#hope I'm not overthinking but

[avaetin]

When life throws you a curveball... but you don’t play baseball.

[themeraldee]

Awkward sex prompt: homelander figuring out how to control his strength with a human reader, who still wants rough sex, but would prefer to be alive at the end of it.

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 1.2k | Homelander x gn!Reader | Realistic sex. Communicating during sex. Choking. Penetration (but not specified). Fluff at the end.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“But I want you to.” 

It really should have been no surprise to Homelander when you requested he goes a little rougher on you in bed. At first he was taken aback, stopping the pace he was fucking into you with, jerking his head back as if offended, choking on his breath in surprise. You know who he is, bringing up the use of his strength is no small ask. But you’ve shown the signs before. He could hear the spike in your heart rate anytime he’d showcase the incomprehensible strength he possesses. Whether it was him moving heavy objects, accidentally bending steel frames in his penthouse or breaking furniture—like that one time he ripped the headboard off during a particularly fine blowjob—you loved it. Though he never thought that your dirty little thoughts went straight to him using that strength on you. 

“What if I can’t hold back?” He looks down where you’re right below him, all flushed and spread out for him. He’s been giving you a damn good time but it’s like you can never get enough of him. Always wanting more, more, more.

“You can. You’ve been doing it your entire life. Adding a tiny bit more pressure isn’t gonna change anything.”

The one thing Homelander loves about you the most is the pure trust you have in him. After all you’ve seen of him you still believe that there’s no world in which he would purposefully hurt you. So to hear you all but beg for him to use strength that has more than decimated many gets his heart soaring. The feeling of acceptance and unconditional love blooms warm in his chest spreading all the way out to the fingertips currently wrapped around your neck.

“Come on, what’s the point of being the strongest man in the world if you can’t rough me up a bit? I’ll tell you if it’s too painful okay?”

Your hand sat on top, your fingers tracing over his as you squeezed your hand.

“A little more.” You guide him verbally and manually. Your hand is still squeezing around his own until you reach a point where you’re satisfied with his confidence to do this himself and you pull your hand away. “Yeah, that’s it.” You squeak out a little breathlessly as he restricts your airflow.

“That’s good?” He asks, choking on his words halfway at the way you squeeze around him while he’s still lodged firmly inside you. He jerks with his movement, giving you a very short snappy thrust but after your little intermission where you taught him how to choke even this little sensation made you moan.

Homelander’s eyes widen when he realizes the sheer potential of your request. Not only could he hear your heartbeat, your shaky breaths and moans, he could now also feel them. Right against his fingertips. The moan vibrated against his hot skin, your heartbeat constantly thrumming all around him. He felt it in the way you were tight and clenching around him and now he felt it under his grip.

He released his hand a little, settling the palm of it in between your collarbones.

“See? Wasn’t that good? I love feeling your strength, let me have a little more of it.” You say it with such conviction, inviting him in, accepting him exactly—no, especially—because of the way he is.

The last thing Homelander wants is to not be able to fulfill your needs. As much as the thought of hurting you—actually hurting you—kills him, if it’s something you find excitement in he’ll be damned if he doesn’t deliver.

He pulls you down the length of the bed a little bit to give himself more space and with a grin he pins your wrists above your head, holding them down against the mattress with little effort. He knows he’s doing something right when that startles you, you let out a cute yelp that quickly turns into a moan. God, he could eat you up with the way you’re looking at him. But he’s gonna need to leave that for round two. Now he’s here to fulfill a wish.

He slowly picks up the pace. He’s thrusting slow and deep while his other hand freely explores your body underneath him, giving it generous squeezes as he goes. He’s testing the give of you. Learning where he can apply the pressure you so desperately crave. 

He’s fucking into your faster now, grunting at the sheer heat of you surrounding his cock with every slide. His hand glides up your body, settling back on your neck. He gives you a look as if he was warning you of what’s to happen. Yet he still manages to catch you off guard. With the snap of his hips and the iron-clad grip of his hand your eyes widen in what Homelander only translates to fear.

Immediately, he lets go.

“Why did you stop?!” You look at him, your own hand gliding across where his hand was squeezing a second ago, as if to chase the phantom feeling, recreating it yourself.

“Why did I stop? You got scared and I don’t want to fucking kill you!” He sounds angry but it’s mainly to hide the genuine worry that comes with this irresponsible play. It’s already hard for him to hold back anytime you’re having normal sex. Wanting him to rough you up conjures very different imagery in either one of your minds.

“Baby, the scary part is the best bit. I know you’ll stop before it’s too much. You can feel the give of my body. Let yourself feel that, okay?” You say softly, soothing his fears. In your entire relationship he’s not managed to hurt you, you don’t imagine it was about to start now.

“Now come on, I wanna cum with your hand around my neck.” You give him a cheeky smile that breaks him out of any doubts he had about manhandling you the way you’ve requested.

He’s given you exactly what you’ve asked for. Just enough squeeze and pressure that you feel so overwhelmed with the greatness of his presence pinning you down and nearly squeezing the life out of you that you succumb to your release. Homelander follows you there, unable to hold off after seeing the way you look at him with such adoration right after he let your airways open fully and you regained your senses. 

After you’re both beyond blissed out you snuggle up to one another, locking the jigsaw pieces of your bodies together.

Homelander traces a finger across the bruised finger marks wrapping around your neck. Part of him relishes in the way he’s managed to brand you where you won’t be able to hide it easily. Even with a scarf or a turtleneck, any slight move of the garment will expose the impressive size of your lovingly placed bruises. 

The other part of him isn’t that happy about it.

“I hurt you.”

“Duh! I wanted you to!” You scoff as if it was the most obvious thing.

His fingers trace over them some more before he leans in, placing a soft kiss against the marred skin.  

“You’re fucking crazy.” He lets out a little disbelieving laugh as he pulls you closer into his arms.

“Yeah, you’ve been rubbing off on me.”

“Nope, this is all you.” 

“Maybe. Hey, can we try spanking next?”

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged anytime I publish a new Homelander story): @infinetlyforgotten�� @rafecamsgirlll @nervoussystemss

[koiihpon]

Don’t wait up…

colored this panel from @thegunnsara's Back to the Past comic (part 6) :]

the bottom panel was so striking when I first saw it that I just needed to color it heheh sorry it took a while to finish ><

orig under cut vvvv

[goddess-of-green]

BotW Link Being a Quiet (and Sleepy) Drunk

(A/N:) Playing TotK and immediately my soul is being recaptured by Linky Winky

(Edit:) This draft is almost a year old! I started it the day TotK came out, lol

Contains: GN!Reader, could be interpreted as either botw or totk link, him being CUTE

Word Count: 474

Link's face pressed into the crook of your neck, having migrated a bit since he'd put his head on your shoulder earlier in the evening.

You smiled and lightly stroked his hair, which earned you a hum--the vibrations of which you could feel in your neck.

It wasn't like Link wasn't affectionate, he was incredibly affectionate when he's certain it's not unwanted. However, even with your constant prompting and encouragement for him to be more open with his displays of affection, he still always kept a respectful distance when you were around others.

