#god i just have no. drive to make any art

[lala-blahblah]

I absolutely cannot sit down and write a nice version of this bc my brain says no, but i would like to let you all know I'm thinking of a fanfic where older Edgeworth is moving back to the US (or japan, whichever universe you subscribe to) and runs into Nick in the store while buying mass produced art to hang on the walls of his new house.

And Nick is like "dear god do you want your house to look like a dentist's office. Please do better" (in a friendly way, they are too old for rivalry at this point) and so Nick invites Edgeworth to come over and take any of his old artwork from college, since it is just sitting in a portfolio in a closet somewhere. And Edgeworth agrees to come over and look through Nick's old stuff together. There are themes of 1) growing older and like reflecting on the past and 2) Nick's character trait of finding meaning in challenges vs Edgeworth's tendency to stick with what he does well. In my head I imagine that Nick was good at art and it came somewhat easily to him and that bored him, and he was drawn to law in part because it was hard and it excited him and made him want to try harder. And i think tying that in with fatherhood, like it being unexpected and hard but something he thrives at because he feels good when there's a challenge. Potentially also touching on how like, when he lost his badge he felt very listless and depressed because he wasn't being challenged anymore, there wasn't anything to drive him and motivate him. And I think Edgeworth would be impressed by seeing Nick's old pieces (I assume he hasn't seen much of his art before) and wondering why he didn't choose to pursue art further. He also thinks about how art had always put him off personally because he couldn't get it "right" right away, and on the other hand how the structure and logic of law came easily to him, which led him to become a lawyer. I think he measures his self worth by his success in his field because he never had the support to believe he had intrinsic value as a person and maybe wasn't so good at making emotional connections with people. So that big contrast between them is so interesting... I think Edgeworth would be jealous of Nick's bravery in pursuing something he was bad at without giving up and Nick would be jealous of Edgeworth's success in law, but in a subdued way as they've grown older.

A far as actual scenes in the fic, I think I would use Nick's art as a conduit for my own agenda to have them talk about topics that are of interest to me... I would like Edgeworth to feel out of his depth for once and for nick to be the confident one as he talks about something he is well versed in, and for edgeworth to have to face that discomfort and also be a little impressed intellectually with Nick. I think I would do that by having them look through some abstract art Nick did (my intro painting classes were all abstract so we could focus on color mixing and getting comfortable with the medium). Edgeworth compliments Nick on a painting with a bunch of colored squares in gradient clusters and then gets embarrassed when Nick tells him those were just color mixing swatches. Alternatively, in my mind they are both asexual and I think even though this feels like a hallmark cliche I would have Edgeworth flounder and be very embarrassed over Nick's old figure drawing piece. I feel like Nick would be like "no you don't understand it's all very professional and normal when we draw them, like it's just about learning the shape language" and Edgeworth would be like "this is very improper and I don't know how to react can we please not look at naked people!". I don't think i would do both, but something to upset the power dynamic for a moment would be interesting! Nick is always the awkward one I want to see him shine for just a moment enough for edgeworth to go "wait what... i've known him for so long but perhaps i don't really know him at all..."

I would want Edgeworth to end up taking a series of 3 canvases Nick did in an oil painting class that were still lifes of objects the teacher had set up around the classroom. I headcanon that Nick actually far preferred drawing people to objects and rebelled against the assignment by hiding his reflection in one of the objects in each drawing- the top of his head is hidden in an ornament on a christmas tree, his eye is reflected in the shine of a china vase, etc. So it's a little secret, and Edgeworth kind of likes that... it is sweet in a way to see a much younger Phoenix captured in time like that. Something Edgeworth will be reminded of when he sees the paintings but nobody else will catch onto

I would want to layer this with a fatherhood storyline... I think i would frame it as nick inviting edgeworth over to dinner with him and Trucy and Edgeworth stepping into this domestic family life as a visitor and witnessing how its transformed Nick, like seeing him from a different lens. I think after they pick out paintings and have dinner they sit around talking. Trucy had been sitting with them, earlier she showed off some magic tricks and gave Edgeworth a picture of hers from the fridge to add to his new art collection (it's a rainbow dolphin and a sea turtle wearing top hats. Nick says she's in her Lisa Frank era). But she's been quiet for awhile and Nick realizes she's fallen asleep and it's like 11. He's like, crap, i screwed up i should've paid attention and gotten her put to bed, I'm a bad father and I have an audience for this failure. And on top of that, I already failed at being a lawyer, no matter what I try I always disappoint everyone. It's an unexpected moment of vulnerability there... like he's seemed so put together and grown up to Edgeworth this whole time like a whole different person, but he's not a different person he just has different sides to him. And this moment is one where edgeworth can be like hey, no, you're a great dad, and I'm impressed by you and everything you achieved. And I think that could lead into vulnerability from Edgeworth about his relationship with his dad and how he misses him/how he feels like he hasn't really been loved by anyone since his dad died, and how Trucy is lucky to have someone like Nick in her life.

Nick excuses himself to carry Trucy to bed and Miles starts cleaning up the kitchen. I would give a moments pause here to talk about the strange intimacy of going through someone else's kitchen cabinets and drawers, you feel like a stranger there trying to put yourself into someone else's shoes to understand how they live in this space. Maybe he guesses the right drawer for the silverware first try and he feels a little spark of connection. like "we are different in many ways but we are alike enough that we look in the same place for our spoons". Details on the kitchen too about the kid safe plastic bowls and knives that indicate a child is part of the household, that the household has been built around the child, in fact. Edgeworth lives alone and I imagine things are kind of fancy for him (he's a man who wears a cravat so he probably has fine china right). It's completely different from this shabby mismatched cutlery that Nick has, but this kitchen has personality. Maybe he wouldn't mind having a kitchen like this so much. This is a hint at him being lonely, being included in this family unit just for a day has given him this curious sense of longing, for what he isn't sure... does he want kids? Does he want Nick? Does he just want to be part of a family? These are confusing questions and he would much rather not feel anything at all, but unfortunately it is late and he did have a glass of wine with dinner so emotions are Happening.

He hears Nick sigh tiredly as he comes into the kitchen, and Edgeworth starts to ask him where his tupperware is when suddenly Nick is wrapping his arms around him and Edgeworth is Very Tense because he's never good at knowing how to act in situations like this and he and Nick have never been on a hugging level before and he's not sure what this is even for. Then Nick is like "I keep thinking about what you said earlier, about feeling alone ever since your dad passed away. I didn't know, that's such a long time to feel alone. I don't want you to think you're on your own". Edgeworth relaxes a little bit because now he knows what the hug is for and what he's supposed to feel from it. Its very kind of Nick to worry but its unnecessary and he says so. He has colleagues he's friendly with and people from law school he keeps in touch with, he's alright. And Nick says he knows but he also knows it's difficult living the way they do, and what he means is single and in your thirties. Because everyone else is getting married or living with a long term partner or at the very least dating and their lives are focused on that relationship as the center of their being. And when you don't have that, not only is it harder to relate to the people around you but it is harder to feel like you matter in people's lives, because they all prioritize their partner before their friends. And maybe their situations aren't exactly the same (Nick has a daughter while Edgeworth lives alone) and maybe their choices were made for different reasons (Nick used to date and didn't mind it but didn't see a need to prioritize it. Edgeworth found himself unable to distinguish with certainty whether or not he was actually romantically interested in people, and rather than make the wrong choice he decided he would rule out error by choosing no one at all). But regardless, they both know first hand the isolation that comes with trying to carve a path for themselves that does not include a life partner in a world where everyone else comes in pairs. And Nick is reaching out across that emptiness saying hey, we might both be building different lives, but there's room for you to be a part of mine if you want.

Outloud, Nick says "Really, Miles. You aren't alone in this." and Edgeworth says "Well, Phoenix, neither are you". And he stands there and lets his friend hug him, and it doesn't feel like butterflies but it does feel solid and warm and good. And he doesn't even worry about whether he's supposed to let go by now or not, because it's nice, not being alone.

They stand there in comfortable silence for a long moment before Nick speaks again. "hey, remember when you used to hate me? And look at us now." Edgeworth turns his head sharply. "I never HATED you, Wright. I simply thought you were foolish and a waste of my time." He realizes a little too late that this is probably a rude thing to say to the person that just gave you a pep talk, but Nick just laughs, his head still resting on Edgeworth's shoulder. Looking at him from this angle, face almost fully hidden, Nick could be any age at all. It's easy to imagine for a moment that he's the same nervous version of himself that stood across from him in the courtroom for the first time all those years ago. The only thing breaking the illusion is the subtle streaks of silver that cross his temples. Not entirely sure why he does it, Edgeworth kisses the top of Nick's head. He feels odd about it the moment he does so, realizing it comes across not as a platonic or romantic action but as a gesture suited for a dog or pet of some kind. Nick looks up, looking confused but not displeased. "What was that for?" "It was a thank you I suppose". Miles steps away now, still uncomfortable with perceived failures even if those failures are just in social interactions, and begins to gather his things while Nick gets down a tupperware from a cabinet. "Thank you, for the dinner and for the paintings." Edgeworth continues. "I'd like to repay the favor once I get settled into the new house. Trucy's invited too, of course". As he says it, he realizes he genuinely is looking forward to seeing them again. Nick walks him to the apartment door and they say their goodbyes while Edgeworth tucks the paintings (and Trucy's dolphin drawing) under his arm.

He gets halfway down the hallway when he hears Nick calling after him. "Hey! Miles! Take an art class with me sometime" Newfound friendship or not, Edgeworth just looks at him in disdain. "what, so you can show off your superior art skills? No thank you, Wright" "No, for fun. You can make things of your own to hang on your walls. We can do something I've never done before so we're evenly matched. Like printmaking? Origami? Um, pottery?" Edgeworth bristles at the suggestions but takes a moment to acknowledge why he's feeling that way; again, it's that fear of failure. But he's enjoyed himself today and deep down he thinks it could be fun to try something new, not with the goal of being perfect at it but with the goal of spending time together. Nick surprised him today. Maybe he can surprise himself. "... I would consider pottery" Edgeworth admits. And Nick looks really happy about it. "Great. I'll book us a session then. It'll be fun, you'll see. Edgeworth shakes his head, but there's no malice behind it. "Have a good night, Phoenix" "You too. Get home safe Miles".

Edgeworth gets home a little before midnight and props the three canvases against the moving boxes still stacked up in the foyer. Tomorrow, he'll figure out where he wants to hang them. Right now though, he walks over to the bare fridge and carefully pins up Tracy's dolphin drawing. There's a lot more work to do, but it's already starting to feel like home.

[dinosaurvalley]

whats he playin

[aestheticallynotdeerlightful]

Style swap- Invader Zim and Psychonauts

Cause I thought it would be fun and practice

.

(Please do not use or repost my works anywhere without explicit permission from me first thank you <3)

[beatcroc]

pest control TWO!!!!! heres the first one

adn heres the obligatory bonus bc i can't help myself :')

[crossbackpoke-check]

Dysprosium, Mary Soon Lee

dysprosium, AN 66, is a silvery-white rare earth metal. its name is derived from the greek dysprositos, meaning “hard to get at”, owing to the difficulty in separating and isolating this rare earth element. dysprosium is used to measure neutron flux, to fuel reactors, and to activate phosphors. terfenol-d is a magnetorestrictive alloy, meaning that it changes shape when a magnetic field is applied, and is used to manufacture underwater acoustic systems.

jason “robo” robertson, dallas stars #21 for @simmyfrobby’s nhl periodic table poems <3

[urlocallesbiab]

sorry to everyone who's been missing me/waiting for something from me, i've been slipping in and out of depressive fog for a week or two (and in general have experienced significantly worse depression than normal for a couple years, but that’s another story)

i long to get back, too; a lot of things to read and ideas to write and people to talk to. love y'all, take care

[honestlyvan]

Thinking about image model generated art and gifmaking is giving me some weird vibrations about how there really is some weird association of the virtuesvirtues of a medium with the virtues of the people working in it. Gifmaking being associated with KPop fans doesn't make the concept of frame interpolation racist, and someone marketing themselves as a cheaper alternative to some other artist doesn't make the concept of generative art inherently class antagonistic.

