#color conscious casting doing its thing again

[blaqueswanzaghouliishiilikeda]

i think that the fact that daniel started on the right with claudia’s journal even though Louis by proxy of Armand told him to start on the left—the beginning (“you’re jumping ahead” / “let the tale seduce you)—had a lasting impact on the way he [daniel] viewed claudia and her circumstances. He didn’t start from where she was doomed to this life. The first thing that really impacted him was reading about her feeding off of POWs and recording the experience and he seemed really put off by it, considering the way he says “wow”. it’s definitely giving: I would care about this tragic young life you describe if they weren’t breaking laws and going against my morals and all that. i don’t know that he was going to ever be able to empathize with her. but he definitely took a boohoo you’re doing all these bad things cause your childhood was sad. boohoo approach to learning about her that i think louis wanted to control/avoid going into it. im not really saying anything that hasn’t been touched on i’m sure and not much more to say really just thinking thoughts on yet another rewatch 💭

[nalyra-dreaming]

Pre season 2 rant - heavy on sarcasm!

This is the... well by now somewhat meditated on rant I promised a while ago. It has a lot of cussing, so be warned.

It is a… summary comment about some views I‘ve seen around, from “bad writing“ to the “abuse“ and other things. Oh, and it's about the "lying" subject. With receipts!

I‘m getting this out of my system before season 2 hits, and before more of the press leading up to it is released, because cast, crew and writers as well as the show have given us all of it already and, tbh, if I‘m going to see anyone scream “bad writing“ or “Louis being made a liar or the memories revisited/changed is racism“ when the changes will hit I‘m just gonna block you.

Fair warning.

This is long… so under the cut.

This show has made color-conscious choices. Brilliantly so. They also have an astonishing meta level.

And what we saw was not the truth.

That much is clear now. HAS ACTUALLY BEEN CLEAR FROM THE END OF SEASON 1 ON.

Jacob has said at the TCA panel that Louis is trying to regain his true memories.

Here is a reminder of some key statements by cast and crew:

Here are interviews and statements by Assad and Jacob and Sam and Rolin and the writers & producers that what we have seen was not the (whole) truth, that Louis’ tale has been “tinkered” with, influenced.

I'm heroically refraining from adding the gifs of Rolin and his statement again. Which are from the episode insider… and remember when that aired?! Yeah… 😒

But I've seen things recently that make me want to pull my hair out, to be frank. For example this, behind the link:

...Like, not making him a whole flat ass liar is actually the point, guys. And no it does not undermine the story....

As the writers said:

I mean, I get it to an extent. It's becoming clearer and clearer that the show some people made up in their heads is not the one they'll be getting. (We've been trying to tell them, but hey.)

Yeah.... That.

Unfortunately @blackgirlasis has blocked me, (and I have returned the favor now that I noticed), we only discussed something recently, but I think the reason might have been after I posted that video, in which it is literally said that "not everything Louis says is a lie", which, given her statements here might speak for itself, especially this part of that statement:

"It is actually ACTIVELY harmful to perpetuate the idea that the Black characters aren't to be trusted with the narrative and that we need Lestat to come through with the honest accounting."

You know, I would actually agree! Which is also why I always emphasized that we did not get the WHOLE truth. I also kept more than hinting at the fact that Armand is, well Armand.

BUT - and here it gets interesting - why is JACOB's - a BLACK man's - statement discarded? Why do they do not want to hear it that Louis does, in fact, lie? And, just to be clear - I do not NEED Louis to lie, nor be proven a liar, and I think the show will do its damndest to explain via the "tinkering" that Armand did. They will give some of the blame to Armand.

But to flip one's shit over argumentation that the MAIN CHARACTER, a BLACK MAN has already stated... that is what I find interesting.

Like, why do you* (*generally spoken, not her especially) accuse people of racism over this, when HE has already said that Louis does, indeed, lie. Why is he not actually listened to? I don't get that. Why is agency taken away from a living, breathing person to give it to a fictional character? Why is his statement that "not all representation needs to be healthy representation" not kept in mind?

Louis is Louis. Louis being color-consciously handled didn't "change the character an awful lot".

JACOB said that. Here. Interestingly enough in a comment about the racial consideration the show does(!).

Louis is NOT a whole other character despite the changes, and the twists that will happen in season 2 were always set to come, as the friggin' video of BEFORE the show aired is proof of. They talked about all that. They know it didn't all happen as shown. They knew Louis did lie. But NOT about everything.

They also knew that some of the scenes did not happen (at least as shown). And now... "it’s clear that Louis is somebody hugely angry with a man he loved deeply and now presents them as a monster…" Also Jacob Anderson.

Presents. Them. As. A. Monster.

Bailey Bass said in the SDCC interview, that it is not clear who is the "villain here" in various scenes, interestingly enough, because the dynamic keeps changing. Which of course was after they shot a myriad of scenes that would not make it into the final s1 cut. Again: why is she not listened to? Why do you take her agency away to give it to a fictional character?

And I'm not even starting on the others. Sam. Rolin. The writers.

Also, re the abuse and scenes being revisited. Again, screenshot as example:

There is nothing simple about this show. Especially that scene.

BUT the show knows what it‘s doing! I'm not going to rehash all that here now, here are links on that.

AND THE WRITERS SAYING IT WILL BE REVISITED... is from December 21, 2022.

DECEMBER 22.

A revisit and a change of that scene will not be bad writing. (Or tasteless.) They already DID so in the last episode of season 1, continuing that will simply fall into line with what we have already been given. That's not bad writing. That's just the show, and there's people who just did not want to examine that.

Because it will be echoed, and it will serve a purpose.

I know the show did the meta level of patriarchal domestic abuse, but for fuck‘s sake, the story itself is about vampires struggling, and Louis is struggling.

The show has a meta level of abuse, and patriarchy, and recognizing is valid and the meta discussions are too.

But Louis is not chained to his coffin guys, he could have left, and a fight which shows off power discrepancies within the show story line is not automatically domestic abuse.

*slow clap*

No-one wants this to happen for the sake of "redeeming" Lestat. Because he does not need that redemption. They're all murderers and monsters.

They kill. For a living. LITERALLY.

THEY ARE VAMPIRES It's not about vampires trying to find their humanity.

It's about vampires trying to find a way to live with themselves, because they are, indeed, monsters.

Doubting the narrative which was TORN APART WITHIN THE SHOW is not the same as bad writing or racism FFS, nor is actually looking at what we're given - and knowing the fucking, 50 year old books. And recognizing the hints and parallels.

I have also seen the take that Lestat isolated Louis... and like, did we watch the same show? You know, even with the vampirism (which, of course™, could not free Louis as promised)...

Months of flirting openly in NOLA, public wooing. DECADES LIVING IN NOLA. Operas. Restaurants. Family dinners. (And Louis stopping Lestat there, AS a mortal...) Cleaning the cribs, years of "human entanglement" because Louis wanted it.... Banjo barbecues, political influence, wakes... Everybody knew.

(Like, I could pull up gifs here.)

"Isolation". Right. It has nothing, at all, to do with the Rite of Passage, or Louis' depression.

Of course not.

I mean, Jacob says that Louis is very depressed during the time leading up to the fight, and his and Sam's discussion here is interesting as well, but hey, I mean, why listen to the actual black actor, right.

As a last thing.

Yeah. Tell me you know nothing about the books without telling me you know nothing about the books.

And, as a note, context is important if you pull up other scenes from the VC.

Welcome to the fucking Vampire Chronicles.

Anyone expecting big bad patriarchal abuser Lestat is not going to have a good time.

And honestly, to those: don't let the door hit you on the way out.

Good riddance - and BON VOYAGE

[yonfiendmaker]

Hazbin Hotel headcanons sorted by character

Charlie:

favorite color is "rainbow" (real answer is red)

autism, ocd, npd, codependent personality disorder

tail sometimes manifests solely for stimming purposes

growls when very excited like a dog

very keen sense of smell

horns manifest when turned on (something something horny)

in case this gets disproven im listing it here: her legs are furred

manifested her wings once around vaggie near the beginning of her relationship and it upset her, never did it again

can walk up 45° angle walls (goat hooves lol)

Vaggie:

hair is actually feathers

depression, gad, ptsd, bpd (charlie is her fp obv)

retractable claws that are naturally black

teeth are all flat, fangs only come out when angry

the scars from her initial casting from heaven remained even after she regained her wings

when regaining her wings she also got feathers that cover her chest and upper back

died via suicide and was drafted into the exorcist army simply because adam found her attractive and was completely surprised when she was able to learn to fight easily and quickly

her gloves and socks are to cover up self harm scars

feet are like a moth's, like angel she is self conscious about them

wings do not disappear or retract, they simply fold under her hair

will misjudge distance/placement of things due to lack of depth perception. extremely embarrassed when it happens

its difficult for her to read things from a distance, charlie will often read things to her

her and angel dust are exes, has lingering feelings which is part of the cause of her hostility towards him

coos like a pigeon when relaxed/content

Angel Dust:

homoflexible

depression, adhd, hypersexual (ofc)

any pronouns user

says he's cis but genuinely doesn't care what he's called

qpps with cherri bomb

random nosebleeds due to drug overuse

charlie will call him anthony when she's mad at him like a parent using your full name

his venom causes an intense high and multiple demons have drugged him so they can uhm. well the scientific term for getting venom from a spider is milking but im not saying it

very fidgety and feels anxious if he's not moving at all times

Sir Pentious:

had an interdental lisp and was a snake oil salesman in life, hence his snakelike appearance

pansexual

autistim, npd

tail is more eel-like than snake-like

as an angel, his hood doubles as wings; in his full angel form he gets additional pairs of wings and more eyes along his tail

buries every egg boi he loses

venomous bite that causes delirium and sometimes temporary paralysis

sheds his skin and leaves the empty skins around the hotel, doesn't realize it until he hears charlie scream upon finding it

his hat is in fact sentient but is an extension of him and can change forms (as opposed to all the hats he's shown wearing being individual headpieces)

Alastor:

deer tail .

acearo in the sense that he does not get pleasure from sex but rather from tormenting/torturing others

hated his ears and antlers at first, similar to husk he's accepted them but still doesn't like them

if you touch either he will launch you into the sky

ONLY wears all red

qpps with rosie

vox is his ex, he's long moved on but vox hasn't

his hands have claw fingers those are NOT gloves Fuck You

has hooves but his legs are not digitgrade like charlie's

he can feel and hear through his microphone

Husk:

depression, alcoholic (duh), bpd, ptsd

either hated cats or had a pet cat when he was alive that he killed while drunk

either way his discomfort with his demon form is obvious

full demon form is quadruped

acute senses except for sight

pretty much always at least tipsy

tail usually drags on the floor

really wants to perform his magic tricks to the hotel patrons but is afraid of being mocked

Niffty:

died eitherfrom mixing chemicals in a closed room or climbing into the chimney to clean it and ended up getting stuck

was a maid in life, probably killed someone but was able to dispose of the body so well she never got caught

heteroflexible

still thinks angel dust is a woman cause he never corrects her

[cbrownjc]

HOTD possible spoiler (as well as some Fire and Blood ones) under the cut:

The person who posted the initial rumor/leak/spoiler is clarifying/sticking to it.

I've already talked about my problems with how this show has handled its black characters here (wrt Laena) and here when this Nettles rumor/leak first happened a few days ago.

Honestly, if this rumor really is true, I will pretty much be done with the show. Because aside from the racist angle the show just falls right into by doing something like this, it's also just lazy AF writing.

If the show wanted to make Rhaena a more active participant in the war that very easily can be done without making her a dragon rider. They could have her play a bigger role in helping in the survival of her family members, seeing that she, her sister, and her two little half-brothers are the only ones who do so (along with Corlys). Let her become the more politically savvy twin, using her status as a princess and such to form alliances, keep the Vale on the side of The Blacks, and things like that. Maybe even leading up to things like having her take the lead in ensuring that Corlys doesn't get executed for treason after the war is over.

But nope. Just make her a dragon rider during the conflict too. And hey, since she's black now, just have her replace the only book-canon black character in the story of the Dance, who was already speculated by some to be Daemon's bastard daughter anyway. Because all black people are just interchangeable anyway, right? 🙄 (That is if we're even bothering to give them character and story arcs in the first place; especially in comparison to their originally white book counterparts *cough*Laena*cough*).

So yeah, NGL I was already growing apathetic about the show before this, given how Leana, Rhaena, and Baela's characters were all handled in Season 1. Cutting out Nettles and just having Rhaena take her place? When the two characters are nothing alike, personality-wise?

Yeah, if this really is true then no thank you. I'll check out clips of the big moments -- Rook's Rest, Blood and Cheese, and whenever The Battle Above the God's Eye happens in some later season -- on YouTube or something. But actively watch episodes in full? Nope.

