#he does also have black streaks in his hair and mismatched eyes but is that really ugly by our standards?

[cerseiboleyn]

the "tyrion is a ugly disgusting monster in the books!" opinion bothers me because his siblings are literally the two most beautiful people in the seven kingdoms. Why wouldn't tyrion be handsome by our standards just because he's disabled?

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

Twisted Wonderland boys try Drag  

I wrote the thing about Floyd (link) and it wouldn't leave me alone, and then I asked myself, what about the others?   

Floyd Leech, Malleus Draconia, Riddle Rosehearts, Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt 

Floyd Leech 

He has to go to this event and it’s going to be boring. He knows that it's all for looks and he’ll do it because Mom has asked him. But that’s the only reason he is doing it with mild complaining.  

Until of course, Yuu runs in like a cat on fire, grin wide and manic.  

Whatever comes out of that sharptoothed mouth is going to be fantastic.  

“Floyd!” Yuu chirps. “I have an idea. And I think you could be the son of a gun that's gonna help me do it.”  

“And why would I do that, Shrimpy?” He knows that his grin matches, that he’ll do it anyway, but damn if seeing her like this isn’t fun.  

“Easy. It’s fun, it’ll cause large amounts of chaos and drama and it’ll make Betta Fish either envy, rage or a develop a strange attraction he won’t understand until several years later in therapy.”  

Well how he is supposed to say no to that?  

They have something similar, at least in the sea. Not so gender based, that’s more of a human thing which he still doesn’t fully understand, but the larger than life makeup, large jewelry, that sort of thing. He had no idea the humans had something too!  

There is a dress code they have to follow, and half of the fun of bending rules is knowing what rules you are bending. So they pick and choose, he does ship in one or two items for his own benefit. Mamaw even handed off some of her old jewelry once he told her what the plan was. He may want to give his parents a little shock, but his never kept secrets or surprises from her. She’s good at keeping her mouth shut though, especially if it’s fun. 

When the both of you arrive, it is old Hollywood glam. He’s turquoise hair looks stunning with finger waves, lined with rhinestones and his signature black streak creating such an interesting texture. He’s make up is more on the dramatic side, bright blush and bold lipstick but cheekbones softened in a classic style. The dress is one of the things ordered in, as there was no way you had any clothes that you could even slightly modify at Ramshackle, a blue full sequin dress with a center split that feels vaguely familiar to Yuu, but you can’t put a finger on it. You did add gold shoulder chains that trail delicately down his shoulders and arms for a faux sleeve that makes his frame look sleek and elegant.  

Yuu of course, is simply a compliment to the drag queen, old Hollywood suit and tie with a tall top hat, a painted beard with sharp angles and twisted waves, tight pin curls with bejeweled pins left in sporadically.  

Vil does in fact lose his mind, but he’s more upset that you have not told him about this than seeing it. He grills you the whole night, and then some. 

Floyd however, thrives, having the time of his life finally being able to wear his stilettos out without feeling mismatched. It’s something the two of you continue to do together, but he’ll incorporate things on his own. You see more long skirts and dresses in his closet, different tweaks to his hair, and definitely more experiments with his eye makeup. He looks especially pretty when he’s squeezing people.  

When he looks at you, it’s just joy that he gets to express himself more. If he requires that you are his date for every party now, even underwater, well who are you to complain?  

Malleus Draconia 

It pops into your head as both of you are talking about home. You had been to plenty of Drag Brunches with the performances and dance, but also just Drag crawls with nights of everybody showing up and visiting, letting people get photos and just visit.  

Malleus has always had a hard time getting people to give him a chance, afraid of just his visage alone. It’s a reputation well earned, but he was very much a child with the stories that circulate and didn’t even know what he was doing.  

“What if you weren’t you?” Yuu asks, head tilted as the idea forms more in her mind. “What if you were a different version of you?”  

He’s open to the idea at least, allowing different experiments with color, themes, outfits and make up to see what he’s comfortable with, though there are some that go completely out the window. 

It’s easy for him to look like the Thorn Fairy, so they do put together a simple outfit that’s more of a modern take of her classic silhouette. A simple black side split gown with a thrifted Diasomnia coat with the patch ripped out, added embellishments of purple dyed furs, and silver metal accent spikes, letting his natural elegance take hold and make the presence.  

Do you have more casual clothes for him for brunch type things? Absolutely. And he looks fantastic in his oversized long sleeve crop top and ripped wide jeans with fishnet. He’s accessories tend to be the louder items for him, and he’s make up has plenty of colors, but he will always find his comfort in blacks, greens and purples. He doesn’t tend to go as loud as other Drag Queens, but it still works. Apparently, he sees Lilia dress this way often, so it’s something familiar and makes him feel a bit closer to him.  

The first brunch type thing the both of you go to, you are dressed more like a gentleman to compliment. A simple white button up, suspenders, a tight pompadour and exaggerated cheekbones. He had gone with the long dress since it was more of a formal affair, dressed down with boots, a softer lilac cardigan from Yuu’s closet, and wig pinned back into a simple but elegant bun, the blue underlay shining like a whole scale.  

He’s amazed at how easily people talk to him, how they approach with no fear. He gets to talk, and any awkwardness is explained away by being raised in Briar valley, because of course he’s just a Fae, not a dragon, those horns are simply part of the costume. Their is one little child that stays with him the entire time, talking about gargoyles, grotesques, and other statues. Malleus’s tail, also a prop of course, is swinging the entire time.  

Malleus loves to go out to smaller venues, but does fear getting too much attention and losing this as an outlet. He will go to lots of underground events with you, even the raves he’ll do for a few hours, and enjoy the people there. That he happens to get to protect you to is an added bonus, though the first time he sees Yuu lay out a guy for an inappropriate comment, he falls in love just a little more.  

Above, sitting on a staircase and looking down at his son, Lilia tears up a bit. There is fondness, pain, so much pain, and love.  

Malleus won’t make the connection until years later, when he sees a picture of himself, but he doesn’t look like the Thorn Fairy. He looks like his mother.  

Riddle Rosehearts  

Riddle sees Yuu’s drag first and loves it. What started as an invitation for a historically accurate Red Court costume tea party had allowed Yuu to dive deep back into the hobby with ease. So much of Red Court fashion involved that over-the-top style and fun that it was easy to pull together a fantastic outfit.  

He is a bit more hesitant to get into it, especially once the two of you realize that what he pictures himself in is close to his Overblot form, but simple modifications can fix that. The make-up isn’t too difficult for him to learn at all, after all the Heartslabyul students apply their own everyday, and he does love his red eyeliner. He is a bit embarrassed on how comfortable he feels in the corsets and dresses, but she manages to pull him back in with the shoes.  

Afterall, it wasn’t uncommon for Drag Queens to wear platforms. He’s usual heels will give him a solid inch or two, but six? He’s a whole new person when he puts on a pair of platforms.  

The next historical tea party, he pulls up in a Queen of Hearts inspired dress, but there isn’t a trace of black in the design. White lace gloves, the card fan collar fun and playful looking, the red soft and romantic looking instead of bloody, white roses pristine and large red ribbons ballooning out like the bow of a present. His hair of course is a wig, the red not quite as strong as he’s own, decorated in pearls and diamonds with heart-shaped lips and strong eyebrows.  

Trey notices how differently Riddle acts, firm but strong, delicate with his teacup and firm with the flamingo handles as he plays. He seems...happier. And he looks especially regal when a student makes an unsavory comment, and he sends them flying with a commanding “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!”  

Vil Schoenheit  

Now, Vil was normally a respectful gentleman, but when he saw the different sketches on the margins of your notes, he became intrigued, especially when you let it slip that it was for herself. Drag had a slightly different definition in Twisted Wonderland, and Vil already practiced this version. Basically, how close can one flirt with fashion or make up or demeanor to become a woman, but it wasn’t anything like what you had.  

But what you had laid out was more Avante Garde, more bold, more interesting. A living art piece, yes, that’s what he would call it! There were designs that Yuu wouldn’t try but thought would look amazing or simply didn’t have to skill or resources to do. That wouldn’t be a problem with Vil.  

There is some work with figuring out what works best, as he basically looks good in everything and already has experience with changing his shape and silhouette. But looking good in everything doesn’t mean that’s what is best for him, and that’s what Yuu pushes, showing more of the entertainment and songs, for what feels the most confident. Eventually, they figure out that Vil enjoys being able to do less entertainment and simply exist as something beautiful and untouchable.  

Vil’s next event, Yuu comes more as an assistant, as the outfit is going to take hours to pull together, but it will be a showstopper. Yuu has no interest of trying to compete with Vil on this one, and he needs no complimenting king. She still gets free food out of it though, so definitely no complaints there.  

Vil arrives looking like a perfume bottle, intricate and elegant and stunning. The bottom balloons out and trails with a black ruffle, studded with spikes, hips accented with leather pads and structured velvet dress and long sleeves locked into black accordion ruffles on his wrist. But the chest is exposed, a beating heart pulsing in a golden rib cage, inverted shoulder pads like wings rising with a crown that puts the puny tiaras around them to shame.  

His smile is hidden, black lipped and sharp, and Yuu thinks that he’s probably never felt as beautiful as he does now.  

Rook Hunt  

Does anybody else remember Prince Poppycock? He was an opera singer that showed up on American Idol and was my first exposure to anything like drag, especially drag kings. He has lived rent free in my mind ever since. Anyway, on to Rook!  

Rook sees you experimenting with different outfits from the closets of Ramshackle, fashions that have been out of season for maybe a century now, and he loves them. How strong, how romantic, the glamor of it! He at least does the polite thing by knocking on the door before begging to be your mannequin.  

Rook, similar to Vil and Riddle, has plenty of experience with make-up, but the full white face is something he has never done before. He does love how bright the colors come out on such a canvas though and makes several versions with different outfits he has sent in from home. The hardest part is the wigs, which are simply too modern or not the right colors for him. He gets a long-curled wig imported from home and asks to keep it at Ramshackle, and carefully styles it out his eyes. Yuu is also not surprised when other outfits and ribbons start coming in, simply hanging them out to get the wrinkles out. The matching silk robes are nice though, she’ll admit to that one.  

He gets his opportunity when you find a local theater troupe that does soliloquys, monologues, short songs and one act plays on Saturdays evenings that would be more than happy to have extra performers. Getting Rook to choose only one monologue is more difficult than choosing the outfit, but it’s easy to compliment his look with a similar vibe.  

It’s something Yuu has never had the opportunity to see before. The way that Rook preforms like this as opposed to the SDC is so different. He lets loose here, fully indulging into the character, and the audience is enraptured with him. Some of the upcoming actors and actresses are even pausing in practicing their lines just to look at him go.  

Sometimes over tea parties, him and Riddle really bond over historical dress, he’ll even sprinkle freckles on top of the white face paint. Yuu wishes he would let his natural ones come through sometimes, but maybe it is a work in progress.   

[bi-disastersoup]

R'alma Crissen Lore Masterpost

Hi! Let me introduce you to the complicated mess that is my WoL. I like to write about him frequently, but I'm still developing him as a character. This will probably be updated as I come up with new lore for his personality/backstory.

Wol vs Azem sheet Azem's Familiar Design (or Why Does R'alma Have a Tail?) Azem Lore Masterpost

The Basics

Name: R'alma Crissen Race: Rava Viera (technically not actually, see below) Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him (They/Them is acceptable for the confused) Sexuality: Definitely Gay (and Maybe Bi, unknown)/Probably Demisexual Height: 5'7" Age: 26(ish? I guess?) Nameday: 32nd Sun of the Fourth Umbral Moon (Aug 31st) Birthplace: Thanalan Tribe: Raptor Family: R'crissen Nunh (father) R'manafa Jhaz (mother) Combat Jobs: BLM/DRK/RPR/DNC/SGE (in that order) Non-combat Jobs: BTN/ALC

The Beginning

Alma Crissen was born a Miqo'te to the Raptor tribe of the Seekers of the Sun. She spent her entire childhood in Thanalan, and because of this she considers the region to be her home. She had long black hair streaked with red, and mismatched eyes, one dark green and one bright teal. Her skin was pale for a Sunseeker, since she spent most of her time indoors studying rather than out hunting with the rest of the tribe.

Her tribe and family were largely hunters of great skill and renown, known for their marksmanship with a bow. R'alma, however, showed an incredible affinity for magic and spellcraft rather than martial prowess, which made her feel like an outcast in the tribe. While no one went to any lengths to make her feel unwelcome, neither was there anyone from which she could learn to wield her magicks. And so, feeling as if on some level she didn't quite belong, she dreamt of the day she would set out on her own to find her place in the world.

She only made it as far as Ul'dah before her destiny found her and swept her away on what would prove to be the journey of a lifetime.

The Reincarnation

After the disaster with the Crystal Braves in Ul'dah, R'alma was thoroughly distraught and in a very bad place mentally. Unsure if she'd be able to return there to continue her studies as a black mage, she instead took up the greatsword and began her journey down the path of the dark knight.

It was also around this time that she met a shady peddler in Ishgard selling potions that he claimed were supposed to reveal the true nature of a person's soul. Not being in the right mindset to make decisions, and believing the man when he said the effect was only temporary, she bought and took one. As it turns out, the potion did exactly as advertised. The effect was not, however, temporary, and R'alma spent the next several years in the body of an Auri woman.

As an Au Ra, R'alma's skin was a dark, vibrant red, with dark scales and horns, and brilliant amber-yellow eyes. Her hair was still red-streaked black, the only feature to have stayed in the transformation.

It wasn't until her travels to Othard and the Azim Steppe some time later that she learned why her transformation had been permanent. As it turned out, her soul was from the Dotharl tribe of the Xaela, but had been somehow displaced during reincarnation. Sadu of course recognized her right away and gave her the name that she had been previously known by. R'alma preferred to continue going by the name given her by the parents that had raised her, however, and kept the Dotharl name secret.

Apollo's Gift

Sometime after the events of 5.3, R'alma decided to try experimenting with attuning to Azem's memory crystal, similar to how she did with Fray/Esteem during her training as a dark knight. In doing so, she was actually able to connect to him subconsciously across time. They spoke together several times, during which she learned that his name was Apollo, that he had vivid dreams of his myriad future lives (hers included), and that while biologically male, he often identified as female depending on his mood and disposition, hence why Hades and Hythlodaeus would often refer to Azem as "she".

Eventually, as matters with the Telophoroi were coming to a head and the journey to Sharlayan drew near, Apollo insisted that R'alma needed to stop contacting him, that she needed to live her own life in the present rather than constantly looking back to the past. As a parting gift, he offered to use his creation magic to alter her body into something more closely resembling his, so that she would have something to remember him by. The new form kept her signature red-tipped black hair, as well as one of her yellow eyes, and the bright teal one from her Miqo'te form that matched his own, giving her ties not only to his past but also to hers as well.

The body that Apollo gave her was that of a familiar that he had been working on designing. Though that was the official story, the reality was just a bit more selfish. In truth, Apollo knew that R'alma would be traveling to the past and meeting both Hades and Hythlodaeus in Elpis, and he wanted it to be in a form that they would recognize and feel comfortable around. Hythlodaeus was aware of Apollo's familiar concept, and would recognize it immediately as his, especially if it was running around with a soul of the same color.

And that is how R'alma ended up as a male Viera-but-not-really with a fluffy tail and cat eyes. In tribute to Azem, and because he is now biologically male, he prefers to go by male pronouns. I hesitate to call him trans, only because the decision was not one that he made himself for actual identity reasons, so.... It's Complicated™.

Aether-Searing

Dark arcane markings twisted and flowed in seemingly random patterns up the front of his torso, spread across his narrow shoulders, spilled down his back, and snaked down both arms. It was an artistic mixture of constellations, mathematical diagrams, and rudimentary symbology that he had somehow managed to keep largely under wraps. Some of the markings were purely arcane in nature, designed as a focus or enhancement for his spellcasting. Most of them, however, told a story or represented some important event from his travels. Much of it was likely indecipherable at the moment due to his injuries, though. All the same, it clearly made for quite the spectacle. "By the Twelve," Alphinaud breathed in awe. "What in–" "Aether-searing," R'alma cut in by way of explanation, his voice feeling thick and uncharacteristically gravelly in his throat. He cleared it before going on, but the thickness remained. "Been working on it for a while. Since we first came here. Different symbols and images that have meaning to me." Moving gingerly, so as not to aggravate his joints, he reached up and tapped his collarbone, where a line twisted and snaked like a ribbon in between an arrangement of simple shapes in varying size and orientation, about eight in total. "This one is us. The people I care about most, wrapped up together in a thread of fate."

He went quiet then, partly because talking sapped what little energy he still had, and partly from embarrassment. This time he could feel the warmth creep into his cheeks as his mismatched eyes stayed trained pointedly on the floor. This wasn't something for anyone else to see, necessarily. He’d done it mostly for himself, and for those whose stories he felt needed to be told, to be remembered. Aether-searing wasn't exactly a pleasant experience, but it was far from painful, and it allowed him to paint the canvas of his skin in private, without the need of another party's expertise or input. It was a technique he'd found detailed in a book in Noumenon shortly after their arrival, and it had served his needs perfectly for an idea that had been formulating in his head for quite a while.

The arcane tattoos that R'alma now sports on his body is an ongoing project that he's been working on since shortly after arriving in Old Sharlayan. As further tribute to Azem, and to all the Ancients who came before, as well as many of the people he'd met himself on his travels, and even to himself, he has committed his body as a canvas for telling the stories that need to be remembered. The symbols are designed in such a way that only he knows what they mean, dreamed up and applied in a stream-of-consciousness sort of manner. Two actual phrases in Eorzean script can be found among the mysterious artwork: "Remember Us" along his back, and on his shoulder "Listen to our heartbeats".

Many of the symbols right now, however, are purely arcane in nature and are meant to help focus his magic. There are a few larger, blockier shapes on his arms that he added just to get rid of the lingering feeling of Zenos inhabiting his body, and that he intends to remove or replace once the memory of that experience has faded enough.

[octania]

Benimaru Shinmon x Reader ( NSFW, 18+)

Word count: 3.8 k

Warnings: NSFW,smut,oral sex,sexual teasing, orgasm prohibition

Short description: You were in love with this man for over a year, but your bratty mouth an denial of your feelings got you in a situation where Benimaru will teach you how to behave in very teasing and heated way....

________________________________________________________

The air was filled with the scent of a variety of traditional dishes and enriched by the happy shouts of excited residents through the streets. This time, the festival did not mean destruction, this time it was celebrated by making delicious dishes and socializing with each other. The celebration itself began at dawn, when they brought out their wooden tables and portable stoves, beginning to enrich the street with enticing scents of a variety of spices and ingredients. You could also hear the gentle sound of kota, whose strings were gently touched by the pale hands of young talented musicians. While these were all just preparations for the big ceremony that would start when sun kisses the mountains, everyone shared their joy throughout the day. His dark hair fluttered in the morning breeze around his narrowed eyebrows. Ruby eyes barely opened as he passed like a shadow past people. Although it was not visible on the expression on his face, he secretly enjoyed the liveliness that spread through the streets of his hometown. Countless greetings lined up behind him, giving him words of praise and support to which he only nodded a few times, nothing more, and continued his walk. The silence of his thoughts was broken by a hoarse female voice. Although it was rough, it sounded kind of gentle. He soon discovered to whom it belonged, when a plump old woman with black hair streaked with gray strands stepped in front of the captain. Her wrinkled face wearing a smiled from ear to ear, her eyes squinting at the young man.“Benimaru, my boy! I have something for you, please do except my gift in honor to you and the members of your squad.”- she was direct, not talking his ear off, just bowing slightly after her words and handing him a medium sized package. He stared in the thing wrapped in light blue material with a lack of interest that he did not hide not even the slightest. “Tempura and sushi, to hold you till the festival tonight.” – she explained getting back up from the slight bow. After a couple of lazy blinks, he raised his hand and responded. “That is alright, we will wait till the festival.”- without waiting for a response, he passed the woman in attempt to leave, but she was not letting go so easily. Shoving the thing in his hands, she smiled again, not bothered by his behavior.“Nonsense! Twins will love it, and we all know Konro could use a break for cooking today.”- Benimaru sighed, pushing the package slowly back at her, but before he could say anything, a female voice sharp like katana echoed the street. “Obaachan, can you please stop giving food to the people who clearly have no decency to even say thank you? Rudeness should not be rewarded.”- (Y/N) stood at the door of their restaurant, squeezing the sleeves of her kimono. Benimaru didn't say a word, looking at the young girl with the expressionless face. The lack of his reaction only made (Y/N) even angrier as she furiously crossed her arms over her chest. “(Y/N), you watch your mouth! You are addressing our beloved captain, to whom you owe your safety!”- obaachan scolded her, raising her finger as a warning, but that didn't stop (Y/N) from responding with even greater ferocity, targeting Benimaru with a look of utter contempt. “Because he is a captain, he should show more respect to his people and their offerings! Shouldn’t leaders be role models? Poor us if that is the case. People usually pay for the food in our restaurant, and yet he shows no gratitude even when his meal is free!”- she did not waver, her stand proud and determent, not showing even a bit of fear from the man who is the head of this town. “Child, hush! Go back inside right now! Sol help your rude mouth!”- Obaachan started waving her hands, showing (Y/N) to go back inside the house, turning to Benimaru. “I apologize captain Shinmon, (Y/N) did not mean it.”- the elderly woman bowed again, with clear expression of shame smeared around her wrinkled face. Still speechless, Benimaru watched the girl, who was now biting her lower lip in frustration as if it were chewing gum. Eventually, he slung the bundle over his shoulder, turning on his heel. “Thank you for the meal madam (Lastname of your family).” – that was the only thing he said, strolling down the dusty street without turning around again. Even though he wanted to allow his mismatched eyes to gaze upon the fearless woman one more time....