You didn't take it personally, you knew it was just the way he was; and a part of you liked that his affection was reserved for just the two of you--that you were the only one who got to see him like that.

Still, that wasn't to say that you didn't like when Link was more open about his love for you, which was something often brought out by inebriation.

He's a quiet drunk, just as he is sober, and one might not think he's affected much at all by the alcohol, but you can tell.

You can see how his eyes linger on you for longer than usual, notice the clinginess that usually comes with him being in that state. And one thing that you loved was how he became more vocal.

Yes, he was a quiet drunk, but less quiet than when he is sober; and you relish in his soft sighs and hums as he nuzzles into your neck, unbothered by the presence of the others.

Zelda smiled at the sight of you two, but the others didn't seem to take notice. Sidon and Yunobo were in deep conversation, while Riju was idly talking about jewelry to Zelda.

Link wrapped an arm around your waist, hand settling on your hip. He seemed intent on keeping his face in your neck, and you recalled him once telling you that you always smelled good.

"Hmm..." Link sighed, squeezing your hip. You continued to stroke his hair.

Even though he became more daring when he was drunk, he'd still never touch you in a sexual way in even a semi-public context. You knew he just wanted to be closer to you. (Sometimes you wondered in amusement, if Link would attach himself to you, given the opportunity.)

Link looked sleepier than anything, and you brushed gently along his ears, coming to a decision.

"Everyone, it's been amazing to meet with you all and catch up, but I think it's about time we turn in for the night." You smiled, helping Link up, who neglected to let go of you. Whether due to trouble keeping upright or simply a desire to touch you, you didn't know.

Not that it really mattered. All you were worried about now was getting your boy to bed. 

[sunlit-mess]

I can only take so much, but lately, they have replaced my reflection. And realize I'm just as bad as them.

[im-the-j-in-anthony-j-crowley]

Good omens tag game

Name two things you have in common with Aziraphale and two things you have in common with Crowley

More reasons to love them!

Crowley

1.- Taste for black clothes and... I WANT TO BELIEVE that I look good too

2.- I love Aziraphale Dramatic

Aziraphale

1.- I love books

2.- Stubborn. Really stubborn

No pressure tags: @fearandhatred @bildads-shoes @harbinger-of-existential-dread @di-42 @sayeverythingwillbefineplease @littlekhaos626

And of course, open tags!

[mroddmod]

happy bad batch eve here's a couple s3 tech concepts i was playing w last night !

+ some alts w his goggles

[one-flower-one-sword]

"Mu Qing spat out a mouthful of blood and grimaced like he'd been stabbed where it hurt. He replied, spiteful slowly, "Thank goodness I kicked you out. If we'd kept you in the army and let you get closer to His Highness, were you going to watch him all day with your mind full of unspeakable filth? Disgusting!"

Xie Lian's heart squeezed violently. Hua Cheng had his fist raised at first, but it froze in midair when Mu Qing spat the word "disgusting." Veins bulged on the back of his pale hand. The fingers clenched and loosened, loosened then clenched.

A long moment later, Hua Cheng said icily, "For now, I won't argue with you on that point. [...]"

TGCF Volume 6, page 66

Hua Cheng's reaction here is really interesting - and gets more heartbreaking the more you think about it. I think to understand it, we need to take a look at his distorted self-image and his extreme self-blame whenever he feels he's failed Xie Lian in some way. While doing this, I think it's important to keep in mind that we're looking at these things as separate from Hua Cheng's very real - and very earned! - confidence in his knowledge, abilities, and strength. He knows exactly what he can and can't do and has no problems stating those things as facts. That "aggressive, rebellious confidence" as Xie Lian describes it is a defining part of Hua Cheng's personality and who he is as a person, that is then juxtaposed by a surprising fragility in other matters.

Right when we meet Hua Cheng at just ten years old, he's already been abused for so long and so severely that it's made him actively suicidal. He's also already internalized that his right eye is ugly, evidenced by the way that he keeps covering it with his hands when the bandages are removed after he was beaten and dragged through the streets by Qi Rong and his lackeys:

After a pause, Xie Lian smiled softly. "The doctors will see to your wounds now. Don't be afraid and lower your hands, okay?" The child heard but hesitantly shook his head.

"Why not?" Xie Lian asked.

He was silent for a long time before replying, "Ugly."

TGCF Volume 2, page 349

The right side of his face also appears to receive the most abuse when he gets beaten, as Xie Lian realizes when he sees him again a few years later and his bandages come loose after being attacked by a group of other kids:

During that scuffle, the bandages on the boy's head had been partially yanked off, giving a peek on the other half of his face. It was quite swollen, covered in black and blue bruises. It was obvious that these injuries hadn't been caused by the brawl just now. TGCF Volume 3, page 56

It can be deduced that he probably learned very early in his life that if people see his eye, he gets beaten. It seems to be known around the area that he frequently gets beaten up and kicked out by his family, to a point where even kids from wealthier families know about him and refer to him as apparently everyone else does - the "ugly freak":

"Wow, wow, the ugly freak got kicked out again!" Although these kids were all around the same age as the boy in the shrine, every single one of them was taller than him and looked like their parents fed them well. There was probably a holiday coming up, since they were all dressed in new clothes and shoes. [...] "Hey, ugly freak, are you sleeping at the shrine again tonight? Watch out, your mom is gonna beat the crap outta you when you get home!"

TGCF Volume 3, pages 54-55

This post is going to get quite long, so I'm putting the rest under a read more.

Hua Cheng seems to internalize this view of himself as something ugly and revolting to a point where even hundreds of years later, he's wary about showing Xie Lian his true form. At the same time, he seems to long deeply for Xie Lian to see and accept the real him, so he tries to test the waters when Xie Lian asks the "young master" on the ox cart what Hua Cheng looks like :

The youth laughed. "Who knows? But he's blind in one eye." He pointed to his right eye. "This one."

That was nothing outrageous. Xie Lian recalled one of the many backstory versions where Hua Cheng wore a black eyepatch to hide that missing eye and asked, "Do you know what happened to that eye?"

"That's a question everyone wants the answer to," the youth replied. Others asked because they wanted to know what Hua Cheng's weakness was, but Xie Lian asked purely out of curiosity. He didn't say anything, and the youth continued, "He dug it out himself."

TGCF Volume 1, page 175

And then again after they're back from Banyue:

Hua Cheng didn't turn around but continued to stare at the dilapidated ceiling of the shrine, and Xie Lian could only see this handsome young man's left profile. Hua Cheng said softly, "If I was ugly."

"Huh?" Xie Lian gaped.

Hua Cheng finally turned his head slightly. "If my true appearance is ugly, would you still want to see it?"

Xie Lian was taken aback. "Is it? Although there's no real reason, I never thought your true appearance would be too horrible-looking."

"Who knows?" Hua Cheng said, half-jokingly. "What if I'm discolored, disfigured, ugly, monstrous, and horrible. What will you do?"

At first, Xie Lian thought this line of inquiry was rather fascinating. So the overlord of the Ghost Realm, the one called the devil incarnate and feared by all in the heavens, would care about his looks? But when he thought about it deeply, he didn't think it was very funny anymore. He vaguely recalled, in one of the many rumored backstories of Hua Cheng, one said that he was a disfigured child from birth, or something along those lines. If that was true, then he must've grown up discriminated against by others. Maybe that was why he was particularly sensitive about his appearance.