It's somehow reminiscent of CJ the X's distinction between "stupid art" and "evil art", how a medium that has a low skill floor can produce things that are very stupid and easy to perceive as low-effort but how that's not the same as them having something wrong with them. If you look at my animation tag, most of it is motion graphics done with AfterEffects, and while it's probably wrong to call it a low skill floor program the way an AI art generator is... there is still a world where instead of programmatically telling shapes to whizz by on a screen, a different Van would have drawn those same animations frame by frame, producing exactly the same animation.

And I don't think the fact that I did them programmatically somehow invalidates the artistic intent that went into them, y'know? I could open AE right now and produce a 250x250 looping gif of clouds and while I know how to do that quick, to make it look good and to make me like it, I would have to spend time considering how the various elements, colours, timings and whatever the particle system/noise generator I use spits out fit together. I would have to fiddle with seeds and levels and timings to make it look good. I would have to spend a long time just staring and thinking about what I'm making before I could make it good.

I don't know enough about generative art tools to know how much fiddling goes into them once they're taught and ready to go, but I do know enough about deep learning to know it's a haphazard, frustrating process that you as the artist have only limited control over, which is why it doesn't appeal to me. But I have made gifs in the past, and I know how that process requires an eye for consistency and composition, framing and colour that a lot of other visual artists don't have because they're not working with time as one of the creative dimensions.

And like... who am I, from my high horse as someone in possession of these skills, to tell someone who is still developing these skills or who has a different aesthetic concept of what is good than me, what they're making is low-effort. That's not my judgement to make. I didn't make it. Only the artist themselves can say if somehing was low-effort or not. I don't see why I should have so little faith in other artists to assume they have no interest in putting in any effort.

[fawnnpaws]

thinking of art being so turned on by the thought of breeding you that he’s not thinking straight… he really should pull out but your moans are so pretty and your tits are bouncing as he fucks you on his cock and he just halts when he’s about to cum and holds your hips there. is so turned on that he spurts inside you, staying completely still. doesn’t let a drop go to waste <3

EM………. yeewww get it <333

he knows he should pull out, he knows. it’s just that the idea of breeding you full, pumping his cum inside of you, seeing you pregnant, has his head going fuzzy and every rational thought leaving his brain. you’re not making it any easier on him. your pussy is sucking him in like she wants to be bred, so wet and inviting, practically begging him to paint your insides white. he shakes his head, he can’t. he shouldn’t… but your tits are bouncing so pretty as his hips drive into yours and they’d get so full if he bred you successfully. if he made it stick, if he really filled you, if he did it more than once. if, if, if— fuck he’s so close. his hands are on your hips, pulling you back hard to meet his thrusts.

“m’gonna— m’close— gotta pull out—“ he whines the last part like he’s been shot, but you’re too fucked out to even notice. all you do is moan, ah, ah, ah!s in time with his thrusts, and that makes things worse because he wants to hear more. there’s more he wants to give you. he’s close, he’s so fucking close, all he can feel is primal need to cum inside you, to breed you so full he knows it’ll take, to watch his cum spill out of your pussy just so he can fuck it back inside you— he needs to pull out. but he can’t.

“i can’t, i can’t, i can’t— just need to— just need—“ he can’t form complete sentences, he’s thrusting recklessly until he reaches his peak. he gives one hard thrust, the hardest he’s given you so far, then stills completely. his entire body shakes with the intensity, but his hips don’t move and he grips yours so tight he’s sure you’ll have bruises in the shape of his hands in an hour. he holds you still, pins you down, and lets his cum pulse inside of you. he wants it as deep as possible. he can’t risk you shifting even a little because he needs it all to spill inside.

he moves one hand to press on your lower tummy, right where he knows his cum is spreading. he can almost feel his dick through your skin, pulsing and kicking inside you. “take it, baby, just take it, god— good fucking girl, you feel that?” he babbles, unable to stop himself. he gives another couple shaky thrusts for good measure, to push it further inside you before he pulls out and marvels at the milky white pouring out of your sweet little pussy.

he hoped he’d have some sort of clarity after, feel enough guilt to go buy you a plan b, but he doesn’t. he just feels that need gnawing at him. the need to breed you again and again until it works.

[themultifanshipper]

Could you do ⚫️ with oscar

Oscar could hardly believe his eyes.

He was halfway across the world, in a meeting, staring at the thumbnail of a video that you'd just sent him.

Warnings: Sex tape(technically), masturbation, male and female, use of toys, a dildo specifically, dirty talk, mention on reader being innocent, and slight corruption?

Requested from my prompt list

He'd almost clicked on the video out of habit before his brain caught up to his eyes and he realised you were on the thumbnail, and there was very little fabric on your body.

He slammed his phone face down in his lap, and tried to contain the redness forming on his cheeks, as well as the hardness forming in his shorts.

He completely ignored the rest of the meeting, mind racing and trying to comprehend what he'd just seen.

You'd never done anything like this before, always keeping your sex life firmly between the walls of your bedroom.

Not that he was complaining, you were so sweet and innocent, it really turned him on when he thought of when he'd first met you.

You were so adorably naive, and he'd taken great pleasure in teaching you everything he knew. You were all his to corrupt and mold into his little slut.

But all of that stayed in the bedroom!

You'd never so much as sent a dirty text. Never mind a whole video of you doing god knows what while he was at work.

It was too late now, he was hard. And the meeting wasn't going to end anytime soon.

So he did what any rational horny man would do, he grabbed his phone, excused himself from the meeting and rushed to the bathroom to watch that video.

And what a video it was. Barely 10 seconds in, his shorts were already pulled down around his thighs and his cock was leaking into his fist.

“Hey baby, I hope you're having a good day at work” you purred.

The sound was turned down low but it seemed like the loudest thing in the universe to Oscar.

“I know you must feeling lonely at the moment so I decided to show you what I get up to when you're gone…”

Oscar was throbbing in his hand. He took a quick look at the time stamp, 00:24/08:56.

Holy fucking shit, no way was he going to last nine minutes.

You went to sit on the edge of the bed and he got a good look at you for the first time.

You were wearing a set of papaya lingerie. The bra was beautifully intricate, but it hid absolutely nothing, your nipples on display as your hands ran across your skin and went up to pinch them.

What caught his eye though, was your panties. Your crotchless panties.

Oscar felt a drop of precum slide down his cock that he refused to touch, lest he come too soon and ruin this experience.

“Do you like the set? I got it the day after you left. I already missed you so much I wanted something that reminded me of you.”

Oscar couldn't help it, he took himself in hand and squeezed lightly, just to take the edge off.

You climbed onto the bed and spread your legs. Even in the dim lighting, he could tell you were wet and god, you were going to be the death of him.

One of your hands trailed down your stomach and came to rest just above your shiny slit.

“Look Oscar, look how fucking wet you make me and you're not even here… it's pathetic”

Your hand went lower, to spread your folds for him, just to drive Oscar mad. And unbeknownst to you it was succeeding beautifully and then some.

Oscar growled at the sight, gripping himself harder.

Your fingers rubbed through your folds, wetting them just like he always did, before bringing them to your mouth for a taste.

Fuck.

Oscar glanced at the time again Only 2 and half minutes in? how was that possible, he felt like he'd been staring at your pussy for an hour now.

Or maybe he'd accidentally paused the video to stare at the work of art that was laying on his bed.

“I taste so sweet, no wonder you love spending so much time between my legs”

Your hand went back down to circle your entrance before dipping inside, and you let out a low gasp at the intrusion.

Oscar blacked out somewhere between that and the third finger, only realising he'd missed anything when you took your fingers out and sucked them clean, while maintaining intense eye contact with the camera.

Oscar was about to combust, and he'd also seemingly forgotten about his dick as his hand tightened suddenly and he groaned at the sight of you quickly getting off the bed.

Was it over?

He frowned and checked the time. The video was only just over half way through…

“Now for something I think you'll really enjoy…”

You pulled out of the bedside drawer what Oscar realised with a start was… a dildo.

Where the fuck had you been hiding that? He had no idea you owned it.

You grabbed some lube as well and it dawned on Oscar that this was why the panties were crotchless.

You were going to fuck yourself with a dildo on camera wearing his colour.

Fuck, he was so in love with you.

And he was so incredibly hard for you.

You lubed up the dildo and hovered over it, ready to sink down, when you stopped and looked up at the camera.

It felt like time had stopped for Oscar, he felt like you were staring straight into his soul as you uttered your next words.

“By the way Osc, I had this dildo modeled after your cock, so that I could fuck you even when you're not here”

And with that you sank down, and Oscar felt the air being sucked from his lungs, as if he were there and you were actually sinking down on him.

You moaned so loud it echoed against the tiled walls of the small bathroom and Oscar had to check the sound level on his phone.

You lifted your hips and dropped back down, a guttural sound escaping you as you threw your head back and kept moving your hips up and down.

Oscar spat into his hand and started jerking himself off furiously, eyes glued to where your cunt was split around the silicone.

“Oscar… you feel so fucking good. I love your cock so much.”

Oscar could tell you were close by the way your thighs trembled and your breathing got shallower.

“Fuck Osc, I'm not gonna last long…”

“Me neither, baby” he whispered “touch yourself for me, make yourself come on my cock”

You obviously couldn't hear him, but as if you'd read his mind your fingers went down your body and started vigorously rubbing your clit, letting out little cut off moans on every roll of your hips .

“Oscar!” you came with a cry of his name and that sent him over the edge as he did his best to aim into the toilet bowl, but he came so hard he actually crumpled and had to hold himself up to not fall on the floor.

The video ended and put itself back to the beginning.

He scrambled to turn it off as his post nut clarity hit and he realised where he was and how loud he'd probably been.

And because the universe was a bitch, a sudden knock rang against the door and Lando's voice pierced right through Oscar's inner peace.

“Mate, I know you miss your girlfriend but I really didn't deserve to hear that”

“Piss off” Oscar groaned and Lando cackled before sauntering off, laughter echoing through the corridor.

Oscar looked at his phone and noticed that you'd just sent him another text.

“did you enjoy my gift? ;) ”

It was out of the question to let you know exactly how much it had affected him so he took a deep steadying breath and typed out a short response.

“I can't believe you made a sextape… Without me :( “

[moonstruckme]

absolutely live for ur roommate!james could you maybe write one on him meeting some of readers friends for the first time or calling james to pick u up after a girls night 😇would love to see him finally feel “included” in our life like we are in his

Thank you for requesting lovely!

cw: alcohol

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1k words

James is so absorbed in the football match on his phone that when there’s a tap on the window next to his face, he jolts halfway across the center console and squeaks like he’s twelve years old again. 

You’re beaming outside the car. Your shoulders shake with quiet, un-self-conscious laughter, so it’s impossible for James to be any kind of upset. Still, he makes a show of huffing a little as his own smile spreads. He reaches over and opens his door. 

“Sorry,” you say. You don’t look it, so he lets you off the hook for your over-apologizing. 

“Who do you think would drive you home if I had a heart attack?” James asks. He’s somewhat breathless, either because of the scare or the easier-than-usual grin still fixed on your face. 

You lean against the side of his car and roll your eyes. “Oh, your heart’s too healthy to be in danger of attacks.” 

“What are you doing on this side of the car? You’re the passenger, you know.”

“Okay, listen.” You give him a very intentional look. It’s more eye contact than he’s used to from you, and it makes his guts go all twisty in a surprisingly nice way. “It’s completely up to you, of course, but I think I’m about to make you an offer you can’t refuse.” 

It clicks into place. “You’re drunk.” 

“Not very.” Your grin is a short fall from impish. Your eyes sparkle. God help him. “But you’re about to be.” 

James feels his eyebrows float up. “How do you figure?” 

“Because I’ve come to collect you. If you want.” 

“To collect me…where?”

“Inside,” you say, as though this should be obvious. You tip your head towards the restaurant. “We’ve just closed, and we have so much wine. Pleasepleaseplease, James, come in.” 