The celebration that had its core in the great hall that belonged to your family, otherwise intended for weddings and large feasts, was already spreading like wildfire. People were raising glasses full of sake, feasting on specialties they had been preparing all day, but they preferred to treat their palates to desserts that belonged to your family restaurant. Young artists danced a traditional dance with fans, attracting curious glances with their gorgeous and colorful kimonos. Outside, the streets were crowded with people, gazing merrily at the early fireworks that ate up the starry sky with their tantalizing shapes. You were in charge of serving the guests who sat on the heated floor of the hall in front of the beautifully carved tables. Countless comments on your beauty and grace have accompanied you in your assignment, while you have given a kind smile to anyone who would praise you. No one has noticed that your eyes jump restlessly from person to person, searching the room in hopes of encountering the phlegmatic face of the man who was the source of your deepest suffering.You were afraid that your sharp tongue had resulted in his absence, that he wouldn't show up for the rest of the evening, maybe not after either. Did you overdo it... or didn't you? He was rude after all! Yes it is true, he is guilty of this! You weren't even aware that your angry thoughts betrayed the state of your mind on your face. You eyebrows narrowed, lips squeezed in a straight line, your body tense, as you rushed towards the kitchen, when a familiar voice addressed you. “(Y/N)! Your family always knew how to make the best celebrations, I congratulate you.”- a tall man with a kind blue eyes  that resembled a calm and mysterious sea, smiled at you, holding the door of the kitchen open for you. “Konro! I..”- you stopped for a second, almost dropping the mountain of dirty dishes you were carrying,  as your eyes finally find the one they’ve been searching for. A smile almost escaped your lips, but you prevented your rooted emotions to show. Behind the tall man, Benimaru was standing, scanning the room full of cheerful people. He did not even look at you once, and you could feel the frustration rising in you again. Who does he think he is? No matter how much you were bothered by his disinterested posture, your eyes wandered over his crossed arms on his chest, the muscle that adorned his forearms reached to the very core of your desire. The hands filled with veins always looked tense and ready to fight, as if  he was waiting to defend the whole world with them, alone. You could no longer resist the sight, you had to run away. Blubbering a couple of thanks to the lieutenant, you ran past his arm into the kitchen, kicking the door with your foot behind you to close them. You took quick steps to the sink and nearly broke half the porcelain plates when you threw them inside. You grasped the edges of the sink, closing your eyes shut and taking a deep breath. Before you could muster your whirlwind of thoughts, a young woman approached you from the back.“You know, if you were not such a proud and bratty thing, you would be breaking beds now and not dishes.” – (B/F – name of your best friend) mocked your state without restraining one bit. Your nerves were thin, and being called out like this only made you react like a cornered animal.“Shut up, I don’t know what you are talking about (B/F). Seriously, if you worked even the half of the time you spend teasing people, we would actually get something done. “-you snapped at her, pulling out  bamboo boxes filled to the brim with colorful mochis. “Sure, if you had a bite to support all that barking, maybe you would get something done. I think Benimaru would appreciate your teeth on his skin more than your mouth just bullshiting all the time.”- she did not back down,wrapping the strands of hair around her finger, (B/F) continued before you could counter attack.“How long has it been since you started drooling over Waka? A year? Year and a half? Oh my God, when I remember how pissed you were when you though he was dating that girl from company 8th just because she brought some papers a couple of times.”- the more she talked, the more did rage boil in you, so much that  it seemed that steam will start going out of your ears. Her voice only rose as she continued through laughter.“Damn, you made me wait  around corners like crazy people just so we can see if they are a couple or not. And when it finally turned out they were not, I will never forget your jumping in the air from excitement.”- before she could say any more , something gooey and sticky landed right on her forehead. She whined in surprise, as the pieces of mochi started falling down her face.“Anything else you want to add?!Huh?!”- you lifted your hand high, ready to throw another mochi at her.“Maybe if you threw yourself on Benimaru in the same way you are throwing this mochi, you would get some and your nerves would calm down!!”- she screamed before ducking down as your hand catapulted another one at her.  You didn’t even know that your little show didn’t go as private as you thought. The high tones of the people from the main hall were unfortunately not enough to cover your voices, and one curious ear absorbed every word. Benimaru lowered his head, starting to walk away from the kitchen door. Under his raven hair, a grin was hiding.

He sat quietly watching the people around him fiercely try to get his attention. Some were male neighbors praising his fighting skills, their speech interrupted by hiccups from too much sake was almost humorous, while on the other hand a couple of girls discreetly tried to gain his favor, but all they got was a restrained smile. He brought the glass to his lips to take a sip of the bitter liquid, but there were no more inside. Your grandmother, who was actually only a few seats away from him, noticed the lack of refreshment for the beloved captain, and of course, called your name instantly. “(Y/N)! Fill the captain’s cup!”- you kept away from his table. Actually, you targeted those behind him, in order to better avoid a face-to-face encounter. The things (B/F) told you bothered you too much, and you didn't just want to deepen your cravings and quarrel with yourself over the feelings you carry for this man. Hearing your name, Benimaru tilted his head, looking over his strong shoulder with his glowing eyes. That deep gaze made you swallow, barely keeping you composure. You knew if you came any closer you would break, and you will not give him that satisfaction. You lifted you chin up,  pushed back your shoulders, and turned on your heal as the cold answer followed.“He has hands. He can fill it up himself.”- without second thought, you walked away, but you swore you could feel a set of burning eyes following you.

The hallways were empty, all the guests retreated to the main hall. As the night went on, even the workers began to relax, completing their work and joining the rest of the town in celebration. There was no longer a need to bring the food from the kitchen, at least for the time being, the tables were full. (B/F) was the last person leaving the kitchen, as you said you will join her shortly, you just wanted to finish a few things up. Carrying the empty bamboo boxes, you took a turn into the hallway bathed in dim light, crashing with your shoulder into something big and hard. You blinked in shock, barely managing not to drop the boxes on the floor. The thing in front of you was a person, and seeing him made your heart race. Benimaru Shinmon stood there silently, his eyes half opened, shoulders relaxed, while he studied you.  You almost bit your lip, but seeing the man baring that uninterested expression once more, made your blood boil instead. “Excuse me is the words you are looking for! You should watch where you are going.”- you said irritated, trying to go pass him, hiding your flustered face beneath your hair. A feeling of slight pain spread throw your back as it crashed on the wall. It took you a couple of seconds to figure out what was going on, that is, you needed to believe that this was not one of your dreams. Pressed with his hips on your abdomen, Benimaru towered over you. He seemed stronger than usual, more dangerous, but there was not a shred of fear in you, just excitement. “Wh..what are you doing?! Get off!”- funny you should say that, when in reality you didn’t wiggle or struggle at all, your big mouth once again just stood in your way in order to show your true feelings. But Benimaru was no fool. He did not respond on your demands, instead, he tilted his head on the side, like he was checking something, then returned his gaze on you. You could feel the ground disappearing under you. You gasped at the unsettling feeling, trying to grab onto something from pure instinct. But the only thing you managed to grab was the one making you lose the floor under your feet in the first place. Benimaru picked you up by your waist, his forearm adorned with prominent veins wrapped around your waist like a snake, not letting go of his prey. He was fast, pushing the door of the kitchen that was empty and dark, kicking it again as they closed with a loud bang that made you flinch, while he turned the key in the lock. “Benimaru ! What the hell? I said let go!”- in reality, you hated the thought of his hands leaving your body. The feeling that flowed through your veins when you were this close to him, almost took over even your insolence, but the bits that were left now squirted like popcorn from your lips. “You are too huffish, (Y/N).”- his voice smooth like honey, but a bit dark. The sudden feeling of falling down made a muffled whine to escape your mouth, but you did not hit the ground. He held you in his lap while he sat down on a kitchen table. Your permanent denial tried to strike for the last time, making you turn around furiously, facing the man who dared to pick you up like a helpless and fragile thing. But the sharpness of your words did not come down from your lips, when sweetness filled your taste buds. The warm flesh of his lips now merged with yours. The bitter taste of the sake he drank from didn't bother you, because for you he tasted like cupid's wine, intoxicating you, maddening your thoughts and driving your senses wild. You felt dizzy from the heat that rushed into your cheeks when he first ran his tongue over yours, caressing its soft surface with his tender muscle. You tried to get some air in your lungs but you didn't know how to breathe, you were so enchanted by his kisses. You almost swore in displeasure when he pulled his lips away from yours.“If you just did this, we would be able to skip the punishment.”- confused, you did not even manage to answer his statement when his hands that were resting on your waist till now, pulled you down and flipped you across his lap. Your knees landed on the wooden surface of the table, as you kept your balance on your elbows in the front. “What…what are you doing?”- you asked with a shaky voice, seeing how his hand hold you by the material of you kimono on your lower back, keeping you steady. “I declined the home made meal from your obaachan today because I knew we already had a meal prepared for the day.”- he said sliding his rough palm of his free hand across your spine, down to the your lower back, all the way to your peachy ass. You bit you lip, shivering when his touch did not stop, traveling down your thigh, then taking a handful of fabric of your kimono.“Taking more would mean throwing it away because it would not be eaten. And that would be disrespectful.”- he jerked your kimono abruptly, exposing your entire lower body. Your perfectly shaped ass made him discreetly lick his lips, while you covered your face with your palms in shame. “I-I…I didn’t k..know that ..”- you tried to explain yourself, but in vain, as his voice  responded harshly, accompanied with his finger movement, slipping under the side of your panties. You whined loudly as his index finger brushed along your folds.“You did not bother to ask. But fortunately as you said earlier, I do have my hands. And with my hands I plan to teach you how to behave.”- the sound of tearing fabric filled the kitchen. You bit your hand when you felt the exhaled air from his mouth pass over your naked cunt. He was so close that he could feel the heat coming from it, barely restraining himself from biting into that cookie. You stirred a little, the discomfort ate at you up, the feeling of arousal overcame you.“Don’t look there….Benimaru, please I-….”

“You know how to say please already? Well, I wonder what it will take to teach you to say sorry.”- his fingertips crossed over your silky pussy lips, gently caressing the rosy flesh. You whimpered at the slow pace of his movements. He didn't remove his head, he calmly watched the wet glow slowly appear on those folds. He pushed his finger closer to the opening, collecting some sticky liquid with his fingertip. He didn't push his finger inside, but continued to draw a line along your slit. “Oh my Sol!”- you cried out, squirming already, but that did not even make him flinch. He pushed his digit a bit harder, make it sink into the sensitive flesh, brushing over it all so gently. “Sol will not help you (Y/N), but some manners might. Luckily again, as you said, captain should be a role model, showing the people the art of good manners.”- his thumb slipped across your clit, making the rough skin stimulate it so greatly it made your icing flow more intensely. You yearned for him to do it again, but you were out of luck. This was not supposed to be something to reward you with, this was a straight up lesson to teach you what will happen when your bratty mouth bump into an opponent like Benimaru. He settled his thumb above your throbbing nerve bud, adding another finger to the game. His index and middle finger pulled your pussy lips slowly, massaging them between them. The sensation you were feeling made you feel dizzy. The overwhelming pleasure that arose in you now got your legs shaking without stopping. The feeling was unbearable, because he touched all the sensitive places but leaving the critical ones empty and eager. This teasing was so arousing your juices now strained down your thigh. The crystal like liquid did not go unnoticed by Benimaru, as a grin appeared on his face. Without a second though, he lowered his head, sticking his tongue out and pressing it on your plushy thighs, collecting the juices in long strokes. “Beni!!”- you moaned like a whore, voice filled with begging desire and maddening need, but he did not plan to be interrupted. He slid his hand under you, finding your mouth and sticking the fingers coated in your icing in it.“Clean this up, while I clean you down here.”- he lifted his hand a bit to make you close your mouth around his fingers, pumping them in and out to insure you will do the job well. You sobbed in a low voice as you sucked on your own cum, barely concentrating on his order when the feeling of him patiently licking off the wetness along your thighs and getting closer to your cunt made you almost faint. His soft muscle finally found its way to the grand prize, as he brushed it on your folds and around your entrance in circular motions. You could not take it, you started to push your ass back, trying to make him stick his tongue in, touch your clit, anything to give you the sweet release you so desperately needed. But he will not grant you that. He pressed his mouth right on your heated hole, and started sucking, gathering the last of your juices. You body was on the edge, you could feel your heart skipping a beat, lungs barely catching air and muscles tensing, begging for that much needed release, but the only thing you got was a tender kiss on your clit, before he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, and lifting you off of him. He placed you in the sitting position, spreading your legs so your cunt was fully exposed to him once more. Your own wetness was smeared around your lips. You lowered your gaze, seeing something that made your mouth drop open. On Benimaru’s loose pants, there were more than clear outlines of his thick dick. You never saw something like that before, stretching the fabric mercilessly. He was not big, he was huge, and you wanted every damn inch buried inside of you. But you again forgot that this was not your lucky day….“You can only watch as I get the release that you are forbidden to reach tonight.” he slid his hand under his pants, giving his length a couple of experimental pumps before exposing the beast to you.“If you will behave, next time I will reward you, this time you will only swallow your bratty words…and my cum.”- he started slowly jerking it off, gazing at your plumb lips where his load will end.

If you want to support my work, you can leave me a small tip on Ko-fi 💖 . It is highly appreciated. 🥺 😍

[skylights2000]

Switch! (Gundham x Fem! Reader) Part 4

~

When you stepped into the Tanaka Breedery, you immediately grinned. You’d always had a soft spot for animals, so being surrounded by them felt like heaven.

Your foster mother, Hinako, had gotten a German Shepard puppy on the same day that she adopted you. You’d grown up with that dog, and you were devastated when she passed a few years ago.

Every year, on the anniversary of your adoption, you would visit Hinako and you would go together to the little tree where you’d buried her.

You were knocked out of your thoughts when a woman approached you. It wasn’t hard to figure out that she was Gundham’s mother. She had long black hair streaked with white in places and the same mismatched eyes as Gundham.

The only serious difference between her and Gundham was that she openly smiled at you, eyes practically sparkling with joy.

The pure happiness brought a smile to your own face.

“I know these are strange circumstances, but I’m happy to finally meet you! I’m Rin Tanaka. You’re a friend of my son, correct?”

You scratched your cheek awkwardly. “Sort of?” When she shot you a questioning look, you continued. “We met through Sonia. Gundham is a bit, uh, eccentric, but I like him. He’s a good guy, and I consider him a friend. I just don’t think he’d say the same about me.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?” She asked as she led you through the store, instructing you to start filling a plastic jug with water so they could refill the animals’ water bowls.

You did as she asked while you explained. “He always seems really uncomfortable when I’m around. He either gets really quiet and avoids me or argues with me. I think he just doesn’t like me.” You admitted somberly.

“I don’t think that’s true.” Mrs. Tanaka smiled sweetly at you. “He speaks quite highly of you.”

You nearly dropped the bowl of water you were refilling out of surprise. “He talks about me?”

She nodded, an amused gleam in her eyes. “He talks about you just as much as he does about Sonia. Though it’s a bit different when he talks about you.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, confusion dancing in your eyes.

Mrs. Tanaka just smiled mysteriously and got back to working, and you frowned thoughtfully as you got back to work as well.

~

As soon as you stepped into your store, both your employees rushed up to you.

“Please help.” Hiko pleaded, grabbing both your hands.

“Woah woah woah, just breathe! Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s Gundham.” Manako interjected, and your heart sped up.

“Where is he?” Your eyes immediately scanned the storefront, but he was nowhere to be found.

“He’s in the workshop out back!” Hiko responded urgently, and you ran out the back door to the workshop where everything was made.

The second you got inside, you immediately realized why they were panicking. “What on earth are you doing?!” You rushed forward, catching Gundham’s necklaces just before they got caught in the wood saw. You slapped the power button to shut it off and pushed him away from it. “Are you fuckin’ crazy?! You can’t wear shit like that when you work in here!”

“These are my protective charms mortal!”

“Protective, my ass! If they had gotten caught in that saw, you would’ve gotten strangled!” You screamed, trying to make him understand just how dangerous that was.

You tried to calm down, but you couldn’t stop your hands from trembling. “If you had gotten hurt I’d never forgive myself!”

That seemed to strike a chord because his hostility vanished. “My apologies, (Y/n). I should not have been so reckless.”

“Please just, don’t use the saw when I’m not here.” You responded weakly. The terror from a few minutes ago was slowly starting to dissipate. “Why don’t I show you how to do something different?”

He pondered the suggestion before nodding. You grabbed a carving knife and beckoned for him to follow you as you walked over to one of your more recent projects. It was still in the rough stages, so if it was messed up, it would be fairly easy to fix.

“First, take off your necklaces.”

“Protective charms.” He corrected calmly.

“Take off your protective charms.”

He did as you asked, and you placed your own beside them. You were quite glad to be rid of them. You’d only worn them because Gundham asked. “Now watch what I do.”

He watched intently as you carved a simple pattern into the wood before you passed the knife to him. “Now you do it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just try it.”

You pointed to where he needed to start, and he very awkwardly began to carve. You almost wanted to giggle at his intense look of focus.

Once he was done, you smiled. “Good job.”

He passed the knife back to you, and you began to carve some more intricate patterns, oblivious to the small smile on his face as he watched you.

When you were done, he inspected your work curiously. “You truly are a tamer of wood.”

You scrunched your nose up. “Can you pick a different phrase for that?”

“Why?”

“It just doesn’t sound good.”

“I do not understand.”

“I think it’s better that you don’t understand.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. You turned away from him to take a closer look at the work he’d done. It was a little rough, but for a beginner, it wasn’t too bad. All you’d have to do is smooth out the edges, maybe add a few detai-

“Mortal, how dare you think that I would ever imply something so scandalous!”

You visibly flinched when he screeched pointing an accusing finger at you. He would look a lot scarier if his face wasn’t completely red.

“Don’t blame me! You said it!”

“Do not defile my body with your filth!”

You stared at him incredulously. “Do you even hear what you’re sayin’?! And quit talkin’ like I’m some kind of pervert!”

Your argument was cut off when Sonia burst through the door excitedly. “Kiibo is awake!”

~

You never thought you’d see a living robot. It was strange, but also very cool. It seemed Kiibo had been informed of the events that led to his ‘birth’. Could you call it a birth?

Kiibo apologized repeatedly for what had happened and even offered to help them look for a way to reverse the curse.

Sonia clapped happily. “That is very kind of you!”

You nodded with a smile of your own. Meeting Kiibo and seeing the grins on Kazuichi and Miu’s faces made all of this chaos feel worth it. Even Gundham was smiling. Seeing everyone so happy made your heart feel light.

As long as everyone stuck together and kept smiling, you had no doubt that you could find a cure for this mess.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter five: the black knight

don't mind if I get kind of personal here these next couple of chapters: when I was little, my grandma and her husband (my mom's stepdad) visited Germany for a whole month, I think it was? He had to go do something kind of important every day for a whole week, and all the while, she went about the streets of Munich, by herself, and did things like visit the BMW museum, Nuremberg, and all the bakeries throughout there (my grandma was a formidable fiery person; it runs in the family, lemme tell you). My mom is also half German—her father, my biological grandfather whom i've never met, hailed in fact from Bavaria.

“Samantha? Samantha—”

She stirred a bit but she was still in that twilight sleep: his callused hands were still soft to the touch on her shoulder. For a second, she had forgotten where she had fallen asleep at. Through her blurred vision, she could make out the sight of his blurred silhouette next to her, but she had no idea if they were back home or somewhere else. For a second, she swore that it was a dream.

She blinked her eyes a few times and Alex came into her focus, with that little plume of gray up top like a little feather against the helmet of darkness upon his head.

“What is it?” she asked him with a break in her voice. “What time is it?”

“It's—” He stopped. “I don't know.” He leaned forward to the seats in front of them. “You know what time it is, Tiffany?”

“It's almost two in the morning, Alex,” Tiffany told him in a soft voice; Chuck had fallen asleep next to her.

“Almost two o'clock in the morning,” Alex relayed back to her, and he stood up right then with his head bowed against the upper compartment overhead. “I have to use the bathroom.”

“Oh! Oh, damn—”

Sam moved her legs towards the aisle so he could slide past her to the aisle itself. Alex almost lost his balance but he caught himself on the top of her seat: he hung right above her such that the thighs of his jeans were right up in her face.

“Easy now,” she warned him as she held still for him.

“For real,” he whispered to her, and he continued on to the aisle itself. She watched him go back towards the other side of the plane, but then she returned to the back of the seat before her. She sighed through her nose, and then she turned her attention to the window next to her, and the darkness out there.

