#i just wanted to draw a mongrel

[faefellangel]

Drew a Lupin but I've oc'fied him I fear

[thegnomelord]

just read about demon hunter reader and demon ghost cuddling, and the first thing i thought was how ghost would react if, one of these times, reader ends up having a wet dream and dry humping his ass 😋

about time that our demon thinks of getting laid, he's disgusted and turned on at the same time

Sorry this took a while lads :Dd, I'm getting back into writing after all that shit with my school but I got a summer job as an assistant medical worker with 12h shifts every other day so It might take a bit for me to write stuff.

Hush, Hunter

CW:NSFW, MDNI, demon Simon Ghost Riley x male hunter reader, grinding, wet dreams, handjob, blowjob, size difference (demon ghost is like 11 feet tall.)

Your ‘husband’ is strange, even by demon standards.

He grumbles about the inconvenience brought on by your mortal failings and fragility, growling whenever you have to stop at a gas station to buy food or at some dingy motel to sleep. He grumbles even more about being confined in the stolen human skin suit he's forced to wear to blend in.

You can ignore the stranger with the stolen face and hellfire eyes throwing dark glares at you for the most part, except for when the demon decides to make the binding ring around your finger heat up when you spend too long talking to the pretty cashier. And it only takes a few more seconds of not paying heed to the incessant burn before Ghost Simon looms behind you, glaring at the flustered cashier like she’s a fey trying to trick you into the Fey Lord’s court.

And the big bastard never gives you any explanation on why he’s acting like that, just drags you back to your car, slamming the doors closed with enough strength to shake the entire vehicle. He’s like a cat honestly; hisses at you, but doesn’t want to let you out of his sight or claws.

But when your nightmares get so bad your only chance of sleeping is on the floor, well hidden behind the bed with your back flush with the dingy motel wall, Ghost surprises you by laying down with you. Sure he grumbles about the demeaning position - laying like some mongrel dog - but he still does it.

Ghost is on his side, his broad muscular back to you, rough inky scales swallowing all the moonlight that filters through the blinds and turning him into a pitch black wall of muscle. He’s so still you might even think he’s sleeping – you know he’s not; demons aren’t tied to mortal laws, nor are they subject to time’s iron grip, that’s what makes hunting demons so dangerous. The only indication you have that he’s awake is the occasional twitch of his tail and the slight shuffle of his wings when you accidentally get closer to him in your attempt to get a comfortable position.

You flinch when his one wing spreads out and back, but the blanket of black and blood dyed feathers soon eases the tension in your body. Probably too quickly, definitely too quickly, but Ghost doesn’t draw attention to it and neither do you and the night is cold and he is blissfully warm and he stays stock still when you shuffle a bit closer. You're glad he pays no attention to you when you get comfortable against him, barely an inch of space between you two.

His feathers tickle your face, they’re softer than you’d expect a wrath demon to have, fluffy like the down of chicks. His scent invades your nose, rough leather and steel oil and something distinctly demonic you can’t name. . . but it’s strangely comforting.

Laying only an inch or two away from a demon goes against everything you’ve ever been taught. Your nerves should be on a razor’s edge, but instead you’re calm. You don’t know why your fucked up mind finds comfort in the fact a possible threat would need to go through half a ton of murderous wrath demon to get to you. And you don’t want to think about it either, you’ve had far too many sleepless nights for your brain to care how you manage to sleep so long as you do. And the moment you close your eyes, you’re out like a light.

Ghost has gotten used to your nightmares.

Just like his father’s absent love, your nightmares are consistent. He’s almost impressed how such a frail thing like you could hunt the likes of hydras and Hell Dukes when you barely sleep a wink most nights. The longest you’ve gone is a couple of hours of restful sleep before you woke up trying to claw your eyes out. You never talk about it, nor does he, Ghost may be a demon but he knows far too well how the mind can haunt someone.

And Ghost has gotten good at telling apart the individual nightmares by how you squirm in your sleep.

It takes a little longer for the nightmare to start than usual, but he knows you’re neck deep in it when you heart starts it’s frantic drumming in your chest. He ruffles his feathers as your hands grip his sides, your breath fanning over his skin. He thinks it might be the basilisk haunting you this time by the way you press yourself flush with his back, burying your face into the space between his shoulder blades until your nose is flush with his spine, back hunching to further shield your eyes.

Ghost doesn’t, nor will he ever, mention the low happy rumble that escapes him when you snuggle up to him. His feathers fluff up, the scratchy hair of his tail flattening down - about as silk soft as he can make them. It’s little better than throwing pearls before swine, you won’t remember any of this after all, but doing this strangely doesn’t feel as much of a burden as it should.

Usually the low deep purring growling will chase away your nightmares and lull you into a dreamless sleep for a little while, but not this time. You squirm against his back like an eel, muscles tensing to grip his sides until dregs of pain dance along his spine. Your breath fans across his scales, your heart pounding in his ears like that of a rabbit’s caught in a snare. He’s just about ready to turn around and wake you before he feels it—

Your arousal pokes his back, hard like iron.

Only now does he pick up the slight sweetness of arousal in your adrenaline rich scent. “Hm- fuck.” You mumble as you roll your hips to grind your cock against him. “Slow- fuck fuck- slow down.” You breathe out, and Ghost swears this must be another part of his father’s eternal punishment. The sudden thought that your dream is of a sexual nature smites him with all the intensity of his father’s rage.

Who do you think you are, taking his little mercies for granted? Who do you think you are, grinding against him like some mongrel mutt? Who do you think you are holding him as if you are more than the eventual reward for the maggots fervent prayers? Who do you think you are—

“Ghost- Simon. . .” His name, his original name, leaves your lips; it’s the softest he’s ever heard you speak.

“Human.” He seethes and rolls around, pushing the warm feeling –warm like a campfire compared to the blistering pits down below that usually dwell in his chest– out of his mind. “Disgusting.” You’re so small compared to him, your head could easily fit in his rough hand, a momentary lapse in the binding’s protection all that it would take for his flesh rending claws to cleave through your skull. He’s thought about it often, of the look in your eyes as your life fades, of how good your blood would taste, of how nice your shoulder would look with his teeth marks on it. . .

His hand is gentle as he reaches to brush your cheek, like he’s handling glass, rumbling when you lean into the touch. “Wretched thing.” He growls, hand sliding from your cheek to your back and pulling you close. He feels you nuzzle into his wide chest, carefully bullying his thigh between yours, steel hard muscle tensing to give you a good surface to grind on. “Nothing more but a mongrel waste of flesh.” He doesn’t notice how quickly his voice has lost heat, barely above a murmur as he listens to your breathless gasp and watches your back arch.

