#i have no excuse or punchline for it i just needed to draw this. i guess my suvconcious is telling me hes my yellow pikman

[13dps]

[nanamiluvs]

jealousy !

pairing : nanami kento x reader

rating : mature

wc : 800

warnings : jealousy, reader is afab but no gender mentioned, reader trying to make nanami jealous, gojo is reader's accomplice, the mature content is very brief, overstimulation, fingerfucking, kind of dirty talk, nanami is a sweetheart nonetheless ♡

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

nanami who doesn't get jealous when you blatantly flirt with a certain white haired friend acquaintance of his. nanami who totally doesn't get his revenge.

nanami who doesn't get jealous.

nanami who finds it cute when you try to make him so, a smile on his lips as he watches you. why would he feel jealous? the man is in love with you and he knows you feel the same way. the trust he has in you has no limit.

nanami who knows it's one of your attempts at making him jealous when you giggle at another one of gojo's jokes. nanami thinks they're miserable, he has heard better punchlines from 5 year olds.

nanami who doesn't mind you at all, flirting with his friend right under his nose. he thinks it's adorable, the way you think you can fool him.

nanami who, despite that, shifts in his seat when gojo leans in closer to you with a smirk on his face. he's not...jealous, he simply thinks that gojo doesn't need to look at you like that.

nanami who spends the rest of the evening in silence, jaw clenching as your chatter with gojo fills the table. gojo's telling you about, uhh, one of his made-up stories? nanami's not really sure. he only knows that you've been grinning all night. he doesn't have a problem with that, seeing your smile brightens his day. just not when the source of that curvature of your lips is the man named gojo satoru.

nanami who knows this was probably a plan you made beforehand which gojo was happy to oblige in, yet the way he casually acted his part made nanami frown with displeasure.

nanami who excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you two alone. you sigh, lost and defeated. "i think he just...doesn't get jealous, man. i just spent a whole night in vain." to which gojo smirks in response, taking his sunglasses off and getting closer to whisper in your ear, "trust me, if i know nanamin, he's gonna murder me."

nanami who witnesses the sight of you giggling with gojo's face oh-so-close to yours from afar.

nanami who clenches his jaw, yet sits back down.

nanami who thinks it's time to leave as he sets his share of the bill down on the table, getting up from his chair. he places a hand on your shoulder for a moment, the touch fleeting as he pulls his hand back. his brown eyes are staring down at you, his gaze piercing. you smile at nanami and get up, winking at gojo who just smiles back, having done his work.

nanami who spills no words as he drives the car. he's going at his usual speed despite the childish anger brewing in him, eyes fixated on the road ahead. you smile sheepishly, you also knew that nanami was aware it was all an act.

nanami who pushes you against the closed door as soon as you get in the house, his lips smashing against yours with fervor and frustration. "was it fun, my love?" he says, his hand coming up to grab the back of your hand to guide you into his kisses. his eyes bore into yours, demanding a response.

nanami who takes your clothes off, the pieces of fabric long forgotten on the floor. "or do you really want that sad excuse of a man to touch you like this?" he asks as he pulls you into his lap, your back flush with his chest. his teeth bite into the exposed skin on the area between your neck and shoulder, sucking.

nanami who kisses you when you part your lips to answer, his other hand holding your jaw possessively. he pulls you in closer by the small of your waist, leading your bodies into the bedroom. "was it fun, begging for my attention?"

nanami who bullies his thick fingers into your cunt, ruthless with the pace he set. "why aren't you talking, darling?" he whispers as his fingers draw out yet another orgasm from your shaking body. "here i was, thinking you were being quite chatty today. are you worn out already?"

nanami who makes you whine from overstimulation before even sliding inside you. his words mock you and your desperate attempt of an evening, telling you how cute you were for such an idea.

nanami who can't deny you were successful.

nanami who manhandles you onto your back on the bed, lips on yours as he positions himself with your entrance. his dick twitches with anticipation, a need to pound into you. "cat got your tongue?" he says, your state of daze endearing in his eyes. "not that confident now?"

nanami who pushes himself into your wet cunt with a quiet grunt escaping his lips. he presses his featherlight kisses on your neck, feeling your pulse beneath his lips.

nanami who forgets how he was supposed to take his anger out on you, his adoration weighing heavier.

nanami who wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to his chest as he whispers into your ear, his tone so in love. "why should i feel jealous, my love?" he kisses your temple, "you know i am as yours as you are mine."

nanami who gets a little bit jealous sometimes.

reqs are open!

[amazingmsme]

I’m Not Doing Anything, Am I?

AN: Just some short Barbie & Ken fluff for day 3! Hope you enjoy!

If Ken were being honest with himself, cuddle time was his favorite time. It gave him a chance to spend some quality time with his girlfriend. He liked being near her, but sometimes the physical distance was just too much. He needed her to be right there, pressed against his side, head on his shoulder with fingers intertwined.

They were on the couch watching a horse movie (he thinks it was called Flicka or something?) but Ken was having a hard time focusing. Barbie's hand was idly rubbing his arm and back, slipping down to his side every once in a while. Her touch was light and soft, nails grazing the skin to leave goosebumps in her wake.

He was trying to stay tough, to not break out into giggles beneath her hands. His lips twitched until a smile overtook his features, his breath growing more shallow. Barbie watched him with a fond smile of her own.

She faked a yawn and snuggled closer, wrapping an arm around his waist, drawing lazy circles at the curve of his side. He huffed out a noise akin to a laugh, flinching at the touch.

"Is something funny?" she asked, tilting her head to the side casually, wearing a curious smile. He leaned back so he could look at her, studying her expression to gauge if this was some kind of trick. But when he looked, he saw genuine curiosity sparkling in her eyes and a face of pure innocence.

"Nah, just- remembered something funny Ken said today," he bluffed. "That's nice. What was it?"

Crap. "Uuuh, y'know? It's really more of a guy joke, you wouldn't like it." She just hummed, letting her hands continue to roam. 

"I like your jokes though. How do you know I won't find it funny?" she asked. Her hand dipped down to scratch his hip and he jerked away from the touch and into her embrace. He stifled a laugh, wracking his brain for another thin excuse.

"I-I remember the gist and the punchline, but I'll just mess it up if I try and repeat it," he claimed, keeping his head angled away so she wouldn't be able to see his bush. She smirked to herself, deciding to let it slide. She was enjoying this little game of theirs.

Her other hand had been resting on Ken's bare chest, helping to prop herself up to see the screen. She let it trail down, beginning to trace his well defined abs. He wasn't able to hide his reaction that time, jerking at the touch and sucking in his stomach as a short lived giggle slipped past his lips.

He recognized that sparkle in her eye from earlier not as curiosity, but instead mischief. "Barbie-"

"Yeah Ken?"

He wore a giddy, nervous grin. "Please don't."

"Don't what?" she asked, never faltering in her innocent act.

"Tickle me."

"Tickle you? Of course, I'd love to!" she exclaimed and immediately pounced. He yelped and tried to crawl off the couch, but she already had her arms wrapped around him and kept him in place. Her fingers poked and scribbled everywhere she could reach as she peppered tickly kisses along his neck and ears.

Ken was in giggly hysterics as he rolled around on the cushions. She was laughing along with him, taking in every hiccup, laugh and snort.

If Barbie were being honest with herself, cuddle time was her favorite time too.

[fuzztacular]

Fukunaga does stand up comedy, tonight, and he's hella nervous so the team has promised not to show up as audience.

Instead, they are at your place, bullying you into wearing something very flashy - like a neon green hoodie or the giant Pikachu Hat Fukunaga won you at last year's festival - so that Fukunaga won't notice them in the background when they smuggle you into the show.

What better way of curing nerves than to be more embarrassing?

I scowl at Kuroo. I'm kinda peeved that his sad excuse for an idea isn't such a bad one. Most of the old Nekoma volleyball team is crowded into my living room on an unannounced visit. After hearing that I was the only one allowed to go to Shōhei's second ever stand up show, he did a good job of hiding his first one from them, they were upset to say the least. His feelings on the issue didn't seem to matter, they are insistent that they support their friend and ex teammate. I think their curious natures are getting the better of them more than anything though.

As soon as I turn my back Yamamoto pipes up, "Aw come on, you know it would work!"

I heave a sigh, "Yeah yeah, just let me think for a minute."

It could definitely work, with a properly thought out plan. Do I have what I need to pull this off? What about timing? Do I signal them to come in after he's distracted or should they be hiding somewhere inside?

A vague plan starts to form in my head, but there are so many possibilities of failure. I turn back and eye them appraisingly. "Okay, if we're doing this, we do it my way, got it?" The group cheers, minus Kenma, who perks up in interest. "BUT!" They groan at the mention of another condition. "You guys owe us."

Yaku speaks up this time, eyeing me back critically, "What's your price?"

"I want one of those expensive cakes from that bakery down the road."

"That's all?" Lev's surprise is apparent.

"No that's not all, you guys buy our drinks tonight after his gig."

"Obviously," Kuroo leans back into the couch.

I clap my hands, "Alright then, here's how this will go..."

-----

Sitting alone at the closest table to the stage, I feel the hair at the back of my neck stand on end. Ever since we left my apartment I've felt eyes on me. So many eyes. And not just the Nekoma guys' either. I don't love all the attention but at least we know my distraction attempt will work. It's fine, this is totally fine. Just think of how decadent that cake is going to taste. This all will definitely be worth it...I hope.

As the act before Shōhei leaves the stage, I glance back to the bar area, making sure the guys aren't causing mayhem or drawing attention. Nope, all eyes are still on me. Phase One: success. As my man is finally announced, I perk up, preparing for my part in Phase Two.

Shōhei makes his grand entrance. I shoot to my feet hooting and hollering, clapping in overzealous excitement. The man of the hour startles at the commotion, turning my way and stops, mouth hanging open gawking at my attire. He can't seem to believe it's really me in the embarrassing cow onesie, udders in full view, topped with a bright glittery orange cowboy hat.

My wink restarts his brain and with a guffaw at my expense he proceeds... to make me the butt of his jokes for the next several, long minutes. My favorite punchline ending with, "that's not a cow, that's my future wife!"

Long story short, not only did I end up helping Shōhei with his nerves, but he never even realized the group was there until he met us at the bar. After I changed out of that horrendous get up, of course.

[catcrescent]

The New TMNT Mutant Mayham Got Me Thinking About Why I Like the Turtles

So, I finished watching the latest movie Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem and it got me thinking about what it is that I like about the franchise. Although, not necessarily because I liked the movie. In fact, I found it kind of difficult to watch at points and I was having trouble understanding why at first. It had really good animation and really good voice actors, and I really liked the third act where a bunch of New Yorkers worked together to help the turtles take down the massive monster.