“Okay.” He’s letting you tug him from his car before he knows what he’s agreed to, only that one please will always be enough to get whatever you want from him. “Alright, love, but doesn’t your manager mind that you’re drinking their wine?” 

You let loose a bark of laughter, loud and sharp and totally unlike you. “Tom? Yeah, right.” 

Tom, James learns quickly upon entering the rowdy atmosphere of your workplace after hours, is younger than the both of you, hardly old enough to serve alcohol and yet managing the restaurant. And the wine isn’t stolen, necessarily, but the fortunate leavings of a wealthy customer who bought more bottles than his table could handle and then left nearly all of them. 

Everyone who’d been on the night shift is strewn about the empty restaurant. Servers and busboys and dishwashers all perched on stools, standing behind the bar, sitting criss-cross-applesauce on tables. You take James by the hand, first reclaiming the bottle of wine you’d evidently stored behind the host’s station and then leading him around the room to introduce him to various coworkers. His hand feels warm and tingly. You have an easy repartee and a million in-jokes with the servers, but even the kitchen staff seems to adore you. As they rightly should, James thinks. It’s obvious you’re as kind and considerate here as you are at home, and he feels a bit silly for not having been able to picture you in this place so clearly before now. 

Art is working with you again tonight. It’s embarrassing, the warm wave of relief that James feels when he notices you don’t pay him any extra attention. He makes a mental note to extend his offer of a ride home more often. Every time your hand starts to slip from James’, you readjust your grip before he can even think of doing it himself. Suits him just fine; ever since your mugging incident, suddenly James is in this weird place where he always wants a hand on you.

You say his name, and then the lip of a bottle is being pushed against his lips. 

“You haven’t had hardly any.” You look like you’re trying to pout, but your eyes are smiling. 

James takes the bottle from you. He looks you in the eyes as he takes a sip as if to say, Happy? It’s barely enough to warm his throat. “I am still driving us home, you know.”  

The pout is getting better. “I know, but I’m trying to be fun for you. You don’t have to drive us if you don’t want to! You’re always the one doing the nice things.” 

“Oh, don’t.” His tone is fonder than he means for it to be, but luckily you’re too tipsy to mind. “You’re plenty fun. You do nice things for me all the time.” 

“Yeah, but not enough to balance out.” You make your eyes big and pitiful. James feels fortunate this isn’t a skill you seem inclined to utilize sober. “Obviously you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but—Jamie, don’t hold back because of me, please.” 

His stomach does an impressive flip. He doesn’t think you realize you’ve called him that, doubts you’d have done it under normal circumstances, but his nervous system cares not for rationalizations. He wants desperately to hear you say it again. 

You beam as James lifts the bottle to his lips again, taking a few hearty gulps. You both end up walking home that night, but you wake even before James to go retrieve his car in the morning.

[mewtwoandme]

I was hoping this would all blow over, but since it's continuing to happen, now with people attacking other artists of the commewnity. I'm putting out my two fucking cents! Cause this whole art/character theft and pointing fingers, who stole what from who bullshit it driving me up the fucking wall!!

Long story short, it started with me and one other blog whose name I won't mention publicly. Despite the horrible light they tried to paint me in, I don't want anyone going to this person and ganging up on them. This person had some serious bitterness towards more "popular" artists and claimed that I've made characters similar to theirs and once used a pose they apparently used before (which was a very common pose, considering it was a reference from the game version of mega Y). Since then, they had desperately tried to conjure up evidence, narrowing down to the most miniscule detail how I've been stealing from them when I hadn't even known their blog existed until I was forcefully thrown into that unnecessary drama with the unhinged call-out posts they've made. With this being said, I'd like to point out that they never came to me or addressed this concern with me in the first place. They had every opportunity to privately DM me if they had suspected I was "stealing," but no, simply because they already made up their mind that I was a thief, that was a good enough reason to lack common fucking sense and decency, making what should have been a private issue public, going on to villainize and dehumanize me. And apparently, it hasn't stopped with me either, cause recently I've been seeing other artists in the community having to deal with this where people are being white knights on high horses, pointing fingers on how one artist's mewtwo looks "the same" if not "totally identical" as another artist's mewtwo. I refuse to believe it's a coincidence. But what makes me disgusted is that since TC's post, apparently it's had the opposite effect on some people and they're hopping on this blame bandwagon like it's some damn media trend!!!

This is NOT okay! Nothing about this kind of behavior is funny! It's upsetting to all of us. We dont need you causing problems where there isn't any, thinking you're doing us a favor! The majority of us are adults for gods sake! We are old enough where we don't need other people coming to us being tattle tails saying this person did this and that. That's what little children do! If you suspect any form of theft, I think I speak for ALL creators in this commewnity that we'd prefer you DM us privately saying something like "Hey, I think this person is copying you, might wanna look into it." And if possible, provide a link to the art in question, for which we would kindly thank you for making us aware and we'll handle it ourselves from there. Just a brief, yet SIMPLE interaction...that's all we ask!!! Don't even come at me with "Well, it's scary attempting to talk to an artist that's well known." Or dare I say ~pOpUlAr~ If you claim that taking the first step to send me a quick DM makes you nervous, yet you have no problem making public call outs in posts or asks, belittling and degrading what could actually be innocent artists doing nothing wrong, literally leaving yourself open to all kinds of comments and opinions from all kinds of people....I'm sorry but your anxiety isn't as bad as you say it is then, if being rude and ignorant in a public post/ask is easier for you. If you come to us, shaming someone else who 9/10 probably isn't doing anything wrong, thinking you'll be in our good graces for doing so, sorry, you're not going to be told, "Good job!" with a pat on the back and given a lollipop! You're just being an asshole.

Quick reality check for everyone who's made it this far before I end this train wreck of a rant:

People can have similar ideas that coincide with one another! There's only so much you can do when a whole community is focused around drawing the same character! We mainly draw mewtwos and mews, you're bound to find a plethora of similar colors, patterns, and designs because of it! Creativity only goes so far when trying to stay true to a character and not stray too far. It's not a crime to take inspiration from other artists' characters, we actually encourage this! It makes us feel good that you liked something we've done and you want to incorporate it into your own designs! It makes us happy that we inspired you! The line is crossed when someone does a literal copy/paste of a character down to the exact detail, and they call it their own original creation. That my friends is what stealing actually is!

[jiminsafairy]

Darling, you are late - Seokjin (ft Namjoon)

Summary: Your husband is late to your baby making session, so you take the matter into your own hands.

Pairing: CEOhusband!seokjin x wife!reader (ft husband best friend!Namjoon)

wc:3k

Warnings: unprotected sex (they are trying to make a baby, duh), reader is a bit bratty, exhibitionism, he cums inside (duh), cockwarming, seokjin is a workaholic, pregnancy kink (lactation kink if you squint?), namjoon makes a cameo! reader gives him a bj while seokjin fucks her

"Sir, your wife is here" you hear his secretary say.

"Send her in", he answers, his voice distorted as it comes off the intercom.

"You can come in, Mrs. Kim" the old lady indicates.

You push open the double doors and stepped inside. The room was spacious and bright, with floor-to-ceiling windows that filled the space with natural light and offered a stunning view of the city.

To one side, a comfortable red velvet sofa provided a cozy spot to relax. The office was tastefully decorated with a few pieces of art on the walls giving the finishing touch.

In the center of the office stood a large wooden desk, neatly organized. Seated on the fancy chair was your husband. His eyes were fixed on the laptop screen, face scrunched in concentration, a frown creasing his forehead.

You couldn’t avoid the thought of how handsome he looked with his two-piece gray suit.

"Hello dear, give just one m- " your husband starts to say, but you cut him, angry.

"I thought you were coming home early!" you scold him, crossing your arms over your chest. After waiting for more than an hour you got tired of it and decided to take the matter into your own hands, driving across the city to his office.

"I’m sorry darling, had to attend a last-minute meeting and now I’m stuck with paperwork" Seokjin excuses himself, eyesight never leaving the screen.

"Don’t you know what day it is?!" you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

"I’m afraid you’ll have to refresh my memory, dear" he mumbles, not paying attention to you.

"It’s ovulation day! You said you were going home early!", you pout while walking up to his desk, the sound of your heels clicking on the floor.

"Gimme a ‘I’m sorry kiss’ at least" , you demand, and your husband finally takes his sight away from the computer. He looks at you with sorry eyes, and you lean in, allowing him to place a quick peck on your lips.”I love you” you say.

"Mmm, I love you too" he says against your lips, "Please wait for me just five more minutes and we’ll go home" he excuses himself, going back to his important CEO paperwork

"Darling but I’m bored! And horny!" ,you whine, getting behind him, placing your hand on his broad shoulders.

Placing your hands on his broad shoulders, you whisper in his ear, cheshire cat-smile on your face, "If you could do…" you place a soft peck against his neck," something…" peck, "to keep me entertained.." another peck, "while I wait…".

He lets out a sigh, knowing what your intentions were, but he caves in anyway, "baby, you can sit on my cock while I finish this paperwork, how does that sound?", he offers, leaning back on his chair. 

"Terrific" you say while unbuttoning your blouse, and sliding it over your arms. No bra in sight, your big breast in full display for him.

Seojin looks at you with hungry eyes, "god, you are so hot." He pulls you gently by your wrist, bringing you close to him. "Do you need me to prep you, love?" your husband taking one breast on his mouth, tongue flicking against your nipple. 

"No need Jinnie, I’m so wet already…" you say, unzipping your black midi skirt, the fabric pooling at your feet. You were not wearing any underwear. You grab his hand, inviting to feel for himself.

He inserts one finger inside your needy pussy making you moan, feeling your juices covering his digit. "You are such a dirty girl, going around my office with no underwear". Your pussy clenches around his finger. "Bet that’s why you are so wet" he coos, pumping his finger inside you a few times before taking it out, leaving your pussy clenching around nothing.

His hands go to his suit pants, pulling them down to his knees along with his black briefs, freeing his semi-hard cock. Just the thought of you walking around his building with no underwear makes his cock stiffen. You take his shaft in your hand and after a few pumps, it was hard and ready for you.

You sit on his lap, back against his, while he guides his cock inside your needy hole, rubbing the tip against your wet folds. "Oh god… so good", you moan at the feeling of his huge cock entering your pussy. "No matter how many times we fuck, I just love being stretched by your dick", you say, enjoying the feeling of being so full.

"My beautiful wife loves keeping my dick warm, huh? What a lucky man I am" he says, planting a kiss on your bare shoulder, "now be a good girl and lemme finish this, so we can go home and make some babies, yes?" he demands, giving your asscheek a quick squeeze, eyesight fixed on the boring spreadsheet again. His left hand goes to your nipple,and starts fiddling with it. 

"Mmm…keep doing that Jinnie, feels so good…" you moan, leaning back against his chest.

The feeling of having your husband playing with your sore breast it’s good, but not enough. Too horny to keep your thoughts straight, you begin to squeeze your inner walls, making excuses to wiggle around. 

"Stay still", your husband says, lowering his voice. He tugs at your nipple, making you moan. “I know what you're trying to do, you little devil” he warns, but you ignore him, clenching your walls again.

"But Jinnie I’m not doing anything!" you said mischievously, trying to hide a smile. But kept on clenching your walls.

"That’s it," Seokjin said as he lifted you from his lap, his cock leaving your aching pussy, "I’ve had enough, hands on the desk, ass up." You obey, placing your hands on the desk, leaning against it, lifting up your ass.

Being placed between his desk and the glass walls, anyone from the next building curious enough to look would be able to see the lewd scene the two of you were performing.

"You minx, you thought you were being slick, didn’t you?" he whispers and you feel his hot breath against your ear. "It’s time to show you who’s in charge.", he says, grabbing his cock by the base and giving it a few pumps.

He rubs the tip of his cock against your needy pussy. "Please love, just put it inside!" you plead.

"My wife wants to be bred, doesn’t she? Such a good girl” he coos. "I love you.” He declares as he buries himself inside your needy hole with one hard thrust, making you moan.

"Fuck! I love you!" you whimper,leaning on your elbows.