The problem with leaving Los Angeles as early as they did: it would be so early in the morning by the time they landed in Munich, and yet once Louie told her about it, she merely took it in stride. As long as it got her far away from Bill for a while, she was okay with it being so early in the day upon hitting the tarmac. She gazed out to the cavernous darkness outside and she thought back to the first flight over the Atlantic.

That time around, she would be closer to Sweden. There had to be a way up there somehow, at any given point whatsoever. She had to visit that road for herself, as graceless as it seemed at that moment, in her mind at two o'clock in the morning.

Indeed, when Alex slid by her right then, she couldn't help but think of Cliff right then and there. And she wondered if Anthrax themselves were on that same flight with them, or if they had taken another different red eye from them. She glanced up to the low pale ceiling once again, at the dim shadows that crossed it all, and she pictured Cliff right above her. She pictured him there and with his thighs right before her face.

She thought back to their encounter in the subway. To think she got that close with Joey twice but not once more like with Cliff. She closed her eyes and she pictured him right there right next to her.

Left behind in that road up in Sweden in the two years before, and yet she could still touch him. The darkness outside there warranted a touch from him, even as he was far away somewhere else now.

She felt something brush against her shoulder and she opened her eyes, and she peered up again. For a split second, she swore that her wish had come true and Cliff had returned for her for another touch. But the streak on the head told her otherwise.

Alex took his seat next to her complete with the smell of soap about his hands. She thought about the mysterious man in her dreams, and had Alex not looked over at her with his eyes still riddled with sleep, she swore that it was actually him. Or maybe it was her exhausted mind getting to her.

It was late after all.

He rubbed his hands together even though they were plenty clean at that moment.

“When we get there, let's have some of that nice fresh streudel together,” he suggested in a low voice.

“Streudel and some spaetzel?” she added.

“Ooh, yeah. Streudel, spaetzel, and that authentic German beer, too.”

“German beer? Alex, you're a month away from twenty yet.”

“Yeah, but I can still have a bit of beer when we get to Munich, though. When you fell asleep, the stewardess recommended it to me from the food cart but I was like 'nah. I'll wait until we get to Munich.'”

“With me, you said,” she asked him with her eyes barely open.

“Yeah. Well, I think Eric and Greg would like to join us, too. But I'd hate to think of you walking around the streets of a foreign city solo.”

“Alex, we're gonna be in Germany, though, not L.A.”

“Sure. But I don't really wanna do it by myself, though.”

“You are still just a boy after all,” Sam pointed out as she felt her eyelids growing heavy from the feeling of it being so late.

“And I think that—” He nestled down in the seat next to her as if he was cold despite it being the end of August. He then cleared his throat. “You know, I think that since—you and I have hung out a couple of times already, we should do it more, too.”

“Are you asking me out?” she asked him and she fluttered her eyes open at that.

“No, no. No! I just wanna hang out while we're in Bavaria. And—y'know, I don't really wanna do it by myself. And I'd hate to see you as a third wheel with Chuck and Tiffany in front of us here, and I have no clue what Louie is gonna do, especially with the Cherry Suicides nearby.”

“They're here right now?”

“I don't think so. But before you fell asleep, I heard him mention them and he said it in a context of—they're gonna be within range of us.”

It was going to be nice to see Zelda again if nothing else. He huddled back down in the seat with his shoulders hunched a bit. He bowed his head a little bit to relish in the warmth of the seats around them. Through her blurred vision, Sam glanced down at his waist and his thighs. When she landed on him back at the house, he still felt a little bit soft, even though it was obvious he slimmed down a bit more: the bottom hem of his shirt started to bunch around his slender hips.

He closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. The bangs coupled with the gray streak made her think of a little rag doll.

Even the most mismatched of rag dolls needed to be held and loved. She leaned closer to him, but given the arm rest between them, she couldn't lean up against his head and shoulder. Instead they both fell asleep next to each other: the crown of his black hair remained about an inch from the tip of her nose.

She pictured the mysterious man right next to her, right in Alex's place. He appeared in the form of a dark silhouette against the sunrise. He lifted his head and showed her the brim of his hat, as black as night against the golden light of the sun on the horizon. Somewhere between him and the sunrise itself was the neon green of the northern lights.

He turned his head towards her.

“Cliff?” she asked him, and he lifted his hat once again. She had left the hat he had given her back at the house in Lake Elsinore. She would have to bust it out again if and when she found the chance once again. She knew those eyes anywhere, that straight nose, those little wisps of a mustache over his upper lip.

“Cliff—!” she said in a hushed voice. Almost two years since he was killed in that bus accident and she could burst into tears at the very sight of him.

“Where have you been?” he greeted her: his voice echoed as if he stood down in a canyon beneath a surface of some sort.

“Where have I been? Where have you been?”

“I should tell you that the clock is your friend.”

“What does that even mean?” she asked him.

“You should touch the hands of the clock—take him with you, all the way to the very end.”

“Should I hang out with Alex or Joey?”

But he never replied. Instead, he leaned his head back into the seat's headrest and closed his eyes. Sam moved in closer to him and she caressed his chest. Lighter than air and yet she could feel him underneath her hand. Right next to him, there on the window sill, stood an hourglass, but she couldn't tell if the pale sands had filled the top half or the bottom.

“Cliff—the clock is my friend,” she repeated his words, but he never replied. She eyed the side of his head and the little stripe there. It faded and yet appeared at the same time, as it glowed under the back light of the sunrise, against the light itself.

“It's all a friend,” he told her, as he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep right there.

“Cliff,” she whispered into his ear. “Cliff!”

He never woke up. He went to sleep and never woke up, such that the very sight brought tears to her eyes.

“Cliff! Cliff!”

He faded with the light of the sunrise and he dissipated into dark shadows. The mysterious man had struck again, even more cryptic than before.

She shook herself awake, and that time to the first rays of amber sunlight outside the window. She leaned closer to the window pane, to the sight of the light pink and orange brushed upon the dark clouds over the ocean. They had to be nearing the British Isles soon enough. A short layover in London first and then the next flight took them to Munich.

She turned her attention to Alex still sound asleep there in the seat. His head leaned closer to the edge of the seat, but there was still an inch of clearance between them. His bangs obscured his deep set slumbering eyes, but she sank down a bit for a better look into his face.

Still as soft as a doll.

Anthrax were going to be near there. If nothing else, she had to at least see Joey again. Joey and that leather guitar strap that she and Belinda had made for him. If nothing, she had to at the very least see him from across a room somewhere. She had to see him before their new album dropped in the next month.

She had forgotten what it was called right then. She had just woken up right then after all.

She tried to picture the castle that they were supposed to play before in the next few days.

No wonder why Alex suggested hanging out to her earlier: they were going to be there a whole week before Testament took to the stage for that sudden tour date.

The speakers overhead crackled on right then.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” the captain said in a soft soothing voice, “we will be landing in London in about twenty minutes time. If you're headed over to the following cities, you might want to hustle to the terminal once we land because they're leaving early: Munich, Oslo, Vienna, and Brussels.”

“Did you hear that, Chuck?” Tiffany said to him in a low voice.

“Hm?” He sniffled and stretched his arms over his head.

“When we land in a bit, we're going to have to run to the gate for the plane over to Munich.”

“Oh, shit!”

Tiffany craned her neck and turned in her seat a bit for a better look back at Sam.

“D'you hear that, Sam?”

“I did, yeah.” She turned her attention to Alex, still out like a light. “Want me to wake him?”

“We're still twenty minutes out,” Tiffany replied, “but, um—do it when we're told to buckle in.”

Sam nodded and she looked over at him again.

“Isn't he just precious?” Tiffany remarked.

“Who's precious?” Chuck echoed that.

“Alex. Look at him, babe. He looks like a little boy right next to Sam there.” Chuck rubbed his eyes and then he turned around in his seat for a look back at Alex himself.

“Oh my god, he is.”

Sam nestled back down in her seat next to him, still with an inch of clearance between them. He still smelled good, even after he slept there in that airline seat all night long. She stretched her back a bit: despite their being cushioned, the fact she couldn't lean back did a number on her spine and her shoulders.

Alex stirred a bit and then he rolled his head over towards the window pane. The plume of gray stood high over his brow, straight up as if it was a cowlick, and his skin as smooth as ever. She gazed on at him while he continued to sleep for another several minutes until a soft ding! caught her attention. The seat belt light flickered on and that was her cue.

“Alex—” she gently whispered to him. She leaned in closer to his ear. “Alex—”

His eyes fluttered open and he glanced over to her as if he had never been asleep for a moment.

“What's going on?” he asked her in a hoarse voice.

“We're gonna be landing in London in a bit,” she told him.

“Oh, okay—” He rubbed his eyes and then straightened himself up.

“And we're gonna have to run to the gate for Munich, too,” Tiffany told him.

“Oh, damn.” He ran his fingers through his black curls and then shook them about. For a second, he resembled to Joey, and Sam was eager to see him running for the gate himself. That is if Anthrax were on the same flight as them.

Within time, they dipped through the early morning clouds and touched down in the heart of London. Chuck and Tiffany skirted up the aisle first, and after they let an old lady and her granddaughter through, Sam and Alex followed suit, and Greg, Eric, and Louie rounded it out right behind them. Sam wondered if their crew had already set things up there in Munich or if they too had taken another flight with Anthrax.

The seven of them darted their way through the narrow hallways of the airport all the way to customs, and then they continued onward to the flight over to southern Germany. At one point, Sam was happy that she didn't bring that black hat that Cliff had given her along with her to Germany. The rate at which they were running right then with their things on their backs like that, there was no way she could hold onto the crown of the hat as she helped Greg carry his bass guitar case all the way there.

They made the flight just in time before the gate closed.

Sam turned to Alex and the look of sleep still riddled about in his deep set eyes. He gave his black curls another toss back before he let her board the plane first.

That time she took to the window seat and he sat in between her and Greg. No sooner had Greg himself taken his seat next to them when the lights flickered on again. Nowhere did she see Joey or Frank or anyone else who seemed familiar to her on there.

If there was nothing else that Sam could find her way past, when flying while on tour or the flight across the country with Marla, it was the take off and the way in which it felt as though her stomach drifted up into her chest and her stomach. Apparently Alex wasn't too keen on it either: as the plane taxied the runway, he held onto the arm rest, much to her surprise. She flinched her hand back as though he had burned her and he snickered at that as well. She knew it was from nerves, but that little snicker left her confused a bit.

They rose up over the London skyline and then the cozy fields of western England. Within time, they flew past the Channel and against the rising sun before them. Given they were further north than she imagined, the sun wasn't as bright as it could have been there, but those first rays still shone through the windows across the aisle from them.

Within time, she peered out the window to the ground below them. Alex followed her gaze to beyond the window pane as well.

The dark forests down below as dark and rich as the very hair upon his head. Every so often, a neat, tightly woven town appeared within the trees. Nothing like the cities back in the United States which seemed to be sprawled over an area: they all stopped and ended as if they were modeled out of clay and then stacked atop one another. She glanced onward to the far side of the land itself. Not only was it neat and trim, but the forests down below made her think of upstate New York. Upstate New York following rounds upon rounds of lake effect rain.

“Wow,” she breathed out.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Alex asked her.

“Oh, my god—this is—this is unreal.”

“Like something straight out of a fairytale, ain't it?” Alex showed her the twinkle in his eye. Far more lush and green than the very British Isles themselves, and it was all accentuated by the rising sun as well: the tips of the trees appeared as though they had been kissed with caramel. Even though it was still rather early in the morning, the two of them were wide awake with the anticipation of being there in Germany.

“Guten Morgen, passengers,” the captain declared through the speakers over their heads. “We will be landing in Munich in about thirty minutes. Remember, if you plan on heading to East Germany, you must go through the check points before customs before hand first.”

“I can't believe we're actually gonna be that close to the Soviet Union,” Greg declared.

“It's almost surreal, isn't it?” Alex said.

“Metallica went to Poland, didn't they?”

“Yeah, they did. Like—last winter.”

“Really?” Sam asked them.

“I think so,” Alex admitted, and he fetched up a yawn.

“They'd be the first band to have crossed the Iron Curtain if that's the case,” Greg said with a yawn himself.

“One of these days, that wall is going to come down,” Alex remarked. “It just has to.”

“Agreed,” Sam said, even though she wasn't as polished up on current events as Alex.

“Well, it's symbolic of a world divided. While we're all expanding and getting bigger in the grand scheme of everything, East Germany and the countries on the other side of the Iron Curtain are basically withering and dying. At least that's what I've seen.”

“Because they've shut themselves out of it all,” she followed along with him.

“Right! When you lock yourself in a bubble, you inadvertently make things uncomfortable at some point. You make your own world a horrible place to live in.”

“I would think expanding comes with a price, though,” she said.

“Oh, absolutely. You lose your sense of boundaries at some point. So—there kind of needs to be a balance there of sorts. That's how I imagine a perfect world would be. Not like in John Lennon's version to be completely honest, but in one where we can genuinely live in harmony with each other. That's my hope anyway.”

She thought about Belinda's remark of him, in how he was precocious. He was a bit, but therein lay a good quality. Something else she couldn't exactly put her finger on with him. Imagine a perfect world, but nothing that she could fathom however.

She recalled his background right then, in how he was raised by collegiate professors, both of them in the social sciences no less. He was precocious by the way in which he was raised: it just came to him by nature as a result. And as a result, he was an outlier.

They strapped themselves in in no time and Sam was eager to set foot in West Germany. Alex held onto the arm rest once again as the plane started to descend towards the earth. Everything shook about a bit with some turbulence and Sam recoiled in her seat.

“I don't like that, either,” Alex confessed to her in a low voice. He gripped onto the arm rest and he pulsated his fingers at the motion around them.

They descended further through the clouds and Sam closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to think about it. She rested her hands in her lap all the while as well.

Cliff burst into her mind right then. Even if they were in Bavaria, she would be closer to him in spirit no matter what happened during those final moments of the flight. She pictured the hourglass next to her.

The clock is your friend, he told her. The clock is your friend.

Alex cleared his throat but he never said anything right at that moment, and she swore that it was the mysterious man from her dreams for a few seconds. But then she opened her eyes, and they were right above the low buildings and the neighboring sun kissed forests. The plane tapped onto the tarmac and they leaned back in their seats against the force of the landing. Alex and Greg straightened themselves upright once they taxied about the runway.

“Quite the adventure, ain't it?” the latter joked.

“For real!” Sam declared and the three of them laughed.

Soon, they stepped off of the plane and they stood out in the open. Even in the heart of the city, Sam took a deep breath of that fresh morning dew. Twice the fresh beauty of upstate New York, and far more than that of the hills in California.

“Hotel's this way, kids,” Tiffany called out to them, and the three of them followed her, Chuck, Eric, and Louie to the far end of the street. Sam peered up to the bluish gray sky overhead every so often on the walk there. She thought of the nicknames she had given to Alex and Greg the few weeks before: the prince and the black knight. As they walked through the streets of Munich together, the more those nicknames felt appropriate, especially with her behaving as Rapunzel for a brief time prior to then.

Soon, they checked into their hotel and, once he set his things down next to his bed in the shared room with Greg and Louie, Alex turned his attention to Sam. Even though the jet lag was obvious to her at that point, he looked so refreshed against it all.

“Let's have some breakfast, shall we?” he suggested to her.

“We shall!” she said.

“It's a ride up to Schweinfurt in a couple of days after this anyways,” he pointed out with a shrug of his shoulders, “may as well enjoy our time together, you know? I've gotta change my clothes, though.”

He crouched down to his overnight bag and dug out a clean black button up shirt and a fresh pair of jeans. Sam took her seat on the edge of the bed and he headed into the bathroom with his clothes cradled in his arms. A knock on their door caught her attention and she laughed at the memory of that night in Corona. How Chuck knew someone was knocking on their door even from the dead of sleep was beyond her.

She made her way over to the door and she peeked through the peephole. She recognized that fine lush dark hair down to his shoulders and she gasped as a result.

She opened the door.

“Hi, Frankie!” she greeted him.

“Hey!” His face lit up at her and he threw his arms around her. “I wasn't expecting to see you here! What's happening, girly cue?”

“Hanging out with Testament while they're filling in for Megadeth. What's going on with you?”

“We're staying in the room down the hall right now,” he answered and he stroked the side of his hair with three fingers. “Is Alex around?”

“He's in the bathroom changing right now. What's up? I can tell him.”

“Oh, I just wanted to know if he had breakfast yet.”

“We like just got here so—we're about to.”

“Oh, okay. Well, he better hustle—all that fresh fruit and Bavarian cream is gonna go bye bye soon enough here.”

“I'll tell 'em. Don't you worry 'bout a thing.”

“Fuhgetaboutit,” he declared with a wave of his hands.

“Fuhgetaboutit,” she echoed him, and he burst out laughing at that, and he doubled back down the hall. Sam then closed the door with a warm blush across her face. It felt as though she hadn't seen him in forever. Such was the life of an art student, and one who had all but been sent out to exile. She turned her attention to the bathroom door, which Alex had left ajar.

She peeked through that small crack in the door at him. Even though she had seen him without a shirt on, there was something about him there on the other side of the room, bare chested and with his jeans undone a bit. She could make out the sight of his bare skin underneath his belly button and his slim body: even with only a small view of him, she could come to the conclusion that he was far more beautiful than she had given him credit before. But she couldn't tell if he was more beautiful than Joey: she would have to catch a better of him, and she had no idea as to when that would happen, if at all.

It took her a second to realize that he was posing before the mirror and she had to stifle a giggle against that lest he hear her. She walked on back to the bed to give him his privacy and in a few moments time, he returned out of the bathroom in those clean clothes and his black curls wet from the faucet.

He gestured for her to follow him out of there and into the spacious clean front lobby of the hotel, where they were in fact met with a table full of fresh fruits from lingonberries to big red apples that were larger than her fist, and whipped pure white Bavarian creams, and so much bread and pastries. The very sight of the cornucopia before them left Sam feeling overwhelmed, such that she didn't know what to take for herself. But Alex was eager to fill his plate full with one of everything: he rounded it out with a glass of water while she offered to get them cups of coffee.

“My goodness,” she remarked once she sat down across from him at the little table next to the main window of the lobby.

“I'm not turning down free food,” he told her, “especially strudel and this fresh German coffee, too.”

He picked up his glass and downed a little drink of his iced water, and then he turned to the coffee.

“Oh, my god,” he breathed with his eyes closed and his head tilted back a bit. “Try it, Samantha. You'll never want another cup of coffee back in the States after this.”

Indeed, she did: warm, rich, and so full of that bean flavor. The cream within was delicate but not to where she could hardly taste it. A perfect balance of east and west.

“Makes you wanna speak German,” she joked.

“Right?” he chuckled, and then he stopped himself right in his tracks. “You know—seeing as we have a week here—at some point, we could probably get on a train and go up to Copenhagen and visit Lars. Metallica are up that way right now on their tour.”

“Holy shit, really?”

Alex nodded his head with his eyebrows raised high in excitement.

“Oh, yeah. I've heard him talk about Copenhagen all the time back in the Bay Area—when Cliff was alive, too. He describes it as a mere extension of Germany but—” He shook his head as he brought his little white coffee mug up to his lips. “—I don't think so.”

“But you and me, though?” she echoed him.

“Yeah.”

She squinted her eyes at him as he took another sip of the coffee. All the while, he peered over the rim of the mug at her with those deep eyes. There was something rather serene about them despite their seriousness. Something serene and hypnotic, and albeit a feeling that felt as though it had come out of left field. Something he still wasn't telling her.

So many contradictions with this boy and therein came a moment where she realized she had no idea where to begin with him. At least Joey was simple with his depths: Alex seemed to meander and spin her in circles at that point.

He then peered past her at something on the other side of the vast room and knitted his eyebrows together.

“What's up?” She turned her head so as to follow his gaze, and there on the far side of the room, right at the end of the buffet table, stood a short man in a white T shirt.

“Oh, nothin',” Alex assured her with a wave of his hand, “I thought that guy over there looked like Scott to me.”

“Hair's way too thin,” she agreed with him and he nodded before he took another sip of his coffee. She did as well but then she realized that she hadn't a glass of water herself. If nothing, she could go over there and ensure that that man over there was not who Alex believed him to be.

“I'll be right back,” she told him.

“I'll be right here,” he assured her as he sipped some more. That time, he closed his eyes and groaned in his throat at the warm feeling within him. Chuck and Tiffany strode into the room right then: her blonde hair glistened from a fresh shower; even from across the room, Sam could smell her perfume. But she made her way past the small clean white tables towards the pitchers of iced water and she swiped a glass. She glanced over at the man as he picked out a bagel for himself. Even with the thin hair, she recognized the side of his face, even though she hadn't drawn it up before.

“Scott!” she declared, and he turned in her direction.

“Hey!” he returned the favor: his black curls had thinned a bit with time, but she recognized him once he had turned around and showed her those thick dark eyebrows. He threw his arms around her and she returned the favor.

“Oh my god,” he blurted out right into her ear, “oh my fucking god, how've you been? I feel like I haven't seen you in a million years.”

“I live out in California now,” she told him.

“Wait, what?” He held back and looked on at her, stunned.

“Yeah, I got sent out there for—school.” For a second, she had forgotten why she had gone out there to California in the first place.

