#geniales tuning

[genialestuning-dasoriginal]

PAPA! - DA IST EINE MINIFIGUR KAPUTT! - REVIEW 2023 - LEGO FRIENDS 41727

[incorrectquoteslooneytuneslatino]

*Bugs llega a Pizzarriba*

Looney Tunes: ¡Sopresa!

Bugs: Vaya… ¿Otra vez desperdiciaron la sorpresa en mi? Hola a todos.

Lola: Feliz cumpleaños.

Fuente: Un papá genial (1999)

[katiebblynne]

✨Closer Company✨

SDV Sam Smut

a/n: this is my first fanfiction ever, so I’m sorry if it’s whack lol~

pairing: Sam X Fem!Reader

MDNI WARNINGS: smut, oral, praise, bondage, p n v sex

wc: 7144

Sam has been coming to the farmhouse often lately as two have gotten closer, but you don’t mind the company.

You hear your best friend humming in the shower as you fold your laundry across the hall. You and Sam have gotten pretty close in these past few months, and he’s been more apt to make himself comfortable at your farmhouse. You think back to the first weekend he stayed over two months ago. ‘It’s a good break to not be at home with my Mom all the time… I hope this is cool with you, y/n..’. You smile to yourself as you tend to your laundry. He still goes home, but the trips back are starting to become fewer and far between. As you continue your chore, you find bits of his clothing tossed in with yours. You chuckle softly.

You like his company. Sam is unlike anyone you’ve met before. He’s bright and warm, like sunshine in the midst of Spring. His laugh has become intoxicating lately – sometimes you even hear it when he’s not around. Your mind begins to fill with thoughts of sitting with him in your living room, playing games or watching movies all evening… sharing laughs and stories together. He even helps tend to your farm on mornings when he stays overnight on your couch. Your smile spreads a bit more, your arms absentmindedly going through the motions as you drift off. The squeak of the shower handle catches your attention, and suddenly your wholesome thoughts of Sam turn a bit darker for a moment, involuntarily imagining him stepping out of your shower, water dripping down his bare skin. Your hands stop moving and you stare blankly at the top of the dryer in front of you. A new, warm, almost strange feeling spreads across your chest… and drifts in between your legs for a split second.

You catch Sam walking past you in the hallway out of the corner of your eye, breaking your not so innocent train of thought. He strides carefree down the hall toward your bedroom still humming a light tune. You peek out of the laundry room subtly, catching a glimpse of his toned, damp back as he walks, nothing but a white towel draped around his angular hip bones. His low, raspy hum fills the wooden walls he strolls down, following behind him as he goes into your bedroom and closes the door to get dressed.

Your curious eyes settle on the closed door, and your cheeks fill up with air as you wisp out a calming breath. You shake your head, partly at the token casual nature he carries in your home, partly to tame the growing desire you have to go and see more. You duck back into the laundry room, finishing up what you’re doing to silence your suddenly intrusive brain.

As you place the last folded shirt down in its pile, you jump at the sound of Sam’s voice. “Your shower has really good water pressure.” You look over to see him resting against the door frame, wearing a loose band tee and sweatpants, a friendly smile on his face. His still wet hair settles against the sides of his neck, water forming to create damp circles on the collar of his shirt. You nod and smile casually, as if you weren’t just thinking of him in a less innocent light a minute ago. “Yeah, I just changed it out to a better showerhead a couple weeks ago.” You pick up a small separate stack of laundry that belongs to Sam, handing to him with a playful smirk. “Getting pretty cozy here lately, huh?”

He chuckles genially, taking the clothes from you. “I hope that’s alright… my bad for leaving these clothes in your hamper, heheh…”. You shake your head and smile softly. “I don’t mind, it’s nice having you around.” You take your personal stack of clothes and walk past him, going to your bedroom. He follows behind you in an almost puppylike manner. He comes in and sets his newly washed clothing next to his bag, plopping onto a beanbag on your floor. You start to put yours away, bending down slightly to organize some into the bottom drawer. Sam tilts his head slightly, his gaze lingering on your butt and thighs.

You can almost feel his gaze burning into your backside, and slowly turn your head over your shoulder with a mock accusatory expression. He quickly looks up at the ceiling and taps his fingers. You both share a giggle. You mutter in a teasing manner as you turn back around, “Wow… getting really cozy here.” He laughs and throws his hands up in a little surrender, “Sorry, sorry. My bad. I’m only human.”

You stand back up and finish putting your things away into your dresser. You go over and sit on your bed, looking at him stretched out on your beanbag. He meets your gaze with a casual, friendly look, his voice coming out brightly, “So, any plans tonight?”

You pull your legs up into a crisscross, laying your arms on your knees. “Nope, you?”

“You already know I don’t.” He looks at you cutely, waiting for the prompted invitation for him to stay over once again. You laugh warmly, “Why do you even make me ask you to stay when we both know you're going to anyway?” He joins your laugh, putting his arms behind his head. “I like to give you the option so you don’t think I’m a little urchin.” You both continue to laugh, an inviting atmosphere filling the room. You fall over to your side and place your head in your hand, looking over him and sighing to cease your laughter. You speak sincerely, a gentle tone taking place in your throat. “You can stay here as often as you like Sam. I really don’t mind the company, ya know?”.

You see Sam’s informal body language stiffen slightly at your kind words, a slight blush coming over his cheeks. He responds, his voice a bit small in appreciation, “Thanks, y/n. I really like being here… obviously.” He ends with a chuckle to disperse the suddenly genuine energy to something more lighthearted. You smile and a tingle flutters in your heart for a moment. This is a different feeling than you’ve had so far with Sam, but you… don’t push it away.

Sam smiles and pulls out his phone, starting to scroll through it. This happens often — you two just sitting together, silently enjoying each other's company as you do your own things. You get up from your bed and go over to your computer at a desk settled next to your dresser. You turn on some music and make your way back to your mattress, breathing in the comfortable air around you. You lay on your back and your head falls to the side, looking at Sam again. His hair is still damp, and the way his messy blond locks fall around his face make your insides stir a little for some reason. You speak up, prompting him to look away from his phone and up to you. “Do you not brush your hair after you shower?”

He grabs a piece of his hair, pondering your question. He shakes his head and shrugs. “Nah, I kind of just let it do its thing, I guess.” You tilt your head a bit, slowly getting up from your bed and pulling your desk chair behind the beanbag he resides on. You grab your brush from your nightstand and leisurely start brushing out his hair for him, starting at the bottom and gently working through the tangles. You can’t see his reaction, but you see his shoulders tense up slightly at your touch. He slowly puts his phone down on the floor and rests his hands together over his lap.

“Is this alright?” You ask, ceasing for a moment to make sure he’s okay with your somewhat affectionate gesture. He nods a bit, clearing his throat a little. “Yeah, that’s… nice.”. You smile and continue. As you make your way through his hair, your mind starts drifting back to the intimate thoughts you had in the laundry room while he was showering earlier. You stifle a moan in your throat and pretend to cough lightly to hide it.

You brush his hair for a while and end up resting your arms on his shoulders lightly as you do so. You notice Sam adjusting himself in his seat, his hands moving ever so much to cover his crotch. Your eyes widen a little, and that funny feeling comes back between your thighs. Something… almost hunger-like… creeps up the back of your neck, and you lean in slightly, letting your breath travel to the back of Sam’s ear. You put your brush down, switching to your fingers to comb through his hair. You can feel him shiver a bit. Your voice comes out, soft and a bit sultry, “Are you enjoying yourself, Sam?”

Sam lets out a small breath and nods, starting to fidget with his thumbs a bit. You smile and slowly wrap your arms around the front of his shoulders, your chin resting near his neck. He tenses up, his knuckles turning white as he interlocks his fingers together. You continue, your voice dancing across the skin of his cheek, “Be honest with me, Sam… out of all these nights you’ve been staying here, have you ever thought about me…” You pause for a moment, your voice lowering even more, “... in a way you shouldn’t?”

You feel Sam’s throat catch a gasp, and it sends pulses to your tummy. You whisper again. “You have, haven’t you?” Sam is silent for a moment, the sunset slipping through your window and casting both of your shadows on the wall opposite of you. Sam’s breath comes out shaky and small.

“...I have.”

A heat engulfs you at his answer. You smile and lean into his ear, your voice sending bolts of want down his spine. “Move your hands.”

Sam slowly moves his hands to his side, showing you the growing arousal he has been covering up in his pants. Both of your breathing hastens a bit. You lean away from him and start combing his hair again tenderly with your fingertips. He starts to speak shyly, “Uh, y/n… –”

“Touch yourself.”

Sam’s eyes shoot open as you cut him off, your request bold and unexpected. He turns around to face you slightly. “W-what?” he asks, his voice breathy, but laced with a bit of undeniable lust. You chuckle and grab his shoulders to lead him back to the way he was facing, pulling your chair up so he can relax into your thighs a bit. You whisper, a sense of plead behind your otherwise dominant tone, “You want to relieve yourself while I play with your hair, right?” you ask, your voice trailing down his neck. “Go ahead, I don’t mind. I want to see what you look like.” You lean back and continue running your fingers through Sam’s hair.

Sam shakes under your touch, his arousal building almost to the point of pain. He nods and hitches his fingers on the hem of his pants, pausing for a moment to take a small breath. He pulls down his pants just enough to let his fully erect, throbbing dick spring out. Your fingers drift gently along his scalp, a light gasp leaving your lips at the sight.

“Oh wow… such a pretty cock.”

Sam almost chokes on his breath at your flattering comment, his cock twitching in excitement. He can’t resist the urge to start stroking himself right in front of you. “Ah.. y/n…”. You watch him, an intense burning spreading from your thighs up to your stomach, and settling on your face. You watch as he strokes himself for you, biting your lip as you carry on massaging his head. You moan lightly in his ear.

Sam’s cock throbs in his hands, his hips moving instinctively as he pumps himself faster. Pre-cum leaks from his tip. He tilts his head back, exposing some of his neck to you as he moans softly, his body trembling with desire. You look at his neck and gently kiss it.

He jolts at the feeling of your lips on him, a soft gasp escaping him as he leans into your kiss. His cock is rock hard in his hand, and he can feel himself already getting closer to release. He whimpers gently, his hips bucking upwards more insistently. You stop touching his hair and wrap your arms around his shoulders again, your voice soft and sultry, “Sam, do you want me to watch you cum?” You reach your hand forward down his chest. “Or do you want me to help?”

His head melts back into your shoulder at your offer. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, a look of pleading desire locked in his pupils. “Please… y/n… help me.” He pants, almost begging for release.

You smile and nod seductively, your hand traveling down his torso. Your hand reaches his cock and you run your fingers along his tip, gathering his pre-cum. You take your fingers to your mouth to taste him. “Mmm… delicious,” you whisper. He watches you, transfixed as you lick his pre off your fingertips. He whimpers for you, “Fuck… please… touch me.”

You reach forward and wrap your hand around him, stroking softly. Your other arm tightens around his shoulders, holding him in place against your chest. Sam throws his head back against your collarbone, his dick twitching at your touch. He gasps and moans, his body trembling with pleasure. “Yes, just like that… harder…” he pants, his hips moving in time with your strokes. You jerk him harder and a bit faster, placing loving kisses on his neck.

Sam cries out in pleasure, his body tensing as he feels himself approaching climax. The combination of your skilled hand on his dick and your gentle kisses is too much for him to handle. “Y/n… I’m gonna…!” He warns, his voice strained with ecstasy. You jerk even faster and bite down on his neck, your tongue lapping at his skin. The sudden bite sends Sam over the edge, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. He arches his back, his cock pulsing in your hand as he cums, ropes of hot semen shooting out and coating your fingers and the slightly exposed skin of his hips and thighs. “Mmmmm… fuckkk…” he pants as he rides out his release.

You let him go slowly after he finishes, admiring his cum on your fingers. You sliver out of the desk chair and come to the side of him on the floor as he catches his breath in the beanbag. You let him watch you lick his cum off your hand. Sam studies you in awe – he can’t believe the sight… his messy, sticky cum being devoured by your tongue. His member twitches at the show and he groans, unable to help himself. After you clean off your hand, you lean forward and lick the rest off his hips and thighs.

He shivers as your tongue touches his skin, licking up the last remnants of his release. He lets out a low moan, his cock starting to harden again at the sensation. “T-that’s so hot…” You take up every last drop, even leaning over to lick off his tip. He gasps, the cool of your saliva a stark contrast to the heat of his arousal. You look over to him and swallow it all, opening your mouth afterward to show him it's all gone. He tilts his head in pleasure, his face contorting into a supplicating want. He begs, his voice ragged and husky, “Please, y/n… suck me…”

You can’t help but chuckle at his request. You look at him with a tease across your face. “But you just came – aren’t you sensitive?” Your voice is low and sultry, with a touch of playfulness. Sam nods eagerly, his dick still hard despite just having cum. He’s sensitive, but he doesn’t care – he just wants more, needs it. “Yeah… but it just makes it even better…” he says, giving a small whimper at the thought of you touching him again. You shrug and chuckle slightly, “If you say so…” You crawl in between his legs and make eye contact as you take him into your mouth deliberately. Sam can’t help but moan loudly as he feels your mouth engulf his sensitive flesh. He watches you, eyes heavy-lidded as you start to move, your tongue swirling around his shaft. “F-fuck… yes…” You bob your head up and down gingerly, savoring every inch of him. You moan.

Sam’s hips jerk up, unable to help himself as your moan vibrates through his stiff cock. Fuck, it feels so good. He can feel another release building up again, in defiance of just having done so. “Shit, y/n… you’re gonna make me cum again already.” You look up at him and a dirty thought crosses your mind, wanting to make him feel even better before he reaches his edge again. You take your mouth off of him and replace it with your hand, pumping sweetly. Your mouth travels down, and your tongue meanders up his balls at a painstakingly slow pace. Sam groans, his thighs quivering as you lick. The cool air on his aching cock makes him shudder and he looks down at you, his eyes dark with lust. “Please, suck them… lick them more…” he begs, his voice rough with need.

You gently suck them into your mouth, jerking his member with your hand as you do so. Sam throws his head back, a loud groan escaping his lips as you draw his reactive sack into your mouth. This, in combination with your hand working his cock is too much for him. “Fuck!” he gasps, “I’m…” he warns. You leave his balls with a lewd pop and take his dick in your mouth fully, cupping his testicles with your free hand.

Sam can’t hold it in anymore. He cums hard in your mouth, his eyes rolling back as his hips buck up uncontrollably. He groans desperately as he empties himself, his whole body trembling with pleasure. You take every drop into your mouth and lean back on your legs. You swallow every bit of it once more. Sam watches, panting as you take down all of his cum. He looks satisfied, but still horny. His dick softens a little, but he knows it won’t be long until he's ready for more. “You’re… so good at that…”

You finish swallowing and smile cutely at him. He stares in wonderment, breaking out into a smile. He’s never seen anything so hot, and that sweet little smile of yours makes him only want you more. “I can’t handle this… come here, y/n.” You chuckle and climb into his arms, your chest leaning against his, his dick resting against your clothed stomach. “What, Sam?” You ask with a loving gaze.

Sam wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest. He can feel the curves of your body weighing on him, and he starts to get excited again. “Kiss me. I need to taste myself on your lips.” You lean in and kiss him gently. He moves his lips against yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth to explore it. You moan softly at the new contact. His hands slide up and down your sides and back, his touch growing more yearning as you continue kissing. He groans, grinding his hips tenderly against you. You feel him getting hard again, breaking the kiss to look down between you. You say, half shocked and half flattered, “I cannot believe you’re already hard again after just coming twice in a row.” He looks down, following your gaze. He smirks, looking back up at you shyly. “What can I say? This is…” His voice gets shaky and serious, a blush forming on his cheeks. “...I’ve wanted this for a while now, y/n.”

Your heart tightens as he confesses this to you, a longing taking over your eyes. “Me too, Sam.” You see his eyes light up as he sits up a bit straighter. “Really? Like for real?” You laugh at his excitement, and nod your head slowly and lovingly. He leans in and catches you in a passionate, deep kiss. His hands travel up your back and tangle in your hair, a moan coming from his throat, vibrating through you. You part from him breathlessly, a devious smile forming on your face. “Well, I’ll let you fuck me tonight then, if that’s what you’d want…?” You offer playfully, your body filled to the brim with a mixture of exciting new emotions.