But I found myself not really enjoying it as a standalone movie and I really didn't find a lot that I liked as a TMNT fan. Consider this post as my way of trying to understand this.

The first way I'd like to think about this movie is as something on its own, regardless of the franchise it represents. After all, TMNT has had a lot of different interpretations with different flavors, so, what did this one have to offer? As I mentioned, really good animation and voice acting...but also a LOT of pop culture references and gross out humor. This franchise is not new to this kind of thing, but I was noticing that a lot of scenes would spend about 1-2 minutes every 5 minutes on drawing out a joke that seemed to reiterate "teenagers are cringy and gross". Perhaps the arguement could be made that, the film is labeled as a comedy, so it is excusable, but I don't quite agree with that. Comedy that is well-written is not simply a long string of goofiness; it's a punchline. A punch is something that needs to be planned and well-timed, and rapid punches can only be done effectively with focus and endurance, otherwise, it turns into a less effective equivalent of flailing your hand trying to slap someone, in which it is more annoying than impactful. There's not a lot of moments or jokes that stand out because a lot of them blurred together for me.

The heart of the message is important for any story. Each iteration of the Turtles seems to tie into the idea of trying to deal with how impressionable teenagers are, including Mutant Mayhem. With this recent film, the turtles are obsessed with earning a name for themsleves because they feel outcasted. It was interesting of a concept because this kind of thing was actually explored in the 1990 turtles movie, where the Shredder was recruiting teenagers throughout New York who felt misunderstood and convincing them that the only way they could live freely was to take from others. One of the human characters was a teenager who was following Shredder at first, but he changed his mind after Splinter and the turtles convinced him that there was no honor or true happiness in that path. The turtles were the role models in that situation, though the 2011 TMNT cartoon was an instance where the turtles had to learn hard lessons that helped them grow. Technically, Mutant Mayhem addresses this by saying the turtles needed to be confident in themselves and trust others, since trusting April and choosing to help her when her bike got stolen was what ultimately led her to doing a news report to convince New York to help them. The message is there, but it just felt muddled. In the first episode of the 2011 TMNT show, they saw April get kidnapped and failed to save her, Splinter makes a comment that the turtles will have to wait until next year to go outside again (though, I personally believe Splinter was just pretending to be dismissive of April's fate so as to spur the turtles) and Donnie responds "You didn't see into her eyes. The way she looked at me. Helpless. She needed my...our help." It's a small moment in a short episode, but it's a clear moment of empathy, even with very slight but subtle humor woven in, but not enough that distracts from the seriousness of the situation. Mutant Mayhem had chances to do this, like when Mikey thought Mando Gecko was buried under rubble but it turned out to just be his severed tail. It was a funny reveal, but I think it would have been more effective if there had even been a few seconds to show Mikey's panic and maybe even scratching at the rubble to allow for a moment of seriousness, that would have actually made the punchline hit more effectively.

In terms of the message, of having the turtles and other mutants feel like outcasts, I do feel like this particular story has been told a lot in movies nowadays (though I don't want to blame the movie for that, it's simply the current trend) but I do think there are movies where this kind of story has been told better. As far as films I look to as a personal golden standard, I think of the Iron Giant, who had to prove himself a hero by choosing not to be a weapon, but there are more recent films I think tackled this well, such as the Bad Guys, which had anthropormorphic animals trying to redefine their cultural stereotyping and personal beliefs about themselves as bad guys by choosing to do good. Technically, Mutant Mayhem does this same story, but I think it lacked a moment of respect for its message. And I don't think it's fair to comedy and storytelling to say "It's a comedy, it doesn't need to take itself seriously" because, for example, Bad Guys is technically a comedy too yet still manages to stirke a balance of comedy and character conflicts that showed you can have fun in the bad times, but mistakes do still have consequences. Mutant Mayhem had small moments like this, but it lacked a confidence in itself.

I think lack of confidence in itself was what I felt most with this movie. That was the main theme between the turtles and April, and technicallly that did get resolved as they worked together with the New York populace, though it all felt like a side story to Splinter's arc about not trusting humans. In a way, the turtles never quite got their big stand-out moment in their own movie. I guess that was the point of this movie, where the turtles aren't supposed to be important, since trying to attain that is what got them in trouble. It all technically works narratively, but I still had a hard time feeling satisfied.

Admittedly, perhaps some of this comes from my history with TMNT. One of my favorite Turtles media is the 1990 movie with a close second being the 2011 Nick cartoon, though I didn't get around to all of the other propteries, I still tried to stay informed. By the end of Mutant Mayhem, I was thinking about these other versions and trying to remember what I enjoyed about them so much and I really do enjoy those past versions. But I wanted to be cautious about not liking Mutant Mayhem just for interpreting things differently, since doing something different doesn't make it bad, but I think it still needs to be done well in order for the changes to work.

When dealing with so many iterations, it may not be fair to compare Mutant Mayhem to those before it, but I do wonder at what kind of identity that it offered of its own. As mentioned, these turtles lacked confidence in themselves and leaned very heavily on their jokes, to the point that I had trouble telling them apart personality wise. Even the old 80's cartoon was very careful in making the turtles distinct in how they reacted to situations despite their identical designs (like you could always rely on Raph making a snappy comment). Even with the other mutants, I liked that they were given the opprotunity to befriend the turtles, but they all blended together character-wise as well, since their motivations were all the same with only minor differences in how they behaved. For the turtles, things like Leo's over-responsibility and crush on April or Ralph's glee for violence felt more like sidenotes, and I'll try to explain why. Throughout Mutant Mayhem for instance, Ralph's anger was a running joke, saying he had anger issues...but I never got the sense he was angry. He was actually quite happy all the time and never took anything seriously, he just so happened to really like punching things and Splinter even lost his temper more than Ralph. A lot of the movie was like this, in telling things but not really showing it. And I think showing the personality traits rather than telling has been done well in the past. This is where I think it would be best to make comparisons: In other iterations, like the 1990 film, Ralph's anger is more apparent because we got to see how it resulted in him losing more than one fight he tried to do alone and almost dying, how he had to learn to manage his anger to help his brothers. In the TMNT 2011 cartoon, Ralph had a mean-streak, which caused problems with Mikey not feeling secure, but they would eventually work it through, and it was clear that Ralph's anger just stemmed from his immense passion for things, which sometimes led him to befriending pets or being the most empathetic of others in certain situations.

There were a variety of changes to the turtle's with their personality and backstory. As mentioned, change isn't bad but it should be done with a clear vision and executed well, especially when dealing with such a long-running franchise. I wasn't sure what to think of Leo's crush on April, in part because it didn't really have an impact on the story (as the turtles would have likely retrieved her stolen bike regardless--and if the only reason they helped April was because of Leo's crush then I think it reflects poorly on the turtles. One might argue Donnie had a crush on April before they went to save her in the 2011 TMNT cartoon but I think it was clear that Donnie's crush in the first episode was treated more as a fun joke and he expressed wanting to save her because they were the only ones who could help her and had a responsibility to). The other thing with Leo's crush in Mutant Mayhem was that it felt like it didn't add to the experience, not really being treated as a joke or committed to being explored like with TMNT's Donnie, and it didn't feel like Leo and April were given moments to even get chemistry. There were a lot of little decisions like this that made it feel added on rather than woven in. Other changes involving the backstory had a bigger impact on my experience and it relates to the fight scenes.

A lot of these past versions delivered when it came to the fight scenes, even the the live action 1990 movie. Part of the appreciation for it I felt like had to do with the fact that the turtles, no matter how young and fun-loving, do still have a level of seriousness for their craft. Mutant Mayhem had fights, but they kind of went by fast. There was some cool editing but not really a lot of moments that stood out. They largely felt like street fights, something chaotic and just scrambling to hit something. The only time I can really play back a fight in my head was also the one time it felt like a ninja was fighting, when Splinter was saving the turtles, but even that felt a little off, I think because of this Splinter's backstory. I might be biased in saying this, but I found myself missing the backstory of Splinter being either a pet of Hamato Yoshi or even the man himself, as it gave more creedance to the turtle's ninjustu. Even the Rise of the TMNT, which was before this movie and considered one of the more comedic of the recent iterations, still had Splinter originate as an honorable master of martial arts who got turned into a rat and raised the turtles to protect them. It was comedically portrayed but still faithful. It was to my surprise that the 1990 live action film was actually very faithful to the original comic adaption, in which Splinter was a pet rat who was close to Hamato and had a grudge against Shredder. Either backstory works I think because it has a level of believability. The only time I had heard of the turtles being trained by self-defense books was from the Micheal Bay 2011 movie. It is a goofy explanation, and it could work, but I'm not sure if Mutant Mayhem managed to make it work, as I feel it didn't quite work in the 2011 film either. It's not to say that Splinter has to be a martial arts master, but I feel like him and turtles learning ninjitsu from a legitimate source then gives more respect to ninjitsu. There's no sense of history and it makes it feel like, if Splinter found a book on boxing, then they could have just as likely become the Teenage Mutant Boxer Turtles and calling themselves ninja was just a means to an end.

I suppose all this to say, Mutant Mayhem was not a bad movie, but it is not one I would recommend, as I feel there are other films and even other Turtles media that can provide more refined versions of what this movie wanted to offer. I appreciate anyone who read to the end of this and allowing me to share my thoughts. Have an excellent day.

[electrivolt]

@rockheadcd​ asked :  "Hey, love. I have a joke for you." Oh no. Roark, no.

"If a Talonflame has red babies, and a Xatu has green babies, then what has no babies?" A pause. And he can't help but grin wider as the silence draws out.

"—A Swellow. Get it, because it sounds like swa—" Oh. And it seems like Luxray has swatted him in Volkner's place.

Oh, Arceus, here he goes again—

The groan is inevitable, as loud as he can be, not even needing to know where, exactly, this poor excuse of a joke is going— he just knows it’s going to be bad, Roark just loves those, doesn’t he? Does his repertoire never end?

“Don’t.” 

And yet, there it is. Of course. Of course he was going there. Of all the punchlines. 

Least Lux gets to it faster than Volkner himself does, the poor feline having to hear one too many things for his own liking, it seems, if the refusal to evel let him finish speaking is anything to go by. Volkner trained him well, didn’t he? Not that that’s enough punishment for him, choosing instead to assault his idiot with the nearest pillow within reach and pelting him with it. That’s what he’s earned, right?

“Was it worth it??” As if Roark would ever say no. This is really what he picked as the love of his life— and unfortunately, being subjected to this is still not anywhere near enough to make Volkner think otherwise.

