#can never resist a good dynamic pose

[obiscribbles]

Week 25 - September 17th, 2023 'Dangerous (feat. Joywave) - Oliver Remix' - Big Data, Joywave, Oliver Spotify / YouTube

Sir.

Because this man’s soft exterior is a front. A smart one, because it encourages peace and a personality you can talk to. Soft and open, patient and kind.

But threaten those same qualities and he will not show up with any of them. 

Enjoy!

View a week early on my Patreon!

[lakesbian]

ok the post i was going to make after i woke up. the reason why i've been rooting 4 sy and jessie becoming A Thing for the large recent duration of my twig read is that i liked how the dynamic was being established between them in a way that could clearly lead into a functional romance where other relationships sy has couldn't.

at one point, sy notes that he couldn't imagine a world where he was able to spend a full uninterrupted day with lillian (His Actual Girlfriend at the time) without either ruining it by upsetting her or becoming exhausted from putting effort into not upsetting her & having a terrible time himself. with jessie, after she runs away to tynewear for sy, the main point of their dynamic that wildbow hammers in over and over again is that she's someone who can spend months alone with sy and hold her ground both intellectually and emotionally without her starting to loathe him, her becoming exhausted from effort, or him becoming exhausted from effort.

and as for the reason as to Why that is. it's partially because perfect memory is very useful for interacting with sy on a daily basis, but it's also in large part because she has an Anti Sy Bullshit Field sort of personality. it's really endearing dynamic writing how she's obviously in love with him, and it never once causes her to budge where she wants to take a stand. i really fucking like the scene where she's talking to noreen to earn her cooperation after sy being a manipulative ass didn't work, and she outright agrees w noreen that a lot of the time she doesn't like sy either, with the implicit "but" (because her dialogue pattern prior had been a series of "buts" like "he's the darkest bastard i know, but he makes me laugh") being "but i love him."

and i can actually see why sy's earned that love during the tynewear arcs despite not always being very likable--when he does things like grip her by the cheeks and force her to say "okay" to being saved from the plague where anyone else would have left her for dead, it's completely understandable how she loves him despite (and sometimes because of) the fact that he frequently does shit that makes her threaten to beat him with an umbrella. i was rooting 4 them because the book was repeatedly intentionally stating that sy clearly needs a partner who's naturally enough of an intelligent hardass to be resistant to his bullshit while still caring for him deeply and enjoying his company, and jessie obviously met those criteria.

and like. this Is stated explicitly. right before the book shits itself in this department, sy horrendously upsets lillian during the "i don't like the me that says yes to sy" scene, and jessie 1. accurately bluntly explains to sy why he's on unequal footing with lillian in a way that's deeply unfair to lillian and 2. accurately implies that She is someone who would be compatible with and fair for sy to date.

where the problem comes in is that after this, sy absconds for no reason and goes on the inane slogging adventure of arc 14, while jessie is forced to be the one who chases after him, the one who apologizes and makes up for the absolutely atrocious way sy treated her over both the possibility and the outright suggestion of them dating, and the one who bends over backwards to nervously pose her transitioning as a solution to the Irreparable Friendship Ruining Gap of her being attracted to sy while they're both boys. he doesn't even become interested in her afterwards, he's not interested in her yet at the point in the story where i'm at like 15 chapters after her transition! the unrequited love is still there, it's just that it's somehow infinitely more tolerable for him if it's not coming from a boy. (sylvester lambsbridge trans-positive homophobe: very funny choice, not a good one.) yes, it's made clear that she would really genuinely like to transition for a number of other reasons as well, but it's a scene that's part of a series of scenes where, instead of getting to play the interesting hardass that calls sy out on how absolutely fucked it is that he literally intentionally mentally infantilized himself to shoot the possibility of acknowledging a boy having feelings for him in the foot--the hardass that expects him to have the faintest ounce of accountability to both her and lillian--she just. bends over backwards to accommodate and apologize and repair things with him, without him having to put in any meaningful effort despite being the one who caused the fight he ran away over in the first place.

and then after that. even after she slips a memory and becomes afraid of literally fucking dying within the next three days. she's STILL just fucking politely intermittently hoping that Maybe something will happen if sy, but no problem at all if not, she doesn't want to force anything! like i just feel bad for her at this point man. it does not feel good to watch, and it definitely does not feel coherent with what was established about her character & why she's a good match for sy previously. and i think the reason it doesn't feel coherent is that wildbow was not properly grasping why sy's treatment of her was hurtful, and he wasn't properly imagining the level of culpability sy would need to accept and act to amend in order for the dynamic to not be off-kilter and deeply unfair to jessie. like, it feels like the perspective twig is implicitly espousing is that just the mere act of sy being able to stand in the same room as jessie without getting awkward about her unrequited feelings IF and only IF she's not a boy is something involving commendable compromise and not below the literal fucking bare minimum of being able to stand in the same room as jessie without getting awkward about her unrequited feelings even if she was a boy. i find it more and more uncomfortable the longer i stew on it. i don't like it. complete fumble of their resolution of their fight and now everything after it feels tainted by that.

[blueskiestarot]

Hi! Hope your day has been going well 💕. I wanted to ask something about how the universe works if you don't mind.

About two/three years ago, I cut off contact with my spirit guides because I didn't like how they would sometimes outright lie to get me in situations that would hurt me if it would serve my highest good. Or just promise things I wanted to lure me into doing inner workings. Their methods worked, but I didn't like it. It felt unnecessary since I was going to do it anyways (I actually like shadow work) and I told them as much. I said it was crossing a boundary to lie to me like that. I said I wasn't a child and I preferred honesty. But after they didn't listen, I stopped contacting them.

Recently (about four months ago) I decided to hesitantly contact them again and I've been manifesting a member of my soul family with their help. It was all going well, or so I thought, until I got a message that my blessings were being withheld because there were things I wasn't doing and emotions I wasn't addressing. Fair enough, it was a very painful process but I did the thing.

Only to realize that once again they had lied that my blessings were being withheld just to get me to go through with the working (which I would have on my own because I already knew there were internal issues). It feels like a betrayal of trust after I said I didn't like the lying (I prefer if they just say "we can't tell you" straight up) and I'm considering cutting off contact again. I feel like I'm not being listened to at all. But it also feels like I'm throwing a tantrum like a child :((

So I wanted to ask, is it normal for spirit guides to do this? Or am I overreacting Sorry for the long ask 😅

Hi, love! I don't mind at all! ♥️

That's super interesting and I'm going to be honest with you, I'm not entirely sure. I've never had my guides blatantly disrespect my wishes like that but then again, I've never really asked them to not do something. I do think they will lie to you if it has a higher purpose because I've seen that happen with my own guides. However, I'm confused why they keep doing it if you ask them not to. So, let's dive into this.

First of all, I have to ask: if they didn't lie to you, would you still be open to learning the lesson they are trying to get you to learn? Or would you be more resistant? Using the example you gave of them lying to you saying that your blessings were being withheld until you did inner work. Would you have been so willing to do that inner work if there hadn't been some sort of incentive? It's important to be honest with ourselves here because I know in my own experience, I wouldn't have been open to learning some of the lessons I was meant to learn if they were honest with me. We can say that we'll do the necessary shadow work or inner growth until the cows come home but sometimes, when we are actually presented with that work and we see how challenging it is, we're not actually that open to it. So, it's important to reflect on if the lie was necessary in order for us to be open to it.

The next thing I want you to reflect on is how well you are protecting your energy. I do think lower vibrational beings can pose as our guides in order to mess with us, especially if we are not protecting ourselves when trying to contact our guides. So, please make sure you are protecting yourself and make sure you are actually conversing with your guides and not something/someone else who is posing as a guide.

Lastly, this is a realization that I've had to have during my journey as well and it's not an easy one. So, please take this with a grain of salt and have an open mind. Our guides are here to guide us, not be our friends. Yes, they want to have a good relationship with us but they aren't here to baby us and they for sure are not going to forego guiding us in order to make themselves more likable. It's kind of like the dynamic between a parent and a teenager. Yes, the parent wants to be liked by their teen and wants to have a good relationship but at the end of the day, they are still the parent. So, I do think that guides will go against our wishes and risk making us unhappy for the sake of our growth and higher good just as a parent will reprimand and guide their teen, risking anger and resentment from the teen. Their main goal is not to make us happy or to be liked by us. Their main goal is to guide us and help us grow and sometimes, that requires them to do things that we don't always agree with.

So, I hope that gives you some guidance and things to reflect on! Let me know your thoughts and if you have any other questions! Also, if anyone else wants to give their thoughts to this anon, that would be wonderful!

[celemee]

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Male Dark Urge x Enver Gortash Rating: Explicit Tags: Pre-canon, resolved sexual tension, anal sex, sex with feelings, possessive behaviour Warnings: Referenced violence, messed up dynamics, normalised murder, spoilers for The Dark Urge [previous part (tumblr) (ao3)] [read this on ao3 instead?]

Day 4: “Do you even know what this means?”

The city streets are quiet, just a few people rushing below, making their way home. The funny thing about people is that they almost never look up — most are perfectly satisfied on the ground, living their small lives and plowing the same dusty paths day in, day out. 

But Ravendras has ambitions; he's cloaked in midnight blue, climbing the building in the cover of darkness and his trust in other people's inward focus. 

Breaking into Enver's place is much easier than one might think. Granted, he's been planning it for days and knows the layout of the apartment from his many previous visits. 

The stony facade is chilly, his hands beginning to numb, but this isn't something that's done haphazardly. Just a smidgeon of oil onto the hinges of a window. A few beats of waiting — the perfect time to ready his poison dart — and the window slides open soundlessly. 

The guard posted by Enver's door hasn't caught on just yet. Good. Ravendras glides the window all the way open with painstaking care before sneaking inside. Just as he steps out of the frame, the guard rushes at him, but he's quicker. 

Ravendras strikes the dart into the man's neck and shuts his mouth with a firm hand. Moments pass as he struggles to subdue the guard — the bastard is strong and much larger than him — but eventually the poison does its job and leaves the man lax in Ravendras's arms. 

Ravendras chews on the inside of his cheeks, pulling in a calming breath. It's not that he's averse to risk, but this is possibly the biggest one he's ever taken. It's too late to turn back, however. He's made it this far, and should he back down now, he'd only return the next night or the night after that. There's no use in resisting. 

And so, he settles the guard carefully on the floor, posing him so that he seems to be sleeping on the job. Closes the window, leaving no trace of his presence should someone come by. There's five hours until another guard takes over, but one can never be too careful. 

Right. Deep breaths. 

Ravendras approaches the door, stopping to gather himself and straighten out his clothes, to think on what exactly he's doing.

It's been a long time coming, if he's honest with himself. Ever since Enver knelt by him and held his thigh — kissed it, with blood and all — the trickle of carnal thoughts has grown into an unstoppable river. Until there's been little else he could think about. Were he in the habit of fooling himself, he might excuse this as an attempt to get Enver Gortash out of his system, but… 

He sighs. 

It's so much more than that. It's more an attempt to have something just for himself. A fruit he's denied himself all his life — one he'd eat only from this man's hands. 

He's resisted so long, but the need is a plague rivaling his desire to slay. Just as powerful, setting blood ablaze in his veins. 

It may look like endangering their plans, but Ravendras can't ignore his gut. It feels… right. And it's hardly betrayal — their alliance should be cemented and Enver's loyalty secured. Should this prove a questionable method, Bhaal's forgiveness should be granted to a servant as loyal as him. He'll reap as many souls as his Lord wants in the name of atonement. 

Just not this one. Not yet. 

'You know where to find me,' Enver's words repeat in his head, and here he is. Answering the call. 

He opens the door with a click and slips inside, quiet as a mouse. 

Enver, of course, watches him from his writing desk. Surprise melting into a welcoming smile. He's a strange sight out of his embroidered cloak, in his shirtsleeves and simple black trousers. Like any ordinary fellow when he's anything but. 

Ravendras can't help an answering smile, even as his stomach flutters with nerves. 

"Ravendras. What a pleasant surprise!" Enver crosses his arms over his chest, something unfamiliar in his eyes — uncertainty? A hint of fear? 

Ravendras lowers his hood and clears his throat, folding his hands behind himself. "Sorry for the intrusion. Had to ensure us some privacy."

Enver tilts his head, studying him, leaning back in his lavish chair. Candlelight plays on his face, revealing the strange glint to be sadness. "Have you come to kill me?" 

Ravendras's brows shoot up. "What? No. I'm here sex."

The man had invited him the other night, he's certain, but now his confidence falters by every moment of silence that passes. Enver seems at a loss for words, his charcoal eyes wide and fixed on Ravendras. 

Finally, the man leans forward to ask; "Did you just kill my bodyguard so we could have sex in peace?" 

"He'll be fine," Ravendras says, waving a hand. "The poison wears off in a few hours. But— is that not what you want? Did I misunderstand?" 

Enver rises from his seat, watching him with an ominous smile as he rounds the table. The power has shifted back to him — it's a good look on a tyrant. 

"No, you didn't. I just didn't think you'd come to me so soon." Enver reaches out, crooking a finger under Ravendras's chin. "Do you know what this means?" 

Ravendras's hair stands on end, his breath coming in unsteady little puffs. Still, he puckers a show of defiance, needing his wits for a moment longer. "I'm sure you'll tell me."

"You're mine." Enver states it like a fact, takes a step closer. 

There's a sliver of space between them; it crackles with a magnetic force, like so many times before, but… Ravendras won't fail his master. Not like this. 

"You won't rule without me. Do what you want with Thorm," he speaks into the pull, resisting gravity until the matter is settled. "But I won't be your lackey."

"Now you have misunderstood, my dear Bhaalspawn," Enver smiles, thumb travelling to Ravendras's lower lip, brushing it slowly. His eyes alight with what almost looks like wonder. "I want you as a lover, not as a lackey. But only mine."

How silly. He's known no love nor tenderness, seen no need for either. Not before Enver. To think he'd jump in the bed of another with something other than slaughter in mind would make him laugh under normal circumstances. 

But Enver is so close, the lone finger like a fresh brand on his skin, and there's nothing funny in the way they look at one another. So close to getting what they want. 

"I have no interest in others," Ravendras says, his voice surprisingly steady, "and no interest in sharing you."

Enver's eyes sharpen into slits, even as his smile widens. "Good. Consider it a deal."

