#hmm actually quite clever

[raevulsix]

This man just accepts it. Omega did this 100%.

[meatlesbeating]

can't believe Brian Epstein initially hired Derek Taylor as a ghostwriter for his autobiography tbh, because what I've seen of Derek Taylor's writing in As Time Goes By kinda stinks.....

[thewritetofreespeech]

hey hey! would you be willing to do a full scenario on the aemond/aegon 'insult my lady' thing? I would really like to see how this would play out in full. thx!

the comment in question

Aemond + Aegon - protecting their lady's honor, in their own way.

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Aemond was not the biggest fan of parties & feasts. The mass of people, nobles and lickspittles encroaching on his home, vying for a glimpse at the royal family. Catch their eye for more fortune and favor. It was as interminable as the din. But it would be a poor showing if the King did not celebrate his Name Day with their supporters. Plus, Aemond knew better than anyone how much Aegon loved a party, almost as much as the second prince despised them.

“…to think that the King would let his brother wed that ill-fated frump over my dazzling Diana. Who knew the King hated the prince so much….”

The words cut sharp over the din as Aemond picked up the tail end of a conversation one lord was having with another, drunk hens clucking at each other, when mention of his wife came to his ears.

His wife was not a ‘frump’, as he so callously put it. His wife was comely enough, though perhaps not as ‘dazzling’ as some of the other great beauties at court. In truth that was why Aemond had chosen her. He had no desire to have a remarkably beautiful wife. They were often stupid and shallow. Resting on the laurels of their beauty in pursuit of no other desires than vanity. His wife was clever, compassionate, remarkably perceptive as she had to navigate through court by will rather than attention, and above all loyal. Aemond found her mind to be the most beautiful thing about her, and more the fool this man for not seeing it.

“Excuse me.” The prince clipped at the man who was speaking to him. About what, Aemond had no close. He had not been listening. His attention secretly focused on the man and watching his path as he left the party, likely to relieve himself, and Aemond slipped out after him.

He waited in the shadows until the man reappeared in the corridor. Alone in the low light of the torches. He looked as though he had seen a ghost when Aemond suddenly appeared. Perhaps he thought he had, with the prince’s white hair & skin, or perhaps he knew truly the fear of running into the prince alone. “Ah! Your grace. I did not think you would be out here.”

“Hmm…did you think I would be with my frump of a wife?”

The man’s skin went almost as white as Aemond’s own. Realizing his remark had been heard. His slight had been recorded. It was clear on his face that he was thinking on his options of what to do, which was really only 2 options. Lie and say he never said it or beg for forgiveness. Or so Aemond thought. He didn’t think there would be a 3rd option, where this idiot actually tried to deny it and insult his intelligence as well. “You misunderstood me, your grace. I was only discussing with Lord Kindley, when asked, how disappointed I was that our families were not able to come to an agreement in joining our houses. Nothing more. Perhaps his grace got mixed up in our conversation over the others. It is quite loud in there. Should we not—”

The knife in Aemond’s hand was out of his belt and at the lord’s eye before he could even blink. “Do you know what I hate more than cowards & lickspittles? It’s liars.”

It was a good thing that the man had already relieved himself. Otherwise, he would have pissed himself right there in the hall. “I did not mistake what you said about my wife. But you can make no mistake on this: if you insult my lady again, I will take your eyes so that you may never look upon her or anyone else again, and burn your miserable house down with your ‘dazzling daughter’ in it with my dragon.”

He let his words and his knife tip hang in the air for a moment, before he pulled his hand back and put the blade back in its home. “See to it that I do not look upon you again for the rest of the evening, my lord. Mercy & kindness are traits that my wife adorns. This will be the only moment of mercy I will give you for the rest of the forcible future.”

The lord took one cautious step back, then ran like a scared child off into the night. Aemond glared at his exit. So, he was indeed a coward along with a liar and lickspittle. What a disgrace.

The prince returned to the party and found his wife quickly. She asked where he had been, and he told her nowhere in particular, but did not leave her side for the rest of the evening. To his credit, the lord never returned to the party. Aemond wasn’t even sure where he went. Nor did he care. He did regret not taking his eye though. Just for sport.

He amused himself for the rest of the evening with daydreams of taking Vhgar out once he was home and flying over his castle. Just for sport.

----------------------------⚔️👑-------------------------------

Say what you will about it, but Aegon loved his Name Day.

A full day just for him. Not ‘the King’. Not Rhaenyra. Not any of his other siblings or the constant people that flooded into his life. Just Aegon.

“What was your favorite gift from your Aegon?” One of his friends asked when he & his small enclave had set up their own after party in another room of the castle. Feasting done but Aegon not ready to give up on his Name Day just yet.

“Well, I haven’t gotten all my gifts yet.” He told them. “Likely my favorite is to come much later.”

He grinned into his cup of wine, thinking on his lady. Thinking of her beauty. He soft, supple body in his sheets. Her mouth around him like no true lady should do, but she had been willing to learn for him. Gods how he loved her.

Aegon had not been faithful in his marriage to Helaena. Everyone knew that. Theirs was a marriage of duty. For the Targaryen name and tradition. It was also not an uncommon thing for noble marriages to be this way. But when Aegon set his eyes on his lady, suddenly the word fidelity meant something to him. Like it was previously in a foreign tongue, or as impossible to master as High Valyrian, until she appeared, and it was as if nothing had ever been clearer in his life. He would want her to be his wife. To take her in the way of his namesake as his second, but his mother and the council would never allow that. Instead, she would have to simply be his official mistress. A title she seemed fine with keeping, as long as she could stay with Aegon. Which made him love her all the more.

“Oh ho….you might want to lay off the wine then, your grace. Lest you not be able to gift your lady a prize of her own.”

“My cock is as ready and able as a loaded scorpion, my boy.” The group all laughed as Aegon grasped at his alleged bulge through his pants. “Besides, my lady’s beauty could rouse even a eunuch to salute her.”

“...if you say so…”

The laughter dies down as one of the men muttered that phrase into his glass. Causing Aegon to get remarkably clear headed all of a sudden and turn to him.

“Heh…what did you say?” His smile is still wide, but his jovial laughter had turned to a sharp chuckle.

The man seems to realize what he had said out loud and put his wine down. “I just…what I meant was…her ladyship is a fine woman but she’s just….fine.”

“She is not just fine!” Aegon snapped at him. “My lady is a beacon of perfection! What would you know anyway?!”

“As I said, your grace, if you say so. She is just…not…my type. But if his grace prefers her then that is his wish like any other.”

The goblet in Aegon’s hand went flying across the table. Nailing the man in the face with first the wine, then the chalice. He didn’t have time to recover as Aegon was coming over the table at him as well. The man out of his chair, on the floor, while his King pummeled and beat the shit out of him with his fists.

Eventually, Aegon lost the momentum of his anger, and he stood up and over the man. Bloody, wheezing for air through some probably missing teeth & a broken nose, while Aegon towered over him panting and with blood knuckles. He took a deep breath, then pushed his hair out of his face before turning back to the other in the room. Shocked, terrified, too prone to speak or move. “My blood runs hot.” He told them. “I think I shall retire and see what my lady has on offer.” He stepped over the curled up form of his former friend and left the room to go spend the evening with his lady. She asked him what happened. Taking in his disheveled appearance with worry and concern. How could anyone think that she was just ‘fine’. Aegon told her it was just a silly drunken brawl, and they make way to go to bed. She offered herself to him, but all he wanted for the last of his Name Day gifts was to sleep quietly with her in his arms. Ending it on a perfect moment just for him and them, before things went back to ‘the others’ in the morning.

[merlyn-bane]

Brought to you by ao3 being down during a slow night at work, please have the fade to black scene from chapter one of home (is where you build it), um, un-faded. Spice below the cut ;)

Obi-Wan isn’t quite certain how he ended up here.

“Ah—ah—!”

He’d managed to deliver the leftover pizza successfully, despite the debacle at the front door. The firefighters on shift had all seemed to be very grateful for the surprise of free food, despite the fact that it’d been cold and there certainly hadn’t been quite enough of it to go around. He’d been invited to come in for a bit, and watched several of the men appear to wrestle over the rights to the pizza—only to ultimately lose out to those smart enough to wait until they were distracted—while Cody and Bly introduced them by name. 

“Fuck,”

Cody’d asked him out for a drink after that, Obi-Wan remembers. Apparently he wasn’t actually scheduled to be on duty that night or something and was only there to help Bly out with—something, so he’d been free to leave. Quin had naturally been far too happy to hang out at home with the already-sleeping kids so Obi-Wan could socialize.

He certainly isn’t complaining now. 

Cody shifts between his legs, rocking up to press his mouth to the sensitive spot just under Obi-Wan’s ear once more just to listen to him gasp. He lets a bit more of his weight press down against Obi-Wan, pinning him between the solid heat of Cody’s body and the creaking leather of the front bench seat of Cody’s truck. Obi-Wan grips at Cody’s shoulders, scrambling to hold on when the other man rocks forward.

One of Cody’s hands finds its way up underneath Obi-Wan’s shirt and settles just above his hip, burning like a brand, and Cody lets out a low moan when Obi-Wan can’t help but arch up into it.

They’d gone to some—small bar, or brewery? Obi-Wan’s fuzzy on the details, now. He certainly can’t remember the name of the establishment, or even really what the beer he’d had had tasted like. All he remembers is Cody’s smile, and how easily the conversation had flowed once Obi-Wan managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

Cody’s fingers—thick, clever fingers—find the closure of Obi-Wan’s jeans, and that more or less constitutes the end of his musings on the subject.

The buttons and fly put up very little resistance, and then Cody’s pushing his pants and underwear down past his ass. Obi-Wan makes a questioning sound when he stops there rather than removing them entirely, and Cody huffs a little laugh before pushing himself up with one hand just enough to allow him to press a series of brief but heated kisses against his mouth. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” Cody pants in between kisses, “I don’t have any lube or condoms on me.” Obi-Wan whines a wordless complaint high in his throat—he believes him, Cody certainly does sound very disappointed and very contrite, but Obi-Wan would rather desperately like to be fucked—and earns another breathy chuckle from the devastatingly attractive man on top of him. “I wasn’t expecting a pretty thing like you to fall into my lap tonight. I know, I know. Trust me, I really wanna fuck you, too. I bet you feel so good, Obi, fuck.” Obi-Wan whines again at the words, at the low timbre of his voice, at everything, helpless not to. Cody shushes him softly, only for Obi-Wan to buck and gasp when warm calloused fingers wrap around his cock unexpectedly. “How about this, hmm? Can I stroke you off? I bet you look so pretty when you come.”

“Damn you,” Obi-Wan swears emphatically, boiling under his skin. He bats Cody’s hand away—immediately mourning the loss—and then goes right for the other man’s belt buckle. Cody stares at him, slack-jawed, only to hiss when Obi-Wan wraps his own fingers around Cody’s cock to pull it from his underwear.

Oh, holy fuck.

Obi-Wan forcibly shakes himself from the oncoming stupor before he spends the rest of the night simply staring at the other man’s gorgeous, thick cock, ignoring the way his hole clenches around nothing with how badly he wants it inside him. They’ve already established that they can’t tonight, and if Obi-Wan doesn’t at least get to come, he may actually expire.

He takes hold of one of Cody’s hands and then makes deliberate eye-contact as he licks a broad, wet stripe across his palm. Cody’s jaw all but falls open in his surprise and—if Obi-Wan’s reading how blown his pupils have become—arousal, and Obi-Wan holds that eye-contact as he thoroughly coats Cody’s hands with as much saliva as he can manage. Cody makes a wounded noise and Obi-Wan sucks one of his fingers into his mouth; a little mean, perhaps, but he can’t help it. Honest. 

Cody growls low in his throat and then pulls his hand away from Obi-Wan’s mouth, his breathing already ragged. Both of them let out broken sounds at the first brush of their cocks together, thrusting into it, and then Cody is pumping, and pumping, his grip firm and sure and warm and every other wonderful thing, slick with Obi-Wan’s own spit as he strokes them both off together.

“Hold your shirt up for me, baby,” Cody pants out, “I don’t wanna ruin it.”

Obi-Wan moans but somehow manages to find the brain power in between thrusting up into Cody’s hand and against his cock, fisting the bottom hem of his top and yanking it up clear past his collarbone. Cody groans as his nipples are exposed, pebbled already, and squeezes just a little tighter—

Obi-Wan gives it up with a ragged cry and Cody follows right behind him, ropes of their combined spend painting Obi-Wan’s stomach and chest.

“Shit,” Cody breathes out, and Obi-Wan can’t help but agree. 

[nickandcharlieareticklish]

A More Enjoyable Assignment (tickle fic)

Fandom: Heartstopper

Summary: Nick loves to tickle Charlie, but he never lets Charlie tickle him back. Charlie would never admit it to anyone, but all he wanted to do was hear his boyfriend squirm and giggle and it was starting to drive him up the wall.

Forget homework - this Nick-related assignment was way more fun.

My first ever tickle fic! Quite nervous about posting this, so all (kind) feedback very much appreciated.

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Nick loved to tickle Charlie. This was common knowledge at this point. Charlie could barely make it through an hour in Nick's company before he was pounced on and his high-pitched babbling and squeals filled the air. Charlie would put up a dramatic fuss every time but honestly, he really didn't mind. And he could see from Nick's shit-eating grin just how much joy it brought him.

However, the main issue was that whenever Charlie reached out a retaliating hand to tickle Nick's side, or grabbed his knee to squeeze it, Nick would immediately employ Strong Rugby Arms and intercept his movements, never giving him the chance to properly get his revenge. He'd never admit it to anyone, but all Charlie wanted to do was hear his boyfriend squirm and giggle and it was starting to drive him up the wall.

One Sunday afternoon, they were studying on Nick's bedroom floor, music playing softly in the background. They lay on their stomachs alongside each other, hips and shoulders touching. Charlie had sunk so deep into quadratic equations that he was barely aware of his surroundings, until he felt the familiar sensation of fingers digging expertly, but gently, into his armpit. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up and then he gasped and squirmed away.

“Nick!” he all but squawked. “You're such a menace.”

When he turned to look at him, Nick was scribbling on his own Geography paper, his face schooled into an unconvincing expression of concentration. Charlie scoffed.

“You're fooling literally no one at this point,” he said, rolling his eyes affectionately and tapping Nick gently on the forehead with his pen.