Again, I'll wait to full-out rant on this when it's 100% confirmed in some way. (And yes, such a rant very likely would include talking about how color-conscious casting & writing > > > > > > color-blind casting & writing; and using that to properly world build -- because yes that is possible even wrt a fantasy world like Westeros, which already has established places in its world where black people prominently lived and originated from.) Maybe waiting to do so is just me being in denial, IDK. But I'm kind of having deja vu wrt how I felt about the rumors circulating about Season 8 of GOT again. I just couldn't believe the writers were going to be that level of hack-lazy. And yet . . . .

I really had hopes that HBO had learned from that mistake and that the writing team and showrunners for this show wouldn't do something similar. But ever since I saw what happened to Laena's character, (and how her role in Rhaenrya's life -- when they were young -- was basically given to Alicent), I've been questioning if they really have . . . . or ever did. 🤷🏾‍♀️

[nihilnovisubsole]

phew! finally a weekend where i can set aside enough time to type up The Promised Endwalker Stream-of-Consciousness Post. i finished the base story... a month ago? but work has been busy, and i think tumblr benefits from me being quiet sometimes. anyway, what a ride. when you've been building up to the end of your arc for a decade, you want to hit it like an earthquake, and that's exactly what they did.

i think people love endwalker because it fires on all cylinders. it returns - in both story and vision - to the eorzea we love, and the dev team gets to show off everything they've learned. the dungeons and boss fights are dynamic and imaginative and colorful and bring the game's epic sense of scope to bear. the story callbacks are juicy. the music is orchestral again. we're back home, and we're saving the galaxy. what's better than this?

i love that we go to garlemald. i don't - i mean, you know, i don't like garlemald. i shouldn't have to qualify that. but it's hugely narratively satisfying to see the face of the enemy we've been fighting since the first few hours of ARR. you don't think about them when you're beating them up in castrum centri or ala mhigo. they're star wars bad guys. then you meet them on their own turf. you observe firsthand how they starve and cannibalize their own people to feed their obsession with state power and military strength. the wintry environment makes it seem all the more barren and desperate. my favorite part by far. i wish we'd spent more time there.

actually, on that note:

there is an argument that endwalker should've been two expacs. i've heard similar about stormblood - ala mhigo should've been the whole thing, and doma should've been either patch content or an expac of its own. the prevailing theory is that, after ARR, the devs are afraid of letting arcs run long. i can't speak to that, but i wouldn't have minded, that's for sure!

i won't pretend not to be biased. i've noted in many xiv posts that it hurries through its political plots to get to the magic stuff. i felt more conscious of it in heavensward and especially in stormblood. i made peace with it in endwalker. with dessert this good, who am i to complain? i can do small character drama on my own time. for now, the game wants royce to be a big damn shonen hero, and that can be fun, too.

speaking of characters, urianger and estinien have grown on me. this is the arc where, for me at least, the scions have congealed. they're all good, but with any large cast and custom player character, you tend to form the meatiest bonds with a few specific ones. i think royce appreciates urianger's cooler, more mature head. they're both so formal. he realizes she's someone he can confide in. i think she sees estinien as a gifted, but hotheaded whelp, which i find very funny. patience, child. stop sulking. do your breathing drills.

i love thancred's MGS sequence and in from the cold too. they're stressful, but i love that the team tried, you know what i mean? the fact that you can fight enemies in a pinch makes those duties way more bearable than some other games that experiment with stealth.

in from the cold as a whole, honestly. If You Know, You Know

all right, i can't avoid referencing spoilers anymore, sorry. there's a sense of classical tragedy to the whole elpis sequence. it's like watching macbeth or hamlet. you know how it's going to end, and you know you're powerless to stop it, but if they'd just made that different choice! but we had to leave eden. the warrior of light had to end up where they are to finish what elpis started. i don't do fate/destiny plots, but this? i'll take it.

i also knew what would happen going into ultima thule and still came away from it moved. it's strong writing. that's all there is to it. sure, the visuals are haunting, but the dialogue has to sell a gauntlet of difficult character moments, and it pulls it off. on the design side, there's some interesting intentional friction that forces you to linger in the zone and sit with its sense of despair. that part where you have to search the empty park for signs of life? oof

with the majority of the MSQ under my belt, i started sniffing around for what else there is to do ingame. i tried ninja. did terribly. i tried sage. did terribly too, but at least that gave me access to the healer role quests, which, ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). the nier raids are gorgeous. i even did the controversial werlyt quests, and terncliff is so cute. i kind of wish we could have another story there!

what's next? i dunno! right now i'm burning through the hildibrand quests before i continue on with endwalker's patch story. the field operation stuff seems interesting to do after the MSQ, in a "hey, you saved the world, but we have more missions for you" way. i've also contracted Triple Triad Collector Disease, so that'll keep me busy for a long time.

all right. one last thing. Real Gamer Moments: i was in a mount-farming party recently, and i said that i sort of collected mounts, but only used the ishgardian chocobo. it's a roleplay thing - it's the chocobo royce took when she ran away from ishgard. one of the party members said "haurchefant would be proud of you." AUGH

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - XLIV

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Rated Mature. Rating subject to change. Mind the tags. On AO3 here. (Landscape is inspired by Jökulsárlón, in Iceland. Rest of the lore is entirely not canon.)

Ice fragments lapped at the silty shore, shifting and churning.  High winds and below-freezing temperatures, both normal in this part of Snezhnaya, battered the sea; when it melted, the tides pushed the sheets towards the beach and stacked them like a haphazard pile of books.  If one looked closely at the piles of shards, one could see the faint pattern the water usually took or where a current usually carved its way through the water.  Closer to land, the ice was soft slush, and it was easy to forget how cold the water was. 

High above, ribbons of light rippled through the sky in shades of green, purple, and blue.  The ice shards seemed to reflect and absorb the light as it danced over the icy waters.

He came here, centuries ago, early on.  The northern wasteland held little interest, save the aurorae and a long-buried Nail.  Few bothered to traverse the storms and distance without a reason.

This seemed as good a place as any.

Out of the corner of his eye, Zandik caught a glimpse of your bare face, shrouded only in the hood of your thick cloak.  This far north, no one would see your face, nor his.  Your cheeks and lips were wind-chapped, head tilted up as you gazed at the lights.  They cast you in shades of colors he didn't have a name for that made his breath hitch and his heart falter. 

Yet again, his thoughts were not his own and yet they were, for how could he not be intrigued by that alone?  Occasionally, far before meeting you, his mind strayed and wondered about you, your life, your interests outside of the dreamscapes; now, he looked back and wondered what path, if any, might have prevented present circumstances and came up short.  Illogical.  Paradoxical.  And yet, it made sense in every single atom of his person.

Pantalone disagreed.  The Ninth understood it better than anyone and yet that banker had the gall to consider you a liability.  You, who deserved to have rooms that made you comfortable and safe; you, who were proving to be more of a counter-balance in every way.

Zandik had been too lost in himself to tell you of the bank slip and interior designer.  He saw to it the morning after your first nightmare but then he'd slipped down into Haeresys, unzipped Omega's bag and—

Nearby, one of the horses nickered. 

He felt pressure on his arm and looked down to find your hand through his cloak's arm slit, your attention no longer on the sky but on him.  His muscles twitched beneath your hand.  Would he ever get used to that sensation?  It was one thing to reach out and touch you, a gesture that felt like satisfying a craving on impulse while consciously aware of the movement required to do so.  But to have reciprocation made him wonder how much of that was you and how much was simply the bond urging you to…

It would always feel like a conscious choice, wouldn’t it?  Therein laid the problem.

“Local folklore tells of a dragon, living in the depths,” Zandik said, drawing his attention from you to the icy spines of the water.  “Some say the creature is carving its way back to the surface as spring approaches and the ice thaws.”

When you didn’t speak, he continued.

“The myth is half-true.  The dragon rests off the coast of this very beach and you can see, there.” He pointed out to the middle of the lake.  “Out in the center, the ice turns to bone, barely visible when spring and summer rear their heads.  It didn’t survive the Cataclysm.  I discovered it first-hand once I grew used to the eternal cold.  Accounts date back centuries but most of them stem from my original findings.”

Your arm snaked around his, your hand on his upper arm, holding onto him.

“Was it lonely, being so far from home?” you asked.

“At first, although not much different than what I already knew.  Not long after, I studied the manner of how an Archon created a vessel and decided that, if a god could lock away their consciousness in an artificial, I would surpass that with ease.”

He had revealed his age to you as one reported the weather when you asked to help him catalog and sort the Segments.  Zandik thought your emotional disposition would win out, that you would clasp your hands over your mouth or give him a pitiful, mournful expression at the notion of your soulmate spanning literal centuries; instead, you thanked him for trusting you and he endured a sensation in his chest akin to combustion. 

Both of you spent several days taking inventory of what could be salvaged, what needed to be destroyed.  The Ruin Cores couldn't be reused; they housed his memories in a similar fashion to how Spincrystal records held music and the etchings were permanent.  The Cores, or the bits that remained after being thoroughly crushed, currently sat at his feet in a jar with the ashes of the Segments. 

He had set a particular Core aside, long before you came down, told you of its purpose.  Time would take its course but the knowledge it held was imperative.  After all, if he was to accept his humanity as you asked, it was only fitting to erase the false memories embedded in your unconscious mind, too. 

All the while, you wrote down ages and parts and core memories.  You listened as he recounted tale after tale, his version of events from start to finish.  Before he knew it, he spoke of Sohreh and how he broke her hyoid bone in an overzealous attempt to stop the bleeding, of his trial and subsequent exile from the Akademiya, his relentless search to understand and treat the darkened scales and necrosis of Eleazar.

Of a stranger finding him in the desert, promising him resources and the means to continue his research and surpass the gods.

The sprout had used that revolting term of outcast in your presence without ever giving you context for it.  After all, it wasn't as if you had accessed his memories via Omega and you deserved to understand, at least in part, what made so many tremble in his presence.

You were gentle with Alpha, the youngest, the one you played with that day near the border. 

Rho, all impatience and bluster, was the one who had taken you on a picnic when your patron brought you to Sumeru (clever weaving on Omega's part, Zandik thought). 

Last came Omega, his exact copy.  You cleaned his face, fixed his hair.  He did not deserve such kindness.

"He said there were twenty-four," you remarked, voice echoing through the space.  "I only count twelve."

"Some memories took to being their own individual person.  Some did not."

Zandik didn't have the heart to tell you that a third of them had chosen to take their own life.  Phi failed in handling the memories after Sohreh's death and ran into the unforgiving wasteland; as far as he knew, his corpse was out here, somewhere, frozen solid.  Chi was Omega's failure and endured an existential crisis before he took his own life.  Psi pushed back against Omega's arrogance so much that he might as well have stabbed himself with the claymore.

Even Zandik knew some things were better left unsaid.

He heard the shifting of your boots as you took his hand in yours, gloves making the intertwining of fingers stiff but not impossible.  Even with the material between you, he could tell how well your hand fit in his.  It made him wonder what else might fit and he shoved such thoughts deep into the recesses of his mind.  One day, perhaps. 

For one who saw music in the way some saw words, who lead with their heart and never had a problem speaking up, you were quiet this morning. 

The silence in his mind was, at first, uncomfortable and unnerving.  Every time he looked at them, all he could think of was how empty everything was without them.  Centuries of chatter, gone, even if he could choose to tune in or out as he wished.

Nails on a chalk board would have been welcome if it meant filling the gaps in his consciousness. 

And then, on a trip upstairs, he heard you play and attempt to wrestle notes from an instrument you weren't accustomed to.  As stilted as it was, your playing soothed the desolation like a balm on burnt flesh, and he couldn't pull himself away. 

Neither could he enter.  You were finally finding your flow after weeks, perhaps closer to a month, without your proper instrument and the means to play.  Zandik only brought his feet across the threshold when he could bare the tugging no longer and when watching through the crack in the door served to only tease him, like a beggar at a table full of delicacies. 

Sheet music was not unlike a blueprint.  You followed the structure, created the structure, and brought life to the intangible.  It didn't make sense to him in the way measurements and mechanical parts and anatomy did but he learned the flow, turned the page for you, and let himself feel for the first time in years.

He was human.  He knew that.  You hadn't needed to brave his destruction for that.

But you did.  Because that was you, inherently and wholeheartedly.  You weathered anything life threw at you, sometimes stubbornly so.

A counter-balance; one whole to match his, different yet equal.

"Zandik."

He blinked, the ice fragments and aurorae coming back into focus, and instinctively, he flexed his fingers.  You squeezed back instantly. 

From the tone of your voice, it sounded as if that wasn't the first time you had said his name.  Having so many thoughts and nowhere to put them was still taking time to get used to again.  Manual prioritizing within himself and only himself was the biggest hurdle of this entire endeavor; it was like learning to walk again after shattering both legs and expecting to never walk again.

You shivered within your fur-lined cloaked, though you tried to hide it.  As acclimated to the cold though he was, you were not, and he had spent enough time lost in his own labyrinth. 

He felt your hand squeeze his one more time before you pulled away, taking your warmth with you.  Zandik reached down, retrieved the jar, and stepped into the tide, red eyes examining the jar in his hands.  His greatest accomplishments, reduced to nothing more than a jar of ash and metal.  Years, decades, centuries condensed into a single vessel. 