"No. It's a pact. I won't harm you, you won't harm me," Ravendras insists, resisting the urge to suck the thumb into his mouth. "And we share the power regardless of whether we share a bed."

In dips the thumb, accompanied by a breathy chuckle from Enver. It’s sweet and salty in Ravendras’s mouth, and almost distracts him from Enver’s words; “That’s not how this works. If you give yourself to me, I will make sure you stay mine.”

Ravendras twirls his tongue around the finger, sucking slowly. Giving it an experimental bite as he mulls things over. 

Enver will have him if he wants him, that’s for certain. The followers of Bane chase their desires until they’re too exhausted to run — and Ravendras feels perfectly… happy here. 

But he won’t sign away the rest of his life. Besides, his life is not his own to control; there's a greater scheme at play that Enver knows nothing about. 

Saying yes has its perks, however. Should Bhaal prove unforgiving, there's the promise of protection Enver has given. And if such a time comes that he needs to break away from Enver, he can always sever the pact in the most final of ways. The thought doesn’t please him, but a rogue must have all his bases covered. 

He smiles around the thumb, a little impressed his bite hasn’t angered Enver. The man watches him with expectant, half-lidded eyes, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. 

Ravendras agrees through a meaningful nod, not quite ready to part from him. However, the man pulls out of his mouth, closing the distance between them to bring their lips together. It’s a strange sensation — one completely alien to a child of violence — but Ravendras melts into the wet warmth, eyes closing at Enver's taste. 

Coffee and ham. The evening snack they've had together so many times while pouring over documents and maps. The taste of it on Enver's lips a distant dream before now. 

Ravendras moans as a hand slides up his back, fingers carding into his hair to keep him in place, all the while another fumbles with his leathers. Buttons popping open, heavy breaths between kisses, the wandering hand soon flat on Ravendras’s stomach. 

Shivering at the touch, Ravendras presses closer. Squirms out of his jacket and steps forward to back Enver towards the bed. Fingers tighten in his hair, and a breathy laugh fans his face.

"Eager," is all Enver says before they're kissing again. 

There's no room for embarrassment — Enver grinds their hips together, obviously no less affected. The heat and friction having Ravendras grip Enver's sides in an attempt to hold him closer.

And then… Enver pulls away. 

Dumbfounded, Ravendras blinks. 

"I thought we said no harm," Enver smiles, unbuttoning his shirt. 

Ravendras looks to his palms, realising the force he'd exerted. Clears his throat, avoiding Enver's gaze. His are hands shaped for slaughter, not for gifting pleasure. 

"Hey," Enver says softly, lifting Ravendras's chin to lock eyes. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you. Show you how this is done. All right?" 

The man shrugs off his shirt, revealing scarred skin on top of strong muscles. Dark hairs adorn his chest, the kind Ravendras has seen on some of his victims. But now he yearns to caress — not to carve. Learn how they feel twirled around his finger. 

"Mm-hm," he responds distractedly, swallowing his fear and reaching out to follow his whim. Enver stays still, his smile persisting, as Ravendras's palm moves up and down, marvelling at the softness of his skin and the contrasting coarse hair. 

"Much better," comes the praise, a hand rising to cup Ravendras's cheek. "Now, let's get you out of your clothes."

He explores Enver's arms while the man works on his shirt buttons. They're strong as well, but not in the way of someone who spends their time exercising for fun. Still, there's plains and grooves to admire, firm muscles to feel. 

"I've dreamt of this," Ravendras confesses in a moment of unguarded honesty, "every time I've been here."

Enver opens his shirt and steps into his space, humming as their chests come together. He presses his head into the groove of Ravendras's neck, lips teasing as he speaks. "And what would happen next in these dreams?" 

Shivering, Ravendras wraps his arms around Enver. Not quite believing this is real. "You'd press me into the bed and fuck me."

The words prompt Enver to seek his gaze. Brows high on his forehead. 

"Funny," he chuckles, hands gliding from Ravendras's hips to his buttocks. Squeezing. "That's exactly what I've wanted to do."

An answering smile blooms on Ravendras’s lips. A flutter in the pit of his stomach as Enver stares at him, so much desire in his eyes. Licking his lips as he unbuttons Ravendras's trousers, revealing his hard-on. 

It's in Enver's hands before Ravendras can even think to be self-conscious. Knees weak when the man plays with the head, leaning in to kiss him on the lips. A flick of his wrist, a swipe of his tongue. Moans muffling into hungry mouths. 

It’s like he's on fire, ignited by Enver's touch, and all the things he's done in his private moments pale in comparison to this. 

More. He's got to have it all. 

He fumbles with the button of Enver's pants, longing for a feel of him, and for a… taste? 

The man is throbbing hot under his touch, his cock outlined by the clingy fabric. Ravendras drops to his knees, nuzzling the shape. Even like this he can tell the man is impressive; the heat imprints to his cheek, to his lips as they drag over the outline. Enver gasps, grabbing at Ravendra’s hair. 

It feels like encouragement, so he unlatches the trousers and tugs them down, undergarments going with them. 

"Well, fuck," he breathes, coming face to face with a thick, veiny erection. It bobs in the air, begging for his attention. 

By the gods, he wants to suck it. Take it in as far as he can, have it tickle the entrance to his throat, but… how can he trust himself to be gentle when he's already bruised Enver by accident? 

Carefully, he wraps a hand around it, giving it a few tentative pumps. 

"That's it," Enver hisses, massaging his scalp. Giving ever so slight instruction to offer his mouth. 

Looking up at Enver, he leans in to kiss the head, as softly as he can manage. The man closes his eyes and sighs. Emboldened by the sight, Ravendras opens his mouth for the head. 

It's the part he cares for the most in his private moments — perhaps that's the case for Enver, too. 

It's salty on his tongue, hard and heavy with arousal and… he's done this to Enver. He's the one this tyrant wants in his bed. He's the one worth being gentle and patient for. Were he to run, Enver would follow him to the ends of Faerun to snatch him back. 

Surely the thought shouldn't thrill him as it does, but he moans around the cock, helpless to stop himself. 

Perhaps they were meant to rule together. 

'As gods in our own right', whispers a treacherous voice in the back of his head. 

Fingers tighten in his hair, guiding him to his feet and into a kiss — the thought he'd entertained fading fast. As if on mutual accord, they step out of their clothes and climb onto the bed, Ravendras settling onto his back. Breath caught in his throat at the sight of Enver. 

Smiling like the cat that got the cream. Cock hanging hard and heavy between his legs. Crawling to him. Pausing above him. 

Staring at him with such naked want that he's left dizzy. Paralysed. 

The man shakes his head and lowers himself to lap at Ravendras’s nipples, hardening them into beads in just a moment. One hand grips his shoulder while another blindly grasps for something on his nightstand. At last he catches a jar, halting the kisses to open it and produce a dollop of grease. 

He doesn't ask if Ravendras is sure. 

Perhaps his thighs spreading open is invitation enough, or perhaps the time for conversation is over. It hardly matters; Ravendras would plead were he past the point of pride. Instead, he turns onto his stomach for easier access, lifting his ass in the air. 

"The gods below," Enver breathes, rubbing one buttock and giving it a gentle squeeze. 

As a greased up finger rubs at his entrance, lips press to the small of his back. Ravendras has no time to consider what it means; he's breached but a moment later, muscles tightening around Enver's finger. 

"More," he demands, breathing into the mattress. Dripping precome onto the sheets. 

"You're lucky I want to give you more," Enver chuckles into his skin, the playful warning a warning nonetheless. 

Ravendras will do as he's told, here in bed with the herald of tyranny. The idea of obeying his orders should not make him harder, but… 

Years of leadership, the burden of command, slips from his shoulders. He's at Enver's mercy, and all at once, free. Here because he wants to be. 

The second finger twists inside of him, leaving him gasping when it curls against his inner walls, pressing at his tender spot. A hiss from Enver betrays his impatience, and soon enough the man withdraws.

Before Ravendras can mourn the loss, however, the blunt head of a cock pokes against his entrance. 

Enver's cock. 

Blood gushes in his head, his erratic heartbeat thundering in his ears. Surely it's too soon. When he plays with himself, he takes his time to graduate to larger toys, letting his body adjust. Never enjoyed pain on himself — it's only beautiful in others. 

Yet… knives may fly if Enver doesn't enter him soon, pacts be damned. The man's hands hold his hips, perfectly still. 

"This is the point of no return," he finally says — a quiet, menacing drawl. "I can't promise I'll stop even if you want me to."

"Do it," Ravendras says, pushing against Enver. Not even stopping to think. If it hurts, it's nothing compared to this suspense. 

The man needs no further encouragement; he pushes past Ravendras's breathless resistance, his slicked up cock filling him up and then some. Once he's fully seated, his hairy chest pushes onto Ravendras’s back. An arm locks him firmly in place.

It isn't exactly painful, but it's far too much at once. Ravendras's fists punish the sheets with a deathgrip, forehead burrowing into the mattress. Trying to relax. To breathe. 

The tyrant is merciful and still, giving him the moment he so desperately needs. No toys in his secret box are quite this size; the girth stretches him thin. Has his muscles spasm in protest. 

His mind craves more, however. More of Enver, more of their magnetic connection. Even pain, if that's what the man wants to give. He'll devour it all — the good and the ugly. 

The wait isn’t long; Enver pulls out slowly, pushing back in a little quicker. Presses down on him until his stomach meets the mattress, cock trapped beneath him. Rough breaths in his ears as the man drives into him.

"Such a good Bhaalspawn," Enver praises between thrusts, his voice filled with… affection? 

There's no time to analyse it; Ravendras pants into the crook of his arm, unable to move. Unable to stop the assault of sensations that seems to radiate from his nethers to every extremity. Each stab of a thrust tests his walls, his endurance, the limits of what he can take. 

Never has he been so high — though low he may look, pinned like this. 

Enver's continued praise falls onto deaf ears; it may well be a prayer to the wrong god for all Ravendras knows. Their bloodless carnage sharpens the senses he needs; touch, and nothing but touch. 

The man is impossibly large, surprisingly heavy, his body a bulwark there to protect and to assault. Even though the stabs turn forceful, the former rings true. 

Ravendras is… safe.

Seeing stars with each push, lax with helpless surrender. A haze of red in the corners of his eyes, as if the roles are reversed with one of his victims and it’s Ravendras lying in defeat, his last ecstatic moments at hand.

His pleasure peaks when Enver digs a hand below him and gives his cock a harsh tug. Sounds tear out of his mouth, muffled into his forearm, and the muscles around Enver pulse in time with his heart. 

For a time he's lost. Thoughtless. Senseless. 

Taking it as Enver keeps going, and going, and going. Fingers still gripping his cock. Every thrust a wave of warmth too much for his body to process. 

He doesn't resist when the man pulls out and turns him, settling his legs on his shoulders before driving back in. 

Nothing could prepare him for the look in Enver's eyes as he keeps fucking him. Although Ravendras is hardly an expert in picking apart the emotions, the moment their gazes lock brings frightening clarity. 

If push comes to shove, he won't turn his back on Enver. 

And he knows they feel the same.

As if on cue, Enver's grip on his thighs tightens, eyes cloudy as he comes with one final thrust. Gaze never leaving Ravendras's. 

So vulnerable like this — at the height of his pleasure and burrowed into Ravendras's welcoming body. 

"I will kill anyone who even thinks about harming you," Ravendras muses out loud, reaching out to cup Enver's cheek. Thumb brushing at the coarse stubble. Not a shred of embarrassment left between them now that the pact is sealed. 

Enver sighs, pressing a kiss into his palm, smiling so softly that Ravendras's heart skips a beat. It's meant only for him, and he wants it closer. Guides Enver to rest on top of him so he can feel it on his skin. 

Burying his fingers into the man's silky soft hair, Ravendras dreams of the future through newly opened eyes. A future free of the shackles of servitude, one shaped entirely by their will. Nothing Enver has said has hinted at his will to rebel, but a devotee of tyranny can never be far from usurpation. 

It's a long game, but through careful maneuvering they could make it. They could achieve anything. 

[mermaidsirennikita]

hi i recently read kiss an angel by susan elizabeth phillips and loved it! could you possibly recommend me any simmilar books? it doesn't have to match the plot just the vibe and dynamic between the leads. thank you ❤

Sure!

Susan Elizabeth Phillips in general loves a hero and heroine who clash while he's like "LISTEN HERE LADY" so I would definitely recommend reading Nobody's Baby But Mine. It's absolutely bonkers. The heroine of that book is actually a college professor with a genius level IQ, yet somehow this does lead her to think that if she can trick a dumb man into impregnating her she'll have a "normal" baby. Which. Means she is also an airhead. But an airhead with heart, similar to the heroine of KaA! The hero has a similar vibe to Alex(?) to me, he's very alpha and bossy and grumpy and arrogant and determined to Never Love.

Annika Martin's Manhattan Billionaires series kind of have a similar vibe to me—irreverent, kinda silly and OTT with a lot of genuine emotion nonetheless.

The one that comes to mind in a comparison most to me is The Billionaire's Fake Fiancee. The hero in that one is a VERY frosty dickhead, but he ends up enlisting his hairdresser, who's this chatty, sweet, kinda ditzy girl obsessed with soap opera to pose as his fiancee on this megayacht cruise so that he can convince this head of a family corporation to do business with him. You get a lot of that grumpy/sunshine in a zany plot vibe. Because she's convinced that there's this evil fake grandson situation, a la a daytime soap lmao.

The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck by Kylie Scott could be a good one for this! The heroine receives a prediction from a psychic that she's going to win the lottery, meet her true love with X name, and die in a short time (this does have a conventional HEA, I promise). Shortly after, she meets a man with that name... And he also happens to be the illegitimate son of the King of England lmao. He's very grumpy and resistant to her wild bullshit, but she ends up roping him into her live like you're dying quest. AND THEN HE CATCHES FEELINGS and is all "WTF what if your bullshit psychic prediction is true????"

Managed by Kristen Callihan. The heroine is this semi-freewheeling photographer who gets hired to photograph and manage the social media for a famous rock band... While also clashing with their incredibly frosty, dickish, controlling manager. Until they become friends, in part because they become platonic nap partners to deal with his chronic insomnia. Because THAT'S normal.

[upward-centrifuge]

Thinking about that one mutant dancestors idea I had because I love to be thinking about more accounts I could be making instead of being normal

So basically I thought it would be cool to have dancestors with a Karkat/Kankri:esque dynamic but if that had actually been explored to the depth it could have been and if Kankri had been... not a poser and actually believed or practiced anything he said.