He starts pounding against your pussy, grabbing you by your hips.

"Fuck Jin, It feels so good! I feel you so deep inside me…please don’t stop!" you moan, closing your eyes in pleasure.

"Fuck, I feel your pussy clenching around my cock."

You two were so lost in the moment that neither of you noticed someone had entered Seokjin’s office and was standing next to you, observing the scene with curiosity.

"So, this is what the boss spends his time doing in his fancy office, huh?" the mysterious visitor said, looking at the situation unfolding before him.

"Shut up, Namjoon'' said Seokjin gasping for air, hips still bucking against your asscheeks, cock buried deep inside you, “we all know what you did at the Christmas party when you sneaked away to your office with that girl from accounting", your husband claps back, pushing his cock deeper into you. Even with an audience, you both were so caught up in the moment that the thought of stopping didn’t even cross your mind.

"Hi Nam" you chirp, looking at your husband’s best friend.

"Hey beautiful", your husband’s friend answers with a smile, flashing his dimples at you, "I just came to let you know that the Japanese investors have just posponed tomorrow's meeting...", said the man. The sentence was clearly directed at your husband, but his eyes were fixed on your tits, bouncing with each thrust.

"Message received. Now, if you'll excuse us, we're trying to do something important; this company needs an heir," your husband said, bending down to grab your tits with his big hands, pitching your nipples between his index and thumb. 

"Alright, I'll leave," says Namjoon, but his feet didn’t move.

Your eyes drift down to the tent that has been forming inside his trousers. A wild thought crossed your mind.

"Jinnie, can I..?" you say, motioning with your eyes towards Namjoon’s boner.

"Oh, hell no!" he yells, stopping his pounding, but not taking his cock out.

"He cannot leave like that!" you laughed, "poor guy is going to get arrested for public indecency!".

Namjoon just stood there, watching as the lover’s quarrel took place.

"Alright, but it's just this once," your husband says, starting again to pump into your pussy at a slow pace, "You know I cannot say ‘no’ to you", he says with a smile on his face.

"I love you" you said cheekily.

"Yeah, yeah."

You looked at Namjoon, "would you take out your cock for me, Joon?" you said, giving him the puppy eyes, "I’m quite busy here", you say.

"On it, gorgeous", he said diligently, sliding his black suit pants down to his knees, black briefs following them. Big cock springing free, you couldn’t keep your glistening eyes away from it, amazed by the size. It was different from Seokjin’s. Not longer, that was a given – your husband has the longest cock you ever had -, but it was on the thicker side.

Namjoon grabs his cock by the base and rubs the tip against your lips. You take your tongue out and start giving small licks around the head, going slowly down to the base. Your husband’s best friend lets out a pleasure moan.

You put the tip inside your lips, liking the tip with your tongue.

"Fuck, she’s so good, hyung" he states, grabbing handful of your long hair, "her mouth is amazing."

"Yeah" he says, looking down at you. "My pretty wife gives the sloppiest blowjobs, right?". You mumble in response, mouth too full of cock to be able to articulate any word.

Namjoon’s hips start to swiftly buck against your face. You notice how much he’s restringing himself. And so does your husband.

"Are you going to let Namjoon fuck that pretty mouth of yours?" he coos, slowing down his thrusts. “Show him how good you suck cock?"

Humming in response, you relax your jaw, taking the full length inside your mouth. Immediately Namjoon starts fucking your mouth, right hand still on your hair.

"Hyung, can I?" he asks.

"Mmm… I guess you can" your husband says. You don’t know what they are talking about until you feel his fingers leaving your tits, and another set of - never felt before -  fingers on you. "Her tits are the best, feel them for yourself."

"Fuck yes, I always though how good they’d feel" says as he feels the weight of your breasts with his hands. "So soft...so big they can barely fit in my hand" says, as he starts pitching your nipples between his fingers.

The feeling of having your husband plugging you with his cock behind you, and his best friend’s cock filling your mouth and abusing your sore nipples was too much to handle. The familiar pressure building in your abdomen, your aching pussy clenching around Seokjin’s shaft.

"She’s going to cum, she’s milking my cock so hard" Seokjin says, pumping hard, "keep doing it Joon'' he demands, as he leans on your back, his hand reaching for your needy clit. "You are doing so well, love, fucking me so good while sucking my best friend."

You moan, feeling so full on both ends. Pleasure becomes almost unbearable, you reach your orgasm between cries of pleasure.

"Fuck I’m close" whines Namjoon, hardening the grip on your breast. "Where do-?", he asks, as he starts to get his dick out of your mouth.

"Don’t move" orders seokjin. "You can cum in her mouth, she loves swallowing cum, don’t you, love?" he asks you, even though he already knows the answer. You do.

You hum in aproval, and keep liking Namjoon's tip with your tongue. Lifting one hand from the desk, you start fiddling with his balls.

"I’m cumming, f-fuck!" moans Namjoon, leaning back his head with pleasure. Hot spurts of cum filling your mouth.

"Swallow. Everything" Seokjin commands, and you are happy to obey, swallowing every bit of cum. "Good girl" he praises.

Namjoon flicks your nipple one last time, before taking his cock out of your mouth. “That was amazing, thank you beautiful”, says the man while pulling his pants and briefs up. You smile at him.

"Good luck with the heir thing!" was heard as Seokjin's partner closed the office doors.

"No more interruptions, my love. It's time for us to get serious," says Seokjin, slowing the pace of his thrusts and taking his cock out of your pussy.  

"W-what?", You whine at the feeling of being empty, turning back to him. "What are you doing?!"

He grabs you by the hand, leading you to the couch. “Dirty girls like you don’t get my cum just like that, they need to earn it” he says, plumping himself there.

"Now ride me like the good girl you are" he orders, palming his naked thighs. "Show me how bad you want to be stuffed with my cum", he demands with a cocky smile adorning his beautiful plump lips.

You straddle him, grabbing his cock by the base and guiding it inside your pussy again, rubbing the tip up and down your wet slit. “Mmm, you feel so good”, you moan, closing your eyes. "I love you so much" you declare.

You gasp, sinking down on his long shaft, the change of position allowing you to feel him even deeper. "I feel so full, so stuffed" you moan, starting to rock your hips.

"You enjoy being full of cock, don’t you?" he groans, hands grabbing the flesh of your hips.

"Yes, I love your cock it’s so big, filling me so good…" you whine, pleasure becoming almost unbearable.

"I wanna see those big tits bounce, ride me faster" he demands, urging you to speed up your movements. You lay your hands on his chest, using them as leverage.

"Fuck, your pussy fills so good", your husband moans, sitting up and taking one nipple in his mouth. "I can't wait until these pretty tits are big, filled with milk" he whispers, his hot breath against your needy flesh."You'd like that, yeah?"

"Seokjin, fuck, I’m close", you whimper. The feeling of his hipbone gracing your clit with every move taking you close to your release.

He releases your nipple, leaving your tit glistening with saliva.

"“Such a good girl, riding me like that. I love watching you ride me" ,he praises. "I’m close too." he says as his hips start bucking to meet yours.“ Fuck I’m gonna cum."

"Seokjin!" you whine, "Fuck!", your orgasms taking over you.

"I’m cumming, fuck I’m gonna fill you so good, I love you so much" he groans. "Don’t stop baby, I’m cumming" he announces as you keep bouncing on his cock.

You feel his warm sperm filling you, hot spurts coating your walls, and lean to kiss him.You stay in that position for a few moments, indulging in your kiss.Until you feel his cum starting to run down your inner thighs.

"Oh, shit" you say, stepping out of his lap and sitting next to him. He looks at you, and to your surprise, he collects all the cum that had spilled from your pussy, "we cannot let even one bit go to waste," says, plunging you with his fingers. "Mmm… yeah" you moan.

Once you have collected yourselves, your husband says "now, get dressed, we are going home for round 2".

[yawnderu]

You Fight Your Demons, I Ride Mine | Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

Drip.

Your eyes focus on the corner of your room, staring at the tall figure that visits you in your restless dreams, haunting you ever since your friends were stupid enough to suggest playing with a Ouija board.

Drip.

Your gaze goes to the bathroom door, listening intently to the water dripping from the faucet every few seconds. When your eyes return to the corner, the man was closer. He always does this— getting closer every single time you're not staring right at him, always stopping at the foot of your bed before disappearing into nothing, the only evidence left behind of his presence being your fast-beating heart.

Your eyes stay on him, trying your best to put on a brave face despite knowing he can taste your weakness. You're not able to look at any details about him, only his silhouette, yet you now realize he doesn't move at all— lacking the regular up and down movement of someone's shoulders when they breathe.

Drip.

He's getting closer even when your eyes are focused on him, not a single footstep heard, the dripping faucet and your heavy breathing the only things making a single sound in the room. He stops at the foot of your bed and you let out a sharp breath thinking it's over. He has never stepped any closer.

Until now. His knee raises as his hands come down to your mattress, slowly but surely climbing your bed, the coldness of the room becoming more evident the closer he gets. It's the first time you see it— the skull balaclava covering his face, dead brown eyes staring right into your soul. You close your eyes tightly and raise the blanket over your head, hoping it's just a bad dream like the ones you've been having, hoping for him to disappear like he always does, yet you can feel the weight of his body as he cages you in, fully on top of you. Despite not being religious, you take as many chances as you can.

''Our father, who art in heaven—'' A dark, deep chuckle rings into your ears, spreading the vibration of his chest all over your much smaller body.

''Hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.'' He finishes the prayer for you, mocking clear in his tone, completely unaffected by what was supposed to drive him away. God doesn't scare him— he never did. Gloved hands trace your waist up and down, shoulders shaking in silent laughter as he feels your body tensing up underneath him.

''What, are you scared?'' He taunts, British accent growing thicker the more excited he gets, finally getting his hands on what was promised to him many years ago. His hands travel across your chest, up until he can grasp at the top of the blanket, roughly pulling it all the way down despite your loud protest. Your eyes remain tightly shut, refusing to open them in fear of what you'll see. He moves out of the way; the blanket being thrown to the floor as he stared down at you.

''Go away.'' You manage to plead weakly, face scrunching up sourly when you feel a gloved hand cup your cheek, patting it condescendingly.

''I'll be back.'' He gets up from your bed slowly, black clothes not even making a sound as he walks backwards, going back to the same corner he's always at. You dare to open your eyes, barely managing to see the dark figure turn into nothing as he's about to hit the wall.

A/N: Should I make a series out of this? It was pretty fun to write.

[incorrectbatfam]

Tim and stpeh’s top ten patrol fails

——— (10) ———

Tim and Steph: *chained together*

Two-Face: *monologues*

Tim: *picks the lock*

Steph, whispering: Free me first.

Tim: Why?

Steph: Just do it.

Tim: *frees her*

Steph: *sprints past Two-Face to the bathroom*

——— (9) ———

Steph: I'm closing in on the museum. Where are you?

Tim: ETA one minute.

Steph: Alright, I'm doing a quick perimeter check. Doesn't seem like there's much happening here.

Tim: Where are you? I don't see you. And this entire gallery looks deserted.

Steph: I've never heard anyone call a science museum a gallery.

Tim: Science? I'm at the modern art museum.

Steph: Red?

Tim: Yeah?

Steph: We're both at the wrong place, aren't we?

——— (8) ———

Tim and Steph: *tied to chairs*

Ivy: I gave the city ONE REASONABLE DEMAND and they—

Steph: *scoots her chair*

Ivy: —but all they cared about was—

Steph: *scoots her chair*

Ivy: So now I'm going to make them pay for—what are you doing?

Steph, biting an apple: ...

Tim: She gets snacky.

——— (7) ———

[on a stakeout]

Tim, stifling a yawn: What time is it?

Steph: Half past one. Still nothing on the drop site. If you need some shut eye you can tell me.

Tim: Nah, I'll just use my phone.

Steph: *peers over his shoulder*

Steph: You're reading an adopted by Batman AU?

Tim: ...I was hacked. Just right now.

——— (6) ———

Steph: I could use a little backup.

Tim, shooting his grapple: I'm on my way. How many are there?