“Wow! So you actually moved across country and pitched a tent over there. For real?”

“For real, yeah.”

“Wow! God, I've just been so out of the loop lately with everyone since I bailed from Anthrax.” He paused for a second. “How're they doing, by the way?”

“They're doing excellent!” she declared. “They're supposed to release a new album soon. Like next month. I forget what it's called, though.”

“Oh, damn.” There was no mistaking that stern look upon his face. She brought her attention back to the crown of his head.

“Also, what's going on with your hair? I don't think it's ever been that thin before.”

“Eh, it's just been getting thin lately,” he confessed as he ran his fingers through the side, “I really have no idea why either. I think it might be from drinking but who knows really.” She caught a glimpse of his wedding band as he moved his hand back to his chest.

“Is everything okay at home?” she asked him, and he peered over his shoulder to ensure no one was eavesdropping on them. Alex still sat clear across the room and everyone else around them was German.

“Marge hasn't been happy lately,” he admitted in a low voice.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I keep wanting to practice and play some, but—she wants me to spend a lot more time with her. Like a lot more time with her. I don't really know what's gonna happen between us, Sam.”

“But you seemed so happy, though,” she recalled.

“At first we were. But now—I dunno what happened to be perfectly honest with you.”

“Aw—I'm so sorry. Is that why you're here and not there?”

“Nah, Frankie and Charlie asked me to come along. Charlie was like 'dude, you gotta come with us to Monsters of Rock. This was your band after all.' And I was like, 'alright, alright', so I took the first flight outta New York a couple of days and I got here yesterday afternoon.”

“It does get you away from there, though,” she pointed out.

“Absolutely. I mean—what else am I gonna do?” He shrugged his shoulders and then he faced the table right next to them for some fresh whole fruit himself. And then the whole experience dawned on her: she was there, all alone, without her parents or either of her girl friends, but she was in good hands with them all.

“It's so weird being here without Marla or Bel or anyone really,” she confessed to him.

“It's part of the whole experience, though,” Scott pointed out. “I didn't think I would get married any time soon. And I didn't think I'd be here right now solo.”

She thought about Alex's sentiments back on the plane, about the expansion of horizons.

Of course.

“So where are you staying at?” she asked Scott.

“I'm staying—right down the hall here.” He pointed to the corridor to the right of her. “Third door on the left. So, if you need anything, just come and knock on the door. I don't know a word of German, even though my last name is.”

“I was just telling Alex this coffee makes me want to learn it,” she told him with a smirk on her face.

“Oh, for real! But I walked all around town here just yesterday and last night when I got here—you guys totally have to while you're here all week. You won't regret it in the very least, Sam.”

She poured herself a glass of water and then Scott doubled back towards the hallway and back to his room. She returned to Alex, who began on his strawberry strudel and relished in every bite as if it tickled him between his legs.

“You were right,” she told him as she sat back down.

“About what?” he asked her once he swallowed.

“That was Scott.”

“No way!” he declared and his face lit up.

“Yeah, Frankie and Charlie asked to come along so he's staying down the hall here—” She pointed behind her. “He told me we have to walk around the place while we're here all week.”

“That's the plan, y'know?” he inferred as he took another slow bite of strudel and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

“You are my best kept secret after all,” she said in a low voice, and he swallowed it down.

“What's that even mean, anyway?” he asked her. Contradiction atop another contradiction.

Sam opened her mouth to explain that but she was cut off by Joey as he stood before them with his guitar slung down as far as that handmade strap warranted for him.

“Watch this,” he boldly proclaimed for them.

“We're watching,” she assured him, even though Alex had his head bowed by the sight of Joey's holding his guitar down so low against his body.

“In the middle of Germany, Joey?” Chuck called out to him from behind.

“I just wanna show Sam a new power move I came up with,” Joey told him as he spread his feet apart, “especially since I haven't seen her in a long while. This is 'I own the universe, ya mother fuckers!'” He raised his arm up over his head with his thumb and his index finger pinched together even though he held no pick there. He nodded his head and he widened his brown eyes for her. His skin had grown darker since the last time they had seen each other. He actually appeared to be a black knight for her.

“That's so adorable, Joey,” she told him, and she stood up in order to embrace him. “A true rock star now!”

She hadn't felt his slender body in so long it seemed; his fingers slithered through her hair and his lips grazed the side of her neck.

Oh to feel those soft lips again!

She sat back down at the table with her face warm and aglow. Joey then slung the guitar around his back and he bowed over to the buffet table for a plate of food himself.

Sam glanced over at Alex, who nibbled on his bottom lip at the sight of the guitar down so low. He was thinking it. She could sense he was thinking right then, and yet he didn't say anything lest there be a scene before them.

A contradiction indeed, and that following week would be interesting.

[thundariou]

Project E-015 Catastrophic 

….The screams echoed throughout the twelfth division building as the Espada did their duty of being the distraction, while Aizen himself walks calmly down the building as chaos erupts around him. The reason he was here is for one thing that the twelfth caption has been working on for the past year, the only information that his spy in the division has been able to get was two names, “Catastrophic” and “Kurosaki”, the two being related had interested him but also brought concern. For Kurosaki Ichigo had been missing for the same year that the project had started, He does not doubt that the new central 46 had something to do with the young adult disappearance. 

They feared his power, for someone to gain so much under a year put fear in their mind and spread like an infection, creating an enemy out of their hero. They wouldn’t want another Aizen, after all, they had believed his little illusions and so-called ‘war’. The battle between Aizen and Ichigo was very much real but towards the end, he pulled away and left a mindless Arrancar in his place. The central believed that Áizen’ is rotting away in the maggot nest and while the rest were recovering, had snatched away the injured teen and began to form him into their little weapon. Fools.

While the twelfth division was large, Aizen could easily make his way around to his destination. A cell that can only be accessed and opened by the administer was nothing and easily bypass. But it seemed that the door was already wide open, a bloody handprint drag across the frame, still wet and dripping down its surface. 

Peering into the chamber, a creature steps into the light shining through the only source of light, its mismatched eyes glowing bright gold and blue as it drops the pray that was clutched in its two sets of arms, tail twitching. Its porcine skin and hair gleamed in the little light, once bright orange now mixes with white and brown streaks, the white skin mark with black. His eyes lock onto heterochromic ones, arms folded behind his back as the other stands to its full height, blood rolling down its face and chest, hands also drenched in the crimson liquid. A body of one of the scientist lays at its feet, head and zanpakuto missing while blood leaks out around them. 

The once human hybrid was nothing more than a dangerous predator. In one movement, he stood before Aizen, his now triple-split jaw open reviling sharpen teeth in a low snarl. The ex-captain merely stared at the being, unmoving and eyes sharp as it watches back. 

“Interesting."  

Ichigo hisses out a breath, turning and lowering down to all fours, seeming lost interest, bloody prints trailing after him. All the while, Aizen watches and waits, having not moved from the doorway. Suddenly the building shook as an explosion goes off from the far side of the division, more screams were heard as the walls collapse and crumble.

A smirk crosses the older man’s face. "I believe it is time we leave.”

With a wave of his hand, a garganta opened behind him, the black void seeming endless. Before Ichigo could flee through it, Aizen casts a simple sleep kidō. The creature fell into a pile of limbs, completely out, to even Aizen’s surprise as he had known before that Kisuka had used more powerful ones on the teen with little effect. Hmm, this might have been easier than he’d considered. Seireitei had created their destruction. 

[ginger-nightmist]

Day 8: Lush

More mature than explicit, but definitely on the NSFW side. I’m not sure letting out my ShB and catboy-adjacent feelings was a wise idea, but here’s a riff on some more of the themes in the last few days.

Once, a very long time ago, he had been an impulsive young man. To survive, for hope to survive, he has stopped being all of those things. Normally, he supposes, being young might have disappeared first, but when G'raha Tia awoke it was into a world where impulse tended to end in a short, bloody conclusion. Impulsive he had been, yes, but also clever. So with the help of those who had woken him, he learned to wait. He learned to plan. He learned patience and patience and more patience, to wait for results he may never see.

And in the learning, age did away with youth, even before he came to the First and merged with his charge as he has. That took care of the final component as well; what right does he still have, to claim to be a man? The crystal creeps to consume him, a century in, and he could live for more, but someday, someday, he will be naught be stone and metal.

And yet.

Perhaps some parts of him are still flesh and blood and feeling, intense and burning as brilliant bloody as the sun merging to the horizon, the final end in sight. A wave of his hand, and the viewer awakens with a dawning glow, casting cool highlights on everything. In years past, he used this to watch Lyna when he worried.

He has no hope of claiming that this worrying is of the same familial variety. Warriors two, but he watched only one to ensure rest and safety, when he could. If it were asked of him, the Exarch might claim, smooth and calm and clear as the crystal that made one of his hands, that he merely bore concerns, perhaps if pressed hard a trace of guilt, for the one who was chosen to bear the release of the Lightwardens. G'raha Tia, sealed away in his mind like his cowl pressed his ears to nothingness, like his robes obfuscated the glimpse of a tail, would whisper inside, that he watched the one he knew, the woman of lilac and irises, who had once laughed at his jokes, despite her resistance, and started to smile.

The lamps still glow in her room, needed once again now, and she sits at the table, writing into her codex. Here, he can see what she hid among others. The faint lines of strain to her brows. The pained hunch of shoulders. And most concerningly, what he had spotted earlier beneath the brilliant but honest sun: a patch of hair nearly to her nape, bleached from regal iris to first breath of spring lilac.

The light was starting to warp her. 

A flicker in the periphery of his portal, and the door swings open. He can only see, not hear, but the drahn — no, au ra — woman who steps within, dark horns and scales and all pink and red between. The second warrior.

Her hues ever remind him of flesh and blood; it makes him uncomfortable, especially with her antagonism towards him. On their arrival, as expected, Kohanya had been tart and biting, but the gentle side beneath it that he remembered well had won over and she either had forgiven him or done a good job of faking it. G'raha turns over in his mind, looks at him with the mismatched eyes of memory, and he thinks, no, she merely is weary with resentment. I remember what true happiness looked like on her and you have never, never seen it here.

Dragging his focus from self-flagellation to femininity, both parts of him flush and he wonders what he's missed. Atara stands over Kohanya, both hands cupped around her face, kissing her deeply while darkness bubbles out of the ground around them, forming a translucent dome. Embarrassed, his eyes skate away, then come back. He is merely making sure the exposure to… to a dark knight's powers when she holds the light, when part of why she had to do so is because she is not linked to the dark aether, is not going to make her worse.

The ability to pretend the rapid rise and fall of her chest is from distress disappears as the other woman starts to peel open the layers of Kohanya's robes, baring skin like the moon where it is not flushing to match the pink of her partner. Lust lances through him, then guilt, but oh, not strong enough to defeat the searing spread of desire. He lowers his gaze a little, but not enough to lose sight of the vision of her leaning back against the table, folds of her dark garb falling open around her like a pearl dropped amidst the leaves of the verdant lushness of the forests of Rak'tika she had just left.

He presses the still mortal hand to his face, uses it to cover his mouth, jn theory to muffle any sound he might make in response, in truth because if it is at his lips he is not placing it anywhere else. Atara's lips are on Kohanya's neck, a hand slipping between parted thighs. He can't hear the gasp that must accompany the way the miqo'te woma.n's head falls back, lips parting. He would rather have seen it up close, at his own hands, but that does not remove the allure, the fascination of seeing it.

Nothing in him wants to look away now, through long moments, the lift and shudder of pale hips beneath a demanding hand, the way the two warriors tangle together beneath their shell of misty shadows, a tumble of royal iris petals, creamy jasmine, pink peony, the bloody hue of poppies. He knows the moment where the dark knight brings the trembling scholar to apex by how she shudders and slumps, gone limp and weary.

He has resisted the temptation to do anything uncouth. More uncouth than having watched them. (What he does later with his memories, he is not ready to be held accountable for.) Relieved that he still has this much strength, slowly, the Exarch lowers his hand, watching as Atara gathers Kohanya's exhausted form in her arms, carrying the smaller warrior over to her bed and finishing shucking her clothes before tucking her within. As her head lolls, finding a spot on the pillow, her hair halos out around her, and he sees something.

The streak of lilac has deepened, not fully back to the deep inky iris, almost black, but the middling hue of salvia blossoms. Healing.

[insolitus-academy]

** PICK SUBMIT PHOTO. [ SUBMIT A PHOTO OF YOUR CHARACTER ]   ♚ //  Face Claim Full name Face Claim: Jung Hoseok Group/Band/Occupation: BTS Nationality: Korean Faceclaim age: 26 ♚ // Character ;  Basic information

Quote: “Life that has been lost cannot be brought back again. That very truth is what shows us the meaning and value of living.”

Full name character: Jung Hoseok Nickname: N/A Realm of birth(if earth, nationality): South Korean, born in New Orleans, Lousiana Age: 219 Date of Birth: February 18th, 1801 Gender: Male Preferred Pronouns: He, Him. Race: Vampire Sexual Orientation: Blood sexual. Do you have blood running through your veins? Then its possible to get sexual ;)   What languages does your character speak?: Korean, English, conversational French, Creole. What is the level of Korean and how did they learn to speak it (For non-Korean characters from other realms & other earth-countries): He spent a generous amount of time in and our of Korea and learned it from his Other Mother.

♚ // Character ; Appearance

Skin Color: Pale as the light of a full moon. Eye color: Light grey normally, maroon when in need of blood, black when blood lust has set in. Scars: A deep scar three inches to the right of his heart. Piercings: None Tattoos: None Hair color: Brown, heavily streaked with grey. Abnormalities: His fingers nails look like they’re made of glass which is a reason he tends to file them down and keep them short. His skin is cool to the touch like marble. Horns/ wings/ etc.: N/A Transformed form: N/A  

♚ // Character ; Personality

Six personality traits: Adaptable, Charming, Disciplined, Elegant, Insouciant, Meticulous

[ Need inspiration? ]

Likes: A perfectly tailored suit, Gardenias, Paintings of the Sunrise, Fresh blood, Dancing Dislikes: Small places including his coffin, Moving water, out of tune pianos, mismatched socks, clutter. Manias: Hoseok suffers from Arithmomania. He tends to do everything in multiples of four or eight – counting his steps, flicking light switches, tapping his fingers on things, even the sips it takes to finish a bag -or neck- of blood. He stares at the numbers on a clock, Volume dials have to be set on a number ending in four or eight. His suits are all custom made with four buttons instead of the standard three or five. The only time this obsession is satisfied is if he’s listening to music at exceeding volume levels so he can often be found with headphones on. Phobias: Hoseok is terrified of small places and fire. He was locked in a coffin as his house was set on fire by an ex-lover and her family of hunters and he’s never been able to get over it. He refuses to sleep in a coffin unless he’s being transported across water or as a last result.  He refuses to be around fire or flames of any kind including candles. Candles really freak him out because of their flickering.   Animal: A black stallion Religion: When he was human he was a very devout Christian. Favorite song: . https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6AXPnH0C9UA – The Count Vice: Lust Virtue: Kindness

Personality description: Hoseok’s personality in short is very much like the sun he had to turn his back upon. He’s sweet, kind and quite charming. Not one to ever meet a stranger, he’s very outgoing and friendly adapting his personality to most settings and the people he’s around. While he is can be quite serious there is also quite a serious side to him. Hoseok is not young and often his maturity shines through when it comes to making decisions or having serious discussions. He often takes the time to think before speaking knowing that once words have been said aloud there is no taking them back. He prefers not to wear his heart of his sleeve and rather than show his true emotions openly he tends to keep things to himself having learned that trusting others with your heart often will end up with a stake coming from it. When angry he can be very vindictive and reckless unafraid to speak his mind and pinpoint the weakness of those who pissed him off. In those moments it’s hard to like him and so he tries to ensure that things don’t get to that point.

♚ // Character ; Powers Magical Powers:

Manipulation - Hoseok is very skilled in manipulation and charming those around him. He’s had a few centuries to work on it. Generally he won’t use his powers on someone without their permission but there are moments and times when it’s necessary and he’s had to break that rule.

Wind – Hoseo is able to manipulate air for short moments of time whether it be allowing a breeze to brighten a too hot situation, repelling projectiles by using the air to block them, use wind to move objects, or cutting someone’s oxygen – sometimes for pleasure, sometimes for pain.

Non-magical Powers:

Dancing  - He’s trained in several styles of dance and can often be found moving to some sort of music in his spare time. When he’s stressed dancing is the best way to release the feelings he’s holding.

Piano – A skilled piano player, Hoseok loves creating his own melodies or recreating melodies he might have heard in passing on the piano. It’s his favorite instrument and another way he enjoys de-stressing.

Weaknesses: Because of his arithmomania he can be easily distracted by counting. If someone spills a bag of grain or rice he will stop and count every last piece, if someone starts counting and stops before a number, counts out of order or starts and simply chooses not to finish he will lose himself until they do.

Fire – Fire is a huge weakness for the vampire and the best way to over power him, it causes a fear to run through his body that he cannot control.

Blood – While he can control his blood lust quite well, there are moments when it can be a weakness for him. If he hasn’t fed adequately and smells blood the craving for it can be over powering.

♚ // Character ; The Student

Study Style: Hardworking and dedicated, Hoseok aspires to do well in all his classes. Favorite class: Modern Dance Least favorite class: N/A

classes (5-8) : 

Magical Rituals

Sword Fighting

Ancient Runes

Music II

Drawing and Painting

Modern Dance

Ballroom Dance

Culinary Club

♚ // Character ; The Past

Date of Birth: February 18th 1801 Date of Death: Autumn of the year 1822 Crime Record: N/A

Has your character attended Insolitus Academy in the past? No Background:  Jung Hoseok was a simple boy from a very poor home. Middle child of seven Hoseok often found himself having to be the bridge between the elder children and the young ones. He didn’t mind though, to him his family was everything. From the moment the boy could talk he tasked himself with becoming a child that his family could rely upon. He learned to cook, he cleaned without being asked and once he was old enough he began to seek work so that he could truly provide for the family in a more tangible way. Work for a child his age was few and far between, but he took whatever he could get and one day he lucked out. A woman moved into one of the old plantations – a widow or so the rumors stated. She needed ranch hands, cooks, cleaners and more to staff such a grand manor but she was a very picky mistress. Of course, Hoseok decided to throw himself among the people being interviewed and fate did seem to be on his side, he was hired instantly and determined to stay for as long as she would have him for the pay was more than he needed to keep his large family quite comfortable.

Through the years, Hoseok would learn to work all around the house cleaning the rooms, tending to the apple orchards, taking care of the animals, even cooking for the mistress and the other servants. The mistress had taken an instant liking to the smart and capable child who proved over and over again to her that he was worthy of her trust. Through the years their bond only grew stronger with Hoseok coming to think of her as an elder sister and her loving him as if he were her own flesh and blood.

 Of course working for her for years there were things the boy would come to notice.

He had grown through the years filling out in various ways as a boy does when he’s transition to a man, but she seemed to remain unwrinkled, unphased by the passing of days. Did he ever dare to ask what her secret was? Of course not, Hoseok was a smart child, he heard the tales that traveled around the commons and even in the lower blocks of the city, but he cared not to listen to rumors. She paid well and he wasn’t paid for his questions but for his loyalty and respect. He might have remained in service to her until well into his grey years, but at the age of twenty-one disaster struck.

The plague that had started in Europe finally made its way to America coming upon the ships of travelers and immigrants. When Hoseok was struck with disease he had hope that he would heal eventually for wasn’t he a strapping lad? Surely a disease like this wouldn’t defeat him. It was a hope the two of them knew was hopeless.  For weeks he remained bed-ridden in her house as she paid for the very best doctors, healers, voodooist and anything else money could buy but there was no use and as she stood over his bed listening to the ragged sound of his breath she knew what she would have to do.  She decides to change him into what she is, a vampire. Centuries prior to him she had lost a child when she was human and she wasn’t going to lose another, not if she could help it. She explains everything to Hoseok, how she came to be, what she’s able to do She explains the good, the bad and the ugly. She explains everything to him once, twice, three times until she’s sure he understood everything she was saying and then she leaves him alone to lets him make the decision.

For hours he battled with what to do, on the one hand saying no would mean dying and ending everything he had strived so hard to do and on the other hand, staying alive would mean dying to this life he knew before, but living in a way he never could have imagined. In the end he chose the answer he knew would make everyone happy. He would allow her to change him into a vampire. In this away he could continue to care for his family from afar and continue to take care of his mistress. He watches his last sunset sitting up in bed knowing that he never again see such a beautiful sight.

His death is faked, with servants attending his funeral instead of their mistress who is in great mourning over the loss of her most beloved servant. He watches the funeral from a far allowing his heart to break for the first time in his short life and to ensure no one would learn of the things they had committed they make plans to move abroad, far far away from the city of New Orleans. The last night in their city he makes one last visit to his family home brushing feather light kisses to the family he would never see again leaving whispered promises  that he would always watch over them. The only thing he takes is an old necklace – a cross the length of his smallest finger his youngest sister had made for the two of them to match- which he seals in a case as the only keepsake from his former life.

Together they move on to live all over the world, he wants for nothing, never has to worry about anything ever again and yet he always, continually, watches out for his family, their children, his nieces nephews and every other member that passes down through the lineage of his family.