Zandik opened the jar and spread the ashes across the jagged sheets of ice and slush, where they mingled with the water and the silt.  He fought the urge to shake the contents out in a single go, the way he handled other materials.  If he was bothering with this ritual, he might as well do it right.

Such rites were for the living far more than the dead they claimed to serve.  Zandik knew this, too, fundamentally understood it.  But it was another matter to feel the weight lift itself from one's shoulders and the shackles of an unshakeable past finally come free.

Or perhaps he was trading one for the other in embracing a future with you, exploring the possibilities of existence on a predestined path.

A problem for another day.  You were shivering again and lingering in the past was of little use now.  He had finishing touches to put on your instrument and he was eager to hear your music properly, among other tasks.

"Come, rooh 'albi.  Let us return.  This cold is too bitter, even for me."

[t3acupz]

🩻🤍💉 Brownham Medwhump May 💉🤍🩻

8. Going into shock

“Place your arm through the bars, Mr. Graham, this will only take a minute.” Chilton inspected the needle which contained .50 mg of scopolamine.

Weeks of talk therapy had gotten Chilton nowhere with Will. He had received many requests for book deals for being the sole psychiatrist to the infamous Chesapeake Ripper but there was nothing to write. He scowled at the handsome man sitting in the cramped, metal cage. This should loosen those pretty lips of his.

Will rolled up his navy blue sleeve, and did as Chilton instructed. He agreed to do any form of “treatment” as long as Hannibal Lecter was not allowed anywhere near him. It was the closest thing to a restraining order he could manage within the walls of the BSHCI.

Chilton hobbled over to the cage, and hit his cane against the iron bars, eliciting a loud bang to get Will’s full attention. “Let’s begin.” He wiped Will’s veiny skin with an alcohol swab, and injected the scopolamine, or as it’s colloquially known, Devil’s Breath.

Will was standing knee-deep in the emerald stream, casting his hook out into the raging waters. He turned his head, and waved at Abigail, she smiled in return. “Catch anything?” She said, her voice echoed like they were inside a prison rather than the tranquil forest he was seeing. Will shook his head, Abigail looked down in disappointment. “But you said…” She looked down at the blood on her hands. “You said…” Her eyes turned a glowing white.

“Ỵ̛̖͋͢o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇’ḑ̴̞͛̒ ḳ̯͍̑ͦỉ͔͖̜͌l̙͖̑̾ͣl̙͖̑̾ͣ ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌ḿ̬̏ͤͅ.”

Abigail let out a pained gasp as the antlers impaled her. The large black figure shook her frail, limp body until she lay motionless on top its head. With a crown of flesh, the Ravenstag snorted at Will.

“Will?” Chilton said nervously, leering at the caged man who appeared to be in a catatonic state. Will’s pupils were completely dilated, his skin was pale, almost gray.

Hannibal stood in front of him now, on the other side of the cage he was trapped in. Always trapped, always by Hannibal. “What do you want with me?!” He yelled, scrunching up his face as tears started rolling down his cheeks.

“Brown! Come here!” The frightened hospital administrator called out to the only other man in the room with them. Matthew ran over to Chilton who was now stepping backwards, away from Will Graham. “I’ve never seen this type of reaction to scopolamine before. What’s wrong with him?!” Chilton leapt behind Brown to shield himself from his own patient. “He looks possessed.”

Will was looking in Matthew’s direction but was seeing through him, his eyes fixed in an eerie thousand-yard stare. Will’s skin was clammy, his breathing was rapid and shallow. Matthew gently checked his pulse, Will didn’t seem to notice he was being touched. “He’s exhibiting symptoms of shock.”

Chilton cursed under his breath, another wasted session with Graham. “Then we have no choice but to wait it out. Brown, stay here and watch the inmate, I have other work that needs my attention.”

“But he could be like this for hours, shouldn’t we bring him to see a doctor?” Matthew replied, not taking his green eyes off Will.

Chilton rolled his eyes, and groaned, “I am a doctor, just stay here until he’s conscious again, understood?” Matthew nodded. Chilton turned around, and with each step, the cane hit the tiled floor, sending echoes through the spacious room.

Will was seeing melting clocks, each ticking around him, blasting his ears with their incessant noise.

“ꀸꋪꍏꅏ ꂵꍟ ꍏ ꉓ꒒ꂦꉓꀘ, ꅏꀤ꒒꒒.” The Stag Man spoke without moving his mouth. Will crouched on the floor, bringing his knees to his chest. Matthew slowly sat beside the cage, silently watching Will go through a waking nightmare but unable to help him.

The sun was starting to set as a beautiful golden light colored the room in amber hues. The tiny dust particles danced in the sunbeams like little fairies. Will had been rocking back and forth for half an hour, mumbling to himself about clocks and teacups. If Chilton was here he probably would have used it as some wild theory about The Ripper being an avid tea drinker but Matthew could tell that it was all symbolic. Will was stuck in a loop of themes and motifs that haunted him.

Matthew recalled the first night Will spent in his cell, he could hear him screaming in his sleep about a giant, black stag with feathers instead of fur. The ramblings of a madman, according to the head psychiatrist. Matthew tilted his head, thinking about Will’s words. Really trying to understand them instead of twisting them to suit his own agenda. The stag represented another male in his life. That was something Matthew could easily deduce.

Darkness creeped in as the last bit of sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon. Will stopped rocking and stared across the room. The full moon peeked through the window, and the shadows from the empty cages spread along the floor like long tendrils. The small hairs on the back of Matthew’s neck stood up. It was as if they were both trapped in a spider’s web.

“SEE? SEE? SEE?” Will frantically shouted, reaching his hand through the bars and pointing right behind Matthew. He looked so convinced there was someone else there that Matthew glanced behind his shoulder, and for a split second he could see him — A tall, black, inhuman creature with antlers and glowing white eyes. Matthew blinked and he was gone.

Will slumped back in his chair, and let out a long, deep breath, as if something was finally released from his body.

“Where am I?” Will was shaking, his eyes darted around the room until they landed on Matthew.

“At the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.” Matthew answered, unlocking the door to the small cage.

Will cautiously stepped out like an injured animal that was getting released back into the wild, unable to fully leap into the arms of freedom. He rubbed his temples, “Did you see it too?”

Matthew thought for a moment about which answer would give Will a greater peace of mind. The older man looked into Matthew’s eyes in quiet desperation, waiting with bated breath for the young orderly’s reply.

“Folie à deux,” Matthew said, twisting his mouth into a feline smile at the trembling inmate. Will didn’t say anything. He put both arms behind his back, and let Matthew handcuff him. Neither of them said a word as Matthew escorted Will through the empty corridors back to his cell.

“Don’t tell Chilton.” Will whispered, grabbing Matthew’s wrist as the young man was about to walk away. “Hannibal… His name is Hannibal Lecter.”

Matthew’s eyes widened, and he felt like his heart was being squeezed by an invisible chain. Him.

Will released his grasp on the orderly, and sunk back into the darkness of his cell. Finally, someone believed him.

[thenightisland]

snippet sunday thing for @tragediegh

"He stood beneath the Mercenia’s famous windows, five large arches made of tiny multicolored squares of stained glass. His back was to me as he stared up at them, the afternoon sun streaming through, painting the lobby, and him, in a kaleidoscope of rainbow light, the different shades flickering like fire in the shine of his hair. I stopped at the foot of the staircase leading to the upper levels of seats, hand on the marble railing, just watching everything the light did. There was something artistic about it, the way I could see the faint twinkle of dust motes in the air up above him, the way he slowly turned to examine the effects of the windows from every conceivable angle, but never turning far enough to see me, walking slowly along the length of the lobby and passing through the wavering reds and blues and greens as he did like a fish through sun-dappled water. He wore a shirt made from a weighty fabric colored a deep gold that I associated with autumn and sunflowers, and the overall effect transformed him into the brightest jewel in a crown.

Finally, he turned completely, startling a bit to see me standing there, and part of his face was then painted in the stained glass light. He smiled, his eyes trailing over the wall and floor at the patterns the light cast there, and said as I approached him, 'It’s a wonder that this isn’t one of the most photographed places in town.' When I was closer, I saw he wore, in addition to his silver rings, a gold necklace, a rectangular pendant with a round amethyst stone in its center.

'It’s a shame most shows start after dark, or when the sun is too low in the sky to do much. It makes the matinees at the Mercenia really popular, though.' I felt suddenly self-conscious in my jeans and T-shirt covered in their blotches of paint, shabby in comparison. No amount of elegant light could do to me what it did to him.

He leaned his head back to stare up at the windows again and whispered in appreciative awe, 'It’s gorgeous.'

I watched the colored sunlight play across his face, the long line of his throat, the pendant nestled between his collarbones. 'Yeah,' I agreed as he ran his long fingers back through the golden fall of his hair. 'Gorgeous.' "

[heedra]

Exalted Secret Santa Journal, 2023

Alright, its that time of year again! Going with an abyssal, a lunar, and a sidereal...my 3 favorite kinds of guy...

Harvester of Wasteland Chaff, Daybreak Abyssal Necrosurgeon, Ex-Deathknight of the Mask of Winters Former farmboy-turned brilliant necrosurgeon-turned paranoid renegade drifter, Harvester's death wounds are still relatively fresh, and the consequences of his grim deal with the Neverborn just now fully sinking in for him; he's a man torn between horrified buyers remorse and burning personal ambition. Battling with a crisis of conscious but a deep terror of facing the consequences of such a thing, he's a secretive figure on the hunt for somewhere to put down roots and practice his rather unorthodox brand of necromantic engineering without the prying eyes of his former masters. Perhaps unsurprisingly, luck has not been with him in this regard. He's my first ever Exalted character, i made him over a decade ago at this point :) Visual Refs: [1] Very very good ref courtesy of my friend @mechanicalriddle [2] Color ref (image is old and outfit is extremely noncanon lmao) [3] Image Gallery Appearance: 6ft8 (tall as hell!), bony, gangly and long-limbed. Greyish, clammy skin marked by supernatural disease and decay. Tips of his fingers are black with necrosis. Hardly any of his hair is left, only his big eyebrows and one small, scraggly patch remaining. His eyes are tired, underscored by heavy shadows, and often seem to have a pale, unhealthy yellow cast to them. He has several scars, most of them from his ‘trials’ as a new deathknight and one from the moment of his ‘death’, a giant scar across his stomach that still looks supernaturally raw and unhealed. The scar on his nose, however, is just from a time he got attacked by a chicken as a kid, a scar which got repeatedly reopened throughout incidents in his childhood and is kind of there to stay. Clothing: Harv wears an ever-shifting litany of ragged cloaks and bandages, prefering to conceal his body as much as possible while in Creation. Beneath, he wears an unadorned soulsteel breastplate, nabbed from the armory on his way out of dodge, which fits poorly on his scrawny frame, and beneath this a sleeveless high-necked shirt, also black. His one accessory is a pair of obsidian earrings, tokens that marked the passage to adulthood in his village, which he wears at all times. Artifacts and Paraphernalia: Famine's Mouth, an immense soulsteel warscythe of unadorned, brutal simplicity. It can be shifted from combat position (where the clade is positioned like that of scythes modified for use in peasant revolts in the real world) to a traditional scythe form that aids in necromantic undertakings. Additionally, Harvester is frequently seen in the company of one or more of his necromantic creations; skeletons and zombies very creatively (and horrifically) modified in all sorts of ways. Personality Details: Defeated and glum, prone to melodrama, cowardice, passive-aggression, and extremely dry humor. Within all that, though, there's a deeply caring individual with a gentle heart. Despite his grisly trade and his general lack of restraint when it comes to using the dead as construction parts, he's a relatively reluctant person when it comes to violence against the living; he avoids combat at all, if possible, and generally prefers to let his goons do his fighting for him, or to fight from the cockpit of a bonestrider if it comes to that. Extremely passionate about his trade (building necromachines) and has big dreams about how wider applications of necromancy might one day revolutionize Creation. Prompts and Ideas: Harv can often be found holed up in a makeshift bolt-hole working on a far-fetched necrosurgery project, nervously sharing a drink with a stranger in the corner of an inn, fleeing from trouble he probably had a hand in causing, or giving in to the temptation to pet a dog. He's not the kind of guy who gets a lot of opportunities to look cool on purpose, but when backed into a corner he can be downright scary if he has to be. His motifs are bones, agriculture, famine, and desperation to survive.