So like... the Alternian? Ashamed of being a mutant. Terrified of being found out. Total fucking kiss ass and bootlicker because of it. And her ancestor was a rebel who was brutally killed and any memory of her wiped out. And the Alternian somehow finds out about this and this informs her fucked up tendencies because she think maybe if she's a perfect little highblood pet she won't suffer the same fate.

Meanwhile the Beforan? Proud as fuck of being a mutant and will fight to be treated like everybody else. Has resisted at least one culling attempt. Her ancestor was also forgotten, but this is because she took pains to constantly disappear into the crowd. The Beforan is ashamed of her for that and also scared of being forgotten and fading into the background so she's very loud and flamboyant and extra 24/7.

Some assorted thoughts and headcanons:

I think maybe it would be cool if the Alternian somehow managed to pose as a purple and infiltrate the clown church? So she's constantly around people who would definitely kill her to death if she was found out, but she's also relatively protected by the fact that she's among clowns and enjoys a good bit of anonymity because of things like face paint and the fact that you're, like, expected and encouraged to have this fake persona. And also they're literally all fucked up clowns it's not hard to fit in if you can just be kinda extra.

they have extremely sensitive senses. Because I can do whatever I want forever.

I came up with chumhandles. For some reason. Including for the ancestors who would never use them. Idk why.

Alternian: olfactoryAggitation

Beforan: outragedAdvocate

Alternian's ancestor: originalAdversary

Beforan's ancestor: onlyAnnoyance

The Beforan is for sure punk as fuck. In other news the sky is blue.

The Alternian I think is probably a poser emo who's like really into the subculture but like. Fails to realize that it's anti-establishment and she literally is the establishment.

All the Alternian's careful planning and meticulous secret keeping falls to pieces the moment she gets thrown a little off guard. Like one of the clowns gets her to try a little sopor and within an hour she's just like "noase bleedign :( [send attachment] [send attachment] [send attachment] [send attachment] [se"

The Beforan is badass but also physically so fucking weak

The Alternian is strong as hell from being raised around rowdy highbloods but won't ever use it to her own advantage

They for sure would hate each other even before they figured out they were pseudo-related

Anyways I'm resisting making blogs for either of them just by myself BUT if anybody happens to want to be one of them PLEASE tell me and I'll gladly be the other

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Trimax Thoughts Vol. 11 Pt. 1

Well, we're back after last week's suffering. Stream of consciousness ahead!

First off I find this a clever way to hide the hair! Dynamic posing! The poor unsuspecting fools who haven't read volume 10 would look at this and have no idea why we're sad.

Live Zazie reaction:

Augh, Livio driving the car... Vash asleep in the back... this does something to me.

He's so cute. He's not suffering or anything look at him.

Both Brad and Livio reaming him out for being too trusting that's so funny to me

To be quite honest, I feel like Livio was very much a victim in all this... that doesn't make him blameless in the situation but it was very much Chapel who grievously injured Wolfwood enough that he chose to take the double vials, and it was him who manipulated Razlo to be dependent on him and Livio to think serving was his only purpose. That said, there's something very heartwarming about Brad being so upset over Wolfwood's death considering his usual untrusting nature and the fact that he really didn't know him that well.

Livio apologizes for his body stopping the bleeding so soon after getting punched. Buddy. No. 😂😭

I feel so bad for the Plants in all this. However, much as it sucks for humanity, I'm very glad to know they can exert enough influence in order to resist killing their sisters and brother and are able to express their free will in some way... could they have refused commands before this point then? If so, that begs the question of why they didn't.

Someone arriving from space???

Oh, so the Plants feel an affinity with Knives. Is that because they agree with him and his methods? Is it because he's absorbed so many of their sisters already? Do they feel his pain and loneliness? I'm so curious.

Meryl!!! I missed yoouuuuu (and she immediately sticks out her tongue and flips a double bird at authority. love her.)

I love this... such a sweet and quiet moment with these two amidst the chaos. Milly putting her perceptiveness to good use to try and support Meryl as best she can. It makes me wonder about that 7-8 month gap and how these two survived not just what is basically the apocalypse, but also the struggle of Meryl's trauma from having Vash's memories dumped on her. I bet Milly was pretty instrumental during that period.

"It's too bad it will never be the same again." IN COMES VASH THE STAMPEDE SWINGING IN ON A LADDER

AUGHHHHHHH. This is so sweet aaaaaaa. Oh my god I just realized this is the first time they've actually seen each other since that town chased Vash out and Meryl had a breakdown. Where he thought she was scared of him. But she wasn't!!! He started to realize it after Marlon, but now he sees it!!! They are. so precious to me... :')

The Earth fleet is close!!! ...that's kind of bad actually.

Luida: "What happened to your hair?" Vash, very loudly: "ANYWAYS TIME FOR THE LAST STAND HUH?"

Oh Milly... I'm intrigued by the way she just plays along with it... she really is a lot like Vash. I wonder why Brad even did that though. I kind of feel like it was to keep people from acting aggressively towards Livio, as saying he died would lead to questions that would probably reveal Livio was at the center of it. Not for Livio's sake of course (I don't think Brad really cares about him) but Vash trusts him, Wolfwood sacrificed himself for him, and they really can't afford infighting at this point. ...never mind that Milly wouldn't have reacted that way anyways.

Ok lol I'd just been thinking "what happened to Zazie's arm and then..

hdjfhbvdjfvh

Oh, the coins are back. Interesting. Legato faceoff soon?

The hurt is palpable with poor Livio here...

Oh! I was right about Brad's reasoning! Cool! Also I think that's the friendliest we've ever seen Brad-

HJDHBJDHCBS???

BRANDON I'VE SAID IT BEFORE BUT EVERY INTERACTION YOU RISE FURTHER UP MY LIST OF FAVOURITE SIDE CHARACTERS

"Ya need to learn to let people help ya out" <-YES.

And of course Vash deflecting by playing up and overdramatizing what is probably a genuine reaction... I really think he knows this already but he's walled himself off so long. He appreciates everyone, he really does, but... them getting hurt is always going to be far worse than them being disappointed in him or himself getting hurt. It's not just because he cares about them... it's also just as much because he cares very little for himself. I also think he just... can't, right now. "Don't tell me something like that now" <- yeah because he's a gaping wound at this point. All he's done is put a stopper on his fresh grief, and he cannot afford to open it else he'll probably shatter and he can't right now.

??? Did Legato just kill Zazie? (Or I guess Zazie's body...) Also, he can walk again??? Huh???

Wow Zazie just took out Elendira and Knives... that's impressive actually.

AND THEY HAD A WORM IN THEIR VAGINA???

Oof, I don't actually want that to happen to Knives... that's pretty horrifying.

Ok. Ok Legato. I will readily admit you are one of the coolest people in this manga. That's incredibly badass. The amount of mental coordination he'd need to puppet himself around is incredible. And the reveal that he is literally puppeteering is fascinating. GIVE ME THE FORBIDDEN LEGATO LORE

So Vash is... making bullets with his powers? Ok... interesting. Wonder what they do? ...also he's using more of his powers. Hm. :/

Whjdfhsdfhb Livio jumpscare

Look at my dorky little guy

I'm so happy for him and his new haircut/outlook. (I bet Vash would know a little something about that huh? *cough cough* Eriks)

??????????? Hi Zazie. This was random...?

Oh, so this is Chronica! She's introduced pretty late in the manga. She's also an Independent it seems! And much more knowledgeable than either Vash or Knives. There's an entire generation of Independents from Earth! They have implanted neural blockers to prevent fusing??? Implications that fusing like what Knives is doing has happened before??? Hello??? Need to chew on this.

Vash WHAT are you doing freaking out like that hdfjhbsdfvh. Livio trying to calm him down like :|

Hjhsbjdfhbvs now they're all screaming at the bug... which. which is drawn like this.

...I wonder if Nightow-sensei was also upset by volume 10 and the rampant comedy right now is him coping...

Hjhdbfjhbfv they're so stupid

"...i'm gonna touch it" energy. HHDBSHCBHJBEJ VASH NO

...you know I do think there is something to be said about Vash acting like the irresponsible and foolish brother to... Wolfwood's brother. There's just. Yeah.

I love them both so much they are so stupid

Vash calling Elendira a bitch is so funny to me, especially because before the Ark he didn't seem to really know her at all. How much do you want to bet she dropped by just to annoy and vaguely threaten Vash and Legato while they were locked in that 7 month stalemate. Vash hears her walking into the room and is just like "GDI NOT AGAIN LEAVE ME ALONE".

Livio beloved... finally he's found purpose for himself... (please be careful against Elendira... I love you.......)

"Sometimes it's not easy to explain the power of someone's presence. Especially when it's someone so greatly and deeply connected to you. Some people can't even say it. But this helped Vash the Stampede realize... that he was feeling the same thing in his heart." <-he continues to haunt the narrative... but gosh what a thing to communicate to the reader here. what a thing, to realize how much you cared too late... but what a thing, also, to realize you had at all :') they both miss him so much… but he’s also their resolve

FINALLY we get to know how the Plants feel about all this!!! I feels so bad for them man. I feel they're similar to Vash in that they don't want anyone hurt really... but they're not able to fight their own fight. Pretty heartbreaking stuff.

Meryl... :'(

YES MILLY. CALL HIM OUT! Meryl is worried. Let her be worried.

AUGHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS IS SO CUTE!!! He's going to come back it means he's going to come back it means don't worry I'll find you again I'll come and find you this time I ahsjdcbhasjdvhbsjfhbv Vash you can be so sweet when you are not actively avoiding any and all emotional situations with people who care about you!!!

Chronica's going to turn off her limiter :O

Elendira: Hi :) *stabs you*

"I don't like nice men. They die so easily. He was like that too." <- Oh you did not just go there.

Elendira I think just has no faith in people. She looks actually a bit upset when she says "they die so easily" about "nice men". Then there's the "no matter what Vash the Stampede does, there will always be humans who ruin it." She's decided that while she wants Knives to succeed... if he doesn't, she'll just end the world regardless. Hm. Elendira you are so interesting to me.

Ohh... protecting the kids... Livio... :')

It's JASMINE???

YES! Livio has found his resolve! The cloak from Jasmine, the hat from the little kid! You can do it buddy!

[missionkitty]

Cold and Warm - Dorothea/Sylvain (FE3H)

a short one-shot fic i've been writing on and off for the better part of a year and finally managed to finish. i've always liked dorothea's and sylvain's dynamic and wanted to try writing something a little angsty but also fluffy with them. hope you enjoy. no major warnings, just sylvain trying to reminisce about his academy time with dorothea after they reunite post-timeskip and have their a-level support.

***

Sylvain held the dance pose he was in for what felt like an uncomfortably long time. He tried resisting the urge to glance at Dorothea, who he had managed to recruit to help him practice for the White Heron Cup in a few days.

He didn't want to risk looking at her and seeing a look of disgust or…whatever a professional performer would look at him with after what he felt was surely a poor show, based on her silence.

He started to sweat when he thought he heard a giggle. Sylvain whipped his head to see Dorothea stifling a laugh, her hand covering her mouth.

"Wh–Dorothea!" Sylvain whined, dropping his arms.

"Sorry!" Dorothea said, letting out a louder laugh and defensively shaking her hands. "I just wanted to see how long I could get you to stand there like that."

"Come on…I'm being serious, I need your help! I don't wanna let everyone down."

"I know, I know." She settled her laughter with a sigh. "But you looked great. I don't really have much to say, which is why I figured I could mess with you a little."

Sylvain frowned and put his hands on his hips.

"Well, you could stand to loosen up some. It's not like you to be so worried about something like this,” Dorothea responded with a joking pout.

"I'm just nervous! Like…why did the professor have to pick me to do this–why didn't she pick you?" Sylvain groaned, running his hands through his hair. "I mean, you did this kind of stuff for a living, right?"

Dorothea looked at Sylvain, thinking. She hummed and shrugged after a moment, walking up to him.

"Is all this practice cutting into your dates?" She cooed sarcastically.

"Well, sure, but I really do want to do a good job. I still have my pride as a member of the Blue Lions," Sylvain sighed.

"I don't claim to know what the professor is thinking, but I think her judgement has been really good so far–I mean," Dorothea said, dramatically flourishing her hands as she continued, "She let me join you Blue Lions, after all."

Sylvain chuckled and nodded, looking back at Dorothea.

"That's very true."

"Besides, I think I'm getting pretty good at black magic. You can help me fire off a few extra spells on the battlefield once you get that dancer certification," Dorothea added with a wink.

Sylvain smiled at Dorothea. Her apparent confidence helped push away some of his nerves. They had known each other long enough that she never really minced words with him…

Honestly, she could see right through him.

"...Do you think the professor really isn't trying to punish me or humiliate me by having me be the Blue Lions' rep for the Heron Cup?" Sylvain slowly asked, wanting to divert his current train of thought.

"Well, if what you said was true about that pass you made at her during the Horsebow Moon is true, then…maybe she's only trying to punish you a little bit." Dorothea smirked, tugging and adjusting the collar of his white shirt.

Sylvain sighed and gave a sheepish smile as he glanced down at Dorothea.

"What do you think she'll do to me if I don't win?"

"What, Sylvain Gautier scared of a teacher?"

"Did you know the professor's nickname when she was a mercenary was 'Ashen Demon?'" Sylvain faked a shiver, though it was certainly rooted in a real awareness of their professor's abilities.

"I think I've heard that floating around the academy once or twice," Dorothea said with a laughing hum. "She sure likes fishing a lot for being called a demon…"

"And tea." Sylvain gave Dorothea an astonished look. "You know, I still don't get how all these tea invitations are supposed to help me win."

"Sylvain, are you taking all these tea dates with a pretty lady for granted?" She teased, forcefully tugging and adjusting his academy jacket.

"As mysteriously beautiful as our professor happens to be, I think I'd much rather have tea with you," he replied, habitually turning on his charm.

"Oh really?" She looked up at him with a smirk and an accusingly-cocked eyebrow. "Then what's my favorite tea?"

"Sweet-Apple. Or Albinean Berry."

Dorothea looked at him with a mixture of shock and amazement. Sylvain had an unfamiliar feeling churn in his stomach as he processed her wide, green-eyed stare. He felt his ears start to burn and began stammering.