TGCF Volume 1, pages 369-370

This quote is really long but I wanted to include all of it because Xie Lian's realization here is very important - Hua Cheng's issues don't stem from vanity but from being othered and subsequently abused because of his unusual red right eye. The society they're in shows many instances of ableism, racism, xenophobia and classism, where any attempted change to the status quo as well as anything that goes against "the norm" is regarded with instant suspicion and rejection - as Pei Ming puts it once, "Where there is abnormality, there is evil."

When he finally does show Xie Lian his true form, Hua Cheng is anxious about it up until Xie Lian remarks that it doesn't look bad:

Xie Lian examined him as he followed, smiling. "So, this is your real appearance." Hua Cheng paused slightly in his step. Maybe it was his imagination, but Hua Cheng's shoulders seemed to stiffen for a flash of a second. The moment didn't last, and Hua Cheng responded naturally. "I did say that the next time we met, I would greet you with my real appearance."

Xie Lian grinned and said earnestly, "Not bad." Xie Lian's tone wasn't teasing or consoling, the words were simply said. Hua Cheng gave a small smile back, and this time, it was genuinely relaxed.

TGCF Volume 2, page 103

Xie Lian's acceptance of his true form seems to have reassured Hua Cheng enough that he appears in it a lot more regularly after that, though it's always with the place where his right eye used to be carefully covered. He's also still too afraid to tell Xie Lian about their shared past and who he really is, and even more afraid to confess his feelings because he fears that then Xie Lian will no longer look at him with acceptance and instead see Hua Cheng as this:

He pointed at a little blood-red person on the wall. Right next to it, there were a bunch of messy, twisted, indiscernible characters - it looked like they had been written in a state of delirium or scrawled to vent the author's feeling during a period of extreme suffering. Based on those characters, Xie Lian could guess that the little blood-red person painted there was Hua Cheng himself, but for some unknown reason he had depicted himself as extremely ugly and disfigured.

[...] There was an ugly little blood-red figure at the bottom of the mural. It cupped a small flower in its hands, which it was offering to the statue.

TGCF Volume 6, pages 52-55

Hua Cheng having internalized this distorted "ugly freak" image of himself isn't the only thing tripping him up though. Every time he can't prevent Xie Lian from getting hurt or can't help him, Hua Cheng takes it as a personal failure on his part and immediately seeks to punish himself. Be that by lashing out at Eming, which is essentially an extension of himself:

Xie Lian stroked Eming. "Fangxin is still better suited." Fangxin remained motionless. Eming had tried so enthusiastically to offer itself up but was so blatantly rejected. It hopped back to Hua Cheng's side, weeping. Hua Cheng didn't spare it a single look before he smacked it with a backhand slap. "What are you crying about? This happened because you're useless! Trash!"

TGCF Volume 5, page 120

Or denying himself to touch Xie Lian, like after Xie Lian got accidentally hurt by Eming (an especially cruel punishment given that Hua Cheng had longed for Xie Lian for hundreds of years):

Hua Cheng, however, let go of his hand. "Don't mind them," he said to Xie Lian. "Come with me." His voice was low, the emotion behind it hard to discern. Yet the way he let go of Xie Lian's wrist was swift, almost like he'd been shaken off.

TGCF Volume 2, page 192

Repeatedly witnessing Xie Lian be brutalized and violated while he didn't yet have the power to stop it from happening traumatized Hua Cheng deeply and left him with a wrathful anger that he wields not only against those who wronged Xie Lian but also against himself for any and all perceived failures.

Now, what does all of this have to do with the quote that started it all? In it, Mu Qing accuses Hua Cheng that if they'd have kept him in the army, he would have kept watching Xie Lian "with his mind full of unspeakable filth! Disgusting!" (the fact that he describes a man having romantic feelings and sexual desires for another man in such a way comes off as extremely homophobic of course but that's not the topic of this post)

Hua Cheng, who hates Mu Qing deeply and with good reason, then not only stops his assault but actually goes on to say that he won't argue with him on that point for now. His inner conflict shows in the repeated clenching and loosening of the fingers in his fist - he's extremely angry and would usually never agree with Mu Qing, yet finds himself unable to deny his words. It's noticeable also that it's the "disgusting" that makes him freeze up.

So why would Hua Cheng, someone usually so confident and so unapologetically himself, concede this point to Mu Qing, someone he hates and who's just been viciously insulting him? I would argue that there are two possible reasons.

First of, if viewed through the lens of everything we reviewed in this post, Hua Cheng feels like he "can't argue" on this because he does desire Xie Lian and always has - while at the same time knowing that he, an ugly disfigured other that has repeatedly failed at keeping the God he's pledged his existence to safe from harm, could never be good enough to deserve being with said God like that.

Second of all, as I analyzed in my previous post, Hua Cheng's reaction to Xie Lian having seen the statues and murals is profound fear and heartbreak because he's so sure Xie Lian must now be scared of and disgusted by him. At this point in the story, Hua Cheng is still utterly convinced that his feelings aren't requited, which is something he can deal with. But what he can't bear is the prospect of his feelings, his very devotion, causing Xie Lian pain. Failing to keep Xie Lian safe from being harmed by others is bad enough, but hurting Xie Lian himself? Unforgivable. His fear that his desire for Xie Lian will be upsetting to him is so strong that even after the confession scene, his immediate reaction to Xie Lian even just mentioning the murals is "I'll go destroy them" (Volume 6, page 88), and he doesn't calm down until Xie Lian reassures them that he only saw a few of them and won't look at the others if Hua Cheng doesn't want him to.

[arttsuka]

Hi hello I accidentally sent this to the wrong blog at first and caused mass hysteria but could I please ask for

jedtavius with a churro going at it lady and the tramp style pretty please with fire extinguisher paste on top

Oops 😬

1st: I accidentally made a 'they're big now' drawing (churros are too big for their small selves ok? They wouldn't be able to 'lady and the tramp' it)

2nd: why fire extinguisher paste? No (I did draw a blank person using a fire extinguisher on them tho)

[lxvi-gloria]

Drabble Prompt: Post-canon Levi, struggling with chronic pain and mourning his dead loved ones, being visited by his still alive loved ones

Anon, you knew how to talk pretty to me <3

hihi requests are still open btw

I feel like I gotta put a disclaimer or something lmao. So, the length of my drabble requests is usually something between 100-400 words. This request is just an incredibly unexpected exception. it just happened to fit into this idea I already had been thinking of, which was how the remaining 104th would ask Levi to be part of important events in their lives because well, they like the dude lmao, so expect that sort of one-shot soon. Additionally, since I kept reminding myself that this was supposed to be a drabble, I might have glossed over the chronic pain and mourning bits so I'm sorry about that ;;

that being said, 2.4k words of Levi and Gabi be upon ye <3

Now on Ao3!