Sam’s eyes widen at your words and he swallows hard. He nods, his hand starting to stroke his cock. “Y-yeah, I want that. I want you so bad.” He leans in to touch you, but you stand up and walk away, stopping to turn around a few feet in front of him. You look at him seductively, naughtily. He smiles curiously and leans back into the beanbag, stroking himself almost absentmindedly.

Your fingers float to the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head sexily. He freezes, completely taken in by what you’re doing for him. You toss your shirt aside, your arms going behind you to unclasp your bra. It falls to the ground, your tits dropping lower on your chest beautifully. The near-completely set sun struggles to cling in your window, it’s light tickling across your skin. Sam’s eyes wander over your chest and torso, his hands balling to fists in his lap.

You hitch your fingers into your shorts and turn around as you pull them down, bending over so they have to fight to slip past your ass. You hear Sam groan lightly and look over your shoulder to smile at him, mocking innocence on your face. His head slumps to a tilt, a yearning overtaking his eyes. You let the shorts fall, pulling at the elastic of your panties while still bending over. You look at Sam questioningly, teasing him. He nods eagerly – almost anguished. You smile and sigh, tantalizing him for a moment before taking your panties down. The thin fabric clings to your wet pussy for a second before letting go, landing on the shorts pooled around your ankles. A string of your arousal follows the fabric down, releasing against your thigh. Sam rubs his face in desire, leaning forward and putting his hands together between his lap as he sighs, tortured in need to touch you. “Dear fucking god, y/n. You’re driving me crazy right now. Look at you.”

You can’t help but giggle at his adoration of your body. You stand up and face him, holding your hands behind your back sweetly. “What would you like to do next then, my Sammy?” Sam looks up at you, his mouth falling open at your words. He swallows, trying to speak without losing his mind. “I want to taste you…”

“Taste me?” You ask, egging him on more. Sam huffs and stands up, walking in front of you. Desire fully possesses him as he takes your face into his hands. “I want to eat your pussy until you cum all over my face. Now.” His vibrant plea to eat you out makes your mouth water. You smile and whisper seductively, “Good choice.” You walk to the side of your bed and pat the mattress for him to come lie down. He nods, quickly stripping all of his clothes, stammering. He practically runs to the bed. He lays on his back, looking up at you with a hungry expression across his face.

You get on the bed, swinging your legs over his shoulders to kneel over his face. You keep a distance between the both of you for a moment, looking down at his flushed cheeks. His mouth is open faintly, his tongue eager to find you. “You want me to ride your face, lovely?” Sam nods eagerly, his hand reaching up to grip the sides of your thighs as he looks up at you. “Yes, please… sit on my face. I need to taste you so bad, y/n.” He starts to lick his lips, locking his gaze to your glistening pussy.

You lower yourself down, making sure not to put too much pressure on his head. “Eat up, handsome.”

Sam moans as soon as he feels your flesh against his lips, his tongue darting out to lick at your clit. He starts to eat you out enthusiastically, sucking and lapping at your pussy while his hand grip tightly on your thighs. You bite your lip and look down at him half-lidded, your hips beginning to grind on him. Sam moans louder as you start to move against his tongue, delving deeper into your folds. He moves his hands to your ass, gripping it and pulling you down onto his face more firmly. “Mmmm..” He praises from under you.

“Oh, you like me sitting on your face like this, Sam?” You ask, your voice light and ragged from the pleasure. He nods happily, his face buried between your legs. His tongue works harder around your clit, his hands roaming and squeezing as he pleases. He can’t get enough of the taste of your pussy. He breaks his ministrations for just a moment to breathe out, “Yes, so damn much…”. Your hips buck against his mouth more, juices from your cunt dripping onto his chin. Moans leave your mouth like a song.

Sam groans hard at the sounds you’re making, the vibrations sending sparks through your body. He slurps your clit into his mouth, then starts flicking his tongue against it more rapidly. He loves the taste of your essence, eating you like it’s his last meal. Your hands run up your body, squeezing your tits hard. You ride his tongue even harder than before. “Ahhh…mmmm…!” Sam watches lustfully as you touch yourself and use his tongue without restriction. He feels his cock twitch, wanting nothing more than to fuck you right now. But he knows better than to stop pleasing you.

You close your eyes tightly as you start to cum. Sam sees this, lapping at you relentlessly. “Fuck… Sam, I’m gonna – !!” Your legs start to shake and he holds you in place. You whimper loudly and cum, squirting on his mouth and chin a bit. He moans in rapture as he feels you coat his face, his tongue still buried deeply in your pussy. He drinks down every last drop of you, feeling his cock throb with need. He gently pulls back, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your swollen flesh. You weakly swing your leg off of him, letting him sit up. You lay on your side, panting. “Oh my god… good boy. Good boy.”

Sam grins, feeling pleased with himself as he watches you catch your breath. “You taste fucking amazing.” He states, licking his lips and wiping his chin. You softly laugh and sit up, catching his eyes in yours. You smile, still trembling a bit. “What next, Sammy? I want you to have some fun.”

Sam smirks, happiness and lust flooding his eyes as he looks back at you. “Rest assured, I’ve already had enough fun to last a lifetime tonight… but I would love to fuck you now.” You smile in response, bringing yourself to your knees on the bed. You both lean in and kiss each other, taking a moment to appreciate what the night has turned into. You break the kiss and ask, “How do you want me?” He is quick to climb behind you, tapping your hips as a gesture for you to let him bring his legs to either side of you. He asks you sweetly and lovingly, “Would you want to ride me to start?” You can hear the utter excitement in his voice. You chuckle and nod, straddling his thighs while facing away from him. “Like this?”

He lets a breath out at the sight of you positioning yourself over his cock, his hand relaxed against your ass. “God yes… I want to see your ass jiggle while you take me.” You look over your shoulder at him and wiggle your ass a shade, teasing him, “You want my pussy, handsome? Tell me.” Sam licks his lips hungrily, gripping your ass cheek greedily. “Holy shit, yes. I want it so bad, it’s all I can think about… Please.”

Satisfied with his response, you smile and plunge yourself on his hard length – your ass jiggling as you slam down against him. You let out a strained moan and take a moment to adjust to his size. Sam moans ferally, his fingers digging into your hips as he feels you sink down onto his dick. He arches up into you, thrusting to meet your core while you take him in inch by inch. “Oh my god…” he urgently praises from behind you, “...you feel so good, pretty girl. Please keep going.” You put your hands on his thighs to steady yourself and start riding him thoroughly, your ass twerking as you bounce on his cock. Sam’s eyes go wide while he watches your beautiful, full backside shake for him. Lust and need take over his body. He reaches up and grabs your hips, lifting you up and slamming you back down on his length with force. He matches your rhythm as he thrusts up into you. The room fills with both of your sounds, drowning out the music still playing from your computer.

You moan and laugh in pleasure, riding him harder. Your wetness drips down his cock with each ram. “Oh fuck, you like this tight little pussy?” Sam pants and groans, his fingers melting into your hips as he fucks you with even more vigor. He gasps for breath, looking up at you with craving eyes. “God yes… I love it. You feel so good on my cock… oh god, don’t stop baby girl.”

You keep up an impressive pace, despite your thighs starting to burn and your insides becoming undone. Your toes curl next to his hips. Sam’s breathing becomes ragged, his thrusts turning more frantic as he feels himself getting closer to orgasm. He groans and grunts, sweat dripping down his forehead as he watches your body move on top of his. You lean back against his chest, fully sitting on his cock, continuing your bouncing. He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close as he unfalteringly thrusts into you. He buries his face in your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin as he loses himself in the sensations. “Shit, I’m close…”

Your head falls back onto his shoulder, wheezing at the intensity of your moment together. “Yeah, cum in this tight little cunt, Sammy. I know you want to.” You say, your voice sultry and weak. Sam’s hips buck wildly as he feels his climax approaching, your words sending him over the edge. With a hoarse cry, he jerks up into you one final time and erupts inside of you, his cum filling up your pussy as he rides out his orgasm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…!”

You gasp at the sensation, your legs quivering as you sit on his dick. You shake and collapse onto his front. “Oh god, good boy… so good for me.” You and Sam pant heavily, his hands running up and down your sides while he comes down from his high – still buried deep inside of you. He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing and licking at your skin with a satisfied grin. “You look so pretty when you’re full of my cum.” You blush and laugh at his indelicate comment, nudging him in the stomach with your elbow softly. “Jesus, Sam!” He laughs along with you. “What? It’s true!” You both catch a small fit of giggles, your minds reeling at the realization of everything that just happened between you two. You slide off of him and lay by his side, staring up to the ceiling. It’s nice that the comfort sticks around, even after doing something like this together. It becomes quiet, the music coming from the computer filling the silence.

Sam rolls to his side and props his head up onto his hand. He reaches out to gently trace your arm, a soft smile on his face. You turn your head to face him, matching his warmth with your eyes. Sam’s voice trickles off of his lips, approaching his next sentence delicately. “Y/n, I… don’t want this to be just a one night thing.” He looks at you tenderly, his fingers halting to hold your arm. “I-I don’t know why this happened tonight, but I’ve wanted it for so long and I just, I dunno… I want it to be something real.”

You don’t give Sam a moment to overthink, your words coming to reassure him without hesitation. “I want that too, Sam.” You look at him deeply, wanting your sincerity to strike him as much as it can. Sam’s eyes stutter as he registers your reply, his expression melting into unmistakable joy… and love. You giggle sweetly and lean in to kiss the tip of his nose. “You think I would let you stay over here so damn much if I didn’t want to be with you?” You both share a laugh once again, him capturing your lips in a heartfelt kiss. He pulls away and takes in the sight of you, your essence, your warmth… you. A spark of everything shoots through his chest, and he is perfectly happy. As are you.

You two lay together for a while, naked, just listening to the steady flow of music that seeps into the walls of the room. You finally sit up and stretch, your body still on full display for Sam. He feels a heat build back up in him, fueled further by his addressed and established love for you. You glance over to him, seeing that an arousal is building up between his legs once again. You fall into his arms, your chest embracing his. You say, with a mischievous tone, “So, do you wanna be in control next time? I’m aching to submit to you.”

Sam’s jaw nearly drops at your forwardness, his eyes lighting up with a hungry fervor. “Wait, really? Like I could… do whatever I want?” His voice is laced with thirst for you. You tilt your head sensually, your voice coming out smooth as silk. “What-ev-er. You. Want.”

Sam suddenly stands up, like he’s on a mission. He strides to your door, leaving and going toward your living room. You sit up confused, watching him as his determination spreads through the house. You hear him getting into the utility closet at the end of the hall, and your eyes widen at realization of what he’s thinking.

Sam steps in with a length of rope, remembering you had some extra in the closet from mending some fences together the other day. A blush overtakes your face and you look at him with a surprised, amused expression. He starts to laugh as if he knows exactly what you're about to say. “You perv! You’ve been thinking about using that on me since I put it in the closet days ago, haven’t you!” You both laugh boisterously, your playfulness filling the house. You settle and take a deep breath, some nerves spreading in your chest. “You really wanna tie me up, Sammy?”

He nods, a wide grin possessing his face while drive and desire possess his length. “If that’s okay with you?” He adds, hope clinging to his throat. You roll your eyes playfully and sigh, nodding and chuckling. “Yeah, get over here, you freak.”

He practically jumps at your words, sauntering over and gesturing for you to lay on your back. He delicately moves your hands above your head and starts tying them together with the middle of the rope. He slings both ends through the slits in between the wood of your headboard. You tilt your head up to watch where he’s going with this, his hands practically buzzing with excitement and arousal. He brings each end down to either side of you, lifting your legs out to your side and securing them in place. You can’t close your legs at all, your pussy exposed completely to him. He slips his fingers in between your skin and the rope to make sure it’s not too tight for you. “Are you comfortable? It doesn’t hurt does it?” He asks, before looking down at what he’s done, a scarlet red filling his face at the erotic sight. You smile, a bit vulnerable. “It feels good, just a bit… helpless, haha…” Sam swallows hard, and you can see the moment when uncontained ardor glazes his eyes. “You look so fucking hot like this, y/n.” You chuckle shyly, “I feel hot like this. I’m excited.”

Sam’s mouth waters, taking in your flushed skin where it meets the rope. He climbs onto the bed, crawling between your legs – his cock already dripping with pre-cum. “You have no idea how much I fucking want you right now.”

“Then show me.”

His eyes flash with a dark desire. He reaches down and puts pressure on the ropes, spreading your legs even further apart. He rubs the head of his dick against your slick entrance, teasing you. “Look how wet this is for me… I can’t wait to be inside of you again.” Your body squirms at the play, hardly being able to move because of the restraints. “F-fuck, Sam…”

Sam’s grin turns wicked at your restless movements. He pushes the head of his cock against your entrance again, applying pressure. “You want it so badly, don’t you? Beg for it, y/n.”

Your tone is pleading and desperate, “Please… please fuck me… fuck your pretty little girlfriend.”

Sam’s control snaps at your words, and he pushes himself inside of you in one swift thrust, making you cry out in pleasure. He starts to fuck you hard and fast – an almost punishing pace – each thrust causing the bed to creak beneath you. “Fuck… yes…” he growls. Your body tries to instinctively tense up, but the ropes hold you in place well. Your face flushes as you better understand how truly vulnerable you are under Sam’s touch right now. Sam grabs onto the ropes for leverage, spreading your legs open and pulling them further apart as he pounds deeper into you. “You’re taking me so well.” He groans, causing your eyes to flutter shut. “You’re loving this, aren’t you baby girl?”

“Oh god…” you moan from the strain of the ropes and the pressure of his cock filling up your stomach, “...I love it. I love it so fucking much.” Sam beams with pride, picking up the pace even more. He pounds into you relentlessly, the headboard slapping against the wall with each movement. “That’s right, moan for me… let me hear how much you love my cock.”

You throw your head back and ferally moan, taking in every inch over and over again. Sam manifests a triumphant grin when he sees how much you’re into this. He starts to fuck you faster, losing himself in you. The bed groans loudly under the force of your intimacy, the headboard finding a rhythmic melody above you. “Take it all.” Sam whispers raggedly. You respond with a whimpered, pathetic moan. “Y-you’re gonna break me baby… oh fuck… shit…”

Sam’s grin morphs into a lascivious smirk as he hears your words. He grabs your hips and starts to slam into you even harder, fucking you like his life depends on it. “Good. I wanna break you. You need to scream my name.” Your body lashes in the restraints as Sam’s name forces its way from your throat, echoing through the room.

His eyes roll back in satisfaction as his name claims your lips. He pounds you with all his might, the force causing your body to bounce on the bed. “That’s it! Scream for me! Let everyone know who’s fucking you good!” Your vocal cords take on a mind of their own, “Sam! Sam! I love your fucking cock, oh my god!”

Sam’s heart swells with pride and adoration. He leans over you, pushing more on the ropes. “You love my cock? You love it?”

“I love it… I need it… every night, oh my god…” Your pussy drips with intense pleasure and you feel your walls tighten as you reach your edge. He throws his head back and moans brutally as he feels your pussy squeeze around him. He pounds you a few more times before slamming in deep and stilling, his cock twitching as he cums inside of you. “F-fuck… you’re mine… all mine.”

“Oh god, I’m all yours… fuck…” You reply as you writhe in your restraints, your body recoiling from your release. You breathe raggedly. Sam slowly pulls out of you, a satisfied tiredness on his face. He takes a moment to admire his work – your flushed face, your body trembling from the aftershocks of the pleasure, the evidence of his claim still dripping from your pussy. “Look at you…”

You look at him, all fucked out, your body still held by the ropes. He walks over, undoing your restraints with a wink. “You good, baby? Was I too rough?” “That was so… fucking good…” Your limbs go limp as he releases you, your chest rising and falling raggedly. Sam lazily climbs into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms as he slumps to his side. He kisses you softly, every ounce of his skin humming in sensitivity. “Yeah, it really was.” You two regain your breath, finding a pattern in each other's lungs to follow as you drift to a satiated slumber.

The morning comes  and you sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. Your gaze floats over to Sam. His chest rises gracefully, a peace surrounding him… pulling you in. You move forward and kiss him gently, love flooding out of your lips. His eyes flutter open, breathing deeply and returning the kiss. You pull back. “Hey.”

“Hey” he replies, his voice raspy and sleepy.

“Don’t go home.”

“Okay, I’ll leave tomorrow.”

You shake your head and reach out to caress his cheek. You lean in and kiss him once more. “No…  just don’t go home, period.”

Sam’s eyes light up, a love he’s never felt before settling deep in his chest, seeping into his bones.