"I mean, I uh, I…I asked the professor…what your favorite was," Sylvain admitted, somewhat embarrassed. Their banter had disarmed him and he felt nervous again, but now for a different reason.

Dorothea's stunned silence eventually gave way to giggles as she shook her head.

"And for what reason did you want to know, dare I ask? If you're trying to flirt again…"

"No, no, nothing like that," Sylvain responded a little more frantically than he intended, "I just…wanted to thank you for helping me with this after it's all over."

"My, that's very considerate of you," she said with a smile. "Though I haven't done much more than just watch. Our professor seems to have done most of the heavy lifting."

"Sure, but for some reason I felt like getting your stamp of approval would help me feel more confident about this whole thing–which I was right about."

Dorothea smiled and nodded.

"I'm glad I could be of help. I look forward to your win."

"I guess I'll practice a little while longer if you don't mind staying," he said, putting his hands behind his head.

"Sure, but…one question." Dorothea looked at Sylvain. "What's your favorite tea?"

"Hmm…well, if the lovely Dorothea is inviting me for tea, then any tea is my favorite."

"Sylvain."

"Sorry, just trying to be funny." He crossed his arms and smiled. "Bergamot, or if you can find it, Seiros tea."

"Hmm, good to know," Dorothea said, smiling in return.

***

Dorothea smiled as she waited for Sylvain to emerge from a darkened corner of the training grounds wearing his new dancer garb. She wished she could have somehow saved the shocked expression that quickly played across Sylvain's face before he quickly resumed his confident demeanor when they announced his name as winner of the White Heron Cup.

She had begged him to show her what he looked like. Sylvain insisted that she would see it on their next mission, but Dorothea had convinced him to give her an early view.

It was kind of late, and hopefully no one would show up in the training grounds tonight–though Sylvain was a bit concerned about Dimitri appearing if he couldn't sleep, which was apparently a common occurrence.

Dorothea assured him she would protect Sylvain's honor and keep the crown prince of Faerghus from intruding on the dancer outfit sneak peek if worse came to worst.

It wasn't much longer before she heard some light jingling and saw Sylvain step into the light of one of the lamps they had lit.

Dorothea was impressed with his color choices–black with red and purple accents, very striking.

"So? What do you think?"

"I think that it suits you surprisingly well," Dorothea said with a smile. "The professor knew what she was doing when she picked you."

Sylvain smiled and chuckled, but stayed silent for a moment after.

"What do you say to that tea invitation now?" He asked, still smiling.

"Ooh, an evening tea…that sounds lovely. You should stay dressed in this though," Dorothea said with a teasing giggle.

"Is it doing anything for you?" Sylvain teased back, making a pose.

"Oh, absolutely! Our next opponents won't know what hit them."

***

Sylvain sat quietly in the monastery in one of the less-ruined pews, staring absently at the pile of rubble that obscured the altar.

He had been pondering those last few months leading up to the Empire's invasion of Garreg Mach after having dinner with Dorothea earlier that night.

It had been five years since he had won the White Heron Cup. However, after Edelgard revealed herself as the Flame Emperor and Rhea and the professor had gone missing, he hadn't really done much dancing. His other talents were needed to help fend off Cornelia's soldiers from absorbing the Gautier territory into the "Faerghus Dukedom."

He was skeptical that anyone would be at the monastery like they had planned five years ago, but amazingly they had found the professor, along with Dimitri. While the professor was the same kind, quiet presence he remembered, Dimitri was…a far cry from the prince he thought he knew.

He shook his head, hoping to push that thought out of his head.

"Here you are," a comforting voice said from behind him.

Dorothea walked up to where Sylvain sat, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah, just thinking…not a whole lot of people here, and thankfully Dimitri is off prowling some other part of the monastery for now."

He resisted the urge to turn his head so he could brush his cheek against Dorothea's hand.

The relief he felt when he saw her standing in front of the mess hall, staring at the fishing pond, was immeasurable. He hadn't really had the luxury of trying to keep in contact with anyone besides Felix and the other nobles still loyal to the late royal family.

He had only heard whispers of the Mittelfrank Opera closing after the war spread and had half-resigned himself to the awful idea that he may never see Dorothea again.

She was a vision in red, but he recognized a familiar sadness in her eyes. The war had taken a lot from everyone.

But now, all the former members of the Blue Lions class, originals and additions, were there at the Monastery again. It was both comforting and bittersweet to see. The memories he recalled were the same.

They had found time to converse after meeting again (perhaps unfortunately right after another of his botched relationships) and seemed to fall right back into lockstep with each other, despite the hard edges the toll of war had sanded onto them.

Some lively banter, an admission of affection from both of them.

Sylvain wasn't sure why the words fell so freely from his tongue about spending the rest of his life with Dorothea, but it happened all the same–and to his surprise, his lovely classmate-turned-confidante seemed to feel the same.

But in solitude it felt unreal. Maybe it was the dark cloud Dimitri now occupied, or seeing the Monastery in ruins and overrun by thieves, or the Faerghus soldiers he had to–

He felt Dorothea’s hand gently run through the hair on the back of his head, pulling him out of his ruminating.

“It’s unlike you to look so serious, Sylvain,” she mused. The tone of her voice was soothing, making his troubled mind settle.

“I haven't mentioned it yet, but I like this length on your hair,” she said quietly. “If we weren’t in the middle of a war, I’d say the past five years treated you well…”

Sylvain finally looked up at Dorothea, concerned with the growing grief he could hear in her voice.

“Dorothea…” he said in a low voice. He scooted over, glancing at her and then at the open space next to him. He patted the pew and tried mustering a small smile.

Dorothea pulled her hand from Sylvain’s hair and sat next to him, her arm touching his. Sylvain automatically tried to scoot away to give Dorothea a little more room, but her hand swiftly touched his leg and gently pulled toward her.

Sylvain looked at Dorothea with a bit of surprise before letting out a breathy chuckle through his nose and stayed where he was.

“I missed you,” Dorothea murmured, squeezing Sylvain’s thigh.

Sylvain could feel his cheeks burning, but kept his eyes down on his feet. Her words felt undeserved. Even with what they were to each other now, the bitterness the war had etched into his skin tried to convince him that he didn’t even deserve her company.

He looked at her hand, five years of suppressed worry and longing rising in his stomach.

“I missed you too.”

Sylvain removed his glove and carefully lifted Dorothea’s hand into his. Was her hand smaller than he remembered? The thought was quashed when she firmly intertwined her fingers with his. Her hand was strong, holding his tight.

The soft warmth of her hand broke the floodgates open.

“I was scared I might never see you again. I had no idea how or when I could even get any kind of message to you…” Sylvain’s voice began to rasp as he held back the ache rising in his chest.

“But we’re here now. Together,” Dorothea responded quickly, surely.

Sylvain looked at her before pulling her hand up to his lips and gently kissing her knuckles. He could feel his heart trying to pound out of his chest.

“Sylvain…” Dorothea’s voice was angelic in his ears. She pulled her hand from his to softly caress and hold his face.

“Truly, being so serious doesn’t suit you,” she continued in a shaky whisper. Her thumbs gently swept over his cheeks. A weak laugh escaped her mouth and a tear rolled swiftly down her face and dripped onto her dress.

Sylvain sighed and placed his ungloved hand on hers.

“I could say the same thing about you.”

They sat in silence, leaning in to each other until their foreheads were touching.

The only thing they could hear was each other’s slow breathing, though Sylvain made note of the occasional tear drop leaving a dark spot on Dorothea’s dark red dress. He cherished the feeling of her fingers brushing against his skin and let out a long, relieved sigh.

He pulled his face far enough away to see Dorothea clearly, but still close enough to feel her warmth. Her green eyes shimmered, though it was due to tears. He gently swept a teardrop away with his index finger as it escaped the corner of her eye, doing his best to keep himself from crying as well.

She was too lovely–even in sadness.

A shiver gently rattled Dorothea’s body and Sylvain let out a small chuckle.

“Come on,” Sylvain began quietly. “Let’s go somewhere a little warmer. Quiet as the chapel is, it’s a bit drafty.”

“Oh?” Dorothea replied, some vitality returning to her tone. She quickly, yet carefully wiped a tear from her other eye. “And where do you propose we go at this time of night?”

Sylvain was relieved to see a small, teasing smile play on Dorothea’s lips.

“Perhaps…my room?” He couldn’t resist falling into an old habit, a playful smile forming, fully prepared to receive a quick, clever retort from Dorothea.

She stared at him, her expression somewhat unreadable to Sylvain. He began to wither a bit as he could only identify a hint of contemplation in her eyes.

He began to try and mentally salvage what he was now beginning to think was a poor joke. He wracked his brain trying to think of where else they could possibly go–but wait, why wouldn’t he want her in his room?

His mind began to buzz with thoughts, having difficulty focusing on any one in particular until a cool draft blew and gently rustled his hair.

He recalled the cold winds of Faerghus at his back as he would ride home from whatever conflict he had quelled. His memories of the Academy becoming more and more like a faint dream. The cold relic spear in his hand twitching, the stone at the base of its blade like a mercilessly unblinking, uncaring eye. His bed, even warmed, was lonely.

Dorothea’s warm hands brushed through his hair again, shaking him from his thoughts again. Her eyes were kind and alive. Her breath, warm and soothing.

“Serious again,” she murmured, smiling sadly. She went silent, but supportive as she awaited his response.

Sylvain smiled slowly as he pulled Dorothea’s palm to his lips, kissing gently and then adjusting her hand to kiss her knuckles again.

“Please,” he said in a low voice. “Would you like to come to my room?”

Any hint of his old, cold, habitual levity was gone from him in this moment. All he could imagine now was Dorothea pulled close to him, her warmth pushing away the cold winds and her eyes illuminating his vision.

Dorothea’s smile was warm. Warmer than any he had possibly seen from her ever.

Sylvain realized that must have been what she was waiting for.

“I would love nothing more.”

As they stood to leave, Sylvain instinctively tried to hold her close, to press her back against his chest, but a slight wince and jump from Dorothea surprised him.

“Sorry, your armor…it’s rather cold.” Dorothea turned and smiled apologetically.

“No, I’m so sorry, I…forget I’m wearing it sometimes,” he replied, looking down at the dark gray chestplate on his torso.

Before he could remember the cold, Dorothea giggled and pulled him along out of the pews.

“Once we get to your room, I’m sure you’d like to change into something a little less bulky,” she said with a hint of mischief.

Sylvain felt his cheeks begin to burn as his thoughts traveled on their own.

“I seem to recall a certain someone being a certified dancer…” Dorothea giggled, her eyes sparkling.

Sylvain’s cheeks burned for a different reason now.

“I, ah, I’m not sure I know where that outfit is…or if I’d still even fit into it…”

“Well, I’m sure we can figure something out. It’s not hard to take measurements, you know.” Dorothea squeezed Sylvain’s hand, still smiling.

Sylvain’s heart raced as he squeezed her hand back.

“Thank you, Dorothea,” he replied gently. “For remembering me.”

“Thank you, Sylvain. For not forgetting me,” her reply was equally gentle.

They left the chapel and walked into the cool night, warm.

[emareep]

eMareep Special TCG Collection - Kanto dex collection

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We are out of the starters page and into things proper. I know I have Pokemon brain-worms from having red/blue come out when I was a small child, but this page just has so many of my favorite guys.

For most of this set, I tried to have different artists represented for each Pokemon, and trying to repeat as little as I can across the entire collection, but I couldn't resist both Kyoko Umemoto's Weedle and Beedrill. I also went with the full Pidgey line by Suwama Chiaki, as the art was just too good.

#1 Card of the Page

Pidgeotto ~ Call of Legends 45/95 ~ Suwama Chiaki

These are all excellent birds, but Pidgeotto is my favorite of Chiaki's trio for Call of Legends. I love all of the small details in the plant life and water, as well as the highly dynamic pose.

I feel like there is a perceivable story to these cards (which I think became more common as time went on). The Pidgeotto seems to stare straight at the viewer. What was the Pidgeotto doing? What are you doing, for that matter, interrupting it's moment of contemplation like that?

Bonus Detail:

I always adore the plant life shown in Pokemon cards. I'm terrible at identifying real life plants, so I can never tell if something is based on a real flower, but I'm nearly certain that's reminiscent of an orchid? (if anyone knows, I'd love to know too!) I love looking at plants in general. Perhaps I should learn something about them as well. (Did you know? Many plants...green.)

This also gets me thinking. In the world of Pokemon, if everything living is Pokemon, does that mean this and every other plant are just a silent Pokemon? Or is there perhaps some delineation. At what point of awareness does something go from a plant to a Pokemon? There are already Pokemon based on plants, but they live around regular plants as well. This is more of a taxonomical thought experiment, I guess. What do you think?

[maratethered]

BLADE & SHIPS, a comprehensive guide.

NOTE: this is my personal take on the ships/dynamics I like for him. If we write any of these, it doesn't have to be exactly the same (it doesn't even have to be a ship, but this is me letting you know that I ship the hell out of it in case you do too). Each of these can be written as a ship, or it can be platonic. I won't automatically assume anything unless we talk about it first.

To get the elephant out of the room first — the current state of him doesn't leave much space for an actual functional relationship for two reasons: one – he's too mentally and physically damaged to be able to feel something real, two – he has one desire and one desire only, that is to die for good. No matter how much he cares about someone in his limited capacity, his case is too complicated, his mind is set on it, nothing will be able to change that. The pain, the exhaustion, there's simply no way he'd ever be able to 'regain passion for living' and it's just something that's always gonna be out there.

Another little thing – he doesn't like being touched. That's not to say he never allows it, he does, when it's someone he trusts (which is like... two people), but after the whole Jingliu ordeal his body looks like an abstract study in scars and that's... a thing he's not particularly happy about. It's not about expecting pain from any kind of touch, he's pretty indifferent to pain, and it's not a body image issue – he sees himself for what he's been turned into, an abomination of abundance, something unnatural and undead, so he doesn't feel at home in his own body, that's about the root of it.

JING YUAN: a weird combination of longing, comfort and confusion. Blade doesn't remember much, but somehow he finds the general's company soothing in a natural way, unlike Kafka's (we'll get to that part). Yingxing had a lot of love and respect for the man back in the day, he trusted him, and some part of him knows that he can still trust him (since you know, Jing Yuan seems to be the only one crossed out on his to-kill list). But there might still be some underlying bitterness there because JY didn't do anything, but he also didn't do anything. It's probably the only ship that can remain somewhat functional if it's slowly rebuilt. In the past verse it's just comforting and warm.