The angry hissing of the kettle makes him flinch. It brings a loud ringing to his right ear. Instinctively, he places his right hand over it, and gives his ear a couple of gentle taps; it's more of a grounding gesture, a distraction from the buzzing. He usually keeps watch over the kettle, so that he can lower the heat just right before it gets a chance to scream at him. 

He realises then that he must have spaced out while waiting. It’s alright, he thinks. It’s been like that a lot, recently. He’s been like that. Lost in thought-- lost in time, if he allowed himself to be precise. The last days, weeks even, as the temperatures started to drop, blended into each other. There’s a little calendar on his bedside table, it had been a birthday gift from Armin – or had that been Mikasa’s? He isn’t sure, he had received an absurd number of presents from the kids last year, it had been hard to keep track of who gave him what and now the fact escaped him. Turning the pages of the little calendar, with its delicate botanical illustrations on each day, quickly became part of his morning routine, and so he was sure that time was passing at all. The stillness of the routine, he guesses, made him like this.

His vision blurs momentarily while he scoops the tea leaves into the teapot. He squints, trying to will his good eye to focus, but all he gets in return is a throb in his right eye. After putting the tea canister away, he presses the inner sides of his wrists to both eyes, placing just enough pressure to relieve the discomfort. When he opens his eyes again, he is pleased to find he can read the small print on the canister an arm’s length away. 

There’s a loud slam coming from the front of the house, followed by footsteps coming further into the house.

He quickly recognizes the heavy stomping as Gabi’s gait. She’s always been so loud.

Gabi crosses the arch into the small kitchen and dining area. 

“Don’t slam my doors,” he says as a greeting, slowly turning his head to his left side, trying to catch a glimpse of her in his periphery.

“Aye, aye,” the kid waves her hand, shoots him a teasing grin, “someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Levi hums in response but doesn’t say anything else. He busies himself with placing everything they need for their morning tea and coffee on a metal tray on the counter, which Gabi takes from him as soon as it’s ready and sets it on the table.

He grabs his cane from where he had hooked it on one of the kitchen drawers. He has been leaning against the counter, his right leg supporting most of his weight all this time. He braces himself for the sharp pain that will surely surge from his bad knee, through his left hip and up his spine. Cold mornings like this one and being still in one place for long will do that to him. It’s not so bad. It could be worse.

It takes 4 steps to get from the stove to his chair, which Gabi has already pulled out for him. It sits at an angle that allows him to easily slide down on it and rest his right elbow on top of the table, leaning back and against his good side.

“I have something that will cheer you up,” she holds a couple of envelopes in her hand and waves them at him, “You’ve got mail!”

He nods at her in acknowledgement but does not take his attention away from preparing his first batch of tea of the day. There’s a ritual to it, it almost feels like, and he doesn’t want to mess it up. Not when the ringing in his ear is still there, the building pressure in the upper back part of his eyeballs, and the cold air seeping into his bones through his thick jumper. Oh, how he needs a good cup of tea right now.

While Levi waits for it to steep, he grabs the papers that she had shoved in his face, squints his eyes at the first envelope and finds that he is unable to make out much of the handwriting. He brings it closer to his face, squints harder, steals a quick glance across the table and hopes Gabi isn’t paying him any mind, too preoccupied with choosing from the bag of pastries she brought with her. It is with an impassive expression that he hands the stack of envelopes back. 

“Read it for me.” A beat and then he adds, a little reluctant: “Please.”

He knows Gabi prefers coffee in the mornings, and black tea in the evenings, so he makes sure to have a fresh brew of the former whenever he knows she’s coming over; so, with shaky hands, Levi gets to prepare her cup of coffee. While he enjoys the aroma of it, he remains faithful to tea; at first, he thought he didn’t like it because he had butchered his first attempts at brewing it. But even after Onyankopon had taught him how to do it properly and he had enjoyed his cup, it didn’t bring the same comfort as tea. It just never hit the spot.

She shoots him a mischievous grin, “Oh, you sure? What if I read something personal, hm?” 

Levi just shakes his head, scoffing at the idea of Gabi finding his junk mail fascinating.

“Is this how I find out you have a secret lover you’re exchanging raunchy love letters with?” Gabi teases, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

He lets out a tired sigh and rolls his eyes, “just wanna be done with it, ” he stirs the milk into Gabi’s coffee, which now has turned into a cup of milk with coffee. “We have a lot to prepare for tonight.”

She clicks her tongue at him, but still rips the first envelope open, “Mr. Levi, your reading won’t improve if you keep doing that,” she jokingly scolds him.

Although Levi mentally recognises handing her and Falco stuff he couldn’t be bothered reading before, that’s not the case this time. He’ll let her think that for now, though, because he doesn’t want to mention the pressure building in the back of his bad eye, it’s not important and she, a kid, doesn’t need to know his newly found ailment of the week. He can see just fine around him right now. He can see Gabi’s big eyes and playful smile at the other side of the table, and that’s good enough; smaller details, he doesn’t feel he can do them, not without making himself go dizzy with a migraine.

Levi slides the cup of coffee to her and is pleased with himself when she approves of the colour of her drink.

“It’s from Armin,” she announces as she scans the letter. 

From this angle, the soft morning light illuminating her face and thanks to his faulty vision, Gabi’s image stirs his memory. His heart faintly constricts as he is reminded of the many times Hange read their research reports to him during breakfast in the mess hall before presenting them to Erwin. Levi always wondered how they could read so fast, sometimes he even doubted they were actually reading at all, their words barely being able to catch up with her eyes; he never asked about it, maybe reading came easy to them as numbers did to him.

A high-pitched squeal from Gabi startles him, bringing him back to the here and now.

“Oh… ohh, Mr. Levi,” she starts, her smile widening by the second “This is good news!”

Gabi makes a show of clearing her throat and then starts reading “Dear Captain, I hope this letter finds you well and in good health.” 

Levi can’t help but let a sardonic huff at the irony of the greetings but doesn’t let himself be bothered by it. He has written only a handful of personal letters throughout his life, and by now he knows it’s just something you’re supposed to say because jumping straight to the point isn’t acceptable, or so that’s what he had been told. 

Gabi continues reading Armin’s words to him. For the most part, it’s a standard letter coming from him: he asks Levi how he’s dealing with the changing of the seasons, how Gabi and Falco are faring, if business at the tea shop has been good, if there’s anything Levi needs that he can’t get in town so that Armin or the others can get it for him. He tells him a little about the country he’s writing from, he even includes a photograph. Then, after the expected pleasantries, Gabi can barely hold her excitement and starts reading faster, trying so hard not to trip over her words.

“If I’m being sincere, we would prefer to ask you in person,” Gabi stops for a second to look up at him from the paper, gauging for a reaction and finding nothing, she continues. 

Armin apologises for not being able to visit him before the holidays, Annie included, and so it is implied that he won’t be attending tonight’s reunion. 

Sometime during the last five years, the Alliance brats had decided to make showing up at Levi’s doorstep together once a year a sort of custom; the first time it happened was during an early winter, a blizzard had stopped them from leaving Levi’s until the next morning. It had been a really nice evening despite the awful weather, Levi remembers, after everyone pitched in one way or another, they all shared a simple but hearty meal together. It was Connie who jokingly said they should do it every year. The following year, Onyankopon, Gabi and Falco joined them. 