For someone usually so guarded, you are painfully naked in flesh and soul, responding so wantonly to his touches; from low moans to soft little murmurs of ‘Simon’ and ‘more’ that has him mindlessly rubbing his thigh against your crotch in hopes of getting more of those so painfully human sounds. You moan and nuzzle into his chest, your body like soft clay in his hands now that you’re no longer shackled by the chains of pride and prejudice that your mind conjures around him

You’re like a strange bug to him; a part of him wants to pin you down, to tear you apart with vicious claws and see if there’s anything different in the way your heart beats, in the way your lungs move, in the way you exist — something substantial to show why holding you in his arms doesn’t feel as degrading as it should.

He wonders, briefly, if this is what God saw that made him love Adam so much. Why God did not have the heart to kill Adam for his disobedience.

Greed moves his hands like they’re puppets on strings, flesh rending claws carefully tracing the bumps of old and fresh scars that dot your abdomen — perhaps you aren’t so pathetic, it takes strength to survive this long. Your skin prickles from his touch, your breath fanning over the rough belly scales protecting his front as his hand slowly moves down. He hooks a claw under the band of your underwear and pulls down until your cock springs out right into Ghost’s hand.

Ghost hasn’t seen many cocks before, why would he?, but a low sound comes from his chest at how neatly your cock fits in his hand, how neatly all of you fit against him. And only now does it dawn on him that he doesn’t know how to do this— he’s a wrath demon for fuck’s sake, he understands war and bloodshed like it’s the back of his hand, but this? This is new territory.

Well, he’s never been one to back down when he’s gotten this far.

His hand slowly closes into a fist, just a little loose around you. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t be anything but gentle in the way he strokes you. Your hips move on their own, gentle little rocks to fuck your cock into his fist and he follows along with the motion. It’s a little rough at first, he feels how the dry slide of his hand makes you shiver, but he soon finds a nice pace as your precum eases the glide of flesh on flesh.

He wants to see your face when you moan, but he can’t bring himself to pull you away from his chest when you cling to him so sweetly, your lips mindlessly ghosting over his scales. So he contends himself with coiling his tail around your leg, draping a wing over you so there’s a barrier between you and the rest of the world, so no creature from heaven high or deep below may entertain the thought of taking what’s his.

No good thing lasts for long.

He feels you wake like the first thaw in spring, slow and gradual, eyes fluttering open, mind still clouded with pleasure to really understand the position you’re in. He takes advantage of that, gripping your hip to keep you close, swirling his tumb in the precum beading at your head and squeezing his hand just right to coerce a breathless moan from your chest.

Then your eyes snap open, realisation hitting you with the same intensity as the punch you throw at his skull. But the ‘marriage’ turns that show of force into a gentle caress of the skull cheek of his ‘face’. “Ghost what the fuck are you-” You begin, cut off as another clench of his hand has you gripping his forearm and biting your lip to silence yourself. 

“Oh hush hunter.” Ghost rumbles low in his throat, his wing tensing behind your back to bring you in closer, soft blood dyed feathers encasing you in a cocoon of warmth against his cool belly scales. “No need to wake the other worms.” Disdain and mockery drip from his voice like molasses, yet strangely it doesn’t feel aimed at you. . . it must just be the pleasure making you believe that.

“You- bastard!” You snarl, trying to summon the hunter savagery that had been meticulously beaten into you, but it slumbers like a fat cat. “Fuck off- get away from me.” You aim to slam your fist against his scaled abdomen, just a little lower and to the side where the floating ribs should be, but all you manage is a slow caress of his side and back up his chest where you can feel his eternal soul burning beneath the flesh.

He laughs and slides his hand down, rolling your balls in his wide hand and squeezing just enough to be at the edge of pain– shit, that should not feel so good. You hiss and throw your head back despite the inherent danger of exposing your throat. He tilts his head down, ghostly breath washing over your ear, “We both know if you wanted this to stop you would have done so.” Oh, now you can just feel the mockery in his voice, sweet like honey that it is.

Some petulant part of you thinks of arguing, anything to retain what remains of your damn pride, but then he slides his hand back up, pressing your cock against your stomach and grinding the palm of his hand against your shaft and all the thoughts of arguing are pushed to the side by the tide of pleasure. Fuck, it’s been far too long since you ‘took care’ of things, it’s not like you have much time to wank off, let alone with Ghost hanging over your shoulder like some grim reaper. And hell, if any other hunter heard you let a damn demon jack you off, yours would be the next head put on the stake but. . . but Ghost is surprisingly gentle with you, not a single hint of pain coming from his touches, not even from his claws gently running down your side.

“Fine-” You suck in a sharp breath, head fixed to stare directly at his chest. “Make it quick.”

You feel him smirk against your ear, “As you wish, hunter.” He laughs lowly, like you’re nothing but a cute puppy chewing on his shoelaces, “Though, you should thank me for debasing myself like this.” He growls, and with a sharp move of his wing he rolls you on your back. 

You gasp as your back hits the sleeping mat, and before you can even struggle Ghost looms over you, a wall of muscle and dark scaled flesh. “Fuck no.” You growl, some scraps of pride still clinging to your mind, though even those are threatened when his broad hand returns to stroking your cock, faster this time, the drag of his palm making pleasure sizzle up your spine. Your head rolls back to rest on the mat and you don’t even notice when you close your eyes. You’re not sure how Ghost is so good at this, something sharp like jealousy curling in your stomach at the thought of him doing this to someone else. But it’s hard to think when you can feel and hear him purring, his claws gently tracing your stomach and leaving lingering heat everywhere they touch.

You jump as something slick brushes over your balls, “Look, good hunter.” He growls and you listen without thought, eyes wide when you see his tongue— it extends from the darkness of his head just beneath the rotten upper teeth of his skull, long, black, thick strings of oil coloured spit dripping off his tongue. “That’s better,” He purrs; you’re not sure how he can talk, and you’re unable to ask because he leans in closer until your cock rests against his skull, his hellfire eyes burning in the darkness and giving just enough light for you to see his long black tongue curl around your base like a snake. 

Shit– he wants to kill you.

“Holy fuck Ghost-” You breathe out, lungs burning before you remember how to breathe. His tongue moves, squeezing your base and sliding lower to lap at your balls. You’re forced to bite your finger to stop the painfully pathetic sound burning on your tongue.

He stops moving and you’re thankful he doesn’t mention the whine that slips past your lips. “Simon.” He demands, oily spit clinging to your skin and making it tingle with heat.

