#eminating from the parent's room

[carlostck]

SHUT THE FUCK UP DAY RUINED MOTHER JUST PULLED OUT THE CHRISTMAS TREE??

[hereticpriest]

Bite

Rating: Mature?

Relationship: Laszlo Kreizler x reader

Warnings: Heavily implied odaxelagnia, period typical misogyny, period typical relationship culture, period typical discussion of a physical disability.

Note: Kincsem means 'my treasure' and szerelmem means 'my love' in Hungarian.

Warmth sinks into your back as you lean heavily against the strong legs and plush sofa behind you, chasing away the chill you might've had from sitting on the cold floor. Your upper body is wedged somewhat between bony knees and soft thighs, holding you in place in case you were to fall asleep. It wouldn't be the first time. A blissful sigh leaves your lips as you nuzzle your cheek against your arms, pillowed beneath your head and draped lazily over your dear doctor's thigh. The fingers of his non-dominant hand comb shyly through your hair, still learning to touch you with what he refers to as his deformity when he manages to speak of it.

His voice, thickly accented when he's as relaxed as he is now in the fire's crackling light with you at his feet, lilts over the words of whatever book he's chosen to read for you tonight. You haven't absorbed much of it, though you believe it to be a text rather than a novel - delving into the science behind love, how quaint - since he keeps pausing to underline passages as he goes. He doesn't ever seem to do that with novels - that's your territory. He often remarks that he likes to read some of his favourites again after you've made your way through them simply because he likes to read the little notes you've jotted down in the margins.

You let out a plaintive noise as he removes his hand from your hair, blinking open heavy-lidded eyes to look up at him with all the disgruntled displeasure of a toddler told no. His eyebrow raises at you as if to ask what you plan to do about it, and you scoff, shifting your arm ever so slightly to give you room to sink your teeth into the meat of his thigh. He yelps, fisting your hair in order to wrench your head back, and you let him. Your lips form a smug grin, eyes half-lidded and smouldering. The would-be pain of having your hair pulled bleeds into pleasure instead, sparking like wildfire under your skin.

"No biting, kincsem." He murmurs, guiding your head back down to his leg delicately for a man who’d just yanked on your hair. You wait on baited breath to see if he'll keep touching you, and hum with delight when he does, indulging you despite the fact that it reinforces your unfortunately bratty behaviour. He's been trying to get you out of the habit of biting since you met, with very little success. First, as a typist at the Kreizler Institute with a bad habit of biting the skin around your nails - stress induced, due to the pressure from your parents to marry instead of working for him. He had recommended a healthy outlet for your stress and a set of gloves to redirect you, and while the gloves did work when you weren’t actively typing, you hadn’t yet found an outlet for your stress. Then, your parents found a suitor for you willing to overlook your unfortunate desire to make something of yourself beyond a wife and mother, which led to you biting the thenar eminence of your dominant hand until you had to wear gloves to hide the marks and bruises. The gloves were somewhat of a deterrent when you wore them, as you learned to get quite adept at wearing them while typing, and had to pull them up to bite properly.

As you were reluctantly contemplating the aforementioned suitor's offer of courtship, Laszlo came to you with an offer of his own, a decidedly sweeter offer despite your parent's distaste for foreigners and lack of respect for his profession. He was still a wealthy man (wealthier than the alternative) of good standing (relative to the man they'd found for you) with a somewhat prestigious job, who wished to marry you with some level of expediency. Up until that point, you'd done your best to look at Laszlo as Dr. Kreizler - your boss first, and a man a distant second - in order to avoid any misunderstandings or scandals. You did not acknowledge his good looks, or his delectable accent, or the way his eyes seemed to see right through you. None of those things were relevant to your job. Somehow, you’d managed to do quite well in removing the man of him from the equation.

When he proposed a courtship, it had not been a way to save you from a worse fate like you might have feared it to be if you'd ever even had an inkling to the idea that he might ask. Which you hadn’t, because you had blinded yourself to him willfully to achieve a healthy working relationship. An entire world of possibility opened up between you when he forced your hand and made you finally acknowledge him as something other than your polite and kind boss, Dr. Kreizler. Your good doctor had asked you with sweetly pink cheeks and a flustered tongue, an honest fear in his eyes as he attempted quite needlessly to be forthright about his faults and how he might make up for them. You knew who he was. As you allowed yourself to think of him as an option, you realised how good of a man he truly was. He wasn’t a perfect man, certainly. He had a habit of being manipulative, and was far too shrewd not to recognize it. He lacked some social graces, which had given him the ability to see people that society had shunned, but also made him a bit abrasive at times. He was profoundly intelligent, which led him to sometimes confront people with the things they did not want to be faced with.

And yet, he was kind. Compassionate. He saw beyond your pretty wrapping to the heart of you, and appreciated both. He indulged you even when you were difficult. He gave everyone a chance based on merit, not class. His love warmed you like a fire, and very rarely burned you in equal measure. He was incredibly handsome, distinguished, and carried his age well. He dressed well, groomed himself appropriately and his voice made you quake. His arm did little if anything at all to quell your passion for him, once he lit the fire. All it took was one spark for you to burn.

It was as if the moment he began courting you, you began to see things you had never noticed before. Things that had always been there, and yet you had been completely blind to them. Despite the difficulty it gave him, he always pulled out your chair for you. He offered you his arm anytime you two had to walk anywhere together, and helped you in and out of the carriage despite having Cyrus there to do it for him. You, quite by accident, noticed him staring at you in the quiet moments in his office while you were typing up his notes for him, or taking his dictation. It wasn't the first time, though you had always passed it off as the man thinking, the direction of his gaze less important than the thoughts running through his brilliant mind. It wasn’t until you knew the fire in his eyes when he looked upon something he wanted that you began to recognize it in his gaze whenever he was looking at you.

Once, long before your courtship began, he had invited you to dinner with his motley crew of investigators at the Delmonico. You remember playfully remarking that you would have to buy a new dress for the occasion, only to find a dressbox laying on your desk the following morning when you came into work. Your insistence that he not waste his money on you was met with a disdainful look at the simple notion and a reminder that it would be impolite to refuse a gift given in earnest. Your parents would have had a fit if they knew you accepted such a gift from a man, but what they didn’t know couldn’t possibly hurt you. Every compliment from Ms. Howard and Mr. Moore made Laszlo subtly preen, apparently pleased to have picked something that suited you so well. You had thought his behaviour a tad odd - inviting the group's admiration of your dress, subtle as it may have been, was certainly not the doctor's usual style.

You had kept yourselves to courtship rules, holding hands only in presence of a chaperone for your good public image, what little remained. He took you on several long, chaperoned walks in between dinners with your family, and exchanged letters with you despite the fact that he saw you nearly every day for work. Your engagement swiftly followed, perhaps a bit faster than might’ve been acceptable if your parents hadn’t been in such a rush to be rid of you. The first time he kissed you, you swore you heard and felt him whimper. He was endlessly gentle with you, cherishing you in ways you never expected. He loved you long before you even knew that was a possibility, and he had hungered. Your next bite was to his lower lip, and then his chin, and then his neck. Instead of using gloves to redirect you, he now wore higher collars or guided your nipping mouth further down under his clothing.

It was a happy marriage. It is a happy marriage. Only a couple of months in and you’ve never been happier in your entire life. Your doctor, your husband, takes very good care of you. You want for nothing, except a moment more of his time. Just one more look. One more touch. One more kiss. You’re voracious - he’s accused you multiple times of being spoiled with a fondness in his voice that said he was perfectly okay with that. You think he’s been so hungry for you for so long that it’s only fair that you suffer the same ailment.

Your doctor combs your hair back from your face, leaning over you just the slightest bit to see your open eyes before he speaks, “You, my little wife, have not heard a single word I have said for the last hour, have you?”

You smile against your arm.

“Oh, no, my love. I was definitely listening.” You correct him, and he sighs, stroking the pad of his thumb over your plush lips and inviting a bite he knows is coming. He barely even flinches as you clamp your teeth around his skin, then he does shudder when you pull his thumb into your mouth.

“Some day, I will rid you of this compulsion.” he murmurs, and you bite around the base of his thumb before letting him pull free of you. His hand slips below the neck of your nightgown, and you shiver at the wet swipe across your nipple.

“You hardly want to, husband. Deny it all you like, we both know you like when I bite.”

He smirks, his strong hand slipping under your arms to help you stand on shaky, numb legs. Despite himself, he likes when you walk like a baby deer around him, whether due to his nightly (and often daily) passions, or simply because you like to kneel at his feet so often until your legs go numb.

“Come to bed, szerelmem. I think there’s still an inch of my neck that is yet to be bruised.” He teases, and you laugh, leaning into him as he helps you towards your bedroom. You’ve no doubt he’ll find yet another way to make your legs shake before the end of the night.

[redheadspark]

Can i have prompt #6 with Benedict Bridgerton?

A/N - I do like this request! Thanks for requesting this, my friend!

Funny Thing

Summary - Beneditc's childhood crush comes back, and Eloise calls him out because of it

Warnings - Just some fluff

“Benedict, we need to discuss this nonsense,”

“It’s not nonsense, sister, I wish not to discuss it any further,”

“Truth be told, your own scowl and bitter energy must be addressed before our guests are to arrive,” 

That made Benedict look up from his sketch pad, seeing his younger sister with her book in hand waltz over to plop down on the chair next to his own in their sitting room.  He saw the smirk she was giving him, to which he snapped his sketchbook shut and stuck the pencil in the back of his ear as Eloise spoke up again with the smirk even heard in her voice.

“Tell me, dear brother, when was the last time we spoke to the Hamptons?” She asked Benedict, who was thinking to himself for a long moment.  It has been some time since the Hampton family has had relations with the Bridgerton, given the fact that they had to move away with their father’s new business opportunities that were on the other side of the country.  In fact, the Bridgertons and the Hamptons grew up as neighbors, their parents were cordial with one another, and the children played together.  The Hamptons had 4 children, 2 boys and 2 girls.  You, being the youngest girl and the third eldest, was close in age with Benedict and was more of a tomboy and willing to get dirty compared to your elder sister.  Nonetheless, your childhood as neighbors and childhood friends was amazing and filled with laughter.

Benedict, like the rest of his siblings, felt his heartbreak when you and your family had to move away.  He was almost a teenager at the time, already developing feelings for you around the same time your father shared the news with his own father about his new job.  He thought of you as someone filled with adventure, not wishing to be the dainty flower that your mother wanted you to be, and you were never afraid to speak your mind.  Holding back was never your nature, and Benedict found that enduring and perhaps attractive.

But as time went on, he found other girls and young women to fan the flame that was deep inside of him.  But one afternoon, reading the paper in the social section merely because he was bored and looking at future galleries and upcoming events, he recognized a name.

Your family name.  You all were coming back to your old stomping grounds for a few balls.

“Back when we were teens,” He replied, Eloise grinning as Benedtic shrugged, “You were far too young remember them,”

“Oh, I remember them far too well, especially the certain young daughter who made you trip over your own feet and fall face first in the mud,” Eloise reminded him, Benedict instantly throwing the pillow that his elbow was perched out in her direction.  Thankfully, she ducked it just in time as she laughed, Benedict huffed and shot up from the couch, moving over to place his sketchbook on the mantel as Eloise spoke again.

“Benedict, we all knew you liked her,” She explained as Benedict scoffed.

“I never liked her in such a manner, merely as a friend,” He reasoned, though his sister was not buying it for one moment.

“Denial is not an attractive trait, Benedict.  I should now, being the reader and all,” She advised him as he looked over his shoulder and glared at her, “Come now, I’ve heard she has taken to the arts and is quite good at identifying an original masterpiece and a fake.  Being in a male-dominated field, I must say that is quite amazing and an eminence feet to conquer at one’s age.”

“I don’t wish to discuss it anymore,” Benedict said in a scoff, though Eloise eyed him in suspicion.

“Sounds like someone is still horning some pent-up feelings—“

“I do not want to see their face, hear their voice or their name for that matter.  Stop talking about them,” Benedict said in a warning tone, but there was no real heat in it.  He was defensive of course, merely because he had no clue as to how he was going to act in front of his old childhood friend and old crush.  He merely never had someone as close to his heart as you, no one who seemed to know Benedict deeply and with affection.  Other women tried to come close, and although the pleasure was amazing at the time, he still never felt that kind of affection when he did with you.  