Steph: Four, though I bet more are hiding.

Tim: In that case, we better get you out of there instead of wasting time.

Tim: *swings by*

Tim: Grab on.

Steph: *grabs his legs and pulls his pants down*

——— (5) ———

Tim: What should I call my next contingency plan?

Steph: Fuck if I know.

[later]

Barbara: Alright, Tim, let's review your plan for...

Barbara: *squints*

Barbara: Everybody leave. I want to talk to Tim alone.

——— (4) ———

Tim: I'm not so sure about my disguise.

Steph, dressed like the 1980s: It's an 80s-themed roller derby. No way you can mess that up.

Tim: *shows up dressed like the 1880s*

Steph: I stand corrected.

——— (3) ———

Steph: You need to put that computer down. Have a Batburger.

Tim: No. I've almost got it. And don't try to distract me 'cause I've seen everything.

Steph, whispering under her breath: You haven't seen Superboy.

Kon: You called?

Tim: Oh for crying out loud.

——— (2) ———

Tim: *driving the Batmobile*

Steph: Hey, what does this button do?

Tim: NO DON'T THAT—

Steph: *hits the button*

Tim: *gets ejected*

——— (1) ———

Steph: Another successful patrol, if I say so myself.

Tim: All in a night's work.

Bruce: Where's Damian?

Tim: Huh?

Bruce: You were supposed to watch him.

Steph: Pfft, we knew that. He's right... uh...

Tim: We're just gonna—

Tim and Steph: *hop in the car and speed away*

——— (Honorable mention) ———

Steph: No sign of Robin at the dog shelter either. Did you locate his tracker?

Tim: It's offline. Best case scenario he just disabled it, but...

Steph: Oh God, we are in so much trouble.

Tim: Any other ideas?

Steph: Nope. I'm gonna get a drink of water real quick.

Steph: *goes into a store*

Steph: *comes back out with Damian*

Steph: Guess who I found trying to buy a butterfly knife?

Tim: I'll update Batman.

Tim, on the phone: Hey B, guess what?

Damian: *snatches the phone*

Damian: They abandoned me in Crime Alley!

Bruce: Red Robin, Spoiler, you're cleaning the lockers when you get back.

Tim: No wait—

Damian: *hangs up*

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Eight — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Everything is starting to get on top of reader and tensions rise. Azriel takes a trip to Fenlaros and comes away with a headache. Cassian does what Cassian does best. A friendly face swoops in to save the day.

Word count: 8.3k.

Warnings: A little freaky deaky 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni.

Azriel’s kiss is a burning brand.

It’s fire and ice and earth and rain. It tastes like freshly set snow, and it feels like the refined touch of a steeled warrior.

He kisses you like he aches for you. He pulls his hands away only to remove his gloves and chuck them aside, and then he’s clasping your face once more, skin on skin. He’s always so warm — a part of him you’ve missed.

And a part of him that drives you to kiss him back with barely any hesitation.

This — his mouth on yours — feels like the answer to a riddle you’ve been puzzling out for days, weeks, months, years. You’re gasping for air, and his tongue is sliding between your lips, and his taste overpowers you so thoroughly that you think it could break something inside of you.

There isn’t much furniture left in here. A few scattered tables, a shelf or two hanging off the wall. Not much to work with, and yet it doesn’t matter, because you and Azriel will have each other however you can. You’ve spent a lifetime making do with whatever you’ve got. This is no different.

Azriel’s hands fall down to your hips, and he’s lifting you so abruptly that a yelp leaves you and lands straight on his lips. Your arms loop around his neck, and he’s fastening your legs at his waist and stumbling with you — stumbling towards one of those old tables. A plume of dust erupts around you as he sets you down and slots himself between your legs.

“I fucking miss you.” He groans, grabbing your face. “I miss…us.”

You feel so many things. There’s no chance to sort through them, verbalise them, before his mouth slants over yours again. He’s hungry, needy. Hot and sinful. This Azriel is a far cry from the one who coyly confessed to his inexperience. This Azriel writes poetry onto your lips and paints masterpieces on your tongue. He kisses like eternal happiness depends on it. He kisses as though he’s been an artful lover for centuries.

He’s been practicing, the thought pops into your head.

Not with me, the realisation follows.

And that feels like being thrown stark-naked into the snow. It’s not a nice feeling — to realise that Azriel may be treating you to skill refined elsewhere. Not when you think about kissing him more than you’d like to admit to yourself. Does it make you a gods-damned hypocrite after what you did with Cassian? Perhaps.

But none of this — not one bit of it — is reasonable, or rational, or logical.

All you know is that your stomach lurches suddenly, violently, at the thought of where else Azriel’s lips might have been. And that’s all it takes for you to shove him away.

He stares at you, wide-eyed. Perplexed.

“I needed you.” You pant, the words tumbling from you in a flurry of charged emotion. You’re not sure you planned to say it. “On Solstice — I needed you.”

Azriel’s face changes in the blink of an eye. The hunger is gone, replaced by…something else. “Y/N—”

“I needed you, and you weren’t there. You promised me.”

“I know I did. And I’m sorry—”

“Did you even think of me?” It’s awkward, but you try to scramble back on the table. You just…need that distance right now. “Did you not wonder how I might be doing, how my day might be playing out in that hellish house, before you jumped into bed with Kaeda?”

“We didn’t—”

“Did you think of me?”

“Y/N, of course I thought of you.” He tries to clamp down on your legs, but you’re moving further away, damn near falling off the table in your efforts. “But you — you said you would come and find me. I waited for you—I—”

You’re really not sure if it’s a strangled sob or a choked laugh that fights its way up your throat. Perhaps it’s both. The sound of it is jarring, and it echoes around the armoury and reminds you of where you find yourself right now. The situation you’re in. How different things might be had Kaeda not come onto the scene.

“You waited for me?” You repeat, righting yourself. “And—what? Did you get bored? How do you think it felt, Azriel, when I came to find you — the only person I wanted to fucking be around in that moment — and you were busy with Kaeda on top of you? As if I needed my heart breaking any more that night.”

You hate it — hate it so viscerally that the words won’t stop coming. That you’re bringing your heart into this and allowing it to be stomped on again. Your eyes are watering, and you turn quickly before Az can see.

For a moment, he says and does absolutely nothing. And then he takes a step closer to you.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me. Believe me, I am.” He says. There’s another step. Another. He’s hovering at your back and you know he’s wondering whether he should reach out and touch you. “But, Y/N…you encouraged me to pursue things with Kaeda. Am I to apologise for that?”

You blink at his words so abruptly that your tears spill down your cheeks.

Now you’re laughing.

It’s a humourless laugh — a hysterical one. It breaks from you in a series of fractured, incredulous noises. At least the emotion boils your blood so thoroughly that it warms you from the inside.

“Apologise?” You round on Azriel, balling your fists at your sides. “No. You don’t need to fucking apologise. But you also don’t need me to practice on anymore, do you?”

He clamps down on his jaw, a telltale muscle moving. “I didn’t kiss you for that—”

“You kissed me because you miss me. Because I am…I’m just a security blanket, aren’t I? I’m what’s familiar, and you’re used to being around me, and having distance between us has fooled you into thinking that you want to kiss me.”

“No—”

“But you’ll kiss me…and make me feel good..and then the novelty will fucking wear off, and you’ll be running straight back to Kaeda because she is who you’ve wanted all along. Not me. Never me.”

“Cauldron, Y/N, will you just let me speak?!”

No.

You will not.

You can’t.

You can’t do this. You can’t break in front of him. You refuse to.

You want to sound strong, and sure, and unbothered, but you open your mouth, and the words are watery and broken. Weak.

“No.” You swallow a lump down. “No, I won’t. Just…just go, Az. I need some time.”

“We’ve spent the last week apart. That’s plenty of fucking time—”

“Go! Go back to Kaeda. Stop…stop pretending like this could play out any other way. It can’t. It won’t.”

“I’m not leaving on an unresolved fight. You and I don’t do that.”

You are far too beaten down to discuss this any longer. You shrug, and the gesture is an effort in itself. “I’m not sure I know what either of us do or don’t do anymore. Things have changed. Go.”

“Y/N—”

“Go!”

Finally, it seems to dawn on him — the realisation that you’re serious. You won’t be discussing this tonight. You’re not strong enough for that yet.

He falters a moment longer, so clearly not wanting to walk away. The two of you have never been like this. You can fight like the best of friends do, but you’ve always made the effort to resolve things, to not part on a bad word.

But things are different, now. You know it. Az knows it.

“…Fine.” He rasps after a long stint of silence. “I’ll go.”

You nod. If he’s expecting you to suddenly change your mind, he’ll be gravely disappointed.

His eyes sweep you once more, and then he’s turning. Dragging his feet to the door like a kicked animal.

“Az?” You call quietly, and he stops.

The hope in his eyes as he looks over his shoulder almost breaks your resolve. Almost, but not quite. “Yes?”

“Send Cassian next time.”

He doesn’t deign to reply.

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Azriel is not well-versed in the world of dinner parties and propriety.

He has a few decent shirts he reserves for special occasions — like when Rhys’s mother cooks a nice meal, and he and the others dress up out of respect.

Y/N would laugh herself hoarse if she could see him right now.

A thought that stings almost as much as the intense, burning gaze of Tathaln Baralas, Lord of Fenlaros.

He’s a mammoth, domineering presence at the head of the dinner table, seeming to command every bite that each person takes of their food, every sip of their wine. It’s silent unless he speaks. It’s tense because he makes it tense.

He watches Azriel as though he’s going to finish his food and then take a bite out of the shadowsinger himself. Az’s shadows are taut around him, not wanting to make a spectacle of their brilliance. The dinner so far has felt like one big, held breath.

But finally, Tathaln clears his throat, and Kaeda and her brothers sit up straight. Az does the same.

“I trust your friends have fared well since your little adventure in my camp.” The Lord addresses Azriel. “I hope the punishment wasn’t too severe. I did many similar things in my youth — though I can’t say I was ever quite so bold as to venture into a rival territory.”

Azriel inclines his head slightly. “I wanted to apologise again — for what happened. Things got out of hand.”

“I’m partly to blame, father, as you know.” Kaeda adds. Azriel damn near jumps out of his seat as her hand lands on his thigh beneath the table. “It was my idea to invite my friends from Windhaven. An oversight, perhaps, on my part. I was eager to show Azriel what Fenlaros has to offer.”

Tathaln seems to think on that as he chews his food. He washes it down with a gulp of wine and reaches for the carafe to refill his glass. The whole thing feels like somewhat of a performance, and nobody speaks a word as it plays out.

This family dynamic is…odd. Not that Azriel has much experience where normal family dynamics are concerned. But there’s a formality with which Kaeda and her brothers — not that the two males have breathed a word this entire meal — address their flesh and blood. Like he is their Lord first, and father second.

And that isn’t unusual for Illyrians — not at all. Offspring are, more often than not, treated like a prospective trophy to be paraded in front of competing families. The fiercer, more ruthless the child is, the prouder the parent will be. It’s a brutal, ugly way of living that never changes, no matter how many generations stack up.

But perhaps Azriel is at fault for having too high an expectation. Perhaps he shouldn’t ever have been fooled by Kaeda’s wings and spirit being left intact, unlike most females around her.

Tathaln is a puppeteer, and Kaeda and her brothers are his dutiful puppets.

“There was no particular harm done.” The Lord eventually says — rather reasonable, for an Illyrian. “I imagine you received a stern talking to. Revoked privileges, perhaps?”

“Lord Devlon saw fit to lecture us, yes.” Azriel concurs with a nod. “But besides that, we weren’t really handed any punishment. It was my friend, Y/N, who bore the brunt of his wrath. She’s been forced into homelessness as a result.”

A sudden, sharp kick lands on Az’s leg from beside him. He glances at Kaeda in his periphery, eyes the fierce expression with which she looks at him. It seems to be communicating, don’t bring this up now.

But Az wants to bring it up. He’s pissed off; more so than he initially thought. At himself, mostly, and at Devlon, at Rhys’s father, maybe even a little at Kaeda — at everyone really.