“Simon.” You nod along dumbly, “Fuck- Simon.”

“Good.” You imagine he’s smiling when he says that, his hand returning to stroke your cock in reward. “Call me that again.” He says, a purr rumbling in his chest and you can’t help but moan at how the vibrations travel through his tongue, making it act like a vibrating toy.

Your hands fly to grip his horns, the pleasure making you throw your head back yet you try to keep your eyes on him, hiccuping his name between harsh breaths. He doesn’t mind the touch on his horns, leaning into the touch before flicking his tongue at your taint. He rewards you for each time you say his old name, tongue and hand working in tandem to slowly and steadily march you towards release. 

You try to tug on his horns to warn him, or maybe to pull him away, but he pays no heed; he doubles his efforts, wetly slurping at your balls and base while his hand toys with your crown, his free hand holding your hips down so all you can do is weather the pleasure until you’re finally pulled under the waves. “Simon-” You gasp, cum spurting all over his hand and your stomach. 

You watch through lidded eyes as he retracts his hand, keeping his gaze on you as he lazily licks up your cum from his hand. “Better than I expected.” He rumbles, more to himself than you, leaning up to drag his long slimy tongue across your stomach to gather up all your cum.

 Shit, that sight got you hard again before you could even soften.

You’re not sure if the greed you see spark in his eyes makes you scared or even harder, but you’re not left any room to think further about it before his tongue wraps around your cock again.

Unfortunately for you, demons have no concept of time as mortals know it, so his ‘quick’ ends up being the entire rest of the night. At one point you get to the point you’re sure Ghost is trying to kill you with all the pleasure, spit polishing your cock until he’s satisfied and by that point the sun is rising and your voice is hoarse.

You can’t meet the gaze of the motel receptionist in the morning, but Ghost Simon, looks smug like the cat who ate the canary.

[tragedybunny]

Astarion head cannon! If your tav has any artistic ability (or none and is learning) imagine if he found you drawing his face a bunch to try get a good image of him to share. Pre act 2 where he believes you actually love him and he loves you. Just seeing this person doing something purely for him confusing and scaring hin but feeling too nice to want to run from.

So I had to turn this into a little story, it was too good.

What The Heart Sees - Astarion x F!Reader

You've been acting suspicious and Astarion is going to get to the bottom of it.

You'd been acting ever so slightly strange around him. He hasn't put the pieces together yet, but Astarion knows something is going on with you. The thought fills him with a little dread, he's worked so hard to get you on his side, to have someone to keep the others from turning on him. Now it might all be slipping through his fingers. 

Whatever was happening, he needed to bring it to a halt and get you back to your regular sweet devotion to him. The first step was interrogating your companions. Lae'zel and Shadowheart of course saw nothing wrong with your behavior. "Maybe she just needs a rest from your fangs at her neck," Shadowheart snipped and Astarion considered giving her neck a try one night before stomping away. 

Gale and Karlach at least confirmed his suspicions. As usual Gale was too worried about exploding to be much help, but Karlach, dear Karlach tried to be helpful. "We're all going through a lot. Maybe she's just tired Fangs." So, there was something going on with you, but no one seemed to have any clue. Maybe the Mind Flayer transformation was actually happening just very slowly, he shuddered at the thought. 

This situation clearly called for some less wholesome tactics. Stealth and spying on you, for now, maybe violating your trust and rummaging through your stuff as well. That night he crept to your tent after everyone had retired, there was still the faint glow of a light spell illuminating it. His intent had been to stop and listen, see if could find an angle to glance in that wouldn’t expose himself. Quietly, he made it near the entrance, perfect, you were unawares. There was a book cradled in your lap. Perhaps you’d found some arcane knowledge you were unwilling to share. He hadn’t thought you were power hungry, but maybe he’d misjudged. Reaching over, you picked up a piece of charcoal. Interesting, he leaned forward. “Woof.” Scratch was on top of him, wagging his tail, and he was laying the dirt outside your tent. 

You jump up, clearly startled, and he wanted to gut the stupid beast. But he saw where you tucked that precious book as you leapt up. “Astarion!” You were standing at the opening of the tent, looking down at him with concern. 

“Hello my Sweet,” he tries his best to still somehow be charming while pushing Scratch off him. “I uh, saw you were up and wanted to check on you but Scratch is apparently in a playful mood.” 

“Oh Scratch! You haven’t had enough attention huh?’ You reach out to pet the mongrel and talk softly to him as Asatrion pushes himself out of the dirt. “I was just reading, sorry to disturb you.” 

“No worries Darling,” he gives you a perfunctory peck on the cheek before heading back to his tent. It was all working out anyway. 

The next night comes and he’s ready, Scratch has given him quite a bit of inspiration. Discreetly Astarion leads the heap of fur to the edge of the camp, the ball he had dragged in from somewhere tucked in a pocket. “Come here Scratch,” he hisses, waving it around, getting his attention before chucking it off into the woods. The animal follows excitedly. Astarion isn’t sure where it went and he doesn’t care. Scratch is more a rival for your attention than anything else anyway. 

After a couple of minutes he finds you at the campfire, blissfully unaware. “Has anyone seen Scratch,” he asks, as innocently as he can manage. 

“Oh no,” your eyes quickly scan the campsite, “he must have wandered off.” You seem so distressed, he almost feels guilty. But this is his survival on the line. “Maybe I should go look for him.” 

“Do take Halsin my Dear, he’ll have the best chance at tracking,” and one less person around camp to watch. 

“Right,” you nod, standing and trodding off to the Druid. 

No sooner are you gone then Astarion is creeping into your tent when no one is looking. No light needed, he sees everything perfectly, including the little pack you shoved your book in last night. Victory. He wrests it from the spot under your pillow and plops down on your blankets to study it. What forbidden knowledge rests inside. The worn cover flips open to…

Sketches, sketches of him specifically. Not that he remembers what he looks like, but the clothes give it away, along with the poses, moments he remembers. Him, you’ve been drawing him. He continues to flip through the book, more bits of him, frozen in time, and the technique improves. Why are you doing this? The mirror, he remembers, being upset about not seeing his reflection. 

Sitting there in stunned silence, he feels an unpleasant weight in his chest. No one has ever done anything like this for him before. It’s…kind. Not that you’ve ever been any other way to him ever. Gods, what is he even doing, maybe he should just…

“Astarion!” Slamming the book shut, he jumps up. “Hello Darling, I-”

“You ruined the surprise,” you scold, looking so dejected he somehow feels worse than he did a moment ago. 