“Denial is a funny thing, brother.  But it won’t last forever,” Eloise advised him calmly.  Benedict could hear the sincerity in his sister’s tone, knowing that Eloise would never steer him wrong since she admired him as her older brother.  As much as a pain that she was, Eloise still had pearls of wisdom that she would bring to her family in times of need.  Maybe she sensed that he was using denial to hide the fact that he was nervous about seeing you, and she saw right through it. 

Bless her.

“Ah, there you two are!”  Benedict and Eloise looked over to see their mother and Matriarch, Violet Bridgerton, waltz into the room with two people behind her.  Benedict knew it was the Hamptons, both himself and Eloise stood tall in greeting as your mother and father smiled at the two siblings, “I must have missed the pair of you.  Our guests have arrived,”

Both Benedict and Eloise walked over to bow and shake hands with your parents, who smiled widely in greeting.

“I hope your travels were in your favor, Sir Hampton,” Benedict said to your father.

“Quite pleasant, actually.  My wife and I are glad to be back at our stomping grounds,” your father replied, then looking over his shoulder, “You remember my daughter?”

Benedict looked, and his breath was instantly lost.

You were walking down the hallway in a mint green dress and curls in an elegant bun. The highlights in your hair, the softness of your skin with a hint of blush on your cheeks, even the infamous smile that Benedict knew you’d had all your life was etched on your face.  You were taller, the twinkle in your eye and your smile as you two locked gazes at one another.  No longer was he thinking of the young girl with gangly elbows, the young girl who could outrun him tenfold in a foot race.

He saw you as an ethereal being with the same smile that shined like the stars.

“I do,” Benedict replied in a breath as you approached him, bowing slightly as him as he did the same.  When you two locked eyes again, it felt as if you two were young again.  But it was different, the smile on Benedict’s face was infectious as he found his voice once more, “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Lady Hampton,”

“The same to you, Mr. Bridgerton,” You replied, Benedict, feeling his heart flutter from hearing your voice. 

Eloise merely grinned, hiding her giggling behind her book.  

The End.

January Prompt Session

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

I first realized that the best ghost stories are love stories after watching The Haunting of Bly Manor, and though I've experienced a lot of media since that reaffirmed that understanding, The Narrow by Kate Alice Marshall really feels like it's closing the loop. It rhymes with Bly in a way that feels like I've come to the end of some great journey, and am now prepared to start another. Like Bly, The Narrow is a story about abuse. It's a story about possession, in more than one sense. And it's a story that asserts that true love, the love that's worth keeping, is the love that knows how to let go.

Our story follows Eden, a senior at a prestigious private boarding high school rich with history and legends, especially around its deadly river, The Narrow, which is unapologetically based on the Bolton Strid. Eden is excited to return to school and escape a summer vacation marred by a profound abuse that she is refusing to think about. However, upon arrival she discovers that her parents have neglected to pay her tuition - coincidentally, they've had to pay a lot of legal fees recently - and she is forced to take on a unique arrangement to remain enrolled. She must act as the live-in companion of fellow student Delphine, a reclusive girl who cannot leave her carefully refurbished dorm room, as any contact with water sends her into seizures. Eden knows something about Delphine that almost no one else does, however - at the beginning of her first year, Eden saw Delphine fall into The Narrow and be swept away - and what The Narrow takes is never returned.

The mystery at the heart of the story is, ultimately, not that complicated, but it is beautiful in its simplicity and the way it plays with the reader's expectations. Those expectations are shaped heavily by Eden's point of view, and Eden is a triumph of an unreliable narrator. She actively avoids thinking about things that weigh on her and occasionally skates over her own actions where they clash with her self-image, but these more obvious and dramatic omissions draw attention away from the subtler ways that her biases and coping mechanisms shape her understanding of the world around her, and it took me until about the three-quarters mark to know where and how to disbelieve her perceptions. She is incredibly compelling, deeply empathetic, and absolutely drowning in self-worth issues. The supporting cast is equally compelling, and the author injects a surprising sense of depth into each member of her friend group in remarkably few lines. Each give the impression of being flawed, well-rounded, but fundamentally decent people, and they all feel very distinct from one another. I was going to highlight one of them as a favorite example, but I genuinely can't pick between them. The adults too are well-rounded and compelling, which I feel is often a shortcoming of horror in an academic setting (is that what dark academia is? no one will tell me). And of course Delphine herself is quite compelling; a little odd, very intense, and eminently sympathetic, her dynamic with Eden is fresh, engaging, and believable.

One thing I really want to highlight about this story is its willingness to engage with real-life messiness that is often elided in ghost stories and love stories. The mechanics of the supernatural are not well understood in this story, and no tomes of ancient lore exist to guide the protagonists. Their methods of interfacing with the supernatural are cobbled together from their own intuition and their vague impressions of the occult from pop culture and religious mysticism, and their efficacy is neither reliable nor consistent. Similarly, the story is not afraid of engaging with the fragility and volatility of young love, the way it can feel all-consuming and eternal in one moment and fizzle out the next. This sort of messiness always appeals to me in fiction, and it is remarkably rare outside of deliberate genre subversions, so I was absolutely thrilled with it here.

I would recommend The Narrow without hesitation to anyone who likes ghost stories. I would also recommend it for its exploration of abuse in a variety of forms, and for its depiction of the aftermath of said abuse. Take that same recommendation as a content warning, though, and I'll toss in a more specific one for involuntary drug use.

[fayes-fics]

Portrait: IV

Masterpost

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A session at Benedict's studio is very eventful

Warnings (for this chapter): 18+ smut, minors DNI, loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (m to f) cunnilingus, vaginal sex, discussion of pregnancy.

Word Count: 5.4k

Authors Note: We all knew it would come to this ;) thanks to @colettebronte and @makaylan for checking over this monster chapter <3

You arrive 11 am the following day at the address Benedict provided—a pleasant brick townhouse on the edge of Mayfair. You told your parents the subsequent two sessions would need to be at his studio and that his sister would act as chaperone. They both seemed happy with the arrangement, implicitly trusting one of the most eminent families in British society. It was, of course, a ruse of your own making; he made no such offer. In fact, you know for sure you will be alone together, and something about it has your stomach aflutter, a frisson over your skin.

His now-familiar valet answers the door shortly after you knock and guides you to a sun-filled studio at the rear of the property. The large picture windows are draped with sheer voile curtains that allow all the light in but obscure the interior from the surrounding properties. There will be no prying eyes here.

The room itself is a jumble of artefacts, art, canvases, paints, sketchbooks and his familiar easel. There is also an oversized dark green velvet chaise and, behind it, a lush forest backdrop; you assume this is the one Benedict wishes to paint you into, and you are delighted by it.

“Miss y/l/n,” his greeting from the doorway is radiance personified and slides down your spine like warm oil.

“Please, call me y/n,” you respond, turning to smile at him demurely.

“Only if you call me Benedict,” he specifies, walking in. He is casual today in a white shirt and black trousers held up with brocade braces; he is even barefoot.

“Will we be resuming the official portrait, Benedict?” you ask, emphasising his name as he draws closer. “Or the other one?” you add on a whisper.

“Which would you prefer, y/n?” he murmurs, drawing closer. His hand captures your wrist, encircling it between his thumb and forefinger. Paintbrush calloused fingertips resting delicately over your pulse point as if he is cataloguing your heartbeat.

“I have never felt more alive than last night,” you answer without artifice, ensuring your eyes are locked onto each other before you add, “being naked for you.”

He smiles dangerously. “And is that all you want? To be naked?” the tone teasing and low, and you know what he is asking.

Unabashed, you place a hand on his chest; it feels warm through his shirt, and his muscles flex slightly under your fingertips.

“I want you to ruin me.”

His sharp inhale and rapidly dilating pupils make your chest fire and your belly flip. 

“But you are promised to another,” he falters. Just like last night, his reminder is chivalrous. Even as you stand with barely a sliver of light between your bodies, his heat radiating to yours through the thin cotton layers that separate you.

“I do not care,” you state fiercely. “I do not wish to enter a loveless marriage without knowing what it is like to lay with someone I desire.”

“You desire me?” he teases as he presses against you.

“Since the moment I saw you,” you confess on an exhale. “And if I must face this awful future, I do not want to do so as a maiden. Without knowing something of true pleasure.”

“How can you be certain I can provide such things?” he is so close now, leaning over so his nose brushes yours. The moment is so charged you can taste the atmosphere between you. 

“No one makes me burn the way you do,” you murmur honestly, grasping his shirt, his lips ghosting over yours and his fingers a circle around your wrist, feeling your pulse pounding. “You would only need to touch me between my legs, and I would burst into flame.”

The needy noise he makes is everything; there is barely a second of hesitation before his lips crash onto yours. And you are instantly drowning. In the rush of chemicals in your bloodstream. In him, as he claims your mouth. His sizeable warm hand cradles your cheek and jaw, directing the movement. So you kiss back, rocking up onto the balls of your feet and pushing hard with your lips. Then it's a frenzy as he parts your lips with his. His tongue teasing yours insistently, obliterating that previous behind-the-greenhouse fumbling from your memory. This is what it is like to kiss. A sensual dance, a tease and a promise delivered—every fibre of your awakened by the experience that is at once exhilarating and so right.

“Oh god,” he gusts as you break apart.

“What?” your hands grabbing his jaw on reflex, not wanting his face to be far from yours.

“I…. I thought I could maybe resist this,” he laments, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead on yours, “but there is not a chance now. Whatever you want from me, I am yours.” his eyes fly open, and there is so much there in those enlarged pupils.

His offer is everything you need, and you mash your lips back to his, needing more hungry all-consuming kisses that he gives willingly.

“Give me everything, Benedict, please,” you say into his open wet mouth, the sound desperate even to your own ears.

“But what of your portrait?” he argues, nipping at your lips.

“You could still paint me after you ruin me?” you suggest with a twisted little smile, moving to suck on his upper lip, loving the tiniest rasp of stubble above it as you close your lips around it. 

“If I attempt to achieve both within an hour, you will not be satisfied with the outcome of either,” he jests with a rich chuckle. 

“Then I will have to stay longer and find a plausible reason when I get home. Perhaps, I have been sitting, waiting here with your sister, and yet you are nowhere to be seen, Mr Bridgerton?” you posit, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifts you off the ground.

“I am such a scoundrel,” he plays along, hands banding tight around your waist.

“Indeed, and it means my portrait session will not begin until, hmmm, noon at the very earliest,” you declare with mock indignation, eyeing the clock over his shoulder as it shows barely 11:10 am. 

“I will be having strong words with myself about what an irresponsible cad I am,” he smirks, walking with you held tight in his arms, diving in for another kiss.

“Please do,” you concur over a giggle.

You share laughs and feather kisses until you feel the chaise bump the back of your calves.

“Are you certain?” he checks, his mien turning sweetly sincere.

“I have never been more certain,” you state categorically.

And then he is gently lowering you onto the plush chaise and crawling over you. You call his name softly as he nuzzles your neck and drops the lightest kiss there. His clothed body is so warm and all-consuming over yours. His hands taking his weight are either side of your upper arms, and he is looking down at you with a wondrous expression.

“I did as you suggested,” you offer quietly, “I wore nothing but this dress.”

His smile is wolfish as he lowers himself to kiss your collarbone. “Wonderful,” his voice like warm honey. You grab one of his hands, and he watches, fascinated, as you kiss his warm knuckles, then guide his hand to the bow below your right armpit.

He immediately understands what you are asking and holds your gaze intensely as he slowly unties it. The fabric around your body instantly slackens as he slides the two sashes apart.  Then slowly, with the look of someone unwrapping a wondrous gift, he peels the wraparound layer of your dress back over your front. It falls to your other side, and you feel warm air swirl around your nipples as they are exposed—the same with the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs. Your whole torso lying naked under him now.

He sucks in a breath.

“Is there something wrong?” you ask, concerned, wondering if perhaps you are not what he expected this close-up.

“Not in the slightest,” he reassures instantly, but there is a tremor in his hand as he brushes the back of it over your belly. Your stomach ripples under his attention, and goosebumps break out over all of your skin from just that gossamer touch.

“You are so sensitive to touch, my sweet,” he breathes hot over your face as you revel in this new moniker he has assigned you.