I Bite the Feet of Kings, Full Moon Lunar Trickster

Bitter cynic, iconoclast, hermit-by-choice more often than not, Bite generally shuns as many trappings of human society as she can get away with, up to and including naming conventions ('I Bite the Feet of Kings' isn't really her name, because she doesn't consider herself as having one of those; it's just what she introduces herself as for lack of anything better; she'd prefer you weren't referring to her at all). Until recently, she'd have told you she had no love left in her heart for humankind at all...but, well, she's met some folks who've changed that. Additional Visual Refs:

[1] Image Gallery [2] Bite in her stray dog form w/ Tell (by @moonstar-mush) [3] Rough sketch of possible warform [4] Species of ant that she is (warning: photo of real insect) [5] Style of crutches she uses

Appearance: Shaved head of prematurely grey hair. Dusty tan skin. Eye color is grey. Wiry build, 5ft6 but slouches. Her Tell is her blind left eye, but also often bears a nubby pair of ant antennae on her forehead, even while human. She bears marks of past injury from having endured a long-term stint with Hansen’s disease; her blind eye, a collapsed nose bridge, and several missing digits (most of her index and middle finger on her left hand, her index and the tip of her thumb on the right, and a few toes). She is also missing her right leg above the knee, from a near-fatal blow sustained in-game. These things are just normal aspects of her appearance, please avoid playing them up for in a way that treats them as lurid or horror-inducing.

She generally conceals her moonsilver tattoos, but when visible they evoke the joints and carapace of an insect. I have never settled on an exact reference for them, so feel free to get creative with them if you want to.

Clothing: Has an unadorned, practical fashion style. Earth tones, baggy pants and ‘athletic’ tops, and clothes that are comfortable to travel in. Generally goes barefoot. Signature artifacts: -An enormous artifact clay gourd that she carries around, Gaara-style, which is home to her hive of leafcutter ants (And which spends plenty of time in as an ant herself) - Pair of artifact starmetal forearm crutches made for her by her dearest friend, which she relies on as mobility aids. These also serve as her weapons in combat. Their design is up to interpretation.

Other Forms Her signature animal shape is a soldier-caste leafcutter ant. In her Hybrid form, her physique stays much the same, but terrible mandibles sprout from her jaw, jutting out past her lips, a second, insectoid pair of arms sprout from her torso, and her skin becomes patched with sections of red-brown carapace. Her antennae grow to their full size. In her Deadly Beastman form, she bursts forth fully insectile and covered in spiky red carapace, with a huge soldier-ant head, wicked curved mandibles, and powerful but sleek jointed limbs with strange proportions. Her warform isn’t the hugest around, but it doesn’t have to be to look completely terrifying. I have never nailed down exact designs for these, but feel welcome to play around in this space if that’s something that sounds fun. Besides her core forms, her most frequently used animal shape is that of a little basenji-esque pariah dog. Other notable shapes include raiton, goose, meerkat, and river dolphin. All of her animal shapes belong to social or eusocial species. Personality Details: Bite tends to walk with a laid back, confident swagger, and rarely smiles unless it’s to piss someone else off. She’s often seen chewing on something; sunflower seeds, candied sweets, stalks of grass, or betel nut are common contenders. While she’s quick to pick fights, she rarely does so to kill; preferring to humble or humiliate foes instead. She’s a Laughing Monster Stylist, focused on dodging her opponents’ blows and frustrating them with jabs, jibes and misdirection. Ideas and Prompts:

Bite can be found lounging in the shade chewing sunflower seeds and betel nuts, laying the beatdown on people she wants to knock down a few pegs with Laughing Monster Style, and engaging in anything that might be considered Diogenes-type behavior. She also spends a whole lot of time in her gourd as an ant. Her motifs include ants, pottery, social animals in general, stray dogs, and hermits and beggars who are more than they seem.

Daia Shan, Serenity Caste Sidereal Special Ops Agent

Once just a troublesome junior bureaucrat in the halls of Yu-Shan, Daia truly gained infamy upon her selection to accompany a strike team of Exalted heroes on a mission into the depths of the worldbody of the Yozi Oramus, and her subsequent escape and return from that impossible prison, nearly a thousand years later. The experience left her profoundly changed; even now, the spite of Oramus hangs like a mantle around Daia, ensuring that the waking world she fought so hard to return to will never feel like anything more than a dream. And then, of course, there is the matter of the power she took from the Sevenfold Peacock willingly… and how that power might be changing her still.

Additional Visual Refs: [1] Image Gallery

Appearance: Daia is a somewhat petite woman (5ft4), belying an athletic build. She is ethnically from the Blessed Isle, with dark grey hair that she prefers to wear up, usually in a bun or a knot. Her face, which she tries but fails to keep free of stress and worry lines, is usually found bearing a smirk or an expression of dangerous faux-politeness. Her eyes bear the iconic starry blue of the Serenity caste, but are also shot through with bands of a strange prismatic iridescence. She bears a large pair of bull horns atop her head, a mutation received during her time inside the Worldbody. The nature of the power bequeathed to her by Oramus is such, though, that her very nature is beginning to blur around the edges, and it is not unusual for her day-to-day appearance to fluctuate strangely as mutations come and go like glitches- please feel welcome to have fun with this if you want! Clothing: She is a bit of a fashionista, favoring blues, dramatic and sharp femme looks (she avoids ruffles and prefers sleeker outfits), and jewelry of all sorts (a lot of it). She rarely wears the same exact outfit twice, so do not feel obligated to stick to the reference- you can get creative! She wears makeup, preferring cool colors and a sharp but understated application.

Artifact: The Sevenfold Peacock's Tailfeather, an (extremely) cursed longfang forged from a piece of Oramus himself. The blade of the weapon is prismatic crystal that resembles a jagged bird’s beak, the pole is jet black starmetal shot through with an orichalcum starmap of constellations, and the orichalcum pommel is fashioned to look like seven golden peacock feathers woven together into a spear. Personality Details: While her exaltation may brand Daia a chosen of the Maidens, the elder Sid is a loose cannon, an agent of Heaven in only the most general of terms. She is mercurial, theatrical, fond of causing petty chaos, and utterly disinterested in the politics of the Bureau, unless there is way for her to stir up drama. She has tendency to get ahead of herself with her schemes, and the vast majority of her ‘downfalls’ can be traced back to her own hubris. Beneath all that, she is an extremely lonely woman who feels adrift in a world that no longer feels real to her. She’s a terrible flirt, a huge showoff, and has a weak spot for dangerous women. She’s Creation’s wildest and worst gay aunt.

Side Note: Daia is partially deaf, due to an old and potent supernatural injury. She employs the use of what magic/technology she can to aid her, but relies as well on sign language and interpreters. She’s very used to it at this point. Ideas and Prompts: Daia can be found enthusiastically demonstrating her martial arts knowledge, causing trouble around the Bureau of Heaven offices, being showy and irresponsible with large amounts of money on purpose, challenging Oramus to games of Gateway in her dreams, flirting with dangerous women, and doing tons of enigmatic and probably ill advised shit. Oramus is a big motif for her (the number 7, peacocks, prisms)

[nosleeppotions]

The surface of the planet was silent, the redish desert sand crunching like glass beneath his boots. The ruins shield him from the sun, casting him in an odd coldness, the ruins themselves seem to whisper dark tales of war and destruction and as he brushes his fingers across the runes in the stone that coldness settles into his bones. As glowing yellow eyes scan the surroundings, the silence is only truly broken by his astromech bumping into his leg as she reminds him yet again what a terrible idea this is. "Relax R3."

A strange rumble, sending a tremble through the Force, makes Slip pause. It felt big, maybe a ship? He cautiously puts on his helmet, booting back up the HUD. "You didn't tell the others where we were going right, Ardrie?" He asks. "Negative." She grumbles.

Just as his focus is drawn to something not too far off moving the sand, whatever it is bursts out and it's big. Some kind of worm-snake type of creature with a lot of legs and sharp teeth. It's hunger radiates through the Force as it let's out an echoing screech and starts very clearly coming towards them. "I'm not fighting that right now, Ardrie-" his Astromech was already way ahead of him, much further down what was once likely an alleyway. "Fair enough." He starts running after her, even if he WANTED to face an unknown creature unprepared R3 had his lightsaber. Call him a bad Mandalorian for avoiding a fight but he's highly motivated to stay alive for his kid's sake (the kid's age is irrelevant his point stands).

It's not long before he starts scaling between walls, using the force to make R3 move faster ahead of him. A large cloud of dust and stone follows very closely behind them as walls slowly change to pillars and it becomes slowly more impossible to stay ahead and not risk this thing completely tearing apart the ancient site. So much for NOT fighting the creature, but he actually wants ruins left to investigate weather he has to be a ghost to do it … R3 can at least apologize for him if it comes down to that. "Ardrie, my lightsaber! Now!"

Somehow the Droid does hear him over the commotion and DOES toss it back at him, although forcing him to leap and grab it mid-air. This is a bad idea, not that it's an idea at all but if it was, it would be a bad one.

Just as the blue blade ignites, before his feet even touches the ground, the creature dives towards him, tendrils reaching out to drag it's prey to it's hungry maw. The moment he makes the first move to attack a surge of familiar excitement pumps through his blood.

________

Slip was sitting in an office chair he found, staring at the wall of large broken glass tubes.

The lights had finally ceased flickering, bathing the white and grey room in bright lights. He lifts his hand to find he's holding a glass shard, its edges pressing in his now ungloved palm. He traces it for a moment before turning in the chair and placing it onto the table.

Part of him wonders if he had vode. Not the ones he got after his buir brought him home, before that. Did he have batchmates like the clone troopers did? For a moment the wall flickers, being replaced by tubes that were whole, humanoid shapes floating in an oddly colored liquid within them. Only to flicker back to the previous broken and empty state. Slip sighs, leaning back to listen to the sound of thunder and waves crashing against the walls from the outside. Eyes locked onto one tube in particular.

Sometimes he wishes he could just… crawl back in and pretend he never existed to begin with… but not today. What would Vulpine think if he knew his buir's state of mind? … he hopes the kid never sees this part of his mind. Or finds out what he's doing for that matter.

____________

His conscious mind returns with him sitting with his back against a wall in a much darker and more inclosed space, his only light source being R3's light that's she's shining onto him while giving him a good scolding. He was holding his helmet in his hands and it was, much like the rest of his armor, covered in dirt and green… he thinks it's blood. R3's words are long lost on him since he didn't catch most of it to begin with and anything else is diminished by one fact "Ni su’cuy." He breathes. The memory slowly fades back into his mind and he cackles at the realization that not only is he alive but he WON!

The sound echoes through the dark empty beyond. He pushes himself to his feet, lighting his lightsaber to use the blue glow as another light source. Soon they find more runes and artwork, but it's the statues that makes him realize: they FOUND it, the temple he was looking for.

R3's protests and the sound of his footsteps bounce off the walls. The force pulls him forward, one step after the other, he breaks out in a sprint.

They run into much smaller versions of the creature from before but they were dealt with quickly, barely registering as a thought in his mind as he ascends some stairs. He can't even hear R3 calling out to him as he passes several more rooms and passing through others. He finally slows down, finding himself in a faintly lit room. Enough that he can put away his lightsaber and walk with ease. The force pulses excitedly, encouraging him.

The room appears to have once been a library, an old archives room, having similarities to the library at the Jedi temple. But it was empty. Abandoned like the rest of the temple. Part of him wants to joke and say this is a look at Sparker's (the Head Librarian's) worst nightmare.

That cold is back now. Then he sees it. Laying on the ground, forgotten, left behind, discarded. He knows it's a holocron, the patterns on it's surface is familiar as he bends down to trace them. But it's not like the cubes he's familiar with, no, this holocron is pyramid shaped. He picks it up. That cold settles deep inside him, wrapping around his bones. "Is this what I'm here for?" He whispers, the holocron starts to give off a faint red glow. The force sings in confirmation, though… a much… darker tone… than he was used to.

He should ask Sparker about this.

.

R3 was already waiting for him at the ship. He reminds her again to not tell Vulpine or the rest of their crew about this little trip to… what did the Force call this place? Korriban. Most importantly Luke and his council didn't need to know either.

[nalyra-dreaming]

I'm sorry I don't want to start the conversation again and I know she was proved wrong, but your anons got me intrigued and I found this in Maven old answers where she explained why, according to her, Louis would disappear "But then why do they keep talking about Louis and Lestat as this super romance?? Well, they never say it's the ONLY romance, do they? They just say its A romance. Listen to how carefully they phrase things. And sometimes romances have ends! Sadly! Especially for immortal beings who have eternity to have other romances, and I can really see a TV show like this wanting to explore pairing Lestat with other actors in other roles to keep the audience invested in the new fresh hot dramatic romance of the week so they don't get bored with a happy old married couple on the screen. ALSO (and yes I know I'm being cynical here), I can see a TV show like this being like "we can only get away with being so gay and interracial, so Lestat needs to shift to female and/or white love interests in later seasons." The way she talks about race really rubs me the wrong way.

Don't apologize. As I've said, I only watched 2 videos at most, and I seem to have noped out of it pretty early -.-

And yeah, it comes across as pretty tone deaf.

That said, (and I do not mean to defend, just saying) I had not dared to hope for a color-conscious, incredibly layered, written-like-a-play, nuanced and superbly intelligent and beautifully designed show either. With this kind of cast.

Which is also why I just don't get why she's hating on it so much. I get that a lot of the smaller things are hard to swallow, especially (maybe) for fans who have loved Lestat for a long time. (Though that will likely change, and rather sooner than later, too? And most of it is in the books.)