[d2kvirus]

21/4/2003 Fact or Fiction

Statement #1: Roman Reigns should remain the undefeated, undisputed WWE Universal Champion until (at least) Wrestlemania 40 next year. FICTION - Roman's Reign of Terror needs to end, not least because the only variety in his title reign in the past two years is whether The Usos or Solo Sikoa interfere in the last two minutes of his matches, which is also the only part of his title matches that actually mean anything. And you know when might have been a good time to end Roman's Reign of Terror? The main event of this year's WrestleMania

Statement #2: Having so much wrestling to watch every week now is NOT a good thing. FICTION - Having too much wrestling to watch every week would be a bad thing if all the wrestling was exactly the same, as was the case of a few months in 2001-2 where it was WWE or nothing, but when there's variety in how companies book their product and approach their presentation (or, in WWE's case, examples of brands within WWE doing that) there's always ways for wrestling to be different so it's harder to get burned out

Statement #3: Wrestling journalism awards, like the WON Awards or the PWI 500, are important and meaningful. FICTION - While the WON Awards do still carry a certain weight to them, even if Meltzer and his site don't have the reputation they did even ten years ago, the PWI 500 has been a punchline for decades due to it counting win/loss records as its criteria, and that's before examples of the company people work for clearly weighting their ranking, for example Shingo Takagi suddenly jumping 150 places when he left Dragon Gate for New Japan

Statement #4: You prefer a 5-minute sprint to a 60-minute draw. FICTION - TBH neither is set in stone. Have there been 60 minute matches that I've thought are great? Sure...just as there's been 60 minute matches I'd sooner chew my own feet off than sit through again. Similarly, have there been five-minute sprints that I thought were fantastic? Sure...just as there's been five minute sprints which were as satisfying as trying to make excuses for that rocket I spent $3bn on exploding having a "rapid unscheduled disassembly" a few minutes into its mission and trying to claim that the mission was a success

Statement #5: Talking and/or writing about wrestling is better than actually watching wrestling. FICTION - I will answer that question with a question: having watched that Tyrus vs Chris Adonis match from a few weeks ago, would you like to also write about that match having seen it - or would you prefer to stand in your kitchen with a beer in hand, thousand yard staring out the window?

https://411mania.com/wrestling/411-wrestling-fact-fiction-roman-reigns-undisputed-wwe-universal-champion/

[hum-tittle]

I am an aroace lesbian who does date/have physical intimacy! (I also have a Hazbin Hotel comic I wrote pinned to my wall, about Alastor and aceness haha)

He is a breath of fresh air! Most representation of asexuality is a child like character (SpongeBob), an emotionally unintelligent character (Sheldon), or a character where their sexuality makes no difference (Perry the platypus).

Something I also see in ace coded characters is either they're very innocent or they're a recluse who doesn't want any type of relationship. Aziraphale and Crowley from Good Omens are a perfect example of both extremes.

(Side note: Good Omens is more satirical on religion. So, the characters falling into ace tropes, which are rooted in religion, make sense. I believe a big reason ace coded or ace characters are "innocent" is the demonizing of sex. The same reason for the final girl trope. But at the same time, if you're not feeling sexual attraction, it must mean you don't like people in any way.)

So, with Alastor being a fun yet mature character who has friends, is the life of the party, cares, but has anterior motives, is just fantastic! He is a well written character who is ace instead of being Ace as a punchline or excuse. I also really enjoy the Alastor and Vox element. I know it's not confirmed if Vox ever had feelings for Alastor, but it's pretty obvious, and Alastor seems kinda oblivious or chose/chooses to ignore Vox's feelings. Which is a very ace experience!

Now for the fanfics and fanart smut, it depends. If it aligns with him as a character, it doesn't bother me. But if it doesn't match him or what we know about him so far, it makes me uncomfortable (excluding humorous ones like sexy nun Alastor. Does not match his vibe, but it's hilarious.). My opinion will adjust as we know more about him. If he is confirmed sex repulsed, then most smutty things will then make me uncomfortable in the same way, making fan smut with gay characters in hetro relationships does. I understand people get inspired or feel attraction to characters and want to write/draw them. I also understand these are fictional characters. So unless the actor and/or creators come out with specific boundaries for the character, people are allowed to take creative freedom (obviously excluding being a bigot or creep). But at the same time it lets me know that fan is probably not a safe person. (Not necessarily dangerous but probably acephobic and would tell "I just have met the one.").

But my opinion is totally different with Alastor cosplayers! I love it when people feel confident in themselves! Everyone (who wants to) deserves to feel sexy! So if cosplaying as Alastor makes you feel that way, go for it!

I hope this helps! If you have more questions or need more details, I am happy to share :)

I'm currently writing an essay for my university where I write about asexuality and representation. I will briefly be talking about Alastor and what he means to the asexual community, and how we feel about smutty Fanfiction / fanart including Alastor.

So the most important question: What does Alastor mean to you (in an asexual context)?

It would be lovely if you could share your thoughts on the matter in the comments, even better if you could say whether you're aspec or not, but only if you feel comfortable with that. Thanks in advance!

[cyantomatos]

Kinktober - Day 8

Day 8 of the Kinktober list provided by @the-purity-pen​

Prompt: Seduction || Size difference || Cunnilingus

Character: Javier Peña

You hadn’t done it on purpose. At least, that was the story you were sticking with.

Maybe you had noticed Javi watching you at the holiday party. Maybe you’d leaned in a little closer than you needed to properly hear the story your coworker Jason was telling. Maybe the hand on Jason’s arm as you laughed wasn’t necessary. Maybe you had laughed a little too hard for the shitty punchline to the joke.

Maybe you had been trying to make Javi jealous. 

You weren’t surprised when he stalked up to the two of you, staring daggers at Jason as Javi wrapped an arm around your waist. Half the department was still trying to wrap their heads around the playboy of the DEA actually settling down with someone, even months after you’d gone public with your relationship.

Jason paled a little at the look on your boyfriend's face and quickly made an excuse to be elsewhere, prompting you to turn a glare on Javi.

“That was rude.” Javi stared down at you, possibly in shock.

“Rude? Rude is flirting in plain sight of your boyfriend, mi amor.” The emphasis sent a bolt of annoyance through you and you took a step away, crossing your arms in defence.

“I wasn’t flirting. I know you have a hard time telling the difference, Javi, but being nice isn’t flirting.” You had been flirting a little, to get to Javi, but he didn’t need to know that.

Javi made a face, gripping your elbow tightly as he turned. He dragged you out of the room, ignoring your protests and weak attempts to pull out of his grip. If you really wanted away from him, Javi wouldn’t stop you, but you both knew this was exactly what you’d wanted to happen.

He leads you through the offices, finally opening the door to a little-used supply closet and dragging you in. Immediately he has you pressed up against the wall, hands braced on either side of you, face inches from yours.

“I think you need to be reminded who you belong to, hermosa.” One of his hands grips the back of your head as he pulls you into a heated kiss, drawing a small whimper from you as his hips press against yours. You can feel him already half hard for you, and suddenly any fight you might have had in you flies right out the window.

When Javi breaks the kiss you chase after him with a whine, pouting when he only chuckles at you. He slides to his knees, eyes on yours the entire time. “We almost didn’t make it to the party tonight, with the way you look in this dress. I knew I’d be fighting men away from you the entire night.” His hands slide up your thighs as he speaks, dragging the hem of your dress up to your waist.

When the fabric slides high enough his eyes drop, and he lets out a low groan at the sight of the already damp lace covering your pussy. Heat rises to your face as he leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your clothed mound.

“I’m the only one that gets to see you like this, baby.” He lifts one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder as his fingers slide the damp fabric aside. “No one else. Not Jason, not and of those CIA fuckers, no one.”

Your head falls back against the wall with a loud thump as his thumb brushes over the seam of your pussy, your fingers threading into his hair. “Javi...please baby...don’t tease me.” He chuckles and presses a kiss to your thigh.

“Why not? You’ve been teasing me all night. I know what you were doing, hermosa. You wanted me to be jealous. But I’m not, baby, I just think you need a reminder of who you belong to.” With that he leans forward, licking a broad stripe up your pussy. The hand that isn’t woven into his hair flies up to cover your mouth, trying desperately to mask your cry of pleasure.

You’d never admit it, for fear of inflating his ego past the point of no return, but Javi could do some incredible things with his tongue. You joked that the best use for his mouth wasn’t when he was talking, but it wasn’t entirely a joke. Within less than a minute he had you keening and bucking against his mouth, and your legs almost buckled beneath you as he slipped one, then two fingers into you.

Eventually he must have decided you were being too quiet, because his hand left your hip for a moment to grab the hand covering your mouth and hold it tightly. He reared back for a moment, fingers still fucking in and out of you and chin covered in your juices as he looked up. “I want them to hear you, baby. They need to know you’re mine.”

You let out a quiet whimper as he dove back in, hips bucking desperately against him. You were close, so fucking close, just a little more, just-

Javi drew back right at the edge of your orgasm, sliding his fingers out of you and sucking the glistening digits into his mouth as he looked smugly up at you. You stared down at him, confusion slowly morphing into indignation as you realized what he was doing.

He slid to his feet, deft fingers sliding your panties back into place and adjusting your dress to cover you, a smug smile on his face the whole time. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours, and you could taste yourself on him.

With a sharp smack to your ass he broke the kiss, grinning down at you. “Maybe if you’re a good girl and stop flirting to make me jealous, I’ll make you come when we get home.”

[miracul0us-multishipper]

“You”

A grin spread over Felix' face as he let the charade drop.

“Me.”

The black haired girl he now knew was Marinette rolled her eyes and turned back to her sketch book, a clear dismissal.

“You’re blocking the light. Go bother someone else.”

He sighed and brushed his hair back, decreasing the similarities to his cousin to the necessary minimum.

“Why would I? Everybody else is so boring.”

No one in this entire city had even realized he was back; not their classmates, not the teachers, not even the brunette fashion disaster that obviously had some experience with deception. Of course his little charade would have to end once Adrien had recovered from the cold that kept him at home, but until then Felix would have his fun. Yesterday he'd spend the entire day in the Bourgeois Spa, fooling the entire staff, the Mayor and his clingy brat. Despite the latter being Adriens “best friend”, not even she had realized who she was really inviting. Getting rid of her had been a little harder, but in the end he'd spent a wonderfully relaxing day in a steam bath and his skin was softer than ever. Courtesy of the ridiculously expensive mud bath he hadn’t had to pay a single penny for.

“Looks like you'd fit right in then.”, Marinette commented and drew an especially vigorous line in her book.

“Ouch. You wound me, darling!”

She shrugged and ignored him. Ignored him! That wouldn’t do.

With a last tug at his no longer messy strands he sat down next to her, leaning into her space as far as he could risk without getting slapped. His last few attempts had thought him that lesson.

“Oh, come on, Marinette, you must to tell me!”, he nagged her, happy when her face turned from concentration to annoyance. “What gave me away? Was it the wink? Or no, it was the greeting, wasn't it? Too much enthusiasm.”