“I have never been touched like this before,” you remind, feeling lightheaded.

He hums in understanding and brushes more delicate caresses over your stomach; his warm smile is everything. He spends what feels like ages running the back of his hand over your midriff, calming strokes of his knuckles as you bite your lip and watch his face that concentrates on his movements. Then he flips his wrist, and fingertips trace over your skin. Your whole body pushes up into this new tactile sensation. He smiles knowingly and spiders his fingers up your sternum, intentionally avoiding your breasts, travelling slowly up to your neck with a swirling touch over your cheek to your lips. 

His thumb catches at the corner of your mouth, then sweeps across the bow of your lips, opening under his touch. When the pad brushes your front tooth, your tongue peaks out to lick the charcoal tang there, and he breathes ragged, hooks the top of his thumb into your mouth. You close your lips and suckle on instinct, staring into his dilated eyes. Something so slow and sensual about the moment as you suck more insistently until he withdraws and paints a trail of your saliva down your chin, over your chest until it lands on your nipple, and you gasp loudly as the wetness makes you pucker there. 

He smirks and pinches your nipple gently between his forefinger and wettened thumb. Pleasure shoots out around your being, concentrating between your legs, making your hips cant up into him. There is something warm and hard insisting inside his trousers; you know it must be his ‘member’ you have heard your ladies-maids talking about.

“Sh.. show me what is in your trousers,” you stutter inelegantly as you press up into him again, your mouth engaging words without your brain filtering them, too lost in the sea of novel experiences to censor yourself.

He chuckles at your turn of phrase. “Not yet,” he decides, lowering his lips to your neck, his fingers still on your breast, “but I will, I promise,” he buzzes into your ear.

His mouth then takes the same journey down your neck, little kisses setting your skin on fire until they reach your other nipple, which he sucks insistently, and you see stars, your hands grabbing his biceps to anchor yourself. Your cries of pleasure and surprise are loud even to your own ears, but you don't think to stop yourself, awash with sensation. And he doesn't shush you; in fact, he tilts his head to look up at your face as you stare down at him, and he winks and sucks harder on your pebbled nub—then swaps sides. You feel something akin to hot coals in your chest burning bright. And between your legs is a furnace, too—you long for his touch there.

“Please,” your voice gauzy, “more.”

And he obliges. He surges up to capture your lips again with greedy kisses, rearranging his weight onto one arm and the other sliding back down over your sternum, but this time going lower than your stomach. Pausing to swirl around your belly button, his fingers stray lower…. 

Lower still…. 

Lower…. until they run into the patch of hair at the meeting of your legs. 

He breaks the kiss to stare into your eyes as he slips his fingers between your legs, and your mind blanks. Nothing has prepared you for what it feels like to have another touch you there. Your eyes widen, and your mouth falls slack as his fingers quest into your folds. He hisses at the viscous wet heat he finds there.

“Benedict,” you whisper harshly onto his lips, and he growls lightly.

“My sweet, you are on fire for me,” his voice rough.

You moan and nod as he flexes his fingers on your clit before he kisses you again. Fiercely. Deeper and more desperate than before. You can feel a quake in him like he is holding back for you.

“Do not hold back,” you appeal into his mouth, wanting him to be unbridled—something about this man being wild with passion is an utterly enthralling prospect.

“I must. I need to be gentle, you are a maiden, and I cannot do what my body is aching to. Not just yet,” Benedict explains, his fingers rhythmically moving over your bud, desire coiling tightly inside you at his actions.

“What does it ache to do?” you whisper, having suspicions but wanting to hear the words drip from those kiss-swollen lips.

“To strip naked and plunge into you over and over until you scream my name,” he confesses.

“Do so,” you pant.

“I will, once you are ready.”

“And what of my ache?” you mutter; it feels like a hook is deep inside you, tugging, needing something.

“Where do you ache?” A look of concern flits across his features, and his fingers cease their wonderful movement.

“Inside,” you clarify and place your fingers over his to encourage him to restart his ministrations.

“Inside where?” his timbre falling impossibly low.

“Above your fingers,” you blush, “I am aching, and I need something.”

He groans, resting his nose on your cheek. “Your body needs mine; it is telling you it wants me as much as I want you,” he tutors breathily.

“Make it better, Benedict,” you beseech, touching his face.

He smiles, and the hand between your legs pushes your thighs further apart. Then he is slipping down your torso, sliding his mouth over your contours, pausing again at your breasts before going lower, as his hand did before. You watch, fascinated, as his thick head of hair is all you see, but you feel his lips over your skin, making you quiver in anticipation. You make a noise of surprise when he slinks between your legs and places your thighs over his shoulders.

“What are you…?” you begin, but he hushes you. 

You have never heard your ladies-maids talk of a man kissing between the legs, but that is what he does—he places a soft kiss on your sensitive nub, and you almost hit the ceiling with the new sensation. He hums in amusement, holds your thighs more firmly open, and repeats the action, but this time he lingers and unfurls his tongue all the way over where he had his fingers just before.

“Oh, my g-,” you gasp so loud that he chortles again, this time right into your overheated flesh. You make the most undignified noise, halfway between a moan and a squeak. You want to be mortified at the sound he has wrought from you and what he is doing, but he doesn't let you. He tilts his face to flash his eyes at you, encouraging you to be loud and reckless.

“Don't hold back,” he says silkily, echoing your words from moments ago. “I'm going to make that ache go away, my sweet,” he vows.

You can do nothing but let your eyes flutter shut and let him feast on you, which is precisely what he does. There is nothing gentle about the way he handles you. Taking your flesh into his mouth covetously, the heat and suction making you writhe, pushing your pelvis into his face, greedy for more. His left arm is banded tight around your thigh, holding you open to his attention, his right hand free to tease patterns over your belly, heightening your sensitivity with feathery brushes that make your skin hum.

You flush warm as you feel yourself climbing somewhere invisible. There is a certainty in your mind that nothing should feel quite this good - how on earth does any married lady get anything done if this is a regular occurrence? - but it is tinged with melancholy, knowing that this may be your only time to experience such pleasure. The bittersweet edge makes you more desperate for him, grabbing his hair and directing his attention.

He moans his approval, asks you to look at him as he spears the tip of his tongue into you, and you do. Stare down the length of your body to his eyes, dilated and so intense, you can’t look away. You watch as he opens his mouth wide and draws your swollen bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue gently around the most sensitive spots, varying pressure and speed so you never know what will come next. Unbreakable tension builds up, holding your belly muscles taunt as if in anticipation of something. Then with a raise of an eyebrow and a little soft plea to give it to him, he delicately runs the edge of his front teeth right over your bud, and you scream at the drag of the little jagged edge there. 

Your heartbeat throbs where he touches, and there is a rush of blood in your ears, feeling something almost snap inside. You grab his head forcefully and press him into your flesh as your world contracts, then explodes. Something gushes from inside your channel onto his chin, but you cannot stop it, barely school your own movements, the burning pulsing ache around your clit just relentless and all-consuming.

He pulls up and kisses your belly tenderly as you pant hard, eyes fixed on the ceiling, slowly returning to yourself, to the moment.

“Now you are ready to be painted,” he smirks as you lay sprawled on the chaise, watching in disbelief as he gets up and goes to his easel.

“Benedict?” 

“Your cheeks are so flushed, your lips wine-stained; I need to capture this beauteous glow you have,” he calls as you stare at him slack-jawed. “Just a few details, and then I shall be back with you,” he promises. 

Glancing at your face, he paints delicate tiny strokes. As he works, your eyes fall to his trousers. There is a prominent bulge, and you swallow hard at the sight. You can't wait to explore more. Of him. Of his body.

“Come back to me,” you call, after a few moments, holding your hands out in invitation.

“You know, I shall never complete this painting if you keep distracting me so,” he argues, but the smile as he prowls back towards you reveals how much he does not mind that fact.

“I have faith in your abilities,” you grin as he crawls over you, settling on top of you with more kisses. “Please take off your clothes.” Your request is timid but with an undercurrent of desire that you can’t and don't want to hide.

He chuckles against your cheek and pushes back to sitting, stripping off his shirt. You place your hands on the slight bump of his pectoral muscles. He wears a crooked smile as you slide them over his smooth, warm skin, enjoying the play of lithe, toned muscle under your fingertips. He has barely a dusting of hairs over his chest; it is mostly smooth, with freckles flecking his skin that you want to trace with your nose. Your fingers spider up to his neck to pull him back down over you, wanting to feel his bare chest on yours. His chest drags perfectly over your nipples, and you sigh at all the sensation, banding your arms around his torso, exploring the skin of his back as his lips worry your neck. Your hands sweep down below his waist to the wool of his trousers. Instinctually you slide your hands over the swell of his buttocks and grab both cheeks, pulling him down on top of you, that bulge rocking deliciously over the heat between your legs. He startles at your daring move. 

“More, Benedict,” you plead, always wanting more.

He chuckles, and his hand insinuates between your bodies, undoing the buttons around his waist. You kiss his hair as he looks down at the task in hand, almost too scared to look yourself, intrigued but intimidated. His wrist brushes your thighs as he pushes his trousers away, and you realise from the wave of heat that he wears no underwear. 

He tilts his head up and catches your gaze with a teasing smile. “Do you want to see? You said you wanted to know what is inside my trousers.”

He observes your face as your eyes drop between your bodies and see him, his member. You suck in a breath. It’s a swollen, veiny length of flesh with a red bulbous tip leaking slightly as it stands proud from a patch of hair not dissimilar to that found between your legs.

“Go ahead,” he advocates, “touch it.”

Hesitantly you reach to brush it, and it bobs as you do, your eyes cutting to his face to check all is well.

“It’s alright,” he assures.

It’s warm, contradictory, velvet-smooth skin over a rigid, hard mass. You wrap your hand around it, familiarising yourself with its dimensions and weight. He moans in his throat as you do. 

“Is this right?” 

“More than,” he breathes, sounding winded.

“This will never fit inside me, Benedict,” the concerned words tumbling from your lips as you grip more insistently, and he growls.

“Yes, it will; do not fear. I will need to go very slowly initially, but it will fit perfectly.”

He removes your hand from around him, kissing your knuckles and guiding your hand to his shoulder.

“Hang onto me, my sweet. I will show you,” he murmurs, pulling your thighs wider apart under him and slipping his cock over your clit in teasing strokes so you moan lightly and writhe. So very slick and ready.

Then you hold your breath as you feel blunt pressure around your opening. 

“Relax,” he advises, touching your diaphragm gently, “let out that breath you are holding.” 

You feel your lungs deflate just as another part of your body fills. You cry out in surprise as his tip slips inside your pussy. It is overwhelming, with so much heat and stretch. You feel him groan softly and shift his weight onto his hands on either side of your waist, rocking his hips just a touch to push deeper.

“Be brave for me, my sweet. You may feel a pinch of pain right now. But it will all be over very soon, and it will not hurt again.” he vows, leaning on his hands to kiss you tenderly.

You just nod your confirmation, unable to form words, just as a sharp ache blooms inside, making you stutter a breath.

“Well done,” he compliments. “I promise no more pain from now.” 

You nod and groan as he slides deeper; it feels like you are being invaded. He rearranges your hips, kissing the tip of your nose before pressing on more; every new inch he pushes into you feels like something entirely different. Until he finally bottoms out inside you, stilling his movement.

“There you go, my sweet,” he exhales and cups your jaw reverentially, “are you alright?”

You nod and confirm quietly that all is well.

The experience of him entering you has been novel but not exactly spellbinding; more strangely comforting—as if he belongs inside you somehow. As he remains still, allowing you both to adjust to the sensation, your fleeting thought is wondering what all the fuss is about beyond a feeling of utter fullness. But then he moves… and everything falls into place about why this act is so dangerously addictive. You let out a loud unadulterated moan of sheer pleasure as his slight rocking motion glances a spot inside that makes your eyes roll back, and your mouth falls open.

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs with more than a hint of pride in his tone.

Your approval is mumbled; fingers curl deeper into his flesh, blunt nails leaving crescent marks on his skin.  He rumbles a noise and starts a more pronounced rhythm, building slowly until he thrusts into you like you have imagined him moving with a lover. Deep, languid strokes, putting his whole body into the effort. You moan louder, your brain going offline, leaning into your physical instincts, just pursuing the pleasure of two becoming one, moving in unison.