A smile spread slowly across Nick's face, and he suddenly grabbed for Charlie's hips with both hands and squeezed. This was one of his worst spots – which Nick knew, the arsehole – and Charlie immediately crumbled, attempting to curl into the foetal position on the floor while high-pitched squeals poured out of him.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” he cried, trying to wriggle away. Nick just chuckled and ignored him, spidering his fingers up his sides. “Ah fu – fuck, Nick, that tickles so m-much – please...” His arms were flailing wildly, trying to grab Nick's hands and slow his movements.

Nick grinned but paused for a second, clearly winding down so as not to completely overwhelm him, and Charlie saw his chance. He lunged for Nick's thigh but before he could get any leverage, Nick casually plonked his entire body across Charlie's on the floor, leaving him unable to move.

“Nah, I don't think so,” Nick said calmly.

“Oh, for god sake.”

They lay there for a few moments, Charlie catching his breath after the attack. Nick's pinning was clever in stopping him being able to move much, whilst carefully avoiding actually hurting him. Eventually, Nick lifted his weight off Charlie and they rolled onto their sides to face each other.

“You good?” Nick asked, giving him his trademark lopsided smile.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, returning the grin with ease. They just drank each other in for a few seconds. “But you always -” He started, but then faltered, embarrassed.

“Hmm?” Nick was suddenly frowning slightly, always able to read him like a bloody book. He reached for Charlie's hand, linking their fingers together.

“You don't -” Charlie blew out a breath, frustrated at his inability to form words. “You never let me tickle you back.”

“Oh!” Nick's face softened with understanding, and then he grinned. “I know.”

“But why?”

“It's just funny,” Nick shrugged. “And because you're cute when you're annoyed. And in general.”

Charlie would never get used to Nick's unabashed compliments. He felt his face heat up as a rush of warmth spread through his body. “Shut up.”

“And when you're flustered.” The lopsided smile of pure sunshine was back.

“Nick, stop it! It's not fair when I don't get to fluster you back.” Nick's grin just grew wider. “Are you even ticklish?” Charlie asked, his eyes roaming around the parts of Nick's body that he knew were his own worst spots. He leaned in to poke his stomach but as usual Nick was too quick for him, grabbing his wrist.

“Ah now, that would be telling,” Nick replied in a gentle tone.

Charlie groaned, and Nick laughed brightly. “Do you giggle? I bet you're a giggler.”

“Absolutely not.”

A thought occurred to Charlie, and he had a sudden flash of anxiety. “If you really hate being tickled then it's fine, I won't tickle you. I just thought -”

“Charlie,” Nick interrupted softly, running his thumb over Charlie's knuckles. “It's okay. I don't hate it. I just happen to be very very good at stopping you.”

“Well, I think it's mean of you to use Muscle 1 and Muscle 2 against me,” Charlie said sternly, poking each of them in turn with a finger.

Nick snorted. “Ah, but we both know that you like the arms.”

“Not in this context! Anyway, forget homework because this is my new assignment.”

Nick said nothing, just looked at him affectionately for a moment and then leaned across to kiss him. Charlie sank into it, but pulled back after a few moments to appraise him. “You scared?”

Nick pretended to mull it over. “Hmm... nope. But you should be.”

Charlie rolled his eyes, but then burst into surprised laughter a moment later as Nick dived for his knees.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Charlie took this assignment very seriously – it was in his geeky nature, after all – and work began the very next day. He figured that the best tactic was to catch Nick off guard when he might not be able to react quickly enough to stop him. It was hardly the most well-thought-out plan but he didn't really have many other options.

His first attempt was first thing on Monday morning, in form room. Mr Lange was about to take the register and Nick was hastily completing his Geography homework that was (of course) due first thing.

“If only you'd finished this yesterday like a good student, instead of distracting us both with those magic fingers of yours,” Charlie whispered.

Nick just turned to him, raising an eyebrow at his inadvertent choice of words.

“Tickling fingers, I mean,” Charlie added, hastily and unnecessarily.

“I know,” Nick replied, entirely too innocently. “What else would you mean?”

Charlie gave him a look, but couldn't stop the grin that took over his face a moment later. Nick was winding him up, and it was on. When Nick turned back to his work, Charlie bit his lip in concentration, looking him up and down. The problem was that he didn't know where Nick's weak spots were, but the idea of finding out was more exciting than he'd care to admit.

Knees were normally a weak spot, right? And they were hidden under the desk where no one else could see what was going on. Probably a good place to start.

Charlie shuffled a bit closer to Nick on his chair – not unusual, so Nick didn't bat an eyelid, just continued writing. He reached out his left hand as surreptitiously as he could, shifting it under the desk towards Nick's right leg. Before he could overthink it and chicken out, Charlie reached for the fleshy part just above Nick's knee and squeezed.

He heard Nick's sharp intake of breath and felt his hand instantly shoot out and close around Charlie's hand.

“Excuse me!” Nick muttered, chuckling in surprise. “What do you think you're doing?”

“My new homework assignment,” Charlie answered, unable to keep the grin off his face. “Finding Nick's giggle.”

“Oh, I see how it is. Well, I'm pretty certain there was no giggle there, so good luck with that.”

“Well, that was just phase one. Plenty more to come.”

Nick just smirked. “Has anyone ever told you that you're weird?”

Charlie ignored him. “So, knees, seemingly ticklish – noted.”

Nick's expression changed then, to something that Charlie didn't like the look of. “Do you know who else has ticklish knees? My very weird boyfriend.” Before Charlie could blink, Nick's hand shot out to his knee and squeezed back, getting more leverage than Charlie had managed. The sudden and intense ticklish sensation shooting up Charlie's thigh produced a startled giggle in the mostly silent classroom that he couldn't stifle in time. He clapped a hand over his mouth, blushing.

“Charlie, Nick! Quiet down, please,” called Mr Lange.

When they caught each other's eye a second later, they both leant over their desks in silent laughter.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day, they were studying in a quiet corner of the library during a free period, with their backs against the shelves and textbooks spread around them. Charlie had already finished his work but he was always happy to keep Nick company.

And if the opportunity arose, perhaps continue with his separate Nick-related assignment.

Twenty minutes in, Nick was on the final page of his history essay, with Charlie mostly watching him work, and chipping in with helpful information when he could. He started absent-mindedly trailing his finger along Nick's forearm, stroking back and forth. After a few minutes, Nick paused.

“You're being quite distracting, you know,” he smiled.

Charlie immediately withdrew, sheepishly. “Oh um, sorry.”

“No no, it's okay, it's, um – it's a nice type of distraction,” Nick said, flushing slightly. “You don't need to stop.”

Charlie looked at his feet, smiling shyly, and continued the soothing motions on Nick's arm. He felt Nick's relaxed exhale a moment later.

After a couple more minutes, Charlie was getting a little restless, and a slightly dangerous thought entered his mind. He looked down at Nick's side, perfectly exposed as his arms were raised to write in his book which was balanced on his bent knees.

He couldn't, could he?

Charlie took a look around – there was no one within sight, but the library wasn't empty. It was as quiet as you'd expect from such an environment. He slowly shifted his hand that was caressing Nick's arm, and casually moved it down to trail his fingers lightly over Nick's side instead. Nick immediately jerked away in surprise, but still no giggle – dammit.

Nick turned to look at him. “Don't you dare,” he said warningly, but Charlie could easily spot the amused glint in his eye.

“Don't what?” Charlie asked innocently. “Finish your homework.”

And surprisingly, Nick did. Bless his trusting soul. However, it was as he was writing the very last paragraph that Charlie just couldn't resist a second attempt. This time, he was determined to produce some sort of audible reaction from him. He knew he'd have to be quick because Nick would surely be expecting it at this point, and the rugby player had lightning-quick reactions. So Charlie waited until Nick was deep in concentration, scribbling away, before he reached for his side again and dug his fingers into the flesh more firmly. Nick didn't manage to move away quite as quickly this time and Charlie got a few good squeezes in - Nick's gasp and slight yelp were music to his ears.

“Oh I'm sorry, what was that?” Charlie asked, far too pleased with himself.

“You're ridiculous,” Nick retorted, but he was grinning widely. He'd only shifted to the left slightly, hadn't blocked Charlie's hand as he usually would, so Charlie decided to try his luck and moved up a little higher, feathering fingers over his ribs through his shirt. Nick's nose scrunched up adorably and a second later he was actually laughing – admittedly quietly, and it wasn't quite the uncontrollable giggle he was aiming for, but Charlie's heart still clenched at the adorableness of it as he watched Nick's eyes clench shut and felt him squirm against the sensations. He also noted that Nick could easily get away if he really wanted to, but he hadn't moved. Definitely not torture, then.

A few moments later, just as Charlie became bolder and travelled towards his armpit, Nick's hand finally came down to block him. “Ch – Charlie,” he managed around a soft gasp. “Stop.”

“Sorry, I didn't quite catch that?”

Nick rolled his eyes, breathing slightly heavily. “God, that was intense – I had to stop you before I really started cackling. We're in a library, you maniac.”

Charlie pouted dramatically. “But I wanted to hear you giggle.”

“Tough,” Nick replied, smiling. “Also, why do you keep doing this in places where we need to be quiet?”

“It's more fun that way.”

“I'm not sure if I like this new, rebellious Charlie.” The lingering kiss Nick gave him a second later was a pretty strong argument to the contrary.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After his recent success, Charlie abandoned his mission for a few days. The plan was to lull Nick into a false sense of security, but based on the way he put up almost no resistance in the library, Charlie probably didn't have much to worry about. The memory gave him a little thrill whenever he thought about it. However, he still hadn't fully scratched that itch and he was nothing if not determined.

On Friday night, Nick was round at Charlie's house and they were sitting on the edge of his bed, mostly making out and occasionally playing Mario Kart. Charlie won every time, of course. After his third loss, Nick was so worked up that he thwacked Charlie in the face with a pillow and Charlie couldn't stop cackling.

“I'm really never gonna let you win, you know,” Charlie said firmly, after he'd calmed down.

Nick sighed. “Yeah, I know.” He flopped backwards onto the bed dramatically. “Maybe we need to find a game I'm good at.”

“Sorry, not sorry.” He looked at Nick out of the corner of his eye. “I feel like you need some stress relief.”

Nick raised his head from his lying position. “Are you going to give me a massage?” he asked, all hopeful puppy dog eyes.

Charlie giggled, shaking his head. “Maybe later. I've got a better idea.” He deftly climbed onto the bed and sat himself on Nick's calves, facing him. “A cliche once told me that laughter is the best medicine, so I think we should test that theory.”

Nick just frowned as he watched him. “Charlie...”

“Are you seeing where I'm going with this?” Charlie asked, smirking at Nick's adorably confused expression.

“I'm not sure, but it definitely doesn't seem like I'm about to get a massage.”

A thought struck Charlie. “Okay, fine, I'll give you a massage. How about a... foot massage?”

Nick's eyes widened. “Um, no, I'm – I'm good actually.”

Bingo. “Oh really? Why's that, then?”

“Um...” Nick sat up slightly and tried to move his legs, but they barely budged with Charlie's full body weight on top of them. His fate seemed to fully dawn on him then and he flopped backwards, hands covering his face and a nervous laugh bubbling out of him. “Shit.”

“So first thing's first – socks. You won't be needing those.” Charlie reached behind him and, with some skill considering he couldn't see what he was doing, slowly peeled off Nick's socks one at a time. Even just these simple movements caused Nick's feet to twitch slightly, and Charlie bit back a smile. He'd surely hit the jackpot here.

“Would you mind telling me what you're doing?” Nick asked, clearly attempting to give him the stink eye through the gaps in the hands covering his face.

Charlie thought about it. “Homework,” he said simply, before reaching back to run a single finger gently along the arch of Nick's bare foot. The reaction was immediate and delicious – the scrunching of the toes, the panicked gasp of “Charlie!”. Charlie chuckled and brought his hand back in front of him.

“This is so unfair,” Nick whined, trying again to shift his feet but with absolutely no success.

“Consider it payback for the many times you've reduced me to a squealing mess.” He leaned closer, to whisper in Nick's ear. “You're about to get wrecked, Nelson.”

“I – no – come on, please -”

“Begging already, are we?”

“Will it make you stop?”

“Definitely not. We have to find that giggle.” He paused, struck with a sudden thought. “Oh and by the way, your safeword is bubblegum.”

“I – okay – but Charlie -” Nick screwed his eyes shut. The anticipatory giggles were already starting to sneak their way out of him, and Charlie's heart melted at the sound. He leaned forward again to press a kiss to the tip of Nick's nose.

“You're so fucking cute – I haven't even started yet,” Charlie smiled.

“Yeah, but -” Nick ran his fingers through his hair anxiously. “My feet are so ticklish, I might actually die.”

“Well, the ticklish truth is finally coming out. Also, you definitely won't die. Now stop distracting me.” He reached behind him again with his right hand, hovering close to Nick's foot for a few moments for dramatic effect. Nick groaned loudly as the seconds passed.

“Such a tease...” he muttered.

When Charlie could hold back no longer, he went straight for Nick's arch with purpose, scribbling his fingers vigorously over the soft skin. To his delight, Nick fell to pieces instantly, emitting a high-pitched squeal that Charlie had definitely never heard him make before. It was immediately followed by chuckles which quickly turned into desperate, breathy giggles as Charlie moved up to scratch at the back of his toes.

“No no no no no, Charlie ple - hease -” Nick spat out through giggles, his face scrunched up in a beautiful combination of euphoria and torture. His hands gripped the pillow behind his head. Charlie didn't let up, focusing in on the base of his big toe that was evidently incredibly ticklish based on the strangled cry he let out, and in a moment of pure evil, Charlie reached behind him with his other hand and attacked both big toes at once, producing a new bout of uncontrollable laughter. He didn't turn around as he didn't want to miss a second of Nick's helpless reactions.

“Yep, this is how I d-die,” Nick managed to get out, writhing from side to side in ticklish desperation.

“How does it feel, Nick? Do you promise never to tickle me again?” Charlie knew he didn't actually want this, but he also knew Nick would never agree to it either.

“I can never p-promise that – oh god, stohohop -” Charlie had moved back down to the arches of his feet in just the right spot, and Nick's hips bucked as the giggles poured out in a constant stream. Charlie wished he could bottle the sound. He focused on the killer spots of Nick's feet for a solid few minutes, often giggling along with him as he worked his magic, but listening carefully for any utterances of the safe word. It was only when Nick's laughter turned completely silent that he let up. He pulled his hands back to his front but stayed perched on Nick's legs, watching him recover fondly.

“I hate you,” Nick said weakly, a few moments later. “I also love you, but I hate you. Just so you know.”