“I’m sorry, I was curious. I saw you with it the other night. It’s amazing though,” he tries to placate, guilt an emotion he’s buried for so long, but fear is there as well. Fear he’s crossed a line you won’t tolerate. 

Bending down, you retrieve the book from where it landed. “I was hoping to get something I was pleased with to show you, but I suppose it will have to do for now.” 

“Really, you shouldn’t bother so much with it,” you look up at him so sadly he quickly adds, “you do too much for me already. But I do appreciate this gift.” Impulsively he pulls you close and kisses you quickly before letting you go. “Is this really what you see? 

“That and so much more.” The way you stare at him with adoration, the way you always treat him so sweetly, the way he suddenly wants nothing more than to stand here in this tent forever, basking in you, it’s all becoming too much, he could almost swear he had a pulse to hammer in his veins. Hells, what has he gotten himself into with you? 

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 19, Unfriended - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, yelling, mentions of violence against women.

Word Count: 1.9k

Previously On...: You showed Nat and Wanda the texts. They were as bad as you thought.

A/N: You guys sure know how to make me give you whatever you want with all your flattery! I am WEAK. Keep it coming ;) Also, this scene is the very first one that came into my head during the creation of this fic, one of the first I wrote for it. It had to be redone a lot as the story changed, but I like to think I kept the beats and emotions the same as I first intended to be.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when I update, please enable notifications from my Blog page!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

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Once inside the conference room, your friends made sure to sit you between the two of them, so that Bucky couldn't park himself next to you. Unfortunately, there wasn't much they could do to keep him from taking the seat across from you.

"Hey," he said as he sat down, "I've been trying to call you; thought we could go get some lunch before returning to our previously scheduled activities. Where've you been?" You acted as though you hadn't heard him, pretending you were extremely interested in something on your phone. It didn't escape your notice, however, when Jade entered the room and sat down in the seat next to him, Bucky instinctively shifted his seat away from her slightly. She glanced between the two of you, a smug smile playing across her lips.

"Bucky," she greeted. "How's things?"

"Carthage," he huffed in response. You made the mistake of catching his eye for a brief second, and he offered you a tentative smile before you immediately hardened your expression and turned away.

Nat jotted down a sentence in her notebook and slid the paper over to you. Your puppy looks like you just kicked him in the face and he can't figure out why.

You suppressed a snicker and wrote back I can't reward a mongrel for indiscriminately humping bitches, can I? You quickly worked to scribble over your words as Natasha positively cackled at you, drawing everyone's attention.

"You alright there, Nat?" Tony asked as he entered the room, moving toward the front of the space and getting ready to begin the meeting. Nat coughed and took a sip from her water bottle.

"Just peachy, Tony," she answered, stifling a smile. "Just peachy."

"Okay, good. Let's get this started, then." He opened up his tablet and flicked a projection over the table. It was a series of photographs of about two dozen or so young women, all looking to be in their late teens to early thirties. "These women," Tony began, "have all been reported missing from the vicinity of Atlantic City over the last eighteen months. They've all got a history of either drugs, prostitution, or both, so the local police aren't interested in wasting valuable resources tracking them down. Fortunately for them, my resources are endless." He gave a sad smile, then with another flick of his wrist, brought up a three-dimensional schematic of a squat building. "This is called the Wiggle Room. It's a Russian-owned club where at least half of the missing girls were dancers at some point in the last three years."

"You're thinking trafficking," you spoke up. It wasn't a question. You knew the signs too well, after all. Tony nodded.

"That's horrible," said Jade "but, I mean, we're the Avengers. Isn't trafficking kind of... I dunno, below our paygrade?"

If looks could kill, you and Natasha would have murdered her on the spot. Bucky rolled his eyes before leaning over and murmuring something to Jade that you couldn't quite hear, but you had a pretty good idea what it was when her face turned red and she looked at the two of you and muttered "Oh, sorry-- I didn't know."

Your next murder-by-death stare went to Bucky. How fucking dare he divulge your secrets to her, especially when you told him he was only one of three people on this entire fucking planet who knew them? You told him that in confidence. He had absolutely no right. He just shrugged at you apologetically. Fucking shrugged. You were going to throw up. How many times was he going to betray you?

"As I was saying," Tony continued, as though Jade hadn't interrupted him, and you were grateful for it, "we want to put a couple of people on the inside, work there for a few months, see what they can find out."

"Oooh!" said Jade, bouncing in her seat and raising her hand like she was in grade school. "I volunteer!" She turned to stage whisper to Bucky. "Wouldn't I make an absolutely adorable stripper? It would be so much fun!"

Bucky had the good sense, for once in his life, to roll his eyes at Jade as Tony spoke up: “You’re benched, Carthage,” he said matter of factly. “Which reminds me; we need to have a discussion about how you managed to sneak your ass onto the Russia mission.

You felt a sick sense of satisfaction when you saw the look of chastisement cross Jade’s face, and were overcome with a renewed curiosity over just how she happened to get herself on that Quinjet in the first place. Not that it mattered, not anymore.

"So, do you think you'd be up for it, Pocket?" Tony turned to you. "Willing to dust off those pasties and jump back on the pole one last time?"

You smirked, having suspected that the ask was coming as soon as he mentioned a strip club. "What can I say, Boss? It'll be like riding a bike."

"Good, because maintenance is putting a practice pole in your room as we speak. Don't want you looking rusty undercover."

"As if I could ever!” You pretended to be affronted.

"Hold up," said Steve, and suddenly, you could feel all eyes on you. Oops. You’d forgotten that part of your history was also not common knowledge. You glanced around and everyone was staring; Sam's mouth was even hanging open. "Are you saying Pocket used to be a stripper?" Steve whispered the last word, as though it was naughty and he'd get in trouble for using it.

"Hey," you said nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders, "MIT ain't cheap."

"I'll have you know, Cap, that exotic dancing is a craft, and our Pocket here is an artist." You beamed at Tony's words, pride flushing through you. Your past as a dancer wasn't something that you necessarily led conversations with, but you weren't ashamed of it. The money had been excellent, and you'd been good at it. Damned good.

"You've seen her?" Sam asked, mouth still hanging open.

"How do you think we met?" Tony asked him, as if it was the stupidest question in the world.

"No," said Bucky, out of nowhere, his voice hard and angry. He stood up, fists planted on the table, glaring at you.

"It was definitely while she was working at a strip club" Tony said, deliberately mistaking Bucky's meaning. "It's not everyday you get a comparative analysis of the weaknesses of your company's firewalls at the same time you get a lap dance; tends to leave a lasting impression."

