’ garments in place. 

The poor young king seemed baffled by his sudden misfortune, moving swiftly to capture his garment before the wind could steal it away. Aphrodite froze the image without being told to do so, but she was quite proud of her timing. 

Odysseus stood in all his mortal splendor, revealing his tan skin scarred by past adventures. He was healthy, with the body of an athlete and his arm outstretched to better display the toned muscles under his skin.  

“What a surprise!” Aphrodite said with mirth, tracing her finger along the surface of the mirror, “Look at his little dimples!” 

Indeed, a twin set of dimples rested over his lower back, no longer concealed by his clothing. But that was not all. Some men were cursed to be rather flat in their rear, leaving them looking awkward or incomplete at times, but Aphrodite was equally pleased that Odysseus had something worth looking at below his dimples. In addition to the well-defined muscles in his shoulders and back, he sported the most grabbable bottom. 

If Odysseus was not doomed to be the plaything between kings, Aphrodite might have been tempted to take him for herself. 

She held out her hands as if Odysseus was nothing more than an exotic animal on display. Poseidon was leaning forward in his chair, his head tilted with interest. Zeus, too, seemed sold at last. His golden eyes sparkled more brightly than usual as he traced over the little king’s backside. He ran his tongue over his teeth. 

Aphrodite smiled, “So, my dears… what do you say? Is Odysseus of Ithaca to be your judge?”

[sictkrs]

Nervous (pt. 1?)

⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡⋆𐙚 ₊

MNDNI!! 18+

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: no smut but constant references to eventual smut, neck kissing, praise, honestly both reader and Steve are both switches with how I wrote this, dry humping, (slight) dirty talk, partial nudity, INSANELY long for no reason like it's just build up, not proof read

Boyfriend!Steve taking readers virginity! She is very nervous but also not because she's trying to be more confident!

I haven't written in like forever so here you go tumblr if you want the part two let me know because it is currently one in the morning and I will finish it tmr!!

Smut under the cut!

“Are you worried?” he murmurs, hazel eyes flicking up to look at you. 

For a moment you want to say no, you'd like to lie and tell Steve that you're just as confident as he is, but it seems that the moment you open your mouth the words fall short. 

“it's okay, I—I mean we don't have to, y'know, if you don't want to.” His thumb runs over the top button of your blouse, the smooth round stud so close to unlatching. 

“I want to,” your words are barely a whisper. His hands drop from your collar and settle on your side.

He doesn't seem to believe you. Here you both were lying in your bed, parents gone away for the night. It's perfect, he'd been sweet and caring, he brought flowers and chocolate. Still, you're tense, and he can tell. He leans back into the bed beside you, head resting on the stomach of a comically sized bear he had won you. You sigh, leaning towards him, he quirks a brow.

“I want to,” you repeat, this time your tone more confident. Or at least as confident as you can be with him around. “I'd like to, Steve, I do, I just… I'm nervous.” 

His lips quirk up a little, eyes trailing down your face as you look at him. If Steve was honest he really, really wanted you. God knows how many times he'd have to come up with some stupid excuse to go and jack off in the bathroom just because he kissed you. His teeth graze his bottom lip before he speaks again, that familiar playful look on his face.

“Show me.”

Your brows pull together, lips parting at his words. 

“How do I—How should I—” you start. His hand travels from your side, sliding down the slope of it to instead find home on your hip, thumb brushing over the fabric of your jeans.

“Just do whatever you want,” He tells you, eyes focused and staring into yours with so much intensity that it jarrs you.

“what if I do something you don't like?” You inch closer, leg brushing his. 

“I'll tell you.” His eyes flick to your lips. “But trust me, honey. I'd like everything as long as it's you.”

His words are so sickly sweet that you're sure you must have gotten a cavity. Steve was always good with words, smooth and sultry, everything you didn't know how exactly to be. 

Your tongue slides over your bottom lip, wetting it slightly before swallowing. When you move closer to him, you can hear his breath the way it slips out of him so quickly when your hands settle on his chest for support, the red wool of his sweater warm under your palms.

“You're doing just fine, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes following your every move as you progress closer.

It's not like you haven't touched him before, that you haven't made out in bathrooms or behind the bleachers at graduation, but this was different. This seemed to have more meaning because of what would come after. His left hand moves to your face, thumb swiping over the apple of your cheek. 

“Just focus on right now.”

It's as if he could read your mind, and you wondered if maybe you could read his too. You lean up, lips placing a soft peck on the corner of his lips, bubble gum lip gloss bound to leave a light shiny stain.