But there is a difference between anticipating a fail... and trying to brand it as one, if that makes sense. And I feel like she's trying for the latter.

Which is a real shame. And... not a good look, imho, totally apart from everything else.

[yes-sikorskiy-yuriy]

runes #runic magic #sorcerer

A real connection to the channel of rune magic - apply the rune of the day on your left hand with the words "For Good", the next morning we gratefully wash it off with the words "I give blessing" and apply the next rune. Connecting the rune requires reading and understanding the following text. For some it’s different (by time), but for everyone a new chapter of your life begins … Take the wheel in your hands. #YS

DAGAZ - A BREAKTHROUGH DAY TRANSFORMING LIGHT (transformation, completion, initiation, enlightenment Will it suddenly work? I'll take a chance! One must do, but not be a "doer". Traditional meaning - Day Color - red God - Heimdall, Loki Element - Fire, Air Manages the Mitgard-Jotunhelm transition: activities to obtain results in the here and now and collective experience, education received by a person, the content of the mental field, including its defeats and In an uncontrolled unconscious form, directs a person to start and complete processes in socially accepted ways in accordance with the behavior patterns characteristic of that society and the social stratum to which a person belongs (in the style of “to find a prestigious job, you first need to get an education”). In a conscious way, it allows you to start and end processes in your own unique, or harmonious ways. Gives you the freedom to choose how to start and end processes.

MAGIC: GALDOR The dark night is very fragile. The day is coming and reigning now. If you feel the night in your life Rune devils and call the day. If you want your Power to accumulate, there is a song for you. According to which your Strength will multiply quickly.

I know something else, the rune of the devil, if you want to win your victory at the Thing. Radiant speech will penetrate into the souls of people. They will do according to your will, whatever you tell them, any of your wishes will be fulfilled.

If the ice has frozen you and you don’t know what to do, I’ll tell you again, can you become a lightning flash,

to melt the shell of water Primordial.

WHAT IT IS USED FOR Breakthrough to the next round To influence a change in your position or the position of someone else. To start new projects, actions, processes. It personifies the transition from night to daylight hours and thus denotes a certain threshold or moment of transition. It is required to cast aside doubts and maintain faith in success regardless of external circumstances. Rune Dagaz "will help to remove the wall in front of you, but no matter how much you look at this rune, it will not make a decisive step for you." At the most everyday level, with the help of Dagaz, you can hide objects from prying eyes, as a defender Gives vitality, rune of life Increases the personal power of the mage. Able to bring the end of the dark period in your life and ensure a successful outcome of the situation Contributes to the treatment of protracted or chronic diseases Beneficial effect on the opinions and attitudes of the people around you Helps to change your own attitudes and behaviors Prepare a "breakthrough" in any area to get things off the ground Contributes to the achievement of psychological stability and inner harmony Transformation of a dark, bad period in life into a good one, resolution of crises and dark streaks of life. It also helps in financial matters, in this area Dagaz will denote financial well-being. In general, everything that concerns well-being is Dagaz.

MAGIC: READY FORMULA DAGAZ-FEHU-URUZ-OTHALA: The previous stage ends and the most active work begins at the new stage. Here the emphasis is on the fact that a person begins to work in the most active way to increase the well-being of the family, a successful career, and so on. The use of Uruz gives strength on the one hand, and on the other hand it provides strength to the Fehu rune, i.e. "swept away" are all external conditions that interfere with the new conditions declared by Fehu. DAGAZ-FEHU-INGWAZ-OTHALA: It completes a certain previous stage and gives access to new heights according to the principle - a person gets what he really needs abundance in the family in all plans. Having a baby, and earning an income and improving the home, and increasing the salary.

TIWAZ-URUZ-GEBO-DAGAZ: On the one hand, it works well for business success, and on the other hand, it ensures the success of love from a masculine position. makes a business woman out of a woman. And the amulet will help her achieve success in love in such positions.

ANSUZ-DAGAZ-WUNJO: Here we are talking about a kind of breakthrough in the knowledge and understanding of man.

ANSUZ-DAGAZ-MANNAZ: That is a breakthrough in self-knowledge.

DAGAZ-BERKANO-RAIDHO-OTHALA: Successful childbirth.

SOWILO-DAGAZ-WUNJO: Good way out of the situation.

WUNJO-SOWILO-DAGAZ: Help in a difficult, difficult moment. Midwifery runes.

SOWILO-DAGAZ-MANNAZ: A person's orientation to victory, success, self-realization.

MANNAZ-SOWILO-DAGAZ: a person's focus on a specific result.

SOWILO-DAGAZ-FEHU: can be used to successfully complete something to reach a new level.

ALGIZ-DAGAZ-SOWILO-RAIDHO: breakthrough and further successful development under the protection of the gods

DAGAZ-BERKANO: Healing formula. We kind of “close” the problem and relieve stress about it.

Glory to the runes, thanks to the Internet.

[firstlessdangerouseye]

Oc world notes for me and anyone else who would find it interesting

Nature of mana/magic: physical element? Molecule? Thing that is highly volatile influenced by the surrounding environment very easily to the point that the only time most things would ever see pure mana is if all its impurities have been manually processed out or if someone/something has a "pure" mana type. Mana ranges between many different colors depending on what variation it is. Pure mana is a light cyan very glowy, light mana is white with yellow tint, dark mana is pitch black with purple tint, mana types will be gone into more depth maybe later. The physical "non miraculous" properties of mana are solid: relatively unstable least common of the three main states(plasma is ✨️special✨️) since mana in large enough quantities to solidify is typically consumed by something or destroys most of the surroundings via mana being pretty unstable in large uncontrolled samples liquid: not super unstable but most prone to phase change which can fuck things up most often found inside most living things i.e. eukaryotes. Used to cast mana, most observe state, viscosity is somewhere between honey and used motor oil, sticks like hot white phosphorus gas: most common, most stable relatively speaking (can and will fuck you up especially some of the more exotic mana types) difficult to observe directly as it makes up roughly 2.9% of the atmosphere it is odorless and colorless to all but most invertebrates and several reptiles like mana types group together which in turn changes the environment this occurs most commonly with gas plasma: no this shit might have been forged In stars but that does not make it safe mana plasma will tear space apart do not touch

Soul: the organ in animals that also have a heart and lungs that processes mana for use the soul has some variance in where it is placed most often the chest cavity near yet distinct from the heart, may also appear next/attaches to the appendix(when there is one) though these cases most commonly result in either severe appendicitis in the early teens and/or severe mana deficiency. This is becaus the body obtains typically mana through the air or food and most food isn't suffused with mana(except for like grazers who eat a fuckton of food or apex predators cause bioaccumulation or biomagnification) anyways the soul works to pump mana around the body, like a heart except it also let's bitches be witches and also extends the "human" lifespan to like commonly get to 100-120 and longer lived folk can get to 140s

Spirit: a "footprint" of something with both great mana and at least human intelligence basically it's the echos of someone who had lots of magic. Not a ghost in that it is fully conscious and aware of what it was and what it has become. Not usually too distressed though they often enjoy pranking people, ie causing out of body experiences, mostly psychedelic stuff

I'll post more if the monkeys deign to type cohesive again

[forever-rogue]

if you haven’t gotten it yet, “nope, puppy dog eyes aren’t going to work this time!” for Eddie 🥹

AN | I’m not even gonna lie and say I’m not projecting with this. But here we are. I love a sweet, shy Eddie….and I might even have thrown in one of my favorite tropes for a little razzle dazzle. Enjoy 🥰

Warnings | Language, Drug Mention

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 3.4k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

here’s a lil part two if it should please you!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Eddie liked watching you. Holy fuck. He felt like a creep admitting that, even just to himself.

At least he wasn’t some sort of weird stalker…no, he was more of…an admirer from afar. Sometimes going unnoticed was nice. He’d learned a lot of things about you that way. He knew that if you were laughing too hard, eventually it would just turn into a squeaky wheeze that left you breathless. He knew that you had a tendency to cover your mouth when you were smiling because you were self conscious of having too big of a smile.

He knew that you liked wearing soft, pretty dresses and sweaters in all colors of the rainbow. He knew that despite the fact that you came off as quiet you managed to find your voice when necessary. He knew that you wore the same perfume everyday, and it managed to make his brain go haywire. He knew you were kind to everyone. He knew that you liked to smoke and drink sometimes and would come to him when you needed a fill. 

He knew that you’d always seen him even when he felt like he was invisible. He knew he loved you. Not…not love. Liked. Liked. Right? Love was too strong and there was no way that metalhead Eddie Munson was in love with the soft, pretty girl. No way. You were different from him, that was all. He was just fascinated by the vast differences. Surely that was all. If he was the dark, then you were the light and while the two could co-exist, they weren’t made for one another. That’s what he told himself anyway. If he believed it was just an odd fascination he had with you, it was easier to keep his distance. But that was already a challenge on its own, one that was wearing him down more with each passing day. 

“Eddie?” he blinked his way back into reality as he watched Dustin wave his hand in front of his face, “everything okay?”

“Just fine, Henderson,” he promised with a tight lipped smile. Before he was fully willing to let go of his little viewing party, he cast one final look in your direction and found you watching him. His heart rate increased tenfold as you beamed at him and gave him a small wave. He barely managed to raise his hand in response, surprised that you had caught him, and even more surprised that he had caught you doing the same thing. 

“Eddie!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hiya,” you’d spotted his unruly mop of hair from the distance and had practically run over to him, purposefully slowing down so you didn’t look too eager. He’d been doodling in his notebook but looked up at the sound of your voice. His full lips parted slightly in surprise at your appearance and his cheeks warmed up. What if you’d come to yell at him for starting? For being a creep? You sat down on the old bench across from him, “how’s it going, Eds?”

The use of his nickname made him weak in his knees, and he was thankful for the fact that he was sitting. He swallowed thickly and reminded him that there was no reason to be nervous, you were just another girl that he knew, “good, yeah. Fine. I’m good. You’re good…shit. How are you?”

“Are you alright?” you laughed at his stammering as his cheeks flushed a soft pink. He noticed that you’d gone to put your hand in front of your mouth again, and before he could  even think about what he was doing, he reached over and wrapped his ringed fingers around your wrist and gently pulled your hand away. You made a small sound of surprise at his delicate touch, “what was that for?”

“Your smile,” he somehow managed to regain some confidence, “you cover it up. Why?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged, feeling warm from his curious gaze, “I have a big mouth and big smile I guess. Some kids used to make fun of me for it. Just a habit to cover it.”

“You shouldn’t,” he insisted with a smile of his own, “your smile is beautiful.”

“There’s no need to tease me,” you gave him a small, closed mouth smile as you lightly swatted his hand away, giggling nervously. Ugh. Why did you still have to get so nervous around him? You’d known him for years, it shouldn’t be like this. It was Eddie. But that was the problem in and of itself - it was Eddie.

“I’m not,” his insistence was firm and from the determined look in his eyes, one that made your stomach somersault, you could see that he was serious, “it’s like sunshine. You should never feel like you have to hide it.”

You stared at him for a few, long quiet moments with your breath caught in your throat. Was someone as beautiful as him really complimenting your smile? You opened and closed your mouth a few times in search of the right words, but found yourself unable. There was plenty you wanted to say to him, but you couldn’t do it. Not this right now - not with the way he was looking with those soft, big brown eyes,  “umm…so anyway. I came here for a reason. Business purposes naturally.”

“Business,” he repeated as his heart dropped ever so slightly. He was trying to figure out if you were being serious or…not. If you were being honest, the business aspect had been the last thing on your mind but you’d chickened out from saying anything else and opted for that excuse, “mhmm. What can I do for you?”

“Well, you are the resident weed man,” you reached into your pocket and pulled out a few crumpled bills, “I’ve got $25 if you’ve got any to spare.”

“I…” sure, he sold weed to almost half of Hawkins and he’d sold to you several times, but when he just…couldn’t. He didn’t want your money, he’d rather have any other part of you that you would be willing to give him, “actually I’m fresh out. Sorry.”

“Oh,” your expression faltered slightly as you shoved the money back into your pocket. You wondered if he was telling the truth or just didn’t want to sell to you for some reason, “well, you are a busy man after all. I’ll try you some other time.”

“Sure.”

“Well,” your tongue darted out to wet your lips, a gesture not unnoticed by him before you gently tapped your knuckles against the table, “I guess I should get going then.”

You stood up and he followed suit, wiping his hands on his ripped jeans, “h-hey.”

“Hey yourself,” you teased back, watching a softness creep back into his eyes. 

“I-I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“I hope so,” you tilted your head to the side and gave him your biggest smile, halfway through reaching up to cover your mouth, but stopped yourself and flailed your hands around. He laughed at your silly gesture, “see you around, Eds.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

If you had told Eddie Munson that he’d find himself on your doorstep on a late Friday afternoon, ringing your doorbell with nervous anticipation he would have laughed. He wasn’t the type of person to pursue someone. But you weren’t just someone. Not to him.