DAN HENG / IMBIBITOR LUNAE: I still don't really know what to do with this mess tbh. Past verse? They'd be inseparable, tons of adoration going both ways because who could resist the temptation that is IL? Not Yingxing. But at this point, Dan Heng isn't him, one day Blade might finally understand it, and whatever there used to be is tainted by hatred and desire for revenge. There's still a part of him that yearns for the man IL once was, but that man is gone forever (and so is Yingxing), so there's nothing but anger and wreckage.

KAFKA: I can hardly see a proper romantic ship here, unless... It's either purely platonic or they're just having fun with each other to kill the time and unwind after a mission (or, in some cases, during). It just works on every level – same goals, no past grievances and they're both hot and stuck in the same boat. Kafka has no fear, the danger a mara-stricken man poses means nothing in that regard, and Blade relies on her spirit whisper quite a lot. It's not a natural way to feel comfortable around someone, but it's a highly efficient one – if she can cleanse his mind of anything but her for a moment, he'll gladly take it. As long as she doesn't abuse her control powers and it benefits the shallow remnants of his emotional stability, being around her is his best place. Plus I live for the found family trope, and the Stellaron Hunters are definitely a family.

[daxieoclock]

haru x ann or yusuke x ren

Ty for the ask!

Haru x Ann is extremely high quality, thematically they are so interesting together, even though they never interact once in canon in any significant way because Atlus is a fucking clown house. Like even platonically the two of them foil each other fantastically. They’re both victims of statutory abuse who have opportunity enough to kill their abusers, but choose to spare them.

The major difference in their circumstance is that Ann could not ever be the lynchpin of her own vindication, she could stop Kamoshida but killing him would be taking away the autonomy of that choice from every other one of his victims, basically all of whom she was close friends with; while we have no knowledge of anyone else Sugimura abused, but canon Haru decided not only to not murder him, but to not even attempt change his heart onscreen. If she does either, it is offscreen, away from the Thieves, and not until after Ren fakes his death in the interrogation room. It’s entirely possible she waits as long as she does specifically for the sake of killing him while the Thieves (and Akechi and Shido) are otherwise distracted, which is a phenomenally two-faced thing to do, something that Ann would necessarily resist as per her whole complex about lies, stemming from being repeatedly lied to by her best friend and primary love interest before said friend/crush tried to kill herself.

And obviously none of that is explored in the text because both of them are relegated to dating sim archetypes in the background of the actual plot after their respective arcs conclude (Haru arguably is shuffled into that role as soon as her second awakening concludes, since the few compelling moments of masked inconsistency she shows in those initial encounters are dropped off the face of the earth once she and Morgana joins the thieves and Atlus forgets whose Palace arc this is supposed to be anyway).

Anyway that was a lot of words uhh. Kind Villainess shtick x Vengeful Heroine shtick, Good. The fact I can make an arguement for either of them being on either side of that dynamic, Extremely Good. They’re both soft and sharp and they would be absolutely adorable together, and also possibly kill some people, and that’s extremely cool of them.

.

Sadly I have far less thoughts about Ren and Yusuke beyond that I think Yusuke being extremely autistic and extremely gay is kind of the only sympathetic reading you can make of his initial arc, and even that is stretching the definitions of sympathetic. Within that reading though, I think his otherwise extremely lackluster confidant could come off as essentially “I’m just going to invite my crush to spend time with me at all points because I like being around him” while very possibly being in denial about being attracted to him cause he’s been Extremely Repressed under Madarame’s thumb, and this blossoming love is something that feels to him as another language of beauty and self-expression, even as he struggles to understand what his own emotions are telling him.

And from Ren’s point of view, that sort of constant attention is primarily digging into his lack of self-confidence, the fact that he’s used to preferring that he goes through life in the background of other people’s shots, living the world as a passerby; since he’s been punished so harshly for stepping out of line, and clearly was raised by deeply neglectful parents. He’s not used to people paying attention to him in a positive way, let alone encouraging him to stand out, to make silly poses in a public church for the sake of art, or join his friend on a boat to people-watch other couples. He is not used to people who not only want to see him, but who want OTHERS to see him, who almost want to show him off, the way that Yusuke making art of Ren would do. And I think that’s a meaningful thing for him.

And distilled down further yet again: pushy clueless prettyboy and awkward wallflower is a good combination.

(Also also also. A significant amount of what I just said does not apply to their DV appearances, since they’re all pretty different there than in canon. Though these readings do influence how I’ve chosen to characterize them there.)

[quindolyn]

Can you please write more sub James. I thrive off that sh*t

All Dressed Up || James Potter

A/N: I haven't been feeling inspired to write but James in lingerie seemed to get my brain working so I literally wrote this and then scoured my inbox for a request that wastage enough to fit. I like this piece and I hope you guys enjoy it, I'm feeling motivated right now so you might even get something else today or tomorrow.

Warnings: jamie in lingerie, sub!James, dom!reader, fem!reader, some bimbofication, teasing, praise, degradation; names like whore and slut but not too much of it, allusion to pegging at the end and I think that's it, all acts are consensual and there is a safe word in place

Word Count: 2870

“Close your eyes,” You giggle, placing your hands over James’ as you direct them over his shining hazel optics. Perched atop the hard planes of his thighs you make sure his fingers are held tightly together, lest he try to peek before you permit him to look.

“They’re closed, they’re closed,” He chuckles, a grin playing at his lips, slightly chapped but almost impossibly pink.

“Good,” You smile, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, “Keep being a good boy and you’ll get your present.”

It’s almost funny how drastic of an effect your words have on him in such a short amount of time, so close to him you can hear as his breathing becomes shallower, he stiffens under you in anticipation. You can’t help but smile as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, you love that you can do that to him.

“Do you think you can do that for me, pretty boy?” Your voice drops to a whisper as you lean forward so that your lips graze the shell of his ear, James tries to suppress a shiver but he is wildly unsuccessful.

“Yes, Mommy.”

You coo at his good manners, pride swelling in your chest as you gently push yourself off his lap so that you can pull a bag out from underneath the bed.

The previous weekend you and Sirius had visited Hogsmeade together, your friends are aware of the dynamic between you and James in the bedroom, Sirius especially never misses out on an opportunity to tease James, though it's always in good fun, especially when Remus reminds him just what will happen if he’s not nice to Jamesie.

You were in a store specializing in intimates, needing a few new bras as your current ones were starting to feel a bit snug when Sirius had stumbled upon the men’s lingerie. When you’d glimpsed the rows of lace, satin, and silk coming in all different colors and in all different cuts you hadn’t been able to resist.

Glancing into the bag you find yourself eternally grateful that you’d made your purchases as the excitement surrounding the idea of James in lingerie is multiplied by ten fold with him so near.

Directing your eyes back toward James you consider letting him just sit there, anticipation thrumming in his veins as the idea of him so needy for you and not being able to do anything about it always holds a certain appeal.

Your wanting to see him dressed up over rules your desire to torture him as you pull a black lace thong from the discreet bag before setting it on the floor and sitting back down on the bed, mindlessly playing with the miniscule fabric of the thong.

“You can open your eyes now baby,” You command, eyes glued to his face, wanting to see the moment it dawned on him what you have in your hands.

“W-What’s that Mommy?” He asks, gesturing to the thong in your hands.

“What do you think it is Jamesie?” Merlin, he’s adorable when he’s confused.

He pushes his glass up further on his nose as he cocks his head to the side, “Looks like a thong Mommy,” His eyes fly up to your face, a hopeful look in his eyes, “Do I get to see my Mommy in lingerie?”

“Not quite pretty boy,” His face falls at your words but he does his best to conceal his disappointment, “This is for you, s not fair I put on lingerie and don’t buy it for you too, it’s so mean of me to leave you out and I thought it was time I rectified that.”

James’ mouth drops into the most adorable little “o” shape as realization dawns upon him, he gulps before finding his words to speak, “S for me?”

His eyes are wide behind the frames of his glasses, as much as you like him in them you don’t want them getting in the way, sitting back on your heels you lean forward so you can slide them from his face and abandon them on the nightstand.

“Yeah baby s for you, you wanna stand up so we can get you into your thong for me?”

His response is immediate as he pushes himself off of the bed, nodding his head and already moving to pull his shirt off over it.

You’re extremely pleased by his reaction to your proposal, you and he had briefly discussed James in lingerie but had never given it serious consideration. You find yourself regretting putting it off for this long.

“Ah ah ah Jamesie,” Said boy’s eyes fly up to your face, a slightly panicked look in them, “Did I say you could take your shirt off by yourself?”

“No Mommy,” He admits bashfully, his hands falling from the hem of his shirt and to his sides.

“That’s right, because pretty babies needn’t trouble themselves with taking off their clothes, Mommy’s here to do it for you. Do you want Mommy to take off your shirt bubba?”

You too have pushed off of the bed and are close enough to slip your hand under his jaw, directing his gaze from the floor to your face as you pose your question to him. The soft look in your eyes tells him he’s not in trouble for acting without permission and he softens under your touch.

“Please,” He whimpers, he’s absolutely oozing desperation and you’re drinking it all up, every last drop.

Using your grip on his jaw you guide James’ face down to yours, your lips are so close that his breath is fanning across your face but you make no move to connect your lips as you’re rather enjoying watching James so needy for you.

“Mommy,” He whines, “Please, need your lips.”

“You need them baby?”

His head nods in your hold and he juts out his bottom lip, he’s the picture of desperation and Godric is it a good look on him.

You lean forward ever so slightly, allowing your lips to brush against his, in his need for you James pushes forward, trying desperately to meet yours but you’re quick to pull his face back so that your lips are simply brushing.

“Needy little thing,” You muse, allowing your gaze to drop from James’ face, you take your time to admire his body, slowly dragging your eyes back up to meet his.

Before he can beg again you’re surging forward, attaching your lips to his, your other hand flies to cup James’ jaw too so you have complete control over him and his movements. Your skin tingles under the thin material of your t-shirt as his hands gravitate towards your waist, pulling you as close to him as he can manage without breaking the kiss.

Your lips work fervently against his and he doesn’t even make an effort to match your aggression, instead just taking what you give him, absorbing every flick of your tongue and nip of your teeth.

Eventually your hands leave his jaw, instead finding where the hem of his shirt rests against the hard planes of his stomach, you make quick work of the shirt as you pull the soft cotton over his head, pulling your lips from his for just a moment in order to rid him of his clothing. That mere moment proves too much for James as he lets out the most pathetic whine.

His whining only intensifies when instead of meeting his lips again you step out of his grasp to survey him. Allowing your eyes to sweep over his newly bared chest your mouth salivates at his muscle shifting under his beautiful skin.

Moving towards him your hands find the button of his jeans, making quick work of it and the following zipper while you let your teeth graze over the hard bud of his nipple. The guttural moan he releases at the stimulation reminds you that you love his nipples almost as much as he loves yours.

Hooking your fingers on both his jeans and boxers you pull them down in one fell swoop, sinking to your knees with the offending fabrics you have an optimal view of James’ cock as it bounces against his hip. He already seems to be hard and his pretty, swollen head is already leaking precum.

You help him step out of his clothes, he follows your instructions obediently all the while his head is craned downwards so that he can keep his eyes on you. The gentle touches of your hands against his calves have him buckling at the knees.

“Do you like how I look on my knees baby?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes before gently kissing the inside of his thigh

“Y-yes Mommy,” He stutters out.

“Don’t get used to it,” Sternness seeps into your voice as you deliver a harsh slap to the inside of his thigh, the same spot where just moments earlier your lips had been tenderly pressed against his skin as you reach for the lace thong.

Helping James step into the lacy garment you smirk as you tease him, your fingertips brushing against his soft skin as you slowly slip the thong up his legs, taking a sick sort of pleasure in the way he squirms, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

A pleased smile graces your lips as you pull the garment up to rest on James’ hips, you’d guessed at his size but as your eyes survey him there’s no denying how well it fits him.

Not even bothering to spare him a glance upwards you let your palms smooth across the tops of his thighs, a thin dusting of hair along his smooth skin, as your eyes remain glued to his cock, straining against the lacy fabric.

“So pretty,” Your murmur, letting your palms venture up his thighs, dancing dangerously close to his aching cock but never quite touching him where he so desperately needs you.

“Turn around for me,” You instruct, tapping his hip.

On shaky legs James manages to turn so that you have a view of his ass, on full display for you thanks to the minsiculity of the thong.

A wicked smile stretches across your lips as you lift your hands to shamelessly grope his ass, fingers melding into the supple flesh as you knead it beneath your palms.

“So firm,” You praise absentmindedly, removing your hands so you can admire the red tint to his ass after your ministrations on it. You’re certain that if you could see James’ face a similar red tint would be adorning his other set of cheeks.

“Godric thank the lad who invented Quidditch,” You murmur against his skin as your lips find his hip, trailing soft, delicate kisses down his skin, following the curve of his bum while your hand continues to grope the other cheek.

“Thank you Mommy,” He manages breathlessly, doing his best to not fall to his knees right with you as your touch turns his legs to absolute mush.

After thoroughly ravishing his bum and upper thighs with kisses you push yourself to your feet, giving him a quick slap on his bottom before ordering him to lie on the bed.

As he scrambles to obey your order you keep your eyes fixed on his form while your fingers reach for the hem of your shirt, making quick work of it as you pull it off over your head and abandon it on the floor.

James’ eyes immediately fix on your chest, breasts supported by a white lace bra, the way he’s looking at you though, you’d think you were completely naked.

“See something you like, pretty boy?” The flexing of his thighs does not go unnoticed by you, no doubt because of your teasing tone.

He simply nods in response, not being able to formulate the words to respond to you.

“Poor baby,” You coo, climbing onto the bed so that you’re once again straddling James, only now you sit lower on his legs, more on his upper shins than thighs, “Already too dumb to use your words?”

With one hand planted on the bed to support you as you lean forward the other grabs James’ chin, forcing him to meet your eyes.

Any hope James had of summoning the ability to speak dissipates at your show of dominance. The haze that had already begun to cloud his mind only intensifying as he becomes acutely aware of all the places where your body touches his, the way your breasts hang from your chest, so close that he could lift his hand to feel them, play with them.