Charlie just grinned and leaned forward to lie gently on top of him, resting his chin on Nick's chest. “I love you too,” he said, suddenly feeling bashful and overwhelmed with affection. “I can't really deal with how cute you are.”

Nick just rolled his eyes and smiled at him. “Do you know who else is cute? My very ticklish boyfriend.” And Charlie should have predicted what would happen next as Nick's hands reached greedily for his sides.

He wasn't really complaining.

[volturiprincess]

Death Flower

Jane Volturi x Fem human mate

Summary: Jane contradicts a lot but a simple "my little death flower" and its all over.

A/N: I wanted to post this on May 31st since that marks half way to Halloween but I forgot about this WIP. I got some ideas brewing for when October comes around. Its short but anyways....Enjoy💙

__________________🥀____________________

“No”

“No? Why not?”

‘I said no and that is final, so stop pestering me on this”

“Come on my little death flower, let's not be like this”

She stopped walking away and stood on the spot. Here's the thing about being mates with Jane, yes she can be quite difficult to convince to do things, such as cuddling under our favorite open field, but I know a certain trick to persuade her. I noticed this a while ago, she was going to leave for a guard meeting that would start in 30 minutes, but she wanted to leave early but I wanted her to cuddle with me. She’s still not used to affection, which I understand, she took a month to even just hold my hand so I understand that and I respect her boundaries. But as she was getting ready to leave for her meeting I sleepily called out to her “My little storm cloud” and she halted her movements and was instantly in bed with her being the big spoon and I the little one.

I didn't dare to question her sudden change of mind but from that whenever I wanted to “get my way” with her I would casually call her some clever nicknames and she goes with my idea. I of course never call her out in front of the others, actually one time I called her my “little rain cloud” in front of Alec. He instantly looked at Jane and started teasing her and would call her the same nickname for days until Jane threatened to use her ability on him, that for sure shut him up. I promised to her that I would never call her said nicknames in front of others. 

Jane also from what I can say is she doesn't like being called the traditional nicknames, once in a while I do call her darling or my love but it doesn't get the same reaction as when I call her my other nicknames. It's just so amusing to see her halt her every thought and movements when I call her such names, but what makes my heart flip is when she looks at me and you can see a very small smile spreading onto her angelic face. 

“What is it that you wanted to do again?”

Oh man I got her so good, I almost feel bad in kind of manipulating her with my nicknames but man she always gets her way a majority of the time. She always gets the final say but I guess it does feel nice to finally be able to have a small win with her. And gosh that smile she does is so sweet, it's hard to imagine her being able to cause such pain with her gaze when she has such an angelic smile. 

“Oh right, um I wanted you be my Morticia to my Gomez”

“But Halloween is not for another five months?”

“I know but that's going to be our couple costume”

“Hmm we will see”

“Come on Jane, it ill be perfect, I already treat you like you are the only person in my life, I even call you the nicknames that are very similar to what Gomez calls Morticia”

“I said we will see”

I know she likes the idea, she just won't admit it. I think she would make a beautiful Morticia, but in this case she will be a blonde Morticia. In no way will I make her wear a wig to cover her golden locks that I love so much. In my case I would be a female version of Gomez, I'm also at the point of convincing the others to be characters from “The Addams Family”. Felix will definitely be Lurch no doubt, but for some reason im stuck with the thought that Alec and Demetri would be a great Pugesly and Wednesday. They will be my next victims to convince them to go along with my crazy plan. I grabbed her hand to place a gentle slow kiss on it, I felt her literally melt at the touch.

“Fine we will do it, but you dare make me wear a wig I will have Alec use his smoke on you”

Shivering at her little “threat” which I know she will never do, she has said that many times in the past and has never once done it to me.

“I would never want to cover your blonde locks my dear thundercloud”

“...Good”

Being Jane’s mate has its downs but if you play your cards right it can have its perk. 

[osakiharu]

THEY FIND OUT YOU LIKE BEING PRAISED !!

[request]

content : gender neutral reader, fluff, this is sfw don’t get too excited y’all, independent!reader, reader is a uni student in draken’s, reader is independent but also quite self critical at times :(, rindou having blood all over his arms whoopsies, also me having rindou brainrot so i went a little crazy with his... i love him i can’t help it, 

word count : around 500-600 each <3 little scenarios for this one hehe

characters : draken, rindou 

notes : okay hi !! long time no see y’all, college is so so insane rn and m sorry for being so dead T^T this was actually a request but i have deleted it with my old requests in my inbox and i only kept the ones i moved to my drafts whoopsies </3 i hope this isn’t too bad and i hope i haven’t gotten rusty from not writing for a little but yeah have some rindou and draken as my apology <3 thankyou to dee for giving me a little help on this when i was brain dead mwah i luv u <3

˗ˏˋ DRAKEN

draken knew you always preferred to teach yourself things, to stick to your own way of studying, to not have anyone or anything interfere with your routine during exam season. he knows, without fail, you’ll always reject his proposal to help you, but eventually he finds there’s nothing he loves more than to see your cheeks redden at his praise for your work. even if you push him off and tell him to let you continue <3 

“why don’t you let me help, baby? wouldn’t you get it done faster?” he mumbled into your hair before reaching forwards to take your notes from you. “i don’t need help, kenny, ‘m fine! ‘s not about doing it fast, anyways.” of course you were. even if the bags under your eyes and very few hours sleep you had under your belt said otherwise. a kiss was pressed to your cheek before he sat himself down in the chair next to you, resting his head on his crossed arms as he looked up at you. draken decided not to push you for let him help. “how’d y’r exam t’day go? know you were dreadin’ that one.” it’s sweet, you think, the way his eyelids seem to be getting harder to hold open but he’s probably still thinking up a plan to work his way around your stubbornness to get you into bed at a reasonable time. 

“it was fine,” you put your notes down and turned to face him, “i finished with time to spare, too, so i don’t think i did that bad.” of course you did well. you always do, draken thought with a smile. “c’mere.” he nodded his head to the side, signalling for you to sit in his lap. his embrace was comforting, warm, too warm, even, for your tired state couldn’t help but relax into it like you’d been longing to all day. “gettin’ tired, angel?” draken could practically feel you melting into him as he rubbed up and down your back. “mhm… but i gotta finish up, kenny, c’mon.” your attempt at moving back to your original chair was futile as draken pulled you back down into a gentle kiss. 

“hmm… but my baby’s so smart, ain’t ya?” he spoke against your lips, and you couldn’t help the way your cheeks reddened at his comment. “don’t think you need t’do anymore when you’re already doing so good… think ya need to come to bed with me ‘n’ get some sleep, hm?” he could feel your smile against his cheek as he kissed anywhere he could without you shying away from him. draken almost chuckled at your actions. he’d always known you to be an independent person, dealing with everything yourself, and though he was no stranger to your stresses and anxieties, seeing you this flustered was rare to him. fuck, you’re so cute.

“what’s this all about, sweets?” he pinched your cheek between a pointer and thumb, “got somethin’ you wanna tell me?” draken’s grin is wide as you peer down into your lap. you know exactly what he wants you to say, to admit that all you want to hear right now is how good you’re doing, how clever you are, to have your hard work appreciated when you feel like it’s futile and a waste of time. though you shook your head as you met his eyes once again, “shut up.” draken hummed at your response, the chewing of your lip and the remains of your bashful smile gave him the wordless answer he wanted. “c’mon then, smart ass, y’re coming to bed with me,” he patted your thigh as a signal get up, “can’t have my clever little thing over workin’ yourself when you’ve got all those other exams to do, can i?”

˗ˏˋ RINDOU

if there was one thing rindou had learned about you it was that once you start something you want to finish it, and you want to finish it well. you want to finish it yourself, it doesn’t feel the same if someone helps you, you tell him. but he knows you’re only human, so when mikey comes and drops another tower of rindou’s paperwork on your desk when you’re already up to your neck in it and it’s almost two in the morning, it’s not hard for him to notice the cracks in your resilience

“what’re you still doin’ here?” you heard rindou mumble from the doorway of your office. blood covered his knuckles and fingers, under his rings, and trailed up to his forearms in spatters. his hair was tousled and messy, violet eyes sleepier than usual. from where he leaned, he looked frightening. beautiful, but frightning. “‘m finishing paperwork.” rindou raised a brow, almost confused, as he checked the clock. two in the morning? finishing paperwork? you must’ve gone mad; it looked like you’d barely started with the piles mikey had dropped on your desk. “that’s your work, is it?” he spoke from the front of your desk. “hm? oh, no, it’s yours,” you held up the sheet you’d been writing, “i already finished my work, but mikey just asked me to get a bit of yours done while you were gone… didn’t have to do all of it but i may as well since i’ve started it.” sleepy was the smile that rested on your face. so pretty, he thought.

rindou sighed in response to your commitment and strolled over to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and giving your cheek a quick kiss. “y’know you don’t wanna do all that, baby, c’mon,” kiss, “y’half asleep anyways, let me deal with it tomorrow, kay? need t’rest that pretty head of yours now.” you sighed and slumped backwards into your chair. it’s just work, it’s not even yours, you thought to yourself. you just couldn’t stand having to hand over the responsibility of doing all that work to someone else. you knew that feeling was silly, though, you just couldn’t help it sometimes. the man behind you could already guess the response travelling up your throat, ready to be mumbled out in defeat. rindou pulled away and beckoned you with a finger to stand up, “why don’t you try thinkin’ of the stuff you've already done, hm? come here ‘n’ tell me about it, sweets.” you always appreciated rindou’s attempts at comforting you, despite him never being one to comfort people, only one to help them forget about their current issue. 

you followed him to the couch in your office and laid your tired head in his lap, strong thighs like pillows to you. and although you mostly spoke through a yawn, you told him about the work you did that day. “mhm, good job, baby.” a thumb stroked your cheek before he pulled you up for a quick kiss or two by your jaw. your smile, shy and a little toothy, was felt against his lips as your cheeks reddened under his touch. “such a good little angel f’me, aren’t you? doin’ my work when you don’t need to.” he took note of how warm your cheeks were on the tips of his fingers and pulled away from your face so you could hide your timidity no longer. 

rindou had always had an inkling, even before you were dating, that you enjoyed hearing things like that; having your work appreciated and acknowledged, feeling supported for once. your silly attempts at hiding your smile that never worked. he could tell you’d always been independent, enjoyed being independent, though he also knew that sometimes you wanted to take a break or to not do everything by yourself, to let someone hold your hand for a while. “i didn’t know you could be so shy, i thought you would’a told me to shut up by now.” you looked up at his stupid smirk, knowing he wanted to hear it from you. playful arguing was futile option as any attempt made was to refute rindou’s statement was a failed one. it was worth a shot. you placed your head back on his thighs and your smile said it all, “you like it when i tell you those things don’t you? it’s what you deserve to hear.” 

your grin hadn’t faltered, a sigh passing your lips. “mhm... yeah.” 

rindou knew he was going to tease you about this forever now. he also knew that you’d deny everything every single time <3

reblogs appreciated <33

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Prompt-a-long, and based on a true story.]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) 9: intimidation (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

John jerks his head up from his laptop the second he realises something alarming:

The flat is quiet.

'Sherlock.'

'Hmm?' Sherlock doesn't look up from his experiment.

'Where's Rosie?'

Sherlock raises his hand to point. 'She's right--' He finally actually raises his head. 'Oh. Dear.'

'Hell,' John curses, ignoring a shot of pain as he stands too quickly.

Sherlock's Voice of Reason tendencies are very useful here. He puts himself in front of John and forces his gaze. 'Don't let's panic. She didn't grow wings, nor is it likely she suddenly gained the physical capacity to climb a baby gate. So she's just hidden herself somewhere. She probably thinks it's a game. You search the sitting room, I'll take the loo and then the kitchen. Alright?'

John nods, and promises himself he'll show Sherlock his appreciation later. Possibly with something beyond the snatched kisses they've managed so far. 'Alright.'

Three minutes later, he hears Sherlock's long sigh. 'John.' John strides over to where the detective is standing in front of his bedroom door. 'Apparently…'

'It locks?'

'It locks.'

'What about the second loo door?'

Sherlock grimaces. 'I always keep that one locked from the inside.'

'Alright, where's your key?'

'I don't have a key for either door. Never did do.'

John leans in towards the door. 'Rosie?' he calls, trying to keep his tone calm.

'Yeah, Daddy!'

The air escapes his lungs in a great dirty whoosh. 'Oh thank Christ,' he mutters. He raises his head and turns to Sherlock. 'Can you go see if--'

Sherlock's already halfway out the kitchen door, calling back, 'I'm sure she'll have one.'

But Mrs Hudson does not, in fact, have one, she tells John once she's come upstairs, wringing her hands as best she can with her wrist in a soft cast. 'I'm sorry! I'll call a locksmith straight away.'

'Nonsense,' Sherlock says over her. 'My lockpicks are, unhelpfully, behind the locked door, but I bet you could get me a hairpin and a nail file, please?'

John looks at Mrs Hudson and shrugs. 'Not things I keep on hand, I'm afraid.'

'Oh, pah, you boys. I'll be back in a tic.'

'Do you think you can actually pick it?' John asks quietly as soon as he can hear her feet on the stairs.

'Erm…possibly.'

'Possibly.'

'It's quite old and disused, John.'

'And?'

'And that means rust. Decay. Mechanisms that don't work anymore.'

'Christ,' John mutters. He puts his forehead to the door again. 'Sweetheart?' he calls.

'Daddy?'

'Will you open the door for me, Rosie?'

'Ermmm, no,' she says clearly.

'God grant me patience,' he says to himself, and jerks his head up when he hears Sherlock laugh.

'Sorry,' Sherlock says, clearly not sorry at all, 'but you sound like my mother.'

'Yes, I'd imagine she needed a deep well of patience to raise you.'

'Endless. Rosamund?' he says to the door. 'Do you want to unlock that door so you can help me with an experiment?'

John eyes him, but if it works, then--

'Nope,' she replies, popping her P like a certain someone.

'She's evil,' John mutters.

'She's stubborn.'

'She gets that from you.'

'I beg your pardon,' Sherlock says, quite offended. 'I am reasonable.'

'Sure. When you're not being stubborn.'

Sherlock pivots very unsubtly. 'Ms Watson, if you unlock that door, then Mrs Hudson will bake you some of those cakes you like.'

John pushes against his shoulder. 'Her wrist is broken!' he whispers incredulously.

'We can buy some at the bakery,' Sherlock whispers back. 'She'll never know.'

'You're evil.'

'Yes, well, you let me past the threshold, so you can really only blame yourself.'