Tathaln pauses, his fork mid-air. And then he sits back. “Right — the girl that was here. Why has she been made homeless?”

Girl. It’s a sneer of a word in Illyrian mouths. Azriel has to clamp down on his jaw and remind himself that confronting the sexism that runs through their veins is a fruitless task in that moment.

And Kaeda sighs at his side. As if she’d rather be talking in great detail about the roasting of a boar, than about Y/N.

But it answers a question that’s been rattling around in Azriel’s mind all evening — that no, Kaeda had clearly not mentioned Y/N to her father, as she said she would.

“Her father kicked her out on Solstice.” Az explains. “He’s not a good male, to say the least. Y/N was living with myself and my friends, but after the events that unfolded here in Fenlaros, she was sworn off having any contact with us, because Lord Devlon seems to think that she’s the driving force behind any and every bad choice we make. She has nowhere else to go. It’s…worrying.”

“Perhaps she’ll think twice before wandering into rival camps.” Finally, one of Kaeda’s brothers speaks. Arlen, Azriel thinks his name is. Clearly the idiot doesn’t see the irony of his statement.

Or perhaps Kaeda doesn’t have to adhere to the rules that every other female is strictly held under.

“Arlen.” The Lord shoots him a warning glance. He turns back to Azriel. “I would argue that Lord Devlon is full of shit.”

Azriel stops. Blinks. That…that’s not what he was expecting.

“How so, father?” Kaeda’s brow furrows.

“It’s his job to keep the soldiers under his command in line, no?” Tathaln’s dark, feline eyes are assessing Azriel as he speaks — seeming to read his response. “If he finds that a single female is the cause of such disruption, perhaps it is himself he should look at. He can’t be a great leader if he has to resort to such extremes just to keep his soldiers under control, now, can he?”

Az stares back at him. The question is meant for him, but it all seems too…too easy. Reason and logic are simply not a common thing among these people. The words sound almost…false. Forced.

“No.” Azriel agrees. “I suppose not.”

“Do you find him to be an adequate leader?”

“I’ve never known any different.”

Tathaln’s mouth tips up. “That isn’t what I asked.”

No, it isn’t. But this is a fine line Azriel is treading. He positively despises Lord Devlon — thinks him an arrogant brute who uses his title to flout camp laws and customs and turn everything in his favour. Not to mention the fact that he and his cronies are so clearly threatened by Az, Rhys and Cass — an undoubtedly formidable trio. Azriel is sure that if Devlon had his way, the three of them would be slung out by their necks. Or hung by them.

But his personal feelings towards the Lord of Windhaven doesn’t change the fact that openly disrespecting him — and to the lord of another camp — is a huge dishonour. One that could blow up in Azriel’s face if this conversation were to somehow make its way back to Devlon. He has to choose his words carefully.

“He has a method of leadership that I can’t say I’m in agreement with.” Gods, he is the epitome and personification of diplomacy, if he does say so himself. Ten points to the shadowsinger. “I’m not sure that using his power to target vulnerable females was ever part of his job description. I’m sure, as a father to a female of the same age, you can see where I’m coming from.”

Tathaln takes another pensive sip of his wine. He inclines his head. “Indeed, I do. I think it’s terrible leadership. And I think you’re wasted in Windhaven.”

“I appreciate that, my lord.”

“There is no need for modesty, Azriel, the shadowsinger.” As he speaks, the Lord’s eyes inch towards those very shadows. He studies them with a strange expression that looks almost like…hunger. “Do you know why I sent my Kaeda to your camp? I may as well admit, I have an agenda.”

Azriel glances at Kaeda. She’s staring at her plate, shoulders squared. “Oh?”

“I sent her there to scope out the quality of the units that are being trained in the Windhaven Camp. My sons were sent on similar missions to other camps — Camp Theriel, Camp Steelshore, Camp Aruin. The consensus of what was reported back to me regarding each camp was that potential is not being filled. Quite frankly, a mockery is being made of Illyrians by the poor training of these legions. If war was waged tomorrow, half of our race could be wiped out.”

Bold, bold words.

Azriel finds himself stunned silent.

“We are Illyrians, no?” A thick, callused finger traces the rim of Tathaln’s chalice. “We are a warrior race. We have birthed some of the fiercest warriors in Prythian’s history and decimated tens of thousands across battlefields. And yet, it would seem, these days, that our camps are producing fewer warriors, and far more lazy, unambitious brutes who care only about drinking and fighting and fucking. Our reputation could be destroyed yet.”

This is…bizarre, Az thinks.

He also thinks that it’s a little unfair. He’s the last person to ever defend the creatures around him that are supposedly his brethren, but he also thinks that Tathaln’s assessment is wildly exaggerated.

Illyrians drink, yes, and fight, yes, and fuck, yes. But they do so in between harsh, gruelling training. They drink to forget the brutal nature of their life’s work. They fight each other because they’re just as angry as one another, and that needs an outlet. They seek pleasure, because it’s one of the few good things to be found in these parts.

Their training is not for the faint of heart. You train well, or you die. It’s that simple.

And if Tathaln, Lord of Fenlaros, truly has such concerns, Azriel doesn’t understand why the fuck they’re being presented to him, of all people.

“Is this something you’ve raised with the High Lord?” He asks — he isn’t sure he even means to say it.

Kaeda tenses beside him, and Az wonders if, perhaps, he’s overstepped the mark. But Tathaln seems somewhat pleased by the question — seems pleased that Azriel is engaged in the discussion.

“It is.” The male answers. “And I think he finds himself agreeable to what I’ve had to say. However, I haven’t yet presented my solution — what I believe to be the right course of action.”

Az takes the bait. “Which is what?”

“Eventually,” Tathaln says, “I would do away with the individual camps entirely. I would have one, sole camp to train Illyrian warriors, overseen by the most powerful members of our race. Members with rare, unique powers who can draw on the Illyrian potential and make our people what we were always supposed to be. What we once were, before we became too complacent. Better, even.”

And just like that, it makes sense that Tathaln is sharing such things with Az.

Rare, unique powers. Powers like that of a shadowsinger. So incredibly unique that Azriel has never met another of his kind.

Tathaln has ambition — he covets power. He has a vision that needs backing.

It’s like everything suddenly clicks into place in Azriel’s mind.

He finds himself looking at Kaeda, not her father. Finds himself wondering if she ever had genuine interest in him, or if that interest came entirely from Tathaln. Finally, she lifts her gaze to his, and she wears a strange, pleading look.

“Don’t get me wrong, shadowsinger.” Tathaln says. “This is not a goal that could be achieved overnight. Power takes time to build. I couldn’t take this idea to the High Lord without something to back it up — something to get him on side.”

Azriel shrugs. “But what would you have me do? I’m just a soldier in training—”

“You are a shadowsinger. Do you even realise what an asset that makes you? Perhaps your poor start in life, your mistreatment, has caused you to downplay your potential. But I see it. Your power could be a lethal weapon on a battlefield. And off a battlefield. There is so much you could be doing, and yet Lord Devlon has you landing punches on a sparring dummy and calls it training? You are made for better things than that.”

Praise is…it’s a rare thing, in Azriel’s world. And he doesn’t care about that, because the little praise he does get comes from the people who matter, and that’s all he needs.

But hearing somebody other than his close friends — his family — speak so highly of him, is…new. And he’d be lying if he claimed not to like it.

Still, Tathaln is clearly beating around the proverbial. Azriel almost doesn’t want the discussion to go any further, because his head is already full to the brim with swimming thoughts and close to exploding. But they’ve come this far already; he may as well learn what his role in this bigger agenda would be.

“What is it you want from me, my Lord?” He asks.

A small smile plays on Tathaln’s mouth. His eyes, yet again, are on Azriel’s shadows, rather than Az himself. “As I said, change cannot be made overnight. It would take years — generations, perhaps. I would need enough males — strong males — backing my cause, before the High Lord would even hear of it. But I am a patient male. I know what I want, what is right for Illyria, and I will do everything in my power to make it happen. Starting with strengthening my camp. Being known as the strongest of all camps. And strengthening my influence, too.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“Having your power on my side could be a good thing for me. And I could hone you. I believe this mission starts with you. Abandon Windhaven and take up residence in Fenlaros. Train under my command. Come and see exactly how wasted you are in that place. Come and see what we could build together.”

“You want me to be your pet?” Azriel raises an eyebrow. “Your project?”

“I want to hone your potential and show you what an asset you are. I want Illyrians to be a feared people once more. I want to build the strongest, most powerful army in all of Prythian and make Illyria what it was always supposed to be.”

In the wake of the impassioned speech, silence sweeps in. Azriel is staring at his plate, and he thinks he might be feeling cold all over. There’s a strange tingling at the back of his neck — like a warning sign.

He still doesn’t understand why he’d be integral to such an agenda. He’s a shadowsinger, yes, and that is not to be downplayed, but he’s just Azriel. He’s just an Illyrian who trains to fight, and fights to kill, and to one day be killed. That is simply how it is.

And Windhaven — ugly and cold and harrowing as it is — is his home. His family is there. A cottage that is far too small and cramped to house a group of adults but is always a beacon of light and hope and warmth. A place in which he’s made wonderful memories and felt genuine happiness. He’s happy to tolerate the hellish ways of life around him, because he has beautiful things in front of him.

Beautiful things that wouldn’t follow him to Fenlaros. Yes, he may have broken a rule and breached a camp to attend a party — but doing so under casual circumstances is wildly different to doing so under official ones. As a soldier of Fenlaros — as one of Tathaln’s puppets — he would be expected to adhere to the strict rules and standards that he metes out. Fenlaros would be his territory, and there would be no blurring of those lines.

But could Tathaln really be seeing more potential in Azriel than had ever been noticed before? Could it truly be that Fenlaros has more to offer him? More to be done for him?

“I would be turning my back on everything I know.” Az says, the mere words tasting sour in his mouth. “My loved ones. The family I’ve built. They would be left behind. I’m not under any illusion that you’d allow our two camps to interact if I came here.”

Tathaln dips his chin. “I am not going to sugarcoat that. It would be an adjustment, and a painful one at first. But there is far more for you here, shadowsinger. I simply ask that you consider it. Just as I believe your two brothers would consider it, if I were to present the offer to them.”

“And why haven’t you? Presented it to them? Why me?”

Those dark, calculating eyes swallow him up. “I need a shadowsinger. It starts with you.”

Azriel isn’t even sure what that means, and he doesn’t want to think about it any longer. There’s a lump in his throat. His appetite is well and truly gone. He might even be sick.

He couldn’t possibly leave his family. The thought makes him violently ill.

“As I said, all I ask is for your consideration.” Tathaln watches him. And then his eyes slide to his daughter. “As this meal is clearly over, perhaps Kaeda should show you around Fenlaros. Show you what this place might have to offer. Give the shadowsinger a tour, my sweet.”

Kaeda smiles broadly. “Yes, father.”

Az wants to refuse, but he can’t find the words. Too much is going on in his head. He wants to get out of there and go straight back to Windhaven, where it’s familiar and where love waits for him. He doesn’t want to be a component in a greater agenda.

When he met Kaeda, it was simply about…exploring attraction. About experiencing. Not about this.

But he can’t fucking speak. He stands without telling his body to stand.

And for some reason, when Kaeda slides her hand into his, murmurs a soft “come, Azriel”, he doesn’t protest.

Numb and stunned and sick to his stomach he may be. But he follows.

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Azriel isn’t sure if he’s heard a single word that has left Kaeda’s mouth.

She speaks, and yet it’s simply background noise. He can’t hear around the screeching in his head.

He should really just take to the skies and fly home, but perhaps he’s already a puppet — his feet stay on Fenlaros turf. Kaeda guides him around the camp as though the conversation at dinner never happened. She shows him her favourite haunts and introduces him to people whose names he forgets instantly.

It's up on a viewpoint overlooking the camp, just he and Kaeda alone, that he finally releases a slow, weary breath. He folds his arms against the railing and welcomes the cold air biting into his skin. Kaeda stands just a short distance away.