“Poor dumb baby,” You mewl, your hand leaving his chin, sliding down the smooth skin of his chest and abdomen before settling on his prominent bulge. Without preamble you cup his cock in your hand, the only thing separating the two being the black lace that he looks so pretty in.

His back arches off the bed at your touch, thrusting his hips up into your hand he puts on quite the show, always a good, eager slut.

“Mommy!”

“Oh, so now you can speak?” You taunt, face mere inches from his.

All you’re met with in response is an admittedly adorable, if not pathetic, whine as James squeezes his eyes closed and tries to still his wriggling hips. Your hand continues to palm at his crotch, never once letting up on your movements as he writhes underneath you, completely consumed by the pleasure you bring him.

You love how he looks below you; useless, needy, a perfect little slut. Him beneath you never fails to get you wet, your wetness pooling in your panties as a warmth settles low into your stomach.

“Feels so good Mommy, need your hand, need it!”

“You’ve already got it baby, isn’t that what I’m giving you right now?”

His eyes fly open, looking down between your two bodies as if to check if your words are true, when he finds that they indeed are they come back up to you, desperation and lust swimming in his hazy optics.

“S not enough,” He cries, his back again flying off the mattress, “S not enough Mommy, need more, need more.” He keeps repeating the words over and over again like a prayer he’s desperate to have answered.

To silence him you drop onto your forearm, your lips meeting his, swallowing his moans, his pleads, his whines, all the while your hand still palms away at his cock.

Large hands find your body, but so ravaged by lust they roam as though lost, over your hips, your waist, briefly skittering over your bum, not quite sure where to land. As though echoing his earlier words nonverbally, needing all of you, but nothing quite seeming to be enough.

If he wasn’t so entrenched in your body, in the way you’re making him feel, perhaps he would’ve noticed the tell tale warning signs that he was approaching his orgasm. Perhaps he would’ve had time to beg to cum, to promise to be a good boy for you so long as you grant him release.

Instead it washes over him all too suddenly, catching him off guard as he thrusts up into your hand once more, cumming all over himself, the thong, and your hand.

More wetness pools in your pussy as you feel James twitch beneath you as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm, his prick sensitive under your touch.

“M-Mommy,” He whimpers as he starts to come back after his orgasm, “Mommy s’too much.”

His hips try to squirm away from you as you ignore his words, continuing to grope his cock through the now ruined material of the thong you’d bought for him.

“Mommy please!”

“I don’t remember giving you permission to cum Jamesie,” You speak against the soft skin along his collar bone, your tone of voice causes a shiver to race down his spine.

“I’m sorry Mommy,” He whimpers uselessly, “I’m sorry.”

“And not only did you cum without permission,” You say, ignoring his apologies, “But you came in your panties like a little whore, didn’t realize you were that much of a useless slut, ruining your new clothes.”

“Didn’t mean to Mommy, just felt so good,” His voice is a strained whine and only serves to deepen your arousal, sending a shiver down your spine and directly to your pussy.

“If my touch feels so good then why are you trying to get away from me, slut?” James’ hips are indeed still trying to evade your grasp, rather uselessly, but he doesn’t seem to be deterred, still writhing underneath you.

“S’too much!” He cries out, contradicting his statement as he bucks up into your hand.

“Aw, is it too much for you Jamie? Can’t take it?” Your words are dripping with a sick sort of amusement, a sneer adorning your lips.

You lean down so that your lips are grazing his ear, your breath fanning across the side of his face, he shivers at your proximity and you can’t help but love the effect you have on him.

“If you can’t take this, how do you expect to take my strap?”

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[tetralea]

To play a game

Pairing: dom!Tom Holland x reader

Word Count: 1.8K+

Warning: dom-sub dynamics, dirty talking, cum in panties, exhibitionism, semi-public play, vaginal sex

Summary:  You are attending at an event with Tom and the both of you likes to play dirty, so you ditch your panties for the night.

A/N: So,it was inspired by a conversation veeery long ago with @we--are---not--afraid​ also it kind of clashes with this ask: (P.S please at least say hi, next time because I’m not writing on demand)

The event was loud and as overwhelming as ever no matter how many times you did it. The red carpet walks, the interviews, the photos, it got easier over time but never less draining. The only thing what kept you on the edge was one specific man and the hurried promise he made before you got out of the car.  

‘I bet you are not bold enough do this event without your panties.’ Tom purred into your ear, his eyes and words challenging you.  

This is how it happened, your hands sliding under the dress which reached around your knees to find your panties and push it into Tom’s pocket. ‘And I bet you can’t walk around with my panties in your pocket without someone noticing.’ Your little head tilt and innocent eyes earned a groan and a dangerous glint in those brown eyes, but he didn’t say a thing.  

It has been an hour now at least and you felt yourself growing wet as the cool air brushed against your pussy. You knew your dress was long enough to cover you by any means, but it didn’t help your feeling of being exposed and absolutely aroused by doing all this small talk and posing while not wearing your underwear, let alone having them in Tom’s pocket. It was a dirty little secret for the two of you, which riled you up more and more by every minute.  

The first time you could finally talk to him again was before the dinner when he stepped to you, his fingers lightly touching your shoulder.  

‘Do you have a minute for me, darling?’  

With an apologetic smile you excused yourself from the group and started to follow him through the crowded room to an empty, dark hallway, curtains hanging from each side, giving you just enough cover for now. His fingers were interlocking with yours during the walk, only letting them go when he pushed you to the wall, getting tangled in a curtain a little.  

‘How are you doing lovie?’ His words were hushed, lips finding yours before you could have answered in a hungry kiss.  

‘Better than you, I'd say.’ The devilish smile on your lips and the way he gave himself away so easily earned you another groan before he was back kissing you silly. It was hot and heavy with need, need building from the moment you got out of the car a few hours ago. His hard on was painfully obvious as he stepped a bit closer, his full body pressed to yours now. Sure, it explains why at least one of his hands were in his pocket. Those tight, slim pants didn’t hide his erection very well.  

Between the heated sloppy kisses, Tom’s long fingers slipped under your dress. ‘Do you know how it felt watching you flirting with everyone and knowing you little pussy is bare under your pretty dress?’  

It was a rhetorical question, but he didn't give you time to answer anyway, his lips were on yours, kissing you in a way it made your head spin, your small whimpers lost in his mouth. ‘Lovie, you soaked even your thighs.’ Tom cooed, when his fingers run up on your skin, to find you completely roused and wet. The sound you made then his touch, even if it was light as a feather hit your exposed pussy lips was almost feral. ‘You know, originally I wanted to finger you here and go back to fuck you later, but I don’t think I can wait for so long.’ His mumbles along with his ministrations were too much to let you form any more coherent thoughts. ‘I think there is a storage room across the hall, what do you think?’ His question was sweet as honey in sync with the way he was petting your pussy, coating his fingers in your slick, pressing into you a digit only when he touched your gaping entrance.  

‘Yes.’ As embarrassing as it was this was the first and only word which come to your mind, to Tom’s amusement. He loved it, loved to make you so flustered and worked up you practically forgot how to form words and there were nothing left but those sweet noises only for him.  

It felt like it wasn’t even a minute later when the door of the small room clicked behind you. Tom was immediately all over you, his hands trying to feel as much skin as you could, being desperate to finally have you. ‘Turn around, lovie.’  

You did with a bit of a help, hands pressed to the hard, steel shelves, but you didn’t care. There was a bit of a pause while Tom undid his pants, a bit of a shuffling until he pushed them down till his knees, to pull himself free from his boxers. Lifting your dress with one hand and aligning his hot cock head with your entrance with the other shouldn’t have been this hot in this situation, but you couldn’t help it.  

‘Tom?’ Your voice was weak and impatient, when you didn’t feel the immediate fullness, you were expecting but only the delicious stretch at your entrance. He stopped.  

‘Ask for it, darling. You made me walk around with a hard cock all night, this is the least you could do to make it fair.’ 

The frustrated moan didn’t help, nor the almost inaudible please. ‘You know you can act like a little brat, and I could always just jerk off like this and leave you frustrated, so you better think about your next words carefully.’ With his words a sharp slap cut through the silence of the small space followed with your whimper when he slapped your ass a bit roughly.  

‘Tom, please.’ You tried, but already knew it won’t cut it. He tsked with his tongue, which didn’t mean any good for you, mostly when you felt his hand slowly moving starting to gently stroke his own cock.  

‘Last chance, baby girl.’ He warned and gave you another slap, his hand not speeding up yet.  

The last nick name seemed to wash away all of your remaining resistance, getting the obedient little sub out of you.  

‘Please, fuck me.’ Your words were so fast it was a miracle he heard them correctly.  

‘What is it?’ Tom teased, leaning closer to your seemingly to hear better, pushing his thick cock half-way in during the process.  

‘Please fuck me, please I need your cock!’ The words fumbled over your lips like prayer now, a shudder running down on your spine making you twitch around his cock.  

‘Look at you. You must be so desperate.’ Along with the soft, slow purr he finally pushed into you fully inch by inch. The mewl you made was primal, finally feeling the fullness and weight of his cock inside of you. 

‘Open up!’ It threw you off for a minute, but there was no time to think about it when he tapped on your lip, and something lace like touched them too. Tom stuffed your panties into your mouth without hesitation. 

Your eyes rolled back, any of your previous resistance thrown out of the window, melting into Tom’s touch, as he fucked into you. He didn’t start slow, knowing your body enough by now, to be sure you could take it. He did slow down tho after a few minutes, to pull you closer, to pepper sweet kisses onto your neck, to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. ‘Such a good girl for me.’ Tom cooed and bit your earlobe, before letting you go and starting to thrust hard and fast again.  

With your sounds muffled by your panties, lips and jaw stretching around them, eyes shut as you got lost in your pleasure, until you felt your high approaching. Your fingers left the selves which were warm under your palms now, to tap in his wrist twice.  

‘Oh, baby girl, look how good you can be. Are you there? Are you asking for my permission?’ His words were surprisingly coherent compared to the state he was. You felt his thrust becoming sloppy, his grip on your body tightening, his pants and moans becoming more breathy, he was also close.  

The answer for his question was a frantic nodding and a desperate cry trying to hold it.  

‘Good girl. You can come on my command when I hit zero.’  With that Tom started to count down from ten, making it almost the longest ten seconds of your life because he didn’t slow down, he was taking you with the same strength and speed as before, making it especially hard for you to hold back your orgasm. Now you were grateful for the small ruined piece of fabric in your mouth to hold back your desperate cries, moans and whimpers, because you were on the edge, your whole body shaking during those ten seconds.  

‘One, almost there.’ Tom’s voice was equally breathless and wretched. ‘Zero. Come baby girl, come on my cock. Come on.’  

To the permission and encouragement, you started coming immediately without even fully registering it. It took a few seconds to really reach your peak. Your mouth opened to a silent O while your body shook and convulsed under the force of your orgasm. The small, wet hole tightening around Tom and the unmistakable signs of your orgasm pushed him over too, his cock twitching and oozing his thick, warm cum into you.  

When it was over, he pulled out carefully, being aware of just how sensitive he made you. The small kisses on your shoulders sending shudders down on your arms, your eyes still closed, enjoying his closeness. He took your panties out of your mouth reaching down to use them to clean your thighs a little.  

‘Did you enjoy it?’ He asked, his lips finally finding yours for a soft, loving kiss. ‘This is what you had in mind?’ 

‘Yeah, yeah thank you.’  

‘Good, because otherwise you would be so punished at home for sticking this into my pocket. I was so fucking hard all night, darling.’ Tom softly schooled you while he turned you around trying to re arrange the both of you to a presentable state.  

‘I know and it got me so wet.’ Your tired giggle was an obvious sign of your satisfied state.  

‘Yeah?’ Tom looked at you with amusement. ‘Good, because you will wear a fresh pair now, right? And I know I’ll get hard again eventually, because you are running around with my cum in your pussy eventually dripping out of you and leaving a visible wet patch on your panties with all these very important people around us.’ As he talked you pulled out that fresh pair from your purse, he helped you to put it on, his fingers pressing the material to your entrance firmly. ‘Let’s go and enjoy the party while my hands are out of my pocket.’ 

Tag list: @terrifictomholland @itstaskeen @thegirlintheswivelchair @duskholland @sinisterspidey @tomsrebeleyebrow @annathesillyfriend @hazofmyheart @greenorangevioletgrass @worldoftom @augustholland @m-multifandom-multishipper

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[pale-silver-comb]

So I know absolutely nothing about Leverage except what I've been seeing you post lately and I have to admit you're making it look tempting to watch! Can I ask what are some of your favorite things about the show/reasons you would suggest people watch it? And is there really a poly relationship that is canon?

Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. I am going to do my best not to just “asdfghkjl” at you and answer coherently.

In a nutshell, Leverage is about 5 people. 4 are criminals (Parker, Hardison, Eliot and Sophie) with different and unique skill-sets and 1 is an ex-insurance investigator (Nate) who, at one point or another in his career, has tracked down (or at least attempted to) the other 4. The whole show is essentially: man reluctantly reforms 4 criminals to use their criminal powers for good and 4 criminals move into man’s life and stubbornly refuse to leave because, goddammit, now they have morals. 

I’ve got a lot of favourite things about the show but the main ones are as follows:

1. Found family. And I’m not talking about loners who come together to fight crime and happen to co-exist to the point where they realise they happen to have found themselves a family. I mean, Nate and Sophie are the Drunk Uncle and Wine Aunt who somehow become Mom and Dad to 3 beautiful criminal children. Mom and Dad love their criminal babies and the kids love them (as well as each other, but we’ll come to that in a moment). You get amazing family moments such as: Mom and Dad packing the kids lunch before sending them out to kick corporate greed’s ass; Mom and Dad giving the kids ridiculously expensive and personal Christmas presents causing their most Grumpy Kid to go very very quiet and soft as he runs off to gleefully play with his new murder toy; the kids interrupting Mom and Dad’s big Movie Style Kiss to ask if they can please keep their new underground layer and huffing and puffing when Dad tells them no.