This year would be their fourth, and the first someone wouldn’t make it. That fact sits heavily in Levi’s chest, stealing the spotlight from his throbbing eye.

“...Annie and I have decided to get married. The both of us would like you to officiate our ceremony!” unable to contain her excitement, she tears her eyes away from the paper and looks at Levi. “Huh?! This is good news! What’s with the constipated face?!”

That doesn’t sound right. It figures that Annie and Armin would be the first to marry; in a way, he is happy for them, they clearly care for each other. No, that part is easy to understand. Their union is logical to anyone who knows the couple. What Levi can’t figure out is why they are asking him such a thing.

He clears his throat, assumes it’s been 3 minutes and his tea is ready to be poured and so he distracts himself with that.

When he doesn’t answer Gabi, she picks up where she left off. 

He isn’t… well, he isn’t that close to either of them. He’s sure Annie must have other relatives that could step in his stead. Maybe a brother, a cousin. Even Jean or Reiner would be better options than Levi. He isn’t good with words or people like they are, he couldn’t possibly give them a speech about something foreign to him as it is that kind of love, that’s what people expect, right? His title of Captain is obsolete in this new world, so it can’t be that either. Hell, he has never been to a fucking wedding. 

Just… why him?

As expected, Armin doesn’t really go into the details of their choice but does let Levi know they do not expect a fast answer and that they do not want him to feel pressured to accept it, despite how much it would mean to them if he did. Armin asks if there’s anything in particular that he would like for his birthday, as it is a month away, and closes the letter by saying he looks forward to seeing him and everyone then.

When the letter is closed and put back into its envelope, silence falls around them. For a moment the only sound that can be heard is the clinking of tableware as Levi places the teacup back on its saucer.

It bothers him, that he knows he will be letting Armin down by refusing something that any other well-adapted person would consider an honour. But the thought of embarrassing him and himself, because he gave an awkward, most likely insensitive, speech, mortifies him. No, he can’t put them and their guests through that. He will find a way to make it up to the couple, maybe he can… he doesn’t know yet, but he will come up with something.

As he finishes his first cup, Levi realises that at some point while he was lost in thought, the ringing in his ear has subsided and now it’s back to that muffled, cotton-in-ear sensation he’s used to and he doesn’t feel his eyeball pulsating anymore. Glancing at Gabi, he notices she is trying really hard not to say something, her brow furrowed as she takes a sip of her own drink, followed by a big bite of her pastry. Flakes stick to the corner of her mouth and for once it doesn’t disgust him. Instead, it makes his lips twitch as if going into a smile.

“I can help you... if you want,” she says eventually, sounding uncharacteristically careful and small of her.

Levi quirks an eyebrow “Help? with what?” 

She shrugs, “How to… tell them you don’t want to,” she avoids looking at him for the first time, finding the flakes on her plate more interesting. She shrugs again and tilts her head to the side, a thin line of a smile appearing on her face. “...or prepare for the ceremony.”

Not unlike many times before, Gabi’s words render him speechless, if only for a moment. He spares his tea a glance and he thinks: it’s bold of her to be so upfront about offering her help to him, and had it been any other morning, one where he couldn’t think past the constant ache in his body, he would’ve chewed her head off for simply trying to help him because he himself doesn’t know how to accept that kindness.

This kid is trying her best and he can’t help but feel somewhat proud of that.

“You have shit on your face. Here,” he points to where the flakes would sit on his own face and picks his refilled teacup back up.

Gabi quickly wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, getting most of the flakes off. Levi gives her a thumbs-up with his free hand.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally concedes and tries to ignore the little happy dance she does in her seat.

This time, when the amber liquid touches his lips, it’s remarkably sweeter than before.

[oh-biwan]

[rattling cage] Do you have any Obikin fics that you've enjoyed? Your beautiful art made me slip right down the ship rabbit hole and now I need recs, any rating/theme.

-blushes, clears throat- Hi!

I like a lot of different flavors but, to keep it simple, I'll try to match my recommendations to the theme I'm cultivating on this blog so far.

First of all, I have to mention skyl_tales, they wrote some of the absolute Obikin classics and I love their work, it's very dear to me. If you haven't read anything from them yet, I strongly recommend taking a look at their works and going for anything that captures your attention!

Alright, now my conscience is clear and we can move on:

Armageddon Game by posthumous_vigor

One of my more recent obsessions. Basically, padawan Obi-Wan gets captured by Sith Anakin and then groomed to the Dark Side. What I enjoy about this one is how, even despite the unfavorable cards that Obi-Wan has been dealt, he cleverly chases down his goals... but not without twisting himself in the pursuit as well. He is an active actor in this play and ultimately it is not Anakin who Obi-Wan plays against. And by recommending this I'm recommending the whole series :).

Untouched by objectlesson

This fic has one the most predatory padawan Anakin I've ever seen. This child is just so deliciously fucked up in the head. I... I think I'll just let the author's summary speak for itself: In his darkest moments, Anakin began to think of it as his right. To control Obi-Wan’s sleeping mind, force it into a box, shut it up so he could take what he deserved. Warm skin, slack face, soft snores. And then—then—more.

pleasure, little treasure by objectlesson

A guilty pleasure of mine. And probably a very hard pill to swallow, so careful there. In this one, Vader goes back in time, kidnaps Jedi initiate Obi-Wan, and makes him his apprentice. Yes, it's very dark, a psychological horror, but this author writes with such skill and poetry that I trusted they could make me enjoy reading stuff I'd normally avoid... And I was right. The beauty in the abominable. That's why I love this author, the things they write are so refreshingly daring and so deeply fucked up on so many levels, but served in a way that makes me swallow it all up without question. (oh, I should probably mention that as of now this fic is unfinished, I seldomly pick up unfinished works, but with this one, I have no regrets :))

hold my heart more gently than you do my throat by tennessoui

This is a role reversal omegaverse AU. Master Skywalker has been captured by the Separatists, and behind the Council's back, his omega Padawan sets out to save the master in distress. It is debatable if the master in question needs the saving -noises of massacre in the background- (he did need the saving, in my opinion :)). What I really love about this fic are the horror vibes of little Padawan getting chased down the hallways of the enemy base full of dead bodies, and an unknown monster breathing down his neck, but the only thing on his mind is how to find his master and rescue him. Also, I enjoyed the final twist and how the story unfolded in the end. Satisfying. If omegaverse is your thing I definitely recommend this one.

game plan by treescape

Out of all the recommendations, I consider this to be the tame one. If all of the above made you hesitant to try, this is the one to go with. The summary: Vader keeps capturing Obi-Wan during the Wars. Obi-Wan keeps escaping. It's kind of a thing. I'm recommending this one for the banter. Some of it is just next level. Very amusing to read. Chef's kiss.

[canisalbus]

As someone whose entire extended family lives in Sicily irl and they're all super catholic i am delighted by Machete's place of origin??? I literally feel like that meme with the anime girl that's like "(Location) mentioned!!!" anytime it comes up lol

Anyways I love reading OC lore so your blog is always a treat 😎

.