“I am home.”

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

Reddest Flags, Longest Nights

⩙ Summary: The year is 1989. The Berlin Wall has fallen, and Nintendo have just overseen the release of the Game Boy. The first ever episode of Baywatch has just aired, and Ted Bundy has just been executed by electric chair. Vox's relationship with the Radio Demon is on the rocks. Their solution? To add a third person to their bedroom: you

⩙ Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Vox X reader X Alastor, Radiostatic is a committed relationship (well, they're trying), Reader is a girl and she has a pussy, tentacle sex

⩙ Other notes: This is set in a sexy alternate universe for the characters in @bapple117's Bluest Monday

“I'm not for sale,” you say. It's a truly stupid, suicidal thing to say, with the Television Demon's talons wrapped around your arm, and his associate the Radio Demon watching with amused interest as Vox pulls you into their private booth.

“Come now, dear, that surely isn't true.” It's not Vox who speaks, but Alastor, his tones the same genial, cheerful ones he uses for his broadcasts. “Everyone has a price, after all.”

“Everybody fuckin' wants something, yeah.” Vox agrees, releasing your arm once he's convinced that you won't immediately bolt away. He's not slurring his words, but his movements are clumsier than you would expect. He's drunk, you realize. Both of them are. “People want power. Money. Control.”

“Sex,” says Alastor, flashing a grin at Vox, who makes a noise like someone just tuned him to a dead channel, his face filling briefly with static.

“Shh-yeah, some people want sex, Al. That's a normal fuckin' thing to want.”

Alastor's smile grows, a little smug, a little cruel, and his red eyes turn to you. “What about you, dear? Do you want sex?”

“Al! You can't just fuckin' ask a girl that!”

“Last I checked I was better informed on etiquette than you, old chum,” Alastor's smile slides sideways. “And besides, if our interests align, there's a deal to be had.”

You hadn't come to the club intending to sell anything, but the two demons are adept negotiators- Alastor assuring you that no, he doesn't need your soul per se, just your services, services of a personal, private nature, and aren't you inclined to give those, isn't it in your own best interests? All the while Vox is giving a more direct incentive, the front of his boxy face focused on you, entirely you, dexterous talons skating over the exposed skin of your forearms with enough pressure to make you shiver, with the implied promise that he could touch you in less socially acceptable places, if only you would agree to what the Radio Demon was offering.

You're tempted. You're so, so tempted. You know that this is a bad idea, that these two are bad news to be around, that you should just go back to your normal sinner life, but instead you find yourself leaning in to listen more closely to Alastor's solicitations, and Vox, still touching you, grows bolder, his hand dropping below the table to stroke your thigh.

The top of your thigh at first, skating the seams of your clothes, then dropping to your inner knee, Vox's claw drawing a daring line from your knee and up your inner thigh to your panties.

Your breath hitches, and Alastor tips his head at you, expression amused. “You seem distracted. Would you like me to repeat that last part?”

“Would ya like me to repeat that last part?” asks Vox, his grin as wide as his face and lecherous.

“I can make him stop, if you'd prefer,” says Alastor, with a casual menace.

It's hard to listen to the full terms and conditions with Vox's fingers massaging the fabric of your panties, and maybe that's the intention, but you can't bring yourself to ask him to stop, or even to ask Alastor to ask him to stop.

“What've you got to lose?” says Vox, his heavy box of a head nudging against your shoulder as the pads of his fingers press against your now slick-drenched gusset. Your thighs press together, his hand trapped between.

“Of course,” says Alastor. “If you'd like to think about it-”

“Oh, she's thinkin' about it, Al,” says Vox, his tone laden with filth.

“I'll do it!” you blurt, and both of their faces light like pinball machines. “I mean, yes.”

“Splendid,” chirps Alastor. “Now, as a rule, I will close a deal with a handshake, but for this-”

A kiss.

You've never imagined kissing the most terrifying demon in all of Pentagram city, so you have no idea what to expect, but Alastor's hand on your cheek is a feather light touch, a swirl of green magic around you. His lips on yours are chaste, brushing rather than prying, in stark contrast to Vox, who takes the opportunity to push your panties to the side with his fingers and stroke a slow line along your slick-coated inner lips. You whine against Alastor's mouth, and he slides his hand to the back of your head, holding you there as the deal is sealed.

That’s how you go home with them, Alastor holding the green chain that fastens to the shackle around your neck. Vox drives uptown, away from Voxtek, away from the Radio Demon’s broadcasting tower, and you end up in a quiet, well-appointed apartment in the most nondescript tower block that you have ever seen.

You note the shoe rack; the way that Vox’s shiny black dress shoes are stacked up next to Alastor’s bespoke deer-soled boots, and it occurs to you that this isn’t just Vox’s playboy apartment, as you’d expected. The two of them live together. There is only one bedroom.

“So, what now?” asks Alastor, holding out a gentlemanly arm for you to lean on as you remove your shoes in the entrance. “I believe your suggestion was to try new things, yes?”

“Jesus, Al.” Vox’s sigh is heavy. “We’ll just go to the bedroom, undress, and, uh, see where we go, yeah?”

“See where we go?” Alastor’s voice inflects upwards into his upper registers, the sound of a capacitor about to burst, and you realize that you are in considerable danger.

Alastor is grinning, but his body language is stressed, his ears back, lips pulled back over his gums to show the most of his teeth. In your second possibly suicidal move of the night, you squeeze his arm, where you have been holding him since taking off your shoes.

Alastor’s gaze snaps to you, eyes dangerously red, but there’s uncertainty in the corners of his smile. He kissed you, back in the club, you reason, so he can’t find you entirely objectionable. You lower your gaze, sliding a hand up his forearm, and his ears shift, subtly. He exhales, a little of the tension going out of his chest, and you slide your hand to his upper arm, pushing him back against the coat rack behind him, pressing him against an electric blue shell jacket, and he just lets you.

If Alastor were half a foot shorter you would kiss him, but as it is he stares down at you, his smile a question, until finally he gets what you’re trying to do, and bends his knees fractionally so that you can stand on tiptoes and press your face to his.

You can feel his smile under your lips, parting as you dare to pry, your tongue finding his teeth, and then the tip of his tongue, cautious against yours. You can feel the little shiver of his breath, his hand down your back. At first you think he’s about to slip his hand under your waistband, but instead he spreads his large hand under your ass, cupping it, and lifts you off your feet.

You feel a moment of vertigo, and a swoop in your stomach that is definitely not vertigo as Alastor holds you with your face level to his and slips his entire tongue into your mouth. You took him initially as a conservative kisser, but perhaps he was holding back before. You groan against his lips, feeling heat spread into your lower half as his tongue explores your mouth, the tip probing the roof of your mouth, the soft flesh of the insides of your cheeks. It’s not just the kiss but the feeling of helplessness that it brings, of being held aloft by a being so much more powerful than you. Your knees press the coats either side of Alastor’s waist as he cradles your ass, your tongue lapping against his, eyes closed, arms locking around his shoulders. By the time he breaks the kiss you are gasping, heart pounding in your chest, and Alastor gives you an appraising look.

“You are very small,” Alastor comments, his face a little flushed from the kissing. He doesn’t set you down, however, shifting his forearm under you as you wrap your ankles around his waist, his staff in his other hand.

“Ah, she’ll do fine, Al,” says Vox with a glance over his shoulder, unbuttoning his shirt as he stalks through the living area and into the bedroom. Alastor follows, carrying you as if you weigh nothing.

Seeing the bedroom only serves to solidify your impression that the two of them live here together. There is definitely Alastor’s side of the bed, with red deer themed slippers poking out from underneath, and Vox’s side of the bed, with a digital alarm clock and a special pillow with a square cutout for his head. Two powerful demons, together in secret. It’s enough to make your head spin as Alastor sets you down, gently, on the his side of the bed.

“Alright, let’s fuckin’ do this.” Vox clambers onto the bed, shucking off his shirt, a pause before he reaches you, his hand on your knee. “You too, Al.”

“Must I?” Alastor gives a sideways sort of smile.

“You don’t say that in front of a girl!” barks Vox, and you get the impression he would be pulling his own hair, if he had any. “You’re gonna hurt her feelings or some shit. And yeah, Al, you gotta join in. Otherwise it’s just me fuckin’ a girl on the bed in front of you, and that’s not really a fuckin’ threesome now, is it?”

Alastor smiles thoughtfully. “You did say we would see where we go. I could read a book.”

“Fuck my life,” Vox mutters, flopping back, his boxy head hitting the duvet heavily.

You tug on Alastor’s sleeve again, catching his attention. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“I’m aware,” says Alastor, expression guarded, smile thin. He pauses. “Are your feelings really hurt?”

Your smile is wry. You’d be lying if you said his reticence didn’t hurt, at least a little. “My ego, maybe?”

“Ah.” Alastor looks down at you, and you are caught for a second by just how red his eyes are, like rubies, or pools of fresh blood. His fingers whisper across your cheek, pushing away a strand of hair. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

Tossing his staff onto Vox’s supine form, Alastor climbs onto the bed. He cups your face in his hands and kisses you for the third time that evening, all pretense of propriety gone as he pushes you onto your back, your head onto his pillows and his tongue snaking its way into your mouth. It takes your breath away; you can feel nothing else, only the dance of your tongues and lips, slick with saliva, Alastor’s hands sliding down to your jaw and your neck with the barest pressure. He traces the lines of your arteries, almost absently, and you moan into his mouth as you feel your body respond to him, your pulse growing insistent between your legs. You spread your knees without even thinking about it, your cunt level with his navel as you lie shameless and gasping and red-faced beneath him.

“Now we’re talkin’” Vox grins sidelong at the two of you, propping himself up on his elbows. “You are such a fuckin’ tease, Al.”

“Mm…” Alastor looks down at you, his lips parted and shiny with spit. “I do hope that’s a compliment.”

“Thank you,” you breathe, and Alastor presses a finger lazily to your lips, his eyes narrowing fractionally as if to say no thanks needed.

Vox, meanwhile, is removing your panties. He’s not shy of the Radio Demon’s body either, his hand on Alastor’s flank as he makes the space he needs to get them off. In short order you are naked, your clothing peeled away and the sheets warm against your back, though with the gazes of the two men on you, the room feels far from cold. Vox is down to y-fronts, which his cock strains against valiantly, while Alastor keeps his trousers and shirt, his tie and waistcoat discarded beside the bed.

Vox kisses your breasts, not even trying for your face, Alastor sitting back to give him better access. Vox’s lips are strange, part of the curvature of his front glass and yet not, warm and staticky against your skin, supple as his lips curve around your nipple and suck. His tongue is stranger yet, its sensation alien as the buzzing of fluorescent lights as he traces a circle around your areola and brings your nipple to a shivering point. Vox repeats the action with your other breast, Alastor stroking the vents on the back of his boxy head, his expression unguarded and fond.

“Al-” Vox makes a frustrated noise, his breath hot on your breast. “Pay attention to the girl.”

Alastor smirks, his expression almost flirtatious. “I was,” he says, his eyes meeting yours briefly, “But you and your big head got in the way.”

“Oh for crying out loud, Al.” Vox pinches the top of his frame with two fingers, his other hand on your breast. “There’s plenty to be done here-” Vox’s hand moves down your body, over the softness of your stomach and to your sex, a reassuring squeeze on your hip.

Alastor looks at you, your pink cunt spread open for him, and his brow knits slightly. He’s still touching your leg, hand stroking your shin where it rests against his waist. He’s nervous, you realize. Afraid of fucking up. Afraid of spoiling things.

“Wait-” Vox’s face is thoughtful as he reaches the same conclusion. “You’ve never eaten a girl out, have you?”

“I’ll have you know,” says Alastor, his spine straightening a little. “That I ate two ladies just last week.”

“No, fuck- I mean… eat pussy, Al.”

Alastor raises an eyebrow. “Certainly not!” he pipes. “The taste is revolting, the fur gets stuck in my teeth, and they have too many small bones.”

Vox gives a growl, and you find yourself holding back a laugh. Alastor catches your eye again, his eyes narrowing, red and beautiful as he bends to kiss your knee, a brush of his thin lips. “As my friend here has surmised, I am new to the neighborhood,” he says, his smile a little embarrassed as his gaze travels your inner thigh. “If you would be amenable to showing me around?”

You had expected the Radio Demon to be dominant in the bedroom, to take charge and fill the room with slapping, squelching sounds, but instead he is quiet, his gaze intent as you nervously spread yourself for him. You don’t know what directions he might want, so you hesitate, shrinking back as his eyes seem to drink you in.

“May I?” he asks, and when you nod, he drags a finger through the wetness that seeps viscous from your cunt; a slow, deliberate touch that seems to set every nerve ending in its path aflame. He pulls the finger away, his expression fascinated as a clear string of slick stretches between his finger and your cunt. “How interesting!” he exclaims, before popping the finger in his mouth, eyes closing as he savors your taste.

Vox rests Alastor’s microphone across his knees, impatient. “Al, you’re meant to put your face down there.”

“I’m building anticipation,” says Alastor, his lips a thin smile. “And if you had an ounce of natural showmanship, you would understand that.”

Vox shakes his head, his hands and mouth going back to your breasts, your shoulders and your neck. Vox’s head is too large to comfortably fit in the crook of your neck, but his tongue more than makes up for that, slithering bright across the sensitive flesh of your throat as his claws gently knead your breasts. The biggest side effect of this is that Vox’s large head blocks your view, and you cannot see what Alastor is doing.

There is a cannibal overlord between your legs is the first thought that registers as Alastor’s lips move glacial up your inner thigh. He kisses, he sucks, and he tastes, his fingertips ghosting feather light over your hips and stomach, tracing lines from your navel to your mons.

Vox finally deigns to kiss your mouth as Alastor reaches your cunt. Alastor parts your labia, his long tongue stroking between your folds as Vox’s tongue slips into your mouth, the doubled sensation delicious in its intensity. Alastor’s movements are hesitant, almost conservative, but your cunt is sopping wet enough that even the stripes he licks up your inner labia have you moaning into Vox’s mouth, your hips bucking needy into Alastor’s face.

Alastor’s fingers squeeze into the flesh of your ass, holding you firm as he tends to you, his face pressed firmly into your cunt, lips dragging across slick pink flesh as his tongue probes, a breath of pause between each attempt, his hands weighing how much each teasing lick makes you strain against his grip. His nose brushes your clit, which makes your entire body twitch, and he repeats the action more deliberately a second time.

It’s not long before he has found the most sensitive parts of your anatomy, along with the pattern of touch that best makes you arch your back and cry out. Alastor’s tongue moves back and forth, sweeping hot and wet and divine over you as you spread your knees as wide as they will go, your stomach tightening as you arch your back.

“Holy fuck.” Vox breaks your kiss to look impressed, one clawed hand kneading your chest. “Al, you’re gonna make her cum.”

Alastor doesn’t answer, a primal growl into your cunt, and you cannot answer, the only noise in your throat a mewl of helpless pleasure as Alastor, a man who has spent decades in Hell inflicting pain on souls attacks your nerve endings with a furious precision. You’re going to cum, and you don’t have a choice about it, not with his grip steely on your hips. You want to beg, but your lips can’t even form words as Alastor’s tongue robs you of sense, of language, of decorum, each movement of his mouth sending you hurtling towards the edge. Vox’s hands on you are marginalia to the treatise on pleasure that Alastor’s mouth writes.

It occurs to you, as your orgasm hits, crashing over you and shattering you into pieces, that Alastor might have ruined sex with other men for you. Alastor carries on, tongue pressing into too sensitive flesh through your aftershocks, even as you whine and try to twist away, until Vox touches his shoulder and stops him.

“She’s done, Al,” says Vox, his claws gentle in your hair, and you whimper against the warmth of his chest as Alastor releases you. “Hey, babydoll,” murmurs Vox, the proximity of his screen making the hair on the top of your head stand on end. “You good?”

“Y-yeah.” You swallow, language returning to you in bits and pieces, and look at Alastor, who kneels between your legs still, his face glistening with your juices. His eyes are uncertain, and you reach out to him, catching his thin wrists and pulling him to you.

“You’re good at that,” you say, looking up at Alastor as you lie sandwiched between the two of them, Vox’s strong arms around your waist, Vox’s cock pressing into your lower back.

Alastor kisses you, tasting of you, and pulls back, looking pleased with himself. “It’s a lot like torture,” he says, eyes half lidded. “All I need to do is listen to your screams.”