When he’s decades older, when he’s seen most of what there is to see of the world his mistress finally sends him to Insolitus to learn of all the other races and beings that she’s spoken of through the years. She had attended the academy when she was young vampire around his age and thought it only right that he was educated in the same manner.  

♚ // Roleplayer [ optional ]

Time zone: 

OOC! Triggers: Plots involving suicide are quite triggering

Themes/genres you like writing the most?: ANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGST, and Easy casual enjoyable plots :3

[blueymoons]

Matchmaker, Matchmaker, He is a Cat

“I’m trapped”

“Just push the cat off your lap.”

“No, absolutely not, I’m not a monster.”

“Honestly Cormoran…he’ll hop down and go find his brother and then you can get your own beer.” Robin rolled her eyes at her partner.

“But I just got him to actually like me Robin. If I push him off me he’ll start hating me again.”

“Oh, he will not.”

“He will too. It took almost three years before he’d let me pet him.” Cormoran widened his eyes at her as he nodded, hoping it would sell the tiny fib a little bit better.

Her narrowed eyes and tightened lips made him think she didn’t believe him though.

“He’s sleeping Robin. I can’t wake him. Please will you bring me another beer?” He wasn’t above begging.

He started a bit at the unexpected thunk on the table next to him but grinned his best crinkly eyed grin at her as he reached for the beer she’d just placed there. “You’re a saint.”

“I’m guessing we’re eating our dinner in there too?” He could hear the plates and cutlery rattling as she picked them up from the dining table.

“Even I know you should never wake a sleeping cat Robin.” He swigged his beer and then bit his lip to keep from guffawing at the mutinous expression on her face as she laid out the plates and tableware on the coffee table in front of him.

“It’s ‘Never wake a sleeping baby’ you idiot.” And she practically stomped off to get the takeout containers.

“Did I tell you thanks for inviting me over?” He rolled his head back against the back of the couch, trying to get a glimpse of her bustling around behind him.

She was so pretty tonight, in her slouchy blue jumper and black leggings. He’d especially enjoyed seeing her socks, pulled over the ends of her leggings. They were mismatched, one green and the other a hot pink. She’d shrugged in response to his grin when he’d seen them. “Who has time to match socks? No one sees them most of the time, and anyone who does see them won’t care.”

He hadn’t been able to fault her logic, but also hadn’t been able to resist teasing her a bit more. “You don’t have to match them when you get ones that are all black and all white.”

“Yeah…but then you wouldn’t have anything to tease me about.”

He’d laughed in acknowledgement as he’d lowered himself to the couch, where he’d promptly been trapped by Ossie, the cat belonging to his and Robin’s mutual friends Nick and Ilsa Herbert. Robin, having been a house guest of the Herbert’s for a brief period after she’d left her husband Matthew last year, and therefore familiar with the routines of Ossie and his brother Ricky, had been asked if she’d house sit while Nick took Ilsa on a much deserved second honeymoon. She’d been happy to do so and had informed Cormoran earlier that day that just because Nick and Ilsa were away didn’t mean they weren’t still going to have their monthly curry night.

“No. You didn’t,” she answered with a slight pout.

He caught her eyes as she dished a serving onto his plate. “Thank you for inviting me Robin.”

She flushed and looked away, using the food as an excuse to evade his eyes.

She finished serving them both and then, realizing he wasn’t going to be able to lean forward with the cat still trapping him she handed him his plate and fork and with a wicked glint in her eyes leaned over and tucked a napkin in the open collar of his button down.

Her fingers brushed against and lingered a moment on his chest. He felt the edge of her nails rasp ever so slightly against his skin. Her fingers were warmer than usual, probably due to the food containers being warm.

She’d started touching him more and more frequently over the last few months. Her hand coming to a rest on his forearm, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, as she talked about cases with him in the pub after work. Her arm occasionally threading through his as they walked down the street heading toward the Tube station that would take her back to her shared flat in Earl’s Court.

Twice now she’d hugged him. Once as he’d been about to leave her at the Tube, a week ago and then tonight when she’d answered the door here.

She sat back and pulled her own plate into her lap, forking up a bite of the spicy chicken and blowing on it before sliding it between her lips. Her eyes were on the telly, BBC One broadcasting the evening news.

They were silent as they ate, watching the news reports.

Silence was easy with Robin.

As usual he finished his food before she finished hers, however he was still unable to move due to Ossie still contentedly snoozing in his lap. Just as he was about to break the silence and ask if she could take his plate her hand appeared, removing his plate from his hand and replacing it with her plate which still had about a quarter of her portion of rice and chicken on it.

He grinned and picked up her fork, finishing it off in a few quick bites.

She took the plate and stacked it on top of the other, and stood, scooping up the closed curry container from the table and carrying them to the kitchen. All without a word.

Only a small smile that matched the one he could feel lifting his own lips.

He reached for his beer bottle and swigged down the last swallow, then turned his head to ask her if she’d kindly bring him another, only to feel a cold bottle pressed to his other shoulder. He tilted his head back to give her a mock glare only to find her watching him, her blue eyes intent.

He stayed like that, head tilted against the cushions, trapped by the intensity in her eyes.

She leaned over and set her full wine glass down, with a click, on the table next to him, before resting her forearms against the back of the couch, her face hovering next to his. She was so close he could see the striations of grey around her blue irises, the light freckles that were hidden by the darker ones scattered across her nose and the rise of her cheeks.

He stopped breathing as he realized that if they both turned their heads their lips would touch.

“Robin…” he started, turning his head slightly toward her.

His lips met hers, barely.

The fuller parts of her lips rested against the fuller parts of his.

Neither of them pressed closer.

But neither did they pull apart.

It felt like an eternity had passed when he felt her lips move slightly and his eyes slid closed as he felt her tongue lick delicately across her own lips, the tip of it grazing his.

On a groan he lifted a hand to the back of her head and arched his neck, pressing closer, opening his mouth to allow her tongue to sweep inside, allowing his to explore her.

She’d wrapped her right arm around his shoulder, her hand slid into his hair, tightening, drawing his head back and pressing him closer to her.

He groaned as she pulled slightly away. His body shifting slightly toward her, anxious for more of her taste, to feel more of her skin.

“Ow…SHIT!” He jolted as needles pierced his thighs. Digging in with a vengeance.

Ossie screeched at him as he jumped from his lap and raced from the room in a streak of black and white fur.

“Fuck.” He groaned as he glared after the cat, before turning the glare on the giggling woman standing behind him.

He snaked a hand out and snatched her wrist, tugging her closer until he could drag her still snickering form over the back of the couch so that she was sprawled on his lap, replacing the cat who’d trapped him most of the evening.

“Where were we?” he asked as he kissed her grin and allowed his hands to slide under her jumper to see if the skin hidden beneath it was as smooth and soft as he’d fantasized.

Many thanks to @corvidprompts for the prompt that sparked this nonsense. 

[eqcentriceqclectic-blog]

Inherited Demons

2019/12/07 – Nothing Right

Nothing I do is ever right. In His eyes, I will always be a feral horse that needs to be put to the whip. If I don’t and I get free, he hopes that my freedom in the wild will end in cold realisation in my last moments as I am beset by wolves. Even, if objectively right, it is as if an offense on his very existence—as if he were a god or a ghost and disbelief in him would condemn him to abyssal oblivion. And so, being right or doing well is actively discouraged—either through deafening and oppressive silence, or through roaring rage and insufferable indignation. He may be seen as quiet, but that is not to be taken as docility or humility—no; it is a sinister and seething silence. Normally, improvement is supposed to be seen as positive.

I cannot count the number of times I’ve either wanted to run away from home or outright kill myself. It desperate times, they’ve been my mantra or my prayers to soothe my wretched soul. What stopped me from running away? Fear of failure. Fear of strangers. Fear of retribution. An incompetency instilled in me long ago. One I replicated and instilled in a brother placed into my charge, even as a shell of a person—shattered shards looking for a reflection. It wasn’t until that reflection attempted to kill himself that I realised what my shoddily-assembled puzzle-of-a-person had done. I had become that which I had despised all my life--that dictatorial and patriarchal demon for which is suffered beneath had impregnated in me a piece of its insidious soul. It had gripped me in its agonising grasp, and regurgitated the darkness imparted to it, into my screaming-tear-streaked face. And thus, the cycle would continue like a horror-franchise that just won’t die. That was the day I realised—despite my love for the pure curiosity and optimism of children and the undeniable yearning to cradle and raise small-beings of my ghostly-ovaries—that I could not perpetuate this curse. To adopt a family-less entity into this story would be tantamount to sacrificing them to the demon that inhabits our family-line with my own bloodied hands.

I remember when I was bird-sitting Rita (a cousin’s feather-child) and He attempted to interact with it while wildly inebriated—like he enjoys doing—and held out his hand. Rita, as finicky conures tend to be, bit him HARD as she did not know him and did not like him. I feared for that bird’s life as I recognised the drunken rage that overtaken his alcohol-laden-bubbly-demeanor, as he shouted some profanity at the bird. I called out, to let him know I was present, and explained to him why she bit him before telling him to leave her alone.A similar incident happened years ago when I had my bird, Vira. She was a feisty bird and I loved her bravery and assertiveness but the curse infused in me by Him did not make distinctions between humans, non-human animals, plants, or inanimate objects. She and my brother have both bore witness to the same rage and self-perceived-indignity-fuelled-wrath I bore witness to growing up. I loved her dearly, but could not reconcile my own behaviour—I could not split this demonic presence within myself with the love I had for all living things as they both were a part of who I was and it was maddening. But as with all things deeply-unsettling, we seek to take flight from it—as is natural—to get as far as we can from it and forget about it so we can go about our days. To face it, would be to face the demon—itself, a part of you—and to face your own guilt and culpability in its sins, for without you, it would not be able to do its work as a formless, parasitic, lifeless virus. To face your own guilt and responsibility in hurting others is a terrifying thing; it chills you to your core and tears it to shreds because you want to believe you are a good person who does good things, and when you are not the hero of your own story, then you can never be a hero in any story—if you are the villain in your own story, then you will be the villain in all stories.

Looking myself in my own shattered mirror, I could finally see the demon bleeding forth from behind my ill-assembled portrait… I could only play at perfection for so long before all the mismatched pieces fell apart and revealed the vast darkness that mocked me beneath. Like a self-indulgent actor without a true mirror to look into, I enchanted myself with delusions that I was not He and that I was above that which lurked at the bottom of every bottle. And all the while, I was a cheap imitation of him—like a copy-cat-killer imprinting on a serial-killer worshipped by the media. I didn’t need alcohol to justify my crimes, for I had a divine mandate bestowed upon me by my ancestors, which was bestowed upon them by successive emperors, and god-kings before them, and thus the gods themselves. Chinese patriarchy is as insidious a poison as it is insipid as it permeates into every aspect of life in the family. It may not have been such a poison, but it certainly is now. As they say, “Power, absolute, corrupts—absolutely.”

In Chinese culture, there is a powerful emphasis put upon passing on the family name—so much so that female-infanticide was a widespread practice in China. My grandmother used the phrase ‘tuang-tong jeng’ frequently when urging her living descendants to procreate and pray for sons. Also present in Chinese culture is the misguided belief that because all elders are to be afforded respect, it automatically blesses them with the power to always be right—no matter the circumstances. It can be seen in dazzling display with successive Chinese-emperors slaughtering countless people over the millennia, simply for disagreeing or embarrassing the father-of-the-nation with reality and truth. Is it not why the satirical fable of the Emperor and his “new clothes” exists? An emperor that is willfully-blind is one that is indulgent and willfully-negligent—and those that could not see beyond their own gilded mirrors, often led to the starvation of the masses they were given dominion over, and ultimately, their dynasty’s demise. Once they lost their divine mandate, another emperor would rise and a spoiled descendant of his would lead it to ruin, in cycles unending.

After help assembling my mirror to match those that see me for who I am, only now am I able to see the apparition hiding behind it. As puppet-master and puppet entwined as one, it is my responsibility to sever those strings that snake around my offending limbs. It is my responsibility to cast off the shadows that shroud me, as it has become me. It has infused into my essence and become its own—my own—demon, separate from His, but no less His satanic-spawn. Only after acknowledging its existence, screaming its name, can I even begin to excise it like the viral cancer it is. The process is never-ending, for if you ever believe you have destroyed it, your complacency will allow it respite to recover and thus spite your own efforts to defeat it in the first place. We must always strive to be better, despite our accomplishments and desires to revel and relish our achievements—for idle hands do the devil’s work. Resting on our laurels is like laying and brooding upon our nest-eggs atop a poisoned heath—our savings and our accolades will rot along with us. We’ll only fester along our heaped up hoard, as a magnificent dragon does upon all its glittering greed. If I’ve gleaned anything over the past two or so years, it’s that our own pride and arrogance will always be our downfall. It understand that it was my own hubris in believing I was less of a terrible person than he was, only to find myself, one day, staring back at Him in the mirror. I saw me, regurgitating exactly what putrid horrors was spat into my own face, at someone else—someone I was told was below me—simply because they were younger or less of a person than I was. And that is how He still sees me: lowly, basal, lost, stupid, barbaric, “sub-human���—and worst of all—a child. And one that is unbridled, feral, and wild—but worst of all, “uncontrollable”. And, also, wholly unimpressed with the infallibility of the patriarchal parental dictatorship to which begs rebellion and resistance.

I will no longer scrape my head at His feet simply because he decided he would do the “holy” duty of acceding to his mother’s wishes of him to marry a woman he didn’t know, and would never love, and bear for him a son he could present to his parents—just because he is my father and my elder. He is as flawed as we all are and I will not grovel at His feet simply because he thinks he is my superior simply because he is my father and my elder. Respect is earned—not demanded—and throughout the years, my respect for him corroded away until there was no flesh left to burn off. Similarly, I have but few happy memories of Him, as the visceral emotional abuse and on-going threats of physical abuse incinerated the vast majority of them as Vesuvius did the people of Pompeii, or the atomic bomb did to the people of Nagasaki. Neither annihilating disaster completely removed the people from existence, as there remained ashy shells or radioactive shadows in their wakes—such are my happy-memories left, as obtuse imprints in the eroding beach-sands: as vague stories of ‘Snow Black and the Seven Dwarves’, as ephemeral visions of rehabilitating young birds blown to the ground by torrential storms, and as echoes of lessons on why not to step on ants. Stronger and clearer are the memories of being slapped for protesting against a particular untested brand of pizza or being chased with a large wooden stick purchased from Home Depot for refusing a hair-cut from Him. Another, particularly, peculiar poison of His was his inherited creed of beating his own child if that child was bullied to tears (or into action)—a shadow he internalised from his own father when being bullied by neighbourhood Vietnamese kids for being Chinese, back in Vietnam.

Growing up as a child in a house-of-cards propped up by two maternal hopes for their fifth-born children was a bittersweet hell, as many are—sweet enough for hope to grow but not enough to survive under the withering harsh bitterness. Perhaps it’s more of a purgatory: not horrible enough to cause one to kill oneself, but just enough to wish so. Those two grandmothers were my oases of love and care in an arid dusty desert of moonless, endless, nights. They were my guiding stars, above all the rabid fighting and gnashing teeth of childish gore-cloaked-hyaenas that called themselves my parents. My grandmothers were the life-sustaining waters, and my parents were the malarial insects that abated my existence. When my brother attempted to kill himself, I came to find out—of course, through another one of their petty and accusative arguments—that neither of them ever dreamed of having children and raising them. Why? Because they were still children, themselves—they were mostly raised by their elder siblings as their immigrant parents worked to carve a life in an increasingly hostile environment. That environment they grew up in abruptly changed as conditions in Vietnam deteriorated and they it was decided that they all needed to flee through hell and high-water (and marauding pirates). The Peter-Pan-like situation became even more so during His teen and young-adult years; formed here, in Canada, under his elder brother and without parents or grandparents to guide these “Lost Boys” fell into a world of alcohol, cigarettes, drugs, and guns that their new peers immersed them in. His elder brother went from a sixteen-year old running a small textiles business that employed workers in Vietnam to an alcoholic who would gamble his way into a depression in Canada. He would go from an inquisitive child making toys out of trash and sticks and swimming in monsoon-flooded roads to a teen drinking himself into a stupor and smoking until his adult teeth would become grey and lined with tar. Children raising children does not yield the positive results, and least of all depressed children raising children—this is true of my parents, and of myself. I had no business being in-charge of my baby brother—absolutely zero—especially with the foul fecal froth spilling from their mouths, to mine, as it then spilled down to my younger brother as I abused him emotionally, verbally and physically as my parents did to me. As explained in the paragraphs above, it did not occur to me until later what I was doing was wrong—it was just what I’ve known and what I felt.

I started to notice how my cousins, aunts, and uncles would look at me as I terrorised my brother over his mistakes—or my perception of his mistakes and improprieties. My logical reasoning at the time was that, “I’m not allowed to do that; why is he?” They always looked startled—or, “unsettled,” maybe is a better word—at my outbursts and threats. I remember once, in a restaurant—where I sat next to him while we were seated amongst our cousins and the adults were sat across from us—where he refused to eat a certain food and I became unreasonably enraged at him and I threatened to cut the head off of the stuffed toy (acquired from Midway arcade in Niagara Falls) if he did not eat it. I had stunned everyone and their hearts broke for my brother, just a young child being terrorised by a teen sibling. Breaking this cycle of abuse was tough—especially while still being abused, yourself. After, breaking free from physical (less so, emotional and verbal) abuse, all the injustice and indignity and rage continued spilling on to the easiest and most vulnerable target, who—under patriarchal rules—would lack arbitrary familial immunity from my wrath and cruelty. Where I could verbally, emotionally, and physically abuse him for whatever I wished, I could only cry, whimper, cower, and hide. However, I did exact vengeance upon them by hiding or damaging the belongings of my parents in protest of their mistreatment of me. There was one instance when I was about six or seven and I fled out of the back of the house after having been shouted out of the tear-stained washroom I had locked myself into on the top floor of the house. On my way passed the car, after deciding that I would run away from home, my eyes burned with salted indignation and so I picked up a stone from the gravel bed and scraped profanities onto the car’s paint and transferred my raw emotions into words. I dropped the stone and continued past the garage and through the laneway until I reached the side-walk, still crying. I stood there, thinking, and came to a realisation that I could not go any further—for if I did, I would be kidnapped and killed by a stranger. So, I walked down to the corner and right back to the front of the house and down the alleyway back to the backyard and back into the house where my parents were still searching—His wooden stick still in-hand—without a clue that I had tried to run away (or that I had keyed words of profanity on to the car with a pebble).