'No, thank you!' Rosie calls back.

John rolls his eyes. 'Sure, she's polite for Mrs Hudson.'

'Clever.'

'Not helpful.'

'We could try intimidation.'

'Could we, though?' John asks, bemused.

'You can be very intimidating when you like, despite your stature.'

'Thanks,' he replies dryly.

But before they can debate the merits of trying to intimidate a toddler into doing anything, Mrs Hudson re-appears with the requested items. 'Oh, I do hope you can pick it, Sherlock. I will be very disappointed in your skills otherwise, you speak so highly of them.'

John coughs a laugh into his hand. 'Thanks, Mrs H.'

Twenty minutes later, though, John's growing desperate, texting everyone in his phone to see if they have any brilliant ideas. Wondering how much it would cost to just lift the door off it's hinges.

In the end, he should have known to just ring Molly first. 'Just put me on, okay?' she says quickly. John does as requested. 'Hi, Rosie!' she says cheerfully via speakerphone.

John and Sherlock exchange a look. 'Rosie,' John says, trying to keep his tone pleasantly neutral. 'If you come out, you can talk to Aunt Molly,'

They all hold their breath.

Then the lock turns.

[❤️]

[green-eyedfirework]

It starts on a windswept evening in Bludhaven.  Dick is running across rooftops, breath caught in his throat and wind roaring past his ears, using every trick in the book to remain one step ahead of his pursuer.  The sound of sirens shriek in the distance, evidence of the police presence Dick managed to attract.  Somewhere amidst the cacophony is a crooked mob accountant being placed into police—and, hopefully, protective—custody.

He did just almost get assassinated, after all.

Dick doesn’t stutter, doesn’t falter, doesn’t fall, but it doesn’t matter.  He’s not fast enough.  On the next rooftop, a steel grip latches onto his shoulder and hauls him back—before Dick can raise his escrima for an attack he’s slammed against the brick of the rooftop access door hard enough to squeeze the breath from his lungs.

By the time he blinks the dark spots free, his escrima are gone, his wrists are above his head and squeezed in an inescapable grip, and there’s a gloved hand wrapping around his throat and pushing his head up to stare directly at the orange-and-black mask of his pursuer.

Dick grins.

“You’re too clever for your own good, little bird,” Deathstroke growls, and they’re inches apart, close enough that Deathstroke’s gun holster is digging against Dick’s stomach in a way that makes him want to shiver.

“Really?” Dick asks, testing how much space he has to move.  Deathstroke doesn’t budge an inch.  Dick’s mouth feels very dry.  “I think I’m just clever enough.”

“No,” Deathstroke disagrees.  His thumb rests on the underside of Dick’s jaw.  “Because then you would’ve realized that getting rid of my target meant that there would be no one left.  Except you.”

Something sinks inside of him, deeper than his stomach, a flash Dick almost doesn’t recognize.  But he’s not paying attention to it, because there is a mercenary pinning him to a wall in a grip he can’t squirm out of, and charm is just another tool in his arsenal.

“Oh?” Dick asks, voice sly.  “What’re you going to do about it?”

Deathstroke makes a low, inarticulate sound, and the hand around Dick’s throat leaves to instead pull the man’s mask off.  The mercenary looks incandescent, eye narrowed and roiling, expression twisted into a snarl, and Dick doesn’t have any time to react before a fist twists in his hair and holds him still for the mouth that plunders his.

Dick makes a shocked sound and Deathstroke swallows it, taking like Dick is just a limp ragdoll to be used as he pleases, and this time Dick definitely registers the warmth of arousal.  He can’t move—the fingers in his hair tighten to the point of pain to force him on his tiptoes, the hand holding his wrists feels like it could crush his bones, and Deathstroke has caged him so effectively that Dick can’t even try to dash himself against the bars.

The fire inside of him grows.

It’s not the first time they’ve kissed, it’s just.  It’s never felt like this before.

Dick makes the smallest of whimpers as Deathstroke shifts, the weight pressing against him something his body classifies as extremely hot, but the mercenary moves back and not forward, disengaging the kiss.

“Why did you stop?” Dick pants, peering up at Slade’s faint frown.  The fingers in his hair have loosened as well.

“You sounded hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Dick says, aware that he’s already half-hard and his cup is getting quite painful.  He pouts at Slade.  “Can we get back to the kissing?”

Slade makes an irritated noise and lets go, stepping back for good measure, and a part of Dick cries in disappointment.  “And give you more incentive to try this shit again?” the mercenary huffs.  “No.  Get lost, kid.  If I see you again, I’ll shoot you.”

“Mm-hmm.”  Dick darts forward and braces himself against Slade’s broad shoulders to get a quick peck.  Slade grumbles but doesn’t try to stop him.  “Sure you don’t want to come to my place for a consolatory drink?”

Slade looks unimpressed.  “Does that line actually work?”

Dick smiles up at him, still leaning against the mercenary’s solid bulk.  “I don’t know,” he says, low and languid, “you tell me.”

Slade’s eye darkens and Dick laughs as he’s pulled in for another dizzying kiss.

~#~

The encounter is as satisfying as ever, Slade is an attentive lover, and Dick curls up, sated and spent, in the mercenary’s warm arms when he’s done.

But.

It didn’t feel the same.

It didn’t feel like it did on the rooftop, exhilarating, electricity with a thread of danger, and Dick isn’t sure why.

He’s got a taste of it, and he wants more.

~#~

The next time is months later—this time, Slade’s playing security not assassin, and unfortunately for him, Dick may have accidentally kinda sorta exploded the collection of chemicals that he was supposed to be guarding.

“Sorry?” Dick tries, escrima already out as he faces Deathstroke across the catwalk.  The nearest perch is too far to reach and Deathstroke is advancing, a solid line of threat.

“Sorry?” Deathstroke echoes, and he’s unsheathed his sword.  “Sorry?”  Dick jumps back before it bisects him in two, and oops, looks like he’s really pissed Slade off this time.  “Is sorry going to put half a million dollars in my bank account?”

“Half a million dollars?” Dick says, momentarily distracted.  “I didn’t know they had that kind of cash.”  He ducks the swing of the sword and jabs up with the escrima and curses when all Slade does is shudder.  “You sure they could’ve paid you in the first place?”

Dick’s too close—too close for Deathstroke to swing that overcompensation he calls a sword, but also too close for Dick to dodge Slade’s retaliatory swipe.  It sends him crashing into the catwalk railing, stunned and breathless, and before he can get back up, his escrima are yanked from his grip and tossed to the floor below.

Slade’s in his personal space now, and fighting hand-to-hand against Deathstroke is never anything but a losing game.  Dick loses fast and hard, ending up bent over the railing, metal digging into his hipbones, hands twisted behind his back.

“You cost me a paycheck, kid,” Deathstroke growls.  Dick is shoved further over the railing, hanging in the void a solid thirty feet above the warehouse floor, and the only thing keeping him from falling is Deathstroke’s grip.

Dick swallows against the vertigo, faintly dizzy, heart beating fast and throat tight.  “I’ll make it up to you,” he manages, breathy from adrenaline and not by choice.

Deathstroke presses closer, until Dick can feel his weight layering on top of him, the precarious angle doing something to Dick’s head.  “Yes,” Slade says, low and dark and dangerous, “you will.”

Dick’s blood rushes south so fast he gets dizzy.  He’s suspended thirty feet off the ground, the warehouse is in chaos below them, Slade’s a heavy, present threat against his ass, and all Dick can think is no, not here, he wouldn’t.  He makes a sound closer to a whimper than he’d like.

The world spins inhumanely fast and when Dick can see again, vision blurry and breaths too fast, he’s standing on the catwalk.  Slade’s hands are on his shoulders.  “You okay?” the mercenary asks, voice gruffer and gentler than it had been a minute ago.

“‘M fine,” Dick says automatically.  “Just—got a little dizzy.”  No—that wasn’t what—Dick doesn’t know what did happen, only that he feels strangely off-kilter and Slade’s hovering isn’t helping.

Slade stays silent for a beat too long, clearly not buying it, his grip firm on Dick as he looks over the catwalk.

Dick is breathing hard—and abruptly aware that a certain part of him is aching.  He presses himself closer to Slade and breathes out, “You wanna take this somewhere more private?”

Slade keeps him at arm’s length and flicks his forehead.  “Fuck off, kid.  I need to go shake someone down for what money they will give me.  Get your ass out of here before you blow up something else.”

“Technically the explosion wasn’t my fault!” Dick calls after the retreating mercenary.  He feels like sulking and he doesn’t even know why.

~#~

He gets himself off when he gets home, once, twice, and a painful thrice.  He still feels unsatisfied.  Dick growls and does his best to block out the memory of Slade’s dark threat reverberating in his ears.

~#~

It can’t be the heights.  They’ve fucked on rooftops before, though admittedly never quite so close to the edge.  It can’t be the threat of being seen, there was once when they almost were caught and the situation had been more boner-killing than arousing.

It can’t be the roughness, Slade is plenty rough during sex and Dick has never felt like that.  That thrill that goes deep into his toes, like adrenaline pricking at every part of him, like Dick is freefalling without a net, half terrified and half excited and all gleeful—

Oh.

Oh.

Dick runs the situations back over in his head—Slade, forcing that kiss, and Dick pinned in place unable to fight it, and then Slade holding him down and insinuating what he wants while Dick hung helpless…

It’s the danger he wants.  The thrill and the fear.  Taking the world’s deadliest mercenary to bed isn’t enough, not when there’s a part of him that knows that if Slade truly wanted to ruin him, Dick wouldn’t be able to stop him.

The thought should not be making him hard.  It is.

Dick imagines the warehouse again.  Imagines Slade bending him over the railing, threatening to drop him, ripping the back of his suit open.  Imagines Slade shoving into him, hard and rough, with no thought or care for Dick’s pleasure.  Imagines his inability to move as Slade fucks him, cries ringing out, begging Slade to stop, please, while the mercenary just laughs—

Dick comes so hard his vision goes white.

He returns to himself, panting hard, staring up at the ceiling, hand wet and sticky.  Well.  That was his answer.

Fuck.

~#~

For a half-second Dick imagines trying to bring this up with Slade before violently shutting that thought down.  Nope.  He has no wish to see Slade’s reaction to that.

~#~

Even if labeling his desire has made him all the more desperate.

~#~ Even if Dick really really wants it.

[irisintheafterglow]

HAND THREE - TWO PAIR

summary: in a season where you're determined to fly under the radar, newly-returned crown prince!touya todoroki has other ideas. in this hand, a date is had.

wc: 2.5k

cw/tags: royalty!au/regency!au, fem!reader, some swearing, banter and dialogue driven, fake dating, pining and tension, todoroki enji jumpscare LOL

note: the two wolves living inside me is one wanting to rush the hell out of slow burn and the other telling me to make it painfully slow. however, i broke a little and made the pining a little obvious in this chapter oops. one day i will achieve the emotional release of s2 bridgerton bee sting scene. hope you enjoy !!!!

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

“Show.” 

“You first.”

“I’m royalty.”

“And I have the higher stack. Now, show,” you repeat and he scoffs, the corner of his mouth tugging upward and creasing the deep purple scars on his cheek. He turns his two cards face-up and, sure enough, you’d snatched another victory from the self-proclaimed Prince of Calculation. “I win again,” you smile and he begrudgingly pushes the pot to your side of the table, an amalgamation of garden pebbles, stray buttons, and a few gold coins you managed to produce. You were using whatever you had to gamble and the prince didn’t seem to mind. Touya, you remind yourself. You were supposed to call him by his first name throughout this whole charade, but it seemed as foreign on your tongue as a protruding third set of teeth. 

“You’re a much more dangerous woman than you give yourself credit for,” he muses with a clever glint in his eyes. Over the course of the last month or so, you’d accumulated an immunity to his unwavering stares and scalding eyes; lately, it actually seemed you found a certain affinity for his intense nature, even when you were its only target. His sweetly poisonous words were the latest test to your composure. “If we dressed you as a man for the night, we could relieve an entire club of their purses before the clock strikes ten.” His pretty fingers dealt another two cards and you peeked at them from the bottom of your vision. Queen of hearts and two of clubs. Not the best hand. 

“Hmm. How much of the pot would you use to bail me out for invading said club?” You lay out the first three cards, the flop, and flip the first over before betting a conservative amount. Four of diamonds. 

“Who ever said anything about bail? I’d just sneak you out. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time,” he answers, calling your bet, and you can’t tell if he’s kidding. It was another piece you were still trying to solve of the puzzle that was the prince of the Todoroki family, how he joked so casually about breaking laws and dodging authority. The nonchalance of his recklessness made your stomach turn, sometimes, but you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or intrigue. You flip the second card of the flop. Two of hearts. A pair, if all else failed. You just had to hope he didn’t have anything either. 

“For a royal, you seem to know a concerning amount about rule breaking. Do you have any intent to corrupt me?” 

“By the end of our courtship, possibly.” Jack of diamonds. Not what you were hoping for as the third card, by any means. A flash of excitement lights up behind your opponent’s eyes, too purposeful to be genuine. You mentally added his poker tells to the never-ending list of things to figure out about him, right under the number of crimes he’s committed against the government. Tossing in a few medium-value flower petals, you’re unsurprised when he matches your bet again. 

“Our courtship which, I’ll remind you, is causing quite the stir in the ton,” you point out while revealing the turn. Seven of hearts. You try not to let your disappointment in your current hand show on your face. The prince, you notice, looks like he’s trying a little too hard to contain his excitement. “You know, I suspect they might be rooting for us.”

“That’d be a new experience for me. Never received too much support in my endeavors before.” He places a high bet and you have no choice but to match it. If you were right about him lying, you would learn something new about his poker strategy; but, if you were wrong, you wouldn’t hear the end of it for the rest of the day. You flip the river and your heart stutters. Two of diamonds. You’re careful with your next bet, knowing that three of a kind wasn’t the best or worst hand you could create. The prince, however, pushes his entire hoard into the pot with a challenge in his eyes. He was trying to force you to fold. 

You match the bet and reveal your hand. 

Two pair versus three of a kind. The prince was bluffing, and you won again.

“At least this time, you’re not alone.” The admission is obvious but still catches both of you off-guard when you say it. You’re about to apologize for being too sentimental when that unreadable look passes over his face again, sudden as a lightning strike and gone just as quickly. 

“I guess you’re right,” he murmurs, relinquishing the remaining pot of knick-knacks to you. “Though I will say, having my ass handed to me in a card game was not a part of my plan.”