He starts to smile again, Steve liked kissing you. You knew that, it seemed to be one of his favourite things, along with the way you stammered or always seemed to get so jittery when you got too close, like you couldn't even handle the slightest touch. You'd like to prove that last one wrong, show him that you could handle him. 

His lips start to lean up, expecting to kiss you back like he always would, but you shift, left hand coming up and moving his face to the side, giving access to his neck. He does it again, the breath sound, this time it seemed rushed, surprised as it falls from his lips. His hand flexes on your hip, as if he's trying not to squeeze you too tight at the feeling of you mouthing and nipping at his skin. 

“There you go… that's it,” he breathes out, head tipping back. He seemed to be just as sensitive to your touch as you were to his.

“Unbutton my shirt,” you speak against his skin, breath warm and heated against the flesh of his neck. He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing.

His hands slide from their place and find the buttons again. He does it quick too, each button popping out so fast that you realise the last time he had almost taken your shirt off he must have been holding back.

You move closer, legs sliding between his as you plant yourself on one of them. You knew if you sat you'd feel him, you could imagine it. The pressure and the rubbing and everything that goes with that. 

You let go of his face once you feel his hand slide into your shirt, palm warm against your shoulder as you pull your lips (reluctantly) off his neck. 

He looks at you, eyes tracing the crevice of your collar bone all the way down to your chest, he could imagine running his tongue along the gaps, sliding and wetting it all down till he reached your core. Steve legs tense as you sit back, shifting on his lap so his thigh is resting under your sex and your own thigh nudging against the crotch of his jeans. 

“Fuck,” he utters, lips parted as he takes in the sight, the feeling. Your own hands slide off the button up as it pools around you, your pretty little bra on display for him. 

“Is this fine?” You ask, suddenly the previous display of confidence disintegrating as you take off a garment. He laughs, hazel eyes looking into yours.

“You kiddin’?” His hands smooth over your sides again, taking in the feeling of bear skin. “might bust in my jeans with the way you're lookin’”

“Steve!” Your cheeks flare.

“Sorry, honey, just—wow.”

You can't help the way your lips quirk into a smile that matches his, leaning forward. A moan falls from his lips but the sweet sound is quickly consumed when your lips fall on his. He kisses you enthusiastically, pads of his fingers seemingly less afraid to press into your skin. Or maybe he just wants to leave marks, as if they’ll remind both you and him of this night. 

“Take it off,” you breathe, words slipping from your mouth into his as you speak in between kisses. 

“I trust you.” You kiss him again. The feeling of his hands trailing over your skin to your back isn't something that's lost on you, In fact you'd rather it occur more after this. 

“You sure?” He pulls away.

His hands find the clasp, unlatching it and helping to pull the garment off of you. Your hands find his face, settling on the sides of his jaw, thumbs resting on his cheek bone as you kiss him. Steve can't help but peek, one eye opening to just see the site of your bear breasts.

“Oh my god.” 

The words are swallowed by your mouth on his. Hands slide hesitantly, but when you lean in, all notion of hesitance stops. His thumb runs over your nipple, feeling the soft supple skin harden at his touch, he moans into your mouth and the sound spurs you on. Your hips move without thinking, sliding over his thigh, your layers of fabric stopping some sensation but not all. You gasp, he pulls away.

“Was that good?” He asks, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you, hands still grabbing and touching your bear chest. 

“Ah—oh,” his head tips back and this time you watch him. You get to view the gorgeous sight of Steve Harrington tip his head back, and silently swear under his breath. His eyes shut, mouth agape as he reacts to even the barest of touches. His lips are shiny from your lip gloss, pink and swollen slightly when his teeth sink into his bottom lip.

You nod, head falling forward slightly as you repeat the action, denim jeans and cotton panties soaking up any slick your needy hole might be leaking. Your hands shift down and plant on his chest, balling up the wool of his sweater. You needed to hold onto him. You do it again and Steve watches, he wants so desperately to see the way your brows pinch together and your mouth part to inhale sharply. Your thigh kicks up, nudging him, he jolts. 

“I—I want, I want your shirt off.” 

He takes a moment, still recovering from the little sensation that still seemed to set his body aflame, then his hands drop from your chest, curling around the ends of his sweater and when you let go of it, pulling it off his body, hair falling back a little more messy at the action. 

Your hands smooth over his chest, traces of regrowing hair flatten under your palms. You would make a note of asking him not to shave it anymore. Your view shifts to his face, Bambi eyes and parted lips meet you, you lean in. 