In 2017, when Grandma first became weak after years of mismanaging her own hypertension-medication, I became involved in her healthcare in the balmy month of July. Before then, I didn’t even know she had hypertension and thought she took medication just because it was something a person did when they got as old as she did. After accompanying grandma and Him to both the hospital and her nephrologist, I began researching Chronic Kidney Disease (CKD). I learned about how the kidney can be damaged by high blood-pressure and looked into the medication she was taking, going so far as to see which medications could be contra-indicated. I advised Him that grandma’s medication (since she became inconsolable and beyond fearful for her life and no longer was able to manage them herself and became paranoid that we (including the doctors) were trying to poison her and began refusing to take them for a while) should be split into two as then the hypertensive-medications were be better able to manage her blood-pressure through the day instead of causing a sharp drop for the day while allowing it to rise again in the evening--one of her medications for hypertension-management was even specifically designed to be taken at night which is when blood-pressure is supposed to naturally drop. He likes to take credit for this. He also likes to take credit for what he didn’t even believe for a long time—her weakness that started in the first place. When her health was declining in April of 2017, after her nephrologist cut her off from the round of erythropoietin he had initially put her on in the winter prior, He did not believe that it was her health, but her age. I would become increasingly frantic in asserting that this was the reason as the months dragged on and by July, she could barely get out of bed because of how anemic she was. I, unlike He, had done research into what “erythropoietin” was and why she needed to take those shots. I was upset at her nephrologist for cutting her off from those shots because he thought her red-blood-cell count was too high (after a blood-test in March/April) and he’d see her back in three months (this was the cadence of her visits to him: every three months, so approximately four times a year). Again, by July, she was so weak that He took her to the hospital twice in the latter half of that month and once in August where I accompanied them after ending my seasonal job a few days prior. I urged him again that it was the lack of erythropoietin shots and resulting anemia that made her so weak—but he again asserted that it was because she was old. Thankfully, the nephrologist prescribed another round of erythropoietin shots (one shot, every other week, for three months—so six syringes in total). However, the ordeal and fear of death had warped her mind—the nurse at the nephrologist’s office told us that because her GFR was so low, she would likely need dialysis but that dialysis for people aged eighty and up were too at risk of developing a central-line infection—and surgery for a kidney transplant would provide an ever higher risk of mortality. She also told us that she most likely only had two-years left to live—guess what? It’s been over two-years now. I guess it’s the same for when Push got the morbid news that she only had three months left to live and lived another three years. Anyway, I digress. After horrifying and terribly painful months of trying to sleep with an insomniac grandmother in the next room having an end-life crisis, chanting all through the night of her tragic ending, and trying to manage her anxiety, panic, and paranoia in the day-time after both He and mom went to work, and brother went to school, she snapped and her dementia advanced by leagues. In the years prior, I started to notice she became much less brave and much more reserved and careful—in addition to misplacing her watch and other things that told a story of short-term memory loss. She became a lot less aware of her surroundings where, before—as a mischievous little child—I would stand behind the wall at the base of the stairs and try to surprise her but just get a sweet old smirk and an adorable elderly quip as she walked by her silly grandson. However, ever since reaching ninety, just walking to her room and asking what she was watching would startle her half to death (and our floors are obscenely creaky)—she became a lot less aware of her surroundings and where things (or people were). Around this time, she also started to hear ringing in her ears when there was only dead-silence. After she became increasingly unhinged and violent, there became a need to hospitalise her—not for her weakness or anemia, this time, but for her aggression. She probably had not slept for over a month, by this point, and this was most likely the source of said aggression, paranoia, and anxiety. On the car ride there, she was openly hostile to Him while he was driving and my attempts to stop her so as to avoid having a car-accident turned her aggression towards me. When finally passing triage and reaching the waiting area of the emergency department, Grandma continued her violence, painfully hitting Him and I with her gold-and-jade-laden rings. When a room finally opened up, she refused to go and wanted to go back home (even after days and days and days of wanting to be taken to the hospital) and when we tried to gently push her towards the room, she suddenly turned around, and as it with the power of all the elephant matriarchs of the world pushed me and Him out of the room and began assaulting us before the nurses quickly called for orderlies and security to bring her down and tie her arms and legs to the hospital-bed in the room. Because of what had just transpired, she was upgraded to the sub-accute emergency section with a room closer (and facing) the nurses-station. She was sedated with haloperidol through injection because she refused to take an oral dose but during the process Him, I, a nurse, and two security guards needed to hold her down and she still was almost able to bite the nurse (and myself). After that, we were put into contact with the Local Health Integration Network (LHIN) to discuss placing her in an assisted-living facility and both 4th Uncle and He were seriously considering it and passed on the responsibility of coordinating with LHIN to me due to my higher education and superior command of English. They also put in a referral for us to the hospital’s geriatrics department and scheduled us to see a Dr. Cheng at a later date after the attending physician provided a temporary round of anxiolytics (lorazepam). When taking the lorazepam, she was much more docile and also able to sleep and it felt like we got her back from the throes of insanity—that is, until we had to take increasing doses and it became unfeasible to continue. Her violent tirades returned, along with her insomnia and we went to see the geriatrician. He proved to be—not just incompetent, but—wildly careless and inadequate; his bed-side manner was shockingly crass and crude. He never really listened when we came in for the appointment and seemed in a hurry to get us out the door with a new round of pills for her to take: haloperidol, sertraline—you name it, she probably was prescribed it. Some of them were worse than others, like haloperidol which left her a stumbling and drooling mess—taken long enough, left her bid-ridden and Him changing diapers and bed-sheets. Eventually, I decided it was time to stop seeing the geriatrician as I was also so upset with his flippant demeanor when at appointments in his office. He took a little while to convince, as He was afraid of Grandma reverting back to her violent and difficult self even though I was the one home alone with her while everyone else was gone for a majority of the day at work or school. As that was the case, the representatives from LHIN mostly dealt with me when they came by the house whether it was the social-worker on the case or the professionals she would send to the house. The most helpful professional was an occupational therapist who educated me upon dementia and Alzheimer’s as well as providing emotional support and advice on the situation with the geriatrician and his exceedingly terrible medications. Before this, in my ignorance, I was yelling and screaming at Grandma, confused as to how she could go from a completely normal and loving grandmother who I would give up the my own mother for to someone I was afraid of being around. After the occupational therapist left, my relationship with Grandma started slowly shifting back to one of positive interactions and normalcy. He, however, refused to read the educational materials the occupational therapist left to enlighten us on Grandma’s dementia because he refused to believe she had dementia because of how quick and abrupt the change was. He wanted to believe that she was doing this on purpose and after retiring before the Christmas of 2017, would often get into drunken tirades and yell so loud you could hear him throughout the house and even in the backyard. This continued afterwards, as well, and followed the cycles of her decline into bed-riddance (either from the anti-psychotics prescribed by the incompetent geriatrician, or the lack in erythropoietin) and ascent back into insanity and unnatural strength. In another descent in early 2018, after her nephrologist AGAIN decided that her RBC-level was too high and cut her off from erythropoietin for another three months, I again became insistent that He call the nephrologist to prescribe another round of shots. He was stubborn, as always is the case, and believed that her being bed-ridden and defecating in a diaper meant that it was her time—as if you were just born with a pre-determined age at which someone would die at. I was enraged so I took matters into my own hands after getting home from work one day in May and called the nephrologists’ office and angrily berated the secretary, to which she told me that all we had to do was call in after running out and they would send the prescription and shots to the pharmacist and we could pick them up. I sat there after the call, part-relieved that it meant Grandma wouldn’t have to go through another round of panic and part-annoyed that He did not want to do it because of laziness and self-importance (the belief that He is smarter than I, even without doing any research or having any prior knowledge about anything, even though He was always the one who took her to the nephrologist’s and family physician’s appointments). He does the same with plants and ended up condemning our eight-year-old starfruit plant to die in the cold, despite my protest. He always thinks he’s the smartest person, regardless of what experience/knowledge he has or doesn’t have in a particular subject—and I’ve inherited a similar manner of speaking-as-a-matter-of-fact-ly, as if I was 100% sure about what I was saying (which often gets me into trouble).

Depression In every waking day, the demon lurks within your shadow—always just out of the corner of your eye. As that sun sets and the lights go out, that shadow becomes an all-consuming spectre that fills the room as much as it does your mind—it eats that light your try to light inside, unhinging its jaws and swallowing the sun whole like a constrictor after it had crushed all the air from your lungs. A breath-taking darkness sends your heart into a frantic panic, straining and screaming and searching for every last bubble of air in the blood starting to leak from your eyes. Crimson tears streak down, acrid and burning, like streams of fiery lava making their way to the salty sorrowful depths of the oceans. Your head is feverishly throbbing with starvation, suffocating and drowning in itself as it melts from the draconic hell-fires lit under you by the shadowy-figure. You are more palatable to it when scared out of your mind and injuriously maimed by your own hand, so it eats at you night by night, piece-by-piece—it could be days, months, years, or even decades—but it is patient and diabolical. You are to it, like finely aged-wines or cheeses are to a wealthy connoisseur with too much money to know what to do with.

An Unwelcome Stranger Is His child, in his home, being a burden upon him. It doesn’t matter if this person does anything good, because—ultimately—this person is a stranger. A worthless stranger borne of his flesh and blood, that only continues to feast like a fat leech, engorging itself on His blood.

[disgraced-doctor-junkenstein]

💭+ 💋 💭 +  🍆 (@APrimeSpecimen Roo and Hog)

Send me  💭+ 🍆/  💭+ 💋 for sinday

@aprimespecimen

💭+ 💋  

for a romantic thought my muse has about your’s

💭 +  🍆

 a sexual thought my muse has had about your’s

Roo-mance:

Roo is such a beautiful hot mess. He’s impulsive, childish, loud, all over the place- And scared, still learning, and trying so hard to fit in. Junkenstein doubts Roo will ever verbally acknowledge any of this but the more he is around him the more the good doctor feels the need to hold him. 

Junkenstein finds himself thinking of resting in the nook of his couch with Roo curled up on his lap. His head resting just under Junkenstein’s whiskery chin and occasionally reaching up to stroke his scruff as if making sure he did not somehow leave him in spite of being under him the entire time. 

Doc wants to show him everything he believe a child should have experienced growing up. The basics of love, support, and understanding- patience.

He also wants to take him exploring like his own father did back when he was a boy. To trudge through streams in the day and look for animal tracks, though not here in the Outback, Doc was sure they did not want to meet whatever animals were hidden away and changed by the effects of radiation.. 

At night to show him fireflies and real stars for once! Then map them out and explain them like his mother would.

Roo deserved to know what it should have been like and Doc wants to be the one to give it to him. One day Roo was going to feel loved and know just what it meant to trust again. 

Lusty thoughts for Roo:

There was some guilt to these thoughts. As much as Doc wanted to comfort and give Roo everything he believed he needed, Doc also had the strong desire to pin him down to the floor and grind against him. To let his hands explore the wiry frame and map out the one part he never got to see yet. 

But above all he wanted to tease the little shit. To feel Roo up and make him squirm, cheeks reddening as he grew more and more flustered. 

He wanted to feel Roo hook his legs around him and trap him in between. To know he was really wanted and should not even dare think of leaving until Doc finished what he started. 

Junkenstein wanted to kiss every freckle that littered the junker’s body and if it took hours he would gladly spend them there. He wanted to fake lose count when he would trail his way around bony shoulders and ‘have to start over’. To hear Roo whine and beg for more with greed. 

The thought of pinning him to a wall and slowly fucking him against it being the newest addition. Surely Roo was light enough to keep up against it and if Roo really wanted him like he did in these daydreams he would hold onto him tight and pull at Doc’s frazzled white hair. Both desperately interlocked and wanting everything the other was willing to give.

—-

Hog romance:Was there anything Doc did not want to do with Mako? He had been taken back by their first crossing though there had been the initial fear he was going to be mugged. The more they crossed paths the more Doc was enamored by the big lug. Junkenstein wanted to write sonnets about him. Not regular poetry, but sonnets that could be sung in awe and praise of the man and for why- why he could not place for the life of himself. There was just something remarkably captivating about Mako that was so on brand with his type that even though he was human- he felt perfect. Junkenstein longs to be close in every manner. He wants to hold hands, steal chaste kisses, to wrap his arm around Mako as far as they can go and just share one another’s warmth. Doc stares off just thinking of getting to sit beside him and stare off over the ocean or even better- to kiss Mako in the rain! The cold water spurring them ever closer as he hooks his arms around that thick neck to keep him down for lingering, messy kisses. That silver mane of hair pulled down and growing damp but they just quietly laugh and smile while looking one another in the eyes. Lightning flashes from behind, because it’s his perfect little dream world and Doc just wants it there for the ambiance. He wants Mako to know he is important and that he is seen and he hope Mako can see him too. That they can just be happy together a while longer in the pouring rain.Hog-wild Lust:It’s almost embarrassing how these thoughts came so quickly. Mako was a prime specimen, a prized hog, he was already wonderful just as he was. But he probably looked even better undressing. Junkenstein titters just at the thought of it but he dreams of being more bold and outspoken with the other. To be able to just tell him to get on his hands and knees as Doc undoes his pants and just has him suck him off. Those tusks still ever prominent while Mako moans deeply as if Doc were a sweet snack. His mismatched hands pulling free the hair tie so he can run his digits through the soft locks and pull on them as he gets closer to his climax. Doc isn’t sure if he wants Mako to swallow him all or if he would allow him to climax on his face. Both are appealing but perhaps the latter is too crude? He hasn’t fully decided but occasionally his thoughts have Mako only half swallow. The rest pooling down his chin to the floor with a heavy mix of saliva as he looks dazedly up at him. Those ocean eyes like a siren’s call, wanting more from him. So he lets his thoughts keep adding and evolving each time he has them.He knows how to tie a few knots. It might be fun to bind Mako’s arms up over his head. Make the bed more sturdy and tie him to it though if he is as strong as Doc suspects him to be, there isn’t a whole lot he can really do to restrain Mako unless he is allowed to use the thick kind of straps he used on Hoggie. Either way, Mako is bound and almost smug looking. It’s as if he is challenging Doc to do his worst. He doesn’t know when he got a riding crop but Junkenstien quickly finds out he actually enjoys the sound it makes when it strikes against Mako’s thigh. The cracking noise sweet but the painful moan it pulled from the other’s throat has him at a grinding halt. “More~” He imagined Mako saying. His voice is gruff but there is something sultry about it that Doc knows he can’t say no to. It isn’t long until Mako’s flesh is streaked with hot pink markings and that mighty cock of his fully erect. It’s far too big for Doc to even pretend that the thought of riding it ever once crossed his mind. He much rather stroke it with his hands for a while to ensure Mako is really as hot and bothered as he can get before moving himself between those thick legs and oiling him up. He knows he will most likely have to wear a condom for this part but it’s just a dream right? He’s allowed to indulge himself in taking Roadhog without it. It feels good and just even thinking about it has Junkenstein flustered in reality. He will need some time to recover.On rarest occasion though he treats himself with the idea of a threesome. One that surely won’t ever stand of chance of becoming anything more than fabrication. But… He likes the concept of Mako watching him kiss Tick for a bit before the junker parts to reassure Mako he’s his number one and nothing will change. Eventually Mako is on his hands and knees as Tick places a collar around his neck. The black leather very prominent as are the spikes that adorn it but it’s suiting. Tick clips on a leash but hands it over to Doc who is already behind Mako and waiting for the signal-That thought rarely lasts long because of the improbability of it to him but it does occasionally pop up and more gets added to it. Doc’s not entirely certain what direction it goes off to fully but there is something bizarrely alluring about this ham sandwich concept.

[anthonybrxdgerton]

A Discovery of Witches reread

Last week I re-read A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness and it took me a long time to do it; I had to pause every few pages (sometimes paragraphs) because of the choices characters made I didn’t agree with. I will be doing my reactions about episodes as well (as soon as I re-watch them) and comparing the show to the first book.

My reactions, notes and everything under the cut. There are some trivia I forgot about, some minor changes book vs tv show, some stuff referencing the next books and what not. 

BEWARE OF SPOILERS FOR THE BOOKS. IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE BOOKS, DON’T READ THIS POST. Enjoy!

[ a discovery of witches | shadow of night | the book of life | time’s convert ]

the book takes place in 2009 in the span of 40 days

miriam and marcus have very different taste in music (The whole area seemed unoccupied, although from somewhere there came faint strains of a Bach cello concerto and something that sounded an awful lot like the latest hit recorded by the Eurovision song-contest winners);

marcus wears converse and he's BLOND (so are nathaniel and satu); 

the killings that occurred at the time (a.k.a jack’s doing) were the reason matthew thought that vampires are going extinct and are not able to sire anyone else;

Patience, alas, was not the strong suit of Bishop women - you can clearly see that in the books as well as in the show;

sarah and rebecca's mother's name is joanna  (which only matters to me because it’s my name too);

matthew came to oxford at 1989 (when he met hamish); 

matthew was 37 eyars old when we was re-born as a vampire and baldwin was in his late twenties or early thirties. marcus was in his late twenties and diana is 33.

marcus is into red-heads (but phoebe is not a red-head, which will be notet later by baldwin or matthew (i don’t remember which)) ;

"I asked if you were hungry.” Why he continued to do so was a mystery—when was I not hungry? #relatable, I’m Diana here;

“I love your hair,” he murmured. “It has every color imaginable—even strands of red and black.” which will be important later on when diana’s hair change

matthew knows how to knock the cork off with a sword (and now i feel robbed that we didn't see it)

both matthew and hamish won all souls prize fellowship

"What’s your name?” I asked, smothering a smile. “Timothy,” he answered, rocking back on his heels. He was wearing mismatched cowboy boots, one red and one black. His eyes were mismatched, too—one was blue and one was green. “You’re more than welcome to check your e-mail, Timothy.” “You’re the one.” He tipped his fingers at me, pivoted on the heel of the red boot, and walked away. - i just love Timothy, okay? He’s a sweetheart PLUS he is somewhat important in The Book of Life

ashmole 782 has been missing since 1859 but gerbert had it a thousand years ago and “it is a strange book, is it not, Diana? A thousand years ago I took it from a great wizard from Toledo. When I brought it to France, it was already bound by layers of enchantment."

diana's fingers were already colorful (mostly blue) especially when she was angry/stressed 

Somewhere in the center of my soul, a rusty chain began to unwind. It freed itself, link by link, from where it had rested unobserved, waiting for him. My hands, which had been balled up and pressed against his chest, unfurled with it. The chain continued to drop, to an unfathomable depth where there was nothing but darkness and Matthew. At last it snapped to its full length, anchoring me to a vampire. -  matthew could feel the chain if diana wanted him too. I think she weaved it subconsciously without realizing she’s using her weaver’s powers at the time

Matthew also knew his faults, anger chief among them. Typically, Matthew’s rage was so destructive that once the poison was out of his system, he disappeared for months or even years to come to terms with what he'd done - first reference to the blood rage 

matthew used to be friends with marquis de lafayette 

when marcus was dying and matthew told him about vampires, marcus thought he was tormented by a demon 

“Holy God,” Marcus said softly. Staring at the picture, he tried to imagine what it would be like to receive a photo of his own father ripped to pieces and tossed into the dirt to die. - a.k.a. WAIT TILL SHADOW OF NIGHT AND NOW I'M CRYING I JUST LOVE MATTHEW AND MARCUS’ RELATIONSHIP SO MUCH OKAY

Matthew wore his pilgrim’s badge only when he was afraid he was going to kill someone or when he was thinking of Eleanor St. Leger—or both. - i wish they kept it in the show too especially since it created the tree of life in bishop’s house

My aunt was good with spells. Emily wasn’t but could fly for short distances and see the future.

 Matthew’s books were arranged not by size but in a running time line. Those on the first bookshelf were so ancient that I couldn’t bear to think about what they contained—the lost works of Aristotle, perhaps? Anything was possible. - headcanon that he has books from a Library of Alexandria (maybe he got them from Philippe or Hugh or Godfrey?) 

“It was spring, you were bored, and so you got up one morning and went to Italy to make war. Your father had to beg forgiveness from the king on his knees”. now I NEED TO KNOW WHAT MATTHEW HAS DONE 

“Perhaps, but one thing hasn’t changed in all these years. Whenever there’s a crisis, there’s a de Clermont nearby.” - it should be their motto, really

diana has visions too - i know it's obvious but i completely forgot about it since the show didn’t include it at all except for episode 7 when everybody saw the past 

Matthew was unusually tall for the time, though not as tall as he became once he was a vampire - being reborn as a vampire not only makes you stronger but bigger and taller too.

His mother strode forward and slapped him, hard, across the face. “How dare you ask that question?” i need to see it, WHY DIDN’T YOU INCLUDE THIS, SHOW?

 marcus is "good at wheedling information out of people."

“And you are going to give me gray hairs—long thought impossible among vampires, by the way—with your courage, your firecracker hands, and the impossible things you say.” -  i just like it and i wonder if deb already knew that diana would do that for him in the book of life?

Baldwin had him by the throat before the words were out of his mouth. Their heads close together, one dark and one bright, they rocketed to the far end of the hall. Matthew’s body smashed into a wooden door, splintering it with the impact. - friendly reminder that Baldwin is a much better fighter than Matthew and the show SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF MAKING HIM WEAKER

Vampires didn’t usually get all of their names (5) when they were reborn but over the years.

One reason the de Clermont family was so long-lived was that each member had different skills in a crisis. Philippe had always been the leader of men, a charismatic figure who could convince vampires and humans and sometimes even daemons to fight for a common cause. Their brother Hugh had been the negotiator, bringing warring sides to the bargaining table and resolving even the fiercest of conflicts. Godfrey, the youngest of Philippe’s three sons, had been their conscience, teasing out the ethical implications of every decision. To Baldwin fell the battle strategies, his sharp mind quick to analyze every plan for flaws and weaknesses. Louisa had been useful as bait or as a spy, depending on the situation. Matthew, improbably enough, had been the family’s fiercest warrior. His early adventures with the sword had made his father wild with their lack of discipline, but he’d changed. Now whenever Matthew held a weapon in his hand, something in him went cold and he fought his way through obstacles with a tenacity that made him unbeatable. Then there was Ysabeau. Everyone underestimated her except for Philippe, who had called her either “the general” or “my secret weapon.” She missed nothing and had a longer memory than Mnemosyne. - i really like it and i wish it was in the show too. That being said I really am interested what are the talents/skills of Verin, Stasia and Freya.

A helicopter,” Baldwin said. “It was waiting in Clermont-Ferrand to take me back to Lyon. - does Baldwin have a house there? 