“God fuckin’ damn it, Al,” grouses Vox. “It’s always the horror show stuff with you.”

“God forbid a man have hobbies,” Alastor’s head tilts, but there’s no venom to his reprise. “And for your information,” he adds, a glance at you. “It’s not always torture. I also enjoy dancing.”

You laugh into your hands, the afterglow of your orgasm filling you with a pleasant kind of warmth, and Alastor steals another kiss, grinning all the while.

“What now?”

“Now?” Vox grins, dangerous. “Now it’s your turn, Al.”

Alastor’s smile becomes fixed. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Vox’s smile grows wider, and he disentangles himself from you, a crackling kiss to the side of your head. “C’mere.”

Alastor gives an undignified squeak as Vox leaps and tackles him into the bedsheets, dexterous claws on the buttons of his shirt and his fly.

“Impudent! I can undress mysel- mm!” Alastor is silenced as Vox catches his chin and kisses him, open mouthed, long blue tongue lapping your juices from Alastor’s chin, and you watch as Alastor melts for the Television Demon, his shoulders going slack, his shadow splaying itself across the pillows. Alastor’s shirt comes off without complaint, and you crawl over to touch him, your hands on his narrow chest, his shoulders, his arms, as Vox undresses him the rest of the way. Alastor’s heart is beating fast; you can feel it through your hand on his sternum, like a butterfly’s wings beating futile against a glass windowpane, but it slows as Vox kisses his back, and Alastor places a clawed hand over yours. “I suppose you both mean to fuck me,” he says, a little sulkily.

“You tryna say you don’t want that, Al?” Vox’s teeth glow as he grins. “You don’t want me to fuck you as the lovely girl here sucks you off?”

Alastor’s smile purses, but he can’t bring himself to say no, not with you staring up at him prettily and Vox growling sweet nothings into his neck.

His cock stands at attention, the tip red and angry, and you take him in your palms before you get on all fours and take him in your mouth, feeling the quiver that runs through his stomach as your mouth envelops him.

“F-fuck,” Alastor hisses, filter failing, his hand in your hair as Vox’s talons circle his narrow waist. He’s sensitive- you can tell that much from your first few sucks, his precum salty and organic tasting, each movement of your tongue drawing soft noises from his throat. Part of that might be Vox working him open, your position in the bed lowering fractionally as Vox pushes Alastor’s knees apart.

“See, you want it, don’t you Al? Gettin’ completely fucked.” You feel Alastor’s talons tighten in your hair as Vox pushes into him, Alastor’s cock twitching against the back of your mouth, and you breathe through your nose, enjoying the feeling of Alastor coming undone.

“Vox!” Alastor’s voice is tight, high in his register, and Vox slows, stroking him and easing him through sensation, the two demons’ hips moving in tandem as Alastor ruts into your mouth, a strangled noise in his throat.

“Say you like it, say we fuck you good,” Vox growls soft, but the only things coming from Alastor’s mouth are obscenities, his senses overwhelmed by the two of you working together.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Alastor’s chest heaves, his eyes screwed shut, his lip bleeding where he has bitten it, his cock hitting the back of your throat with every roll of his hips, a lewd little whimper escaping his lips with the apex of each of Vox’s thrusts.

“There you are,” Vox breathes, seeming to sense Alastor’s imminent climax before Alastor himself. You feel Alastor’s cock swell in your mouth, his grip tightening. “We got you, Al. Let go.”

“Don’t -ngh- tell me what to do,” says Alastor, emptying his load into your mouth, hot and salty. He gasps, and you swallow it down. “Shit.”

“Oh, you’re so good, Al. So fuckin’ good.” Vox’s voice is a groan as he presses his face crackling into Alastor’s hair and starts to fuck him in earnest.

You move your face from Alastor’s cock, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to lay back on the pillows with Alastor’s microphone and watch the show, but instead Alastor grabs your wrists and pins you under him as Vox pushes him to all fours, and Alastor kisses you, unreserved and passionate. He tastes of you, and you of him, small whimpers still escaping him as Vox fucks him. Your fingers are in his hair, over his ears, over his antlers, his thin back, and he holds you to his chest, lips locked with yours as Vox finishes inside him, the three of you shivering with it, the room still in the aftermath.

“Ngh.” Vox’s screen shows a test card for a good twenty seconds. “Fuck.”

“Yes,” Alastor agrees, a slow exhalation as Vox withdraws from him.

The three of you are side by side in the bed for a moment as Vox drops to the sheets. Vox’s breathing is labored, Alastor’s more controlled, and neither of them speak.

Alastor rolls onto his back, turning to Vox. “You’d best wash up.”

“What?” Vox narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“It’s rude,” says Alastor, with a coy smile. “To keep a lady waiting.”

“Oh.” Vox stares at you as if he’s just remembered you are there, face coloring. “Oh. Shit. Yeah. Keep her warm for me, Al.”

Alastor takes his staff back in one hand, and pulls you to him with the other, your head nestled nicely against his bony shoulder as you watch Vox disappear into the bathroom, water running. It feels as if you could both drift off like this, comfortable and satiated, and you almost do, until Alastor’s fingers start tracing a slow line from your knee to your thigh, and your eyes flicker open.

“He’ll be pissy if he finds us asleep,” says Alastor, his tone amused. “So, unless you want to see him blow a fuse-”

You swallow as you feel him part your labia with his fingers, careful with his claws as he drags the pads of his fingers through the slickness that seeps from you. “Is this really the best way to stay awake?”

“Probably not,” admits Alastor. “But it is one of the more entertaining ones, don’t you agree?”

“Very,” you agree, your breath hitching as Alastor’s finger graces the base of your clitoris, drawing a small circle, pressing your flesh against the bone of your pelvis with his fingertips. “I am very entertained right now.”

“A performer is nothing without his audience,” quips Alastor, but his smile seems genuine. You’re wondering how he’s going to manage his claws if he fingers you when he extrudes a long black tentacle from his back. “Open wide now.”

Your legs spread, Alastor strokes your knee, the back of your calf, the arch of your foot, and his tentacle slithers, wrapping fully around the meat of your thigh before its tip teases at your cunt.

He doesn’t penetrate you right away, which is a good thing; ready and willing as you are the tentacle is girthy. Instead, Alastor teases with it, his smile relaxed and his ears pricked as he listens to your breathing, your sighs. Your words, when you are able to use them.

“There, there, just there,” you tell him, and your reward is a squeeze of his hand on your ankle, his breathy voice in your ear, telling you what a good audience you are tonight, how supportive, how participatory. The tentacle moves in tandem with his hand, the tip twirling at your entrance as he strokes the folds of your cunt, dragging slick from your hole up over your clit, coaxing it from its hood, his touch so light that it makes you hold your breath, and then firm, a pressure that has you gasping, moaning so loudly that he holds his microphone to your lips and asks you to repeat yourself.

When Alastor’s tentacle pushes its way into you, you are ready, more than ready, speechless at the girth of it and giving heady little gasps as you feel yourself stretch around him.

“You’d better not reach the climax before Vox gets back,” says Alastor, a soft murmur in your ear as you whimper, senseless against his chest. “He really will blow a fuse if you do that.” He’s enjoying himself, you realize. He’s playing with you, his smile relaxed as he manipulates your body to his liking.

But you are already mounting the summit, your body helpless in Alastor’s clutches. He barely needs to use his fingers, not with the tentacle pressed into you, an obscene squelching noise as he curves it in and out of you; Alastor simply holds his fingertips over the tip of your clit and lets the motion of the tentacle do the rest of the work, each brush of contact with the exposed nub of flesh like a lick of flame across your nerves that makes you cry out, over and over, until your throat is hoarse with it.

You cum as Vox returns, a spasm through your body, your cunt fluttering around Alastor’s tentacle, and the Radio Demon grins at Vox.

If Vox’s eyes weren’t just images displayed on his screen, they would be bulging right now. He stares. Alastor grins at him.

“Al.” Vox’s lips are an annoyed line as he watches Alastor pull his tentacle out of you, your cunt fluttering around nothing. “How the fuck am I meant to compete with that monster?” His cock is well proportioned to his frame, but it’s nothing compared to the tentacle. You look between the two demons, hoping they’re not going to fight.

Alastor’s grin widens. “You’re a resourceful man, Vox. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Vox shakes his head as he climbs back on the bed. “You’ve always gotta fuckin’ upstage me, huh.”

“That’s why you like me so much,” says Alastor. “Isn’t it?”

“Ah, fuck you, Al,” says Vox, all bark, and Alastor beams at him.

Alastor pulls you on top of him, your back to him, and hooks his chin over the top of your head, so that you both face Vox when he climbs atop you, on his hands and knees.

Vox kisses you, softly, hand cupping your face, and you feel Alastor’s sound of approval through your back, the low hum of an electrical appliance.

“You ready, babydoll?” Vox asks, and when you nod, he pushes into you.

You feel him. Your orgasm has made you tender, Alastor’s tentacle has made you tender and you feel every inch of Vox as if your cunt were just made yesterday, shipped direct from the factory.

“Oh fuck, that’s nice babydoll.” Fragments of test card float on Vox’s screen as he pauses, in you to the hilt. “You feel fuckin’ nice. Fuckin’ soft, god.”

You feel Alastor huff into your hair with amusement, and he reaches for your legs, pulling up your thighs and then your knees, pulling your legs flush with your chest; a mating press for you and Vox.

Vox grins, his hands joining Alastor’s on the underside of your knees, and he fucks you in earnest.

That his cock is smaller than Alastor’s tentacle doesn’t matter one bit, not when you’re pressed like this, his cock able to reach the deepest parts of your tender cunt with ease. He fucks you, and you cry out; not the mewling whimper you had before but a full throated cry that escapes you at the apex of each thrust, your throat already sore, your voice cracking, but crying out regardless.

Vox’s monologue is all sweet, sweary nothings- you’re doing so good babydoll, so wet for me, so soft, so good, so fuckin’ good and Alastor’s commentary is drier- do you think you’ll be able to walk again after this? Now that’s a scream worthy of my studio, all the while you are crying out, tears in your eyes, a pressure in your abdomen, Vox hammering into the most sensitive parts of you, over and over and oh.

Your cunt flutters again, Vox growling a good girl before his seed floods into you in hot, pulsing waves.

You lie there, boneless, seeing stars, the three of you breathing hard. Vox drops his face onto your chest, and you stroke his hot vents, as you’ve seen Alastor do. Alastor lets go of your legs, a kiss to the top of your head.

“Fuck,” murmurs Vox.

“Seconded,” you croak.

“Mm,” buzzes Alastor. “Quite.”

Vox rolls off you, and you roll off Alastor, the three of you side by side on the bed, points of contact between you; your leg crossing Alastor’s thigh, Vox’s arm across your stomach.

It is a long, hazy moment before Vox sits up, digging through the dresser on the Vox side of the bed, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

“In the apartment?” Alastor complains, sleepy.

“It’s a fuckin’ special occasion, Al,” says Vox, leaning over you to place a cigarette between Alastor’s smiling lips. Alastor takes it, and Vox lights it, before offering the box to you. “You smoke?” he asks.

If you didn’t already, it was a hell of a time to start.

[adoregojo]

✘ unrequited love

summary: loves echoes through the darkness, yet there's no light to erase it.

or

↝ they like you, you don't seem to share the bits of it.

context: unrequited love, angst no comfort, !!gn reader!!, angst and also angst, mention of blood, character: isagi, bachira, nagi, rin.

Isagi.y

he felt his heart break a bit, didn't shatter. just a little crack that made him lose his breathing track for a second.

he has to take a step back from you, to 'comprehend’ it, and by that he means living his ordinary road, just with a new layer of wretchedness. He really tried going on his old ways, yet his attempts were futile. He wouldn't utter a tune on breakfast with his family, his friends would ask him why he stuck to the mud all of a sudden, he would woolgather like there was a castle in the sky, in class, in practice to the locker room.

he would walk back home, stare at the mirror, and surveyed his features. fingers crossed his face, did he perhaps not fit the standards? more importantly, your standards? he does realize that he wasn't that much of an eye candy, but he definitely wasn't an eyesore either. did he look too basic? he’ve always been told that by his teammates一yet you always told him that they're just jealous that they don't carry the most splendid, navy blue pairs of eyes around really一god, he really missed you.

he tried, he really did try to connect the puzzle, solve it to get the idea out of your mind. laying in bed with his hands behind his head, his ceiling seems to be the most interesting thing to ever exist. Was he not your ideal type? you always told him that as long as heart remains genial, it’d be good enough. did his heart come out as ruthless? well, it's not like his behavior on the field is helping.

it took him a good long days to get it, this was not a game he could fathom in a blink, this was you. he can't change what you think of him, he can't force you to see him as the almighty devotion defines that he sees you as, he can't make you love him, as much as he wishes and prays to. for once, this isn't something that his ego could grasp on, even for his sake.

he asks you to be friends again, if you were kind enough to agree, he'd be willing to get on his knees, thanking what you had left of sympathy for him. even if life never came back like it used to, as long as you're by his side, it's not the end of the world just yet.

isagi could just wish, you’d somehow discern a new corner in your heart that’ll behold as a sense of love for him, for what he had of selfishness clinging onto him, for what he had of undying love for you.

Bachira.m

he really, lived and witnessed the world ending through his eyes and mostly his heart.

to put it mildly, bachira have always been out of place. to other people, he didn't seem to reach out of his weird spot he somehow earned. you were nice though, the nicest person he had ever met, you were his special place, and the safest of all. his favorite flower and the references to cross his brush over the pearly white papers. and with all the cheesiest in the world一his universe.

it was an unyielding thing to not catch feelings for you, his ever first friend that didn't feel ashamed when hearing his name beside yours, till he found himself wanting more than just that title, for you to be his better half sounded like a paradise blessing pouring on him.

there would be dreams where he'd finally get to press his lips against yours, it's too good to be true, the warmth and the dizziness, the sweet flavor against his lips was making his mind melt to a pool, made him heat up like he was standing above a low steam stone, he wanted more, till he'd fell unconscious in your arms from the lack of air, never ever wanting it to come to an end, yet I'll eventually burn to ashes.

he never hated you, he could never. even when you uttered the words of rejection that came like a keen pain right up his chest. it hurts, more than any punch, kick or insult he'd receive. his wheel of life seemed to diminish, and his eyes began to water.

a part of him knew this was coming, even when you became something of him, there will always be a sound whispering how inadequate he'll remain, no matter how he tries.

but hey, it's bachira. the same guy that’ll always look at the brightest side. above all, it's still love, yeah? even if you didn't return it, he was grateful that he somehow got to experience it, to pick raw flowers from the backyard with the biggest, lovesick smile glued to his face. to wake up everyday just to see you again was enough reason to leap off the bed. he was glad to say he for once, had a crush, coating the fact that his feelings got smashed to a wall. he was glad to feel any sense of true love.

your existence alone in his world was the definition of bliss, maybe he was sad because he wasn't in yours.

after all, you loving him back was too good to be true. being your friend should be an honor itself, he’ll keep on telling that to himself, till he finds the right extinguisher for the fire you lit up his heart.

Nagi. S

“sei.. I'm sorry, but I don't like you that way.”

“oh.” it was light, a tune of realization. In an instant, his eyes are empty again, the world blends to a hue of gray he knows the most, and suddenly sinking into a dreamless slumber for a whole day sounded like a brilliant idea.

“okay.” that's it, that's all he had to say before he's.. him again. he was nagi again, not the seishirou that fell smitten and starstruck, the one you made with your bare hands, the better version一the happiest version of himself.

he doesn't get a grasp on why he felt nothing at that moment, but at the same time he felt everything一it almost felt like he had an organ failure, but also his heart rate draw at halt. it was hard to put it on words一but what he knew, he definitely never, ever wants to experience anything like that again.

for the longest time, nagi always lends to your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours, it's been like this for the longest time. you and him, perhaps against the world一but really, it was more like you against the world while he immerse in your shadow.

he didn't mind. your light has always been overcasting. your smile was radiant, with your eyes aglow, he couldn't help but feel small. he was nothing against the brightest star to ablaze at him, and for the countless nights, he'd wondered一why him? nagi didn't exactly embrace the fact he was a slacker, he just tended to let it be this way, it was too much of a hassle to correct it一or maybe it was a truth that cannot be denied, who knows.

it was mostly his fault, for getting too used to you, for leaning on you like his own wheel of life. but he didn't want to let you go, it would be a pain一he was selfish after all.

nagi would slim down on your shoulder, he can feel your slightest tenseness. you were always comfortable, so comfortable that he could just be one with you.