"No, I mean Pocket's not going undercover. She's just a civilian and it's too dangerous. Send Natasha or Jade in, instead," Bucky bit out through gritted teeth.

"Excuse me?" You stood up, as well, mirroring his stance and matching his glare from across the table. "You do not get to determine what missions are too dangerous for me, James. You're not my father."

"But I'm your boyfriend," he said, and the fact that you had called him 'James,' and not 'Bucky' or 'Barnes' wasn't lost on him. "And I care about whether or not you get hurt."

You laughed, cold and mirthless. "Since when?" you spat, letting every ounce of pain you felt at his betrayal into your voice. He looked back at you, hurt and abject confusion clouding his features.

"If you're so worried about her, then you can go, too," Tony said. "Go as her boyfriend, get a job at the club as a bouncer. We need multiple sets of eyes."

Bucky seemed almost mollified by this suggestion, but you were not going to allow it. "Absolutely not," you said, the conviction ringing in your voice. "Sam'll come with me."

"What?" both Sam and the super soldier asked at the same time.

"Barnes is way too identifiable with that metal arm," you offered by way of explanation. "No way in hell I'll keep my cover if I walk in with the fucking Winter Soldier by my side."

"She's got a point," Steve said, scratching his chin. "But Pocket, language, please." You stole a glance at Bucky, and his eyes were full of pain. You'd called him the Winter Soldier. Out loud. You'd never done that; you knew how hard he worked to differentiate himself from the monster Hydra had turned him into. It was a low blow on your part, but you couldn't find it in you to give a shit.

Tony clapped his hands. "All right, then it's settled. Pocket and Sam will go to Atlantic City. It's strictly an intel-finding mission, only. No heroics, got it you two?" You both nodded in agreement. While you were excited to go out into the field in an undercover capacity, you had no desire to see combat. Sure, you could more than handle your own if it came down to self-defense-- Nat had made sure of that, but there was a reason you were the computer girl and not an actual superhero yourself. "Pocket, get practicing. You've got about a week before we’ll be sending you and Sam out; don’t want you embarrassing me up there. Any questions? No? Good. That's it, then, class adjourned. 

"Oh, and one more thing," he said before everyone could collect themselves, "don't forget, our girl's turning 35 on Saturday. The party starts at eight. Dress to kill, because I'm going all out for this one."

You couldn't help the blush that crept up your face, despite the rollercoaster of anger and agony you’d been feeling. When Tony had approached you about throwing you a birthday party, you'd demurred, telling him you were too old for one, but he had insisted that, since you'd missed out on so many childhood experiences because of what your parents had put you through, you were going to get a party to remember.

You got up and gathered your things, purposefully avoiding Bucky as Nat and Wanda glared at him while they waited to escort you out. You were eager to get up to your new room so you could start researching the missing women and this strip club and, a part of you admitted with a smile, get practicing your old routine and come up with a couple of new ones. It was just the thing you needed to take your mind off of your current troubles.

“Pocket, Sam,” Tony called, catching your attention, “hold back a minute; I want to go over some details with you.”

Nat and Wanda looked at you, but you encouraged them to go on; Steve had made a beeline toward Bucky after the meeting had been adjourned and, despite Bucky lingering, obviously waiting to speak with you, had managed to steer him out of the room to discuss something you couldn’t give a shit about. “It’s fine, guys,” you told your friends. “He’s gone; I should be able to get back up to the room without trouble.

They exchanged a glance, then looked back at you. Nodding, they left.

“Pocket,” Tony said, once the conference room was clear and it was just the two of you and Sam remaining, “care to tell me why FRIDAY says you’ve moved rooms?”

“Not at the current moment, Boss,” you said. You didn’t want to rehash the drama you’d been thrown into against your will, let alone in front of a completely innocent bystander. Instead, you encouraged him to get on with whatever more he needed to tell you and Sam about the parameters of the mission. Hopefully, it would distract you enough to take your mind off of the sheer agony you felt inside.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[milunalupin]

— in the shadow of the stars

sebastian sallow x reader ★ 649 words

The sun hung low over Feldcroft, casting a warm golden hue over the landscape as you, Sebastian, and Ominis made your way down the familiar path to Anne’s cottage. It had taken a little longer to get there that usual because "No, Y/N, that mongrel does not want pets". The air was tinged with the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers, a stark contrast to the bittersweet memories you held close to your heart.

As Anne’s best friend, you had been her constant companion through both laughter and tears. You remembered the days before her illness, filled with secrets and dreams shared under the stars. Now, visiting her felt like a mix of comfort and unease, knowing how much had changed.

“Do you think she’ll be happy to see us?” Ominis asked, breaking the comfortable silence as he adjusted his grip on his wand.

Sebastian glanced at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Of course she will. She misses you both.”

You returned the smile, but your thoughts drifted to Sebastian. He had been particularly sweet lately, his kindness shining through in the way he looked at you. Little moments—a lingering gaze, a gentle touch—made your heart race in a way you couldn’t quite explain. Of course you've had more than friendly thoughts about him before, but he's been your friend for so long that it didn't seem possible to have anything more.

As you approached the cottage, you could see Anne sitting outside, the evening sun illuminating her hair. She looked up and her face broke into a radiant smile, which warmed your heart. "Look who’s here!”

“Annie! It’s so good to see you,” you rushed to her side, enveloping your dearest friend in a hug. With school and all of the adventures you and your friends go on, it's been hard to fly out to Feldcroft.

“It’s wonderful to see you too,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with joy. “And you too, Sebastian and Ominis! This is perfect.”

The four of you settled in the cozy outdoor area, laughter weaving through the warm evening air. As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows, Sebastian leaned in closer to you, his presence electrifying.

“Do you remember that time we snuck out to watch the stars?” he asked, his voice low and inviting.

You laughed, trying to mask the warmth flooding your cheeks. “You nearly got us caught! I thought Professor Weasley was going to send us to detention for sure.”

Sebastian chuckled, but his gaze lingered on you, a mix of admiration and something deeper simmering beneath the surface. The banter flowed around you, but the tension between you and him became palpable, thickening the air like an unspoken promise.

Anne and Ominis chatted nearby, their voices a soft hum that faded into the background as you focused on Sebastian. You could feel his eyes on you, igniting something within that made it hard to think.

“You know, I’ve always thought you’re incredible,” he said, suddenly serious, his voice barely above a whisper. “I admire how you always put others first.”

Your heart raced at his words, your breath hitching. “I just care about my friends,” you replied, your own voice trembling slightly.