“Coming!” he heard your voice soft call out before he heard the sounds of what he was sure was you bounding down the stairs. Within a few moments, you’d pulled open the door, breathless and smiling happily, “Eddie! Hi! Wait…Eddie? What are you doing here? Not that I don’t want you here. Because I do! I mean - I, ugh, it’s a surprise is all. Pleasant surprise. I…”

“Yeah?” he laughed softly at your jumble of words as you bounced up and down your heels.

“Yeah,” you promised, “what are you doing here? Do you wanna come in?”

“No, actually,” he looked around before digging into his pocket and slyly holding out a small bag to you, “replenished stock.”

“Oh! Let me grab the cash,” you were already going to turn around but he gripped your arm lightly to stop you, “you didn’t have to come all the way over for just that, love.”

“No cash,” he insisted as you huffed dramatically. He almost choked on thin air at what you’d just said. If you’d noticed, you didn’t show any indication that you did. You motioned for him to go on, “I have…a request. Like a…quid pro quo or whatever it’s called.”

“So a favor for the weed?” you asked as he nodded, nervously scratching the back of his neck, “sure, anything you need, Eds.”

“Will you pretend to be my girlfriend?” he stammered it out so quickly you weren’t sure you’d heard him correctly. You raised your eyebrows in surprise and he sighed at himself, “there’s this gig tomorrow and these other guys have been bugging me about never going out and I told them it was because I was spending time with my girlfriend. It was the first thing I could think of and I just want them out of my hair.”

“Eddie,” you laughed, that sweet, soft sound that threatened to break him and get him on his knees in worship, “that’s so silly! You told them you had a girl instead of just saying you don’t like going out?!”

“It was the heat of the moment!”

“Eds!”

“Fuck, I know, I’m so stupid,” he groaned before looking at you with a softness you had never seen before in those ridicuslosuly beautiful eyes, “but it’s just for one night and it doesn’t have to be long, maybe an hour or two.”

“Nope, puppy dog eyes aren’t going to work this time,” you were trying to keep your weak resolve from completely crumbling. The idea that Eddie had asked you to pretend to be his girlfriend, even if it was just for a few hours, made your heart practically sing. You might have imagined dating Eddie a few times…might have. But you’d never admit that. You definitely did not fall asleep while playing out all sorts of sweet scenarios between the two of you. Definitely not. Nope. You’d never once imagine him kissing you until you were breathless. Never. Or maybe more often than not.

“I’d owe you everything,” he pleaded and you couldn’t say no. It was only a few hours, what could go wrong? Plus, then you’d get to spend time with Eddie with no pretenses and with no need for excuses, “come on, sunshine. Please?”

“Alright,” you gave in and he let out a sigh of relief, “only for tomorrow right?”

“Right,” he nodded fervently, “and free weed for life or whatever you want.”

“Eddie,” you leaned in and before thinking too much of it, kissed his cheek quickly, “what time are you picking me up then, boyfriend?”

“How about six?” he asked, his cheek practically on fire from your kiss. He wondered if the rest of his skin would feel like that if you kissed him more. He was dumbfounded for a moment, his fingers brushing over the skin your lips had touched before he snapped back into reality, “m-maybe we can grab dinner beforehand or whatever, it’s not-”

“Perfect,” you promised and he visibly relaxed. Eddie Munson had never once been left this shy and flustered by anyone before. And yet here you were, doing it without any effort. He was an absolute sucker for you , “I, ugh…I’ll see you at six then.”

“See you at six, Eddie.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She was all colorful pretty nails, cute dresses, and soft makeup. The warm, sweet smell of her perfume and natural scent had ingrained itself in his mind, and he wished it could have clung to his clothes, his pillows, everything. But, he realized, the issue was exactly that. He loved everything about you but no one would believe that Eddie Munson was dating a soft-spoken pretty little thing. No, he was going to need you to play the part completely - if you’d still be willing to do him the favor. Surely you could stand being grunged up and messy for one night. That was if you didn’t immediately laugh at the idea and slam the door in his face.

He knew that deep down, despite the pretty vision you presented, you were much more wicked and sinful. Just like him. Eddie had the feeling that the two of you were much more alike than different, even if it wasn’t obvious.

At six o’clock on the dot, Eddie knocked at your door and you opened it within seconds, as though you had been waiting for him. You had been. 

“Hi,” you were bubbling with excited energy at the thought of your date - even if it was pretend. He looked you over and found it almost endearing that you were dressed down in a hoodie and some old, threadbare pajama pants, “you’re just in time!”

“Gonna go out like that?” he raised an eyebrow as you looked down at yourself and sighed. You reached for his hand and started to pull him inside. 

“I need your help,” you insisted, “I couldn’t figure out what to wear. Will you help? It’ll only take a few minutes.”

His brain went haywire at the thought of not only seeing your room and closet, your sacred spaces, but helping you pick out clothes. He’d give you his own if that had been an option, “s-sure. Do you really-”

“Yes,” you shut the door and laced your fingers through his as you started up the stairs, “don’t worry, no one’s home. And even if they were, it wouldn’t matter, I already told them we’re going out.”

He couldn’t even think of anything to say to that. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t ruin anything? 

Once in your room, you shut the door and moved him so he was sitting on your bed. The fabric of the blanket was soft under his calloused fingertips and he was tempted to lie down and make himself comfortable. 

“Okay,” you turned around and pulled out a few things and tossed them next to him, “I have no clue what to wear, and I know this isn’t exactly my scene so maybe you could help?”

“Funny,” he grabbed one of the shirts you’d tossed towards him, playing with the soft fabric, “I was thinking the same thing. Are you sure you don’t mind getting down and dirty for one night?”

“Nope,” you insisted, secretly thrilled at the idea that you’d look more like him than your usual self. Sure, you liked soft, pretty things, but you liked things with a hard edge too. Just like Eddie, you supposed, “you’re the artist and I am but a humble muse.”

He almost choked on air at your words before he collected himself. He stood up and ghosted his fingertips along your jaw, the simple touch electric, “first - do you have a pair of scissors?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Stop squirming,” he had a nice smile. All teeth and dimples and magic. This close up you could see that he had the faintest sprinkling of freckles across his cheeks and nose. His eyes were a labyrinth of different shades of chocolatey brown and gold flecks; he was beautiful. You found it hard not to wiggle as he held your jaw and attempted to smudge black eyeliner under your eyes, “I’m gonna poke an eye out!”

“I can’t help it!” you giggled, “I’m ticklish and it feels funny!”

“Almost done,” he promised, his tongue sticking out in concentration. You stood as still as possible as he worked in silence for a few moments before he made a small sound of triumph, “there we go.”

He stood back and admired his handiwork, amazed by the difference a little dark, grungey makeup could make. You were just as pretty with it or without it. You nudged him with your hip so you could step in front of your mirror. You almost didn’t recognize yourself as you stood there in jeans that were now covered in various rips and holes, a fitted black shirt topped off with the red flannel that he’d run and grabbed from his van. As soon as he’d put it on you, you were enveloped in his warm scent and decided you would try to steal it. At least for a little while anyway. Your eyes were now lined with the dark smudgey eyeliner and your lips were a dark red. It was completely different from your normal look, but at the same time, it felt like you, “hmmm…”

“Hmmm,” he came up behind you and caught your eye in the mirror, “you don’t like it.”

“On the contrary,” you insisted as you turned to face with excitement written all over your face, “I love it. And your flannel. Which I’m totally calling dibs on by the way.”

“Oh?” he crossed his arms over his chest and you caught a glimpse of the bats he had tattooed on his forearm. You nodded confidently and he gave up any guise of being serious, “it’s all yours, sunshine.”

“I always get what I want,” you scurried back to the closet and grabbed a pair of converse, sitting down to slip them on. Do you want me? The question was on the edge of his tongue but he couldn’t quite get it out, “ready to go, love?”

“Y-yeah,” when did his voice go back to its prepubescent state? He cleared his throat and nodded, holding his hand out to help you to your feet, “let’s go.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were halfway through your shared stack of pancakes and milkshake at the small, out of the way diner you loved, when you caught him studying you intently. You swallowed the bite you had just shoved in your mouth before looking at him with wide eyes. Tapping your fingers around your mouth, you tried to find any crumbs or mess, “is there something on my face?”

“No,” he shook as he reached for his straw and took a long drink from the glass. You set down your fork and watched him curiously. This time he grew self conscious, “what? Something on my face now?”

“No,” you promised, worrying your bottom lip as you weighed over your next words carefully, “Eds? Can I ask you a question? Serious question?”

“Of course,” his heart was thumping wildly against his ribcage, and he was surprised you couldn’t hear it. He was sure it would burst through any second, “go on.”

“I know this is supposed to be a…fake date,” your voice grew quiet as you drummed your fingers along the tabletop, “but what if I don’t want it to be?”

“You don’t want to go through this? I-I can take you home…” 

“No, Eddie, it’s not that,” you insisted quickly as you leaned in closer to him, “what if I don’t want this to be a fake date but a real date instead?”

“Real?” he repeated as you turned your gaze away, finding it impossible to look at his face, “you want to go on a real date with me?”

“Yeah,” you chanced a look at him and he found him watching you closely, “I do, Eds. I-I didn’t mean to make this awkward so I, umm…I understand if you don’t want to-”

“I do too,” he settled his hand on top of yours, his larger one swallowing yours whole. His hand was warm and you couldn’t help but turn your hand over so his palm was touching yours, “I’ve wanted that for a long time. I didn’t think you’d ever actually want to go out with me and I figured that a fake date would be worth something.”

“I don’t even want to admit how many times I imagined asking you or you asking me on a date,” you admitted shyly, “I just didn’t think you’d ever like me.”

“What?” confusion crossed his features as his eyebrows almost shot up into his hairline. He giggled lightly and you couldn’t help but want to make him laugh like that again. You’d do anything to hear that sound, “you thought I wouldn’t like you? Now, I’ve heard it all. Seriously?”

“Don’t laugh!” you were smiling too, unabashed and excited, “you’re all cool and fun and I’m so…not.”

“You think I’m cool?” you nodded eagerly at his surprise, “I’ve got you fooled then. I happen to be a pretty big nerdy loser.”

“I guess I’m into pretty big nerdy losers,” you leaned and flipped his palm so it was facing up. You traced a finger lightly over the long lines, “is that yes then? Can we make this a real date?”

“Yeah,” he agreed readily as your face lit up, “the first of many I hope, sunshine.”

“I hope so too, Munson.”

[luckthebard]

I'm not gonna link to that absolutely obnoxious "As the show has grown, Critical Role has left me behind..." poor-me article, but I cannot resist registering my astonishment at the extreme rose-colored glasses some people insist on viewing Campaign 1 with.

People will complain about missing the small fandom atmosphere of C1 but then erase and ignore the rampant misogyny in the fandom back then and the unacceptable abuse that was hurled at some of the players (and fans! Anyone who was a Keyleth fan c. 2016 knows exactly how unwelcoming the CR fandom was).

And I side-eye hard people who are like "CR left its fantasy roots behind," or "CR is trying to appeal to a broader demographic" (an actual complaint!) - because yeah, you know what a noticeable change is? A clear effort to diversify and have more open and inclusive storytelling. There are so many complaints about nonspecific "change" in CR that really seem to complaining that they're being conscious of their audience and trying their best to be more open and welcoming.

(As for the complaint that "and everything has merch now," - 1) way to ignore all of the people constantly complaining that the CR store doesn't have the exact merch they want and 2) rose-colored glasses for C1 strike again! Honestly I feel like C1 had more of a "throw whatever merch out there and see what sticks" attitude. They sold various shirts, hoodies, pencil sets, rings, nail wraps, coasters... as always with some of these "things have changed" complaints, there's plenty of evidence that they haven't changed that much at all!)

It's wild to me that there are people who've decided the independent media company Critical Role is "more corporate" somehow now that they're independent than when they were operating at Geek and Sundry and under the umbrella of Legendary Digital Networks, subsidiary of Legendary Entertainment, an actual giant media corporation. That is just a bonkers level of rose-tinted glasses for an era of their streaming where they had to constantly answer to a corporate overlord.

You know, when it comes right down to it, it's absurd to expect something that started in 2015 to be exactly the same show in 2021. Yes, the cast is less accessible. Yes, it has a more polished and less "gritty early internet" feel to it. And yeah, maybe the show did "leave some people behind" and isn't "for them" anymore. Ok? Don't know why that should be surprising or why anyone would need to write a whole-ass article about it (I do know why, it's because they know people will click on it cause more people are watching CR in C3 than ever before).