“Why do you even care? You got all the others, didn’t you?”

He clicked his tongue.

“I have standards. If there's one person who can tell the difference, my performance is obviously lacking.”

She huffed and added a little bow to the skirt she was working on. Knee-length and plain colored, decorated with small ribbons. Classic and elegant, yet a touch of playfulness. He would have complimented it if he'd thought she might value his opinion.

“If it wasn’t my words or gestures, what was it?”, he asked on, not willing to give up and admit defeat. It was their little routine by now. He'd come up and try to pass as Adrien, she'd see through him and he would try to annoy her until she either gave him her full attention, or snarked him off. Marinette Dupain-Cheng – despite her cute appearance – could be mean, he'd learned.

“I don’t think I want to tell you.”, she shrugged, but he could see the beginning of a smile tugging at her lips. She'd deny it, but secretly she enjoyed their little battles of wits.

“What?”, he gasped and slumped against her in played shock, conveniently knocking the book out of her hands and onto the steps of the Trocadero. “But why?”

Now unable to draw on, she finally gave him her undivided focus.

“Because you, Monsieur Graham de Vanilly, are a major pain in my butt.”

“Oh? I would have thought you above such pettiness.”, he lamented. “To deny a fellow fashion enthusiast your criticism! To dishonor the sacred solidarity between artists! Truly a shame.”

“You? An artist?” She snickered. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Hey! Deception is as much of an art as these tiny scribbles of yours. And I am a master of my craft, thank you very much.”

She waved her hand and shooed him back a little.

“The questionable status of your craft aside, I'd hardly call you an expert. You were here for a day and already had the entire class plus three akumas after you. Your play didn’t even last an hour before it blew up in your face. Maybe you should ask Lila for a bit of advice! She's been here for months and is still on her unquestioned bullshit.”

He growled at that, drawing out another of these smug little smirks Marinette so rarely wore. After all his visits she knew how to rile him up.

“Do not compare me to that- that klutz! Anybody could spew some fancy tales and name drop, but that doesn’t mean she has skill. There's no finesse, no authenticity beneath that badly styled hair of her.”

“And there is beneath yours?”, Marinette said sweetly. He huffed and raised his chin.

“Of course there is. I don’t run around as Adrien for the fame, but for the fun of it. And I actually put in some effort. I was only found out because my goal required breaking character, and I still had a score to settle with my dear cousin. You think I only depend on my pretty face, because it looks conveniently close to Adrien? Wrong!”

His chest swoll a little as he spoke. With his accomplishments, he'd earned a little pride in himself.

“True, artful deception requires three things Lila Rossi couldn’t fake if her life depended on it: Discretion, Distraction and the right timing. She only ever barges in headfirst, unable to survive even a second outside of the spotlight.”

She hummed.

“My mistake. How could I ever assume you to be alike, since you obviously care so little about getting attention?”

Snarky little minx. Well, she wasn’t wrong, to be fair.

“Enough of that!”, he decided and eagerly turned back to her. “Now tell me what gave me away.”

“Let me see...”, she mused and pursed her lips. “I guess I could tell you that...”

“Yes?”

“...under certain circumstances...”

“Go on!”

“...it might be...”

“Might be?”

“The scent.”

He blinked. This had been his mistake? What kind of cologne did his cousin even wear?

“The... the scent.”

“Uh-huh.”

She moved to get back to her sketching, but he snatched the book before she could even touch it.

“Nah-ah! First you've got to expand on that. What perfume is he wearing?”

She shrugged and leaned back.

“Oh, isn’t it obvious? Adrien always wears “Manners and Class” N° 5. You on the other hand reek of “Wouldn’t know politeness if it hit me in the face”. A poor choice, really.”

She leaned in.

“You stink.”

It took a moment for her words to register, and he couldn't suppress a gasp when they did. With a satisfied smile she tugged her sketchbook out of his hands and crossed her legs, ready to put the finishing touch on her latest design. Felix fell back on the step next to her.

“That's it.”

“Yup.”

“You've won.”

“Fair and square.”

“I am defeated.”

“Annihilated. But to be fair, that opening was too easy.”

“Perfect set-up. Clean execution. Merciless punchline. You have earned your victory, so claim it properly.”

“I will.”

He fell silent after that, acknowledging his defeat. He lasted all but two minutes before his need for attention beat his shame.

“So? What do you want as your prize?”

“Peace and quiet?”, she proposed, gnawing at the end of her pencil.

He shook his head in disbelief.

“You're more ambitious than that, Dupain-Cheng. Here I am, Felix Graham du Vanilly, offering you everything I can give, and you settle for peace and quiet? Tsk, you can do better than that.”

“Maybe I could ask you to clear the area, while I’m already at it. For the entire week.”

He should leave. He wouldn’t get any real feedback out of her today, and now that he had offered her a prize she might develop some common sense and ask him for his connections, or some favors that could get her publicity. He was stretching his luck every time he decided to pester her again.

But he stayed. Whether it was his wounded pride, or his curiosity ever since she'd sent that little love declaration to his cousin... he couldn’t allow the only borderline interesting person in this city to dismiss him like that. Especially not when he hadn’t been able to get a rise out of her yet.

An idea popped into his mind and he spoke before he could think.

“You could ask me for a date.”

Now Marinette did put her book away.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

She blinked.

“Did you miss the part where I asked you to leave me to my scribbles, as you put it? Because I am sure I mentioned it a few times, now.”

“No, doesn’t ring a bell.”

She groaned and closed her book. He counted that as a victory.

“Well, then maybe you remember the fact that I’m in love with Adrien. Which you already know, since you watched the video clearly addressed to him. And deleted said video. And replied very rudely.”

He hummed and stood up to circle her. An actor had to have a sense of drama, after all.

“The past is the past. And in the present, I look just like Adrien.”

Now he finally seemed to have broken through her cool facade.

“So what?”, she snapped at him, crossing her arms. “Do you think I like him for his looks? Am I that shallow, in your opinion?”

Of course she wasn’t. But he'd finally struck a nerve.

“You're not?”, he provoked slyly.

“No!”

She stomped her pink flats on the ground with more force than should be physically possible.

“I love him because he is kind. And thoughtful. And funny and confident and fair and so classy, and because he loves to make friends, and because he's loyal and caring and-“

“Okay, okay, I get it. He's your little fairy tale prince.”, he interrupted a little harsher than intended. Clearing his throat he continued. “And you'll be relieved to know that I don’t want to date you either. No offense to you, but I am above such mundane things as crushes.”

She rolled her eyes and sat back down.

“Of course you are.”

“Fact is, my dear Marinette,” he lectured smugly, “that you can’t even say two words to your loverboy without seemingly suffering a particularly unflattering stroke.”

“What a flowery statement, Sherlock.”

“Another fact is that you can talk very fluently to me. Far too fluently, in my opinion.”

Marinette's eyes narrowed with suspicion and he smiled.

“What's your point?”

“My point is,” he finished his circling and came to a stand right in front of her. “that you can use me to practice. Here, I'll even mess up my hair again!”

“Wait, I didn’t even agree to-“

“You're welcome. Aren’t I a dashing little dream prince?”

He posed in true Adrien fashion and Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Please, just don’t.”

“Pah! Ungrateful as always. Anyway, back to business!”

He spun into a dramatic pirouette and kneeled down before her, taking her hand between his.

“Marinette, my fairest!”, he proclaimed with vigor. “Is there something on that bright mind of yours you want to share with me, Adrien Agreste?”

She groaned again, but didn’t pull away.

“If you'll leave me alone after that...”

“I'll do anything my good friend asks of me! I am sunshine personified!”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Close enough.”

He almost regretted looking for Marinette this late. The sun was about to set and most tourists had already left for locations with a better view. If there had been more, one might have captured a snap shot of Adrien Agreste kneeling in front of a random girl about to confess. His cousin would be delighted when he found out about his scandal in the news.

Alas, it was only the two of them who paid attention to each other. But Marinette was about to begin, so he didn’t ponder on the viewers anymore.

“I... I wanted to tell you that...”

He almost winced at that poor display of rhetorical talent, but she wasn’t done yet. Taking a deep breath, Marinette lifted her eyes off of her shoes and looked directly at him. And for a moment it felt as if she were looking into him. He'd seen these bluebell eyes roll in annoyance, glare in anger and sparkle with mirth, but never had he seen them this piercing, this all-consuming.

“Adrien, there's something I haven’t told you yet.”, she said, and it was as if he'd never heard her speak before. This wasn’t the voice that had teased and bantered with him, or the disinterested lull she mumbled in when she tried to ignore him. This was soft, yet firm and confident. Like tugging the strings of a violin: a clear, pleasant sound that offered a first hint of the potential in this slender instrument.

“I didn’t keep this from you because I don’t value our friendship.”, she said and her fingers tightened around his. Felix was suddenly sure that no expensive mudbath could ever make his skin as soft as hers. “It's the furthest thing from it. I didn’t tell you because I value our friendship so much. And I was scared to risk it.”

She took a step closer and he had to swallow.

“Adrien, you are the first person I think of when I wake up, and the only person I see in my dreams. Every morning, when I walk into class and see you, I feel like there's pure sunshine in my chest and springs under my feet. Like gravity is just a loose suggestion and I could float if I jumped. Like... like I could do anything I ever dreamed of.”

She looked down upon their hands. Disentangling their fingers surprised him, but even more surprising was that this time, she took his hands between hers.

“I know you feel trapped sometimes.”, she whispered and he found himself suddenly very insecure. Was she still acting? Was she this deep in their little charade? Or... or was she truly talking to him?

“I know you put up a smile and try to give everybody what they expect. And that you don’t have a lot of chances to just be you, not the heir of a great legacy. But I... I want to be your escape. Your safe haven. What I am trying to say is...”

She looked back up to him, and her smile was radiant.

“I love you.”

...

There was a tightness in his chest.

Because he wasn’t breathing, he realized.

Odd.

He didn’t have time to overthink this little detail, though. For as soon as he opened his mouth to say something – what, he didn’t know – she blinked and took a step back. The spell faded and his mouth fell shut again.

“So,” Marinette cleared her throat and looked away. “How... How was it?”

“Uh...”, he made, which was admittedly not the smartest reply he’d ever given her. The fact that he still hadn’t remembered to breathe in didn’t make things easier.

Marinette shifted her weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable.

“That bad?”

Ha.

Ha ha.

He shook his head and finally sucked in some much needed air.

“Good”, he croaked out, which was still not much of an improvement from his earlier statement of ‘uh’.

“It was... really good.”

Ah. The simple beauty of a full sentence.

“You think so?”, she asked, voice high with surprise. “It wasn’t... I don’t know, a little too much?”