“We call this area the Widow’s Watch.” She says, daring a step closer. “It’s said that centuries ago, at the end of battle, the camp wives would gather up here with firelit torches and await their husbands’ return. If their husband returned, they’d extinguish the torch. Those that were left burning signified who did not return from war.”

Azriel says nothing; isn’t sure he’s capable. He digs his fingers into his arm.

Eventually, Kaeda stops at his side, also bracing her arms on the railing. She looks out over the camp wistfully, as though she can see hordes of wounded soldiers returning home. “I can’t imagine how eerie that sight must have been — the beacons of the dead painting the sky with fire.”

“No,” the agreement leaves the shadowsinger unexpectedly — surprises even him. “Neither can I.”

It’s then that Kaeda angles herself towards him just slightly. He meets her gaze. She’s so very beautiful — the kind of female that artists beg to paint. Her cheekbones are high and defined, her lips full. Her eyes look like shards of glimmering green rock. Never is there a hair out of place. Never a stray lash or smudged rouge. She is, quite simply, a vision.

But Az finds himself wondering if he’s ever known any part of her, or if she’s just following orders.

“I know you must have questions.” She eyes him cautiously.

“So many that my brain can’t keep up.” He takes a small step away. “Have you ever been genuinely interested in me?”

“I have.”

“Your father literally sent you to cozy up to me.”

Her eyes shutter, thick lashes fanning against her skin. “It wasn’t like that, Azriel. I mean — it was, to some degree. You’re right that my father sent me, and that he already had his sights set on you. I work for him. I’m training as his spymaster.” She opens those eyes again — wide. “Yes, he told me to get to know you. But he didn’t say romantically. That was all me. I just…like you.”

Gods, it should feel good, feel like a positive thing, to hear that. To know that the beautiful female he’s been getting to know these past months has genuine interest in him.

But he feels…nothing. No sense of relief. Only the anger that’s still simmering at this entire thing being orchestrated by her father.

“Does it not bother you?” His tone is brusque, sharp, as he stares Kaeda down. “That your father has you do his bidding? You’re a pawn in a game.”

“My father has a vision. It is an honour to serve him, and to be a contributor to that vision eventually coming to fruition. I will not apologise for that.”

“A vision. To create…to create one fucking super camp that he is to oversee? It sounds to me like your father has a hunger for power. Things have worked this way in Illyria for millennia. Why should they be changed now?”

Kaeda shakes her head. “You’re wrong. Things aren’t working. That’s just the problem.”

“You—”

“Are you proud to be an Illyrian, Azriel?” She steps closer to him; perhaps too close. “I’m not. Not with how things are right now. But I want to be. We are a warrior race. We are supposed to train, and fight, and protect. We’re supposed to be formidable. We’re supposed to be feared. But with the way things are going, fewer and fewer of those things are remaining true. If we don’t change how things are run across these camps and light a fire under our soldiers’ asses, half of our people could be wiped out when the next war comes. The Illyrian race could cease to exist entirely, and our legacy will be left at the mercy of rhyme and tale. We can’t allow that to be the case.”

Azriel studies her.

Her passion is…intense, yes, but also strangely beautiful. There’s a ferocity in her eyes that is so rare among a people who live and breathe misery; whose lot in life is to die.

That doesn’t mean, of course, that he appreciates Tathaln’s scheming, nor Kaeda’s. But they’re not exactly wrong in that ambition is a rare commodity these days. Those who can train for the Illyrian army do so because it’s what is expected of them. Those who aren’t cut out for it make do with everyday jobs around camp. Nobody has pride or passion. Nobody is prepared for war.

So Azriel’s shoulders relax just a little, even though his scepticism remains very much present. “I still don’t understand why I am being scouted for this cause, though. Why not take it to the High Lord? Or why not get Rhysand on side?”

Kaeda shakes her head. “As my father explained, we simply don’t have enough backing to go to the High Lord about this idea — not yet. He knows of my father’s opinion and even agrees that things need to change, but such a complex idea requires careful handling. And conspiring with his son about it would surely not put us in his favour.”

“So…what? I’m the next best thing?”

“After Rhysand, you’re the most powerful, yes. Your influence could aid us greatly. I don’t think you realise how highly coveted you are. Every other camp is aware of the fact that Windhaven has a shadowsinger. And they’re equally aware that your abilities aren’t being put to their full potential under Lord Devlon’s command. Changes will be made whether you accept my father’s offer or not, Azriel. But the changes we’re proposing are the best ones. The right ones.”

“I don’t see what’s right about having to leave my friends — my brothers—”

“Gods, Azriel, just…just take the emotion out of this for five seconds and listen to me.”

Az’s jaw clenches. “I am listening.”

“Then hear me clearly. Change is coming. It’s inevitable. And one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty is that even if you weren’t to come to Fenlaros, you would still be separated from your friends, or your brothers, or whatever you call them.” She hovers close enough to touch, now, mere inches from him. “One thing I’ve picked up on in Windhaven is that Lord Devlon is very intimidated by the strength of you, Cassian and Rhysand being together. The older you get, the more powerful you’re becoming, and people are growing aware of that. Devlon intends to separate the three of you, and by any means necessary. He can’t risk the threat you pose to him. He’ll tear you apart.”

The information doesn’t surprise Az one bit. He’s sensed a growing panic amongst Devlon and his cronies. They don’t stand a chance against the future High Lord and his two closest friends. And Azriel doesn’t doubt that if physical separation didn’t work, the callous bastards would resort to something far, far worse. Or try, at least.

But still, none of this is making any fucking sense to him. He needs a stiff drink. Or twenty. “How would coming to Fenlaros solve that in any way?”

“Beating Devlon at his own game — separating yourself from your brothers — will lure him into a false sense of security. With you gone, it’ll be one less problem to worry about. He’ll let his guard down. Meanwhile, we’ll be building our influence here and forming a case that can be taken to the High Lord. With his support of our changes, we’ll have the power to do more. And then eventually…eventually, your brothers can join you here. When we have more ground to work on. My father would never begrudge the bond the three of you have. He’d see it as a positive…having three such powerful Illyrians under his command.”

Too much to think about. Way, way too much. Azriel just wants to get out of there. He wants to lie down in a dark room and pretend nothing and no one exists.

But he stares at Kaeda. And he asks, “And what of Y/N? Could she come here, too?”

There’s a very slight hesitance — small, but certainly there. But then she purses her lips, and she shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

He’s not sure she means it. And that…that’s a whole other rabbit hole he’s not sure he can face going down right now. Another situation entirely.

Before he can say anything else, Kaeda closes the gap between them. She cups his face and leans up, close enough that their mouths are almost touching.

“Just think about it. That’s all I ask.” She says. “I really do like you, Azriel. And I really do think we could have something. Think of what we could do here, together. Of what we could be. We could make history. Just…promise me you’ll think about it.”

His lips part with a response he hasn’t even thought of. But there’s no chance to speak it as Kaeda slants her mouth over his and kisses him slowly, softly. Deeply.

Her fingers sink into the strands of his hair, and she breathes a muted hum into his mouth. She tastes like peppermint and sugar, and she kisses as though she hasn’t just laid the weight of the world on Azriel’s shoulders.

And that weight might be why he’s stiff as a board, barely reacting. Or it might be the horrible feeling of dread that this is all wrong. He kissed another female, earlier today — and that kiss had felt like burning, eternal sunshine.

This one feels like…like a ploy.

“Just promise me.” She pulls away just enough to whisper. “Promise me you’ll think about it.”

There’s no way he can’t think about it. The seeds have been sown. And perhaps he feels a little slither of guilt for how rigid and cold he currently is, because he doesn’t shoot her plea down like he should.

He sucks in a slow breath and inclines his head.

“Okay.” He says. “I’ll think about it.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The fucking wall is Azriel’s fucking face.

At least, that’s what the fuck you tell yourself as you send a dagger hurtling at it and watch it bury its point into the surface. Another scuff mark to add to the growing smattering, all courtesy of you.

Fuck. Him.

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt so angry in your life, and Cauldron knows, you’ve had ample reason to. But this anger is…it’s consuming. It’s violent and jagged and nauseating. It’s claws sinking into your heart and your brain and dissecting everything that plagues you in both sleep and consciousness.

And it’s this severe because you care. You care so very much.

You’re sick of caring.

Why would he kiss you, after all that has happened since the last time? To taunt you? To grab your feelings in his fist and twist them? To practice on you?

And to think you almost gave in to that strange, carnal need to have his hands on you again. You cannot — will not — allow yourself to think about which deeper emotion or desire that need is rooted in. Thinking will lead only to realisations that may destroy you yet.

And he’s probably with Kaeda right now, too. Perhaps losing himself in her, forgetting all about you with the aid of her touch—

You scowl and march to the wall, yanking your dagger out. Your anger and your need to just…move, is keeping you warm, at least. Nighttime in the old armoury is about as pitiful as can be imagined, but the relentless cold is actually a strange…relief. It hurts in a satisfying way.

How fucking dare he, your mind chants, not for the first time, as you stalk back to your spot. How dare he treat you as though you’re nothing? You brace yourself and send the dagger hurtling towards the wall once again—

The door is suddenly bursting open, and the weapon only just misses Cassian’s face on its journey as he strides in, arms full of items you don’t care to look at.

He stops abruptly. Blinks. “Did you just throw a dagger at me?”

“No.” You immediately scowl, stalking over to retrieve it yet again. “Fuck you.”

“Ouch. Fuck you right back. I brought blankets and food.”

“Shove them up your ass.”

“I’d really rather not.” He kicks the door shut behind him and strides over to the pile of your scant belongings, dropping his items and freeing his arms. He turns back to you with raised eyebrows. “Is there a particular reason you’re acting like a little storm cloud, or is it just a way to pass the time?”

Finally, you sheath your blade — partly because you’re not sure you trust yourself with it right now. You face your friend, fully aware that you’re out of line and fully resentful of the fact.

“I had an argument with Az.” You admit, not even certain you mean to.

Cassian’s eyebrows raise. “Well, that explains why he nearly bit my head off earlier, too. What did you fight about?”

Do you tell him? Do you confess all your complicated, messed up feelings — the bizarre circumstances that brought them about — when you haven’t even sorted through them yourself? No. You can’t. It’s a bit too soon for that.

“It was…nothing.” You stalk over to your things. “Just nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing—”

“Thank you for bringing me these.” You toe a thick blanket with your boot.

Yet again, Cassian’s eyebrows go up. “Are you hinting at me to leave?”

“Just because I have to face the night in this hovel, doesn’t mean you should be subjected to the same fate. I wouldn’t expect that of you.”

“Well, fucking expect it, because I’m staying—”

“Cass—”

“Come here.” He opens his arms. “Right now.”

You stare at him. And in that instant, with him seeing you — seeing everything you are, everything you’re feeling, what you need — your anger simmers, and it threatens to turn into tears.

“You clearly need a hug.” He points out softly. “And I’ve missed you this past week. So come here.”

In an instant, you crumble. You’re stepping forward and damn near falling into Cassian’s arms. He catches you, just like he always catches you.

His arms band around you, warmer and more secure than any blanket. He pulls you tightly against him, and you allow your arms to snake around his waist. It’s only then that you realise how much you need the firmness of his body to hold you up. He’s like a huge, supporting wall that stops you sinking to your knees.

“I’m so sad.” You whisper, nestling your face into his chest. His scent and his warmth permeate his clothes, and they combine and wash over you in a soothing combination.

“I know.” His broad hand cups the back of your head. “Everything is a huge mess right now. But we’re going to get through it — together.”

You hate that you can’t believe him; not right now. Everything is too up in the air, too uncertain. A dark mass has followed you around this camp for the entirety of your life, and it’s closer than ever to closing in and snuffing out who you are.

“How can you be so sure?” You ask. “I don’t think I have the strength to fight anymore, Cass.”

He pulls back to study you. To cup your face and look into your eyes. “Yes.” He says firmly. “You do. You always have and you always will. There is nothing — nothing — you can’t face. I truly believe that, Y/N.”