[lacheri]

rituals

pairing: boyfriend!Levi & fem bodied reader

content: modern au, established relationship, over stimulation, penetrative sex, oral (f receiving), body worshipping, a sprinkle of somnophilia and dacryphilia, Levi really loves his pet names, very minor OCD portrayals, minors DNI

wc: 5.7k

notes: not me creating an entire tumblr so i can post my smut lmfao. this is my first time writing smut like this, so i hope ya’ll enjoy (:

Levi couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, even if he wanted or tried to. You were just so beautiful to him, long eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks as you tried to drift off to sleep. He insisted that you faced towards him every night, his eyes tearing up from pushing away blinks because he genuinely couldn’t bring himself to miss even a second of you. It was borderline obsessive, definitely the craziest ritual he had, but Levi just couldn’t help it. This was the only time he fully and unabashedly got to admire you, and it wasn’t like you didn’t mind the attention. In fact you’d lay there fully conscious, steadying your breathing and squinting just barely to watch him watch you. Your boyfriend wasn’t an overly affectionate person, but God did he love to spend hours memorizing every curve and line of your pretty face. 

Levi’s fingers reached out, tracing your cheekbone with his knuckles, breathing a hair above a whisper, “So gorgeous.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from blowing your cover, a wide grin erupting from your lips. Eyes still closed, you heard Levi chuckle, “Seems like my brats’ still awake.”

Instead of answering in fear of ruining the moment, you snuggled closer to your boyfriend, burrowing your head into the space between his neck and shoulder. You placed an innocent kiss there as you brought your left hand up to rub tiny circles on his bicep. His shirtless body was warm and soft from his earlier shower, and he had just decided on sliding into your freshly washed bed sheets with you in just his boxers. You couldn’t help but take notice of his hardened length pressed against your stomach.

“So sweet for me tonight,” he rasped, fingers edging under the fabric of your silk shorts. 

“I’m always sweet for you,” you moved your head back to look up at him, batting your eyelashes and pouting. 

Levi took your bottom lip in between his index finger and thumb, gaze locked in on how it rolled in between them. He groaned softly to himself letting go, leaning in to indulge himself in a kiss. You eagerly matched his slow, sensual pace. His hand wandered back to your shorts, slipping underneath the bottoms to caress the back of your thigh. He molded the soft flesh between his fingers, biting softly at your lips for permission to taste you. Your tongue licked in response against his bottom lip, Levi taking it upon himself to push his tongue forward to dominate yours. His taste buds slid sinfully against yours, twisting and turning around the muscle. You tasted divine. All mine, Levi thought to himself.

The tips of his fingers traveled upwards to the fullness of your lower cheek, not being able to stop himself pulling the handful towards him. He softened his grip, feeling your ass jiggle back into its original place. His mind ran wild, images of your naked body flooding his head. You couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh, feeling a familiar burn rumble in your lower stomach. Unlike your boyfriend who could play and get you wound up for however long he saw fit, as soon as you got started all you wanted was him inside you. Patience was not in your personality, and as he continued to paw at your lower half, you had one goal set in mind.

“Wanna’ get on top,” you demanded, breathless and feeling needy as you pulled away from your kiss.

Levi’s kiss traveled to your cheek, down your jaw and neck as he responded, “No, not done with you yet.”

“But Levi,” you whined, shifting an octave higher as he sucked the side of the column of your throat. His tongue drew delicious circles before going back to peppering kisses.

“Patience, brat. You’re being so good, don’t want to ruin that by being whiny, do we?” He ended his question with a light smack on your ass, removing his hand all together after to lean his torso up to hover over you. You gulped, the burning feeling intensifying as he stared at you with predatory eyes. You nodded slowly, feeling accomplished as he murmured, “That’s my good girl.”

Levi easily guided you to lay flat on your back on the bed, fully encasing you in between his strong arms. You eyed his biceps as he balanced over you. The full moon that looked just outside your bedroom window was a blessing in disguise as it illuminated the room, casting flattering light on all it saw. Your favorite thing about Levi’s body was his arms, toned and strong, and always so in control. You practically drooled watching them flex as he leaned in back to your neck, this time trailing kisses upwards. His lips met you in a kiss again, this one a bit heavier and needy than the last. 

His right hand strayed up to your face again, Levi always needed to touch you, and his thumb ran along the edge of your jaw, a grip solidified under your chin when he pulled his face away from yours. He titled your head up, his stone colored eyes locked in on yours. His jaw was slacked open as his eyes kept traveling your face. Every time he saw your face it was like a spell, he was completely devoid of ever being able to gaze at another’s after being graced with yours. In a flash, images of you looking angelic in a white dress came to mind, and with a pretty diamond ring burning a hole in his sock drawer he had yet to show you, his cock throbbed. Levi’s lips attached aggressively to the spot where his fingers accompanied, sucking fiercely down. You bit back a moan as heat pooled instantly between your legs, oblivious to his thoughts.

“Levi,” you moaned, both of your hands shooting up to his waist leering above you. 

“Yes?” he moved downwards again, this time taking the buttons of your silk shirt in between the pads of his fingers, popping them open slowly. 

“I love you,” your eyes fluttered closed, heart race increasing. His did as well, flickering to your bra-less chest and back up to the soft smile that lit up your face.

“As do I, brat.”

Levi pushed your unbuttoned silk sleeping shirt open, gazing down in awe at your exposed chest. Your nipples were pert and standing to attention, and you felt like your heart was going to slam out of its confines. Levi always did this to you, every time you made love felt like the first. You wondered if this effect would ever go away, but as he leaned down and flicked one of your hardened nubs with his tongue, you wholeheartedly believed it never would. 

His lips encircled around your nipple, his hand began toying with your other breast. His licks and sucks were slow, so agonizingly slow, but did Levi just love to work you up and tease you. On the nights you were an extra good girl for him, he’d let you take charge and tell him what you wanted and give it to you. Unsurprisingly, there was absolutely no time wasted in foreplay. Of course this power change wouldn’t last very long, Levi would find it too amusing how quickly being in control went to your head. He needed to remind you on those nights that he was only allowing you to act that way, and Levi was always the one in charge. 

You could feel the throbbing of want from your core, not being able to hold back a whine as Levi continued his assault. His hand stayed kneading your breast as his lips moved south once more, tongue lolled out on your skin to leave a saliva trail. He had to feel every square inch of you, lapping against the soft skin of your torso. He bit playfully at the underside of your boob, and you let out a tiny yelp in response. His lips smoothed over the light impressions of his teeth, kissing languidly to earn back the soft moans and sighs he was eliciting from you. 

Deciding then that your clothes were an offensive insult to his existence, Levi huffed and abruptly yanked down the waistband of your shorts, taking your lace panties with it. This had caught you off guard, but before you could react, Levi had slipped one of his hands under you on the small of your back to lift your hips while the other tugged down your shorts and panties to your knees. You lifted your knees up on your own to your chest and he pulled the garments off the rest of the way, throwing them off to a forgotten corner of the room. His hands returned back to you quickly, landing on the back of your heels, and he leaned up onto his knees to gaze down at you from hazy eyes. Wherever his fingers trailed, his eyes followed. Feather light scratches traveled the underside of your feet, his palms facing towards you. You shivered involuntarily, your body was on fire and he hadn’t even touched you where you needed him the most yet. His digits finally met the tips of your toes, and his knuckles wrapped around the tops of your feet, massaging them in the process. Levi’s eyes flickered up then, expression completely stoic, but you saw every emotion swirl in his cloudy grey eyes. The want, the need, the complete and utter adoration, it was all there.

“You’re so fucking stunning,” Levi spat as if he had spoken an insult. “All fucking mine, I want to hear you say it.”

“Levi, please, touch me,” you begged, fed up with him toying with you. 

“Tell me, now.”

“I’m yours,” you pleaded, nearly in tears as your frustration built. “I’ll always be yours. Please, baby.”

“Such a good girl,” Levi praised, face softening after getting what he wanted. He pressed his lips to the top of your right toe then, never breaking eye contact. He didn’t spend much time on your feet, only peppering closed mouth kisses until he reached your ankle. His fingers followed shortly behind his lips, eliciting goosebumps in the trail of his light touch. You were a whiny mess, he was just getting you so worked up. You knew he didn’t reward bratty behavior like this, and you really did try to control it and keep it in, but you were just getting so frustrated that Levi wasn’t giving into what you wanted, no, what you needed. And every kiss closer to your aching center moved slower and slower, stopping completely once he reached the insides of your thighs.

Taking your knees in a tight grasp, he spread you completely open in front of him. You clenched around nothing in anticipation, a silly grin on your face. You bit softly on your bottom lip, watching him devour you with his eyes. It was just so much to take in, Levi was groaning to himself, burning the image into his memory. There just weren't words to describe it, having you like this felt almost holy. His eyes struggled to fit you all into one simple picture, wanting to focus on every single detail; The way your pussy glistened and the muscles contracted, the darkened skin in the inner creases where your center met your thighs, the skin bunched together on your stomach from having your legs spread so wide and up, the tiny bumps of your areolas, the way you sucked on your bottom lip, eyes so wide and pure, hair a fucking halo around you. He placed his hands on the sides of your center, spreading you open with the pads of his thumbs resting on your outer lips. Levi wasn’t a religious man in the slightest, but God did he want to put your body on an altar and goddamn pray to you, worship you, die for you, kill for you.

Levi finally leaned forward, his lips placing an open mouth kiss to the bare skin above your folds. It was all way too much teasing, and you couldn’t stop yourself from squirming, trying to push yourself closer to his mouth. He shot a warning glare up, daring you to continue disturbing him. 

“Bad girls don’t get what they want, brat,” the vibrations of his grovel were so close to your aching clit, and you let out a choked moan in response. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” your head became clouded, feeling like you were going to explode. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

“This is the second time I’ve had to remind you,” Levi took his index finger and finally stroked it against you, a shaky intake of breath elicited from you. “Don’t let there be a third.”

The tip of his finger circled gently on your clit, exposing the pearl in the center. Every time his soft touch brushed against it, you wanted to sob. Your loving boyfriend, so gentle and caring, taking his ever loving time with you. He watched you as if he had never seen another woman in his entire life, it would always be just you. Even the mere thought of someone aside from you had him growling. Whilst you were all his, he belonged to no one else but you, and he felt every urge to prove that to you.

The assault of his tongue was a shock to your system, nerves sizzling deliciously. Levi was a man on a mission, and he knew exactly how to get you to come undone under him with the rhythm of his mouth. There was a pattern to be appreciated, a ritual even, and Levi was a man who found reason in a routine, because routine always worked. You knew this well even outside the bedroom, Levi ate the same foods every day to stay as fit as possible, he color coded every single thing in your home to stay as organized as he could, losing his mind if he even suspected a hint of dust on any of his furniture. He told you once before that you were the one compulsion that didn’t drive him utterly insane, and in Levi’s world he pretty much declared his eternal love for you. And you definitely didn’t mind this attention in the slightest, because although the thoroughness of his touches and kisses made you want to ignite into ball of flames with desire and frustration, there would never be another man on the planet who could make you feel as beautiful and as loved as Levi did, or who would be worthy of receiving of your own love and adoration.

Levi’s took his free hand to your opening, circling the area with pressure. His tongue still licked and sucked faithfully on your clit, you whimpering and mewling at his worship. His index finger pressed in, your walls instantly sucking him in as far as you could take him. You shuttered, eyes rolling into the back of your head as his finger began to move inside of you. He was grazing the ridges, pumping the digit as the knuckles of his fingers made a ‘come here’ motion over and over. And when he added a second one to add to his pattern, the coil in your lower stomach was about to burst. Of course Levi could feel the change of the pulses of your walls, holding a squeeze for longer seconds than the last ones, and he knew you were close. He angled his fingers then so the tips rubbed against the spongy part of your cunt, pumping his fingers even faster, creating friction at your entrance as well. 

Between his expert fingers and the suction of his lips, you came fast and violently, not being able to voice a wanting, white light flooding your vision as you arched your back and your eyebrows knitted together, your mouth hanging agape in a breathless scream. Levi watched all of this before him, and couldn’t help but rut against the bed in his boxers. You were simply heavenly, and had he humped the bed the entire time he was eating you out, he would’ve came in his boxers without hesitation. 

The contractions slowed but Levi did not, knowing he could get at least one more out of you before he moved on to the main event. The stimulation was too much, too overwhelming coming immediately off of your high. Your muscles were still so tight, not completely relaxed and your clit was just so sensitive. It didn’t take more than a few strokes of his fingers yet again to have a quick orgasm. 

You moaned louder the second time, although the first one was stronger. It just felt so good, not nearly as satisfying as the first, but the waves washing over you were unbelievably strong.

Levi removed his mouth, and watched his fingers slip out of you, skin pruned from your cum. He placed a kiss on your thigh, bringing his gaze to your weary expression, “Such a good girl for me, I think I’m going to reward you.”

Your ears perked and you lifted your head from the pillow, “Reward?”

“Yeah, why not?” he sucked where he was placing kisses, eyes locked in on yours. “I’m going to let you pick how you want me to take you.”

Your eyes widened, an excited smile gracing your features. Now this was rare, and you realized that Levi must’ve been in an exceptional mood to let you have even a fraction of control right now. Or, on the flip side, he was setting you up to lose control so he could find a reason to punish you. Either way, you couldn’t wait to find out.

“On top,” you begged yet again, sitting up on your elbows and sliding out of your opened shirt. “I want to watch you.”