“No!”, he answered a little too fast. “Uh, no. No, it was really... really good.”

Marinette's eyes went narrow.

“Are you making fun of me? Because I may be small, but if you did this to humiliate me then I swear to god, I will take this pencil and-“

“I was serious. What you said was beautiful.”

They both blinked at his words. He hadn’t meant to say that. This wasn’t how their interactions went. They were snarky. Mean. Teasing from time to time. But not... this. Never this open. Never vulnerable.

“Thank you.”, Marinette gave back, seemingly unsure herself. “I should... you know, it’s late and my parents are waiting.”

He nodded far too eagerly for his earlier efforts to make her stay.

“Yes, of course. I'll... No, you know the way better than me, probably.”

She laughed at that. It wasn’t a snicker, or one of her smug little huffs. It sounded... sweet.

“Yeah, no need to walk me home.”

She eyed him for a a moment, then the emptying place.

“I could walk you home, though. If you want to.”

Yes.

“No.”, he said and something in his chest roared in disappointment. “Thank you, but it would be quite the detour for you.”

She shrugged.

“Alright. Don’t get lost.”

Shouldering her bag she took her sketch book and moved to leave, but stopped mid movement to turn back around.

“Oh, and if you tell anybody – especially Adrien! – about any of this, you'll find out what I was going to do with that pencil! Got it?”

He rolled his eyes, finally in control of himself.

“Yes, oh great master of pencilmanship. Your weapon is as feared as its wielder.”

Satisfied she nodded and turned around, but stopped yet again. With a groan she dropped the bag, stepped in front of him and grabbed his collar. He'd never admit to anybody that the surprised squeal that followed had come from him. Utterly frozen in shock he could only watch as Marinette came closer and...

“There!”, she hummed and combed back his hair with her fingers. “I like you hair better this way.”

A small nod was all he could muster up, but it was enough for her. Waving him goodbye she turned around for good.

“Well then. See you around, Felix!”

He watched her leave, desperately trying to regain his voice.

“Y-Yeah. See you around, Marinette.”

Only when she had completely disappeared in the nearby metro station he allowed himself to sit down, wobbly knees no longer able to support him.

“What...”, he mumbled to himself, “...the entire fuck...”

What did just happen? Nothing made sense, not this stupid idea and certainly not his reaction to it. Sighing he leaned back against the steps and touched his hair. It was still a little messy, but laid back against his head in its usual fashion. If he concentrated he could almost feel the warmth of her fingers trapped between his strands.

He sighed deeply.

...damnit.

- - -

A little one shot because I hadn't written about canon!felix yet.

[threecrowsinatrenchcoat]

Paint My Spirit Gold

Dukeceit Week Day 2: Green/Yellow

Fans of the YouTubers "Deceit" and Remus "The Duke" Sanders start to suspect that maybe, just maybe, the two of them are more than simple internet pals.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 2187

Warnings: n/a

@dukeceitweek <3

-

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a watercolor-style painting of a snake. The snake appears to be made of melting chocolate, and there is a large bite taken out of its tail. Cherries and jam are leaking out of the snake at the bite wound. The snake's expression of horror is overly-exaggerated to the point of comedy. The caption reads: "liked your snake boi, @SerpenThyme. thanks for the inspo." /end ID]

- 

A notification ding cut Janus off mid-sentence. 

“Wow, someone left their cell phone on, so professional,” he said, giving the camera a dramatic eye roll. That someone was him, of course, because he was the only one in the apartment- just him and the running livestream- but that was no excuse not to be a drama queen about it. He finished wiping flour off his hands and grabbed his phone to silence it; but the notification made him pause. He flicked his eyes up toward the camera and gave a slight smirk.

“My goodness, I’m famous,” he drawled. “The Duke himself has graced little old me with some fan art.”

Most of the comments in the chat wanted him to show it, so Janus opened up Twitter to see the full post he’d been tagged in. It was a watercolor painting of the coiled-snake chocolate sculpture- lovingly named Jake by his viewers- he’d made for his YouTube video last week; it was wearing an expression of such comedic horror that Janus had to stifle a laugh. He flicked his phone screen toward the close-up camera on his counter so his viewers could see.

“How kind of you, Remus,” he said. “All of you should go scold him for what he’s done to poor Jake here.”

Most of his viewers would know he was joking- after all, they were the ones to nickname him Deceit when he provided neither a real or fake name for his online persona. They knew full well what he was like by now.

The oven timer dinged. Janus silenced his phone and set it aside.

“And our first batch of cookies is done. You know, why don’t we show the Duke some appreciation?”

-

[ID: An Instagram post by user @SerpenThyme. The photo is an artistically-framed shot of a stack of sugar cookies with green, yellow, and pink icing. Propped up against the stack is another cookie, with an intricate icing-drawing of an octopus. The photo appears to have been color corrected to have high contrast, low saturation, and a dark vignette at the edges. The Instagram user @OctoDukie is tagged. No caption. /end ID]

- 

“You know, I have often been accused of actually being a little old lady, what with my fondness for knitted jumpers, rocking chairs, and incredibly fucked up murder mystery books. Today I am doing nothing to dispel this accusation, by making soup.”

The studio was dark and empty aside from Remus' workspace. Everyone else had left long ago, even his own brother, which meant that it was officially ass-o'clock in the morning (or, as most people called it, somewhere between 1 and 2 a.m.) But Remus was stuck in hyperfocus, honed in on putting the last touches on a commission that he'd been putting off for weeks. It's not that it was a tough painting- once he'd gotten started, it was actually a very creatively satisfying piece- but man, executive dysfunction could go suck a dick

“French onion soup, specifically. Because while I do like to pretend I am a classy bitch, I am also, regrettably, a lazy bitch with a distaste for anything that takes longer than one bottle of wine to make.”

Remus hated working in silence. It was stifling, almost suffocating. His brain needed noise like his lungs needed air. So when the studio had grown still and silent, Remus had flipped open his laptop and queued up some YouTube videos. 

“So we have here three pounds of onions that we need to slice up, pole to pole. You’re going to cry no matter what, so if you have any memories you’ve been repressing since middle school, now is an excellent time to dredge those up.” 

And if it happened to be 90% SerpenThyme videos, well. Sue him. 

“Now the first rule of caramelizing onions: fast and sloppy is always better than slow and thorough… at least, that’s what every man I’ve ever slept with tells me.”

Remus choked and glanced over to his laptop screen just in time to catch Deceit's trademark smirk directed at the audience just for a moment. It was the deadpan delivery that always got him. Remus could barely hold onto a joke long enough to get through it without cackling mid-punchline, but this fucker could say the funniest shit like an off-hand comment. 

He wiped his hands off on his jeans (what use were clothes if you couldn't use them as paint rags?) and pulled his laptop across the table.  He typed out a quick comment, citing the timestamp of the joke, and after it was posted, he shut his laptop. 

'Cause ass-o'clock was short for "get-your-ass-home-or-I’ll-kick-it" o'clock. 

-

[ID: A screenshot of a YouTube comments section. The first comment is by user TheDuke, and reads: "10:42 wow, rude." The second comment is a reply by user SerpenThyme, and simply reads ";)" /end ID]

-

Janus plopped down on the couch with a slight groan. He didn’t need to stream today, but he really hated missing days. Besides… he was fine. Really. 

He adjusted the camera until he was happy with the framing, and then checked the settings on his streaming software. Satisfied, he started the stream, and watched as his usual viewers rolled in. 

“What do you mean I’m not in my kitchen?” Janus drawled, addressing the chat. He glanced around with an expression of faux-shock on his face. “My goodness, when did that happen?”

He chuckled, and then gestured to his surroundings. “Yes, we are in my living room today. If you must know, my closest and most trusted friend tried to murder me today- yes, Virgil, it was attempted murder and nothing less- and I survived with nary a scratch… and a broken foot, but that is beside the point. Anyway, I’m not allowed to stand for long periods of time, and I may or may not be somewhat inebriated by pain pills and couldn’t stand even if I wanted to. So we are cooking from my couch today.”

Janus paused for a few moments to read the chat messages as they popped up. A few get well soon’s, a few theories about the “attempted murder,” Virgil- who moderated his chat for him- vehemently denying the “attempted murder” but otherwise refusing to clarify the event, and a large volume of wtf why are you streaming today, take care of yourself comments, which made him smile. But one particular comment caught his eye, almost lost amid the torrent of an active chat: wait this kinda looks like the Duke’s living room?

“Oh, VampSuga,” he said, addressing that commenter in particular with a slight smirk. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Anyway, since I can’t reach my oven from here, I thought some no-bake cookies were in order. For these you will need-”

-

[ID: A screenshot of a Discord conversation. The text reads:

“VampSuga: Ok ok hear me out. Dukeceit. 

Starstruck96: who?

IneffableSnek: lmao

FeralBeauYasha: lol

VampSuga: Deceit and Remus Sanders! They’re totally dating. I will die on this hill. 

FeralBeauYasha: Isn’t the duke w/ PatPat?

IneffableSnek: no thats his brothers bf

FeralBeauYasha: ohh

VampSuga: Did anyone see Deceit’s stream today? I swear that’s the Duke’s livingroom. 

StarStruck96: idk that seems like a stretch

IneffableSnek: no wait i kno what u mean

IneffableSnek: im watching the duke’s old videos and that one where he shows off all his old weapons he’s in a living room kinda like deceit’s 

FeralBeauYasha: They were acting all cute on twitter too

VampSuga: DUKECEIT”  /end ID]

-

"Hey guys, been a while since you've seen my face and not just whatever my hands are busy with, when it's within YouTube's terms and conditions I mean. They used to be way more lenient…" Remus trailed off for a moment, then shook his head sharply and plastered on a grin. 

"Anyway! In June me and a few other creators did a fundraiser for the Trevor Project, and y'all smashed the goal, so I let you decide what video I'd make this month." He paused, and gestured to the mountain of clothes piled behind him on the bed. "And you had so many juicy ideas to choose from, but you decided to dress me up like a Barbie instead."

Remus paused to scroll through his phone for a few moments. "Ah, ok, here we go. Twitter user YoonIsMyCat- oh, BTS, nice- sent in this first outfit. Uh… future Remus, put up the post here somewhere." He gestured vaguely to his right. "Y'all went with either a fuckton more clothes or a fuckton less clothes, which I respect. Apparently this outfit is called…” He squinted at his phone. “Amish chic? I take it back, no respect at all.”

Remus cycled through the outfits his viewers sent in, which ranged from the aforementioned “Amish chic” to “2008 rave attire” to “ok now you guys are just fucking with me” (which consisted of one of those big puffy snow coats, lime green in color; booty shorts with the shrug text emoji across the ass; fuzzy pink boots; and a yellow cowboy hat to top off the whole thing. It was awful. Remus loved it.) The mountain of clothes on the bed gradually became a mess of clothes spread across the floor instead, until there was just one outfit left. 