“A woman with intellect is never part of a man’s plan, yet she prevails all the same,” you conclude and he hums in agreement, collecting the remaining cards and slotting them back into their box. A concerning thought occurs to you and you glance around the secluded palace courtyard with new-found suspicion. His eyes follow your own, watching you keenly in a way that was both comforting and unsettling. 

“What is it?” 

“Will the servants not whisper about a woman playing a man’s game?” 

“They will whisper that you won, and that is what matters,” he states like a well-known fact. “Why? Is something bothering you about them?” 

“No, I’m just mulling over this whole arrangement again.” You wave him off dismissively and take another sip of lemonade from your teacup. A drink which, when you’d finally agreed to meet the prince at the palace for a day, he ordered presumably because you both shared a distaste for tea. “How odd it is and how people gossip so.”

“A lady beating the prince at poker is hardly a scandal compared to what transpired last week,” he recalls with terribly-hidden amusement, breaking off a piece of scone and smearing a glob of berry preserves onto it. “Wouldn’t you agree?” Your cheeks heat when you think of the memory and you snap your fan open to cool yourself and hide your burning face. It certainly wasn’t your proudest moment, to say the least. 

“Would you like me to retrieve a stick to keep your competition at bay?” You had jokingly asked, following his distracted gaze. It was your third ball of the season and your third public appearance with the prince; both you and your co-conspirator were forced to acknowledge the increasing number of interested suitors trying to pry you away. Dances, you found, were one of the few moments where other men weren’t climbing over each other for your attention. The only problem was being forced to share breathing space with him for an extended period of time. “Your Highness, why are you glaring like that?”

“I said to stop calling me that, and I’m not glaring,” he mumbled, very obviously glaring and avoiding your eyes. His hand stiffens around your waist, making your already-awkward distance from him more uncomfortable. It didn’t take long to notice that he was a fine dancer when he was with any other partner but you, and you figured it was because being in such close proximity was not part of your agreement. You raise a skeptical eyebrow, finally making him look at you when the silence indicates your displeasure. “Pay me no mind. I am only–”

“Moping like a kicked dog, that’s what you’re doing,” you interject and, in a blink, you’re back in another standoff with his intense stare.

“I don’t recall when you gained the right to comment on my behaviors so crassly.” Your eyebrows pinch, taken aback by his sudden hostility. His eyes were always burning, like embers in a fireplace, and it felt like the longer you looked at them, the less likely you’d be able to pull away. After a few moments of staring him down, you back off with a frustrated huff. You think you feel some of the tension leave him, too. 

“If we are to keep up this ruse in a believable manner, I suggest you confide in me from time to time, especially if it causes you to act in unfavorable ways,” you state simply, your irritation obvious. 

“You know nothing of my unfavorable ways.” The venom in his voice makes your heart sink, against your own judgment. His expression doesn’t soften, but his voice does. “Trust me. It’s not your burden to bear,” he says in a low tone and goosebumps spread across your arms, despite the fabric of your gloves and the sleeves of your dress. He meets your eyes and you could have sworn his gaze flickers to the neckline of your gown, but the action, like so many of his movements, is too quick to comment on. “So, let’s keep to our sides of the street, shall we?” 

“You’re insufferable,” you hiss, letting your politely smiling face slip as the strings conclude the dance. “Enjoy the rest of the evening. I feel a bit faint.” The muscles in his jaw clenches and you turn on your heel to beeline for an exit when a strong hand grabs you by the wrist and pulls you backward. Before you can register where you’re moving, your hand is placed firmly on his forearm and you’re a split-second from slapping him when–

“Touya.” Shit. With a blank mind, you remember to curtsy from pure muscle memory, dipping deeply toward the ground while the prince bends at the waist.

“Good evening, Father.” Touya’s voice becomes empty, devoid of all sarcasm, teasing, and charm. A glance at his face tells the same tale, blank and emotionless. The only indication of his true thoughts came the slight shake in his arm and how he unconsciously tugged you closer and closer to his side. You let yourself be pulled in and your free hand moved on its own, coming to rest on top of his and running your thumb over his knuckles. He exhales shakily. “Father, this is–”

“I know who you are,” he says before you could be properly introduced, making your nostrils flare. The man besides you bristles and you wonder how such a hard-faced, stoic man could make such a reckless and carefree son. You’d never seen King Todoroki except in victory parades and newsprints of his alliance with King All Might, but you could recognize the family’s flaming eyes from miles away. You decided that, no matter how irritating the prince was, his father was lower on your ranking of the Todoroki royals. “Should you marry, are you aware of the responsibility of being the wife of a king?” 

“I believe she is called a queen, Your Majesty,” you hear yourself say before you can stop yourself. From beside you, the prince makes a noise somewhere between a choke and a snort, and you direct your attention to the floorboards in hopes of surviving the king’s scathing reply. Despite the chatter of the party around you, it feels like your words were echoing off the gilded ceilings. The reprimand, however, never comes. The king turns back to his son with a look of suppressed wrath before turning and stalking away, a crowd of nobles crowing for his attention. 

“I can’t believe you just did that,” he whispers in disbelief as he hurriedly guides you out of the hall and into one of the manor’s gardens, still within sight of nosy mothers but out of their earshot. Your hand hasn’t left his arm, nor has he tried to pry it off. If anything, you click into his side like a missing puzzle piece, and you’re confusingly reluctant to let go. “That was the worst possible way you could have answered that question,” the prince continues and your stomach turns. 

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” you reply with poorly masked shame, lowering your head and letting him walk ahead. Your hand detaches from his arm and you’re struck by the sudden lack of warmth. He turns sharply to look at you, looks back at his empty arm, and then back at you before closing the few feet between you. His eyes were burning into you again but he said nothing, watching you watch the blades of grass surrounding your shoes. Your voice is as quiet as the swaying summer wind. “If I have jeopardized our plan, I understand if you–”

“Stop,” he commands, and it takes a moment to register his gloved fingers under your chin, gently but firmly tilting your head to look at him. Your eyes trace the jagged lines of where his skin meets his scars and the world around you quiets. “I am…the opposite of angry with your actions.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not an easy task, talking back to my father. Yet, you performed it as easily as breathing,” he explains with a soft awe in his expression that made your breath catch in your chest. 

“I guess I’ve had good practice, countering your arguments for the better half of the summer,” you agree hesitantly. What the hell was this feeling? For whatever reason, the world around you temporarily faded to static noise and blurred paintings, with the only decipherable images being the man in front of you. “So, you’re not unhappy with my behavior around your father?”

“I have never been prouder to be seen with you,” he reassures you and you finally crack a smile, his hand leaving your face and his feet stepping back to a respectful distance. “On another note, can you recall what we were arguing about before we were interrupted?”

“I can’t, unfortunately. I believe I was about to leave you alone on the dance floor to mingle with other suitors,” you joke and, though his expression remains relaxed, his eyes darken subtly. 

“I wouldn’t let them so much as breathe in your direction,” he declares, your breath becoming stuck in your lungs again. “Plus, you were saying that you required a stick to fight them off.”

“I did not say I required a stick,” you counter, lightheartedly bumping your shoulder against his while you make your way back into the manor. He merely smiles, a rare, genuine smile. “Though, I would like to apologize for my brash observations.” 

“You are forgiven.”

“Thank you,” you exhale, following him to the refreshments table.

“And…”

“Nevermind,” you backtrack, but he continues nonetheless.

“As reparation for insinuating that I act like an abused animal–”

“Which you do,” you retort quietly and he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Next week, you will accompany me in receiving a visiting ally prince,” he says. “As it would be dreadfully boring to do alone and you, thankfully, bruised my ego, I will be dragging you with me on his guided tour of the kingdom’s market district.” 

“Must I really attend?”

“Who’s acting like the kicked dog now?” He smirks and you have no choice but to go along with his plan. Now, after several rounds of beating his royal ass in poker, it was time for you to leave and prepare for the social night between the Takami and Todoroki kingdoms. 

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[itgirl-cad]

I kept seeing tiktoks about an AU where the characters are actors and what their blooper reel would look like… so I made a lil fic from the idea :) lmk if I should make this a mini series cuz I have so many ideas!!

Valentino was sitting on his couch, waiting for the scene to start. It had been 5 takes deep into the first few lines of his scene and he had to continuously restart. As soon as they had the greenlight, they started the scene. He sat up with rage.

“Fuckin’ finally!” He smashes the sugar glass cup he was holding right on the floor. He finally managed to hit it on the spike they put on the floor. “Kitty, another drink!” One camera followed the extra Valentino was interacting with, the other stayed focused on his close up.

“Can you believe what that piece of shit did?” He held out his hand without moving his head to look. The extra placed it in his hand but Val got a bit too into character and moved too quickly. The drink hit his hand and was tossed onto the ground below. “Hijo de perra!” Val swore as he picked the prop up and sighed.

Vox chuckled from the other side of the room “This scene is never gonna end.”

Take 6.

“Can you believe what that piece of shit did? The ungrateful whore!” He yelled and fake threw the glass. Vox had to laugh. He was trying to stifle it but it ended up bursting out of him. “I’m sorry but you look so stupid.”

Val rolled his eyes, “You try fake throwing something.”

It was take one of Lucifer and Alastor having their first scene together. They have had the most success with their lack of mistakes. Charlie was watching them, almost in awe when she heard her cue line and made her way towards her father as he turned to speak to her in an unimpressed tone.

“Who is this? Are you the bellhop?” He gestured his cane over to the taller man.

Alastor let out the most perfect fake and sarcastic laugh ever. He really did amazing with sarcastic roles. “No! I am the host of this hotel! You might have heard of me from my radio broadcast.” He leans on his cane, slightly bending down to his level, just even to make a point.

“Hmm. nope! I guess that’s why Charlie called it the HAZBIN hotel hahaha-”

“Ha ha ha…” His last ha dragged out for a bit then the radio effect was gone from his voice, “What the fuck’s my line?” He asked and started to chuckle.

Charlie let out a laugh as the crew told him his line.

“I do apologize, your performance was rather captivating.” Alastor adjusted his tie and his ears moved a bit. He was getting a bit frustrated working with Lucifer. Usually he makes no mistakes.

They ran the scene again.

Hmm. nope! I guess that’s why Charlie called it the HAZBIN hotel hahaha-”

His laughing got cut off by Alastors fake bullshit retort “Ha ha ha. It was actually my idea.” nHe looked at his nails like a sassy ‘mean girls’ like character.

Lucifer’s eyes got more bloodshot as his laugh got more insane and his dialogue speed up “Haha well it’s not very clever-”

Ha HA…” Alastor got down to lucifer’s level and up in his business “Fuck you”

Charlie got in between the two of them “Anyways.. Dad, look at this lovely parlor!” She dragged him away to carry on the scene.

Alastor appeared behind them as Charlie spoke his name. He never missed a cue. He made his way over to her, minding the spot on the floor that is spiked with red tape, for him. “Charlie has a very unique vision. I am happy to fulfill her bizarre requests.” He rests a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, thank you, Alastor.” She smiles sweetly and places her hand on his. Lucifer was fuming. Alastor looked back over to his face and his shit eating grin got bigger.

“Quite an impressive young lady,” He placed a hand on her chin. Charlie decided to be a prankster and gave him a kissy face and puckered her lips. Alastor, not expecting such an action, drops his hand from her chin and the radio static picks up. Charlie roared out with laughter, Lucifer following suit.

“Al! Your fucking face!” She had tears in her eyes.

“You traumatized him!” Lucifer was having too much fun with this.

Alastor just looks right into the camera with a traumatized smile and pained eyes. The director yelled cut and Alastor’s smile immediately drops. He frowns and his radio effect is gone from his voice.

“Awh no he's frowning!” Charlie felt kinda bad, but it was a funny prank.

“It was worth it.” Lucifer gave her a high-five.

In the recording studio, Vox was recording his lines for “stayed gone” alongside Alastor. They both had their scripts in front of them and stood in front of microphones.

Vox started his lines “Top of the hour, and we're discussing a certain has-been Who has been spotted cavorting around town After a seven-year absence. Did anybody miss him? Did anybody notice? More on tonight's program So, the Radio Demon is- holy fuck I talk a lot..” He exclaimed, running out of breath.

Alastor chuckled, “I have been telling you that.”

“Oh literally go fuck yourself” He rolled his eyes and started from ‘top of the hour’ once again

They tried different callouts between the lines to see what would fit best. Most of it was improv because Vox couldn’t remember the actual script. He was too engaged with yelling at alastor and looking at the cocky son of a bitch in the booth beside him.

“Yes, I know it's been a while Since someone with style treated Hell to a broadcast Sinners, rejoice!”

“What a stupid voice!” Vox yelled. Vox just did a string of those, looping Alastor’s track so he did have to repetitively sing the same cue line. “Such an irritating voice!” “What a lousy voice!” He could’ve gone all day long if the sound director let him. All those shower conversations had prepared him.

“Instead of a clout-chasing mediocre video podcast” Alastor sang and let Vox have multiple retorts

“Come on.. No, that one is so boring. Lemme try again” Vox sighs and thinks of better retorts, “Oh piss off!” “Excuse me?” “up yours!”

“Is Vox insecure, pursuing allure? Flitting between this fad and that, is nothing working?”

“Ignore his chirping!”

To be honest, Vox could have written a disstrack.

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒂 9948 𝒆 — 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓 𝒌𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒆◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ “ooo so clever, but can you outsmart the trickster hmm ? ” ꒱

. ˚◞꒰ verse ꒱ 9948e

. ˚◞꒰ face claim refs ꒱

. ˚◞꒰ species ꒱ kitsune

. ˚◞꒰ ethnicity ꒱ japanese

. ˚◞꒰ age ꒱ 23 . . . ?

. ˚◞꒰ gender ꒱ genderfluid

. ˚◞꒰ mbti ꒱ enfp

. ˚◞꒰ aliases ꒱ sakura shi ( 桜死 ) , the lunatic, the laughing fox, the pink fox

. ˚◞꒰ appearance ꒱

𖹭. takara has long, straight pink hair that extends down to her lower back flowing beautifully as they move. and often in male form they tend to tie their hair in a high ponytail. their bangs styled to accentuate the masculine look.

𖹭. and oh. . . those pink eyes with slitted pupils that constrict when they get excited, flickering about when they see something they like, when the sun hits them. they become even more vibrant than they already are.

𖹭. and on the top of their head, we see a pair of pink fox ears that match the color of their hair, while further down their body, we see a long, fluffy fox tail with a white tip.

𖹭. they have slightly tanned skin and stands at a height of 6’2” ( 187.96 cm ) with a lean and fit build developed from their running and acrobatics.