2. Found family: the OT3 edition. To answer your question, the OT3 is indeed canon, confirmed by the creator. Now, usually, “confirmed by the creator” infuriates me because most of the time it’s a way for a creator to be seen as “progressive” without doing anything to actually be progressive. That isn’t the case here. The OT3 are built up carefully and while it is obvious the creators didn’t originally intend for all 3 of them to become a relationship in the romantic sense, by mid-season 5 we are given a very clear picture of where Parker, Hardison and Eliot are heading in their relationship. There aren’t any kisses at the end to signal this but there are solid marriage vows in not only one but two episodes. (And by marriage vows I mean literal equivalents of marriage vows: “for better or worse” and “’til death do us part”. I’m not even exaggerating). The OT3 also doesn’t need explicit romantic narratives to convey how much they love each other. Their love is laced through the whole show, from the way they teach each other things to the way they respond to each other and work as a unit. The way they fiercely protect and admire each other. Like someone once said, if you need characters to kiss or say I love you to let the audience know they love each other, you are writing them wrong. 

Aside from that, each of the parings in the OT3 are just. Gah. They are so well done, with friendship being the solid basis for them all. The creators never expect the audience to assume anything about them or fill in the gaps. They give us their relationships on screen and reference many things off-screen to show us how these relationships continue to build in between episodes.

Hardison and Parker are a canon couple and date in the show: it’s approached slowly and they are so goddamned sweet. They are basically every fluffy slow-burn trope with a healthy dash of mutual pining in the mix. They are basically that quote “love is patient, love is kind”. (I would like to add their romance never becomes the focus of the show or overrides the importance of any other relationship they have with the other characters, especially Eliot.)

Hardison and Eliot are the Old Married Couple and from day one are already bickering and looking at each other/making comments that are found in every UST fic ever (not to mention Hardison has a very good knack for making Eliot grin like a little kid, when usually he’s basically an Angry Little Chef Man). They argue, they play, and love each other plain as day. 

Parker and Eliot are more subtle but every bit as wonderful. They have an unspoken connection and understand each other on a level no-one else can. Parker and Eliot are not good with giving themselves over to affection for different reasons (and Hardison plays a central role in helping them realise it’s okay to want it and have it- that boy has endless patience) but there is something so beautiful in the way the two of them come together on their own and develop their own special bond that works for them. Parker and Eliot are that trope where the characters don’t need to speak to understand each other perfectly. They just do. Their love language is a lot of the time non-verbal but speaks volumes. (Parker also likes to annoy the hell out of Eliot and Eliot....just.....lets...her. Because he’s soft. The softest, grumpiest boy.) 

I could go into so much depth for each pairing and their dynamics as a 3 but that's for another post.

3. Subverting stereotypes. There is the occasional hiccup in the show regarding stereotypes but ultimately, Leverage gets an A+ when it comes to writing characters and making them 3 dimensional people who are not defined by certain characteristics or events. Nate could so easily fall into the White Man Pain trope where he uses the trauma of losing his kid as a reason as to why he is entitled to act like a dick. Nate is a dick but he doesn’t use his pain to excuse it and I appreciate that. Hardison is a black man who is soft and nurturing. Easily the most empathetic and patient of the group. He’s nerdy, an actual genius, and has the biggest heart of all the characters. Nate is maybe the glue but Hardison is definitely the heart. Media’s usual aggressive, amongst other, racist stereotypes can fuck right off. Parker is canonically autistic (I am sure this was confirmed by one of the creators) and she is not defined by it. It’s not written as some kind of singular personality trait. It’s part of what makes up Parker but it’s only one facet of who she is and not once is her actions, thoughts or feelings treated like a joke. Sometimes people don’t understand why she does and says the things she does but it’s met with patience and fondness over the course of the show. Equally, it’s not met with over-caution. Parker is just Parker. No-one tries to change her. The other nice thing is Hardison, who always makes sure Parker knows she’s amazing because of who she is and not in spite of it. Finally, Sophie is in her 40s. She’s not treated like she’s past her prime. Ever. She’s sexy, smart and never is she pitted against or compared to Parker (who is younger) for anything. Sophie is amazing and there’s never even a conversation of “I may be older but I am still *insert adjective typically associated with younger women here*”. Sophie is possibly the first female character I’ve ever seen who isn’t just unapologetic about her age but has never had to apologise for her age. It’s a non-issue and that’s that. The women on the show are written so well, right down to secondary characters and it’s beyond refreshing.  

4.) It’s just fun. The show has a “monster of the week” type format. Except instead of a ghoul or a ghost, the monster is some corrupt wealthy and powerful individual or organisation. The show draws on real-life individuals to do this and therefore closely parallels real-life people and events. It addresses important political, economical, social and environmental issues while at the same time remaining fun and light-hearted. The characters constantly get the chance to play dress up and by GOD do they have fun with it. You get to watch Eliot beat up bad guys in the most delightful of ways, usually after a witty non-sequitur and with a weapon you’d never think could be a weapon. The dialogue and back and forth between the characters is everything. And finally - my favourite thing- the team can never resist striking a dramatic pose after they’ve taken down the bad guy, making sure the bad guy sees them. I mean, they COULD just walk away, satisfied they’ve taken the person down, but nope. They gotta be dramatic bitches 24/7 and pose like they are models for every single month of this year’s Criminal Calendar.  

5.) Competence Porn. So. Much. Competence Porn.  

Honestly, I could list a thousand reasons for why Leverage is amazing but to list them would to be spoiling so many amazing moments you’d get to discover for the first time on your own if you do choose to watch it. It’s the kind of show you can watch with an eagle-eye and sink your teeth into. But it’s also the kind of show if, you would prefer, put on in the background for something entertaining while you do something else. Each episode is about the job at hand but it’s made up of so many moments between the characters that show how much the creators and writers care about them. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll do whatever it is you do when something Soft and Wonderful happens that makes your heart melt. I am so beyond grateful for Leverage. It’s everything I always wanted in a show. Nearly every show I’ve watched in the past 10 years has disappointed me in some way, usually either because the writers run out of steam or characters who I love are treated poorly or given some kind of unnecessary “shock value” arc. Leverage doesn’t do that. Leverage is what it says on the bottle. Fandom isn’t something I joined because I needed canon fix-its. Fandom only enhances and celebrates an already excellent canon. 

[cosmicjoke]

Saezuru chap 25 observations

Well, this is the big chapter everyone of course always talks about.  The big turning point in which Yashiro finally, fully realizes that his masochistic identity has always been nothing more than a coping mechanism, that he’s never wanted, and had no real responsibility in the abuse he’s suffered in his life.

What kind of stood out to me here though, on my reread, ties back into what I was saying about Doumeki before, how there’s this notion that there’s been a role reversal between him and Yashiro after the time skip, but how I felt like, in a lot of ways, Doumeki’s always been the dominant one, the one sort of in the drivers seat in their dynamic.  I feel like that’s even more established here.  The concept of consent during this sex scene has already been talked about a lot, and with good reason, as it’s definitely dubious at times.  The thing I noticed about Doumeki here is that he is being manipulative.  Particularly, he gets Yashiro worked up into almost a frenzy, and then he purposefully pulls back and asks Yashiro to tell him that he wants it, that Doumeki is the only one he wants, and refuses to continue until Yashiro does.  Doumeki poses it as a question, but it’s really a demand.  When Yashiro doesn’t answer, Doumeki simply turns him over onto his back and proceeds.  He knows what he’s doing.  He’s in control of the situation between the two of them.  He knows Yashiro can’t resist him, and he keeps pressing forward anyway, despite the obvious signs of distress in Yashiro.  Now, of course, Doumeki means well.  He knows that Yashiro isn’t the twisted pervert he believes himself to be, and which everyone else tells him he is, and he’s trying to show Yashiro that.  But I think it’s also a bit of possessiveness on Doumeki’s part, a desire to claim Yashiro as his own, almost a declaration of ownership.  And even with the better part of his intentions, tragically, this is maybe the worst way to go about it, by forcing gentle sex on Yashiro, forcing him to realize the sand upon which his single method of coping with his trauma is built, before Yashiro is even remotely mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with the fallout of that, the ramifications and implications of what it says about who he is and what he’s been through.  Yashiro begs Doumeki not to break him, but Doumeki doesn’t understand what he means, and promises he won’t, meaning he won’t abuse him.  But of course, Yashiro really means don’t destroy my sense of identity, don’t make me unable to cope with what’s happened to me, etc...  Yashiro knows, deep down, if Doumeki keeps going, he’s going to lose hold of the one thing that’s kept him alive and fighting and functioning all his life, and he knows without that one thing, he has no other tether, he has no other port in which to find safety.  He’ll be left defenseless and directionless, with no backup plan.  He wants Doumeki to hurt him, to treat him badly here, because he’s panicking.  He realizes how much he wants Doumeki, how much he wants Doumeki’s kindness and gentility and care, and he realizes, with it, that he can no longer believe or convince himself that it’s ever been any other way.  He can no longer believe or convince himself that what happened to him as a child, and what kept happening to him as an adult, was something he wanted, or asked for, or was responsible for.  It destroys any sense of agency for Yashiro, and exposes the awful reality of his genuine victimhood, instilling a sense of even greater self-loathing and worthlessness in him.

Doumeki keeps pressing, even as Yashiro says he doesn’t want to do it from the front, and again Doumeki is quite manipulative here, once again acting as if he accepts Yashiro’s answer, but then pulling out, essentially plowing over Yashiro’s answer and simply forcing him to do what he wants.  Again, I know Doumeki is well meaning, but Yashiro’s distress is obvious, even as he’s clearly enjoying it too.  I think this is what trips Doumeki up.  He can’t reconcile Yashiro’s obvious, positive physical response to what’s happening with his distressed and even panicking emotional response.  Doumeki thinks because Yashiro is responding well physically, that his protests must not be real, or at the very least half-hearted.  But sadly, they’re anything but.  Yashiro is having a serious mental breakdown here.  This entire scene is deeply traumatic for him, for a lot of reasons.  He doesn’t yet understand, fully, why it is his body is responding the way it does, because he’s still convinced, still grasping on to the notion that he likes and has always liked abusive sex, until he has a vision of his step-father raping him, and suddenly Yashiro is faced with the full realization of what it is.  That he’s convinced himself of a lie all his life in order to cope with the horrific truth of what happened to him.  He thinks specifically of his step-father saying to him “You like it when it hurts, right?”, and an image of himself, holding his face, which has obviously just been struck, answering “Yeah.”, and a later image of himself saying, “If it doesn’t hurt... I can’t get into it.”  In between these images, Yashiro sees himself and his true reaction to the abuse, his pained, tear stained face.  This is him really realizing for the first time in his life that he never liked it “when it hurt”, that he only taught himself to respond positively to it because it was the only way he had of dealing with it.  He had no one in his life to support him through it.  He had no friends, his mother was useless and eventually abandoned him, his step-father was the one committing the abuse.  He was totally alone.  And so he did the only thing he could, which was convince himself it was alright because he liked it.  But this moment with Doumeki has ripped that narrative away, and revealed the truth of it, which is that it was never alright, because Yashiro didn’t like it, didn’t feel good while it was happening.  He was scared, and in pain, and alone.  This one moment with Doumeki has made Yashiro’s entire life and identity into a lie, and left him with nothing but his own, pitiful helplessness and enslavement to his trauma, which he realizes has dictated and decided seemingly the entire course of his life thereafter.  This is why Yashiro starts to cry.  The first time we see him cry since his breakdown over Kageyama when he was 18 or 19.  His entire life, and everything he knew about himself, has come apart in this moment.

The thing is, Yashiro has already decided at this point, I think, that he can’t keep Doumeki in his life.  He knows if he does, that the corruption he believes he’s already begun to set off in Doumeki will eventually consume and destroy him.  He believes he’ll ruin Doumeki, so he has to let him go.  But he’s also realized now that he’s in love with Doumeki, that being with Doumeki has given him his first, real taste of joy and happiness and genuine comfort in his life, the first time he’s ever felt truly loved.  He knows, conceivably, that he could find another port in Doumeki, that he could find safety and direction in him, even after losing his one means of protecting himself and functioning with his trauma.  But the problem comes from Yashiro’s belief that he himself is a corrupting force, and will eventually drag Doumeki down with him if he allows Doumeki to remain at his side.  So here Yashiro is, faced with the rapid crumbling of his own identity, the eradication of his only and most important means of coping with a lifetime of horrific trauma and abuse, and the simultaneous realization that his only other hope, Doumeki, is someone he can’t hold on to either, because if he does, he’ll (he believes) destroy him.  And in the end, like Yashiro always does, because he’s such a heartbreakingly selfless person, he decides that Doumeki’s life is more important than his own.  Even as he loses his one and only means of protecting himself from the horror of his past, and the emptiness of his present, he also lets go of his only hope and chance of salvation for the sake of the man he loves.  

This is why we see the panels of Yashiro at the end of the chapter, looking at his shaking hand.  He coves his face with his hands, and when he pulls them away, any expression of distress, or dismay or grief has been washed away, replaced by the same mask of apathy and indifference of before.  Because Yashiro has resolved, in that moment, to let Doumeki go, even as he knows, deep down, that to do so will seal his own fate and condemn him now to a hopeless and worthless existence.  He’s hardening himself for what’s to come, for what he has to do.  He walks away from Doumeki, fully intending that to be the last time he ever sees him again, because he’s decided to end his own life.  Because he has nothing left to live for, because he knows his ability to cope with and manage his trauma has been destroyed, and because he knows he also can’t keep Doumeki in his life, both because it would destroy Doumeki, and because it would force him again and again to confront the reality of his own life and trauma.  But really, I think Yashiro already knows, deep down, that this single moment of realization was enough to shatter any hope of continuing on with that identity.  I think he already knows he can’t go back to that.  And even knowing that, he chooses to let Doumeki go anyway, even as with it, he lets go of his only hope.  

[farmhandler]

My Everything

Rated: T

Pairing: Shifty/Richie from “Rockababy”

Word Count: 3k~

Summary: Shifty wants to know why Richie likes taking photos of him so much, and he gets his answer--and much more.

A/N: So this comic by the amazing human being @c2ndy2c1d is just really special. And then I wrote a fic because somebody had to, so please read the comic!! I was so charmed by all the characters, and I cannot resist this kind of nerd/jock/coolkid dynamic so here we are. I got permission to write this, so I hope I don’t butcher their characterizations! I tried to keep my interpretations as true to the comic as I could. Enjoy <3

-------------------------------------------------

“How long do I gotta sit like this?”

“Just a minute!” Richie says. It’s the same thing he said ten minutes ago, and then five minutes before that. He adjusts his camera lens and then poses again, taking another several photos for god knows what reason. “Just don’t move. I need to get the right shot…”

Shifty doesn’t move as promised, but his tail gives the table beside him a solid thwap to show Richie just how thin his patience is starting to run.