As the stars began to twinkle above, the atmosphere around you shifted, drawing you closer together. You leaned in, feeling the warmth radiating from him, a magnetic pull that was impossible to ignore.

Sebastian hesitated, searching your eyes as if weighing his next words. “I think you’re more than incredible, actually,” he finally confessed, vulnerability etching itself into his features.

Your heart fluttered at his admission, and for a moment, the world outside faded away. This evening filled with laughter, memories, and a hint of something more would remain etched in your heart. You sensed the secrets of your feelings teetering on the edge, waiting for the right moment to spill into the open.

[whorefordaemon]

Anon asked: Imagine daemon and daughter fucking and getting caught by criston cole. How would they react?

The pious holier than thou guy would lose his fucking mind!

How dare they engage in such depravity?! How dare she break her marriage vows that she made in front of the Faith of the Seven?!

He'd not be able to stop himself, just barge in the room and startle the pair.

Daemon immediately pulls out of her and she screams out, going to hide behind her father and trying to right her dress.

Daemon stands in front of his daughter, ready to protect her from this raging fool. He's still hard, his blood pumping in his veins, making him all the more violent for being unable to finish inside his daughter.

"Ser Crispin, to what do we owe this visit?" He asked nonchalantly, as if he and his daughter hadn't been committing treason just now.

The man's hands were shaking, eyes wide open as he pointed at them. He seemed to be choking on his breath trying to even say what he and his daughter engaged in almost daily.

His daughter, precious little girl, came to stand beside him. Her eyes wide and yet she smirked, looking so much like him then. "Ser Criston, I didn't realize I was making so much noise. Did I disturb your slumber?" She asked him, her tone one of mockery.

Daemon laughed, loud and sharp before looking at his daughter. "Oh! Well then, off you go. We'll be quieter in the future. Promise?" His arms snaked around his daughter's waist, pulling her to himself.

His tunic was still open and his breeches still unlaced. The soft silk shift she had on did nothing to hide his hardness from her back.

She instinctively leaned back into him, soft moans escaping her as she felt his throbbing cock so close to her cunt. She wanted him so bad!

"You two! Have you no shame?! You..You are married! With children! Father have mercy on my soul! What have I witnessed?!" His incoherent babbling was getting on Daemon's nerves.

"Yes you saw us fucking. You saw my cock sheathed inside her warm cunt. Yes we Targaryens have queer customs. There, I said it for you." Daemon snapped, his hard on was getting painful and being unable to satiate himself on his daughter was making him angry.

"Now, I shouldn't have to explain why literally no one will believe you and you'd only end up getting your sad little head put upon a spike for even daring to accuse me or my daughter." Daemon told the trembling knight who he could tell was burning with rage. "So just calm down and go the way you came."

"You think I'll just sit back and let this.. this depravity continue?!" His eyes were wild and Daemon wondered if he was going to pass out.

"And what do you suppose you can do?" His daughter asked, pouting as she held his hand and slowly rubbed herself on him. "I'm not going to stop. My blood is too hot and only my Kepa can help me. You can watch if you want." She bit her lip to hide her smirk at the last words.

Daemon's grip on her waist tightened and he pulled her even closer, their bodies grinding together. He groaned. "Yes, perhaps he could watch. Ser Crispin?" He looked over at the knight who had gone stiff.

He let out short puffs of breath as he tried to contain his horror. This kind of sin will not go unpunished! He won't let it! He wouldn't let such sinners continue to live and plague the world!

His hand was reaching for his sword as Daemon began to reach for Darksister left by the side of the bed, pushing his daughter behind him again.

His eyes no longer danced with amusement but cold, ruthless anger. Did this cunt from no where think he could draw blade upon his daughter?

"The last time we fought, you attacked me from the back. I never repeat my mistakes." Daemon warned but before things could get worse, his daughter stepped closer to him, grabbing his hand and pulling him to herself.

"No! You will not waste your blood on this mongrel! You were here to please me and that's what we'll do now." She sounded so much like a stubborn toddler sometimes.

She then turned to the knight. "And you! Begone! Any more of your continued presence and I'll scream. I call the guards and nobles and shout about how you tried to force yourself onto me." Her eyes were cold, so much like his. No shame. Nor remorse could be found.

"Ah! How dare some lowly peasant think he'd get away with touching royalty? A dragon no less?" Daemon smirked, knowing it was about Rhaenyra as well as his daughter.

"Away with you, now!" Daemon moved, grabbing him by the arm and throwing him out of his daughter's quarters.

Crispin fell on the floor, his white cloak dirtied and eyes burning with fury. But at this moment, without his precious Queen to save him, he was helpless.

He glared. Using his eyes to convey his hatred for the vile, depraved man. For his spoiled cunt of a daughter.

Daemon barely even looked at him as he went back into his daughters chambers, shutting the door behind him. On Criston's face.

Soon, soft moans and groans were heard from inside the chambers.

They hadn't even waited to make sure he left. They didn't even attempt to be quiet!

[black-amortentia]

Under the Mistletoe with Sirius

Sirius Black x Auror!Reader (HP era) | Warnings: Mainly just fluff, hints at a past relationship between Sirius and reader, barely proofread

Summary: Sirius Black was spending Christmas on the run, and a visit from an auror is not the gift he wanted. Luckily, it's not just any auror. Will a close call reunite him with an old friend?

--

“Well, well, well... What do we have here?”

You stood in the alley, hands on your hips, staring down at your quarry. His grey eyes turned to you, wide with fear as you made yourself known. The shining auror bagde on your chest caught his eye.

“Whatever am I going to do with you?” You continued, drawing his eyes to your face.

Sirius Black, the most wanted man in the Wizarding world, stood slowly, gaze fixed on yours.

“Auror L/N,” He said quietly.

You closed the small distance between you. Holding out your hand, you lifted an eyebrow. “Come on, then.”

Sirius sighed, his hand landing in yours.

You pulled him into a hug, his arms coming around your waist to embrace you in return.

“Y/N... It’s good to see you.”

“What are you doing here? You’re lucky it was me that ran into you and not someone else.”

“One of the houses in this village used to be part of the Order. Thought I’d see if it was still free.”

“Sold last month, actually. New owners moving in soon.”

“Really lucky I ran into you, then,” Sirius grinned.

“Oh, please, Sirius, luck had nothing to do with it,” you told him with a shake of your head. “I volunteered for this shift.”

Sirius’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You did? Why?”

“I thought you might feel a little nostalgic. Or don’t you remember that Christmas the two of us spent holed up in that house you mentioned?”

His lips curved into a playful smile. “I could never forget that Christmas, Y/N.”