“do you like me back yet?” he would ask, you say nothing. he’d inhale a soft sigh, snuggling onto you even more till his snowy locks kept on tickling the skin of your neck.

“that's okay, I'll stay here until you like me back.”

you again say nothing, but you’ll let him hold your hand, meshing your palms together. maybe he'll let go when his heart stops skipping a beat for you, or when the world comes to crumble, but they both end up with the same fate anyway, so it didn't really matter.

Rin.i

he knew he'll at some point regret this. wanting you of all people was a sin, a forbidden love.

despite his ears ringing, and his heart dropping to his core. he saw it coming, he would mutter that he'd be ready for it, just for it to sting like a sore thumb. it felt like he was collapsing on the ground with a pool of blood and tears, and all you’d do is watch with pity.

he felt bare, naked and exposed, he wanted to hide. he felt rejected and small. Suddenly he was fifteen again, pleading for his big brother to not leave him to rot in the cold, to not let the snow be the only source of comfort he had instead of a warm embrace.

for once, he had felt his heart swell with adoration一for a second, he didn't even have a name for that feeling, was was genuinely confident that you were making him somehow ill, there had to be a medical explanation for the mini heart attack he suffered from whenever he witnessed you at elation.

he allowed it to happen, he should've pushed you away more, he should've stood up his ground, he should've made more effort to strengthen his walls that you decayed with ease.

but what was there to wonder about the ‘what if's’ and the ‘maybe's’ yet again here he was, playing a secondary role in the ones he loved the most once again. digging his own grave stupidly.

for the first time in forever, he didn't feel like it was a challenge to love him, he didn't have to look at his reflection and grimace, he didn't have to be muddled by the name ‘itoshi sae’ this time, he was rin一your rin, was it bad that he wanted to live by that? it felt right to.

he knew he wasn't perfect, maybe even his flaws swamped over what he had of strengths. yet you seemed to admire him through it all, you looked at him like he was something一someone, he wanted to be that someone to you.

you managed to make everything look soft, feel warm. you stained his world with colors he thought he forgot the hues of it, he thinks he likes you a little too much.

for the longest time, rin was afraid he'll eat the life out of you, just like the maggots adore the flesh. seems like he was worried about nothing, because he’ll never be what he ought to be一yours.

you probably hate him, he did exclaimed hurtful things, he saw your eyes narrowing into a pained expression, it ached more than any rejection. he didn't know why, he was overwhelmed, angry and blinded by rage一and like the predictable itoshi he was. he revealed his cuspids and went for the throat.

he just wanted to hurt you back, that's what felt right at that moment. and yet as soon as he saw shedding tears running down your cheeks, satisfaction never came across, all he felt was a deep-seated regret. he felt ugly, sour and mean. and most of all, cruel.

and when rin sinks to his bed, he curls himself to a ball, hugging his knees to his chest. did his heart die already? or was he just too numb to feel anything at the moment? all he can sense is tiredness, so he closes his eyes to nothingness. where he dreams about you, with him in the summer breeze and cheap popsicles, and nothing bad happened to you and him.

sounds like a nice dream.

[oacest]

New bands can be extremely delicate. Some local chancers had decided they weren't ready for press (in the Manchester Evening News? Oh, perr-leeze), leaving me with no lead feature. The pub beckoned. On the way, I bumped into one of my neighbours. I'd seen his band recently, and asked what he was up to.

"Guess what happened in Glasgow last night?" he replied. It was Noel Gallagher, and the band were Oasis. Noel told me how Alan McGee had barged backstage after their now-legendary gig at King Tut's Wah Wah Hut, and signed them on the spot. I threatened him with battery if he was lying. I interviewed a still-reeling Noel that day, alongside an admittedly unpredictable but otherwise sweet and pleasant Liam, who tempered his obvious glee by striding around in a show of brash, comedy bravado.

There were no fraternal fisticuffs, just some genial ribbing, as Noel – clearly in control and articulate as ever – reined in the overexcited Liam. I remember Noel's exquisite but compact music collection, including the Stones (Noel used a photo of a young Mick Jagger on his backstage photo-pass and nobody noticed) and early REM (I don't remember seeing any Beatles). The result was the first full article on Oasis to run anywhere.

The signs were already there. A friend rented the rehearsal room next door. He'd hear a massive Gallagher bust-up, sullen silence, and then they'd play I Am the Walrus ad infinitum.

I witnessed their live debut. No matter what you think of them, they had the tunes, and even for an audience of roughly 25, Liam exhibited that trademark swagger, as if he was headlining Glastonbury, not the Boardwalk. Geoff Travis of Rough Trade checked out the long-forgotten support band, leaving soon after. My snippet in the MEN was headlined: "Oasis Are Going Places". They were, and they did.

Everything got silly. I sent a mutual friend in America the ridiculous Oasis Xmas wrapping paper, free with the NME. Liam became red-top gossip fodder. Previously, I'd seen him at the Hacienda, already targeted by several adventurous ladies. Noel's then girlfriend (who apparently said: "Your music's shite/ It keeps me up all night.") whispered, "That boy's heading for trouble - Noel's warned him."

31 Aug 2009

[featheredclover]

Carmine Veils

Chapter Three

Read from the beginning

Also on Wattpad

Chapter Two< > Chapter Four

The clock struck one, and it’s bell gonged its hourly tune. Khushi woke up startled.

She looked at the the door separating her from bodyguards’s chamber. She was waiting for the royal physician to bring her some news about his progress.

She swallowed painfully as she recalled the events which lead to his injury. It was her stubborn self which had caused him to be hit by the poisoned arrow meant for her. Her eyes smarted with tears. She stood up, pacing restlessly outside, where he lay fighting for his life.

The creak of the door broke into her repentance as the physician stepped out.

“ He is all well, just needs to rest for one more day and he will be alright. He is a quite a warrior, a lesser man would have succumbed by now” he replied with a genial smile and bowed as he left.

She let out the breath she was holding. Straightening her relieved posture, before she could stop herself, she barged into his chamber.

His good arm was resting over his eyes, while the other was bandaged up.

He looked up at the interference.

Khushi had to steel herself to not break down crying.

But her woe begone face was enough for Arnav to know.

He attempted to sit up, succeeding only partially.

The sight of his bare torso sent shivers down her spine. It was glistening with sweat beads in the moonlight.

She shook her head to stop herself from ogling at him.

His wince dragged her attention back to him.

She rushed towards him, grabbed his arm and entwined in both of hers. Pressing it against her lips, she began to speak,

“ Arnav, I am so sorry. I can’t imagine how you must have felt saving this stupid girl from killing herself. I should have listened to you! I am beg you to forgive me. I can’t believe you got hit by that…that arrow…

I swear you don’t even have to speak to me, just know that I take responsibility for this and I will never do anything you tell me not to do. In fact, I won’t move an inch ! Yes, if you order me to remain in my bed all day I will remain in the same pose for the rest of the day I promise!”

She stopped then because she felt Arnav shivering. Concerned she peered into his face, and to her surprised relief found him shaking with silent laughter.

His eyes met hers then. He gave up and succumbed into a flurry of laughter.

“Khushi”, he pressed his thumb against her lip “ I accept your apology. And yes I’ll make sure you don’t go running into a forest again, even if it means chaining you to your bed” he said with a grin lighting up his face.

Khushi stared at him as if struck.

Arnav raised a perfect brow.

“ You called me Khushi “

It was Arnav’s turn to be flustered.

“ I am sorry Rajkumari…I am drugged by your physician that’s why I am not in my sens-“

Resting a finger on his lips, she whispered

“ I like it.I don’t want you to call me anything else. “

——————

Clambering to her feet, Khushi poised her sword as she faced Lavanya again, who infuriatingly stood with a smirk lining her perfect face.

“ Focus Khushi! “ Manorama instructed “ I don’t know what’s gotten into you but if you continue to miss out defending such swings you’ll find yourself splattered on the battle field without a head to your name!”

Khushi sighed as anxiety filled her being. She couldn’t help glancing at Arnav. She thought they had made progress that he could finally be with her the way she knew he was with others. It hurt her to see him back to his formal, ever polite self after that heartfelt moment they shared that night.

She still flushed recalling the feel of his lips under her skin. The next day he had been asleep most of the time and she had fluttered around him making sure to not let him feel an ounce of discomfort. But the day he got back to duty, seemed like the end of the bond they had shared.

The afternoon went by with Khushi performing half heartedly in Manorama’s lessons.

Her despair only swelled when she saw Lavanya using a feather to mark his bandaged arm with her beautiful ink. She had no where to run today, so she sat through the torture as the sun began to set.

—————

A knock resounded in Arnav’s chamber. Khushi stood with her fists clenched, determination clouding her eyes.

As soon as Arnav let her in, she spoke “ Do you hate me?”

“ What? Rajkumari…has there been a lapse in my duty? “ a frown creased his forehead.

“ STOP IT! There is no need to call me Rajkumari and you know it! And yet you persist. You draw this line between us-“

“ That is my place in this court and you are the rajkumari. This is our hierarchy. And you expect me not to follow it?”

Khushi stared at Arnav. He looked strangely agitated, his teeth biting into his lower lip and his eyes refusing to hold hers for more than a second.

She breathed in deeply.

“ And yet that hierarchy doesn’t apply with Lavanya and Payal? They are both minister’s daughters. And yet, Lavanya gets to make you laugh, paint on you with her ink, touch you ? Admit it Arnav you just don’t like me. You can tell me. I’ll ask my father to let you guard Lavanya…maybe..maybe marry her soon. And I’ll get a new guard. You shouldn’t have to put up with-“

She looked up to see Arnav had crossed the distance between them, and held her hand in his.

Before she could register the battle in his eyes,her eyes fell shut, as she felt his lips slam onto hers.

Arnav slid his hand across her waist and pulled her with a hard tug towards him. The soft movement of his lips,the feel of his hand against her waist, the slight tremble rising within both of them was too much for her. Her arms slid up his shoulders, the nails biting into his skin. She thrust herself forward, not caring that there wasn’t an inch of space between them. Arnav groaned, as he grasped her jaw and pushed her against the wall.

Pulling away, Khushi found his beautiful eyes arresting her in a spell. He held her arms above her head, while peppering short kisses across her jaw, down her neck.

She hissed in shock as she felt his teeth bite into the skin at the nape of her neck. She moaned helplessly, biting her lips as she felt overwhelmed.

He didn’t give her time to think as he took her lips between his again. Minutes or hours passed, she wasn’t sure. She pulled away, her eyes still shut, as she tried to catch her breath. She felt Arnav resting his forehead against hers.

She fluttered her eyes open to see him. She smiled softly, and her heart sprang up again as he shyly grinned back.

Next chapter>>

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[tewwor]

𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗡𝗘𝗪 𝗦𝗢𝗥𝗖𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗥 … like for a starter and/or ask! multi's please specify

STATS .

name: yuma kochiya

alias: tba

age: 34 ( verse dependent )

height: 5'11''

gender & sexuality: cis man ; he/him & bisexual

occupation: doctor at a small clinic during the day & on call semi-grade 1 jujutsu sorcerer / nightshift doctor at tokyo jujutsu high

fc: tba

CURSED TECHNIQUES & ABILITIES .

bone destruction ( names of fractures — oblique, compression, comminuted, segmental, avulsion, etc ) & regeneration ( fuse ): able to break, splinter, crush, etc. any bone in his, and another's, body at will. the need for physical contact is required when manipulating others. he's also able to regenerate, mend the bones, and transplant marrow to boost blood regen.

density manipulation ( brick - heavy & feather - light ): this ability allows him to shift the density of bones at will i.e. 'hollow bones' and 'dermal armor'.

osteokinetic constructs ( manifest ): can turn bone into tools, objects, weapons and other items, create semi-living constructs and/or create structures/buildings of varying permanence. being rather efficient and near masterful with his technique, yuma's able to create anything within his mind's eye.

invisibility awareness ( passive ): yuma is able to detect anything that is made of bones — living or dead. thus, makes it practically impossible to sneak up on him if someone, or something, has a skeleton.

puppetry ( rally ): able to control and morph skeletons at will. very rarely does yuma resort to this as he thinks it disrespectful to the deceased & the living ( unlike his family ).

wing manifestation ( silver vein ): able to construct skeletal wings that act as both defense and offense. despite it's name, yuma isn't able to fly with these additional limbs.

HISTORY .

tw : car accident

The rumbling ambiance of gravel paths against thinned treads is what wakes you. Slow, like the meandering of that stormy cloud across the crescent moon above. You hear the faint wash of radio talk crackle from tinny speakers. Breathe in verbena buffed leather and clove scented smoke. The faintest tap, tap tap punctuates the switch in talk show speakers before a familiar, "hey-yo, sleep well?" pushes you further into the present. The first response you give is a groggy huff. Then a whine curls with the back of your tongue upon stretching what you can in this all too cramped car. Something's said about how you slept well enough with all things considered. Your older brother answers back with a huff of his own. Ends on an understanding, "fair 'nough" before a jaunty transitional tune takes over.

The two of you are squabbling over something stupid, something small. Both sides are justified in their own right, but there's an overlap of beliefs. A bunch of 'well I think's and 'no, you're wrong's being flung back and forth. Any hope of reaching a middle ground gets trampled by big personalities and even bigger opinions. Remember, it was stupid and small — you cannot forget this. You cannot let the looming thing caught in headlights eradicate it. Your brother was spirited; a shared likeliness of resilience and mulishness inherited by parents you've never met. He cannot be reduced to something only characterized by pain and suffering. There was zeal once, modest pride, undefeated geniality. He cannot be lessened to his last moments, writhing in agony by the shaking craft of your hands. You knew not of flesh nor organs then ( far too young, too green ), the complexity of nerves and skin, but you did know of marrow. Enough to mend the breaks with nothing else to stilt the hurt or staunch the ceaseless flow of blood. You have to remember how relentless he was in reassurance. Between the wet sucking of lungs, the crushed rasps and grunts and groans — trembling body misshapen among the debris of metal scraps and laminated glass. '—'s okay. I'll be.. Okay. —'m alright... Be fine.' Remember how you wanted to scream back? Take him by the torn, bloody collar and shake him back into sense? Shake more life into him somehow, by some miracle? But a shooting star didn't blink across the night sky — finally lit bright by the full width of silver moon. All that's left is you, your dying brother, and that thing still on the road.

MISC. FACTS .

interests: ginger, rest, cute or funny bandaids, gag gifts

dislikes: taking things too seriously, his parents

often fights with a mass of bone ( yes, it’s his own — don’t ask or do 🫣 ). it’s kept fluid to act as extra defense and solidified when on the offensive. usually molds the bone into gauntlets, scythe, or spiked bullets. if he’s really feeling some type of way ( enraged ) he’ll cram liquified bone into a target’s mouth, eyes, ears, nose, or open wound and solidify it with spikes.

injuries sustained was a broken arm and 80% loss of sight in the left eye. otherwise, he was more or less okay.

yuma's trademark greeting of 'hey-yo!' came from his brother. the same applies to how he treats current patients like they're children ( constant gentle conversation to distract from the pain, the promise of a sweet threat after, etc ).

his favorite & most used scents are clove and leather. again, influenced by his brother.

after the incident, yuma threw himself into constant training. he took on far stronger curses to get a better understanding of his powers — both to harm and heal. his efforts paid off at a steep price.

VERSES .

main — jjk: works the nightshift at tokoyo jujutsu high ( so shoko doesn't have to ) and enjoys it! had a stint where yuma was a teacher for some brief period of time, but decided that he could help bolster their recovery instead. stayed with principal yaga & shoko during the shibuya arc as extra defense.

main — modern day / au friendly: works as an underground medic. good, bad, whatever’s in between — he’ll patch anyone up if they can pay the fee ( can be money or favors ). somehow weaseled his way into something legally binding so neither side tries to shake him down for information.

the marked: tba.

op: tba.

[late-to-the-party-81]

Meet, Greet, Indiscreet - Chapter 1

AN: I’m back again trying to shoe-horn in a few more bingo fills before the end of the month, so I have a three part Shrunkyclunks for you. Thanks to @endlesstwanted who had to deal with my tired brain not aligning my tenses when they were beta-ing.

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden.

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Join my tag list here

Master list | Stucky Bingo Master List | SRB Master list

Summary: When Captain America, Steve Rogers, and his boyfriend, YouTuber Bucky Barnes’ private relationship gets accidentally made public, they end up being interviewed about the romance between them as part of the PR repair. How did these two love-birds meet, and what happened to make hot gossip for the media?