It's like instinct, the way your lips glide against his when you kiss. Tongues dart in and you can hear the sound of your own saliva mixing with his, you would have found it rather gross if you didn't like him so much.

You pull away, a line of spit connects the both of you. 

“Jeans.. I..,” you trail off.

“Yeah?” He doesn't finish the sentence for you, instead just urging you to instead. He wants to hear you say it, he wants you to tell him what to do again.

“I want them off,” you finally admit, swallowing after. 

Steve is hesitant at first, not because he doesn't want to, no, he wants to, the growing situation in his jeans definitely wants to. He's just not sure if you're ready yet, he swipes his thumb over your hip bone. 

“.. like?” 

“Can I… can I try somethin’ honey?” he asks, voice soft like the hum of a radio.

“I just want to make sure you're ready.”

“I told you I'm ready, Steve. I—I showed you, didn't I?” you say, brows pulling together in confusion. He cracks a smile.

“Not that kind of ready, I mean…” his tongue wets his bottom lip. “Wanna stretch you out a little before we really go all in, wanna make sure it doesn't hurt too much.”

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[dramaticallytotal]

TDWT Headcanons Pt. 7

Part 1 Last Part

• Leshawna, Cody, Noah, Harold, Sierra, Gwen, Ezekiel, and Duncan have allergies. Leshawna with pineapples, Cody with so many freaking bugs and goat saliva, Noah is allergic to bees, pollen, and dust. Harold has many but most notably crab apples and gummy slugs. Sierra is a little allergic to soy. Gwen is allergic to eucalyptus. Finally, Ezekiel has a slight allergy to peanuts. It's not bad, but he really hates it because he likes the taste of peanuts.

• Noah has so much blackmail on Chris it's not even funny. Mainly, it's embarrassing blackmail because the man has a bad habit of texting Noah his 3 am. thoughts, and they are all so freaking stupid.

One of his favorites was "Do you think Chef would love me if I was worm?"

Followed by

"Do you think he'd love me more if I could cook?"

Then

"Would he love me if I was a cooking worm like that stupid animated rat?"

• New Labels!! We all know everyone gets a label, so I'm either giving them new ones or tweaking their old ones or leaving them the same. We shall go alphabetically.

- Alejandro: The Arch Villain. It's simple and to the point!

- Blaineley: The Gossip Queen. I feel like she should have gotten one despite not being in the season that long.

- Bridgette: The Surfing Hostess. A mix of her original ones, plus acknowledging her being co-host of Aftermath

- Cody: The Drama Geek. A reference to his band The Drama Brothers mixed with his original label.

- Courtney: The Intimidating Overachiever. I just wanted to make it longer XD

- DJ: The Teddy Bear. Why mess with perfection?

- Duncan: The JD. Chris thought it was a clever musical reference, plus it stands for Juvenile Delinquent.

- Eva: The Powerhouse Stunt Girl. Noah made him change it to something positive with the power of blackmail.✨️

- Gwen: Living Goth Girl. Look... Noah was sleeping deprived, and one of the interns was blasting, Living Dead Girl and his half asleep brain thought it was hilarious. Chris's fully awake brain agreed.

- Harold: Uber Geek Bro. Mix of other labels plus his band name.

- Heather: The Queen Bee. Why mess with perfection x 2.

- Izzy: Izz-sane Actress. Chris could not help himself and gave her a pun. Noah made him put the actress.

- Leshawna: The Reality Queen. A nod to her and Tyler's run of reality TV shows. Despite what Blaineley said, it wasn't Leshawna's desperate grab for her former fame. All the shows asked her to guest star, and she did great.

- Lindsay: Her Hotness. A callback to her Admiral Lindsay Her Hotness role. Noah knows it was a fan favorite character arch. Thus, he added it.

- Noah: The High IQ. Why mess with perfection x 3, plus, Noah thinks it will help people underestimate him again.

- Owen: Big O. Chris and Noah just went with Izzy's nickname for Owen.

- Sierra: Obsessive Uber-Fan. It fits, and it makes the cast just believe she is a super fan, and then they meet her and are like "ooooh...you were not kidding about the Obsessive part."

- Trent: Loverboy. Short. Sweet. To the point XD

-----

Bonus:

- Chef: The Chef-of-all-trades. Because he does basically everything and Noah thought it was funny.

- Chris: The Host With The Most. Chris wanted to keep his classic label. (Noah calls him The Host With The Most Issues in his head.)

• When they were making the labels, Noah had to resort to spraying Chris with a spray bottle if he accidentally said something that would be seen as offensive. This morphed into Noah spraying him if he was being a diva, difficult, or just plain dumb.