“That’s it, oh you are doing so well,” his compliments spurring you on, building your confidence.

“It feels just wonderful, Benedict,” you burble, arms locked around his shoulders as your lips meet in open-mouth breathy kisses.

His movements start to speed up, and you cling harder, the pleasurable feeling growing into something hotter, more urgent. A burning hypnotic high that you cannot and do not want to stop. He rumbles encouragements into your ear, making you feel wanted, desired and the focus of all his energy, breathing each other's air—it feels intimate and shared.

“Touch yourself, just like I taught you,” his words velvety and stirring, you want to do everything he asks.

You slide a hand from around him, trailing down to circle your clit in the same way he did for you earlier; the jolt of sensation makes your eyes go wide and your mouth slack. 

“Yes, that's it,” he pants. “Do not stop; keep moving those fingers for me.”

With every thrust, his pelvis brushes the back of your hand, and part of you wants to caress him as well, the skin there warm and almost dewy from exertion now, but most of you just wants to keep going, selfishly chasing your own high. Your chest becomes tight, your muscles tensing; he somehow feels so huge inside you now, every movement an effort. You feel on the verge of a crescendo of some kind, your blood pumping hard. 

“Oh, you are right there,” he grunts with gritted teeth, “I can feel it; god, you are so tight, come on, my sweet, let go, do not fight that feeling,” he instructs, and you stare deep into his eyes and obey. 

Letting the incredible tension snap and erupt out of you, your core convulsing hard around his cock, as every muscle follows suit, almost fighting him. You can’t school the noises you make, crying out nonsense and his name, clinging so hard you know you are leaving marks in his flesh but unable to do anything but ride out the wave engulfing you. All of your senses narrowed, then burst into colours.

Dimly at the edge of your conscience, you feel him pushing harder, his hands vice-like on your waist, loud groans in your ear, singing your praises. Then your core is suddenly bereft, pulsing against nothing, as he rapidly withdraws, and warmth splashes over your belly.

He is panting hard right in your ear when you come back to the room, his body heat and weight almost too much to bear, slumped on top of you as he is.

“Benedict?” you call and tap on his shoulders. Slowly he peels up, your skin tacky in places, clinging as he pulls up onto an arm, the other curling around your neck.

“Was that alright, my sweet?” he checks sincerely as his breath evens.

“It was…. I cannot think of the words,” you whisper honestly, your voice a little hoarse, “in a good way,” you clarify quickly.

His answering smile is dazzling as a little droplet of moisture tracks down his cheek and splashes onto your neck.

“I’m so glad,” he grins, moving in to kiss you.

“What happened at the end, though? You pulled out of me so quickly?” you pout slightly.

“I did not want to impregnate you, my sweet,” he says slowly, looking bemused as your jaw drops.

“This is how a woman comes to be with child?” you gasp.

“Oh my,” he chuckles warmly, dropping a kiss on your forehead, “I assumed you knew.”

“I only had some information about laying with a man from my ladies-maids,” you confess, “I did not know this is how babies are made! No wonder there are so many babies being born!” you exclaim.

He laughs loudly and nuzzles your cheek. “It’s rather addictive, is it not?” his tone honeyed as he reaches for his shirt on the floor and tenderly wipes the residue from your belly. “That is my seed, and if I left it inside you, it would make a baby,” he explains patiently as you watch him clean your skin, fascinated.

“Thank you,” you rush out, and he tilts his head to look at you after throwing the shirt aside, his brow knitted with puzzlement. “For explaining that to me, for not leaving me with child, for what we just did. It was just….  wonderous,” you exhale, your voice going dreamy.

“It is I who should be thanking you,” he answers sincerely, “it is a privilege to be someone’s first, and I’m so pleased you enjoyed it. You may now enter marriage in full knowledge of what awaits,” he adds almost an afterthought, something in his cadence changing.

“I do not wish to dwell on such things,” you frown, shaking your head as you sit together. The idea you might have to do this with your intended makes you nauseated. Such an avenue of thought seems maudlin and too self-indulgent; you want to enjoy the rest of your time with Benedict today. And there is always tomorrow. “Let us focus on more immediate concerns,” you add, forcing your voice light.

“Such as?” he raises an eyebrow suggestively.

“Painting, Mr Bridgerton,” you laugh pointedly, “unless you have something else in mind?” you smirk back.

“I might,” he adds silkily, drawing you into his arms after pulling his trousers back on. “But I may need some time to recover,” he adds with a wink, and you chuckle.

“Perhaps we should concentrate on the official portrait for now?” you propose, re-tying your dress, “and if there is time later, well, there is a second picture that may need more work.” your tone playful as you raise an eyebrow. 

 “Indeed it may,” that crooked smile tugging at his lips that makes your belly flip.

The next hour is spent with stolen glances and shared giggles as he paints your portrait, standing behind his easel shirtless; so very appealing. You would not want to look anywhere else, thoughts of running your tongue over every contour making it hard to do anything but smile coquettishly, and he has to chastise you for not pulling such a tempting face. It doesn’t help that every ten minutes or so, he finds himself drawn to you, sidling up to the chaise and pulling you into sweet distracting kisses that throw you entirely off your pose.

As the clock strikes 1 pm, you have to tear yourself away from this remarkable man before the temptation is to hide with him all day. And night. Your heart wanting to throw caution to the wind, to just stay here and damn the consequences to you, your honour, your reputation, and your family.

“Until tomorrow, y/n,” he lilts as his lips linger over yours by the front door, seemingly just as reluctant as you to part.

“I cannot wait,” you breathe, unable to step outside his embrace.

You feel the curl of his smile next to your cheek. “You should know I have finished painting your dress into the portrait. So if you wish to turn up tomorrow in not a stitch of clothing, there will certainly be no complaints from me,” he teases with a rich tone, lips now hot on yours.

“Maybe I just will,” you volley back, feeling featherweight with happiness, “but I would insist you also be naked. Sir.” You are teasing now, knowing how affected he was when you used that honorific yesterday, goading him, giving him every reason to drag you back to his studio, to his bed.

His breath catches, and his gaze is fiery. “Leave now,” he growls, “before I whisk you away, lock you in a tower, and keep you as mine.”

Before you can respond, sway in his arms and dare him to do it, he wrenches the door open and bundles you outside as if the temptation is too great for him too.

The whiplash of the street noise, hubbub, and the bright midday sun is a shock, so you lean back on the door, still trying to absorb everything. “Do it. Please, god, Benedict. Do it. Take me away from everything. You are all I will ever want,” you plead with eyes closed before taking a deep breath and reluctantly moving away….

….Not realising he is also leaning against it on the other side, wistful—and heard exactly what you said.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory

Portrait-only taglist: @mysticwitchcraftco

[9haharharley1]

Oooo! For prompts maybe one about Danny meeting Baby tooth, and having to help her find Jack cuz she got lost? (ROTG X DP my beloved)

I'm so sorry, I saw Danny meets Baby Tooth and blacked out! I hope this is OK!

---

It was his last tooth to lose. Danny hadn't given much thought to losing his baby teeth over the years, but his recent late night visitor had opened his eyes. His dad had always believed in the superstitious, be it Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy, but his mom was always the realist, ready to remind them all that those were just stories told to children to keep them well-behaved. The Santa thing was always what got his parents up in arms with each other, but the others were never a big deal in the Fenton household. Easter didn't mean much since they weren't a religious family by any means, but Jazz had always tried to tell their parents that the Tooth Fairy was a necessary talltale for kids - to foster imagination or whatever.

Danny had never put much stock in the Tooth Fairy myth. He just did as Jazz said and placed his teeth under his pillow when he lost them, and the next morning, he would find a quarter.

He always thought Jazz was the one who left it.

It was a little creepy thinking his sister might be collecting his baby teeth, but Danny assumed she had been giving them to their parents, and so he never lingered on it.

Now, things were different.

Now, Danny knew the Tooth Fairy was real. He knew she was a supernatural entity his parents couldn't categorize and so couldn't track with any of their imventions. He fully believed in her now.

It was with this belief and a newfound determination that he didn't tell Jazz about his lost tooth. He went to bed that night with his last baby tooth in hand, placed it carefully under his pillow, and resolved not to fall asleep. He had only one shot at this, his one and only, and Danny was determined to meet the Tooth Fairy. He lay in bed, excitement buzzing under his skin, but he had been told the Tooth Fairy wouldn't come if he was awake. She had a sense for these things, and she always traveled not to long after the Sandman passed through. She made sure kids were well asleep and dreaming before she collected teeth.

Danny sighed, tossing and turning in bed. His eyes were heavy, threatening to fall closed any moment. Between one blink and the next, he was listening to his clock tick on the nightstand, only to jerk wide awake at a shrill, angry chirping.

He sat upright in bed, covers already half-thrown off as he blinked sleepily around the room. It was dark, shadows writhing in the corners of his room, and a thrill of fear shot through him. He reached for the lamp on his nightstand.

A flick of the switch revealed a familiar shadow in his closet, gold eyes staring out from the dark, tall and imposing. Shimmering black sand trailed out from the shadow's hand, weaving around Danny's room to stop next to his bed. It formed a small cage in midair, barely a foot from Danny's bed, and it was from inside the shrill, angry chirping eminated.

"Wha -" he cut off with a yawn as his sleepy brain tried to register what was happening. "What's going on?" He rubbed his eyes. When they were clear of sleep, he finally looked inside the cage.

"You wanted to meet the Tooth Fairy," came the silky, dark voice from his closet. Danny jumped, looking over to see the Boogieman emerge in all his towering glory, one hand behind his back. The other shortened the length of black sand as he drew closer, tilting his head as though studying how well his cage was holding. A fearful trill echoed around the cage, and Danny glanced back, finally peering inside.

What he saw was not what he expected. Then again, he wasn't sure what he had been expecting in the first place; an actual fairy, maybe, like the ones in movies. The thing in the cage looked more like a hummingbird, with a long beak, feathery body, and rapidly beating wings. It was a beautiful creature, in shades of blue, green, and gold, with large, almost human eyes that sparkled like gemstones. It darted around the cage, careful not to touch the sand, but as Pitch came nearer, it hovered back into a corner, tiny body shaking in fear.

"I wanted to meet her, not catch her!" Danny exclaimed. He reached out to cradle the sand cage in his hands, but it jerked back out of his reach. "Hey!"

Pitch tutted at him. "Don't touch. This is not meant for humans to touch."

Danny pouted at him. "Yeah, fine, whatever. Can you let her go?"

The Boogieman puzzled over that, eyeing the little fairy in her cage. She trilled back, glancing back and forth between Pitch and Danny. Danny smiled at her.

"Hello," he said gently. "I'm Danny. It's nice to meet you!" The fairy relaxed a little, chirping and waving back at him with a small smile of her own. She glanced back at Pitch with a scowl on her tiny face. It wasn't very threatening, and Pitch only looked back, face flat and eyes lidded. Danny rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry about him. He's kind of a jerk." He grinned at Pitch.

Pitch rose a brow at him, the Tooth Fairy looking almost startled by his words. The other spirits really didn't interact with Pitch too much, did they?

The Tooth Fairy chirped, slow and meaningful. Danny brought his attention back to her. She gestured to him, to the cage. Then she smiled, pointing at her mouth.

"Oh, right!" Danny might have blushed for his rudeness, but he ignored it. He looked back up to Pitch. "Can you let her go?"

"She'll fly away," Pitch stated. He sounded bored, but his gaze was intent, studying.

"Well, yeah. She has a job to do, right?" Danny rolled his eyes at him. "I can't be the only kid who lost a tooth."

The Boogieman heaved a heavy sigh. With a wave of his hand, the shimmering black cage vanished, circling in thin tendrils as they raced back to their owner. The Tooth Fairy flee to the opposite side of Danny, away from Pitch, who she glared at in distrust.

"I'm sorry about him," Danny said again. He dug under his pillow for his last baby tooth. He held it out to her in the palm of his hand. She glanced down at it. "He told me about all the other spirits like you, and I wanted to meet the Tooth Fairy before I couldn't anymore." Her eyes went wide as her gaze shot up to meet his. She glanced back at Pitch, surprise on her little face, but the Boogieman stood with his back against the wall, arms crossed and eyes closed, head bowed. He tapped his finger to his arm. Danny smiled gently when she turned back to him. "He's really not so bad. Scary, yeah, but he's nice enough. Kinda like a weird uncle."