”Fancy seeing you here, Miss Bishop”. It was what he always said when I sneaked into his study at home or crept downstairs late at night for one more bedtime story. FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT STEPHEN TOLD HER THE SAME THING IN LONDON TOO

Let me know if you need anything, Ysabeau.” Baldwin brushed her cheeks with his lips. - WERE THEY ENEMIES? FRENEMIES?? I THOUGH THAT HATED EACH OTHER WHAT IS GOING ON I NEED ANSWERS ESPECIALLY THAT YSABEAU SAID SHE HATES HIM IN BOL AND THAT HE TRIED TO BANISH HER FROM JERUSALEM ONCE

Marcus was Matthew’s son. He was my son. / When the door swung open, Marcus’s blue eyes met mine with a twinkle. “Hi, Mom, we’re home!” I JUST LOVE IT, OKAY, WE NEED MORE OF THEM IN THE SHOW

Marcus prefers whiskey even though all of his family loves wine

One morning Marcus turned on his heel and stormed back to the house, leaving his father alone in the old apple orchard. “Diana,” he growled in greeting before streaking through the family room and straight out the front door. “I’m too damn young for this!” he shouted as he left. - I LOVE YOU MY BABY DRAMA QUEEN

Gerbert had always wanted to be included among the Knights of Lazarus, and my father refused him time and time again. - which is why he sent Juliette to spy on Matthew and it gives interesting layer that he told about The Knights in the show. He’s so bitter loool

Stephen Proctor could timewalk into the past OR into the future hence why we saw him in the 1x01 - he wasn’t just a hallucination, he probably timewalked into the future to make sure Ashmole 782 is safe

also, at the end of the book, right before they timewalked, Matthew noticed that there are some annotations in his “Doctor Faustus” copy he made that he didn’t remember putting them there. - is this a sign that 16th century Matthew somehow subconsciously remembered Diana or his fight with Kit or something? I wish that was explained too because that’s interesting.

this is so long I’M SORRY. Overall, I had very hard time re-reading this book especially when Matthew was so possessive and controlling. I wanted to punch him every time he said or did something. Show!Matthew is definitely more bearable and les creepy. Also, I love the familiar/platonic relationships between Marcus & Matthew, Marcus & Diana, Marcus & Miriam, Miriam & Diana, Sophie & Diana, Sarah & Marcus and more. Too bad the show didn’t care about those relationships too much. As for the romantic relationships, I wish I knew more about Miriam & Bertrand, Philippe & Ysabeau, Sophie & Nathaniel too.

[eirianerisdar]

Have you ever thought of making a prequel to your Star Wars/Attack on Titan crossover?

Attackon Titan AU, Prequel Part 1

Summary:

Over twenty years beforeLuke and Rogues battle the mysterious black-armoured titan, humanity fights alosing battle against the ever-advancing titans. Generals Obi-Wan Kenobi andAnakin Skywalker of the Survey Corps ride out to the Corps outpost, and there encounter horrors beyond imagining.

Written purely for thevisual effect of Kenobi and Skywalker in 3DMG, of course.

As mentioned above, thisis a prequel to my previous AOT/Star Wars crossover, featuring Luke and Roguesquadron. No prior knowledge of that is required here, but read Part 1and Part 2 ofit if you’d like to see Luke-with-3DMG epicness.

Also, you know…blood andgore warning. Because AOT.

And sorry for replying so late, anon.

Index for thisAU

In his youth, Obi-WanKenobi had never liked flying.

Cocooned in the innermostdistrict of humanity’s existence, with three walls between him and the nearesttitan, his childhood had been spent in the theoretical instruction offlight. How to design a replacement gas canister for his future gear from scrapmetal; the curve of the leather straps that would anchor his body to hisflight-boxes and prevent his neck from snapping with every abrupt turn; thetension of a harpoon-wire and the counteracting force of a gas-burst, and thebody caught between the two.

In theory, he hadexcelled. It was expected. He had been tested for aptitude in flying at the ageof two, as had all the children within the walls, and removed from his family -a simple farming community in the wide agricultural lands between Wall Mariaand Wall Rose - soon after.

His family had been hisclassmates, and his teachers his parents. Sort of.

And then he reached theage where theory had become practical. And he found he had skill, indeed, butno love for it. Yes, to die flying is better than being snatched off theground and devoured in blood-drenched gulps, but that is about it.

But then Qui-Gon Jinn hadchosen him, and taught him to fly properly.

Who would have thoughtthat this giant of a man could turn flight into a masterpiece?

Under Qui-Gon’s tutelage,Obi-Wan had learnt to read the air as a musician might an orchestra.

But even that was notenough.

And twelve years into hisapprenticeship, with Qui-Gon’s scream echoing in his skull and the bloodof his friends in the back of his throat, he carved a strip of red-black fleshout of the neck of a yellow-eyed, horned titan.

He cradled Qui-Gon witharms soaked with a dozen of their comrades’s blood and entrails - presseda hand to the gaping hole in his mentor’s stomach, watched the scarletlife-liquid flow out of his master’s three shortened limbs, and felt Qui-Gon’sone remaining intact hand stroke his cheek in vain comfort.

And then he put down thesack of broken bones and flesh that was once his only father-figure and went tospeak to Anakin Skywalker.

Anakin, the prodigy inflight.

Over a decade later, Anakin isno longer a child, nor Obi-Wan the newly-orphaned apprentice.

Obi-Wan spots the titansfirst, and holds a calloused, long-fingered hand over his eyes to squint atthem over the intervening fields. He turns in the saddle and regards hiscompatriot with a tight smile.

“It seems as though we’llbe encountering excitement after all,” he says, dryly. The ride to the new Corps outpost is not a long one; but it is outside the Walls, and comes with its dangers.

Anakin stares down theapproaching titans with an intensity that some might call inspiring. His handsare clenched tight about his reins.

To Obi-Wan, itis…saddening.

There had been a timeAnakin would have responded to the comment with a predatory grin, and a laugh;but it has been a long while since he has done so often.

Much has changed sinceShiganshina fell, and Tatooine district within it.

Obi-Wan had not been thereto see what remained of Shmi Skywalker.

Anakin had.

But for now, the titansare coming. There are more important things to contemplate.

Obi-Wan and Anakin pulltheir horses to a halt, and consider the oncoming titans. The tallest is anugly, towering, thirty-metre thing with too-long limbs and a leering face,teeth tinted red even from this lengthy distance.

A distance which it isclosing quickly - it sprints towards them on surprisingly steady legs, whichimpact the ground with a heart-shaking thuds. There are three more closebehind, with mismatching body shapes and bared, slavering teeth.

“I think I’ll take theleft,” Obi-Wan says, lightly.

“Sure,” Anakin replies. The afternoon sun catches the edge of the long scar around his right eye, edges his short uniform coat with gold and lines his blade-boxeswith silver. It makes him look fearless - The Hero With No Fear, they call him.

If only.

Obi-Wan clicks his tongueand gently urges his horse into a walk.

Then a trot, a canter, and a gallop.

The pounding of hooves onthe heather meld with the thud-thud-thud of titan steps. Obi-Wan sensesmore than sees Anakin tense ten metres to his right, but then the first titanis here and closing, and Obi-Wan slips his boots out of hisstirrups, levers himself to crouch on the saddle, and pulls a pair of bladesfrom his blade-boxes.

The titan is smiling as itreaches for him.

Obi-Wan jumps.

There is always a moment,when his boot-tips have left the saddle and the wind rises into a scream andhis heart is in his throat, where he thinks he has miscalculated, and that thegive of the harpoon-triggers under his forefingers is imagined.

It is always in thismoment that death feels the closest.

But then there is a hissof compressed gas, a shudder runs through the mechanism strapped to his lowerback - and his right harpoon fires. There is a spurt ofsteaming blood high above and to the right of him as the harpoon lodges in the side ofthe titan’s neck, tightens the wire into a ramrod-straight line, and jerks him out of the titan’s closing fingers with centimetres to spare.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes, leans into the ache of the harness at his lower back, and draws double blade-tracks over the back of the titan’s hand, severing the tendons at the wrist.

Blood spurts into the wind, directly towards Obi-Wan’s face. If the blood burns as it coats his eyes, Obi-Wan is too used to it to flinch. It simply is vile as it always is; no more, no less.

The titan screams.

Corkscrewing further away, Obi-Wan does not dare open his eyes, not yet - but in that one instant, with the roar of the injured titan stabbing into his eardrums and the pounding of his heart in his blood-slicked fingertips, he does not need to see.

He is dimly aware of the hiss-snap of Anakin’s harpoons firing, somewhere far over to his right. The titan’s roar echoes below his feet, and the neighing of his horse pierces the wind, somewhere above his head.

Ah. Upside down, then.

And that large, rushing object he senses a few metres away - the titan’s other hand.

Obi-Wan opens his eyes.

He retracts his right harpoon with a flicker of finger against trigger, twists a quarter-circle on two separate axes to face the ground, and fires a quick burst of gas.

It propels him towards the ground.

The titan’s fingers snap closed above him.

Obi-Wan flips over on the gale, squints a little into the sky - he is sure he has at least another second and a half before the ground will meet the back of his head, which is ample time - and re-fires.

The snap of twin wires tightening at his hips whips his spine from lower back to head, and he is unsure whether the feeling of grass just brushing against his blood-slick hair is a product of his imagination - but then his harpoons are at the nape of the titan’s neck, and his fingers are pressing into the reel-triggers in his blade-hilts, and the world blurs into a sheer roar of speed-

- and his wrists ache with the strain of his juddering blades as he carves a wedge of flesh out of the titan’s nape.

The tension goes out of Obi-Wan’s harpoon-wires as the titan collapses like a rag-doll.

This is the point where, if there were a tree, he might use it to slow his descent.

There isn’t.

The ground smashes into his boot-tips and jars his spine painfully as he rolls to a halt.

Obi-Wan lays there in the grass for a moment, squinting up at the bright afternoon sky, with the bulk of his 3DMG digging uncomfortably into his back.

“Ow,” he says, after careful consideration. His blasted knees.

And then he rolls over and props himself up on an elbow to check on Anakin’s progress.

He probably needn’t have bothered.

Another titan’s corpse lays steaming close by, a rage-fueled gap sliced into the back of its neck. The man who felled it is a few dozen metres further on, corkscrewing midair, with blades for hands.

Anakin, as always, turns flight into a thing of frightening beauty.

If Obi-Wan is elegance and calm, reacting to titans’ every action with equally swift counteraction, Anakin is lethality personified.

Here, he takes on two at once, but he does not give them even a chance to reach for him. Trails of gaping flesh open on their limbs, blood paints emerald grass crimson, and the air is thick with steaming, scarlet mist; but there, the black-jacketed blur that is Anakin Skywalker simply ejects broken blades and draws two afresh to score gore-streaked trails across both titans’ napes.

Six months ago, there would have been a smaller blur next to him, blue-white and ochre, and Anakin would have found a smile as he yelled encouragement to his student.

But Ahsoka is no longer here.

The titans thud to the ground, sending a delayed shudder through Obi-Wan’s elbow, pressed to the ground as it is.

Anakin strides over with a raised eyebrow, and for a moment, as Obi-Wan gets to his feet, he almost expects Anakin to make a joking remark about the state of old men’s joints.

But Anakin simply whistles for their horses, and that is that.

They head on towards the corps outpost in silence, with the only change four titan corpses steaming in their wake, and the blood that flakes their faces and hair with scarlet paint.

Rex is glad to welcome them.

Anakin’s First is as professional as they day he was first assigned to them, blue-striped sleeves held at ease behind his back as he gives his report on outpost matters in their absence.

But there is an echo of weariness in his gold-brown eyes that had not been there three years ago.

Perhaps it is because that of his ten brothers, six now remain. Echo, lost in an attempt to retake General Piell’s fallen citadel outpost; Waxer, who died on a comrade’s blade when General Krell tampered with the gear of both the 212th and the 501st battalions of the corps; Hardcase, who had flown into the maw of the titans that Krell let into their camp, to give his friends and brothers a fighting chance out.

Krell had died by Dogma’s hand.

And then Dogma had lost his court-martial.

In the aftermath, Anakin and Obi-Wan had searched and searched for him; but in the end, there had only been a flight-jacket with blue stripes on the sleeves, and sorrow.

Now Cody, Boil, Fives, Jesse, Kix, and Tup work as efficiently they always have - but with a greater degree of unspoken silences.

This war has run weary on all of them.

“Keeping this outpost might not be a good idea, sirs,” Rex says, in that respectful but sure way of his, as the trio make their way toward one of the towers. The converted castle courtyard around them is high-walled; a forgotten structure from humanity’s better days. “Between Cody and I, we’ve lost a dozen men in as many hours today. A group of abnormal-types attacked in the morning. Casualties include-”

Anakin listens to the list of names with a darkening expression. The flaking titan-blood on his face only adds to the effect.

“We encountered a few as well,” Obi-Wan says, calmly. “But have titan sightings been a regular occurrence in the past three days?”

“Scouts report one every two hours or so, sir. Usually single sightings, easily taken care of - but sightings have increased since yesterday, the abnormal group aside. Cody’s taken a few men out to scan the surrounding area.”

The door at the top of the stairs opens to a top of the tower, and a view of the short shrubs and trees spread out around them in a varied green disc.

“And another thing, sir,” Rex says to Anakin, indicating the shrubland, “the environment might not do us any good in the long run. The trees are too short and far apart to-”

“What’s that,” Anakin interjects, suddenly. He is on the balustrade the next moment, short coat whipping in the wind as he leans forward to narrow his eyes at a point in the distance.

A blur on the horizon coalesces into a knobbly mass of flesh-cloured blobs and tiny gnat-like spots flying around them.

Then the mass gets closer, and suddenly, the blobs grow limbs.

And the gnats are not gnats at all, but brown-jacketed soldiers tracing flaring gas-streaks around a solid knot of sprinting titans, orange-yellow stripes bold on their sleeves.

“Cody,” Rex breathes, hand on his right blade-box. Obi-Wan’s eyes narrow as he watches the approaching group.

Anakin is already moving. “Assemble a squad,” he says to Rex as his hands fly over his equipment, checking pressure-lines, triggers, blades, gas-valves. “I’ll be going in first. Come after me.”“Anakin,” Obi-Wan begins, a note of admonishment in his voice, “I think we should-”

“No.”

The word is so incongruous that for a moment Anakin and Obi-Wan stare at each other, as if wondering if the other said it; and then they turn to Rex, who is lowering his field-binoculars from an ashen face. His mouth is still open from the word.

“Rex?” Anakin says.

“No,” Rex repeats, stepping back from the balustrade as though to flee. His head is shaking, now, and his hands the same.

Anakin steps forward to catch the binoculars as they fall from Rex’s hands, and sweeps them up to take a look at the approaching fray himself.

Obi-Wan unclips his own from his belt and raises them to his eyes.

And he, too, forgets to breathe.

It is not the fact that men are dying - men he has known for three years to one month, from his veterans to the shinies with their polished blade-boxes - it is the face of the titan that leads the group.

A titan that, even as the generals watch, smashes a gold-striped jacket out of the air without even a change of expression.

A titan with a face that should have expression.

A titan with a familiar face.

Echo’s face.

It should be impossible. Echo is dead; if they had not seen it, they had heard it, up to the moment his gurgling screams cut off.

And those men that are fighting and dying out there-

Cody.

Obi-Wan lowers the binoculars.

Rex is clutching is face, now, head bowed.

Anakin takes a moment, and then steps over to him. “Stay here,” he says. There is a determination to his voice Obi-Wan knows well. It is frighteningly hard, now. “We’ll handle this,” Anakin says, placing a hand on Rex’s shoulder. “Forget the squad.”

And then there is a hiss of compressed gas, and he is gone.

Obi-Wan looks at Rex for a moment longer, then steps up to the balustrade, himself.

He draws his blades, focuses on the present moment.

And jumps.

End Part 1

(Part 2 will be up soon, I hope!)

As you can see, this sort of went in a different way than I thought it would. But I couldn’t resist a TCW/AOT crossover of sorts. Captain Rex in 3DMG, yay.

And poor Echo. But don’t worry, you’ll get to see Anakin fly in more detail later.

As I’ve mentioned above, this is a prequel to my established 2-part AOT AU featuring Luke’s Rogues. Read part 1 and part 2 of that if you want more!

Index for this AU

My writing masterlist

FFN profile and stories

[lufancy]

Put Money Where Your Mouth Is (M)

Jongin x You (ft. Jongdae) Summary - Your friend Jongdae drags you to a casino, where you pique the interest of the most feared lucky bastard in the entire country. A/N - Yeah.. just enjoy it. Want to thank my friend for doing the smut part (<3 amy).

Casinos have never been your thing. That’s why it took your friends a lot of convincing for you to join them. It’s not that you didn’t like gambling. In fact, you really enjoyed watching people go rich or go broke but testing your own luck was just a lost cause in your case.

“I don’t wanna go because I suck.” you rolled your eyes when one of your close friends was standing in front of your house, “I’m pretty sure I have told you countless times before, Jongdae.”

He groaned in frustration, “Once, come us with just this one time. Play one game, I swear you’ll think it’s fun!” He clasped his hands together and whined. Giving his best cute face. “Besides… what’s not fun about watching me win money? I’m on a streak!”

“First of all, you know I’m pretty much the goddess of misfortune so why would I play when knowing I’m going to lose my money? Second, you’re a cocky asshole.” You smiled. He has been going on about being a good gambler for a while now, and yes, he has won a ton of money ever since he started but that doesn’t mean it’s meant for everyone.

You hate it that your friends have become regulars at casino’s and you can’t join them. You don’t have the need to get addicted to something that is clearly not put away for you. In all honesty, you call yourself lucky if you don’t have a coffee stained shirt when you arrive at work.

“Fine, while you are going to watch Netflix in your sweats I’m going to become rich..” He crosses his arms and huffs in frustration when you stare at him with little interest. “I’ll be going..” he takes slowly takes a step away from you, hoping to still be able to tempt you. “I’m reaaally going..”

“Goodbye. Good luck.” You wave to bid your farewell.

Jongdae whines again. If you haven’t caught on; he does this quite a lot. “The least you could do is hug me after rejecting me!”

Oh god, talk about needy.

You roll your eyes for maybe the tenth time this day and close the space between you and your friend. You are ready to let go but Jongdae, as the stubborn little bastard he is, has other plans. He crushes you into his hug and lifts you up so you can’t escape. You can’t move out of his embrace because of shock and the fact that he started working out made him a lot stronger.

Then you hear it. A click. That smirk on his face confirms your suspicion. “You locked me out!”

“Now you have no other choice but to come along!” He seems to enjoy this whole thing very much.

“What the hell, Kim Jongdae?! You locked me out! What am I supposed to do now?!” You scream. It’s too late to ask your landlord for a spare key, you will be locked out of your apartment until next morning. Thanks, Jongdae.

He grabs your arm and drags you outside, “Oh boohoo, seems like you have nowhere to go~ you can stay at my place! I’ll be your savior!”

“Are you being funny? It’s because of you that I’m locked out! How am I supposed to even go to a casino?! I’m not even wearing any shoes!” You are fuming. Only Kim Jongdae can pull something like this.

“I have everything you need!”

So there you are. In a, quite fancy, casino wearing shoes that are way too big because you had to borrow Jongdae’s soccer shoes.

Your blue socks with polka dots are sticking out, you feel very self-conscious about your track shorts. Plus, you have gotten quite some unwanted looks for wearing a university tee.

You look stupid. Very stupid.

A few snickers of neatly dressed women passed by. “I hate my life,” you whined as you lowered your head in shame.

“Geez, stop moaning. Minseok is coming as soon as he can. I’m sorry for what I did but hey I’m paying for drinks tonight, okay?” He pats your back.

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, first of all, I don’t have any money on me since you pulled me out of my apartment and then locked the door. Second, you’re not sorry.”

“I totally am not.” Kim Jongdae is officially the devil.

You notice everyone staring at you. Especially this man on the other side of the bar seems to be enjoying the embarrassing sight.

He enjoys it so much that he isn’t even paying any attention to the girls flocking around him. He looks rich and hot so it’s not really such a surprise that he has many followers.

Maybe you’d make a shot if you weren’t dressed so ridiculous.

If only you could leave this place.

“I’m here!” You see Minseok, your lifesaver, with clothing in a plastic bag and extends his arm out to you so you can take it. You assume it’s your dress.

“I really want to ask why you own a dress, but I feel like I’ll regret it. Thank you anyway.” You take the bag and open it. It’s a black dress.

He laughs. “It’s my little sisters’ and please keep it. I hate it when she wears it. She’s at that age, you know? Boys and stuff.”

You quickly get into the restroom to change and you can definitely understand why he hates this dress on his little sister. The v cut of the dress is extremely low and the stretchy fabric makes the dress form fitting. Hugging and accentuating your body shape, but also making it look curvier.

It’s kinda sad that when you look down you still see those sneakers with mismatching polka dot socks but whatever. At least you don’t look like you came here in your pajamas.

All the women here are wearing beautiful dresses paired with Jimmy Choo’s or some shoe brand you can’t afford.

“Damn,” you hear Jongdae a curse and Minseok coughs.

And like this began your first time at a casino. The first hour you spent sticking to the bar, determined to drink until Kim Jongdae is broke. But in the end, you got dragged to the tables anyway.

“Miss, are you going to pick a number or not?” You don’t even notice that you have been standing there for that long, thinking about a number.

“It’s her first time at a casino,” Minseok explains to the impatient dealer.

It’s so hard. There are too many numbers.

“Yeah, well. Minseok and I are going to try our luck at the slot machines. We’re giving you a hundred bucks okay? Don’t use all of it immediately. Also, you know how to exchange them for chips, right?”

“We?!” Minseok, not quite happy that Jongdae is dragging him in.

Even though Minseok is Jongdae’s hyung he doesn’t really seem to care and places a hand over his mouth while dragging him away.

Now you are left with the roulette table. Well, and the impatient dealer but whatever. Are you going for 7? The lucky number? Or should you go with your birthday…

“Place everything on 13.” Someone whispers softly into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You look to your right and you see that handsome guy from back when you were sitting at the bar. He seems to have ditched his fans.

You kind of mumble in the surprise of him talking to you. He subtly places a hand on your hip. “Isn’t that an unlucky number?” You ask.