𖹭. and when they open their mouth to speak, you see sharp pair of canines in her upper front and lower front rows.

𖹭. her nails, she keeps sharp, and claw-like, most often the tips of them are painted pink

𖹭. with the lick of her tongue across her lips, one may catch glimpse of the silver midline tongue piercing

𖹭. and as for her left brow, she dorns it with a silver vertical brow piercing

𖹭. scattered across her ears are piercings with small trinkets hanging from them, from silver and pink pendants to small tassels

𖹭. most often dresses in their culture’s traditional clothing, styling them with modern, cyberpunk twists to them from time to time.

𖹭. becomes increasingly more fox-like and monstrous the more feral they get. with black sclera, rows of sharp teeth and claws showing. even their facial features morph into the slight fox-like ones

𖹭. sometimes wears a half mask, covering the bottom of their face to leave enemies interpeting whether they are grinning or scowling as they slash them into pieces

 

. ˚◞꒰ personality ꒱

𖹭. always searching for fun and chaos. absolutely detests boredom and is always looking for something new to indulge in

𖹭. doesn’t take many people seriously. has quite the love for riling people up and seeing how they tick

𖹭. has quite the love for humour and is always looking for a good laugh. has quite the humour themselves. also pairs in well with their mischievousness

𖹭. might come of as very oblivious to the world around them - almost as though they don’t fit in the world around them

𖹭. in actuality, is extremely cunning and calculative. hides it with the chaos inducing attitude and ‘obliviousness’. a very sly person

𖹭. doesn’t have a short temper in the slightest but loves when someone actually manages to get on their nerves

𖹭. can be quite sadistic. they enjoy playing around with their prey

𖹭. has quite the bloodlust. along with violent nogitsune urges - those of which they get out through their mercenary work

 

. ˚◞꒰ with a lover ꒱

𖹭. very physically affectionate. always has to be touching or holding you in some way. will hang off of you in any way that they can, whining if you do not return their affection or they feel that you are ignoring them

𖹭. one of their main love languages is displayed through food. they have a love for cooking and sometimes cook little treats and meals for you

𖹭. can get quite jealous of those around you, which can very quickly bleed into possessiveness. they are a borderline yandere and do not take kindly to people trying to ‘steal you away’ from them

𖹭. on that note, absolutely loves marking you up. they have a bit of biting problem and always have to be latching their teeth onto you in some way, shape or form

𖹭. teases you so much. they love getting reactions out of you and riling you up in any way that they can - but are surprisingly sensible to what limits they shouldn’t cross. the last thing they want to do is genuinely upset you

𖹭. enjoy taking you to their treehouse and hiding you away for a bit. . . foxes do have the trait of hiding the things most precious to them after all

𖹭. loves lazy morning with you where the both of you can just stay in bed for a few hours and just cuddle. they sometimes end up smothering you with so much love and affection and kisses and -

𖹭. going on walks with you is another thing that they quite enjoy. especially late night walks

𖹭. will take you to visit the spirit realm so that they can get up to all sorts of shenanigans with you, but will keep you at their side at all times - of course

𖹭. can be quite protective over you other than the possessiveness. if someone hurts you in any way, shape, or form - it gets ugly

 

. ˚◞꒰ strengths ꒱

𖹭. kitsunebi: otherwise known as ‘fox fire’. the ability to summon and utilise a type of fire unique to kitsune. is also able to communicate with their fox fire as one would a familiar

𖹭. shape shifting: the ability to take on the appearance of any being they have come in contact with

𖹭. spirit magic: otherwise known as trickster magic. an ability that derives from the spirit realm and allows a user to cast all sorts of whimsical and wacky spells; such as illusions

𖹭. possession: the ability to enter and possess living creature’s bodies

𖹭. enhances senses and physique: night vision, sixth sense, enhances senses, enhanced bodily function

𖹭. quick wit: naturally quick witted

𖹭. combat: highly skilled in martial arts and combat

𖹭. weaponry: is knowledgeable on numerous weaponry combat

 

. ˚◞꒰ weaknesses ꒱

𖹭. dogs: kitsune are naturally very afraid of dogs and tend to get scared off by them, takara is no exception

𖹭. tails: if a kitsune’s tails are cut off, the kitsune will undergo a slow and painful death

𖹭. cultivators: nogitsune can be banished back to the spirit realm by cultivators and are affected heavily by their purification spells

𖹭. nogitsune traits: tends to be affected by nogitsune’s natural crave for violence, which might result in them becoming erratic, manic or bloodthirsty. they tend to try and get these urges out through mercenary work though

 

. ˚◞꒰ relationships ꒱

𖹭. zhào yìzé: boyfriend, work partner

𖹭. yuè mèng yáo: Has adopted Mèng Yáo as her motherly figure in law, really fond of her.

𖹭. zhào mùchén: despises him.

𖹭. zhào jìngyí: another bestie, gets weird looks when she talks to him

𖹭. zhào hàoyŭ: friend

𖹭. zhào hǎitāo: best friend

𖹭. zhào xīyáng: accquainted

𖹭. zhào yŭ xī: good friend, bullies them.

𖹭. rasui: boss, the fatherly figure that stepped up for her and other depressed mercenaries

𖹭. takeya: really bad terms.

 

. ˚◞꒰ story ꒱

chaos flowing through their veins. a violent taste at the tip of their tongue and a bite for danger — the kitsune himself, shimada takara.

the journey to stray from boredom is never ending for this individual, who finds themselves stationed in the circle of veils mercenary syndicate. masking her nogitsune nature and getting her violent urges out with each strike of her tachi.

a wild soul always finding something to grin or tease about. the visage of obliviousness often overshadows his true passion — seeing what makes people tick.

while she is not easily angered by people, she certainly loves when some manage to do just that.

 

. ˚◞꒰ extra ꒱

𖹭. she works as a mercenary for the circle of veils and the thorn syndicate

𖹭. switches between genders frequently

𖹭. one of their bestest friends is yìzé’s pet snake - mr. squiggles.

𖹭. not particularly fond of dogs

𖹭. absolutely loves katsudon

𖹭. she cooks a lot and has a passion for it

𖹭. one of her favourite hobbies is bothering yìzé

𖹭. tries to hide the things most important to her

𖹭. likes giving gifts to the people they appreciate

[riddles-n-games]

Friends Don't Kiss Like That

A/N: Hello friends! Here it is, the long awaited fake dating fic I've teased since March. I'm so sorry for the wait, this fic took too long to truly develop in my head and while I had fun, I'm mad I didn't get it out sooner. Enjoy!

“-and then?”

“And the-what do you think I did, Mystery Girl?” He eyed her smugly, the bastard, and tapped the side of his head. “Hmm? Use that smart brain of yours.” 

“...Jamie.” There was warning in her voice. Her patience would not be tested today; Xander’s experiment in robotics club already did that. But Jameson’s eyes were alight with mischief and there were the beginnings of a smirk playing at his lips.

“Then… I told her off.” 

Avery frowned at him, giving a look. The look; Alisa taught her well. It did the job and the younger Hawthornes were secretly afraid at how frighteningly accurate it was. As though it was Alisa herself. “No, you didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t.” 

“...”

“Jameson! Seriously, tell me you didn’t.” She looked at him shocked, hand on his shoulder as he shook his head with an amused huff.  “Jamie, I’m being serious here!” She swatted at his chest. The boy was asking for it and trouble was the only call he always answered. Apart from hers, of course. And his brothers, too, but that was a given. 

He laughed. “Ok, ok, MG. I didn’t do it… or did I?” 

Avery stopped beside him, crossing her arms and sighing exasperatedly as she waited for his laughter to subside. A moment later, he stopped and looked at her, grinning cheekily. For some reason, her mouth went a bit dry. It was unfair how infuriatingly handsome he looked. Wait, where is this goi-

“Turvy, you okay? Aves?” Nicknames; his way of coaxing her out of her thoughts and in rarer cases, expressing his concern. She blinked out of her trance and smiled at him.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” She watched as his semi-concerned expression morphed into a playful smirk again. Ever the chaotic chameleon.

“Hold on. Are you checking me out? After all this time, the moment has come. I finally meet the standards of Miss Not A Chance to get a look over. My day is made.” Rolling her eyes as he let out another lighthearted laugh, she put a hand on his arm and pulled. 

“Come on, let’s go. Let me walk you to your next class before you take another wrong turn to a stairwell that conveniently leads to the roof. Actually, you haven’t even gotten your textbook yet so let’s head to your locker first which just so happens to be on our way.”

But as she took a step, he tugged right back and twirled her into him. He leaned in close, whispering, “It’s okay, Heiress. I don’t mind. I know I’m good looking and that leaves some girls flustered.” It was in the silence that followed that she knew with certainty he had a shit-eating grin spreading slow and steady across his face, thinking himself so clever. Instead of rolling her eyes like she usually did, she shivered, feeling very affected for some reason. Her heart beat faster at the subconscious reaction. 

When he moved back, the sudden tension in the air broke and she could breathe again, taking a quick look around the hall. Thankfully, there weren’t that many students, just a few closing up their lockers and making their way to their next classes.  

She knew they were technically fake dating but their deal was still fairly recent and they hadn’t come out in public yet as a couple. Maybe she was used to his proximity since they were good friends but this was new. They displayed physical affection for each other, especially him as it was his love language, but this felt intimate and different. Avery wasn’t quite sure what to make of it and why the sudden effect he had on her. 

She shook her head and then looked at him, punching him playfully in the shoulder. “Nice try, Hawthorne, but that’s not happening.” 

He shrugged. “Worth a shot.” This time she did roll her eyes and pointed to his locker. “You, physics textbook, now.” He groaned dramatically before approaching his locker, looking back at her forlornly with a slight pout as he opened and slowly dragged out the wretched book. But his eyes caught her attention. Despite the funny expression, his eyes held that intensity when he was wholly focused on something, usually a puzzle and this time, her. Trying to shake off the feeling, she looked up in response to his theatrics as he proceeded to close the door. 

It was a bit overwhelming, this new focus he had on her, something she picked up on since he started spending more time with her than ever before. He seemed to have a constant need to distract himself from the anger and pain that Emily caused him but it didn’t feel purely based on that. There was a shift. She noted how intently he paid attention to her post break up and in the moments when he thought she wouldn’t see, she saw the little smiles or the way he would just watch her contently as they worked on homework. And she knew that something had changed but only a little while ago did she start feeling the effects of it herself. Although it scared her, she didn’t find herself shying away from it either.

Not wanting to dwell on it anymore, Avery took hold of his arm as soon as he secured the lock and tugged. “Come on, let’s go.”

Jameson frowned at her, “You’re no fun, you know that?” 

She turned to him and smiled mischievously. “I know, that’s why you keep me around. If you haven’t known by now, I’m your unofficial handler. I’m just not paid for it although Grayson and Nash probably thank me for doing so. You and Xander.” 

“Oof, now you’re just not being fair. That’s playing dirty, Aves.” She shrugged her shoulders. “What can I say? I learned from the best.”

“I think they taught you a little too well,” he grumbled but Avery simply patted his hand and pulled him along. As they walked he started to mess with her a bit by pretending to struggle against her, pleading with her to go hang with him on the roof for a match of rooftop golfing. “I’ll even let you take the first two turns.” She snorted. They both knew she didn’t need a head start to beat him. When Avery Grambs had her mind set on something, the world was at her feet. 

This was them; jokes, teasing, nicknames with interesting back stories, light hearted jabs with meaning, comforting light touches, secret signals, deep talks late at night when no one would hear, solving puzzles and riddles no one else knew how to do, being so in tune with each other’s expressions… Avery loved it. It’s part of what kept her grounded in the past year. She drank in the moment, Jameson’s beaming face, her hands around his arm, the sound of her laughter. Yet she didn’t have enough time to revel in it because there was a storm coming their way.

A red hurricane was making her way down the hall towards them and Avery knew then, peace was lost. Jameson froze beside her at the sight.

Emily Laughlin; golden girl of Heights Country Day, darling of seemingly every gala in Texas, “the Hawthorne keeper”, and now, Jameson’s ex. In Avery’s mind, she was the Strawberry Menace that somehow managed to damper her mood every time she appeared. It was the equivalent of dropping one of Libby’s superior chocolate swirl cupcakes or finding the scone plate void of blueberry ones with only lemon-flavored leftovers in Xander’s wake. 

Avery had a motto in school; stay quiet and out of trouble but remain observant. Like anyone else, she knew the hierarchy set in secondary but after moving to Texas and enrolling at a private school, the differences between her old life and new one couldn’t have been more like day and night. The power dynamics of rich kids in a private school system were blown to new proportions as so many intricate details about one’s wealth, connections, and history seemed to play a role in status. This certainly had affected her introduction and integration but somehow she was still able to slip under the radar, at first.

And it was nice, taking back at least a piece of her old reality, and she relaxed, ready to be the quiet one in the corner again. In New Castle, she mostly kept to herself and never really liked drama which was why she tried to keep out of it. It wasn’t that she was shy but there just never seemed like anyone could be there for her in the way Max did, even with her halfway across the country. However, that wouldn’t be the case anymore, especially with the Hawthornes as regular company. 

They were all charming, witty, funny, adventurous, some more than others but none without their quirks. Yet, despite the wealth, their way of living, and larger than life characters, they all managed to work their way into her and Libby’s lives. And little by little they also managed to worm their way into Avery’s heart and they wouldn’t leave. She wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Although, there were downsides even to being friends with Hawthornes. Avery got along best with Xander and Jameson but that also meant where those two were, there was Emily and her posse. Until recently.

With Emily having been found out to be dating Jameson and his older brother Grayson at the same time with them both blissfully unaware, all hell had broken loose. The boys were affected badly; Gray had taken it the worst but Jameson was in a full blown fury. Out right he told her that he was breaking up with her and that if she were smart she would leave Grayson alone too. Avery had been very proud of him for that, taking up the mantle to protect him and his brother’s honor even though it was equally difficult for him. 

Of course, Emily did not take that message well and for the last two months she’d been trying to do whatever she could to make them come around. The audacity the girl had was astonishing and despite a tarnished reputation, she would still stoop so low; Avery may have despised her but marveled her tenacity. Sometimes she wished she had more of that herself. But Jameson had put his foot down and was holding it firmly in place which unfortunately meant that with every new attempt Emily became more unbearable. Like now.