“Ok so Twitter user VampSuga sent me this outfit that I’m gonna call ‘sexy librarian.’ I couldn’t find this exact sweater online, but-” he paused for dramatic effect, before brandishing a sweater toward the camera like a bullfighter. “My boyfriend had something that was close enough.”

Remus hopped up from the bed and switched off the camera so he could change.

“They’re going to lose their minds,” a voice drawled from the doorway. Remus threw his shirt at him.

“Shoo, I’m getting naked.”

-

[ID: A Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a selfie of YouTuber Remus “The Duke” Sanders, a Hispanic man with his hair dyed green and styled into a spiked mohawk. He is wearing a yellow knitted cardigan over a black button-up shirt. He is grinning widely at the camera. The caption reads: “my viewers pick my outfits! now live on youtube. go see what i look like as a sexy librarian!” /end ID]

-

DukeceitStan

first and only dukeceit shipper ig

DukeceitStan

wow there’s so many of you now! Hi!!

DukeceitStan

i want this to be canon so bad omg

DukeceitStan

i mean just look

[image]

how 

[image]

cute

[image]

[ID: A series of three gifs featuring Youtubers SerpenThyme, aka Deceit, and TheDuke, aka Remus Sanders. Deceit is a black man with long, dreadlocked hair, and vitiligo patches along the left side of his face. Remus is a Hispanic man with green-dyed hair styled into a mohawk, many ear and facial piercings, and tattoos covering both arms. Each gif is edited so that the highlights are tinged yellow when Deceit is seen, and tinged green when Remus is seen.

The first gif depicts a close-up shot of Deceit’s hands as he carefully decorates a cookie with green and yellow icing. The cookie art he is working on appears to be a half-finished octopus. The gif then fades into a mid-shot of Remus, with his back to the camera, facing a canvas. The canvas is blank, and Remus appears to be laying out paints on a table to his left. 

The second gif depicts Deceit seated at his couch, facing the camera. He has many ingredients spread across his coffee table (including oats, cocoa powder, and butter) and appears to be in the process of laying out several more. The gif fades to show Remus seated at a similar couch with a similar coffee table in front of him. The camera is angled slightly downward to better show the myriad of knives spread out across the table. Remus is gesturing wildly with a morning star held in his hand. 

The third gif depicts Deceit in his kitchen. He is pulling on a bright, yellow knitted cardigan, and smirking toward the camera. The gif fades to show Remus in his bedroom, seated on his bed. He is holding up a similar-looking cardigan toward the camera and grinning. /end ID]

- 

“Remus, it’s almost two in the morning. Come to bed.”

“I’m coming, sorry. Twitter distracted me.”

“Mm. I can’t believe the bird app is more distracting than I am.”

“You should try harder.”

“Come to bed and maybe I will.”

“Ok, ok, I’m coming. Hang on though, is it cool if I post this?”

“Sure. They figured it out anyway.”

“Sweet. Ok, Jannie, I’m coming.”

-

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It reads: “Dukeceit is canon.” /end ID] 

[communistcephalopod]

I'm so glad you asked, real person who's totally off the cuff response I definitely didn't plan for! Thread baiting is a term I made up for the specific purpose of this post, most likely never to be used again, to describe those posts where op was obviously fishing for someone to reblog with a reply so they can respond with the punchline they came up with before the original post.

A lot of viral tumblr posts, especially those from the early years, follow a general structure of the original post and maybe the first reblog being set up, with the punchline coming in the reblogs after. Naturally, people will want to make similar posts so that they can have their thing reposted 80 times and end up on buzzfeed, so they write the whole exchange in their head before sitting down to post it and realising they need a random internet stranger to find and interact with their half finished post the way they imagined. To compensate, you'll sometimes see original posts that are just dripping with "hey! ask me something! correct my intentional typo! interact with me please!!! "

The most obvious classic example is probably "how to draw a sheep", a tutorial designed to be misinterpreted for comic effect.

Even in the original post you can get a sense of op's intentions from the vague instructions and the fact that on its own a tutorial on how to draw a simple cartoon sheep would just be kind of odd and pointless to post. But then op gets impatient, reblogging their own post with the caption "someone draw a sheep using these instructions", and all plausible deniablility is gone. When someone eventually does respond with the drawing, it doesn't hit as hard, to me at least, because it's not really a subversion, this was always op's intention, and it's kinda hard to ignore.

What's really interesting to me though is op isn't even baiting for a joke, they have something they genuinely want to talk about but seem to think no one will care unless they like, lure readers in with a thread or something. One post I think about all the time is this one where the op opens by briefly mentioning something using a non specific comical nickname, and when somebody asks what they're talking about because it sounds funny, they explain they were talking about their art project, and then launch into an in depth discussion on its meaning and inspiration and stuff. And like, no shade to the artist if they somehow see me vaugeposting about them, the art was quite good, and it was a genuinely interesting post, but it's so funny to me because they clearly just wanted an excuse to talk about their art project.

This post doesn't really have a point, i just wanted to talk about this phenomenon because I think it's interesting, and I see it a lot. I could have waited for somebody else's permission to go off about this, but that shouldn't be necessary.

i think about thread baiting so often tbh like girl just make the post you clearly wanted to make

[mariaiscrafting]

Let’s talk about the old Techno tweets

For a week now, I’ve been sitting on this ask that linked me to a Twitter callout thread on SBI. Although I have many thoughts about the entire thread, I’ve since only had the time and will to respond to the Techno part, and I figured instead of keeping it in my drafts and waiting to gather the energy to write the rest, I’d just post what I have.

Here is the thread, for reference: https://twitter.com/burner0321/status/1379103348364865536?s=21 Trigger Warnings: anti-semitism, mentions of genocide, racism, n* slur, r* slur, ableism, lesbophobia, racism Please prioritize your health and safety, and do not engage with this thread or this post if you will get triggered by any of the aforementioned. I love you, please take care of yourself, first.

So, let’s talk Technoblade’s history of making “edgy” jokes. When CCs tend to use edginess as a cover for offensive humor, they tend to do so to cover up the fact that their humor involves taking shots at minorities or employs harmful stereotypes, without addressing why people get offended by such jokes. However, when I call Technoblade’s old humor edgy, this is not what I mean. The reason I do not think people are justified in demanding an apology or addressing of the jokes in the Twitter thread is because they do not use the minorities or horrible things they address as the punchline. A joke can be in bad taste, without being malicious. This is edgy humor. In explaining my point, I want to address as many of the specific things in the thread as possible.

1) I don’t fully understand the “was Hitler a lesbian?” tweet or the title of that video, so I won’t address that. If someone has something to say about it, feel free to reply to this post, I’d love to see what you think of it.

2) Next, we have the, “titling my next video ‘mvp++ is worse than nazi germany’” tweet. What is the joke in this tweet? The joke is that the comparison between a Minecraft game and a fascist regime that caused genocide is ridiculous, and as such, would be effective clickbait, and draw people into the video. The joke is not that Nazi Germany should be taken lightly; it is actually the complete opposite.

3) Next, “#askpewds do you have any constructive criticism for Nazi Germany.” Frankly, without the context of timeframe or what the hell was going on within the Twittersphere at the time, I can only make a reach as to what this joke meant. I assume it’s in reference to the time period during which Pewdiepie was being framed as a fascist by several media outlets, and could either be a joke on the fact that people believe Pewdiepie to be a neo-Nazi, or a shot at Pewdiepie himself, by playing on the fact that he actually does espouse neo-Nazi beliefs. Again, the punchline is far from, “Nazi Germany was good,” or anything along those lines. Edgy, not anti-semitic.

4) The vampireZ tweet. The joke here is, “why did vampireZ think this was a good idea,” not, “haha get it, black people kill people.” As with many of these kinds of jokes, the existence of the word, “black” in the joke makes people think he is insulting black people. In reality, the tweet points out that the game is fitting into the history of media portraying black people as the more aggressive, violent, and/or murderous characters, and is like, “hey, isn’t this kinda fucked?”

5) This tweet actually does make an offensive joke that is malicious in its intent. Congratulations, we are five tweets in, and we finally found a joke that makes minorities the punchline. I completely understand people’s criticisms of this one. The punchline here is, “haha, I’m one of those entitled people who claims that racial profiling is the reason I was wronged,” and this minimizes the fact that racial profiling is an real, serious, and widespread problem. This tweet makes it seem like people claim that racial profiling is the reason they are excluded from spaces or that punitive actions that were enacted upon them are doing so unjustly. This can be extrapolated from the fact that it’s ridiculous to think that a) a Minecraft server would racially profile someone, and b) that a white person would be racially profiled.

6) This tweet literally just seems like a sarcastic response to someone who was accused of being a white supremacist and/or racist. Presumably, SealPlays was defending himself of not being racist, and Technoblade responded sarcastically that he was "totally” trying to recruit him to the KKK. I literally see no reason someone thought this was malicious? This does not make light of the KKK, and it doesn’t make black people or any other group or individual victimized by the KKK the punchline.

7) The slavery jokes. Presumably, the slavery jokes are in reference to the times on his Skyblock, SMP Earth, and/or Dream SMP streams and videos, during which Technoblade has done bits about making some of his friends slaves for him, so he has to do less work. Again, slavery jokes might be in bad taste, but there was literally no racial context to this, given that he wasn’t make jokes about any black CCs being his slaves. This is not to mention that he always played up the role of the one telling the people what to do, making it out to be a very negative role that only an arrogant, selfish, and/or callous person would fill. Think, Alec Baldwin playing Trump. This part of the thread is, however, so vague, that it’s hard to know exactly what instances the OP is even talking about.

There are several reasons I am personally angered by this section of the thread, but in an effort to make this post shorter, I’ll only discuss two: One, there are genuinely things that CCs, including Technoblade, have said, that carry ignorant and malicious connotations. The racial profiling joke is just one example. To create a thread where most of the examples are absolute bullshit, lack context, and/or were misinterpreted on your part is a disservice to minorities who want to have productive conversations about genuinely harmful things. I want to talk about this idea that minorities who talk about their experiences with microaggressions, such as racial profiling, are seeking attention/using an excuse/lying. But that one tweet is so buried under this mountain of bullshit that has everyone talking over each other and screaming, that the one conversation we should be having cannot be had. Two, I am utterly exhausted at watching people misinterpet jokes. As I have already said again and again, just because a joke mentions something horrible, does not mean it is malicious, or that it even harms anyone. A joke needs to make light of something horrible and/or make minorities the punchline to cross the line from “edgy” to “explicitly offensive.”