• Noah immediately clocked Alejandro as too good to be true the moment they were in the craft services tent after being "rescued" by Chris and Chef. How? Because Noah was immediately attracted to him and Noah had bad taste in guys (or so his sisters say). Also, because, hello???? He auditioned to be on a show called Total Drama Dirtbags.

• Also also, Noah seems to attract ...eccentric types of people, and Alejandro chose to sit next to him on the bus. Well, in the seats across from him, seeing as he was sitting with Eva, and she chose the window seat. And he actually talked to him. To Noah, that was a big clue.

• When Noah and Blaineley get introduced to the merge people they each have to sing their own song. Blaineley, of course, songs her song Blaine-rific. Noah sings a parody of the song Roxie from Chicago with worked around lyrics, but he's hoping to spite the producers, and hopes they have to pay royalties or something for his song.

• Blaineley is pissed when she watches Noah's song because he got a costume that resembles Roxie's in the movie version somewhat, and some of the male interns even joined in as his background dancers and singer. He hoped Noelle was freaking proud because he performed the hell out of that song!

• Alejandro is definitely not jealous of all the boys pretending (they better be pretending) to fawn over Noah

• It's another instance of Alejandro being stunned by Noah, then he sees him in the wedding dress and blushes so hard.

• Bridgette and Noah are pretty good friends. They weirdly enough bonded over recipes since Bridgette is vegan, and Noah being Tamil eats a lot of vegan dishes whenever his mother cooks.

• Owen, Leshawna, Noah, Gwen, Alejandro, Courtney, Dj, and Tyler can all cook really damn good. Owen picked it up when he was trying diets, and he has actually lost some weight cooking for himself and his family. He's really proud. (So is Team E-Scope.) Leshawna because her aunties taught her and the senior volunteers at the shelters she helps at taught her too. DJ because of his Momma, of course. Gwen because she wanted to help her mom out, and sometimes, her mom was just so tired after working. Noah because his family sees cooking as a bonding experience. Alejandro learned so he could impress more people, but also his Nana wanted him to be self-reliant. Courtney because she didn't want to have to rely on others when she could do it herself. Tyler is a surprise, but he found out he could cook well when he started cooking for Lindsay for dates.

• Harold burned water once.

• Izzy isn't allowed in the kitchen. She likes to experiment too much.

• In Rapa Nui, when Chris was wearing the super short shorts, all the contestants there screamed in horror, and some even threw themselves to the floor. Noah slammed his face into the closest surface, which happened to be a very chiseled chest. Alejandro hid his face in Noah's hair.

• Chris was not amused at everyone's dramatics.

• I need you all to know that the Rapa Nui challenge isn't even a challenge because they couldn't close the rock fast enough, and Noah got picked up by the condor and taken to the nest. Which means he got his eggs all in the nest at once. Which means he automatically won.

• Chris comes up with a last-minute second challenge that whoever saves Noah gets immunity as well. (Someone save his son!)

• Noah is just trying not to freak out as the giant condor preens his hair like he's one of her chicks.

Next Part

[moo1982]

The blood binding

So as others have also said, I believe it has been Sauron's intention to bind himself to Galadriel since season 1, since 1.06 when they both confessed feeling their strong connection to each other. And in 1.08 he is more explicit about it by telling her "this is it, you bind me to light and I bind you to power" , while enveloping Galadriel's hands which are holding Finrod's dagger in his. So if Galadriel had accepted his proposal he would likely have performed a blood binding ritual with Finrod's dagger, an object of light.

Now when Sauron sees Galadriel again in 2.08 his goals are still the same. To heal Middle Earth and bind himself to Galadriel. He touches Morgoth's Crown at the same time as he speaks her name.

So I believe his intention from the moment he sees her is to bind her to himself with Morgoth's crown. Which is why he keeps holding onto it throughout their fight. And why he doesn't make any great effort to convince her to join him. All the visions he presents to here are provocations. He doesn't expect her to just join him because she has missed Halbrand or because they are alike in some respects (but perhaps he hopes she would, but he can't bring himself to ask nicely). He wants to punish her for her previous rejection. Galadriel is his already anyway, he thinks, because she would not be able to resist once she bound to him. And in the end it would be: "see what you made me do? It could have been Finrod's dagger but now it's Morgoth's crown". So I believe he expects her to fight, just not once she has been bound to him by being stabbed with Morgoth's crown. However I am wondering how it could have gone had Galadriel not fought him and joined him willingly. So perhaps Morgoth's crown was plan B, yet the most likely scenario he considered. Thoughts?