As the Menace neared, Jameson hooked an arm around her and she felt him tracing two adjacent lines on her wrist then squeezing it. Over and over again. He was trying to tell her something. They started that a few months ago, before the breakup, as code for when there was a clue one of them found during Saturday games and didn’t want to alert the others to it. His brothers hadn’t caught onto that yet. As for this code, she knew the squeeze was reassurance as in “Don’t worry.” but the first part confused her. Was that an L, a V, or a check mar- Check mark; as in “All good.” He was telling her that he’s good and can handle it. 

Right as she finished that thought, he spoke up. “Hi Emily. What can we do for you today?” His tone was controlled, conversational, and his composure steady but Avery sensed the underlying unease. What he was really trying to say was, No, I can’t help you, leave me alone. And can you despawn from the map while you’re at it? 

“Jameson.” The Laughlin girl stopped a few meters from them, sounding hesitant and giving her best withered look. Avery would give her props for the effort but after being witness to this act more than a dozen times in the past two weeks, it was cumbersome. “Can we… talk?”

“Sure! The weather’s great today. Might take my new bike out for a spin on the track. Actually, the weather’s been treating us pretty well for the last while, right Aves?” 

She side-eyed him but nodded in agreement. “Yup.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed slightly at her but she kept her demeanor in place. “Actually, I was hoping we could do so in private?”

Jameson grinned wickedly. “No, we may not. But if you do have something worthwhile to say, you can say it in front of me and Avery.”

“I see… You’ve already moved on.” Her tone started to sound sour. “Yes, and we’re very happy, thank you very much. Is that all?” He’s having fun with this.

“I always thought you two were a little too close for my taste even when we were together. Guess I should’ve known this would happen eventually.” Playing the victim card… Nice.

“Well, yeah. We never made our friendship a secret. It was pretty out in the open from the start that we got off pretty well since she moved here. You know, the way we used to when we were friends, Em. Hmm? Remember that? But oh, that was before a certain nasty betrayal occurred on your part, might I add.” Now he was just taking it too far. Avery wondered if she would have to tame the flames soon but Jameson paid no heed as she subtly elbowed his side. Instead, he simply grabbed her arm and wove his fingers around hers. She tried not to show her surprise as her heart sped up again.

Emily growled, “I never meant for it to happen that way Jamie-” “Jameson.” “Right, Jameson. I was new to this and had feelings for both of you. Believe me, I was very conflicted about the whole thing so I-”

“So you just decided to date both of us in secret without the other knowing for six months while we poured out the best of us into farces of relationships and you stabbed us with a knife in the back in return for our goodness. Gotcha. Nice talk,” he nodded along while winking mockingly and Emily glared back. The tension was just getting worse and Avery sensed her time was coming. 

“No, I’m sorry that happened. It shouldn’t have happened that way at all. But it did, I recognize that was very wrong of me but I really was trying to settle on one of you; it’s just you’re both so great and I was lucky to have even just one of you paying attention to me.” Cue the tears, roll the credits; Avery was rolling her eyes internally. 

“I’m gonna call cut. A word of critique; bull. Shit. You are one of the most attractive girls in school, you know this, so don’t pull that with me. Second of all, didn’t you hear, love triangles especially with brothers aren’t in style anymore. Not since Damon and Stefan on Vampire Diaries. And much less cheaters at that. But you just find yourself the exception as you always do, don’t you Emily?”

She scoffed. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you. You were basically emotionally cheating on me with her. Don’t try to deny it. I saw it; the talks, the inside jokes, the fact she was invited to elusive Saturday games much sooner than I ever was, how she was always on your team, and your weird handshakes. You were so touchy feely with her.”

Jameson quirked an eyebrow. “You know, for someone who claims that she’s all-seeing, clearly you’re blind. I kept a very respectful distance with Avery throughout our relationship and only did those handshakes when we were in public after accomplishing an assignment or a puzzle. We teamed up a lot because you almost always wanted to be with Gray despite my protests. Oftentimes we also didn’t share the same time slots for classes although I wanted to be with you and because sometimes Avery was, I wanted to help her integrate. It was something that my grandfather and Nash asked me and Xan to do. Our talks-” he sighed. “Look, I can go on but you would just turn that on me when you’re the one at fault here. End of story.”

“Oh, so you're her mouthpiece now? Miss Quiet As A Mouse can’t speak for herself; cat got your tongue?” That last remark was directed at her. Jameson wanted to protest but she put a hand on his chest. She could handle it.

While Avery avoided Emily like the plague and did her best to be polite when she had no choice but to interact with her, she did not tolerate mean girls. She had a voice and she wasn’t about to let a discounted rip off Regina George ruin her day by having her run her mouth. Plus, she’s being a disgrace to the real one. Yes, Max made her watch some cult classics back in seventh grade and it was one of the films she actually enjoyed but she would never tell her that. 

“What Jameson just said is all true. Plus, I was getting the signals from you. Don’t think for a second that I missed a single of your dirty looks when we hung out in a group. I knew you considered them yours. But last I checked, I often declined his company and was more so with your sister, Xander, and still I preferred my sister most to all of you. I’m not one to stray from my zone that often and it was because of Mr. Hawthorne that the boys got so involved with me. You were just an unfortunate addition that couldn’t find harmony because of your jealousy. Rest assured, I wasn’t ever after your crown but I did care about them as a concerned friend.” There. That was her piece in the matter. 

Emily laughed brokenly, letting her very fake tears stream down her fair cheeks as she swiped at them in a manner of attempting to regain composure. It was laughable. “If you think like that Av-ery, then you’re the biggest convincing liar I’ve ever seen. You-”

“Choose your next words carefully. Because next time there won’t be any talking or pleasantries of any sort; we’ll walk right on by. And if I hear you’re harassing Avery, consider yourself on the receiving end of a restraining order.” Jameson’s words resounded in the hall as everyone around them was intently listening to the argument. Emily was always one for a show and while Jameson wasn’t one to care, he was aware that Avery was. It felt debilitating as she felt eyes on her but she tried not to pay attention as she was sort of privy to this already at major events when she was photographed with Xander at comps or charities as a special guest of the Hawthorne family.  Yet school felt like a different story because of how life worked with teenagers where everything was under even more scrutiny. 

“Fine!” she spat. “Just know I loved you but she most certainly doesn’t. She will never appreciate you the way I did and trust me that this is gonna be a short-lived relationship so when she leaves you high and dry, don’t come crawling back to me. All she’s gonna prove to be is a giant fake that wants you for your money; a filthy gold digger from dirt poor New Castle. A nobody! She and her sister!”  

Avery didn’t bat an eye. Although she felt anger flaring inside her at the jab at Libby, the most she did was send Emily a concentrated stare that dared her to say it again. However, it was her best friend that took that most to heart in the moment.

He wasn’t having it. His facial features were strained; mouth pursed in a grim line and long gone was the cool façade he kept up for the sake of fake pleasantry. She saw the telltale signs of irritation; clenched jaw, left eyebrow twitching ever so slightly, eyes glazed over with a steely edge and he was biting at his lips. His hands were balled into fists and his body was as taut as a bowstring, ready to strike out. He’s pissed. Avery couldn’t tell if the situation would escalate to the point it ended in a fight, if he was going to blow a fuse or just walk away. 

She’d be surprised if he didn’t put up some more arguing, though, as of late, there were quite a few instances where he simply left the scene. Maturity maybe, but this is still Jameson we’re talking about. 

And yet, what he did instead was something she never saw coming. He turned her way but before she could ask what was wrong or register what was happening, his lips were firmly against hers. He simply dove down and kissed her. Just like that. No words, no signal, no nothing. All she got was a moment to see his determined gaze turning on her, no prior warning, and then he was kissing the breath out of  her. 

Avery froze; her brain was shutting down and she didn’t know how to move her limbs. Jameson, thankfully, wasn’t phased and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Her body was still on autopilot but she knew her feet were shuffling forward and while it took a moment longer, she finally managed to react. 

Her hands found their way to his chest, grasping at the lapels of his blazer. She felt fuzzy, he was warm and solid against her and his cologne smelled nice and he was so good at this and… For what felt like a small eternity, he kissed her and she was started to relax. But as Avery was about to reciprocate, he pulled away just as quickly. Opening her eyes right after was a mistake because she was blindsided by the disorientated feeling overwhelming her. Is this the infamous Cloud 9? 

She was still clutching at the blazer, her grip having gone lax, and her other arm fell slack by her side. The only reason she realized she was still holding onto him was because he’d wrapped his hand around hers, squeezing it to give her reassurance but even that was over fast.  

“Come on, Avery.” When he said her name, the world came rushing in and subsequently, she became aware of everyone else, including Emily herself, gawking at them. Suddenly, she wasn’t so disoriented. Although she was still trying to recover from that surprise kiss, her mind was catching up and the underlying sense of embarrassment and horror were coming back in full force. If her cheeks weren’t flushed before, they were now as she was unable to look away from everyone surrounding her. But Jameson decided they weren’t sticking around. 

He grabbed her hand and tugged lightly, pulling her after him. She allowed herself a second more to linger on their audience before turning forward, focusing her eyes on the back of Jamie’s head. In her semi-dazed state, it was probably the better decision in favor of her standing there frozen with her mouth open and eyes widened like a confused fish. 

As Jameson dragged her away from the scene, away from Emily, the onlookers and the uncomfortable intensity of their stares that seemed to follow them down the hall, only then did reality wake her to the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. They were just friends… weren’t they? 

She was just being a good friend helping him out by agreeing to fake date him to get his ex-girlfriend off his back because she had simultaneously dated him and his brother and kept both their relationships a secret, right?

If so, then why did he have to go and kiss her like that? They’d agree to kissing, yes, but friends didn’t kiss that way. It felt more passionate than necessary, like there was something deeper he was trying to convey than just his frustration and fury. Admittedly, she did like the kiss just a little more than she expec-Wait, she wasn’t getting a crush on her friend, was she? 

Oh no. This wasn’t in the rules.

A/N: Thanks for reading. I will be announcing my next fic(s) for release very soon. Reminder, all my fics are also on AO3 for you to read if you prefer that platform under the pseudonym ThePuzzledWriter. Bye!

[chuckeroo777]

Dungeon Meshi Volume 6 Part 2

Continuing chapter 38! As always, spoilers ahoy!

I like how he compliments the picture of Falin. He hasn't even seen the Cerberus yet.

So, before I read Dungeon Meshi, I remember seeing lots of stuff on twitter and tumblr about it, but none of it really stuck in my memory. One thing did. The Chimera. This was the one big thing I was spoiled on. A cool-ass chimera that the elf was gay for. It may have been what finally got me to check it out. Good food? Cool monsters? Lesbians? Sounds good to me. And it was good!

But it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize who the chimera was. I didn't remember the chimera's name, so Falin didn't ring any bells. I should have caught on when Falin was resurrected with dragon flesh, but no. It literally took Thistle saying "Hey Dragon" for me to realize what the chimera was.

The only other spoiler of note was Izutsumi, who, as I mentioned, appeared in chapter 0. She totally blindsided me. I didn't suspect Asebi for a second. Kabru I am not.

Such a good group shot with lots of little characterization. Chilchuck and Mickbell arguing, Kuro fixing his armor, Holm mourning his Undine, Marcille isolated from the rest, Tade taking a nap. Good stuff.

Ah, trauma. Wait a sec. There. In the lower right corner. Did Kabru glimpse the demon itself?

Eh, close enough.

Honestly, I think this might be the one big plothole I've noticed. When Falin teleported them to the surface, they only had what they were holding. Like, they kept the essentials like Marcille's staff and book, and Chilchuck's picking tools, but their backpacks were left behind, right? Yet, once they are in front of the dungeon again, they have packs? Where did they get those? Weren't they broke?

This bit of foreshadowing was a lot more effective in the anime. How am I supposed to remember what everyone's gloves looked like?

Also, I just noticed that Marcille's hood goes on before we see her face in this chapter. So if you're just going off this chapter, you can't get a good read on her current hairstyle. Clever.

Let's go over the fakes character by character. The Laios fakes are kinda obvious, because even though Laios is good friends with all three of his companions, they have trouble understanding him. Thankfully, Laios has the thickest skin, so it doesn't really bother him too much. I also find it funny that Marcille's turns him into a lumbering hulk who epitomizes the differences from Falin, yet Senshi's is just butch Falin. Pretty sure I remember Senshi mentioning in his journal that Falin and Laios are basically the same person.

The Marcilles are a bit better. Senshi's is obviously a elven stereotype, but the other three are all quite close. Curiously, unlike most of the clones, Laio's Marcille emphasizes her good traits, her determination and loyalty to Falin, while most of the other clones emphasize negative or false traits.

Honestly, if not for the scarf, it probably would have been difficult to tell Laio's version from the real one. He's the only one who has a proper grasp on his maturity.

Senshi is easily the hardest to pick out. Senshi has yet to share his deeper secrets, and he is a pretty straightforward guy.

I like how the Chilchuck Marcille is the one to propose the method that outs herself.

An important image.

What the heck guys? My entire job is getting things open.

Hmm... looking it over, it doesn't look to be consistent, but I almost thought for a sec that the fake Marcille has pointier ears. I dunno. Maybe it's just the calmer demeanor, but Marcille A does seem more elf-like than Marcille B. Then again, I'm not sure if Laios ever met an elf before Marcille, so he wouldn't have a baseline.

It's actually soba, if anyone cares.

See, what you want to do here is have all the Senshis take their helmets off. Laio's would be the only one with eyebrows.

And hey! When he later runs into a monster disguised as Marcille, he sees through it almost immediately!

Chilchuck is correct.

Marcille has one line she won't cross. With a long list of stipulations that will make her cross. Like starvation. Or ignorance. Or eating her girlfriend.

The proper term is Black Mage, and that just means I'm good at fireball.

The heck were the gnomes using this for?

The real moral of the story. Marcille is infallible, so you should listen to her.

I think the funniest (and saddest) part of Izutsumi's story is that she has it all wrong. She isn't a person possessed by a cat, she's a cat possessed by a person. She's been conditioned all her life to think the cat part of her is unnatural, when in reality it's her true self. Try to separate the halves, and you'd end up with a braindead tall-man and a very disappointed kitty.

It took two read-throughs, the anime, and two more read-throughs, but I finally can remember how to pronounce/spell your name.

It's kinda sad that as far as I can remember, this one line is the only bit of characterization we get for the Touden mom.

I remember finding this panel odd on my second read. The chimera didn't look right. Turns out this nerd continuously updated it throughout the adventure. Anyway, want to see another of my creatures?

All the best monsters have grenade launchers on their tail.

Oh my god. Even as a child she's still wearing that dang choker 24/7. Her mother also has one. I wonder if it has any significance?