There was a snort from the man in question. The Tooth Fairy giggled.

With a pleasant chirp, she reached under her wings, pulling out a hidden sack of quarters. She grabbed one, offering it to Danny as she flit down to grab his tooth. Danny took it with a smile, thanking her before she flew to the window, but not without one last glance back to Pitch. Then she was gone.

Danny turned back to the Boogieman. "Why'd you trap her?"

Pitch was quiet for a moment. Then he stood up straight, hands clasped behind his back. "I wanted to see if I could. I've never tried."

Danny scowled at him. "Well, it was rude. I might have missed my chance if you missed!"

"You might have missed your chance if I hadn't," the Boogieman pointed out. "They can be tricky little creatures."

"They?"

Pitch grinned at him. "Oh, didn't I tell you? That was only one. A baby tooth fairy, if you will. The Tooth Fairy herself no longer goes out in the field. She directs the little ones to their destination safe in her palace."

"Aww!" Danny whined. He fell back on his bed. "So I didn't even get to meet the real Tooth Fairy? That's lame!" He grabbed his blanket and pulled it up to his nose, pouting.

Pitch glided over on silent shadows, carding his fingers through thick black hair. Danny curled into his touch. "I'll be sure to tell her you said that. You missed her by about four hundred years or so," Pitch admitted.

"Boo," Danny grumbled. His eyes were already starting to feel heavy again, the quick burst of adrenaline from earlier quickly wearing off. "Tell her she's a mean old fairy." His words slurred as Pitch continued to pet his hair.

The Boogieman chuckled, Danny barely registering his words as he said, "I'll be sure to do that," before he drifted off into the land of dreams.

[pokeeye]

Итак...моя ос, знакомьтесь, Эшли!

So...my oc, meet Ashley!

Эшли родилась в 17 веке в посёлке ведьм. У неё есть младший брат Эмин, которого она очень сильно любит и заботиться о нем. Родители были строгими, и поэтому они пренебрегали Эшли, они говорили чтобы она была лучше всех в практике по магии, а если у неё что-то не получалось, то говорили что она позор их рода.

Ashley was born in the 17th century in a Witch Town. She has a younger brother, Emin, whom she loves very much and takes care of. Her parents were strict, and so they neglected Ashley, they told her to be the best in practicing magic, and if she failed at something, they said that she was a disgrace to their family.

На Эмина не было сильной нагрузки, так как ему в тот момент было примерно 6 лет, но родители сильно опекали его. Эшли старалась быть самой лучшей в практике в магии, и поэтому много читала книг, чтобы её родители гордились ею, но им этого было недостаточно.

Emin was not under much pressure, since he was about 6 years old at that time, but his parents were very protective of him. Ashley tried to be the best in practicing magic, and therefore read a lot of books to make her parents proud of her, but this was not enough for them.

Когда она готовилась к фестивалю в посёлке ведьм, на котором все показывали свои способности в магии, Эшли думала, что её магии не достаточно, и то что другие лучше неё...поэтому, юный ёкай решил пойти на крайние меры...

When she was preparing for the festival in the witch village, where everyone showed their abilities in magic, Ashley thought that her magic was not enough, and that others were better than her... so, the young yokai decided to take extreme measures...

Один раз, в библиотеке, 14-ти летняя Эшли проникла в секретный зал, гд�� была книга, по призыву могущественных существ. Она нашла эту книгу и начала искать нужную страницу, пока не нашла одного духа, Териса.

One day, in the library, 14-year-old Ashley entered the secret room where the book was, at the call of powerful creatures. She found this book and began to look for the right page until she found one spirit, Teris.

Эшли, украв книгу, ловко ушла на болото и уже там провела ритуал, и вызвала Териса. Она тогда была юной и глупой, не понимала опасность, которую подвергла себя и других, поэтому, променяла свою молодость на силу, заключив с ним сделку. Эшли, радостная и получившая чего хотела, ушла домой...

Ashley, having stolen the book, cleverly went to the swamp and already there performed the ritual, and summoned Teris. She was young and stupid then, did not understand the danger that she exposed herself and others, so she exchanged her youth for strength, making a deal with him. Ashley, happy and having received what she wanted, went home...

....На следующий день, когда начался фестиваль, Эшли решила продемонстрировать свою силу всём ведьмам посёлка, но когда она хотела показать свою магию другим, что-то пошло не по пл��ну. Она не смогла справиться с магией могущественного существа, так как у неё не было опыта в этом. В итоге, Эшли случайно разрушила половину посёлка, а потом, она встал перед судом и было принято решение забрать её магию и изгнать из скрытого города, но Эшли смогла сбежать с помощью Териса и после этого момента она не появлялась в скрытом городе...

...The next day, when the festival began, Ashley decided to demonstrate her power to all the witches of the town, but when she wanted to show her magic to others, something went wrong. She could not cope with the magic of a powerful creature, since she had no experience in this. As a result, Ashley accidentally destroyed half of the town, and then, she stood before the court and it was decided to take away her magic and expel her from the hidden city, but Ashley was able to escape with the help of Teris and after that moment she did not appear in the hidden city...

Итак, после этого она пыталась адаптироваться в Нью-Йорке все 4 века, так как напомню, молодость она променяла на силу.

So, after that, she tried to adapt to New York for all 4 centuries, since I remind you, she traded her youth for strength.

Эшли была травмирована после пережитого. Она стала нервной, заторможенной, так сказать могла "оторваться" от реальности. Из-за тех последствий она чувствовала сильную вину и боль, понимая что она не сможет вернуть прошлое. Она конечно, старается быть дружелюбной и доброй, но постоянно чувствует себя плохим человеком из-за ошибок молодости.

Ashley was traumatized after the experience. She became nervous, inhibited, so to speak, she could "break away" from reality. Because of those consequences, she felt strong guilt and pain, realizing that she could not return the past. She certainly tries to be friendly and kind, but she constantly feels like a bad person because of the mistakes of her youth.

Теперь Эшли понимает свою ошибку, которую совершила в 14 лет. Ей стыдно перед всеми, и она думает что ничего не заслуживает в этой жизни за свой поступок.

Now Ashley understands her mistake, which she made at 14. She is ashamed in front of everyone, and she thinks that she does not deserve anything in this life for her actions.

Что насчёт Териса? Он поселился в её разуме, и теперь Эшли связана с ним. Она часто говорит о себе в множественном числе, и постоянно слышит в голове голоса, а также кошмары по поводу прошлого.

What about Teris? He settled in her mind, and now Ashley is connected to him. She often talks about herself in the plural, and constantly hears voices in her head, as well as nightmares about the past.

возможно, я еще буду закидывать про них информацию или возможно буду менять некоторые моменты в их истории...ну, а на этом всё, увидимся! 😘

maybe I'll still be throwing in information about them or maybe I'll change some moments in the story...well, that's all, see you! 😘

(sorry if there are mistakes in the text, as English is not my native language 😅)

[ametistacollinsworld]

☠ Uzi x Misanthropic! Worker drone Reader ☠

My 15 request! Hope you like!

︻︼︻︼︻ ︻︼︻︼︻ ︻︼︻

You always felt different from the other worker drones, something like an aversion to your own species, where you felt nothing when you lost someone supposedly "important" to you, like your own parents who died in front of you. You watched the two being killed, but you didn't feel sad..in fact you felt a strange satisfaction.

Uzi, a female worker drone daughter of Khan Doorman, your classmate and best entertainer in the entire colony. The drone had an eminent hatred of humans, but let's say you pushed that a little bit by making false documents of how humans despised worker drones and blah blah blah.

As you watched Uzi build a rapport with the murder drones, you weren't just sitting there watching the little show, on the contrary side you knew everything. And I mean everything, about Doll having powers, Lizzy being "friends" with V and other internal colony stuff.

But then, over time you wanted more, you wanted to know what you could do…

So somehow here we are, in a dark, isolated room in your house, with only Thad and Khan Doorman himself bound and gagged against the walls and floor drenched in fresh, dry oil. You really hated cleaning.

The two squirmed and let out moans of pain muffled by the cloth in their mouths with frightened looks, but you rolled your eyes leaving the room, closing the door behind you, leaving the two in darkness.

You were currently crafting a new railgun, the only problem being a lack of parts..your friends wouldn't mind borrowing some limbs right? Haha.. so exciting.

Uzi was currently pacing back and forth in her room, thinking about the latest events that had happened inside and outside the colony, trying to understand what was going on without completely freaking out.

Like..where were her dad and Thad?? They couldn't have simply evaporated from the planet! And they weren't dead either…she preferred to believe that not at least…

Everything was happening so fast..the disappearances, Doll, Lizzy, her father, Thad, N, V and J. Uzi thought that at any moment she might go crazy if she stayed inside this place any longer, and she was pretty much right. You watched the female drone sitting at her desk in silence, having a little thought.

So some time passed, now with the classes over Uzi was walking through the corridors that were almost empty, in addition to having several papers of ''disappeared'' almost like a horror movie in the walls.

'' Hey Uzi! '' You called the drone's name, running after the drone that now seemed to be guarding her books. She gave you a questioning look before closing the closet.

'' Yes (Y/n)? I don't have much time to talk…I have things to do so hurry up '' Uzi spoke in an annoyed tone crossing her arms.

'' Alright, alright.. I have something that might interest you emo '' You said giving an innocent smile. Uzi gave you a suspicious questioning expression.

'' Right.. and what would that be exactly? '' Uzi asks with a dry tone looking at you.

'' Why you do not follow me? It'll be easier that way '' You said giving a smile with your eyes closed, then looking at Uzi.

'' Ugh..I think..I don't have much to lose anyway.. '' Uzi said approaching you. So you two walked to your house, where you opened the door letting Uzi walk in front of you.

Uzi looked over your house, everything looked neat and clean..but there was something about the environment..

'' Then? What do you want to show me? '' Uzi asked impatiently, soon following a silent you that soon opened a door, that led to a black room with purple details, appearing to be for experiments and weapons manufacturing, having some stretchers, metal tables and oil dirtying many parts of the room.

Uzi widened her eyes in fear and surprise, looking at the many metallic parts of other worker drones spread out on tables that looked like they were being used. The drone tried to leave the room, but you were already at the door looking at her with a smile.

'' What's wrong Uzi? Don't you think this is ''Sick as Hell''? I even made it with your favorite colors honey~ Black and purple right? '' You said in a mischievous tone looking at Uzi who looked even more scared.

'' What the hell is this (Y/n)! What the hell did you do? What do you want with me?! '' Uzi said panicking realizing that she was totally unarmed, no longer having her railgun and still not being able to control her powers properly. You laughed softly looking at the scared drone.

'' You're so adorable when you're panicking Uzi..well I'll be straight here..all you have to do is join me, let's kill all the worker drones and humans '' You said giving a creepy smile to Uzi, soon extending your hand to her.

She pulled back hesitantly and scared thinking for a moment, but then…

'' F-fine…just don't hurt me.. '' Uzi said silently looking at the ground taking your hand slowly with fear. You gave a happy smile then gently kissing the drone's hand.

'' You will be fine with me Uzi.. Don't worry ''

[ayda--demir]

WHAT I WOULDN'T GIVE FOR ANOTHER MOMENT

date: 17th of March, 2024 warnings: feels, too many fucking feels. death. guilt. mention of drugs and overdose. plotting ways for kate's demise. Emine's POV is in italic.

The shock remained ingrained and though she knew he was gone, the thought of processing it and allowing it to become a reality, she would happily live in denial. Dealing with this was something Ayda could handle for herself but being entrusted to tell his sister and best friend, despite the fight she knew they would overcome this hurdle, that was going to be the part that would break her. 

She sent Emine a text, asking her to come over, and knowing that the other was currently dealing with a broken heart, this was going to shatter what was left. Idle steps paced around the room, collecting valuables that she didn’t want broken. There was no telling how Emine was going to handle this. Violence was always the way the other dealt with their feelings and this, she wouldn’t be surprised if overnight the borough was painted red. 

“Ayda,” she heard her voice being called out, footsteps up the backstairs, having left the door open for her. “I hope you have food for me to take back to Olivier. He’s not a bad cook, but your food is so much better.” 

Her steps halted, placing her in the middle of the living room when their eyes met and the way Emine’s demeanor quickly picked up that something wasn’t right, she froze in her spot. 