Sirius laid a hand on your shoulder. “I often wonder what might have happened if one Christmas wasn’t all we had.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “So have I. Too bad the war got in the way.”

There was a moment of quiet between you, shared looks of longing, what-ifs heavy in the air. Finally, you cleared your throat. “We should get you out of here before you’re seen. This way.”

“We’re just going to walk?”

“I’ve got somewhere you can lie low for the night,” you told him. “Just around the corner. The whole village should be in church.”

As you walked down the lamp-lit street, Sirius grabbed your hand and pulled you toward a lamppost decorated with mistletoe.

“Really?” you asked with a laugh.

“You know mistletoe means you have to kiss me, right?” he teased, leaning in close. “It’s bad luck not to.”

“Is that so?” you murmured, your heart skipping a beat at his nearness.

“Absolutely,” he whispered, his eyes dancing with mischief. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. “Just a quick kiss...”

You tilted your face up, lips parted, memories dancing in your mind.

But just before your lips could meet, a quiet chatter of voice floated down the street and you jumped out of Sirius’s arms.

“I hear voices. Get down!”

Sirius ducked behind a nearby garden wall, slipping into his dog form in a fluid motion. You leaned against the lamppost, looking nonchalant but alert, like any good auror on patrol.

An elderly couple strolled past, headed for the church. You nodded politely, and they smiled in return. It seemed to take several agonizing minutes for them to get out of earshot, but that was probably just your impatience.

When the coast is clear, you turn to look for Sirius. “That was clo- ah!”

As you looked for the shaggy black dog, the ice on the lamppost and the ice under your feet conspired to send you sprawling onto your back, knocking the wind out of you.

You blinked up at the light above you, the sprig of mistletoe seeming to laugh at your plight. You felt the weight of two paws on your chest before Sirius’s canine head appeared in your vision. He cocked his head at you, then leaned in and licked your cheek.

“Get off me, you mangy mongrel.”

Sirius changed back into a human, still pinning you down. “Mangy? I’m insulted!”

You laughed at the look on his face. “What are you doing, anyway?”

Sirius glanced up. “The mistletoe, remember? Going to risk that bad luck?”

“Well, we need all the luck we can get, don’t we?”

Sirius’ eyes glinted playfully as he leaned down, his cold nose brushing against yours. His lips captured yours in a gentle kiss that soon deepened, his body pressing against you. Your fingers tangled in his shaggy hair as the kiss left you breathless. When you finally broke apart, his eyes were dark with desire.

You moaned softly, and Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Someone sounds eager.”

“No, there’s a rock in my back,” you groaned.

Sirius chuckled as he got to his feet, holding out a hand to help you up. “One close call is probably enough for tonight. I should get going.”

When you were back on your feet, you didn’t let go of his hand. “Don’t spend Christmas alone. Come on, it’s just a few doors down.”

He leaned around you to count the houses. “But that’s… I thought you said someone bought it.”

With a jingle, you pulled a set of keys from your pocket. “Oh, didn’t I tell you about the new owner? It’s got protections and charms that would even impress Dumbledore. Come on. One night.”

Sirius’s face breaks out into a grin as you pull him down the lane, watching for threats. “Maybe this time, it can be more than just one Christmas.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Maybe it can.”

[nockfellblues]

Alucard with a partner who is a werewolf <3

Hell yeahhh- ugh the way this prompt reached out and grabbed me by the throat?? I love this concept so muchhh

Just headcanons written with as xreader this time around, hope you don’t mind!

Warnings: none!

First meeting and early interactions are probably a lot of calling you “mutt,” “Dog,” “Whelp,” and “Mongrel.”

Absolutely will try to pick physical fights- Alucard lives for a worthy opponent and finds a good fight to be genuinely fun. Probably the best bonding experience you could have, tbh.

Definitely doesn’t accidentally start to track the moon phases for you. Completely coincidental that he is always available on the night of a full moon and the day after.

Loves your teeth! Alucard will straight up tell you they are cute- Maybe a little hot, too. Especially if you’re mad.

Really leans into playfully teasing about petting- but loves to actually pet your hair and head as a form of affectionate touch.

Also really leans into pet-play when it comes to *ahem* private time lmao Biting? He loves it. Draw blood? Even better. Claws out? Hell yeah, sink them into his back, please.

Definitely loves when you sit on the floor besides his chair and lean your head on his knee- He’ll gently run his fingers through your hair as you talk or just exist quietly together.

Always present when the moon is full and your transformation takes over. Helps you exorcise all of that pent-up energy and blood-lust- and whatever else you might need, of course. Tries his best to keep you out of trouble, but will let you run a little rampant if its entertaining.

Provides much-needed care the day after- a long lazy day of rest, good food and drink, and whatever words of comfort or affirmation you need to hear(albeit a lot less sugar-coated than you might want. He’s here for you loving every aspect of yourself including the ‘monsterous’ ones).

Loves being paired with you on assignments for the Hellsing organization- affectionally calls it “Play time,” and is an absolute menace about stealing kills and generally messing with you- Not in a way that jeopardizes the mission, but just enough to give it a playful edge; Alucard knows when to get serious and when there’s enough of a power imbalance to allow for some extra fun.

Affectionate nicknames include: “Love,” “My sweet,” “Moon-child,” “Beloved,” “My Moon.” Will revert to calling you things like “Whelp,” or “pup,” if you’re having words or you’re being a brat.

Definitely don’t let him hear someone else call you anything derogatory though. He’s quietly protective of you. More often than not he will simply loom in that menacing way he’s so good at until whoever opened their big mouth gets the hint and apologizes. Egregious affronts are usually met with threats and whatever small-time violence he can get away with(Integra might let him get away with more if you’re also on her good side. You probably are. She seems like a dog person lmao). If they’re an enemy, he’s more than willing to string them up and let you toy with them if you want, but they’re definitely going to die afterwards.

Woof, Alucard just makes my brain go to jellyyyy 😩🔥 Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for requesting ;u;✨💕

[moonselune]

So I'm writing a longfic and throughout it Minthy adopts a half-drow kid, but I wanted to see the idea as a stand-alone snippet written in your marvelous style, if you're up to it <3

Okay I'm going down the road of accidental child acquisition and for some reason or another she has this half drow kid with her when she is trying to take over Menzoberranzen. I see her plotting in a tavern pre her return, and she just has this kid with her who is trying to show off their latest trick.

Minthara sat at a weathered wooden table in a dimly lit tavern, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on her intricate maps. Her sharp eyes scanned the lines and markings, plotting her next move to reclaim Menzoberranzen. Beside her, a half-drow child fidgeted restlessly, trying to capture her attention.