[stjernespiller]

Another eye

Can also be found on AO3

You can’t see anything.

Blood drips from your face. You think it hurts, in that distant way everything does now. You try to get it out of your eye, just enough to see the fight, but your vision stays dark through the wet sounds of blood and flesh.

Stupid, you think to yourself. Stupid stupid idiot, zoning out in a battle. Should have just looped forward to the king instead of taking that bathroom break and fighting the floor boss. Couldn’t even blinding cry, so what did it matter?

Your family members are speaking. They don’t do that much in battle. You should probably listen.

Bonnie is crying.

Mirabelle heals you again, a light feeling drifting over you that does nothing to take away the weight in your stomach. You don’t know why she did it again, you just need to get this blood out of your eye and you can go back to the fight, stop zoning out just enough to beat the sadness blocking your way to asking the king the question you’ve been dreading.

Isabeau is saying something very close to you. You think it’s him, at least, from the deeper tone. You can’t hear it. Can’t fight can’t see can’t hear. You’re pathetic.

He touches your face.

It’s- new, strange, unexpected. You flinch, and he takes his hand back, like your family always does because you’re so weak you can’t even handle being touched. But the hand only leaves for a moment before it’s back again, holding your cheek. you stand very, very still.

Is the fight over? It has to be. You almost had it before you got distracted and let yourself get hit. Maybe Isabeau and Odile got it while Mirabelle was healing you. He wouldn’t be touching you like this if the sadness was still attacking, back turned to where it stood.

He wipes the blood away from your eye, unstained hand doing a much better job than yours had. You still can’t see. You still can’t hear what any of them are saying. He sounds close to tears, though.

Ah. You know why you can’t see.

It clears your hearing. Fear, for some reason, leaves when you exhale. You breathe deep in, again, and a full sense of calmness fills the space of the fear you breathe out.

The blood hadn’t covered your eye, it was coming out of it. Stupid Siffrin didn’t pay attention to the fight and lost another eye.

Isabeau is cursing, voice wet with tears. His other hand cups your jaw, keeping your head in place. He wipes more blood away, touching your eyeball with so much gentleness you feel it should heal it. Mirabelle crafts another healing spell, and Odile asks Bonnie for the one sweet tonic you picked up this loop.

You pick up your wooden arms, raising them slowly, like through a thick fog, to land your hands on Isabeau’s. He drops his hands from your face. You’re speaking to your whole party when you say, “It won’t work.”

Bonnie sobs. Someone, likely Odile, pours a tonic on your eye anyway.

You just need to get to a frozen tear. You don’t remember where they are, but maybe you could convince your family to lead you to one. If you could find some excuse. Or just swing your arms around until you hit one.

“The head housemaiden could heal you,” Mirabelle whispers, voice just as teary as Isabeau’s. “I should have taken more healing classes. Studied more on my own. I can’t do it. And by the time we get to her...”

She trails of. Crafts another healing cure. It works just as well as the others.

Healing of this scale needs to be done quick. You know, because you all talked about it when you lost your first eye, and when Isabeau showed you a small scar on his bicep. Go more than an hour or two without the right healing craft, and it’ll be permanent.

An idea lights up in your mind. You turn your head, but it all stays black, and you can’t look anyone in the eye.

“We can find a tear. Freeze me.” It’s so perfect. You almost have to stop yourself from grinning. The best excuse you could have ever asked for. “when you beat the king and everyone unfreezes, someone can help me.”

The lie is easy, as easy as all the others you’ve filled these two days with. They won’t beat the king without you. You won’t unfreeze with everyone else, and the head housemaiden will never help you. But you need to see to fight, and you need to loop to see, and you need a tear to loop.

It’s quiet for a moment. “Will that work?” Odile asks, voice strangely soft.

“It’s worth a try.”

“We’ll find a tear!” Bonnie yells. They either stamp their foot or jump in place. “We’ll defeat the king and you’ll get your eye back!” their voice is still wet. You don’t know why. Are they scared of fighting the king without you? Now you’re thinking about the loop you let them go alone. Stars, you really are an awful person. Of course they’re scared when you can’t keep fighting, and just before the king, too.

“Let’s bandage it until then.” Mirabelle says, and a piece of cloth presses against your face. It’s nice and cool. “Your coat is all dark know.”

Odile, you think, listening to the footsteps, start walking. “We can’t go back,” she says, “hopefully there will be some tears further in.”

You walk after her. The corridor is as familiar to you as the rest of this blinding house. You don’t need an eye to know the way.

Isabeau still hovers beside you, steps heavy but careful. He doesn’t offer to guide you, probably afraid to touch you, but you can imagine his arm reaching out, hovering above your shoulder, ready to steer you away from the walls or the floor or what else you might kill yourself on. Fragile little Siffrin, can’t walk on his own.

Bonnie is to your other side, rushing ahead for two steps at a time before falling back again, never straying far. They hiccup, and audibly sniff their snot in. You feel awful. The tear is close. You just need to loop.

Mirabelle walks in front of you with Odile. You can almost feel her continuously looking back at you, footsteps irregular in that familiar pattern. You don’t know why it’s familiar, and when you try to remember, it slips away like lightless sand between your fingers.

The air is tense. You slip into your mind, a little. Claude is up ahead, frozen in time with the secret ingredient. You turn a corner, and don’t think about how strange it looks to your family for you to walk through the corridor like this. Isabeau calling you graceful is there, memory pushing itself to the front of your mind, but you don’t force yourself to act as if you don’t know this place better than yourself. They won’t remember.

“Does it hurt?” Bonnie whispers besides you. You instinctively look towards them, but still see nothing but darkness around you. “Sorry, stupid question. Of course it hurts.” Their voice is still wet. They sniffle. “You just act like it doesn’t.”

You’ve been acting a lot. Almost everything feels like a secret, a lie, a play. This isn’t one of them. “It’s just an eye.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN JUST AN EYE?!” Bonnie yells, and their voice is still wet, but it cracks in fury. “You always do this, you don’t care about anything! It’s your eye, you can’t see, you lost both of them now! You have to care!”

They hate you. You remember, now, that they don’t love you. You couldn’t get yourself to help them this loop, too tired from hearing the same thing again and again and again. In this moment, Bonnie hasn’t hugged you. In this moment, you haven’t talked with Bonnie about losing your first eye. In this moment, they still hate you.

But it’s fine. You’re on your way to a tear. You’ve all been walking this stretch for a while, Mirabelle should see Claude soon, and then they’ll find the safe room, and after that - you think you’ve seen tears there before.

“It’s just an eye,” you say again, because you can’t bring yourself to pretend any differently, that it matters to you more than having to loop and run through the third floor again. “I’ve lost worse.”

Bonnie doesn’t respond. Claude has to be here soon, right? Was she always this deep in the corridor?

"How is your eyes not the worst thing you've lost?" Mirabelle asks, so quiet you almost don’t hear her. The kind of question she doesn’t expect a response to.

You shouldn’t respond. You don’t want to respond. How can you. You can’t speak it’s name, can’t tell them anything about it, and you already didn’t help Odile this loop because you couldn’t bring yourself to follow the blinding script again when she won’t understand and won’t remember and won’t care.