Relationships: Modern Bucky Barnes x Cap! Steve Rogers

WC: 2.3k

CW: Modern Bucky Barnes, Cap! Steve Rogers, Anxiety, Fluff, TV Interview, Flashback, Canon typical violence, meet cute/ugly, flirting, flirting at an inappropriate time, brief non-consensual kiss.

Bingo Fills and Challenges

Stucky Bingo- Flashbacks

Steve Rogers Bingo - Battle of New York

The lights were shining bright and hot on his face and the buzz of people moving around was loud in his ears. Steve sucked in a deep breath. He could do this, he had been in front of the cameras numerous times. However, this was different. On all of those occasions he’d been doing it as ‘Captain America’. Today, while he was still that, sort of, he was having to let a bit more of his private self - a bit more of Steve - show.

The host, a genial man in his late fifties with dark hair and glasses, flashed him a sympathetic smile, if somehow knowing the internal struggle he was dealing with.

“It’s gonna be fine,” the host placated. “I’m not gonna go off piste with the questions. Try and think of this like any other interview you’ve done, but with a different focus. Not so stern and stiff. And you’re not here alone, either.” He gestured towards Steve’s companion on the plush sofa.

Bucky grinned at him, leaning nonchalantly against the soft fabric, arms draped along its back. Steve wished he could be that relaxed. However, as he and Bucky were here more out of a PR need than any real want to be interviewed, he thought he could be forgiven for his stiffness.

Various crew members bustled around the stage, measuring the light levels, checking that microphones were attached properly, and dusting powder onto the host’s forehead, when Steve felt Bucky lean across to him. “I’m right here.”

Such a short phrase, but one that immediately helped to lessen the anxiety building inside him. Which was good, because at that moment the director stood up.

“10 seconds ‘til we’re on air, people. 4. 3.” He went silent for the last two seconds, holding up his fingers instead. The host immediately seemed to morph into someone else, right before Steve’s eyes.

“Welcome back. It’s time for our next guests, who need very little introduction. It’s Steve Rogers - Captain America, and YouTube and gaming sensation, Bucky Barnes!” An applause track started to play and Steve felt his face morph into a rictus grin, which made it difficult to get out his greeting. Now he knew what a deer caught in headlamps felt like. But then Bucky, his sweet, silly and loving boyfriend, slipped his hand into Steve’s where it lay between them and started to brush his thumb back and forward over Steve’s knuckles. His anxiety lessened even more and he managed to tune back in to where he was, realising that Bucky and the host had exchanged some silly pleasantries while he’d been sitting looking like the most awkward human to have ever existed.

“So,” the host continued, getting into his script, “you’ve come here today to talk about your relationship, which you had been keeping private until it came to light in an unexpected way a few weeks back. I know there was some speculation - some rumours - about the two of you after a previous incident a year ago, but I don’t think anyone was expecting your announcement, or the form it took.”

Steve felt his pale Irish skin betraying him as he felt a hot wave of embarrassment rush up his neck. “Well - I -” His tongue felt thick in his mouth. The words didn’t want to come and then he felt Bucky pressing his leg against him as well, grounding him. “I’m quite a private person, at least compared to Buck, so we weren’t really trying to hide it, but I will say that we didn’t ever plan to announce it like we did.”

Both the host and Bucky chuckled at Steve’s choice of words. ‘Announce’ was really the right word. ‘Unveil’ would have been more appropriate.

“Well, before we get to that part of the story, let’s start at the beginning. The first incident - the one that sparked the initial rumours - was after you met at a Stark Gala, is that right?”

Bucky grinned. “It was definitely where we were first introduced, but it wasn’t where, or when, we first met.”

“Ooh!” said the host, with such genuine interest Steve almost forgot that it was at least partially scripted. They, or rather their PR team, had divulged there was more of a story to tell, but not what it was, only assuring the TV executives that it was safe to be aired and would add an extra aspect of romanticism. “Tell me more!”

Steve couldn’t help but smile as he looked over at Bucky, forgetting for a moment he was being recorded live on national TV, mooning over his boyfriend. “Yes - it was totally unexpected. Apparently fate had an agenda we weren’t even aware of….”

Flashback - New York 2011

It was utter chaos on the streets of Manhattan. Steve was pressed to the ground, on his back, as one of the aliens that had come through the portal opened by Loki was trying to push its bladed weapon into his face. With a sharp and desperate wrench, he managed to twist the glowing edge aside, giving him room to backhand the creature and then follow it up with a jab. His assailant flew to the floor, unmoving. Steve assumed he’d broken its neck. 

As he staggered back to his feet, the voice of Clint, positioned up on the rooftops as Steve had asked, sounded in his ear. “Cap - the Bank on 42nd, passed Madison. They’ve caught a lot of civilians in there.”

“I’m on it,” Steve replied and set off running. As he reached the bank, he could see army and police standing outside, unsure as to what to do. It wasn’t as though there were protocols for this sort of thing. Going in through the front door would probably be a bad idea - that would be too obvious and he’d be shot at as soon as he made it through. However, looking up, he could see the open windows on the second floor and a plan coalesced inside his brain.

Taking a run up, and using an abandoned car as a ramp, he launched himself up into the air, the shield in front of him to protect his eyes. He burst through the opening and, as hoped, he had the element of surprise. Five of the alien creatures were standing up on this mezzanine, gesturing threateningly with their energy weapons. He rolled across the floor, and as he came to his feet, Steve launched his shield at the closest, incapacitating him immediately.

He dived across the space, slamming into a coffee table as two of them opened fire, before engaging one of them in hand to hand combat. Almost effortlessly, he broke its neck and threw it over the balcony onto the floor below, the hostages gasping as they got out of the way.

“Everyone! Clear out!” he shouted, but suddenly another alien grabbed him from behind, its clawed hand grasping at his face and snagging on his cowl. He jabbed it in the ribs - or where ribs would be if it was human - and backflipped over its shoulder, able to turn it and use it as a shield as one of its comrades fired. Dropping the body to the floor, he realised something. That first one - it had been holding a device in his hand that had dropped to the floor. A device that was now beeping louding. Beeps that were getting faster and faster.

The last alien standing picked up the device - the bomb -, raising its arm to throw it at him. Steve rolled over the floor, picking up his shield on the way. He jumped into the air, curling up as small as possible behind his shield just as the device was thrown at him. It exploded, taking out the last alien, but the shock wave also sent Steve shooting back through the window he’d come through, out into the air above the street.

Time seemed to slow down, and for a moment he was floating. However, the world soon sped up again and he was falling, landing face down onto the car he’d used to get in, crushing the roof with his ribs taking most of the impact.

With his ears ringing, he got to his feet, trying not to wince, and in that instant he really took in what was going on around him. The scale of the destruction, the complete hopelessness of the situation hit him. How on earth were they going to get through this? Survive this? Off to the side, the police were evacuating all of the civilians from the bank, trying to get them to a safe place somewhere underground. All Steve could do was try to breathe.

From the corner of his eyes he saw someone duck under the arms of the first responders, and he turned, worried. It was a young man, maybe only 20 years old. He had shaggy dark hair poking out from beneath a baseball cap, and he wore a bright orange T-shirt and knee-length shorts. It was definitely a look. As he got closer, Steve could see he had ice blue eyes, plump lips and a bottle of water in his hand.  He stopped in front of Steve, the bottle extended in his hand, and Steve took it with a nod.

“Are you okay?” the guy asked. “You just got blown out of a window!” His face was doing a strange thing, where he was obviously excited but trying not to look like it.

Steve finished drinking the water and looked around for a trash can, trying not to grin at the guy’s demeanor.

“It takes a lot more than that to stop me,” he chirped back, and launched the empty water bottle across the street and into a can that was tilted at an angle. As the plastic thunked in, he wondered what on earth he was doing. He was in the middle of a catastrophic event, and somehow he was flirting. Now was definitely not the time or the place, even if the young man was extremely cute.

With a cough, he squared his shoulders and tried to put on his best ‘Captain America’ face.

“You’d best go back and join the others. Get to safety.”

His new fan opened his mouth to say something in response, but Steve didn’t even get the chance to wonder what it was going to be, because in the next instant all the blood drained from his cute face and he grabbed hold of Steve’s forearm, yanking him down. 

“Look out!” he cried, and Steve ducked his head as he allowed himself to be pulled down. A shot from an alien weapon zipped across where his head had been, fizzling into the lamp post behind him.

Almost immediately, he shook off the young man, stood and threw his shield at the creature that had shot at him. The vibranium ricocheted off the alien, knocking it to the ground where it twitched for a moment and then went still. Reaching down, he pulled the man who’d now saved his life back to his feet. “Thanks for the assist,” he said, not even trying to keep the smile from reaching his eyes. 

The young man looked back at him, his own eyes wide and his mouth hanging open, before blurting out, ”Woah! You just keep going, don’t you?”

He didn’t know where it came from, but he let out a chuckle and then gave him a wink that could only be described as flirty. “I can do this all day,” he intoned, more than a small note of amusement in his voice.

”Cap!” Clint’s voice sounded in his ear again. “Are you taking a nap? We need you.” Despite the fact that he should have turned all of his attention to the information Clint was giving him, he couldn’t help but drink in the sight of the beautiful young man out of the corner of his eye. With all the directions memorised, Steve turned with reluctance to say goodbye.

”I gotta go. Stay safe, please.”

He was about to turn away, about to start running back down the street, when a pair of arms twined around his neck and a pair of soft lips pressed briefly against his own. “For good luck,” the stranger said as he stepped back. “Go save New York.”

Steve raised his fingers to his lips as he watched the young man return to the group of civilians being ushered to safety, his mind reeling on what had just happened.

“Cap! For Thor’s sake, get over here!” Clint shouted at him over the comms. With a shake of his head, Steve turned and ran back into the fray.

The present

The show host looked utterly enraptured, his elbows resting on his desk and his face cupped in his hands. Steve was also certain the man was making goo-goo eyes at him. At his side, Bucky was grinning while hanging on his arm and resting his head on his shoulder.

”And you didn’t see each other again for over 10 years?” 

Before Steve could open his mouth, Bucky interjected. “No, but obviously I never forgot him. Who would forget being saved by Captain America?”

“Seems to me that you saved him in return,” the host replied.

Now it was Steve’s turn to butt back in “He certainly did. And despite the intervening years, I never forgot him either, even if I honestly thought I’d never see him again. I hadn’t been out of the ice for long. Hadn’t really gotten a hand on this century and its freedoms compared to what I was used to. Bucky here made a lasting impression.”

“So the years went by and then came your fame, Bucky, and an invitation to Tony Stark’s Nouveau Tech Gala. Were you nervous, knowing that you were probably going to see your hero again?”

“So nervous,” Bucky said with an emphatic nod. “I thought I was going to look like some kind of mad stalker because I was sure that he had forgotten almost as soon as he’d gone back into the fight and I knew I’d end up fangirling over him.”

“But I hadn’t forgotten,” commented Steve, placing his free hand on top of their joined ones.

“And I’m forever thankful.”

Chapter 2

Tag list: @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796, @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @crayongirl-linz, @mightstill, @nicoline1998enilocin, @starrkermarvel

[genialestuning-dasoriginal]

LEGO EIFFELTURM 10307 DER BUNTE TURM ODER EINFACH FARBSEUCHE PUR! #lego ...

[matoroblogs]

LEGO Almost Went Bankrupt. These Heroes Saved Our Bricks.

How a brain tumor inspired Bionicle, one of the most popular toys of a generation.

BY DAVID LUMB PUBLISHED: JUN 21, 2020

The Platinum Avohkii mask, a rare one- of-a-kind piece made of solid platinum purchased by Andre Hurley, who has The Bionicle Archives collection

Courtesy Andre Hurley/The Bionicle Archives

In 2003, LEGO seemed to be riding high after shrewd licensing deals brought Star Wars and Harry Potter sets to the masses. But unbeknownst to many—even those inside the company—sales were plummeting, and there were only guesses as to why.

Some blamed poor strategic choices in the 1990s—Legoland theme parks, forays into digital products—for LEGO’s hemorrhaging. All that misguided development time slashed profitability, and even Star Wars and Harry Potter sales shriveled between movie releases. It’s hard to conceive of now, but at the turn of the millennium, beloved LEGO might have been headed toward a pitiful end.

During this fallow period, one product line stood apart with startling, consistent success: Bionicle, a series of buildable action figures backed by rich worldbuilding and cross-platform promotion. Inspired by co-creator Christian Faber’s battle with a tumor at the base of his brain, the toy warriors of Bionicle wouldn’t just conquer their fictional enemies. They’d pioneer innovations that would transform LEGO and rescue the company from possible doom.

Courtesy Andre Hurley/The Bionicle Archives

Today, Christian Faber looks a bit like a Danish Paul McCartney. His youthful smile pairs well with his genial nature, which one might mistake for meekness until he starts talking about his creative projects. The 54-year-old embodies the unchecked enthusiasm you’d expect from a 28-year veteran of LEGO projects. If Faber’s long-time illness dimmed his appetite for play, you wouldn’t know it.

In 1986, Faber began working for Advance, a Copenhagen- based marketing firm that partners with LEGO. But shortly after his career began, Faber’s vision began to falter. A doctor found a benign tumor inside Faber’s pituitary gland that was impeding his sight, a condition called prolactinoma. Doctors said the tumor was maybe in the least accessible spot in the body for surgery, so they prescribed Faber daily medication to keep the tumor from growing. Among the drugs’ side effects, however, were severe nausea and dehydration, effectively sidelining Faber from social activities.

Courtesy Christian Faber

“It was the strangest mix of feelings,” Faber says. “I was happy at the job, but faced the physical and mental strain of the medicine and a long-term illness.”

Faber’s side effects attacked him hardest in the mornings, so he found most of his energy for work at night. Early in his career, Faber designed brochures for LEGO toy lines. Exposure to the different products, including the undersea-based Aquazone and the sophisticated Technic series, gave him experience with LEGO’s standards and practices—a moving target in the mid- 90s, when the rise of computers and video games pressured LEGO to move from their traditional years-long R&D cycle toward what Faber calls ‘craze products,’ toys tuned to current market tastes with a planned one-year shelf life.

The craze-products movement was rife with experimentation for LEGO, and it materialized soon after a medical breakthrough for Faber. After 10 years of daily medication, Faber’s physicians moved him on to a new treatment which, in Faber’s own words, gave him his life back. The new treatment was a regular injection scheduled just once every two weeks, allowing Faber to engage with the world relatively free from side effects. He could chase higher ambitions than brochures, and he had an idea for a new kind of LEGO toy: a sort of Bionicle precursor called Cybots.

Courtesy The LEGO Group

“I was sitting with LEGO Technic and thought I would love to build a character instead of a car,” Faber says. “I thought of this biological thing: The human body is built from small parts into a functional body just like a model. What if you got a box full of spare parts and built a living thing?”

With his assistant graphic designer Jan Kjær, Faber pitched Cybots, a line of humanoid action figures with attachable limbs and ball-and-socket joints. LEGO didn’t furbish Cybots, but they would implement Faber’s concepts in craze products like Throwbots in 1999 and RoboRiders in 2000. By 2001, LEGO was testing a line called Bone Heads of Voodoo Island—masked robots with heads that could shoot off their bodies like Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots. Most of Bionicle’s look had been seeded: masks, buildable bodies, articulate limbs.

Courtesy Andre Hurley/The Bionicle Archives

Bone Heads of Voodoo Island was a bust—focus groups demonstrated kids didn’t respond well to detachable heads—so that same year, LEGO pivoted to focus on Bionicle. The plan was to take a more holistic design approach with these new toys than with craze products, but LEGO extended that comprehensiveness to the worldbuilding around the toys, too, a new strategy for the company. Faber and LEGO design manager Martin Riber Andersen were joined by former BBC film and TV executive Bob Thompson and writer Alastair Swinnerton to refine the Voodoo Island concept and pitch a new story. Faber, fresh from working on Star Wars LEGO sets, imagined something massive.

“After being on Star Wars, I was thinking that the only thing to do from here is our own stuff, but it should be as big as Star Wars,” Faber says. “It should be a big, full universe.”

For the storyline, Faber drew on his experience with prolactinoma. To him, his every-other-week injections seemed like sending in a new wave of protectors to battle his tumor with every dose. Faber imagined this group of disease-fighters arriving on an unknown beach with no memory. The story of these warriors would be called Bionicle, a portmanteau of ‘biological chronicle.’