He laughs, and man does it sound cute. Never in your life did you expect someone to look like a million dollar playboy, which for all you know he might be. He is wearing this dark maroon colored suit with a dark dress shirt. His hair is styled back and he has a shiny Rolex watch around his wrist. “Just trust me.”

Should you listen to him? The payoff is 35-1 and you have nothing to lose. That would mean that if he is right you’ll win 35 times what you have bet on it..

“Trust me.” He eggs you on and you do feel a bit of pressure. You barely know the guy. For all you know he could work here and is now trying to make you lose your money. “What about this? If you lose.. I’ll give you your hundred back.”

If that’s true..

“And if you win.. I’ll take you out..” he moves your hair away and his lips trace your ear gently.

“Straight bet on 13, please.”

You don’t know what or why but somehow he has you in the palm of his hands.

The dealer is definitely making fun of you as you are about to waste a lot of money on one number and the guy who told you to go for 13 is gone. However you don’t even notice, all you are focused on is the ball after the dealer spins it.

And it lands on..

…

..13

An indescribable feeling of joy washes over you. You actually won money! No way. You have never been this lucky ever in your life before. The dealer pays you out in chips and you went from 100 bucks to 3500!

You run to Minseok and Jongdae as soon as you can to tell them the news and to give them their money back. “I can’t believe it! I thought you were going to just flush my money down the toilet but you actually won a shit ton!”

“I got help.” The two boys stare at each other.

“From who?” Minseok asks.

You turn around to scan the crowd in order to find his face. One of the tables looks to he unusually crowded compared to the other tables, full of cheers and howling. While motioning the two to follow, you head over to the table.

Just like you thought, it’s that guy that everyone is making a fuss over. Once again he is surrounded by females and men are almost kissing his feet.

“That guy,” you point to the same maroon suited man that helped you earlier.

Minseok slaps Jongdae in excitement and you don’t understand why. The older boy holds a hand in front of his hand while the other is on his hip. “Do you even know who that is?”

Jongdae hisses in annoyance, “Don’t overhype the guy he is already over appreciated and I’m sure he is just a big hustler.” He says to his hyung but Minseok ignores him.

“That is Kim Jongin. Kim Jong-freaking-in!” Minseok tells and Jongdae rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “He is a master in gambling - no! A god. I’ve never seen that guy lose, like casino’s hate him. And he helped you! Oh my god!”

“Calm down, hyung.” Jongdae pushed him off of him. “He is a total fraud, a hustler. I can see it on his face. All of his opponents are just too busy with ogling at his face to notice it. He’s just trying to get into your pants.” Jongdae warns you.

“Woah, is someone jealous?” You poke in his side and he hisses in annoyance.

He steps away so your finger doesn’t reach him anymore and glares at the one he was badmouthing. “I bet I could win from him if he played fair.”

“Okay, okay. You’re a really really tough guy.” Minseok mocked him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “But let’s face it. You against him? Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Jongdae shrugged it off, clearly not happy with the little confidence his friends had in him. “I’ll prove it. Watch me.”

And then he did something both you and Minseok were very shocked to see.

A furious Kim Jongdae stepped with his not-so-tall frame to the infamous King of Gambling with great confidence. He then slammed his hand on the table in front of him for everyone to see.

The Jongin guy looked up when he noticed everyone becoming silent, even the girls who gave him consistent attention stopped for a second to see what was going on.

Oh god no..

“You against me. Whatever game you prefer.” He said after the whole room went silent. Only he wasn’t as cool and manly as he thought. His plan turned out different than he had in mind.

Because Jongin started to stare the boy up and down with a laugh stifled. He was able to keep it in, but when he scanned him again he couldn’t help but cackle a loud laughter. Leading the people around to follow his laughing. “Sorry, kid. I only play with the big boys.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I bet I’m even older than you. Just because your suit is Prada or whatever doesn’t mean you’re better than I am.” Jongdae spat back at him. He is quite well known as the one who can’t take a joke in your circle.

“Woah, woa.. we don’t want any trouble.” Jongin raises his hands as if he were protecting himself from Jongdae, but everyone could hear exaggeration in his voice. He was mocking him, and you didn’t feel like this was going to end well for your friend. “Fine, if you really want to play with me. My only condition is that you play with chips no lower than 50 dollars.”

Once again everyone started cackling. They were mocking him, knowing he would never be able to bet that much money. He was wearing his worn out black skinny jeans and a big red hoodie, that didn’t scream ‘Ferrari owner’, or anything like that, at all.

You had to step in. Not only because this was extremely embarrassing but also because he was your friend, and you had to help him when he makes himself look like a total fool. “Come on, Dae. It’s not worth it. Let’s just go home.”

“But that bastard is making fun of me,” he gritted his teeth, “I want to punch him in the face!”

Rolling your eyes, you tugged on his arm in an attempt to get him to leave.

“Wait!”

The tree of you turned around when a voice called you, only to see that Jongin guy calling you. “Big two. We’ll play big two.”

Jongdae knitted his eyebrows in confusion, “I don’t have the money-”

“No need,” he wore a smug look on his face.

The three of you exchanged looks. What did this guy have in mind? Was he going to make you look even more like losers? “What made you change your mind?” Jongdae asks as he slides into one of the chairs without negotiating, and Jongin waves over someone to give him a deck of cards.

“I know something you can bet instead of money,” Jongin whispered for only Jongdae to hear.

Jongdae became a little suspicious. “What..?”

“Your girl.”

People started murmuring. The girl in pajamas and oversized shoes? Really?

Jongdae followed to where Jongin was pointing his finger. It was directed to you, who was very busy talking and huffing with Minseok. This was a bad idea, so he quickly shook his head. “First of all, she isn’t ‘my girl’. She would kill me if anyone referred to her like that and she’d hear. Second, I can’t do that. That’s my friend, besides.. the whole 'women’s right’ is very active so I’d rather not bet a woman.”

Jongin leaned back in his chair. “Are you sure?” He shoved a whole tower casino chips his way. Jongdae’s eyes dilated in awe. Were those really poker chips of 5000 dollars?! “Just one night.”

You’ll be so mad at him..

The man across from him dangled a pair of keys right in front of his face, then dropped them without much care. Jongdae swallowed, this was so tough for him. There’s a tower of poker chips that could pay off his student loan debt, and there’s a key of a Maserati lying right before his eyes.

“Okay..” he hesitated but agreed, “on the condition that you remove that blazer. I know you got stuff up your sleeve.”

Jongin raised his eyebrows and his mouth pursed, “I feel insulted, but as you please. Well then, follow me.”

You watch the both of them walk to a more secluded place. It’s an odd sight seeing that man in suit and Jongdae in his skinny jeans competing. Suddenly you hear them call for you and Minseok. “What are you two waiting for? You play this with four.”

A few minutes later you’re facing all the man and next to you are your two friends. You have quite decent cards. Two aces.. three sixes and a clover two. Also, you are the one to start the game. You hold the lowest four, so you dump it together as a flush. The game continues and Jongdae and Minseok seemed to get rid of five cards as well, only Jongin passed.

I have two cards left, a King and a 10. Not bad but considering all of them are throwing doubles, I can’t continue. Jongdae throws a smug look and I can see why. Two aces.. I wish I had mine left, I could have overthrown him. Jongin chuckles but I wonder why. He has 7 cards left, Minseok has 3 like Jongdae. Jongin places two two’s down and everyone gasps. Bold move. Quite risky.

However, he had it all planned out because no one can overthrow him and all of a sudden he pulls a flush out that he didn’t take out the first round.

He won.

“Shit. Jongdae, did you just lose all your money?” I ask him and he looks up from his lap, guilt displays in his eyes.

He seems hesitant. “I-I’m sorry but I.. I..”

“What?” I ask in confusion.

“Oh no. Jongdae, what the hell did you do?” Minseok asks him, trying hard not to get violent - knowing his friend messed up.

“I didn’t bet with money.”

Minseok looks at me and I look him back at him in the eye. We turn to Jongdae at the same time, searching for answers when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I turn around and its that Jongin guy.

“Are you ready?” He asks me.

And suddenly it all clicks together. He sold me. Kim Jongdae used me.

I can’t even kill Jongdae as I get pulled away. Two large men are close behind me as I follow Jongin to another room upstairs. He must be staying at the hotel above.

A nervous chill shoots through my body. I don’t want this. Don’t I get a say in this? What is going to happen to me?

A large door opens and my eyes almost fall out of my casket. Never have I ever seen a suite so beautiful, it looks as if royalty lives here. I make a turn to take everything in and the door shuts with a loud bang.

I feel hands on my shoulders and I know it is Jongin as he whispers into my ear. “I know you are nervous and worried but I will have you for tonight only.”

I turn around and he smiles in a gentle manner, nothing like the man back down at the casino. This man is.. different. Not out for money… but for something else.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want to do.” He assures me, but the way he talks and looks at me makes me melt right into his arms.

His voice is alluring yet sweet. “I..” With a slick touch, he moves my hair from my face.

“You are so beautiful.” He says and I snort. He looks at me like I did something weird and starts laughing too. “What’s so funny?”

He really doesn’t know? He had beautiful women surrounding him just a couple of minutes ago. Women with makeup, high heels and designer dresses.

Yet he chose the worst dressed person to spend his time with. And he thinks you’re beautiful like this?

“Have you seen me?” I ask him and though I am laughing he doesn’t laugh along.

“I am, right now.” He replies.

“I look hideous like this, yet you want me?” I pull the ugly fabric I am wearing and look up at him. I probably have a pimple above my eyebrow, I look like a hobo and my friend was rude to him. What in the world would make him want me? “You should have picked one of those models.”

He shakes his head. “What I see is beyond superficialness. I like you for what is under your clothes and foundation.”

“What is it exactly that you like?” I ask him.

“Your body. You.” He then leans in and I am overwhelmed by such a passionate and breathtaking kiss. His lips and soft and fine against mine. My body feels like it’s under heath when he touches me more and more.

I don’t even notice he has been leading me to the bed until my legs hit the bed.

“Can I?” He asks between the kissed while tugging my shirt. I nod too eagerly and he chuckles.

My clothing is long gone and so is his shirt. I am only in lingerie and he steps back to look me up and down. “Fuck.” He curses.

The undressing slash make-out session continues when I am pulled onto the bed. His fingers dance up my thigh as I feel his bulge press into my other leg.

My breath hitches as his fingers slip into my folds and spread the wetness for better access. He slips in a finger slowly while his thumb is softly flickering my clit. I break the kiss and close my eyes to preserve the moment. This feels incredible.

He moves away from me and sits up straight, then undoes his belt and with one hard pull he removes his belt. Then he does something I did not expect. I was too focused on his caramel muscles flexing that I didn’t notice him strapping my wrists. A 500 dollar Valetino belt.. just like that.

Then he moves into his pocket. I expected him to pull out a condom of some sort but instead its a wad of money. “Open your mouth.” He commands, and I comply. The wad of money is being pressed right between my teeth and I look at him. “Holy shit. What a sight.”

He quickly removes his pants and moves back up on me. His lips trace the lines of my body and his lips slowly and dangerously near my private area. He bites my hip one time before digging into my most desperate body part. The lewd sounds turn me on when he sucks slowly and licks gently. I can’t keep my eyes open to see his mop of hair between my lips, giving me joyful pleasure.

My entire body feels paralyzed by the blissful feeling. My shaking thighs, loud screams and arching back tell him I am drawing close.

So he stops.

Leaving me unsatisfied.

He flips me over and puts his hands on my hips, lifting my ass up in the air. “Ready?” He bends over me and asks me in my ear. I nod and he smiles. “Oh. So bad.”

His hands are on my hips again and he aligns himself. His boxer is long gone and I feel him slip inside of me very very slowly. It’s almost painful how bad he is trying to tease me.

With every thrust, he cranks up the speed until he has me screaming from how erratic he is going. If he keeps his up I’m going to pass out. “Fuck, yes.” He curses. “How can you be so fucking wet?!”

He gives one very deep thrust and I gasp. He notices how much I like it and does it again.

“You like that?” He smiles.

I nod shamelessly. And he does it again. My heart is going erratic from this.

“Close?” He asks and I nod. My legs are going to give any moment. “Me too, sexy.”

A few moments later he comes in spurs and pulls out of me slowly. My vagina is leaking his and mine combined liquid and I can feel it between my thighs as we both lie down after that intense session. He removes the belt and the money he throws it out, sending it flying over the room. Then kisses me again.

“Goodnight.” And you fall asleep.

The next day, he was gone.

And so was the room you were in.

A/N: Haven’t updated in forever so I decided to finish this old thing I had in my drafts!

[mystech-master]

My Hero Academia Time Travel AU

Basically a time travel Au inspired by the one made by @ribbons-halos where the kids of the class 1-A ships (Midoriya/Uraraka, Todoroki/Yaoyorozu, Kaminari/Jiro, Kirishima/Ashido (HORN BUDDIES, FIGHT ME!), and Ojiro/Hagakure) go back in time due to a future threat.

Many of the ideas come from crap I’ve seen around tumblr

Lots of ideas so It’ll be under the drop

Basically I was imagining that there is a villain with a time manipulation quirk. Of course, future symbol of peace Deku kicks his ass. So, he then decides to use a quirk enhancing drug to enhance his/her power to gain full on time travel. He/she uses this pwoer to try and go back in time before “Deku” became the symbol of peace, when he was just a fledgling little weakling in UA.

As for how the kids get there. Either A. this is when they are doing THEIR internships at UA and end up running into the time villain (kind of like how Midoriya, iida and Todoroki fought/met Stain), or they end up getting dragged to the past by accident, maybe they just run into their parents AS they’re fighting the time villain.

I even had ideas for the kids, but not names as I can’t come up with japanese names for shit.

Izuocha kid: female, brown curly hair (like Deku’s but with Ochaco’s color, almost like Ashido’s in a way now that I think about it). About Uraraka’s height at the time of the time jump, so about 5′0″-5′2″ (the kids are 14-15 atm). Her quirk is sort of a mixture of Uraraka’s and Izuku’s mom’s quirks (Zero Gravity and Attraction of Small Objects). Where she can create her own gravitational field and pull things toward her. She can use this for minor telekinesis, having things orbit around her and gain kinetic energy before launching them via the centripetal force, or even sticking to walls. As for personality, she has Izuku’s strong desire and drive to be a hero, but Ochaco’s more cheery attitude and optimism (not having someone beat you up for most of your life helps). BUT, she is also holding in a lot of stress since, as the daughter of the number one hero Deku, there is a lot of pressure on her to be a great hero. She does have a tendency to mumble like her dad, but is much more subtle about it (she, much like her mom, tends to hide her struggles). She’s basically eternally internally screaming due to stress or whenever things take a turn for the worst. otherwise she’s a pretty optimistic and driven girl.

Todomomo kid: one of the taller ones, I’d say he’s about 5′ 10″ (kinda wanted to make him taller than Shoto who is 5′9 1/4″). Much like his dad he has white and red hair, but he just has white bangs/front hair with the back being red (maybe even in a cool long samurai ponytail). Much like his dad he has half-hot half-cold. BUT instead of left and right, he’s top and bottom. So his upper body makes flames, while his lower body makes ice. Perfect for ice floors or fire punches. Also he is a killer ice skater and has NO SHAME IN IT! He isn’t as distant or moody because you BET YOUR ASS Shoto made sure he was an awesome dad unlike Endeavor. He’s just more capable of keeping a cool head. With Momo as a mom you bet he studies his ass off. Also with her quirk she helps him in having more control over his fire and ice to make constructs.

Kamijiro kid: Take Kaminari’s friendly and sociable nature, and Jiro’s music talent and tendency to insult kaminari and you get a guy who has a tendency to be a bit TOO causal with people. You meet this guy he will treat you like a brother/sister immediately. He’ll give you a nickname, maybe some joking insults/teasing, etc. Of course he plays instruments after asking his mom to tutor him in music (in this future Jiro is not only a pro hero but sometimes does music performances, Kaminari is her sidekick (like he always said he’d be) but also learned to play guitar from her). I had an idea where, as everyone has said the kamijiro kid quirk is having the wires/headphone jacks act like electric wires, the wires would be on his arms/wrists I beleive. Just to make them more easily accessible, because having them on the ears for Jiro made sense with her sound power, but not so much for the kid’s electrical wire ability. I got the idea after seeing Iida’s older bro Tensei/Ingenium 1 have boosters on his arms while Iida got them on his legs (I got the idea that quirks CAN change as they are passed on). Spiky hair with his mom’s coloring but with a bright yellow bolt like streak in it and as for height I feel like he’s be about 5′3″  or 5′6″(I have a tendency to make the characters in the middle of their parent’s height in this if u haven’t noticed).

Kirimina kid: I got this idea from a fankid post I saw a bit ago: mina’s pink skin and black sclera , but Kirishima’s naturally black hair (maybe she’d dye it but idk what color would fit) and red eye color. Very social and outgoing. Her quirk would take Kirishima’s hardening and mix it with Ashido’s acid in a way that sort of turns her into an acidic blob, like instead of hardening it does the opposite and makes her more of a blob of living acid. She can do this in a minor form, having just her arms become acid blobs if needed though.

Hagajiro kid (Ojiro and Hagakure, seriously what is their ship name?). I don’t really know much on these characters so I don’t really have much on a personality for this kid. But I do know that he/she would have both parents quirks but at a different level. First, his/her tail isn’t as thick/bulky as Ojiro’s, much more thinner, but still strong. Second, he/she DOES have invisibility, just not permanent like his/her mother. I mean Tokoyami has a bird head which contributes nothing to his qurik, so this kid can have a tail that has nothing to do with the invisibility.

Any other character without shops COULD have kids in this with an OC but I’m too lazy to come up with them atm.

But if I had to use the, I’d say Iida’s kid would be sort of like a female version of his but WAY more intimidating, like a disciplinarian, and her quirk would involve rocket boosters on her legs sort of like Iida, but due to her mother they can also function like jet boosters to allow flight as well as speed. Hatsumei would have a kid with tons of gadgets, in a way sort of like batman and/or iron man or somewhere in between just cause it;d be cool to have a gadget guy.

Now I did have an idea for a Bakugo/Toga kid (this is sort of my crackship of this series), Basically she is the result of a one night stand between the two when they were stressed and/or drunk and just wanted to get away from the “hero” and “villain” labels for just one night. naturally the expected happens and Toga decided to get rid of the kid (you can take this as her not wanting to deal with the little brat or her having SOME conscience and not wanting the kid to grow up with HER as a mom). Now naturally with Katsuki’s pride and temper, and Himiko’s......erm.....eccentricity, this kid isn’t going to be popular at the orphanage. Also adding on the fact that she’s got her dad’s quirk and she can cause some major damage. The only solace she could find was watching her favorite hero on TV. Guess what, it’s Bakugo in the future. Seeing him go against all those villains on TV and not give a shit inspires her not to let the bullies get away with calling her “devil child” or other similar insults. BUT, when one day she finally gets a chance to meet him (in a meeting almost similar to when Izuku met All Might), she shows off her quirk and gets all excited to see if he can give her some advice on being strong or whatever. BUT, Bakugo isn’t stupid. This chick looks EXACTLY like Himiko with her hair being his shade of blonde and has his eye color, but the facial structure is WAY to similar to just be a coincidence. Plus she looked old enough to match up with “That night”. Now, if someone were to find out that he had a bastard kid with a VILLAIN, his hero career might be shot. Plus all the emotions involved with figuring out only NOW that you have a daughter after who knows how many years you’ve seen her mom. In this little panic he basically tells the kid to fuck off. Now, having the only person you’ve every had any respect towards/your hero dismiss you like that can kind of mess a kid up. ESPECIALLY if it’s this kid right here. So, with the world basically having no meaning and her hero turning out to be a douche, she turns to villainy. Now she could be on some kind of villain team that goes with the time travel villain. Maybe her wish is to find Bakugo of the past and just ruin his hero career, or even kill him in revenge (cause no way she’d stand a chance against adult fully trained hero Bakugo), Of course the fact that he’s her dad MIGHT complicate things if you understand time travel.

ON TO THE PLOT SHENANIGANS!

Of course them being in the past kinda freaks them out, Todomomo kid is telling everyone to stay calm and that they shouldn’t try to meddle too much as changing the past can have massive repercussions on the future (ala butterfly effect). So of course when a villain attacks and they end up intervening (maybe they find the time villain about to attack young-Izuku on a shopping trip with his classmates or something), they end up getting discovered.

Now, since they do not exist (yet) there are no records of them, and they can’t say their real names less they affect the future (those with obvious traits like their parents need to hide them (Kamijiro kid’s wires, Kirimina’s whole body as the pink skin and eyes kinda give it away, todomomo’s hair, etc), now if these kids are in UA uniforms atm, then they might be screwed because these guys aren’t registered. And even if they aren’t, they are still minors who used their quirks to fight a villain without proper licensees. So they get interrogated. Cue all of them telling different mismatched stories about their situation (that trope is always funny). Of course they can’t mention who their parents are, or even their real surnames, so they get kept there.

But maybe one of the UA kids vogues for them b/x they did save their lives and the future kids get off with a warning. Kinda lazy and half-assed way of doing it but whatever.

Whoever feels like going off of this idea, go nuts and reply. I really wanna see someone write this shit and I have no skill on my own to do this level of drama and shipping.