And no lesson was learned by anyone ever.

We'll finish up chapter 42 and the misc monster tales next post!

[sorcerous-caress]

Lorroakan general and smut headcanons

[Smut, angst, fluff, dark content, unhealthy toxic relationship, humiliation kink, dacryphilia , public displays, bottom sub!reader, nb!reader]

General headcanons

"He would seek the power of gods for the pettiest of reasons - his own gratification"

His eloquent mannerism, the pride he holds himself up with, the power and gold dripping from the tips of his trimmed and soft fingertips.

Lorroakan has many charms, more than the rest of the city would care to admit.

For his gleeful sadism did overshadow all of them without any effort.

You knew him very well, have lived with him for very long.

And his affinity for overextending his power on all of those weaker than him desensitized you with time.

Of course he banished another person to an unknown realm of horrors because they've brewed him the wrong kind of tea, nothing he does really phases you anymore.

You've tried talking sense to him before, countless times.

Hours upon hours of ranting, of explaining basic human empathy to him all went down the drain.

He just sat there with a bored look on his face in front of you, cheek resting against his hand as he sipped on his cup of tea, the correct kind this time.

By the end, he'd give you this faux sympathetic look, a mocking pout of guilt on his pretty shiny lips as he expresses his apologies for you getting offended over his actions, with zero sincerity.

Getting up from his chair, walking across to you as he cups your face in his hand.

Coos at you for being so good-hearted, for always steering him in the right direction, that's why he keeps you around after all, isn't it?

Condescension dripping from his tongue and coating his words, calling you precious.

"Now my dearest, since you're done with your little tantrum, how about we go do something actually useful, hmm?"

My dear, my dearest, my jewel, my pet, all of those are his favourite endearing nicknames for you.

You should be infuriated, but it's very hard to stay mad at him.

He rarely yells, even his sharp insults are delivered in the softest and most feathery of tones.

His lingering touches with a gentle manner, a proper arm around your waist, or guiding your own arm to wrap around his back.

The way he lifts your chin to direct your face towards him instead of whatever or whoever you were paying attention to.

The amount of efforts he puts into his appearance for you, styling his clothes and adjusting them to fit your taste.

Paying attention whenever your eyes wander and taunting you for it as he sits you down, clicking his tongue at your behaviour.

He's not mad, he tells you in the softest of tones, a smile curling on his face.

He just wants to know what made you look at the trash? It's a very puzzling action you see.

Makes you confess, either willingly or he ends up tricking you into it.

Despite his reputation amongst the academia, he is one of the smartest and most clever people you've ever met.

All it takes is a single slip of the tongue from someone for him to reconstruct and solve the puzzle, the way his conclusions are scarily accurate and fast.

Most people forget that quite often, how sharp his mind can be, how there is a reason none managed to trick him or backstab him yet despite his inflated ego.

So be a doll and tell him what you saw in someone else that he doesn't have?

Hmmm their clothes? Oh dear, that's a very simple matter, he can wear whatever you want if it will make you happy.

But please do use your words next time, alright? Jog your brain a bit. He knows it must be very hard for you, but he believes in you.

True to his words, there is a shipment the next day and you see him wearing the same outift that caught your attention before.

Doesn't matter if it's an overexposed skin-tight short robe with a gold collar where multiple smaller golden chains dangle to reattach to the dress below.

Or a very elegant suit with a long tail, tailored embroidery on the chest, back, and even pants. Gems embedded within the design as his long firey hair sits on top of his shoulders.

He makes everything he wears look absolutely breathtaking, he knows how much of an effect his looks have on you and he plays his cards very well.

He's not blind. He is aware you've been putting up with a lot of his...less than ideal sides. And he can't really bother to change them since he doesn't want to.

Then he just has to make leaving the more painful to you, make it the clearly losing choice.

By putting down all the other competition to lift himself up, by exposing you to all the other wizards' dirty laundry so his sins would pale in comparison.

He always believed he was meant for greatness, that his sole purpose is to sit on the lap of luxury and be handed infinity on a silver plate.

He was unsatisfied with his life. The span age of a human was too short for his liking. Even then, he knew no mortal could really master magic, learn all there is to learn and memorise all the spells with the clock of life annoyingly ticking nearby.

That once he achieves all these things, he can finally relax and focus on his actual passions. On you.

Another reason for his isolation from the usual wizard society, is his lack of affinity for Mystra. He never really cared for her, even back in his student days.

That's when the two of you met really, he was way less insufferable than he is now.

A time back when those green eyes looked at you with adoration, curiosity, pure intentioned and still unseduced by the lust for power.

When his shoulder-length hair would sway in the wind on the long walks the two of you took. His younger self had a clear love for exploration, traversing the unkown, even when that unkown was the public park behind the academy.

He never wants to step out of his great tower these days, and he never saw a reason to do so. Everything you could ever want could be delivered to you here so there is no reason to go on dates outside or visit a restaurant or a shop.

You remember those early memories of your relationship very clearly.

That night when he asked you to the dance. The way he actually stammered over his words, back when your rejection was a real fear of his.

The two of you never dance nowadays, not anymore.

And now he knows you have nowhere else to go, no one else to choose but him, no one to meet your standards or spoil you rotten like he does.

But sometimes, during a fleeting moment or two, you catch a glimpse of the innocent boy you used to know, used to be in love with.

When one of your awful jokes gets a chuckle out of him, his cute snort laugh that you rarely hear these days.

Those fake smiles replaced most of them afterall.

Or when it's the early morning, and the two of you are laying in bed at the highest room in the tower.

Balcony open with a beautiful view of the sun rising upon the still sleepy city. The ocean is nearby with its waves crashing against the shore.

And your beloved has his head on your chest, your fingers running through his hair.

As the sunrays make their way into the tower, and reflect so beautifully against his hair, shining against every mole on his face that you loved to count.

How he reluctantly opens his eyes, a sleepy look in them.

You think, he doesn't look half bad.

He lets you brush his hair, something he always loved you doing. And likewise you're careful and gentle with it.

And just like that, the moment is gone as he suddenly glares at the cup of tea he has been served. Not enough sugar, he mutters under his breath as he snaps his finger to summon the one responsible for this great offence against him.

They say hair holds memories, the ends of the strands you're twirling between your two fingers are the same ones you fell in love with, many summers ago.

-

Smut headcanons

The way he feels entitled to your time, love, attention and body

No matter what you're doing, no matter who you're with. He will always come first.

In bed too, he usually cums first.

Holds your tongue between his fingers when he wants to shut you up.

Humiliation is a big turn on for him, making you suck his fingers even if someone else was in the room, knowing they wouldn't dare and utter a word.

Mocking you by repeating your needy words back at you.

"Oh is this embarrassing? You poor thing, you're embarrassed?"

"It's too much? My fingers are too much down your throat? I know I know shush."

Same thing in bed when he's so deep inside you, when you're crying out in pleasure and babbling incoherently.

He makes you say the most embarrassing of things.

Go on, tell him how much you love his cock, how much you can't cum your little pretty brains out without being filled to the brim with his dick.

Do you want him to count down for you? Count down until you get permission to cum?

When he reaches 3 or 2, he begins counting back up.

"3...2..hmm you're close? 4....5...6- what's that? Why are you crying? Oh my dear you know you can't cum without my permission, you'll just have to try harder."

One time before you left the upper floors of the tower to go down and help with the store or run errands in the city, he pulled you to the side, gave you the sweetest kiss ever that had you melting into his arms.

Then he pulled your pants down, lowering your underwear just enough so his throbbing cock gets to spill all of his cum inside of it.

Completely filling your underwear and swallowing down all of your complaints with his lips.

After he's finished, he pulled them back up for you with a quick kiss on your forehead and told you to hurry and leave.

You spent the entire time with his cum soaking through your underwear in public. Feeling it rub against your heat and stick to your skin.

By the time you came back, he was in such a good mood.

You feel humiliated and dirty as you cling to him, he wipes the tears from your face with a smile. Continuing to taunt you with his words.

Praising you for being such a good slut in public for him, wondering if you managed to cum on your own between all of those people just from that.

Or did you stop in a bathroom or alleyway and use your hand to get yourself off? Did you buck against your balm or stuff your fingers inside you?

Saying how a hot bath is already ready, how he will take care of his little pet. His crying slut of a lover that he loves to torment and spoil.

Makes you thank him each time he cums inside of you, nothing gets his cock harder than your trembling lips thanking him.

He is willing to indulge your kinks, surprisingly open minded no matter how niche they are.

Even if they don't get him off, he tells you he will still get off on shaming you for them, on being condescending to you the whole time.

Loves receiving oral, loves having you between his knees and worshipping his cock.

If he ends up bottoming, he will definitely be a powerbottom and make you beg before letting you inside him.

Does use his magic in bed, sometimes conjurs an un-person for you to ride and fuck yourself silly against the clone of himself while he watches or works on something else.

Only uses the most safe of spells, he does have acute awareness on how dangerous magic can be and how a simple spell like an ice knife could end up potentially injuring you.

He loves tormenting you, hates actually inflicting any pain on you. Which is why he refuses to choke you in bed or even spank you.

But has zero shame when it comes to public displays, is very willing to fuck you in front of someone else if you're willing.

One of his wet dreams when he finally reaches his potential and achieves greatness, is having you cockwarm him as he sits on his throne and listens to the pleas and begging for mercy from all the people who ever doubted him or wronged him.

If you want to tread on dangerous territory in bed or get him to be rougher, pull his hair.

His mask of superiority drops for a second and he is genuinely furious as he rams harder into you, insult after insult pouring our of his tongue with a deep glare in his eyes.

You'll end up being used all night, even when he can't cum anymore and is overstimualting himself, even when his legs are shaking and his breath hitching, he will still fuck you until you learn your lesson.

Also, he has the prettiest moans and is very vocal in bed.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Ok, but what about Morpheus with a Angel Child?

A Lesson Of Tongues

Dream of the Endless & Angel!Reader

Summary: "You're saying it wrong, father." Dream makes a sound, "I was there when the language was mad-" "Then why are you saying it wrong?"

Word Count: >800

Warnings: fem!reader because i love girl dad!dream, im right!reader, youre wrong!dream, fluff, slice of life, typos, etc.

A/N: In my head, this child is the daughter of my pairing in 'Harbinger Of The Dusk' and 'holy' but you don't have to read it to understand this fic also LOL IM IMAGINING THIS GIF IS HIM JUST BEING SO DONE WITH HIS DAUGHTER HELP ASHFHAS HAHHAH also also the eyeliner T_T Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9

A small child with dark curls and shining skin walked through the halls of the library. She was wearing a dress that belonged to her mother, simply because she could, for mother was not present at the moment.

Her hair bounced on her shoulders and the way too big clothing, with way too long sleeves and way too long skirt, dragged across the floor as she carried a large book in her arms. Well, she could barely carry it.

She struggles to put the leather bound tome on the table, but after much fuss, she finally manages, finding a sudden strength in her grip. She sniffles as she grabs her dangling clothes and lifts them as she climbs up a chair. The chair she wanted to sit on was one that quite high off the ground, which was why she favored it. It made her feel like the princess she was. She struggles to get up, but after a while, finds again her strength and manages.

Once she sits down and turns to the book on the table, she catches sight of something important, someone important.

Uh-oh.

The King of the Dreaming stares at her with crossed arms. It was actually because of his power that the girl was able to place her book upon the table and to climb the chair without falling off. He would not say this though, so she would forever think it was by her own strength that she accomplished these things.

"Father," she mutters softly and slowly.

Dream nods, "daughter."

Suddenly, the feel of her mother's dress was burning her skin... or what it her father's gaze that was doing that?

"What are you wearing?" Dream asks.

The girl blinks, "hmm... a dress."

"Evidently," Dream uncrosses his arms, "who does it belong to?"

Dream knows angels cannot lie, or at least it goes against their nature to. But then again, she was only half angel. He tilts his head, awaiting a confession that still has not yet arrived. But then again, her Endless half would not make her deceptive either.

The girl decides to keep her silence.

A clever tactic, but not clever enough.

"I asked you a question," Dream presses, leaning on the table.

She decides to ignore him. She drags the book in front of her and opens it, "I don't wanna say."

Dream stills upon hearing the girl's words. Ridicule? In his own home?

He thinks if Desire were here, they'd laugh and love on the girl, encouraging her ways. He purses his lips tightly. Half Endless indeed.

The king decides to circle over to her, thinking his looming presence would coax out a what he wanted. It does not. She is rather undeterred.

Let's see how undeterred she'll be once he tells on her mother.

He finds himself examining the book she picked out. With but a glance, Dream immediately recognizes the script. It was a book about angles, written in the language of angels.

The girl goes through the book without sparing too much time. He gathers she is more interested in the pictures rather than the words.

She stops at a page that displays a picture of a glorious being, the Star of the Night, the child's mother. She smiles at it, rubbing the face of the illustration. Dream finds himself smiling as well.

In his fondness, the Endless begins to dictate the words on the paper. He speaks of the accounts the author made about the angel, his lover, and the girl turns to him upon hearing his words.

Dream continues to read the script, thinking his daughter was enjoying it. But then she waves her hands desperately and shakes her head.

"That's wrong!" she says.

Dream's words go dry.

The girl leans onto the table and points at the text, reiterating the words her father just spoke, though her finger was on the wrong side of the page. Upon speaking her people's language, she turns to Dream and says, "now you."

Dream is at a disbelief. Was this girl really correcting him?

The Prince of Stories narrates the words again, making more effort to sound more exact.

The angel girl is severely disappointed yet again.

"That's not how!" she says. She repeats the phrase he just said.

He cuts her off, "I assure you, child, I know how to speak the speech of your mother."

The girl disagrees and stands on the chair. Dream immediately reaches out for her, hands coming to her small back, securing her in place. He adjusts the drooping shoulder of her ill-fitting dress. Her soft hands come to his bony face. She repeats the words for him. Dream sighs.

The girl's father mimics her again, yet still she is not pleased.

"You're saying it wrong, father."

Dream makes a sound, "I was there when the language was mad-"

"Then why are you saying it wrong?"

Dream grunts and leans his forehead on his daughter, "you think yourself so wise little girl?"

The girl giggles at his attempts to intimidate her, registering his actions as affectionate gestures, which was why she threw her arms around him. Quite quickly she latches onto Dream and finds no more interest in the lesson she was giving him, "fly! Fly!"

Dare she demand things from the king after such insults?

"Fatherrrrrr!"

He sighs.

"At once, my love," he mutters and flies around the library.