I would like to make a disclaimer: there is always two sides to a CC doing something wrong. There is the CC, who may or may not have had malicious intent, and there is the audience, who may or may not take offense to what was done or said. Both of these are separate, and I will treat them as such. What I am examining in this post is mostly the first thing - were the things said or jokes made meant with racist, anti-semitic, homophobic, etc., intent, or are people unjustified in stating that they were? That being said, and this is important: anyone is allowed to take offense to and not forgive a CC for making a joke or saying something, no matter what. Even if a joke was meant satirically or does not actually offend minorities, if you, as an individual, take offense to it and were deeply hurt by it, that is fucking valid. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise. A CC can apologize for something, and that can mean that objectively, they are not a bad person and/or have grown, but that does not mean you have to forgive them. There are two sides to this coin, and they are not inherently dependent upon each other.

If someone is offended by any of the jokes Techno made, that is perfectly valid and understandable. Even if I or anyone else comes to the objective conclusion that any given joke doesn’t have malicious intent, that doesn’t erase minorities’ very real feelings about such.

[holycatsandrabbits]

Love’s Endless Light: A Good Omens serial romance

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Chapter 3: Guard Our Waking

52 AD, Roman Gaul

Aziraphale had never seen Crowley’s halo before, not in all the thousands of years he’d known him. Aziraphale hadn’t realized Crowley even had a halo anymore, that any demons had them. But how he was gazing at Crowley’s face lit by the red, hellish glow of a shattered circle that curved around his head.

Thirteen years ago, Aziraphale and Crowley had eaten oysters together in Rome, and while Aziraphale had loved the cheerful nature of that meeting, surrounded by humans and their bustling, he also had been a little worried about an angel and a demon being observed together. What Aziraphale should have done, of course, was to understand that he and Crowley simply shouldn’t be together. But he had not. He had instead started to meet Crowley in places like this: on a lonely road over a deserted hill, far from the nearest human settlement. As an excuse, Aziraphale had said something about discussing current political affairs and their assignments about them, but he really only wanted to talk to someone who— well, who wanted to talk to him.

Aziraphale hadn’t expected to encounter consecrated ground all the way out here. Crowley was just as surprised as Aziraphale, only much more painfully. Perhaps the whole hill functioned as some sort of holy place, because the jolt it gave to Crowley was immense. He crumpled at once, falling into a heap of dark clothing and broad black wings, with a broken halo to light his face.

Aziraphale reacted completely on instinct, and that might have been the punchline to all of it. An angel automatically gathering a demon into his arms and rushing him back down the path, away from heavenly influence.

Aziraphale had been created as a guard. It was a part of his nature that he could never escape, although sometimes he desperately wished that he might be released from it, or that he could allow himself to neglect that urge. But he could not. Aziraphale knew what God’s call felt like, a desire to obey Her will. He felt it now, an ache within him, a need to protect, even if his charge was a demon.

But surely that was wrong. Surely Aziraphale had God’s will confused, because this was wrong— and yet it was right. Honestly, it was the same perplexing mix that Crowley himself was. He was kind, beautiful, trustworthy, and yet despite all of those good qualities, God was not going to forgive Crowley for his sins. Aziraphale could see that now, in the broken halo that was staining the white of Aziraphale’s garments a dark red. Crowley was a Fallen angel with no hope of reprieve.

So what was Aziraphale supposed to guard a demon from? Holy ground? Heaven? Hell? God Herself?

Aziraphale ran until he felt the hellish aura of Crowley far outpaced the holy aura of consecrated ground, and then he carefully set the demon down in the grass.

Crowley slowly righted himself, head on top, then wings, then legs. After a few shakes, the wings folded away, but the halo remained. Aziraphale wanted it to vanish so that he could tell what redness of Crowley’s skin might be burns and what was the light of the halo. And yet— there beneath the darkened sky, awash in the red aura, Crowley looked so starkly beautiful that it took Aziraphale’s breath away. Crowley’s glasses had fallen somewhere, so his eyes shone gold, and every delicate feature of his face now either glowed red or fell sharply into shadow. An angel’s halo was bright and full, a shining circlet. Crowley’s halo, broken as it was, was no less majestic for it, no less a crown.

Aziraphale understood that Crowley had been made a tempter. Aziraphale had certainly succumbed to his machinations more than once. But this— Crowley drawing Aziraphale’s gaze like this— it wasn’t a ploy, a plea, the pull of a demonic will. It was simply that he was beautiful, and that Aziraphale, of his own will, did not want him wounded.

“How badly are you hurt?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley looked weary but also wary of the angel in front of him, which was not something Aziraphale saw often anymore. But he understood. Aziraphale had never burned Crowley like holy ground had, but he was certainly capable of it, and he was not surprised that Crowley never quite forgot that.

“I’m okay,” Crowley answered.

“Can I see?”

“No. Don’t fuss.”

Aziraphale sighed and sat down on the grass as well. “Well— you can just suffer then,” he said snippily.

“I will,” Crowley snarled back.

Aziraphale found himself swallowing an inconvenient laugh. “At least tell me what I should do with your body if you discorporate.”

“If I discor—” Crowley spluttered at him. “I’m fine.”

“Yes, well, it’s just—” Aziraphale pointed at the halo. “You’ve left your lights on. I haven’t seen you do that before.”

“Yeah, I know. Just a reaction to the—” Crowley waved his hand in the direction of the holy hill.

“Oh!” Aziraphale said. “Like a cat when it’s scared! Right? Fluffs up its tail. Makes itself look larger.”

“Oi!” Crowley exclaimed. “I’m not a bloody cat.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Well— but the mechanism’s the same, isn’t it?”

“First of all, I’m not scared, and second, if I want to look larger, I’ll bloody well look larger.” Crowley waved his hand again. “You tell me what looking larger’s going to do to combat consecrated ground.”

“Are you really not hurt?” Aziraphale asked, in a softer voice than he’d meant to use.

“I’ll heal,” Crowley told him. “Won’t take long, it’s not bad.”

“Promise?”

“You want my—” Crowley’s voice trailed off. “Yeah, promise, angel.”

“You should rest,” Aziraphale said. “Oh, I bet while I wait that I can read by the light of your halo.”

Crowley made some sort of exasperated noise, but he curled up on the grass. (He did look somewhat like a cat then, but that went unmentioned.)

********

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Read on Ao3

Updates Fridays on Ao3 and Tumblr.

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous Good Omens serial: Mr. Fell’s Bookshop

My Carrd

*********

Image text: Love’s Endless Light by Dannye Chase (HolyCatsAndRabbits) Chapter 3

As Aziraphale and Crowley slowly fall in love over the millennia, Crowley discovers that Aziraphale is keeping a very dangerous secret.

[elderbwrry]

Even if he doesn't say so - Chapter 2/?

Kylo/Hux/Poe Witcher AU

Chapter summary: The trouble with trinkets is they make people jealous. Or maybe that's just Kylo.

Chapter 1 here, 2 below or on Ao3, 3

Wordcount: 2029

Kylo raised his sword and brought it down fiercely on the horrible carnivorous vines he'd been hired to clear out of the local village's moor edge. The things had already munched their way through a cow and half a sheep, and the villagers were worried a child would be next. Perhaps to his own detriment, Kylo wasn't really all that interested in the reasons why he'd been hired; he was far more interested in the coin he'd get out of the experience, and the opportunity to really let loose some destructive energy.

Of course, Kylo had been trained well in fencing, dagger fighting, stave fighting and in hand to hand combat, but for his typical work, he favoured the longsword. The weight of it felt so right in his hands, the swing of it, the sharp edge or the blunt hit, the way it gleamed red after drawing blood. For most monsters, it worked perfectly well, but even then the necessity to dodge or force down some kind of potion usually took the pleasure out of the pure heft behind it. These vines, however, were easy game. They thrashed, shot out poisonous barbs, but mostly they stayed in one place. That meant Kylo could swipe the metal through them with abandon, and still be assured he'd meet his mark.

He hacked and slashed, let a furore course through his veins and out into his surroundings, over and over and over through whatever fleshy leaf, woody stem, fibrous buds he could reach with metal and intensity. When finally he let his sword drop to trail its point through the under-brush at his side, it was carnage. He went around the area, plunging the blade as deep as it would go into each root stump until he was satisfied that nothing was living, before stalking away from the destruction.

Chest heaving, he found a flat, dry piece of ground and lay down, looking up at the clouds and basking in the feeling of action still tingling through his arms, into his fingers, out into the earth and the air around him. He felt connected – to the ground he was lying on, to the source of his own power, without being worried he was lost in the force of a potion. This was all him.

Back in the village, when they'd described to Kylo what he was out to fight, Hux had listened carefully and given a fancy academic name for the vines. Kylo stuck with the common name, shrugging and standing to head off immediately. Hux had reprimanded him and delayed him until he'd found an anti-toxin potion to order Kylo to take before engaging the things, which Kylo had ignored. Now, looking down at his legs and seeing several barbs sticking out of them, Kylo again heard Hux telling him, “They have poisonous thorns, you know,” in exactly that tone that could piss him off just as much as it could make him want to pounce on Hux and make his annoyance known by ripping a few tunic seams in the process.

Still, the mage was right, as per fucking usual.

Kylo hauled himself up to sit, drew the potion out of a pocket and downed it, picking the barbs out while he waited for it to take effect. The pricks tingled a bit, but it wasn't anything too bad, certainly not to the severity that Hux's wariness had suggested. Though it was nice that he'd given him the potion. It felt like being looked out for.

He let his mind drift to how Hux and Poe would be doing. The mage was likely offering common-sense medical advice to the villagers in the most deadpan delivery possible, or flicking through one of the books he'd brought with him in his seemingly bottomless bags. Poe had been eager to do his usual thing and perform a little in the tavern. His voice was so wonderful, Kylo found himself thinking, the sparkle in his eyes as he reached the punchline of a bawdy tune, and the way he could command a room, tell a story better than anyone else before...

Well, Kylo should be getting back.

He stood, gave the area one last cursory look for any vines he'd missed, and, seeing nothing, turned to go. He was just sheathing his sword when he stopped, eyes catching on a clump of cheerful orange and white flowers which had managed to survive his visit, just on the edge of the carnage.

“Hmm.”

When Kylo returned to the village tavern and gave Poe those same flowers, Poe's face lit up with a smile. “Well, don't I feel special.”

Kylo noticed Hux eyeing them. Shit, had he done something wrong? “They're not poisonous too, are they?” he asked.

Hux seemed to snap out of some kind of reverie. “No, they're... they're just normal flowers. Excuse me,” he stood from the table he was sat at and made for the stairs.

If Kylo didn't know better about Hux's taste in “useless gestures” like flowers, he would have thought he should have brought Hux some as well.