Staring back at him feels just like…like the night in the cottage, when you lost yourself in him. Him being there for you, speaking the words that are so hard to believe and yet so what you need to hear. The same urge arises in you to give over to those feelings. Do something for yourself for once.

You think Cassian might read that thought on your face. Perhaps you wear it shamelessly.

He studies you closely — studies you hard. And his throat bobs as his eyes flit down to your lips.

“Y/N.” He says. “Let me make you feel good.”

You swallow, also. And you don’t need to think about it. “Yes.” You nod. “Yes.”

In a flash, he’s closing the gap between you, his mouth finding yours. The hot and heavy weight of his lips is a relief. One that makes you release a soft sigh.

You don’t let yourself think about the fact that you were kissing Azriel in this very building only earlier. Nor about the fact that it could have gone much further than that. Cassian gives you himself, and you take, your hands bunching in his jacket as you haul him against you.

His hand fists in your hair, tilting your face up to him. And as his mouth stains yours with his urgent need, he’s backing you up, walking you back and back until you collide with that very table that Az kissed you on earlier.  Cassian picks you up in an easy sweep and places you on the tabletop. He parts your legs and slots himself in between, his mouth never once leaving yours, never once faltering.

Until he parts from you and says, “Lie back.”

With his hand guiding you down, you do just that. You sprawl out on that table, anticipation coiling in your stomach. It warms you from the inside, makes your skin too hot and your clothes too heavy.

Cassian doesn’t mess around with teasing or taunting. He drags his hands over your breasts, your stomach, and down to the laces at your breeches. You don’t care about the cold air. You lift your hips and wish only for him to undo those laces faster. You want your skin bare, and his touch marking it.

“I didn’t get to taste you last time.” Your friend pants, pressing a kiss to your abdomen. “Will you let me now?”

Goosebumps erupt over you skin. You grip onto the edges of the table and breathe, desperately. “Yes. Please.”

So boldly, he yanks your breeches and undergarments down in one go. His fingers find the very centre of you, already soaked, already ready for him. What he finds there makes him groan.

“Here? You’ll let me taste you here?”

“Please.” You pant again. “Just…please, Cass. I need this.”

“I know.” A kiss lands on your skin. “I know.”

His hands drag down your legs at the same time he sinks to his knees. You bow your head forward — just to watch the predatory grace with which he aligns his face with your sex. He licks his lips like you’ve presented him with his most carnal desire.

He inhales slowly — breathes in your scent. A growl rips from his throat.

And then he dives right in.

His tongue licks a stripe up your centre, from your entrance, up to your clit. Your hips buck at the contact, one hand moving to bunch within his hair. As his tongue swirls over your clit, pleasure barrels through you that ends in a cry.

“Your taste is fucking divine.” Cass groans, and his hands pry your legs further apart. He wastes no time in lapping at your juices, damn near fucking drinking you down. He drinks and drinks like a male parched. “Gods, Y/N.”

“More.” You gasp, thrusting your hips towards him. You grind your cunt against his face, and you can’t stop your body jerking, your head lolling back. “Gods, Cass, more.”

“More?” His teeth graze against the sensitive nub. “Tell me what you need.”

“Your mouth. Fingers. You.”

A delicious, sinful chuckle, so incredibly deep and lilting, breaks from Cass and vibrates against you. He lands a harsh suck on your clit. “I love how filthy you are.”

And he shows you how much he loves it, as one finger suddenly gathers up your wetness and teases your entrance. You moan, plead, beg him to slip it into you. He does so at the same time that he fastens his lips to your clit and strokes at it with his tongue.

You feel him smile against you. Your responses seem to provide him with almost as much pleasure as your touch would.

“Just like that.” He growls the words onto you, sliding his finger out and back in — adds a second one. “Take what you need. Fuck my fingers.”

You need this pleasure. This release. He has no idea how much you need it. Nobody does. You need to feel like somebody else, feel like you’re somewhere else. You need to feel something other than…blinding pain.

And so you take what you fucking need, undulating your hips and moving yourself on his fingers, against his tongue. Cassian follows your lead, keeps up with your pace. As your moans pick up, so do the thrusts of his hand.

“Going to come for me?” His hand moves faster. “Come around my fingers?”

“Yes.” You throw your head back. “Fuck—Cass.”

“Come.” He growls. “Want to feel you.”

It’s as if your body is fully under his command, because the words have your climax bursting through your body and chasing you from every negative feeling that’s been plaguing you. It feels beautifully catastrophic, fucking mind-altering. It feels like an out of body experience.

You know, somewhere in your mind, that you’re being loud, but you don’t give a single damn. You welcome your orgasm and allow it to consume you. You allow your loud, gasping noises to echo around the building.

But perhaps it’s the loud volume of those noises that prevents both you and Cass from hearing the door open behind you. Perhaps it’s the heat of your passion that makes you immune to the sudden gust of cold air.

Whatever it is, neither of you notice a third presence until a voice bellows behind you.

“Cauldron fucking boil me, my eyes!”

Both you and Cass rise with a start, you scrambling to cover yourself. A horrified expression stares back at you both.

“Roza.” You both say at the same time. Both blink in shock, too.

Rhysand’s mother covers her eyes with her hand and turns her back to you.

“Please correct yourselves before you traumatise me any more.” She says. “Can’t turn my back on you idiots for five gods-damn minutes.”

azriel tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd

[vanillawurld]

༊*·˚Sensación del Bloque

✧.* Pair - Joost Klein x Fem! Reader

✧.* Tags & Warnings - fluff and cussing ig

✧.* Summary - Joost finds out about his friend's new neighbor and doesn't act upon introductions until he sees her in all of her beauty.

✧.* Extra- a couple things... reader is implied to be latina, implied to have a more tanner/browner/darker complex, and reader is going to have acrylic nails and gold jewelry cuz those are my favorite things in the world rn… also i dont speak dutch so the highlighted parts are the ppl speaking dutch. ALSOO reader has a place holder smell (vanilla) but yall can change it if you want ALSOOO reader doesn’t speak dutch okay im done now

✧.* Word Count - 1,319

Joost always enjoyed meeting new people. It always allows him to share his work with others. He can be shy about his work but it's inevitable for people to know about him and his art. People never know when they are going to meet someone new unless it's planned.

Just like any other day for an artist, Joost was working with his friend, Antu, on the production of some beats for a new song in his friend’s apartment. “Man, I'm kind of hungry I'm not going to lie,” Antu randomly said, taking his eyes off his computer to look at Joost. They’ve been working on beats since the morning and being too focused on work, they forgot about the basic essentials a human body needs. Food.

“Well, what do you want to get? I don’t feel like driving so pick a place near here,” Joost replied.

Joost felt like it was an eternity letting Antu pick a fast food place. When he finally decided where to get food, they placed an order through the phone for pick up and waited. It was a quiet couple of minutes of waiting until Antu broke the silence, “I got a new neighbor”

“Seriously?”

“Yup. I’ve been trying to talk to her but she kind of ignores me. Like she’s playing hard to get,” Antu shared.

Joist gave him a confused look, “I thought you were talking to Sofie. Did you guys stop talking or something?”

Antu looked at Joost, “No… Im still talking to Sofie but that doesn’t mean im taken,” he said, making Joost roll his eyes.

“Do you know where she moved from?” Joost asked

Antu shrugged, “I heard some of the other neighbors say she’s not from Europe though. Probably somewhere in the Americas.”

A couple of minutes rolled by and Joost decided to start making his way to the place to pick up the food they ordered. He walked out of the apartment and checked his phone to see if the order was complete. While he was checking, he heard the next door open and was met by the most gorgeous looking woman he has ever seen. that must’ve been the new neighbor Antu was talking about.

She was gorgeous. everything about her screamed “goddess”. Her hair, her makeup, her jewelry, her nails everything. Joost didn’t wanna stare, but it was hard not to. The way her hair hugged the frame of her face. The way her flawless makeup sat. The way her gold jewelry reflected on her skin. The way her acrylic nails made her hands look pretty. He was able to smell her sweet vanilla scent from where he was at. something about her, made him intrigued to know her, even though this was the first time he was seeing her.

The woman was trying to look for something in her purse and seemed like she was struggling. She ended up giving up and started walking towards the elevator past him, but what she didn’t notice was that she dropped a euro. Joost saw this and thought that God was giving him a huge opportunity to talk to her. He picked up the euro and prepared himself.

“Excuse me ma’am” she ignored him “Ma’am, excuse me” she ignored him again. He got closer to her and thats when she turned around to face him. She felt his presence. Joost was even more nervous than he was. He was up close to her and felt his body go weak. “You dropped this, ma’am” he said to her.

She gave him a confused look at first and looked at his hand that had the euro note. “Is this… mine?” she said in a confused tone. From that short moment, Joost figured out why Antu couldn’t talk to her. She didn't speak Dutch. Joost didn’t know how Antu didn’t know since he said himself that she wasn’t from Europe.

“Oh, sorry! Yes this is yours. You dropped it.” Joost said in English.

He handed her the euro and gave her a nervous chuckle. She smiled back and gently took it from him. “Thank you so much,” she said to him. Her voice was heaven to Joost’s ears.

“No, problem,” he said. She started walking away, but Joost didn’t want her to. He didn’t want to stop talking to her. He wanted more from her. “Um, ma’am” he grabbed her attention again, “did you just move here?”

“I did. 2 months ago.” she replied, “im still trying to figure out where places are and stuff. Im trying to find a good clothing store near by.”

More opportunities were coming to the Dutch artist and he didn’t want them to go to waste. “Oh, I know a bunch of stores around here. I was actually about to head out to pick up some food from a place that’s around a lot of good clothing stores. If you want we can walk together around that place,” he exclaimed.

The woman gave him a smile and a smooth giggle, “You’re sweet, but im going to pass. I want to learn on my own.”

Joost was slightly disappointed but he couldn’t complain. “W-Well if you ever need any help, im always at my friends place working, stop by anytime,” he suggested.

She nodded and continued walking, but Joost called her out again. “Uh, ma’am?” she turned around to look at him, “Can I get your name? My name is Joost” he held out his hand for her to shake.

She looked down at his hand and back at him. “Everyone here is so nice,” she commented, “My name is (Y/N),” she said while taking out her hand to shake his. Joost was analyzing every detail about her. The way she talked, the way she dressed, her smooth hand, everything. As she walked away, she turned around one last time to tell him, “I like your outfit by the way.”

He watched the way her hips swayed as she walked and was enamored. Joost smiled almost like a dork. He felt extremely giddy inside like he could jump up high like they would in those corny musicals about high school. His moment was cut short though, when Antu opened the door. “Dude, where’s the food?” he said.

“Shit, sorry. I’ll go get it right now,” Joost said while taking out his wallet.

Antu looked to his side and saw his new neighbor walking towards the elevator. He immediately connected the dots. “Bro, don’t tell me you managed to talk to her,” he questioned, but by the way Joost was smiling, he already got his answer. “Please tell me your secret, i’m being dead ass,” Antu said.

From the moment that left Antu’s mouth, Joost wanted to gate keep. He didn’t want to tell him that (Y/N) doesn’t speak Dutch she he bullshitted, “You just got to have personality to pull someone like her.”

Anti rolled his eye, “Alright calm down, buddy. I will say you are lucky though. i’ve seen men basically line up outside to see her go out because she’s always going out. Didn’t think she’d talk to a boy white as you.”

“Okay, fuck you.” Joost replied. He was shocked by what Antu said though. Having men line up for a woman who is new to the country is crazy.

“Dude, she’s basically the street sensation. You are extremely lucky to even talk to her. I’ve seen her ignore so many people. Don’t know how you did it,” Antu commented before closing the door to his apartment.

Whatever spell (Y/N) put on Joost, it was working hard. he wanted to know more about her. Where she was from, who she was, but he needed to wait. He would wait until his death to know about her. He couldn’t wait to see more of her. This was the first woman to ever make him desperate for more and it wasn’t driven by lust.

˖◛. *. ⋆ Vanilla Speaks

this was a little something... where my Latina Joost Klein bitches at