“Kerem, he’s alright, right?” The way she found Ayda standing in the living room she knew it was bad news. It was the eyes. The other could never hide how she was feeling if one paid close attention to them. She had read the text message from her ex, thought about replying, but she didn’t know what to say. Part of her knew if she responded to him, if they talked, any promises he made she would give in easily, and she didn’t want that to happen. 

“Em, he’s fine. I promise.” At least she could say that. The guessing game would start next. She knew Emine enough that she would start spouting off names until she got the answer. “Here, sit down.” A hand gestures to the couch where she finds herself sitting down, waiting for her to join her. 

Relief washed over the petite Turk. “Is Azra okay?” It was a name that popped into her head. She didn’t dare think about her brother considering they talked the other day. Emine removes her shoes and makes her way over to sit on the couch, turning her body towards Ayda. “You know I would play the game and list a million names, but I really don’t have the energy for it. What is going on?” Concern laced in her words. 

Her hands reach out to take Emine’s in hers. “Em….” This time her voice did crack, tears starting to slide down her cheeks. This was going to destroy Emine and this was news she never wished anyone had to give. “It’s Berat…” Hands are suddenly pulled from hers and she can see it in Emine’s eyes that she is starting to piece it altogether. 

“What about Berat?” She didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to see where this conversation was going. Everything around her started to spin and she was barely holding herself together as it was, and now this. “Don’t you say it Ayda.” She warned her. “He isn’t. He went back home to visit my parents like they asked him.” It was easier to believe he was out of the country than the words that were going to be said. “Please….he can’t be.” The last set of words that left her mouth was a sob, wrapping her arms around herself. 

What was she supposed to say? There was no denying the truth that was in front of them both, but holding on to a little faith a little longer, it couldn’t hurt. She wraps her arms around Emine, pulling the girl in for a hug, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so sorry Em. If there was anything I could do to change it, I would.” Her words are a mere whisper, loud enough for Emine to hear. It was then that Ayda let the reality hit her and she couldn’t hold it in any longer. Her eyes closed in efforts to keep the tears from falling. 

“No…..” Emine allowed herself the comfort of Ayda’s arms for a moment. Allowing herself that one last opportunity of being held together from all the pieces that were starting to break. She pulls away from the embrace, shifting her body off the couch to stand up. A hand comes up to wipe under her eyes, removing any traces of emotions that she was giving into. “This is some lie. Where is my brother?” Her tone demanding, filling the rage starting to build. 

Ayda stands along with her, hands reaching out to take hers once more. It was the only way she knew to keep Emine grounded. That she wouldn’t feel that spiraling out of control. They once were close, like sisters themselves, but she knew her loyalty would always lay with Berat when she left that night. “He overdosed. They are still looking into it. Something bad with the heroin. I’m still waiting to get all the details.” The last thing she wanted to mention was who found him. It was certain to set her off and Emine would suspect foul play regardless of the truth in front of her. 

He overdosed. Emine closes her eyes taking deep breaths to keep herself from losing control. She could feel the guilt starting to hit her. She should have tried harder or been more of a presence in his life that he didn’t feel like he was alone. Why was she always failing the people she cared about? “What do I do with him gone, Ayda?” Her tone meak. Admitting that he was gone brought her to her knees, feeling her body slump. 

Ayda finds herself moving down to her knees, keeping herself connected with Emine. “I don’t know Em.” She didn’t want to make any promises. How they were going to navigate through this was unknown. There were so many pieces that would have to be sorted out. She had to push those thoughts away and focus on the girl in front of her. “But I’m here. You know I am always here for you.” She meant every word. 

Emine wanted to find some type of solace in Ayda’s words, but it didn’t stop the agony that consumed her. The world had no meaning to her. Everything that was good in her life had been taken away. “I know….” The only thought that could be formed in her fucked up brain. It was never supposed to be him. He had his downfalls, but she was the one that played with fire. She was the one that should be dead, not him. Her mind somehow drifted to ma and her head snapped up looking at Ayda. “Ma.” Instant dread hit her, this was going to kill her. 

Her hands come up to cup Emine’s cheeks, keeping her eyes locked with hers. “We will get through this.” She wanted to repeat her words, that hopefully Emine would get the underlying message; not to do anything stupid. At the mention of Berat’s mother, a woman who still felt like family, she realised there was one more person to share with. It was better coming from her and Emine than the police. “We should go tell her.” She would never let Emine do it alone. 

Emine nods her head, there wasn’t much more that could be said and surprisingly for herself she was handling this better than she expected; at least for now. A sense of relief washed over her when Ayda offered to go with her to tell her ma. She wondered if the woman knew, but if she did, she would have received a text already. “I need a moment.” Emine shifts to sit on her bottom, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them, leaning back into the couch. “He’s really gone.” She mumbles, looking over to Ayda. 

Ayda nods her head knowing that she had to do this at Emine’s pace. She scoots back, coming to sit beside Emine, wrapping her arm around her and pulling her into her side, feeling the body rest against hers. “He is Em.” She speaks softly. No words could ever explain the hurt they were both sharing, but she could offer comfort. That is when she felt arms wrap around her and heard the sobs into her arm. “I got you Em, let it out.”  

[breathe2-fr]

Lore: The Shifting Wing Caravan

Life in the Shifting Expanse is vastly different from the clan's early days. Under constant paranoia of attacks from the Shade and falling back on Wind instincts to keep moving, Spelldancer led the clan as a caravan through the Charged Barrens. The desert being the most volatile and dangerous of the land, the Matriarch hoped the rolling lightning would naturally deter anything from following them. That said, the clan itself must survive the same hardships, and developed methods to do so.

The clan operates in two states: lairing and caravan. All dragons in the clan earn their keep by working in some way, but the way they work varies depending on the clan's state.

Lairing

The clan uses temporary lairs for shelter. The clan chooses to lair when the Shifting Expanse's storms are too severe to travel through, there are a high number of eggs incubating, or their scouts sense danger and need to hide. The ultimate goal of lairing is to give dragons a much needed rest and protect the dragons from attacks, as the lair will have only one exit, which is guarded.

These lairs are caves deep below the sands of the desert where the earth begins to harden, allowing for structure to form. The clan's lair building workers, known as the Carving Team, work quickly to construct caves to serve the entirety of the clan for lairing. The Carving Team is split into specialties by element: Earth dragons make up the Carvers, Lightning dragons make up the Grounders, and Fire dragons make up the Smiths. Carvers dig directly into the ground and use their Earth magic to shape it to their desires. Grounders maintain and run cables throughout the caves to provide electricity to power lights and other comforts. Smiths help construct metal beams and any forging needs the Carvers and Grounders need. Corycia (#61707542) leads the team and inspects their work across all work groups. Corycia also makes the final call on when the clan will lair, as she will not allow lairing to begin without finding a suitable location.

The Carving Team is widely respected in the clan, being the hardest working dragons who server the most basic need of everyone: shelter. When they finish, Carvers spend the rest of the lairing state resting, as their work is the most laborious. Grounders and Smiths, however, have other tasks to attend to, such as engineering and smithing respectively.

While lairing, other working dragons take the opportunity to craft. Artisans will create new goods from their supplies. These items will be sold later when the clan caravans. Some dragons' tasks have them tending to the population in order to maintain good mental health and morale. For example, there are lair decorators who are in charge of beautifying the lair, as living in underground caves for several months with limited surface time can be depressing. Relaxing areas are maintained, such as saunas and game rooms, and some dragons run events. Stylists maintain the coats of furred dragons to prevent overheating in the desert, and fire and ice dragons work in tandem to maintain comfortable temperatures throughout - though in some cases, some rooms are much hotter or colder to accomodate dragons whose element/grooming require such.

Dragons who wish to nest will often wait for lairing to do so, though this is not the case for every pair. The tasks of hatching eggs and rearing young are not the parents' job, however. The clan employs nannies that wrap eggs in metal coils, which are topped with clamps and can be hung from cables suspended from the ceiling. These coils run the natural electricity eminating from the eggs back over them to maintain a warm temperature. After hatching, the hatchling will be raised by the nannies.

Currently, Pajamas (#55529581) is the only nanny. As the task of corralling hatchlings can be overwhelming the more of them that there are, lairing is sometimes initiated at her request. (Note: in my canon, spirals are larger, so she is large enough to carry most hatchlings.)

Housing caverns give individuals and pairs their own privacy while also keeping living quarters nearby. Dragons can put in special requests for their units and the Carvers will note them and attempt to meet the dragons' needs the next time the lair is built.

After some time lairing, the clan will pack up and abandon the lair. The clan switches to caravaning when it's determined the coast is clear, or contrastly, leadership has determined staying in the current lair is no longer safe. Switching from lairing to caravaning is done very quickly; within a few hours of notifying all clanmates, they leave. Dragons need to be ready to leave as soon as possible, and any items not carryable must be left behind. Carvers will destroy the lair by causing cave-ins. Lairs are destroyed to help prevent aggressors from finding the remains and determining where the clan has been. Grounders and Smiths will do their best to collect their cables and support beams to carry with them for the next lair.

During lairing, dragons only leave the clan under special circumstances, or if they have a job that requires it. Hunter/Gatherers are allowed to leave at any time to stock the food supply, as is the War Party to maintain the safety and security of the clan.

Caravan

The caravan state is when the clan is traveling. The clan employs a team called the Spellshields; these are Arcane dragons with high mage proficiency that maintain protective shields at all times while exposed to the desert's topside. This prevents rogue electrical waves from running through the clan, which wouldn't affect the Lightning dragons too much, but could devastate other members of the clan. The shields also protect from harsh winds and sands buffeting them as they travel.

The Spellshields are not constantly maintaining the shields themselves. They use compact devices designed by Delwen (#54524815) to store their magic, which then generates the dome of pink magic over the clan. This allows the caravan to travel for months if needed without wearing down the Spellshields.

Dragons are expected to be able to carry their own possessions, but in the cases of dragons who have many items for their crafts, they may employ the help of Carriers. These are often Wind dragons who use their magic to lift heavy items along with the clan as they travel, but can also be large/built dragons who can simply handle the burden of the items when packed onto them. Due to their heavy loads, the clan mostly walks during caravan time, rather than flying through the storm. Maintaining spell shields would be too difficult during flight as well. Some dragons have built sled-like carts that can be pulled by large dragons, which give them a place to store their wares as well as act as a market stall when visitors come by.

When not directly traveling, dragons will hunker down in the sands, under the protective shields. During this time, they often run trade stalls in a bazaar. Dragons traveling through the expanse will often notice the large spell shields and stop in to rest from the storm, and many times they will trade. There are often dragons coming in and out of the clan because of this, and these visitors help maintain the caravan's livelihood by bringing new supplies and treasure in.

Artisans will trade for money and for supplies to make more of their craft. Making a profit is important, as it allows them to replenish their stock for their next sales, but also aquire necessities for their own lives and the lives of their fellow clanmates.

Any eggs that are laid during travel will be carried by large dragons wearing special harnesses. These harnesses allow the incubator coils to be clamped to the dragon, allowing for clawless carrying.

Dragons who wish to leave the clan for some time, for trading or for indepentant travel, are allowed to do so at this time. However, it's difficult to return to return during lairing times, as individuals are not informed where the clan will to travel or lair. This knowledge is only known to the leaders of the clan. So many dragons will try to return as quickly as possible, or plan on searching the desert for the sign of their spell shield and hope for the best.

Though hope is not lost for dragons who unfortunately don't make it back. The clan's Star Readers, Apollo (#56410277) and Nautilus (#70670034), spend most of their time flying directly through the storm clouds of the Expanse in order to reach the stars above. These two can serve as a touchstone for anyone who is lost, as they always know where the clan is and can give guidance to anyone they recognize. If someone they don't know comes asking for directions, however, they may be unwilling to help without a good reason.

With Nautilus' intense speed, the pair has a sweeping view of the desert around the clan, and also keep an eye out for any suspicious activity on the horizon. If they notice anything, they report back to leadership and the War Party. Otherwise, they help offer insight to leadership on where to navigate based on weather conditions and astrological readings.

When the call goes out to begin carving, visitors are quickly warned: "you may stay with us, but we'll be underground for who knows how long. If you do not wish to stay, leave now." The clan will then immediately pack up their stalls as shallow pits are quickly carved out, and the clan goes under the sands. Once in the pits, the spell shields are snuffed out, and the Carvers work quickly to get the basic structure for the lair started.