[break]

They stopped at the next city. Kylo wasn't sure they should stay – there were no contracts of the style he took, and, in his opinion, staying pointlessly at a place like this was a recipe for trouble – but Poe wanted to get some supplies and try out a some new material with a more cosmopolitan crowd, and Hux claimed he had someone he wanted to visit, so stay they did.

Hux disappeared off into the bustling crowds early in the morning, and, later, Poe dragged Kylo off to the market. Kylo started to suspect he was only there so that Poe could make him carry things, which would grate on him usually, but he found didn't mind all that much, since it meant he got to spend time with the bard.

Poe was a people person, a fact which Kylo had always known, but it was never so clear as when he was not trying actively to entrance people as he did when performing – somehow not putting it on made it all the more obvious this was just him. He would flash charming grins to the women and manoeuvred through the crowds with an ease Kylo was jealous of.

For his own part, Kylo always felt the need to keep his hood low, to keep out of sight, even going so far as to cast a glamour some witch had taught him years ago. It was a weak thing, but eyes slid off him like water droplets off a bird. With Poe, however, he didn't need it; the man was so magnetic as it was, there was barely anyone who would bother to stare at anyone else. (Kylo included himself in that number.)

Finally, they came to a stand selling all sorts of gold and silver jewellery, pretty trinkets, gemstones on cords. One brooch caught Poe's eye – a dragon. “This is some amazing craftsmanship,” he noted, striking up an easy conversation with the stall keeper. When the man had to tend to another customer, he turned back to Kylo. “I'd love to fly. Do you think I'd be a good dragon?”

“You'd be great,” Kylo told him honestly. He was certain Poe would command the skies, given half the chance, and push back against the hunters until the entire Continent was dragon territory once again. The mental image morphed into one of Poe in front of a victory banner, the name of a great flying lizard no more than an epithet used by the forces he'd become leader of. It was a good look in him; he may not want to be in charge of his home kingdom, but with a cause like that, and people to follow him, he could be formidable. Lost in the daydream of Poe as some kind of dragon king of the skies, Kylo pointed at the brooch. “Do you want to get that?”

Poe looked at it thoughtfully, enough that Kylo could see the conflict in his thoughts. “Nah,” he said eventually, “it's expensive and... I have stuff at home.” He began walking away, and Kylo trailed after him, thinking it was a pity – the brooch would look so wonderful on him. “Maybe I could get Hux to transfigure me or something,” Poe mused, a glint of humour in his eye as Kylo blanched.

“I'm not sure that's how it works...”

“Imagine it though. Flap flap, blagh, I'm a dragon.”

[break]

A day after they left the city, they made their first camp at the edge of a copse. Kylo was checking over his armour while Poe and Hux were sat on a log opposite him, Poe cooking a fowl on the fire and Hux watching him do it. Kylo had let himself fall into a somewhat meditative state as he worked everything over, but a glint of silver and amber across camp hooked him out of it.

Hux had withdrawn a small pouch from his pocket, and withdrawn from that again a brooch. Another second let Kylo confirm – it was the very brooch from the city market. How had he known? Then he was handing it to Poe with a smooth, “I saw this and thought of you.” Bastard.

Poe was speechless for a second. “You shouldn't have,” were the first words out of his mouth.

“Well I can always-”

“No, I'll...” Poe reached to take it from Hux's hand. Kylo's jaw clenched as Poe's fingers lingered for too long. “Thanks, Hux. This is... wow.” He put it on, pinning it over his heart.

“It isn't straight.” Without waiting to be asked, Hux reached up with deft mage's fingers to fix it, smoothing out the fabric more than was necessary. “There.”

The leather armour in Kylo's grip creaked. Poe didn't hear it, but Hux shot him a look and... was that a smirk?

Then it hit Kylo; those flowers he'd given to Poe weeks ago must have made Hux jealous. It did not enter into Kylo's conception that Hux could simply like seeing Poe happy – happiness could be a part of it, certainly, but Hux was too cunning, too driven by ulterior motives for it to be that simple – or that Hux's feeling at seeing Poe like another person's gift could be any different to what Kylo himself was now feeling at seeing the same.

Well, if this was to be a game of one-upmanship, Kylo was sure he'd find a way to win. To make Poe smile like that, run a hand through his curls self-consciously as he now was – Kylo could do that just as well as Hux could. The rest of the evening, his mind was spinning with things he could give to the bard, trinkets of affection he could source the next time they crossed a place which dealt in such things.

The fire burned down and Hux retreated into his tent for the evening, Poe and Kylo settling on their bedrolls. They ended up facing each other, so Kylo, with his Witcher eyes, was not spared the view of Poe's finger fiddling with the brooch as he smiled to himself.

“He shouldn't have got it for me,” Poe mumbled again, as if sensing Kylo's train of thought, “It's probably gonna get broken.” Then, quieter, “I worry enough about whether you two will stay in one piece, I'd rather not worry about tiny things like this as well.”

Kylo thought about that for a minute. “You worry about us?” He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. Out of all of them, Poe was the one who should be being worried about – Kylo himself was nigh on destructible, and Hux would probably survive anything out of sheer spite, even discounting his magic.

“Shut up,” Poe chuckled.

Kylo watched him smile up blankly at the canopy. And... if Poe could be happy like that without being showered with gifts, if it would please him more to worry about them less, maybe Kylo didn't need to compete with Hux. Perhaps the three of them were good enough as they were.

[southslates]

(i would die for you in secret)

[zutara]

And the penultimate problem is that she doesn’t want to want him. She should want Aang, someone nice, not him.

He’s terrible and she despises him. And he has tried to kill her so many times and he treats her with respect and like an equal and he is obsessed with something as inane as honor and he looks terrible — and she can keep lying to herself. That’s easy. Easier. It’s easy to refuse to acknowledge things. When mother had died she had stepped up to task and she doesn’t want to do that again. She’s older and ignorance isn’t just her bliss.

She hates him. She hates his stupid smirk and the way his hair falls over his eyes, the way he draws himself into his cloak when they’re outside like he can hide within himself, the strange jokes with the absent punchlines he keeps pulling up. She hates how he’s crawled up inside of everyone else and she hates how hard it would be to also fall. Everyone else wants her to do that. He’s Aang’s master and he helped Sokka rescue Dad and even Toph doesn’t mind him after he burned her feet. So now she’s turned into the nagging mother again. To all of them. But not to him.

And the way that he looks at her doesn’t help. It makes her blush, turns her pink inside-out. He looks so genuinely respectful, so curious. He isn’t like Aang or Sokka who jumps to making excuses. And no matter how absolutely worthless honor is practically she’s starting to see some of its applications here. He owns up to what he does because he’s grown out of immaturity. She also detests that. 

When she can’t insult his character anymore she jumps to his face; and the issue with that is that aside from the burn mark it’s impeccable. He’s angled perfectly right, every curve of his skin fitting into the other, and the scar enhances and doesn’t detract. That should have been an easy point in her favor because it’s mottled and should be disgusting. But it’s better and now she looks at it with a healer’s eyes. It is the result of a great tragedy and he has come past it, tissue has regrown and let him become someone new. She has to allow herself to respect that.

So what’s left? His past, which everyone else here has forgotten. He may be kind and awkward and handsome now but he wasn’t for the longest time. She still remembers a boy in a ponytail shooting out flames and she wants to laugh because it’s ridiculous and even if she was terrified at the time she now knows that was a show. And then she holds herself back because she couldn’t be laughing because Zuko had held her grandmother even if he had no intention of hurting her. And he was just misguided. But that’s not an excuse or a reason to do the wrong thing. It never is.

And then he’d taken a bounty hunter and found them again and left her useless, paralyzed her until she was a shell of herself, and then he’d fought Aang. And all she can think about is his hand on her back and the way he can bend far better now, after the dragons. She keeps seeing growth. She doesn’t even want to see growth. She needs to hate him, she wants to. 

She can leave this behind. She can let . . . Aang kiss her again and all thoughts of the stupid prince will leave her head and that will be all. That will.

Yet she can see the sun rising ahead of her. She’s been up the whole night contemplating this strange feeling in her stomach and she wants to laugh at herself as well. Great job, Katara. Smart, Katara. You definitely feel nothing for him. You haven’t spent an entire night thinking about him.

The sun is rising. Her head turns at the thought. What is she missing here? Sun . . . firebender. I rise with the sun. There’s a shock of black hair heading out of the circle inside of the temple. Of course, of course, of course.

And now, of course, she has to go after him because he’s evil, and he chained her to a tree (she’d been terrified at the time but now she almost looks back at that memory fondly), and he’s bad. He’s bad and she hates him, with his stupid sunny eyes and strange and barely comprehensible anecdotes.  

“Hi,” she says breathily, wishing she could take the word back when she hears how it comes through her mouth. He turns and his face is genial and it makes her heart pound. She should kiss Aang.

“Hey,” he responds throatily. His vocal cords are deep and she can’t tell if that’s just because he’s older, almost an adult and out of puberty, or because he spent years on a ship, or because he once screamed so terribly loud it disrupted his vocal cords. She wants to put her hand on his throat and find out. She wonders if he would be warm. “Good morning.”

Then he looks like he’s bracing himself to be attacked — because she should yell at him and claim something about betrayal. That would be the right thing to do. She can feel his body shudder as she falls into step with him instead. “I don’t want to see you,” she lies through her teeth.

When they round a corner, far away from the rest of the group, he grabs her hand and moves her towards the fountain in the corner. His skin is rough, marked with tiny healed over scars and bruises and even small areas that are burned. They mark him for what he is; a swordsman, a sailor, a bender. His fingers wrap against hers, longer and lither and smooth, caressing her wrist. “You hate me,” he whispers quietly as he guides them to sit down on its rock outerface. 

She lets him move her down until they’re both settled against the stone, calves thudding the material. At least nobody else will come here because only he rises so early; and sleep suddenly hits her, all of her worries coming to light. She leans to the side and he catches her and places her head on his thighs. He catches her like he always does.

“I should kiss Aang,” she mumbles into red fabric which smells like smoke and the Fire Nation. It’s not a good scent. She feels his arm contract around her shoulder.

“You won’t kiss me,” he responds.

“Is that sad?”

“You’re the Avatar’s girl.”

“It is sad,” she finalizes. Then she turns her head until her forehead is on his shoulder, firmer against him. She’s closer but his grip still tightens. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats and whispers, and her eyes are downcast but her fingers raise to press against his scar, thumb brushing the lips she can’t kiss. The lips she hates and the face with the terrible mark and the boy who makes jokes that don’t make sense, the boy she’s lost too many times and will lose for the rest of her life.

His lips are dry and so she admits her eternal struggle. “I don’t want to want you.”

“That’s fine. You’ll have me.”

Something sounds from the corner, either Toph or Haru or Aang. He rises and leaves.