“I lost my home,” you say anyway, because it’s all one big cosmic joke. They won’t remember anyway. It doesn’t matter. “And I don’t even remember it.”

Does your country matter, if no one remembers it?

Isabeau speaks up, always the emotionally mature one. “I’m sorry, that sounds awful.”

“You never remember anything,” Bonnie sniffles, sounding tired. The kind of exhausted you get calming down from crying. You wish your stupid eye would let you cry.

You’ve already broken the dam. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. “I don’t.” Isabeau tugs at you cloak, pulling you slightly towards him. He lets you go, a meter more to the left of the corridor than before, and doesn’t explain anything. You don’t ask.

“Not even the word for a stuffed animal. Or a sharpening stone, which you use all the time. Or bananas.” It seems to calm Bonnie down, listing all the things you don’t remember. You follow along.

“Not the name for all the birds in Dormount. What bonding earring are. What we did last week. My family. My country. Your names, that one time.”

It doesn’t calm you down. Or the others, for that matter. Isabeau stopped walking. The other three follow suit.

You stop too, because the others did. Then you wish you had kept going, because now you’re just standing here, and you still can’t see anything.

“Sif...” Isabeau starts, soft and careful. “I’m sorry. We’ve been poking fun at your memory, but this... We need to talk, after we beat the king.”

You don’t want to talk. Have you already made the pun on your memory this loop? Bonnie said you couldn’t remember the name, so probably, you need something else, something to divert the attention, it doesn’t matter because they’ll forget but right now they remember and you don’t want to talk.

“Aren’t there any tears here?” You ask, and it comes out harsher than you planned.

“Oh! No, not yet, but there’s a door here, maybe on the other side?” Mirabelle sounds nervous and jumpy. Did you do that? Stars, you’re awful.

Then you think. There’s a door, and you hear someone open it. Claude was before the door. She was, you know it, you can’t have forgotten that, Mirabelle stops you all and says the same thing every time.

Did you all walk past her? Did... did Mirabelle change the script? Because you’re blind now?

Your head hurts. You walk towards the door, and only need to follow the wall for a moment before you reach it, having been pulled from the middle of the corridor by Isabeau. Was that.... because of Claude? Did he pull you out of the way?

When Mirabelle tells everyone to hurry through the safe room, they do so. No one talks about taking a break, and Odile’s stomach doesn’t rumble. You’re through the room without eating or touching the star.

“There!” Bonnie yells, first out of the second door.

“A tear,” Odile says simply. “Two, actually. Pick your poison, Siffrin.”

You chuckle, just a little. Lean right. But you don’t actually know where in the room the tears are. You just know the door to the king is straight ahead.

“Can I lead you to it?” Isabeau offers. You empty your mind, think of nothing, and hold out your hand.

He guides you in an arch. Let’s go of your hand. You reach out, and dream of nothing.

[arendaes]

same ghosts in a new home

I've been trying to find some writing prompts to turn to when I want to write but don't know what, and when these prompts passed by my dash earlier I knew I found the list to pull from. I used a random number generator to pick which prompt to write. Up first we have:

same ghosts in a new home (961 words)

Fandom: Pathfinder Wrath of the Righteous

Rating: T for implied sexual activity (nothing graphic)

Ship: The Commander/Daeran/Woljif

Other notes: Second Person POV

In some of the books you’d read in the past, you’d run into descriptions of the lingering effects of an argument. You’d always dismissed them as poetic hogwash. But now, as you stand in the middle of the sitting room of our new home, you could swear there was an echo, the last vestiges of heated words and raised voices falling back through time to haunt you. 

Truthfully, you're not sure what you said to set Woljif off, or why I was upset with your refusal to apologize. We knew what you were like by now, and you thought you were being nice. Though, if you're being honest with yourself, you know how your words can land more like poisoned barbs than playful jabs. This fight might not be entirely your fault, but you're not completely innocent in it either. 

With a sigh, you turn towards the liquor cabinet, situated right next to the stairway you once sat in waiting for us to join you in. You remember the soft words and the heated embraces, reminders that your melancholy was as ephemeral as it was unfounded. Even now, the memory brings a small smile to your lips. “You will never pale into insignificance.” “You're stuck with us, Your Excellency.” 

To the hells with it. Abandoning your original trajectory, you turn towards the door. Judging by the light filtering in through the window, you have a couple hours yet before the sun goes down. Perhaps you have a plan, perhaps you just want some fresh air. Either way, you’re out of the house before you even realize it. 

****

Now, as for you, Woljif, you had stormed out of the house into the backyard. It was still mostly an overgrown ruin, a choking tangle of weeds and debris that I intend to one day transform into a garden bursting with life. The only thing of note was the small part of the Sellen River that flowed through it, a sliver of pure, bubbling water that you once spent an evening frolicking in with Daeran and I. The memories are pleasant, and the guilt that pervades you at their arrival is entirely unwelcome. 

With an aggravated sigh, you pull one of your daggers out of its holster. Even now it’s a habit to make sure you’re armed. Maybe there will come a day when you don’t feel the need, and when it comes, that’s how you’ll know you’ve truly lost your edge. With a frown, you toss the knife at a nearby stump. It sticks with a loud thud, not unlike the sound the door made when you slammed it come out here. 

Your edge…that’s what this about. Just two years ago you were still running with the Family and scrabbling to get by day to day. Now, here you are, married to two of the most prestigious people in the country and the beginnings of a home to call your own. This is something you should be happy about, and you are! But there is a part of you that feels like you’re betraying everything you’d ever known, stabbing the boy you once were in the back for the first shred of kindness and love that had been shown to you. 

You pull the dagger free, all the anger in your veins dying as the blade comes loose from the wood. Daeran didn’t mean anything by it, but the quip had been phrased just right, careless in the way only someone who’d never faced such hardship could be. Now you know that the wounds of your past still stung.

Taking a deep breath, you flop onto the stump, staring out into the sunlit water. Just a few more minutes, then you’ll be ready to go back inside. Whether it’ll be to make amends or fan the flames again, you’re not sure. But judging by the loose grip you have on your dagger, you are so much more tired of holding grudges than you realized. 

****

At least, I want to believe these are the thoughts that ran through both of your heads. Earlier, when Daeran’s comment landed poorly and led to the most explosive fight I’d seen you two have since the Crusade, I’d felt perfectly useless. All of us still carry the ghosts of our past, and we’d spent so long trying to bury mine that I’d forgotten that you two still had yours to deal with. Words cannot describe how inadequate I felt as a partner in that moment.

Now, the three of us are lying on the floor of the living room, my shortcomings only still plaguing my own mind. You two had made up hours ago, and we carried on our evening in the way newlyweds are wont to do. But as you two drifted off to sleep, I found myself lying awake, haunted by my own, brand new ghost - the one borne of fear that one day I’d lose both of you. I’d been so wrapped up in the tangible ways that could happen, I didn’t realize all the other ways it could happen. 