Courtesy The LEGO Group/Christian Faber

Courtesy The LEGO Group/Christian Faber

Courtesy The LEGO Group/Christian Faber

“We took an episodic story line but chose not to play it out in any single medium,” Thompson told Kidscreen in 2003. “We would take that story and scatter it like a paper trail through different types of media.”

Bionicle’s in-world story evolved through comics and chapter books, written in large part by Greg Farshtey of LEGO’s promotional periodical LEGO MANIA Magazine (also known as LEGO Club Magazine, but now called LEGO Life Magazine). Farshtey followed Bionicle’s story bible from the original team, but as he began accounting for character changes correlating with new toy sets, he added his own takes. By the end of Bionicle’s run in 2010, he had interwoven the story with three feature films and shepherded the comic series that, at its peak, reached almost 2 million readers per month, making it the most widely circulated monthly comic on the planet.

Courtesy Andre Hurley/The Bionicle Archives

By all accounts, Bionicle was the hit LEGO needed. In 2001, its first year on the market, the line brought in over $160 million in sales, it was declared “Most Innovative Toy of the Year” by the Toy Association.

"Flat sales and profit decline made LEGO believe the brick was passé and it needed to move to digital and virtual toys to remain relevant,” David Robertson, author of LEGO history book Brick by Brick, told Popular Mechanics. “But as Bionicle became a success, LEGO learned the difference between sufficient and necessary. It wasn't sufficient to just offer customers another box of bricks, but it was necessary. If a LEGO toy didn't have interlocking plastic pieces, consumers didn't want it. But to succeed and grow, it was necessary to embed a story in that box of pieces and tell that story through comics, books, video games, movies, and events at the LEGO Stores."

Courtesy The LEGO Group

In other words, Bionicle had all the ingredients of a fun LEGO toy, but Faber’s inspiration was key to making it a smash. “[My condition] had a direct effect on my career, and especially on the creation of Bionicle,” he says, ticking off the allegories. “A biological robot attacked by ‘illness,’ waiting for the right ‘medicine’ to arrive. Even the canisters the Toa warriors arrived in resembled the medicine capsules I had to eat every day.”

Bionicle hit its stride just as LEGO’s financials were bottoming out. While LEGO flirted with bankruptcy in 2003, Bionicle accounted for 25 percent of the company’s total revenue and 100 percent of its profits. As LEGO slashed its workforce, reduced the number of pieces it produced, and increased its range of licensing deals, Bionicle continued to diversify. Partnerships spawned. There were Bionicle-branded Nike shoes, McDonald’s Happy Meal toys, even Colgate toothbrushes. The cross-promotion paid off: By the end of Bionicle’s initial run in 2010, it sold over 190 million toys.

All the newness shook up LEGO’s tried-and-true project structure. Bionicle’s multifaceted development process blended design, marketing and engineering teams to hash out new sets, ingest market feedback, receive directives from LEGO executives, and issue their own directives to subsequent narrative and design teams. Under the new dynamic structure, development time for a new toy line at LEGO accelerated from three years to less than one. The rapidity created an exciting energy.

“We broke a lot of new ground experimenting and pushing boundaries,” Bionicle co-founder and design manager Martin Riber Andersen says. “One of the key ethos of the core team was this is a shared collaboration: We stand together. We all believed it was so in contrast to ‘the normal LEGO company’ that we might as well direct our energy to the team instead of our individual career objectives.”

Courtesy The LEGO Group

Courtesy The LEGO Group/Christian Faber

From 2003 to 2005, Bionicle was the reported top-performing LEGO toy line, but after that, sales dipped below expectations. The decline continued to 2009, when LEGO handed down word it was time to end Bionicle. The creators wrapped up the narrative in 2010, but it was hard to let go. Farshtey wrote Bionicle stories on the now-defunct BIONICLEStory.com until 2011, fans dissected the line’s mythology on BZPower forums, and custom Bionicles continued to appear. In 2016, Faber wrote to series fans: “The stories we hear and the stories we tell shape who we are and what we do ... through almost 30 years [of my career in storytelling], no story has proved this stronger than Bionicle. The fans were, are, and will be the true heroes of this ... great adventure.”

These days, you still see Bionicle at toy conventions, and the r/bioniclelego subreddit is alive and well. In fact, the front page of Reddit was graced in November 2019 with an essential, timeless question: “What is the appropriate amount of time to wait before showing your new significant other your Bionicle collection?”

The toys’ invigorating combination of articulate LEGO figures and intricate, multimedia story resonated with the LEGO company as well as fans. The brickmakers use the business strategy they honed on Bionicle with lines like Ninjago today, to great success.

"It's hard to overstate how important the Bionicle line was for LEGO,” Brick by Brick author Robertson notes. “Without the sales and profits of Bionicle in 2003 and 2004, the company would not have survived. Bionicle taught LEGO that success depended on the ability to hook kids on characters and story, and LEGO was smart enough to spread those practices throughout the company."

Courtesy Andre Hurley/The Bionicle Archives

After Bionicle, Swinnerton moved on to write children’s books and TV scripts, Andersen took on a senior position

at a European consulting agency, and Thompson founded a media production and consultancy firm. Farshtey, meanwhile, still edits LEGO’s free fan magazine. All cite Bionicle as high points in their careers.

“We should all be proud of what we achieved individually,” Thompson says. “But in my view, more important is what we did collaboratively. After all, LEGO fans are still talking about what we did with Bionicle—after two decades.”

Faber moved on from his design job at Advance in 2014 after 28 years working on LEGO. His medical journey continues to inspire his creative work, including a post-apocalyptic world he’s designing filled with adventure, danger, and a pro- environmental bent. Looking back, Faber sees the impact his illness and treatment had on the stories and projects he’s touched. Almost 20 years after co-creating the action figures that sustained LEGO through one of the darkest times in its history, talking about Bionicle still makes him reflective.

“Biology is a balance more than a battle between good and bad,” he says. “Ever since Bionicle, balance has been my goal in the stories and pictures I create.”

Courtesy The LEGO Group/Christian Faber

article graphics faber bs01

[fangirleaconmigo]

Yennskier to Geraskefer concept (Yennefer x Jaskier with some + Geralt at the end)

Ok so what if the very first time Yen and Jaskier ever defend each other, it is a complete shock to both of them and happens (of all places) in front of his parents?

(TW: Yen is in disguise so some of the flirting could be read as dubcon but no bards were hurt in the making of this fic, I promise)

So when they first meet, Yen and Jaskier snipe at each other relentlessly, right?

Scheming, devious, calamitous witch.

Useless cock for brains.

Geralt has taken to tuning them out completely.

By complete random bad luck, Yen learns one night in tavern gossip that Jaskier isn’t his real name. She becomes suspicious of his intentions. She brings her concerns to Geralt.

“They said that his true name is Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz. Is that true?” she asks Geralt.

“His name is Jaskier,” Geralt answers, sounding exhausted.

She pushes. “I know that family. They are well connected, prominent, and bigoted. Your bard could very possibly be asked to turn Ciri in to curry their favor.”

"This is insane, Yen." Geralt drops his head and looks miserably into his tankard. “You two need to start getting along, or I’m going to age at least a century before winter.”

"That's not what this is about!"

She gives up on him. He will never think clearly in these matters. She suspects he has romantic feelings for the bard, which she wouldn't mind, she isn't much for monogamy herself, but oh god, the bard??? That smarmy, whorish little bastard? Unthinkable.

She decides to pay Jaskier’s parents a visit just to reassure herself that they aren’t interested in her daughter.

She disguises herself with a glamour and gets herself on the guest list of one of their fancy parties. She is playing the part of a voluptuous blonde wife of an absent Duke.

Jaskier is supposed to be back at Oxenfurt. That’s what he told Geralt, anyway. But she walks in the door and there he is, holding court at the party in his well fitted satin, with his glinting charming smile, and his flushed cheeks and…and…well…other things that Yen would never admit to noticing.

But what was he doing there?

Why did he lie about being at Oxenfurt? Could he already be colluding with his parents?

At the thought, she expects to feel rage. But an entirely different feeling wells up in her.

Disappointment. Hurt.

She shakes it off. Stupid. She's used too much magic for her glamour. It's making her weak. She takes a seat directly across from him at dinner.

He introduces himself to her and kisses her hand. Julian Alfred Pankratz.

His lips brush the top of her hand and in response she acts like one of his tarts. Only because she has to get him to trust her, obviously. Yen smiles and flutters her eyes at him. His smile is charming. So is his admiration of her form. When his gaze drops ever so briefly to her cleavage she feels something else unexpected.

Warmth.

She shakes that off too.

His parents sit on either side of him. Yen doesn’t waste much time. By the time the second course is served she brings up Ciri and the war.

She doesn’t expect Jaskier’s mom to immediately bring up the horrid witch who is hiding the child. The slut who doesn’t know her place. The evil women who schemes and plots and who gets what she wants by manipulating men with her whoredom.

Yen is used to being called these things by conservative wives. But she finds her eyes flick to Jaskier, and her heart leaps to her throat. It makes her so, so angry that she cares what he will say.

He has always seemed like an enemy? But here? Behind actual enemy lines? He feels like a friend.

Fuck.

But Jaskier averts his eyes. He stares at his plate. He isn’t going to join in, but he isn’t going to defend her either. Obviously.

She DOESNT care godsdamnit. She’s just caught up in the moment. She DOES NOT CARE.

So it is entirely incidental that she experiences immense, sweet relief when he smiles softly to himself before he replies.

“Oh mother,” he says genially, “but I know you. It is simple envy that moves you to such crude accusations.”

His mother splutters. “Do you think I covet her false beauty—“

“Not her beauty.” Jaskier says, still calm. Still affable. “She is beautiful of course, but nothing like that. It’s just that you and father are so small minded and so constantly desperate for the approval of other, equally small minded people, that when you see someone who has a soul and who lives in a free spirited manner, that you ache with envy and impotent rage. And that is why you use such uncharacteristically crude and low language to describe her. That is why you yearn to oppress her and control her. That is why you want to put her in her place.”

Jaskier smiles genially and takes another bite of his lobster.

His parents turn so pink with rage that they look purple.

Yen hasn't felt such satisfaction in so very long. She also isn't used to people taking up for her. Not in places like this.

His father is the first to regain his composure. He smiles and looks around the table at the nervous nobles who are trying their best to ignore the awkwardness.

He smiles around the table. “You have to excuse my son. Instead of accepting the position at Oxenfurt he roams the earth thinking with nothing but his base impulses. He knows nothing of the real world. He is young, idealistic, and completely useless.”

There are nervous chuckles around the table when Yennefer speaks up.

“Actually,” she says in between sips of champagne, “I have heard of your son. Jaskier is that right?”

Jaskier looks at her, surprised and deeply pleased.

His parents smile tight lipped.

“Ridiculous name,” his mother says.

“Well,” says Yen, “you’re probably right. The vaunted thinkers and academics who laud his poetry coast to coast are probably incorrect. The soldiers who offer their undying gratitude that he has documented their deeds are wrong. The traumatized war orphans who cry and say that he has saved their lives with his art are surely absurd. It is you who are correct, I’m sure. Of all the ways you can spend your life, comforting and inspiring people does sound like an utter waste of time.”

She primly sips her drink and the grateful, genuine smile that spreads on Jaskier’s face like the sunrise rockets straight to her soul.

The rest of the dinner is tense, but Yennefer is having a wonderful time. Conversing with a Jaskier like this---he is adoring and attentive--it is addictive. She never knew it could feel like this with him.

And after dinner, when he finds her outside the privy and steps incredibly close to her, his hand sliding around her waist, she is shocked into silence by her desire. She doesn't find her voice until he has kissed her ever so softly and tenderly that she almost melts onto his parents stone floors.

"J-j-askier," she manages to mumble.

"Yes, love. Marina, is it?" he murmurs into her ear, his nimble fingers trailing from her neck down, down down. "Beautiful name. Beautiful woman."

She steps back and lets his arms fall heavily to the side.

"I must tell you something. And you will regret what you just did."

It could have sounded like a threat. She meant it to sound like a threat. But it just sounds sad. The glamour falls from her and his face transforms into shock.

She swallows the lump in her throat as he steps back so hard, he hits the wall and covers his mouth with his hands.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demands. He looks white as a sheet. Terrified.

"I just did!"

"Earlier!"

"Because!" Yen squeaks. (She never squeaks) "I was...flummoxed. I--oh a pox on it, Jaskier, I liked it. Is that what you want to hear? You asshole? You bastard?"

His hand falls slowly from his face. Then a soft, tiny, smug little smile begins to form.

"Ha. I knew it."

He did not know it.

She smacks him. He laughs.

Then he remembers something and falls back against the wall againt groaning. "Oh, Geralt. Geralt. I'm a terrible friend. I will have to run off, to never return--"

She smacks him again. "Ow, what?"

"Calm down. Let's go see him together. I have a feeling he is going to like what we have to say."

The next time they kiss, it is in front of a roaring fire in her home in Vengerberg, with Geralt caressing them both, and watching with fondness.

"If I had known that it was this easy to shut the two of you up, I would have insisted on it a long time ago."

[sithfox]

August of Whump - Day 12

Prompt: deal / monstrous / anger

"No, I will not be one of your experiments—" Fox is spitting with rage, self-preservation a thing he's long since long left behind. "You've killed my men, good men, and it got you nowhere—"

Palpatine's smile is oddly indulgent; that chills Fox's blood more than anything else. "I wonder if you might be convinced to change your tune. Bring in our guest." One of his Red Guards turns on their heel and slips out a side door at his order. "You see, Commander, everyone has their price. For some, it's money. For some, it's power. For others..." he trails off, smile uncomfortably wide. "It's love." Fox's stomach drops out right as the Red Guard returns, dragging a chained individual behind them. No, please— "As you can see," Palpatine continues, "Master Vos so politely appeared right near one of our bases. Perhaps he wants to be my experimental subject?"

"No—" Fox stops himself and takes a fortifying breath. "No. You let him go, swear not to hurt him, and I'll let you do whatever you want to me."

Palpatine's smile softens into something more genial. "See, was that so hard?"

Fox drops his gaze to the floor, refusing to meet Quin's eyes as he pulls a knife from his belt. "I want it sealed in blood."

"Of course, of course—no tricks for you, my boy." The Emperor accepts a sharp blade from his Guard and slices his palm in tandem with Fox; they shake hands and it's all Fox can do to not cower from the feeling of the Sith invading his mind. He should've known Sideous wouldn't let him keep his dignity; would force the change on him right in front of Quinlan. He feels his body twisting, muscles pulling unnaturally as his shape is violently changed. He screams as pain engulfs him; it drags out into an inhuman screech as he gives himself over fully to the corrupting power. If he fights it he'll die, and while that might be better for him—

If he dies, Sideous keeps Quinlan, and Fox will not let that happen. The pain drags out, twisting his sense of time, and ends as suddenly as it came. Fox must have fallen at some point; he comes back to awareness on the cold stone floor of the throne room, Quinlan watching in horror from where he'd been dragged to the base of the stairs. Sideous laughs chillingly, his tone are rot-sweet. "Oh, you are magnificent, my monster. Don't you agree, Master Vos?"

The gag is ripped from Quin's mouth, leaving him gasping. "What—" he coughs harshly. "What did you do to him?"

Sideous leisurely circles Fox's new form, admiring the fruits of his labor. "I made him match his name—poetic of me, don't you think?" He cradles Fox's elongated jaw in his hand, unafraid of his razor-sharp canines: Sideous holds the power here and he knows it. "Now my attack dog in fact, not just in action." Fox bows his head in defeat.

on ao3

[menagerieofmonarchs]

"Born a moon's turn before she was expected, late into 66 AC, it was not anticipated Haera would survive more than a week. Those reflecting upon the princess's birth now remark all should have foreseen the headache she would grow to be with how ferociously she fought for life.

"Joy filled the Red Keep once the Grand Maester pronounced the girl to be healthy and robust, vanquishing any fretting over the squalling babe. Once her struggle was over, Haera became a lively creature, often screaming for the teat until red in the face. Never before, and never since, has the Keep seen so many wet nurses filter in and out. A young Lady Roslyn, who attended to the queen's correspondence, expressed concern she would grow fat lest her appetites be controlled. The king and queen, for their part, waved off such fussing, instead spoiling the wee thing until her rancorous cries turned to satiated coos. For those not attending Court, the rumors of the lusty Targaryen babe sent wrinkled lips pursing. For those privileged few chosen to be courtiers, the babe's large, dark violet eyes melted the heart. Her tiny hand curling around outstretched fingers, a soft gurgle on her lips, unmade even the most hardened of men. From the adoring looks her parents gave their girl bundled in their arms, it was clear to all neither would hear a word of urging them to show restraint. They were too in love.