[montyterrible]

Born to Hench, Forced to “Boss!!”

I’m not a Minion hater exactly—no more so than I am, ambiently-like, of anything “mainstream” or “popular.” At the same time, I also don’t tend to engage with any media in a “lol so wacky I’m going INSANE from exposing myself to this!” sort of way either. When I really think about it, you could see the Minions as particularly cynical, like the Disney animal sidekick thing on steroids. They have a simple, pleasant design (emphasizing the body/head, deemphasizing the limbs and fine detail) with room for a smidgeon of individuality/visual flexibility using a satisfyingly limited number of features or elements like eyes, and which makes them more or less Engineered for Marketability as a toy or just plastered on one thing or another. There’s an enormous Minion (I think) sticker around here somewhere that a friend of mine gave me once when I was visiting him that he (I think) got from a cereal box as a “prize.” It’s my understanding that Minion memes were somewhat ubiquitous on Facebook at one point, though I can also easily imagine adults (namely parents) harboring a deep-seated hatred of these things.

Upon initially firing up Minions (2015) and hearing those eminently recognizable chattering voices “singing” the Universal Pictures theme, I thought my fears were going to be confirmed—that this was going to be a very annoying movie for me. I imagined being a parent in one room hearing that tell-tale sound for the umpteenth time coming from a TV in another, and what that might feel like. I didn’t end up following this “lol so wacky I’m going etc.” thread any further, though, because I actually found the Minions (and their movie) pretty easy to like!

On the one hand, yes, they are adorable: visually, but also in terms of personality and thanks to the ambiguity of their emotional and intellectual maturity. The Bob character, in particular, is very child-esque, but all of the Minions are vaguely characterized in this same way, and so it’s easy to feel drawn to them in their extremes of feeling, to want to nurture or at least pet them. “Part child, part dog” may be another intentional element of their design, meant to reach children and parents and childless adults all in some primal way. Ironically, the chattering wasn’t an annoyance, and I think it may actually have made the predictably goofy and usually physical humor I expected from the movie more palatable. Rather than an endless slog of “That was SO awesome!” or other “That just happened!”-adjacent running commentary on every precious goof, you instead get these intervals (sometimes surprisingly long for such a movie) where no coherent sentence is uttered. The Minions speak a winning mix of total gibberish and real language (English, Spanish, etc.), and I’ll be damned if there isn’t a certain… confidence to having that be the medium of communication, visuals aside, of bits and pieces of this movie.

On another hand, I find the very concept of a “Minion” kind of fascinating. The movie starts with an initially wordless sequence showing off Minion evolution—how from their most primitive, water-bound state they’ve always latched onto the largest and most dangerous other creatures without conflict, which is a compulsion that takes them onto the land and forward through history until they gravitate toward humans and then “supervillains” specifically. The Minions are apparently immortal(?) and so, critically, out-live their beloved masters, sometimes apparently killing them by accident. I know I’m late to the Minions party in this regard, but that’s just such a weird and compelling baseline concept. Minions being so “Assigned Henchman at Birth” while also potentially, actually being the superior animal just makes for an interesting hook.

While Minions has a recognizable-enough dramatic plot, I found it kind of oddly… “empowering” to watch. You don’t so much feel tension or stress about the scraps and scrapes the Minions get into, so much as you eagerly wait to see how they’ll easily overcome the inconvenience and defeat their enemies. I’m not joking when I say that the Minions have more in common with Alucard from the manga/anime Hellsing than they do with other protagonists in similar movies. They’re essentially “over-powered.” There are some great, fun bits of action or imagery here, though a favorite might be when the Minions’ boss-turned-enemy, Scarlet Overkill, tries to have them tortured, and this includes a bit where the Minions are gleefully slipping through and playing around with a noose. It’s fleetingly dark, perhaps surprisingly daring.

(Of course, the “3 edgy 5 you” take that I’ve even heard out in the real world about the Minions is “lol Did they work for Hitler? lol” And this movie makes clear that, no, they did not. After serving Napoleon, the Minions were in exile in an icy cave until 1968, thus avoiding the Harry Potter problem of mixing magical beings and the Holocaust.)

I was also just surprised at how twisty the plot of Minions is. I did not expect Bob to pull the mythical Sword from the Stone, or for the spurned, exploded Scarlet to return for one last attempt at the Queen of England’s crown when it felt like the movie was already over. I had a harder time thinking of really distinct swerves than I expected writing this up, but it’s all just kind of inherently Interesting. The way that this world pivots around professional villainy (even if only in secret circles) reminded me a little bit of The Venture Bros. This still isn’t evil evil—It’s easy enough to see the Minions as conventionally likeable if not exactly heroic and Scarlet Overkill as conventionally threatening and villainous, but it’s a fun enough, kid-friendly flirtation that at least sort of eschews predictable plotting.

There are some character designs that rely a bit on fatphobic imagery for their visual identity/comedy potential, but I think the most offensive thing about the movie is its treatment of The Queen, who cutesily throws down with the Minions when they attempt to steal her crown for Scarlet and who is hanging out at a pub arm wrestling after she’s dethroned. Her toothiness might qualify as gentle caricature, but I would have (cruel Leftist that I am) preferred a much meaner treatment. I mean, really, the Minions should be latching onto her, right? What with the whole legacy of colonialism and so forth? Her being a sort of apex thief and whatnot?

I jest—Obviously, that’s far too subversive and cerebral for such a Childish property! The Minions are instead drawn to the biggest cartoon of villainy, which means Scarlet at first but then ultimately a young Gru. Minions almost tells a standalone story using the critters but then has to wrap back around to Despicable Me, which means there’s a heavy Gru emphasis at the very end and during the little credits sequences. I would have preferred that it not do this (and also that Scarlet be an anthropomorphized wolf-woman for the entire movie and not just the “bedtime porry” scene), but I know this isn’t really For me, in the end, and have just accepted that with as good as a shrug. Which is how I’ve felt about the Minions as a property and/or marketing gimmick for years now.

[chazz-anova]

Consecration

Fandom: Far Cry 5 Word Count: 2.1k Pairing: Faith Seed x Female Herald OC Summary: Faith is newly appointed as a Herald of the of Henbane, and has her first meeting with her new partner in Eden's Gate. Warnings: Brief mention of drug use A/N: kinda getting into's Faith's early days as a leader in the cult with this one and where her head was at! i enjoyed writing this from her pov too to really get in her head 🧠 i hope yall enjoy!

Read it on AO3!

The newly appointed Faith Seed paced in her cabin anxiously; bare feet on the smooth wood padding from corner to corner of her new home. After she’d been chosen by Joseph she’d been upgraded from the residence hall for the girls of Eden’s Gate. 

Walls of walnut wood surrounded her adorned with the country chic decor she’d become accustomed to. A mounted deer here, a cow skull there. ‘Charming.’ She thought sarcastically. Faith wasn’t one to pin down her tastes, but she knew this wasn’t it. At least now she had her own room. 

Things had been different before- equally as hard but in another way. Stuck living with cold parents, hooked on drugs and trouble. Now she had a gelid Father and was the most sober she’d been in ages. But being Faith was just another drug. People looked up to her more, listened to her. One facet of her life remained the same though- the loneliness. 

Faith completed another lap of paces as the object of her anxiety came to mind: Joseph Seed. In particular, her first meeting with him since becoming a Herald. It was only yesterday that she had been chosen from the congregation at the end of a sermon. As was custom, each Seed spoke at the dais; giving their own speech to prepare the flock for the Collapse. At the end- all was silent as the Father stepped forward. 

“Brothers and sisters, you have heard much from us today but I would beg your attention for another moment to make an announcement.” Joseph settled in at the pulpit at the center of everyone’s attention. The white paint of the church was illuminated by dozens of white candles, the creak of metal bird cages whispered from the ceiling; the congregation held their breath as they always did when their Father spoke. In classic fashion- this announcement was to be presented as an oration. Holy and eminent. “What is Faith?” Joseph’s heavy gaze looked out over them all reaching each person with his booming cadence. “Faith is what holds us together. What makes us different from the damned souls that will not walk with us in the Garden.” Answering his own question he eyed his flock- eyes filling with regret. “Our Faith, she was not ready. Not ready to do what must be done to help us survive the Collapse. When the Reaping begins, she would have led us to ruin.” Joseph spoke of the previous matron of Eden’s Gate. 

There had always been a ‘Faith’; it was a title more than anything, an identity to take on. Previously there were only two others to carry the mantle- the most recent having disappeared after a rather public disagreement with the Father. There were whispers in the female dorms, tinged with apprehension and fear as the women considered the immensity of being chosen, and the risk if one were to falter. 

“My children I am pleased to announce, after much deliberation we have found our new Faith. You all know her as a different name, but no longer. She has lent a hand to any she saw in need- she has held us aloft in hard times and flourished with us in good.” A pregnant pause as Joseph held a poignant countenance. “Rachel, if you’ll join me?” The woman startled as the last name she’d expected tumbled from his lips. 

Since then things had been a blur. There were official introductions to the Seed brothers, being introduced as their sister made her feel warm but unsettled. Like she just stepped into her dream and the world had started falling away. After an hour of mingling, the new Faith had been shown to the new cabin where she would reside.

These memories raced through her mind and she wondered what responsibilities she’d have now. Her mentation was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door, making her jump. ‘Already?’ The woman looked down at herself; she wore drab white garb as was custom of the community, her hair hung lankly past her shoulders. Shame filled her as she opened the door, hoping she wouldn’t see one of the Seeds. She may be one of them now but she didn’t yet look the part. The heavy door was pulled ajar to reveal no one. 

The birds chirped as evening faded in and the trees hung high over the cabin outside, but no one awaited her. Confusion crossed Faith’s expression and she peered from the doorway. Though no visitors awaited she spied a simple white envelope on the doormat, addressed to her (with her new name of course) and emblazoned with the Eden’s Gate cross on a wax seal. 

Stepping back into the cabin now equipped with the correspondence containing her next step, Faith took a deep breath and broke the seal. As she pulled the letter forth the aroma of jasmines and rain filled the room. Faith smiled slightly, ‘Who perfumes their letters?’ She mused as the paper unfolded revealing flowing cursive script. “Meet me at Sacred Skies Lake. We have much to discuss.” 

It took less than an hour for Faith to fluff her hair, apply some mascara, and throw on a more put-together outfit before she found a ride to the lake. People were practically falling over themselves offering to drive the new Herald; she even spotted someone get tripped trying to get to her. In the end, Jacob had ordered one of his Chosen to escort her. 

The world was painted in pinks, oranges, and splashes of purple as sunset cloaked Hope County. The water of Sacred Skies Lake shined in the final vestiges of sunlight, inviting Faith to the shore. Halfway down the woman spotted sheets of lace and silk adorning the tree branches near the water. Her flats crunched into the sand and rocks on the coast as her gaze scanned for the Father. With a start, the brunette set eyes on a different figure. 

Tall with shapely legs and a flowing mane of red hair- a beautiful stranger met her eyes. The other woman was striking in an intimidating way: ruby red lips, towering in hills, and a piercing blue gaze. “Faith.” She spoke her new name and Faith rather liked how it sounded. 

“Hi… still getting used to the name I think.” 

The ginger appraised her silently before responding, “You’ll wear it well. Come, sit.” She gestured to a large blue picnic blanket spread under the swaying trees above. On the blanket was the most diverse spread of food Faith had ever seen; macaroons of every color, boards of meat from pancetta to smoked salmon, and bowls of veggies, sauces, and garnishes awaited. Gingerly the Herald took her spot at the edge of the spread. Her eyes lit up as she spotted a ramekin filled with sunflower seeds. “Yes, I was told you enjoyed those. Barbeque flavor?” The taller of them said the word as if it were foreign to her. Faith nodded with a smile and popped one in her mouth. “Of course, I’ve only seen these without the shell used as texture for salads and such but… I’m pleased if you are. My name is Antoinette.” As she spoke, she tucked the skirt of her dress politely beneath her and her lips bowed in a kind smile.

“I’m Ra…” She stopped herself, “Faith. I guess you already knew that though.” The brunette smiled sheepishly and looked down at her hands in her lap. 