The two of you lie on either side of me, your hands clasped below my breasts as your breathing evens out. The floor is far from comfortable, and the throw pillows from the couch aren’t much better, but just being here with you two…it doesn’t make it more comfortable, but there’s no other place I’d rather be. The crackling fire wants to lull me to sleep, and I know I should rouse you two before morning comes and the housemaid finds the three of us lying here naked. But for the moment, I am just savoring this moment, and thinking of ways we can help our ghosts to play nicely together in our new home.

[somewhereincairparavel]

does anyone else here feel so messy, lazy and unmotivated?? like I used to have varied interests like art, painting etc. and was generally very happy as a child but now I feel like I'm mediocre in everything I do, generally feel so unenthusiastic about things, just want to sleep all day, I also can't get rid of my acne, which I have on my back, arms and face, hairfall, my face overall looks so dull (as pointed out by so many ppl) ugh i hope this is just a teenager thing bc I feel so moody and useless and I just want to escape to fictional universes.

[iamthecomet]

I would offer my firstborn to see mean!Dew out-mean Rain. Maybe Rain doesn't expect it. Getting a taste of his own medicine. He doesn't expect it to be so hot.

Mean!Dew. My favorite.

~~

"Kneel," Rain orders. Dew's barely in the door to his own room. Rain hot on his heels. Rain kicks the door closed hard enough that the window rattles. He glowers at Dew’s back. Persona sliding into place. Dew wants a firm hand—he’ll give it to him. He’ll give Dew exactly what he’s been hinting at all day—he’ll ruin him.

Dew looks over his shoulder, and Rain catches a glint in those copper eyes that makes his stomach twist. Apathy. Annoyance.

Oh.

Dew waves a hand, the embers in his fireplace roar to life. He shrugs his jacket off, tosses it over his desk chair. Busies himself with the buttons on his shirt. He doesn't look at Rain again. Rain says Dew's name, harsh. Another command. Dew ignores him.

Rain feels like the world tilts under his feet. Dew ignores him a lot. Turns his nose up at Rain's orders in an attempt to make punishments worse. He's used to disobedience, at least initially. But this isn't the same.

Dew's, loose, relaxed. Flippant when he shrugs his shirt off and finally turns to look at Rain. Shirtless, uniform pants slung low on his hips. Nipple rings swaying as he takes a step toward Rain. Dew cocks an eyebrow. He looks amused, like he's cat with a mouse between his paws. But then that makes Rain the--

"Dew--" "Shut up.” Rain’s words die on his tongue. There’s no argument in Dew’s voice. No desperation, no question. And Rain is grappling with what's happening. It’s unexpected. He doesn’t know what to do with the way his cock kicks in his pants at the tone of Dew’s words. At the way Dew looks through him. Past him. Like Rain is a nuisance, a burden. All he knows is he never wants Dew to stop. Rain doesn’t know what to do now. Knows if he opens his mouth he’s going to sound unsure, hesitant. And that isn’t going to work. Not if he wants to keep the upper hand. Though, he’s starting to realize that maybe he never had it. Dew's been playing this game all day. Lulling Rain into this comfortable place where he calls all the shots. But really, Rain's walked right into this. He's let Dew play him. He doesn't want to admit how much he loves it. From the minute Dew dragged his hand over Rain’s chest and up to his throat in rehearsal, Rain’s brain has been racing to catch up. And Dew’s been one step ahead of him. Making Rain chase him, making Rain do all the work just to get here. Where Dew is looking at him like he's an idiot and Rain's cock is twitching to life in his pants because of it. “Why don’t you kneel for once?” Dew says. Satanas, he sounds bored. Rain’s stomach twists again. Is this how Dew feels when Rain treats him like this?

No wonder he likes it so much. Dew gives him every opportunity to back out. Questions him with his gaze in a way only Dew has ever managed to do. Like telepathy. Never breaking character but Rain knows this is his chance to bow out. To go back to the old script or something different entirely. Instead, Rain nods, just a little, just enough. And Dew is on him. Long fingers curling in Rain's hair and pulling until Rain yelps. Dew drags him down to his level, so their noses almost touch. Copper eyes boring into Rain's. "Are you too stupid to follow simple instructions?" Dew spits. "Kneel." Rain does. Isn't sure if he actually decides to or if his legs just give out. His body following Dew's orders long before his brain catches up. He hits the floor hard, pain jolting up through his thighs. His hands fall to his thighs, palm down and useless. Rain won't move them again unless Dew tells him to. They might as well not exist. Rain's already dipping. Static crowding into the edges of his brain. He's never fallen so fast. God he wants to sink into it and never come out. Dew never lets go of him. Unclenching his fist in Rain's hair to shift his grip and curl around one of his seaglass horns. He drags a hot claw over the place they connect to his head, oversensitive all the time. Rain's eyes flutter closed, he whines. Leans into Dew's touch. It's a mistake. The sting of Dew's slap is sharp on his cheek, hot. Rain's eyes snap open. The pain goes straight to his cock. Fully hard now, tenting his uniform pants. He can feel himself dripping already--unable to hide what this does to him. How much he likes it. "Don't look away from me again," Dew demands, and Rain promises himself he won't. Doesn't want to. Rain doesn't want to disappoint him, but he knows that he will no matter what he does. It doesn't stop him from trying. Dew nudges Rain's clothed cock with his boot. Rain hisses, hips canting toward the pleasure-pain he knows that boot will provide. Too eager, he knows, he'll never get it if he acts this way. His cheeks burn, delicious shame flashing through him at his own desperation. He can't help it. Rain knows the game but can't catch up. He's falling into traps he knows how to set. Letting Dew bait him into them. It doesn't matter how good he is at this game from the other side--on this one, he's helpless. He loves it. Dew laughs at him. A low chuckle, dark. The promise in it makes goosebumps break out over Rain's skin. "Fucking pathetic," Dew sneers. He pulls back on Rain's horn, tipping his head back. Dew leans down and spits. It hits Rains' cheek in a thick glob. Burning hot and slick as it slides down Rain's face to his jaw. Rain wishes it had been in his mouth. He wants to taste it. Thinks about sticking out his tongue, trying to catch an errant drip of it. Anything to get a taste of Dew--a piece of him. "Please," Rain murmurs. He doesn't know what he's asking for. The word breaks from his mouth unbidden. He digs his teeth into his cheek to try to keep more from escaping. "You want something, water lily?" Dew says, too soft, a trap. There's something in his tone--dangerous--sing-song, that makes Rain throb. Rain knows better than to nod. He keeps his eyes on Dew's face, keeps his head and hands still. "I want whatever you want," he offers and hopes it's good enough. Dew grins down at him, predatory. Fangs sharp. Rain hopes Dew digs them into his throat. Hopes he draws blood. Rain hopes he wears the evidence of Dew's debauchery on his body for days. Dew reaches for his zipper, fingers tightening on Rain's horn. "Right answer. Open up." Rain does, sticks out his tongue for good measure. Eyes still fixed on Dew's face as Dew pulls his cock free and smacks the head on Rain's cheek. Smearing a trail of salty pre over his cheekbone. "You think you're so fucking pretty," Dew chuckles, mocking. It hits, hard. Rain's cheeks flush darker. He wants to look away, he forces himself not to. Dew strokes himself, tapping the sticky head on Rain's tongue. "You won't be when I'm done with you."