"Haera grew into a girl of immeasurable charm. Possessing the unearthly beauty of dragonlords even as a youth, there was little she could not get away with. Even Jaehaerys in his stern scoldings of her softened like wax at her drooping frown and eyes welling with unshed tears. Alysanne was notably less affected, thus the only member of Court able to tame the beastie. From her mother, she learned to be polite and genial. However, her most important lesson was in patience. 'Act as though their defiance matters not. Turn your eyes to other matters, and watch how they scramble to please,' her mother advised. 'Men admire obstinance in their king, but chafe when a woman stands in their way. Play them as you would an instrument, and they shall dance to whatever pretty tune you deign.' And how Haera loved to see men dance for her.

"Haera was greatly adored by her older siblings, though to various degrees. Baelon and Alyssa took the greatest shining to her, delighting in the proud tilt to her chin and glint of mischief in her eye. Yet it was Vaegon who captured Haera's attention the most. Much to her brother's chagrin, Haera was never too far behind him. Whether he sequestered himself in the scriptorium or stalked off to a hidden corner in the courtyard, Haera found him and hung onto him. The boy oft wore a sour scowl, responding sharply to her incessant questions, though notably he never shrugged her off the way he did the rest of their siblings. 'Annoying though she be,' he said to Aemon one day, 'she is not wholly without wit and humor.'

"But Haera was not one to tolerate being snubbed. Seeing Vaegon skirt the edges of the Keep to avoid her, she let him. With two younger sisters, each of increasing beauty, Haera had much to keep her occupied. While no one could know at the time, many now guess the seed of Saera's defiance was planted in these days, having learned her sister's arrogance yet none of her discretion. Vaegon enjoyed his days of peace. For the first time in years, he did not drag an unsolicited shadow behind him wherever he went. With no one clinging to his arm and asking him a litany of inquiries, he read his tomes in solitude. It wasn't until a feast was held for his nameday that he noticed where Haera's attention had turned. Sat beneath the high table, she was surrounded by lordlings--some even lords, themselves, despite their youth. Each uttered fair words that elicited a giggle from the princess, and each one made the furrow between Vaegon's brow deepen. It was an odd feeling watching the sister who trailed after him as though he forged the sun itself have her eyes on someone else, one he did not understand. Even when he strode over to her and bade she sit beside him, he knew not why. Her smile thinly veiled her triumph.

"The cat was not done playing with the mouse, however. Vaegon, despite the growing discomfort he had when Haera was attended by others, did not warm to his sister. He continued to behave coldly, not bothering to conceal his mounting annoyance. It only made Haera smile more. Haera encouraged the attention of the boys at Court, let young ladies stroke her face adoringly, and even played the shy maid with men who made flirty remarks. Each one left Vaegon scowling, knuckles whitening from how tightly he clenched his fists. Haera reveled in his fury.

"With Vaegon thoroughly ensnared in her web, she laid the final trap. Arm in arm with the son of a lord visiting the Crownlands, the pair wandered the grounds of the Red Keep. The lordling plucked flowers for her, as though they were his gardens and not hers. Once they rounded the corner, the lordling made his move. Despite the danger to her virtue, Haera never despaired for she knew what would happen next. Unfortunately for her young friend, he did not until Vaegon shoved him bodily to the ground. Were it not for his status as prince, there was no doubt the lordling would have beaten him bloody. His look of ire even sent a shiver down Haera's spine. 'Should you sully my sister with your unworthy presence again, I ensure your future will be at an end.' If the lordling had any retort, neither remained to hear it. Vaegon dragged his sister away, his grip painful but she made no protest. When they reached a place shadowed from prying eyes, he kissed her with all the unpracticed, fiery passion of youth. 'Never let your eye wander again,' he ordered. 'You are mine alone.' Haera laughed at his faux authority. 'Nay," she said, stroking his hair, 'I am my own. 'Tis you who belongs to me, body and soul.' Vaegon bristled at his sister's conceit, but found no argument to the contrary could be made.

"When Jaehaerys offered to send Vaegon to the Citadel, the king was turned down with a snide sneer and a huff. 'Who else but I could tame Haera?'

'Oh, dear boy,' Alysanne tutted affectionately, 'I fear it is you who has been tamed.'

"The following year, 79 AC, Kingslanding was flush with guests for the marriage of Vaegon and Haera. No two were so perfectly made for the other. While Vaegon's scowl and Haera's smile were different as night and day, the condescending, judging amusement in their eyes were a matching set. It came as surprise to none their marriage proved more fruitful than even their parents."

[kalolasfantasyworld]

The Drazel siblings

A self indulgent OC siblings fluff one shot.

It's a little backstory to a conversation which will happen in Paper Hearts

Summary:

Nine years before the plot of Paper Hearts Helena and her hermano Gabriel spend a memorable day together as he had just learnt a new spell. 

Yes, there is an illustration 🩵

Type: One shot

Word count: 1623

Author's note:

As you know I love siblings' bonds. I adore the messed up Silvas and love my wholesome Drazels. 😉

Ao3

Etiquette lessons. Helena actually did not dislike them. She valued all of the skills that she would harbor through them and she knew how important they would prove in her role as the future Lady of the House. Whatever House it was she needed to be prepared, especially with all the rumors about the King’s nephew visiting the Drazel territory. Helena was sixteen after all, a responsible and dignified princess. 

“Hermana!” Gabriel called out to her as she was on her way back from the practiced tea party scenario at the southern part of the gardens. He was not even standing on a cobbled path, or maybe he was not standing at all, because Gabriel was jumping up, not able to hide his excitement. Light brown eyes shone brightly and a wide smile spread on his face. His dark hair was tied in a low ponytail, falling on the collar of his red shirt and the brown Drazel House robe. In the air just beside him hoovered his newly acquired grimoire with a Diamond Insignia. It had a dark red cover with a brown tree branch pattern. “I’ve learnt a new spell!” 

“Oh did you?” Helena giggled turning towards him, she put her hands on her hips. “Did you destroy yet another part of the garden?” She loved how Gabriel’s face turned from cheerful to annoyed. It was one mishap, but the roses near the eastern wing were currently squashed by a very weirdly looking oak tree and the good sister that she was, Helena was not going to let him forget that. 

“That was an accident!” He curled his fists annoyed, before changing the tune and biting back. A confident smirk on his face. “My magic is just so amazing I’m doing redesigns at the Estate. I’m an artist as well,” Gabriel pointed to himself proudly. 

“Dream on, estupido,” she approached him and nudged his side. “So what’s that spell of yours?”

“Es muy genial (it’s very cool), you’re going to love it,” Gabriel winked. 

***

Helena was NOT loving it. 

Getting smacked on her face by leaves was not in the description of her ideal day and it happened three times until she got better at avoiding them. The rush of air was crazy as her and Gabriel were dashing through the Drazel woods on his magically made surfboard. Helena was gripping on hard and prayed that she would not fall off. She could heal scrapes, yes, but broken bones were far away from her capabilities. Holding on to her dear life, she would describe it. 

“GAAAAABSSS!” She shouted as they zoomed down the slope of the hill, ground only a few meters below them. Maybe if she jumped off now she had better chances of making it out in one piece.

“Woooohoooo!” Gabriel was standing up behind her. The rush of air lifting up his hair and light brown eyes looking ahead. “Hold on hermana! We’re speeding up!”

“NO!” Helena protested, but Gabs either did not hear or completely ignored her. 

Another patch of the woods was left in the dust. The terrain was becoming more mountainous and air seemed to shift, getting colder every minute. She furrowed her brows and pulled on her brother’s coat. 

“We’re too close to the territory border,” Helena said as he stopped his board high in the air over the treetops. “We need to head back.”

“Papa won’t see,” Gabriel looked at her with that excited grin of his. “We’re fast, we can just dash out and quickly go back. We’ve never been outside the Drazel territory.”

“Papa will realize that we’re no longer in the reach of his mana zone,” Helena opposed. 

“But..!” 

“Gabs…” she pressed her lips together, holding onto his coat more firmly. “I want to see the world as well, but we can’t.”

Gabriel huffed, ripping the fabric out of her palm. However he listened as the board turned around towards the Drazel castle. His usually light eyes darkened and an expression was annoyed… maybe a bit sad. He did not want to go back. Get back to that same life he had lived every day, caged at the territory, caged within his duties. Helena knew her brother. She was happy at court, she enjoyed the game, discussions and everything that came with it. Gabriel was different. He was the perfect son and fulfilled his duties well, but Helena was aware that he would rather be outside, taking in the fresh air. Free. 

“Hola Gabs,” she smiled softly. 

“Yeah?” His voice sounded resigned as he raised his brow. 

“There’s a clearing over there,” Helena pointed down to a patch of grass between the tall trees. 

“It is,” Gabriel nodded, “but it’s getting dark.”

“Perfecto,” she grinned. “It means that we’ll get to see the stars better.”

“The stars?” He blinked confused, before a bright smile appeared on his face and eyes lit up again. “You’re taking the blame!” He laughed as the board started lowering down. 

“Yes,” Helena chuckled as they landed and she jumped off the board. “I nearly strangled you. It was watching the stars or ridding the Drazel Household of its heir.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” over dramatically Gabriel raised his arms to the sky and closed his eyes in a pained expression. 

“Estupido,” she laughed looking around. 

Gabriel, still grinning plopped down on the grass. He spread his legs completely, not paying attention to his pants getting dirty. Helena crinkled her nose, dismayed. Her brother raised his brow at her before the realization hit him. 

Quickly Gabriel took off his robe and spread it on the ground. Helena smiled and with a grateful expression she kneeled on the fabric, saving her pretty dress from the dirty ground.

In comfortable silence the siblings laid on their backs.

Resting on Gabriel’s robe Helena looked up at the sky. It was dark, but it was not at the same time. Millions of stars lit it up and the moon was throwing light on to the clearing. Beautiful, fascinating and as she watched them she wondered were they doing the same. Celestial bodies overlooking the world. Helena felt so small in their presence.

She remembered how her tutor explained that some stars die and the light from that explosion would travel for years and years before being seen from the earth. Helena wondered how many of them had their light snuffed away before they could fully shine. 

She closed her eyes and felt herself drowning in a memory, a painful one. Would he shine so brightly if only Helena did not..? Why could she not enjoy this beautiful evening, but let her thoughts wander back to that moment. She had therapy, she was dealing with it, accepting, but somehow it continued to creep up on her in moments like these. Moments when she should be happy. 

“Helena?” She heard a whisper beside her.

Upon being called out Helena opened her eyes and turned her head to the side to look at her brother. 

“Are you alright?” Gabriel had a worried expression on his face, his brows furrowed. 

“I’m…” Helena sighed and could not continue. 

“You can talk to me,” Gabs said tenderly. “I’m your hermano, I'm here for you.”

These words felt warm. Made Helena feel safe, not alone. She could share her burden. Gabriel knew. 

“I’m just thinking about him… again…” Helena lifted herself off the ground and kneeled. 

“Yeah…” Gabriel prepped himself up. “It’s alright.”

“Maybe now even more, since I’m about to be introduced to Damian,” she wrapped her arms around her knees. 

“You’re scared?” He asked. 

“Does that make me a coward?”

“No!” Gabriel opposed. “This… just makes you human,” he shrugged. “ I guess.”

“You guess?” Helena raised her brow. 

“Well I know that besides the looks of the family, I also inherited the brains, but I don’t know everything,” he grinned. 

“I’m pretty sure I got both of these first,” Helena huffed arrogantly. 

“You see,” Gabriel seemed to be weighing invisible weights in his hands, “first and better are not the same thing.”

“Estupido,” Helena nudged him playfully, but could not stop the laugh that escaped her. 

Gabriel chuckled as well, before both of them went silent, gazing at the woods ahead. It was once again a comfortable kind, with gentle wind and soft nature sounds around them. Moonlight shone on the clearing. 

“Hermana?” Gabriel spoke up. 

“What’s up Gabs?” 

“I’ll always be here for you,” he smiled.

“Same here,” Helena admitted. “No matter how much I want to kick your ass.”

“Delicate princesses should not use such crude words,” he grinned. 

“Respectable princes should not annoy their older hermanas.”

“I’m a bit more of a wild card,” Gabriel flicked his hand. “I like a challenge. You know, balancing on a thread.”

“Riiiiight?” Helena deadpanned. 

“I know!” He suddenly perked up and Helena raised her brows. “Let’s make a pact!”

“A pact?” 

“Well a promise of sorts,” Gabriel scratched the back of his neck. “That no matter what happens we’ll support one another.”

“I thought we just said that,” Helena pointed out. 

“Yeah, but it’s different when you officially state it.”

“Officially as in,” Helena stroked her chin, “the Drazel siblings against the world?”

“I like the sound of that,” Gabriel nodded. 

“I do as well,” she smiled, feeling warmth inside her chest. 

Gabriel reached out his hand towards her, sticking out the little finger. Helena chuckled, her brother had to be really determined, because normally he considered pinky promises silly. Helena lifted her palm and hooked her pinky around his.

“The Drazel siblings against the world,” Gabs stated.

“No matter what we stick together,” Helena confirmed. 

[mimiruku]

Rather not in a romantic sense possibly, but I saw a mention of it here, so… Miruku and Xanxus!

How did they first meet?

What was their first impression of each other?

An unexpected question between Miruku & Xanxus ! ⸻ it's sort of silly, cause I admittedly bring them up as a JOKE, but here is some introspective view on their relationship thus far base on those questions. ( thank you for making me think this over. )

╰┈┈➤    How did they first meet ? Years  after  the events of the varia arc.  They've only heard of each other in passing before hand, though ultimately Miruku did not have value enough to be remembered by Xanxus at that time and Miruku doesn't have the best of memory either   ❝  Who tried to kill Tsunayoshi-kun again? The one that put his dad, like Tsunayoshi-kun's granpa ?? in a can ?? or was it a container van?? What was his name again? Annus?? You know, I think that's a horrible name, no wonder he tried to kill his dad! Wait, doesn't that make him Tsunayoshi's uncle ?   ❞

This is a much more preferable time of meeting as well,  a much calmer - more tolerant version of Xanxus ( only in comparison to his youth of course, he still remains volatile and dangerous to most of the population, especially the vongola faces. )   What I'm saying is, Miruku's survival likely would have gone severely down if he met him any earlier.   LUCK is on his side with this one !   Also!  As always, these meetings would not have occurred not for work reasons, the mafia world is small after all, run ins like this are inevitable.

╰┈┈➤     What was their first impression of each other? For Xanxus. It was   HATE AT FIRST SIGHT.  Miruku smiled at him the first time they've met,  candy sweet ⸻  sticky with something he can only describe as annoying. He is a blightful thing, standing along the hallway swaying to and fro, not a care in a world, humming some off tune hymn under his breath and when he spoke to greet him, Xanxus' name laid misplace in his tongue, syllables spoken in severe geniality. Miruku is polite, but he did not enjoy the cadence in which he carried himself and when that giggle escaped his parted lips, the irritation only grew twice fold  ;  his laughter echoing unpleasant inside his skull. ( He remembers it long after they've met, the way that bitch laughed  at  him. )   ❝ Wipe that shit off your face. ❞ And briefly, he imagined his hand around Miruku's neck, snapping willowy bones into a satisfying crunch.

For Miruku. It was BEWILDERMENT and FEAR.  Xanxus is an imposing thing, fear came natural ( even if he had smiled, even if he had laugh, that tension bubbled in the pit of his stomach. ) but Miruku is slow, blinking wide eyed and confused.   ❝  The what off?  ❞  What language did the varia leader spoke in? The pause is thick, Xanxus' frown deepens, unimpressed.   ❝ So you're fucking stupid too. ❞

⸻  Miruku stares, meet his gaze ; he takes note that they have the same hues of dry blood red in their eyes, but his is much, much nicer.   ❝ SÌ ❞   Miruku replies,  lips drawn into a defeated frown.   Xanxus laughed then, cruel insulting sound blistering into his amusement.      It seems like the neo-vongola are just a bunch of circus clowns.      Fuck them all,  especially this bitch.