“I’ll confess, I don’t know much more than yourself at present.” Annie settled back on the blanket lounging languidly like a cat in a sunbeam. “Joseph has only blessed me with crumbs of his plan, but I know both you and I are integral.” She leaned in conspiratorially, “And will be working quite closely together.” 

“Oh?” Faith urged her on, eyes lingering on Antoinette’s toned form for a moment. Muscles rippled under the criss-crossing white dress she wore. ‘Someone works out..’ With the thought she felt her tongue dart out to moisten her lips and tried to get her brain back on track. 

Antoinette nodded and reached for a slice of gouda, “Indeed- just as you were promoted tonight, I was appointed only a couple days ago.” She popped the cheese in her mouth and stared out at the water, “It was all quite sudden.” 

‘Two Faiths?’ Faith wondered and was about to ask when her companion continued.

“After the… unfortunate failings of the last Faith, I have been appointed as a guide. Someone to help and advise where needed. We have much to prepare for if Joseph’s predictions are correct, and he is not one to accept failure.” 

Silence ruled both of them a moment as they considered the consequences of ineptitude, a secret anxiety they each were too guarded to show. The new Faith looked to Annie and they shared a look of understanding; they were in this together. “Well,” Faith started as she wrapped some salami around a piece of provolone, “At least my partner in crime knows how to cook.” 

The ginger snorted brusquely but chuckled nonetheless, “That would be wishful thinking unfortunately. I have a live-in chef.” 

“In your cabin?” Faith asked, mouth open in surprise. Part of her thought this was frivolous- but part of her felt a bit in awe at the luxury. When Antoinette’s nose crinkled in distaste the brunette wondered what she’d said wrong. 

“My chalet, dear. I don’t know that I’d survive in a mere cabin.” Though Annie corrected her- she smiled light-heartedly. 

Returning the grin Faith chided, “Ah so I’ve been placed with the most opulent of the Heralds, I see.” 

“That you have, and don’t forget it.” The older woman scooted closer and Faith could smell her light perfume. It was airy and floral, making Faith want to bury her head in the other’s collarbone and lose herself in the scent. “It is you that is our Herald though, truly. Not I.” Annie watched her waiting for a response. When Faith said nothing for her confusion, Antoinette expanded on the thought- “Even if I carry the title of Herald for appearances, not just anyone can take the role of our Faith. You will keep us all on the path to the Garden, and in turn I will keep you safe.” 

The truth in her words rung out over the water, making the newest Seed feel more secure in her new role. Though she had been lonely among her fellow parishioners- she realized now that it was up to her to keep them pliant, to make them feel seen as Joseph had made her feel seen. Antoinette’s proclamation steeled her will and she felt more at ease with the title that had been thrust upon her. “I’m glad I won’t be alone in this.” She looked out over the lake- thinking this time she didn’t have to be afraid of her life changing. Not when she had the power now. 

“In light of our new partnership, I brought you something.” Annie revealed a present in the bottom of the picnic basket, pulling out a masterfully wrapped gift dressed in green paper and a white bow. 

Taking it quietly Faith’s expression was one of shock. She couldn’t recall the last present she’d received. “I don’t have anything for you though…” She intoned absentmindedly as she pulled at the bow, unraveling it between her fingers. 

“Don’t worry about that.. I’m quite hard to buy for.” Antoinette joked as she watched Faith intently. Though it was said in jest, the brunette figured this was most likely fact. 

Once all the wrappings were gone there was a white box with a silver swirling decal on top. There was a moment of apprehension where Faith glanced at the other and Annie nodded encouragingly, No more urging needed- she revealed the gift and discarded the lid. “Oh wow.” Faith breathed the words as she lifted out a white laced dress adorned with pink flowers. “Antoinette, this is beautiful!” Her hand traced down the front of the garment. 

Almost grinning at her reaction, Annie nodded- “It was a pretty penny- but well worth it. Our Faith needs to stand out.” With flourish Faith pulled out the dress completely and stood, pressing it to her body as a way to measure. “If you need any alterations simply let me know.” The ginger’s gaze took in every inch of Faith, a repressed hunger in her eyes. “We’re about the same size, I’d wager.” She reached forward to flatten the dress against Faith for a better look. A hand caressed her bare thigh as she did, making Faith shiver in a way she hoped wasn’t obvious. 

“You don’t cook but you sew?” She asked, changing her train of thought. 

“Occasionally. I know enough to get the job done.” Antoinette looked up at Faith and offered her an easy smile. 

In that smile and in Annie’s ocean blue eyes Faith’s heart fluttered and that dark shadow of loneliness loosened its grip on her for the first time in a long time. Her future was right here.

[fatefought]

where: the cellblock of the capitol's captives

who: annie cresta & any of the captives

it seems impossible to track the days in here. there's no natural lightning nor can sleep be a real indicator. annie cresta has gone to bed twice since coming into the cellblock. though in the constant state of panic and worry all seem to be in, the dark oblivion of mindlessness could hardly be considered resting. she's counted ten heads, including her own. what happened to those she knows ? annie is almost entirely unsure. she's left her cell twice. the first time was to listen to thea be tortured in the room beside the one they placed the woman from four in. they say it's a livestream of those in thirteen. in times she swears she hears finn in the chaos. the entire ordeal makes her want to embrace her close friend. instead, she lays paralyzed in fear both figurtively and by the paralytic they dose cresta with. the second ? she'd met with a powerful socialite on the district four floor ; she'd rather block that out entirely.

she finished eating porridge a few minutes ago. they're not consistent in the food they give the captives, but the beatings and torture seems to be. there's not much else to do, so she wanders the eighty square foot cell. it's interesting that her footsteps do not echo, when the walls remain so thin here. though the walls and windows separate each cell, there's no real privacy. there's a helplessness in waiting. what for ... the eminent continued torture ? the inevitable conclusion of their imprisonment ? no, she can't think like that ; the president has let her know he has her son. ( percy cannot lose both parents ! )

the thought alone makes her stop at the window at her cell door. " truth or dare ? " she asks to nobody in particular. a soft, perhaps unhinged, chuckle leaves her lips with it. annie hopes anyone responds back ; the current quietness is unsettling. all they have is one another here.

[emine--yalaz]

June 22, 2023

“The swelling is down where it should be. We have stopped the pentobarbital. All we can do now, is wait.” The doctor informed Emine’s parents that flew in from Turkey the day after they were told what happened. The two remained at her side, only leaving to get some rest. They gave him a nod, a parent on either side of her, holding her hand. 

It was a few hours later that she stirred, feeling like someone had hit her upside the head with a bat type of headache, letting out a small moan, her mouth dry. Her mum instantly jumped up from her seat. 

“Emine.” Her voice cracks, tears starting to slide down her cheeks. “You, are, you’re here.” 

Slowly Emine opens her eyes, shutting them immediately from the brightness in the room. “Mum?” She squints her eyes, looking between her mum and her dad, trying to piece together what had happened, or why she was in the hospital. 

Then it dawned on her, the fight at the bar when she was with Azra. 

Azra.

“Is Azra is okay?” She mumbles, her eyes darting around the room. “Is Kerem here?” 

“Azra is fine.” It was her dad that spoke this time. “Kerem, he went for a walk.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. 

“I’m sleepy.” The petite Turk squeezes both of their hands, her eyes closing. 

“Get some rest.” Her mum whispered, leaning down to place a kiss in the same spot that her father did. 

[windona]

For Hedgi’s Birthday Prompt:  stargirl kids having a snowday hang out at the pitstop

Technically, they were supposed to all be staying home. The snow had covered the streets, with the winds howling outside. It was enough that it actually managed to cancel school.

But Rick, having dug out the porch, did not want to be stuck in an empty home. Beth needed some space from her parents. And Yolanda could not stand the burbling happy noise in a room she was not allowed to stay.

So by group chat, when Rick casually asked if Pat needed help shoveling the Pit Stop out, it had morphed into plans for a hang out.

Rick reclined on a chair, stretching from all the manual labor that day. Beth had brought blankets and hot cocoa, and passed it out. Yolanda brought cocoa fixings (”come on, try the chili powder in it, it’s good”) and a deck of cards.

Courtney shivered. “How are you not frostbitten?”

Rick huffed a laugh. “I keep on forgetting you’re from California. Not used to snow?”

She glared, covered in layers of sweaters and coats.

Beth shrugged. “Just make sure to dress warm, and don’t stay outside too long. Oh, and don’t wear stuff that traps sweat. My parents made sure I knew everything about cold weather.”

Yolanda ignored the whipped cream dotting her nose. “Or just do what Rick does and wear shorts in winter.”

“One year!”

“As always, planning helps,” Pat said as he walked up the stairs with Mike in tow. Mike was carrying a grill, and Pat a cooler. Both set their items down, and Mike scrambled to set the grill up.

“What do you have there Mr. Dugan?” Beth looked over and smiled.

“Barbara didn’t want to brave the roads, but she prepared some things for you guys. I just brought them and Mike over.”

Mike flashed a grin. “It’s going to be so cool. Barb made kebabs and vegetables for grilling- ick- but we also have s’more fixings.”

Yolanda dug through the cooler. “You really know how to pack for a party.”

“Well, it’s good for you kids to hang out without eminent danger. Plus, consider it a thank you for shoveling the lot and keeping an eye on things. I have plenty of blankets and sleeping bags if you want to stay the night.”

“Not staying?” Courtney looked up at Pat.

“Mike is, I’m not.” Pat smiled. “See you soon.”

[theautisticcentre]

Is it okay if i suggest for you to write something with Mathew and Verano being bros/besties?

Sure!

@redhoodzuko

BEST BUDDIES

Verano made his way out of Hexside, soon finding Mathew within the crowd. Ever since the two had first met a few weeks ago, they had grown incredibly close. Verano told Mathew about his family, about his parents and the bullying from his brother, while Mathew told Verano about his parents' deaths by Odalia's hand. With that, the two quickly became like siblings to each other.

"Yo, V! What's up?", said Mathew, pushing through the crowd towards Verano. "Hey, M," Verano responded, "Not much, just...waiting for my parents now, I guess." Mathew nodded, and looked forward, a grim look now on his face.

With that, his mind began spinning.

Why should he just let Verano, the one he trusted with his past, just go off to be with a "family" that treats him like garbage? What kind of best friend would that make him? How could he call himself his best friend and do that?

No. He wouldn't do it.

"Hey, V? If you want...you can come back to my place." Verano immediately turned to Mathew, shock and worry in his eyes. "But if mom and dad find out-" "Ah, let 'em. They'll have to get through me if they wanna try anything," said Verano's best friend. With those words, and thought of his mistreatment just enough to push him over the edge, Verano took Mathew's hand, and Mathew used his necklace to teleport the two to the middle of the woods.

"Uh...we're in the woods, dude," said Verano, confusion eminent in his voice. Mathew nodded, and walked up to a tree. "You watching?" Verano nodded. And with that, Mathew pressed his hand against it, and the further patch of woods vanished, revealing a path leading to a house. "Wow! That is wickedly cool," said Verano. Mathew smiled and blushed in embarrassment, before the two headed inside.

"OK, this is the living room. The left door leads to the farm, the right leads to the kitchen, and the entire upstairs is my room." Verano looked around in amazement, before Mathew added, "Uh, make yourself at home. I'll have carrot and potato stew up in 5." Verano nodded, and sat down on the couch, before putting on the TV. "You have a working TV? Out here?", asked Verano, to which Mathew replied, "Uh, yeah! Dunno how it works, but hey, I ain't complaining."

After a couple of minutes, the two watched one of the movies Mathew had lying around while eating their carrot and potato stew. Verano commented on it with, "Mmm...this is really good!", to which Mathew replied, "Thanks, bud. I farm carrots, potatos, wheat, beetroot, and other vegetables, so I have stews like this all the time." Verano hummed in response.

"...Hey, V. I just wanna say something...I notice how you feel about whatever your family says to you. But take it from me: Love does not make you weak. Your parents had to have some sort of love to have you, right? So if anything, they're hypocrites. And...I love you. You're my best friend. And as your best friend, it's my duty to be there for you, even when no one else is."

Verano, after a few seconds of silence, put his stew down and hugged Mathew.

"Thanks...You've always been there for me. To play around with me, to comfort me. And...well, you're kind of like a second brother to me."

Mathew, in response, just smiled and hugged him back.

"No problem...brother."

THE END.