“So needy,” he scoffed, grabbing the backs of your thighs and pulling you further down the bed so you were eye level. His chin was covered in your arousal as he leant in for a passionate kiss, lips mashing together. He easily flipped you over so you laid on top of his muscular form. You sat up, knees bent on either side of his hips. You placed your hands on his lower stomach to steady yourself, thumbs brushing against the elastic of his black boxers. Levi had strategically rolled you so you sat pressed bare against his erection, and he could feel how wet your pussy was through the fabric. He audibly groaned when you pressed further down, rubbing yourself on his clothed cock. 

Your hips rocked back and forth in a lazy rhythm, and Levi was having absolutely none of it. Although he could deal out plenty of teasing, what he wasn’t going to allow was for you to give it right back to him. Really, it wasn’t on purpose, you promise. It was just there was no time to waste, and you would find any kind of satisfaction any way you possibly could. 

His hands gripped hard at your hips, stopping your motions entirely, “Oi, brat, you trying to get a strike three?”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized once again. “Feel so good, I can’t stop.”

“How could you?” his expression softened, bringing his thumb to trace your lips in mock empathy. “You’re so spoiled.”

Levi then took matters, literally, into his own hands. He patted your thighs so you could lift your hips as he grabbed his thick cock out of the confines of his boxers. It slapped against his stomach, and you saw the glisten of precum on his slit. Your mouth watered, eyes drinking up every second as he pulled the clothing down his legs, kicking them off his ankles. You sunk your hips down again, letting out a whimper as your clit made direct contact with the head of his dick. Levi pulled his bottom lip in with teeth, face scrunched as he let out a low hiss. You slid against him a couple of times, lubing his shaft with your arousal. Grabbing the base, you angled him at your entrance, eyes glued to the spot between you. His eyes stayed trained on your angelic face though, not trusting himself to bust on the spot as you began to slide yourself down on his length.

“Fuck,” Levi cursed, nearly drawing blood as he bit down. Your mouth hung agape, eyebrows furrowed and tears pricking the edges of your lash line. “So fucking tight.”

Fully impaled on top of him now, a fat teardrop rolled down your face, landing on his lower abdomen, and Levi was instantly regretting letting you take control like this. All he wanted to do was to feel your pelvic bones wrapped around his fingers on your hips as he unforgivingly plowed into you. He hated seeing you cry, but in the bedroom, he didn’t mind it one bit. It was an arousing reminder that no matter how many times he made you cum before hand, no matter how drenched your core was, you would still struggle to fit all of him inside of you. He would even go as far to call it a sick fascination, a warranted deal as lovers to see you sob and hiccup on his length. His ego was fragile, as are most men, but as you opened your teary eyes and met his lustful glare, he felt as if he could take down the entire fucking world for you.

“Oh my god,” you cried softly, angling your hips upwards to bounce back down swiftly. You both let out a groan as you met his pelvis once again, feeling the tickle of neatly kept pubic hair tickle your clit. As much as you wanted to grind yourself down on his base to get yourself off yet again, the furrow of Levi’s brows and the sight of his lip tucked between his teeth gave you motivation to continue on. 

Raising yourself up again quickly, now feeling your cunt adjust more to keep taking him, you used all the power you could muster in your knees and thighs to lower yourself down, then up again, into a steady rhythm. A bit slow for both of your preferences, but you fully knew that his patience would wear thin soon and Levi would just haul you onto your back again, having his way with you.

His thick tip continuously brushed against your ridges, every time you would purposefully clench yourself as you met his base. Whimpers escaped your lips, the sounds of you and your cunt gripping him for all its worth filling the room. You would’ve been embarrassed had this been anyone else, but truthfully, Levi was the only man who could ever get your beautiful pussy to this state of unending flow. You were soaking him, and the both of you knew that after all this was said and done, the sheets that were just pulled out of the dryer not even an hour ago would go right back into the wash, all because of you. No, you weren’t going to take the blame. It was all because of Levi, and what he was doing to you.

His hand smacking your ass brought you out of your thoughts as he grumbled, “You fucking brat, you’re fucking yourself on my cock to wind me up, huh? You’re really wanting that strike three?”

“No,” you managed to moan out as your pussy clenched from his words. “I’m really trying my best, Levi.”

Levi’s hands grasped your hips as your cunt was trapped at the top of his fat tip, stopping your motion entirely there as you hovered, “I don’t fucking believe you.”

With one swift motion, he thrusted upwards, hard, burying himself right up against your cervix. You yelped in response, tears resurfacing as the pain mixed with the pleasure. This was exactly what you had wanted, and Levi knew this, but you would refuse to admit it.

“Wanted me to get fed up, didn’t you?” he grit his teeth, plunging himself into you once again, unbelievably even harder this time, your moans turned desperate. 

“Please,” is all you could whimper, his harsh thrusts increasing in pace as he fucked himself into you. Not once relinquishing his tight grip on you. All you could do is hover above him, grabbing onto whatever you could to steady yourself. 

Another loud smack was heard as you felt a sting against your ass, and now you were really sobbing, “Please, please!”

“Please, what?” Levi venomously spat out, eyes darkened in lust and in mild anger. You knew it wasn’t legitimate anger, and all his look did was feed the flame growing in your core.

“My legs can’t hold up anymore,” you cried, fat tears rolling down your face. Your knees were buckling, a tender ache in your thighs had your body wanting to go limp. 

His hold on you eased up, maneuvering his hips so his cock slid out of you with a squelch. You fell into his lap, trying to catch your breath as fast as you could before he locked you in another grip, rolling around so your stomach was flat on the bed. His cock, now soaked in your juices, was grinding into the seam of your ass, and he was groaning at the contact. Truthfully, you’d let him fuck himself anywhere he wanted. And God, did Levi want to use that to his advantage. Not tonight though, he had one goal, one place in mind, and that was your beautiful, angelic cunt.

He slid himself back in between your folds with no resistance, his knees locked in between your legs to prevent you from closing them in a reaction. His fingers tangled themselves in the back of your head, pulling it up by your hair so he could hear every single mewl and whimper from your beautiful mouth. 

From this new angle, Levi was buried so deep within your body that every nerve was singeing, lit aflame by the wondrous pleasure. Pulling his hips back slowly, he could feel every ridge and muscle in your plush cunt, and he let out a subtle growl. He pressed back in at the same pace, almost torturous. He eyed the handprints on your ass, and felt his ego soar. Every mark, every bruise, every touch, your body was entirely his, and his alone. 

His fingers unwound in your hair, grasping both of your full ass cheeks in his hands as he plunged in, flicking his hips faster. You heard and felt the smack of his balls as he bottomed out inside of you, and all you could do was gasp and hiccup at the impact. He repeated it, again and again, increasing his speed every time. He angled himself then to brush his engorged tip to that sweet spongey spot inside of you, fucking right up into it with every thrust. He really had you moaning then, your hands reaching forward to grasp the pillow in front of you, knuckles white in your grip. While the sight was erotic, seeing the back of your head as you stuffed your face into mattress, body completely limp under him, Levi wanted to see that beautiful face of yours as he brought you to a climax. He could feel your cunt squeezing him, ready to cum, but knew how your clit needed the extra attention to bring you there.

When he pulled out of you suddenly, you let out a frustrated cry. He silenced it very quickly, flipping your body once again to lay on your back. Strands of your hair were stuck in sweat against your forehead, mouth agape and he couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of your moistened lips, unable to stop the drool as your mouth hung open. Your legs still parted, bent at the knees, he grabbed your thighs and pulled you even closer, aligning himself with your vulva once again. His hands stayed there, his cock standing to full attention, needing no guidance, as he filled your tight hole, and continued fucking you.

Your breasts bounced from the impact as you tried, so very hard, to match his pace with your hips. You did well at the beginning, feeling the skin to skin contact against your clit as your bodies met full on. Your legs were shaking though, unable to hold a rhythm long enough to get off, and you gave in, allowing him to take full control.

“You’re so close again, aren’t you?” he chuckled darkly, his right hand leaving the smooth skin on your thigh to travel in between your legs. 

“‘Wanna cum, please, Levi,” you pleaded, your eyes screwing shut, hands attaching themselves to his looming biceps.

“You haven’t been very good, though, brat,” he chided, almost mockingly. “I don’t know if you deserve it.”

“I’ll be good!” you begged, hips shakily trying to match his pace once again. “Please!”

“You’re gonna’ be a good girl?” he asked, gaze dark and hungry as he drank in your desperate form.

“Yes, yes!” you nodded furiously, eyes opened now, watching his own flicker up to yours.

Without answering you, or teasing you any further, his thumb met your clit, and you moaned so fucking loud that Levi almost came from the sight of you. He pulled his thoughts together, focusing on getting you off first. His thrusts fastened, your pussy squelching as the sound of slapping skin echoed in your bedroom. Levi’s thumb worked in quick circles, no intent of letting up. No, you wanted to come, so he was going to make you fucking come.

The coil was never unwound in the first place, and his attention had you seeing stars. The pressure in your abdomen kept building, and you could feel every single slide and inch of his dick everywhere inside of you. At your sweet spot, in your entrance, the encouragement of his thumb on your most sensitive area. It was all too much.

“I’m gonna’ cum,” you panted as you threw your ankles around his waist, wanting to pull him in deeper.

“Cum for me, beautiful, cum on my cock,” Levi begged, feeling his own release impending.

That’s all it took, your jaw dropping and knees shaking as your pussy pulled in him so deep, and squeezed him painfully tight. Your head was empty, and Levi watched you completely fall apart below him. Seeing pure white, eyes locked in on his, his face screwed together in his own pleasure. That’s all it took to finally push you over the edge. Your cunt gripped him harshly, and feeling the first contraction, Levi couldn’t hold back anymore, his thrusting desperate and thumb moving so fast his wrist was aching. He flicked his hips as you pulsed around him, shooting his load deep inside your velvet center.

As you screamed his name, he moaned out yours, both of you stilling completely aside from his thumb working you down. Even as he came down from his height, your cunt was still milking him, albeit at a slower pace now. His thumb slowed movement, your contractions winding down as your chests heaved.

Levi quite literally had to force himself out of you, your pussy that tight on his dick. He watched in adoration as some of his seed spilled out of your hole, and using the same thumb he brought you to your climax with, he pushed the fluid back inside of you.

Thank God for birth control, you thought, breathing heavily as you watched him from below.

Levi threw himself out of the bed, taking shaky strides over to your on suite bathroom. He spent a couple minutes there, and you stayed in the same position, trying to find any energy to move. Not much to his surprise, he looked on in adoration to see you still sprawled out, your eyes closed peacefully as you enjoyed your post orgasmic bliss. Now this was a face worth studying tonight. 

You jumped when you felt the cool contact of a wet rag meet your folds, and your eyes opened and followed Levi’s hands as he diligently cleaned you, his focus intent on your womanhood. You cringed when you finally looked down at yourself, inner thighs glistening under the pale moonlight. So much for laundry day.

“Normally this is the part where I tell you how good you were,” Levi’s eyes flickered up as a small smirk set in on his lips. “But I’m beginning to think you’re a bit too spoiled, brat.”

You laughed breathily, “I’m sorry, you just make it so hard to control myself.”

“Maybe I should start dealing out real punishments,” he mused, finishing up wiping you down. 

“Oh?” you managed to tilt your head lazily, interest peaked. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, maybe make you start calling me captain, or something?” Levi inquired. His expression was completely serious.

“Captain?” you snorted. “Captain Levi? What kind of fantasies do you got swirling around in your head? Do you want to buy a boat or something?”

“You could be my little cadet,” he smirked, ignoring your teasing, returning the rag to your pussy with mischievous intentions, a bit too sensual. “My little bratty cadet.”

You closed your legs as much as you could with him in between them, a pout settled in on your face, “Why can’t I be a captain too? Better yet, what about your commander?”

“In your wildest dreams, brat.”

Levi stopped teasing you then, deciding your lower half was as clean as he could possibly get it without tossing you into the shower. Making another quick trip to the bathroom and back, he adjusted the pillows behind you, until they sat perfectly on the bed frame, and worked out the wrinkles in the duvet that had been half haphazardly thrown down and off the mattress to make way for your love making. Deeming everything perfect, Levi finally crawled into the bed beside you, where your eyelids were drooping heavily as you fought off legitimate sleep this time.

“I love you, Levi,” you murmured, burrowing your face into the crook of his neck to pepper a sweet, innocent kiss.

His hands gently cupped the back of your head, pulling you back and you pouted sleepily, “Oi, you know what you’re supposed to do. I’ll cuddle you when I’m done.”

You only nodded in a response, sleep catching up to your exhausted body. You only stirred when you felt the length of his fingers intertwined with yours, a small smile creeping up as you finally drifted off. Levi gazed at your expression in adoration, pushing back your hair from your face as your breathing softened. He would fight his own need for sleep for an hour, memorizing every crinkle of your beautiful face. 

“I love you, so much,” Levi whispered, barely able to hear himself. “My beautiful angel.”

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.