“Why do you want these photos anyway? You’ve taken like—thousands already, I swear.” 

“This is the first time I’ve gotten photos with your tail entirely intact.” He snaps another photo. Shifty lets out an explosive sigh and turns his head to give his neck a break. He’s lying on his stomach, ass up in the air, posed to give Richie ‘every valuable angle’ to get all the photos he needs for his research.

Research, research. It’s always about that damn research of his. He’s always makin’ Shifty turn this way and that, exposing every part of himself to Richie’s camera. Shifty can feel his face starting to turn pink, and without a doubt he knows the rest of his skin is sure to follow soon. It’s easier when he’s a human and there’s only so many places that can turn colors.

“I was hoping I could find a remedy to make your tail grow back faster,” Richie says forlornly, lowering his camera. “I’ve still got a lot of work to do.”

“Hey, you’re doing great,” Shifty says. He sits up, ignoring the look on Richie’s face and lifts one leg to his chest to give his arm something to lean on. “You helped make that medicine that took my pain away. That was pretty good.”

“Yeah,” Richie agrees reluctantly, staring down at his camera as if a medical marvel isn’t comparable to fixing Shifty’s tail—which was gonna grow back anyway. “But I wanted to figure this one out. I was so close…”

Shifty shrugs. “You’ve got time. Why worry about one little thing?”

“It’s not little,” Richie says, looking up at him. Even through his huge, nerdy glasses, his eyes burn with a passion that always leaves Shifty feeling strangely breathless. “I want to help you, any way I can.”

“So you’ve said,” Shifty says, off-hand, like his body isn’t changing colors. Richie’s gaze doesn’t shift, and Shifty keeps his eyes down at his feet, ‘cause otherwise he’ll never get the color to go away. “Why do you care so much about taking photos of me anyway? I mean—” While Richie stares at him, Shifty wrestles with his words, suddenly finding it hard to articulate something that’s been running through his mind since this whole thing with Richie started.

“What is it?”

“You’re always taking all these pictures because you think the way I look is—”

“—fascinating,” Richie finishes for him.

“Uh huh. Right, fascinating.” Shifty looks around for the pack of smokes Richie keeps for him and finds it on the shelf behind him. He lights it, once again ignoring Richie’s sharp look. No smoking inside, he’s always saying, but Shifty’s been dying for one for hours, and the rooms got great ventilation. “But let’s be real for a minute—don’t you prefer it when I look human?”

It’s not insecurity that makes Shifty ask the question. Well, not completely. Sure, he sometimes feels insecure about being so different from everyone, but he doesn’t wish he was a human.  Hell no—they’re fragile as hell.

Richie blinks at him. “Why would I want that?”

“Well—” Shifty pauses; stares down at his hand and starts the shift, lifting human fingers for Richie to see. “I don’t know, don’t you like it more? I look like you.”

“But you’re not like me,” Richie points out. Shifty shifts uncomfortably, weighing Richie’s words. The way he says it—it shouldn’t hurt, but it unexpectedly does.

Something in Shifty’s face must give him away, because in the next moment, Richie steps forward, his eyes wide. “And that’s a good thing! You’re not like me, you’re like you. And sure, the Shifty I knew at school and around town is a handsome guy, but I also really like the real you.” At Shifty’s continued silence, he continues. “Would you prefer it if I looked like you?”

“Well, no,” Shifty admits. “You’re a human.”

“Exactly. You’re perfect just the way you are.” Richie walks up to him, even closer now, those damn chocolate brown eyes boring into Shifty and makin’ him turn fucking pink. He can feel it happening because it always does around this guy; he’s the only one that can do this to him as often as he does, and the nerd has the gall to act like he has no idea what he’s doing.

He lifts his hands and cups the sides of Shifty’s face, the warmth of his hands seeping into his skin. The way Richie is looking at him—it’s more observational. Maybe he’d even describe it as clinical. Almost like business as usual, with Richie ignoring his personal space and putting his warm hands all over Shifty, only this time, with the topic of their conversation at hand, Shifty can’t take another second of this one-sided embarrassment.

He shifts, his body morphing and skin swirling until he’s almost entirely human. By the time he’s got his human face on, Richie has realized exactly what kind of position they’re really in. With his eyes still stuck on his, Shifty feels a vicious sense of satisfaction when Richie’s cheeks start to color.

“I—you—”

Shifty lifts his hand up over the back of Richie’s hand—the one that’s still hovering by his face uncertainly. “What was that you were saying about me being handsome?”

Richie’s glasses slip down his nose. He flicks his eyes down, and then the color in his cheeks darkens.

Do I have something on my face? Shifty wonders.

“You’re naked,” Richie squeaks. His hands snap to his face so fast that he basically slaps himself and ends up stumbling back, still trying to cover his eyes from Shifty’s naked form.

Huh, he thinks, looking down at himself. Forgot I was wearing real clothes before.

“Come on, sci-fi, it’s not like you’ve never seen me naked before. I’m naked all the time, in a way.”

“Yeah, but—” Richie turns and peeks out from between his fingers, then whips around again. “That’s different! You’re usually wearing clothes why aren’t you wearing clothes now.”

“They’re usually such a pain that I always morph ‘em, but today I decided, why not try wearing some?” He scratches his chin. “Then I forgot about ‘em.”

Seeing Richie so flustered by his human self when he doesn’t seem to give a damn about a naked alien makes him feel…annoyed isn’t the right world.

“Hey,” Shifty says, stalking up to Richie with his cigarette still in hand. He takes a drag and slides up behind him, wrapping one arm around his waist. Richie jolts with a gasp; Shifty does what he does best and shifts, letting Richie feel the way his body changes, morphing back into his alien self. “You don’t think this part of me is handsome?”

“I’m not answering that question,” Richie says. His ears are red. Shifty feels the oddest urge to bite them.

“Oh, so human me is hot, but not real me.”

“I’m not—you’re not—that’s not what I’m saying!” Richie turns around, fixes his warm eyes on Shifty, and points an accusatory finger at him. “I have to remain impartial. It’s bad enough that you’re all around me at home, being…the way you are—”

Shifty takes a drag. “The way I am?”

“Like that! Just like that. Handsome, cool, mysterious,” Richie starts ticking things off his fingers, to Shifty’s disbelief. “I mean, does smoking even do anything to you? What do your lungs look like?”

“I thought you hated all that stuff?” Shifty asks, ignoring the question.

“Well—” Richie’s flush still hasn’t dissipated. He takes off his glasses and starts cleaning them. “Even I can acknowledge that from an objective standpoint, you’re attractive.”

“You think I’m hot?” Shifty says, meaning it as a tease, but it comes out like a genuine question. Richie looks up at him, all intense as usual, and something in his face shifts.

“Yes,” he admits, face flushed and looking a little shaky on his feet. But his eyes—there’s that glitter; the glamor of intrigue that he always directs at Shifty and anything worth a dime in his mind. “I do.”

Shifty goes to take another drag of his cigarette—he isn’t sure what to say—but his damn hand is shaking and he’s reached the butt end, so he lets his hand fall and stares up at the ceiling instead. “Huh,” he says. “Well, uhm, thanks.”

Richie doesn’t reply; instead, he walks up to Shifty and takes the cigarette butt from his hand and tosses it in the nearby trashcan. He has to reach over to di it, and their fingers brush; it feels electric. Shifty inhales, his heart pounding, and chances a look at Richie.

He’s now staring at him with such an intense look that Shifty wants to laugh. But man—those eyes. Shifty would never say it out loud, but he loves the color of Richie’s eyes. He likes the way he looks at him when he’s taking photos, or when he’s sleepy, or when he’s found something new and exciting to fixate on.

Richie’s hand slides over his. He leans forward, and Shifty leans back on instinct, bracing himself against the desk behind him. He’s so close that Shifty can practically smell the aftershave he uses, even though he’s barely grown a single hair on his chin—

“Richard, dinner’s almost ready!” Richard’s mom calls from the landing leading to Richie’s mini laboratory set up in their basement, cutting straight through the tension and demolishing it.

They separate lightning fast. Shifty morphs into a human (with clothes) on instinct, and Richie’s looking down at the table, his face red.

“Richie? Carrot?” She’ll cycle through all the petnames she can think of if he doesn’t answer soon. “You down there?”

“I’m here!” Richie calls. He glances at Shifty, face full of an unnamed emotion. “I’ll be up soon!”

Once her footsteps fade, he sighs and drags his fingers through his hair. Without his glasses on his face, and with his hair slicked back— Shifty wishes he had something to put in his mouth, keep him from saying something he might regret.

“We had better get up there,” he says lamely, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Before the food gets cold.”

“Yeah, we should…do that.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, both of them lost in their own thoughts, reluctant to leave this space. Richie’s mom never comes down there, so it’s practically theirs: the two of them. Shifty is still thinking about Richie’s hand on top of his. Humans run so hot, and Richie’s like a furnace running in the high heat of summer.

Goddamn it, he thinks, grinding his teeth. He feels unexpectedly angry, for reasons he can’t explain.

He turns and starts walking towards the stairs, and that’s when he feels Richie take hold of his arm.

“Wait!” Richie cries, stopping him short. “Shifty, wait.”

“What is it, Richie?” he says, without turning. “I’ve got my eyes on your mom’s monthly meatloaf—”

Before he has a chance to say more, Richie grabs him by the labels and yanks him forward, straight onto his mouth. It’s not graceful by any means—Richie’s glasses nearly poke Shifty in the eye, and the angle’s all wrong, but it’s good. Hell, better than good, it’s great.

It’s chase, with no tongue, but Richie pulls away to adjust the angle and nearly trips backwards over his own damn feet, so Shifty ends up being the one to wrap his arms around Richie’s waist and pull him in for another kiss. And another. And then maybe a few more after that, until Richie has his face in his hands again and—god, his mouth is so soft, and his hands are so warm. Shifty could just melt in him. He’s just glad he’s not shifted, ‘cause otherwise he’d be pink up to his eyeballs. Plus, it’s easier to kiss Richie like this.

The series of kisses lasts probably only a minute or so, but it feels like forever. And when they pull away, hell, Shifty’s really glad he’s not shifted, because the look Richie is directing at him could make fireworks light up.

“That was one helluva kiss, Richie,” Shifty manages.

“Your skin,” Richie replies, brushing his thumb across Shifty’s cheek. For a second he’s worried he’s shifted back, or worse—this form now comes in the same shade of pink, too, but when he looks down at himself he can see that speckles of his scales have crept into his skin. They’re probably on his face, just under his eyes.

“Guess I just lost a bit of control for a sec,” Shifty admits, rubbing the back of his neck. Richie’s eyes widen, the look on his face is the same look he gets when he’s filing away important information for later. “Jesus, Richie, not that I’m complaining, but…what was that for?”

“I wanted…well I—I wanted to do that. Kiss you, I mean, even though I’ve never done it before, so it was probably bad—”

Shifty opens his mouth to interrupt and say that it wasn’t, but Richie continues quickly, the flush on his face down to his neck now. Maybe humans can turn completely pink when pressed.

“But I also wanted to say that I’m sorry. Shifty, if I’ve ever made you feel like you’re just a specimen or—or a lab experiment, then that’s not right. You’re more than that.” He takes Shifty’s hand and squeezes, eyes locked on his. “You’re a kind and intelligent and amazing friend, and you’re so beautiful. No matter what form you take.”

Shifty ducks his head. Praise isn’t really his thing; he doesn’t like being the center of that kind of attention, but on the other hand (and literally, he’s holding his hand), Richie has become an important part of his life he’d rather not do without. He likes having him around, even if it’s for his ‘research’.

“Hell,” he says, not sure what else to say. Richie gives Shifty’s hand another squeeze, and the place where they’re touching tingles. Shifty’s heart is still beating fast, and the words he’s been thinking about just slip out of his mouth. “You saying you wanna go steady, or what?”

It’s almost phrased like a joke, and for a minute Shifty wants to take it back, because how is that anyway to ask somebody out? There’s no way Richie would take that and go with it, but when he looks at his face, Richie’s mouth opens, and then his eyes light up.

“Are you seriously asking me?” he asks, and adds hastily after a long pause, “because the answer would be yes. I would. Very much so. If, um, kissing you wasn’t obvious enough.”

“I’m seriously askin’,” Shifty says, then realizes that while Richie gave him a nice little speech, he hasn’t really returned the favor. “You’re a nerd, Richie. There’s no gettin’ around that.”

“Hey—”

“But,” Shifty continues, raising a hand. “That’s how I like you. You’re wicked smart, and you get me, maybe more than anybody else around here. You’re one of my best friends, aside from Buttons, and when you’re in your element you’re pretty damn cool.”

A smile slowly splits across Richie’s face, until he’s grinning from ear to hear. That hand that’s still holding onto Shifty’s tugs him forward. For a second Shifty thinks he might try to kiss him again, but maybe he used up all his confidence when he did it the first time, because all he does is hold his hand and smile.  

Fuck. Shifty clears his throat. “So we gonna eat, or stand here all night?” Not that he would mind.

“Oh! Yeah, my mom’s probably waiting for us. Come on.” Richie pulls him towards the stairs and Shifty goes without protest. They’re still holding hands, and when they reach the ground floor it isn’t until Richie’s mom finds them that he finally let’s go.

“Honey, I’ve been waiting for ages. What were you two doing down there?” She takes in their appearance and the flushed look on Richie’s face. “Carrot, your face is so red. Are you feeling all right?”

Despite the completely innocuous question, Richie’s face makes a complicated expression and he flounders for a response. “Ah— we— I mean I— "

“Science,” Shifty answers smoothly, flinging his arm around Richie’s shoulders. “You know how it is.”

Richie’s mom looks at them, her eyes flicking between the two, and then she claps her hands together. “Oh, don’t I ever! Well, enough science for the night. Let’s eat!”

“Very smooth,” Shifty says to Richie after she’s gone ahead. Richie frowns at him.

“You’re one to talk.” He raises an eyebrow. “’Science?’”

Shifty shrugs. Richie’s frown softens into a soft smile, and before he can metaphorically attack Shifty with his warm eyes, he steals a kiss from Richie’s half-open mouth, grinning when he sputters at him indignantly.

“Come on, sci-fi, meatloaf’s waiting,” he says, letting his hand linger at his lower back, just a while longer.