"Minthy, look! One hand!" the child exclaimed, balancing precariously on a table with one hand.

"It's Minthara, not Minthy, and I am trying to—oh, by the gods, get down from there, now." Minthara snapped, glancing up from her maps. The child wobbled, their hand trembling under the strain.

"Shut up, child eater."

"Sun scum."

"Spider kisser."

"Mongrel."

"Murk—Ow!" The child's arm finally gave way, and they tumbled off the table, landing in a heap on the floor with a crash.

Minthara sighed, a small smile playing on her lips as she smoothed out her maps. "I told you to get down from there," she chided, though her eyes softened as she glanced at the child. Seeing the devious grin forming on their face, she knew they were uninjured. She then stood up abruptly, thwarting the child's plan to kick the chair from under her.

"No fair…" the child grumbled, brushing themselves off.

"Then be better," Minthara retorted as she retrieved the chair that had been unceremoniously kicked across the room.

"Then be better," the child mocked, quickly ducking to avoid the small book Minthara tossed at them. They settled on a nearby chair, drawing their legs up to their chest and huffing. "I'm bored!"

"Then make yourself useful and come plot with me," Minthara said, her tone softening slightly.

"Really?" The child's eyes lit up with excitement as they scrambled off the chair to join her at the table. They peered over the edge, trying to make sense of the intricate plans sprawled across the surface.

"Yes, really," Minthara replied, pulling them closer. "Look here," she pointed to a marked section on the map. "This is where we'll stage our ambush. What do you think we should do to catch them off guard?"

The child's brow furrowed in concentration as they studied the map. "Maybe we can hide in the shadows here," they suggested, pointing to a narrow alleyway.

"That's a good idea. We'll use that to our advantage." Minthara nodded, a proud smile tugging at her lips. She patted the child's head, affectionately, she then motioned for them to grab a chair and sit next to her.

Throughout the night they plotted and schemed, Minthara passing on all that she knew to her new prodigy. She made a mental note to start introducing them to poisons and toxins next, build up their immunity. As the moon peaked in the sky, Minthara was drawn from her thoughts by a light snore, the child had sworn that they were simply resting their head on her shoulder so they could get to see everything from her perspective. She should have known from their ceased chattering that followed soon that you had fallen asleep.

Sighing Minthara picked the child up, being careful not to stir them from their slumber. She had never thought herself particularly maternal, well at least not in the conventional sense, she knew she would be an excellent drow mother. Perhaps she could come to a compromise for this child.

Oh my god I had to stop myself from writing a full fic this was so much fun and I hope you like it - Seluney xox

[another-heroine]

Friends to lovers for Katya & Lann ❤️: 10. getting physically close during the denial phase. IMAGINE KISSING AND FREAKING OUT SAYING, "friends... kiss. right?"

friends to lovers heart fluttering moments

Another episode of IT TOOK ME FOREVER BUT THERE WE GO

CW: Act 4 Quests, Angel Path

Lann acknowledged his limitations. Not in front of Daeran, of course, but deep down in his soul, where his weaknesses should be. For example, there were a lot of words he had no idea what they mean: mellifluous, eidetic, tintinnabulation, and so on. But at least he knew what boundaries were.

Something that Nenio apparently chose to ignore every single day.

They were back to the Nexus, after the last stroll in the Abyss has taken its toll from the team. He stood further from the fire, taking care of his bow and making more arrows. It was late and many already had said they good-nights and went off sleep.

Then he listened to a familiar giggle, one he hasn't heard since Galfrey sent them to that ominous place.

"She what!?" Seelah couldn’t believe that. Her whisper was a little bit higher than she expected.

"I know, right." Ekaterina nodded. "She simply asked me to take off my clothes because, by her research, some friends do that!"

"Oh Nenio." The paladin wiped her face. "What she gonna ask next?"

"I'd rather not to think about it." The Commander grimaced.

Lann frowned. What that nutty fox was doing? He overheard she abording some of the Nexus' people early, but had no idea what was going on. She was too unpredicable. Like when she asked him to take off his clothes because she wanted to make an anatomic drawing of a mongrel.

The monk scratched his chin, nervously. He would never understand.

"Then I explained her that not every friend do those things," the druid told, like she was talking about a toddler. "Kissing and sleeping together many times are related to partners."

"Do you think she really understood?" Seelah asked and laughed afterwards, when the Commander shook her head.

Lann frowned, trying to focus on the arrows. Uplanders were curious, too. Instead of giving rats or pelts to their significant other, they used to give flowers, chocolates and wine.

And about the kissing part... Nobody among the neathlanders were familiar to that. He recalled poorly his parents' relationship, his father was not fond to show physical affection, but his mother was, always hugging them, tucking their hair and kissing their foreheads.

"Hey, how are you doing?"

Ekaterina approached, bringing him to the present.

She sat next to him, sorting the materials he was using. Lann always made a mess while was creating anything. It was good to have someone tidy around.

"Almost done," he lied. The mongrel got distracted eavesdropping her conversation about Nenio and her experiments.

"I'm not talking about the arrows, you know?"

He stopped and glanced at her. She was serene, observing him with a subtly smile.

Oh, if a look could kill, that one could lift any curses he ever had.

She has found him at the Bad Luck Tavern after their encounter with Savamelekh. He would be lying if say he remembered exactly what they talked about, but the feeling that she also cared about him lingered.

"I'm getting better." He nodded. "I... still feel ashamed for making you worry, but hopefully I'll recover from that too."

The woman hummed, "Glad to hear it."

His throat was dry. Lann muttered, "Also, if you need anything, I’m all ears."

"Oh, not at all. I... just want to make you some company." Her eyes darted to the floor. "This place is oddly cold. And empty. Even I'm feeling uncomfortable with it."

Lann took a deep breath and put his bow aside.

"I told you that I will fight for you until the end, right?"

The aasimar looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

He had no idea either. But he wanted to say something epic, breathtaking, romantic. Like those cheap novel books in Mendev.

"Well," he cleaned the throat. "Keep you safe from the cold and the emptiness are also part of my goal."

First, she looked at him up and down. Then she arched a brow. "Do you wanna sleep with me?"

Uh, oh, Nenio, there was your biggest rival. Lann felt both warm and cold blood abandoning his face.

"No! I mean, err, yes? But not like, uh..." His hands waved in the air, like he was trying to weave the time-space and come back to the moment when his mouth was pretty shut.

Ekaterina covered her mouth, muting her laughter. "Calm down, I’m joking with you. Though I don’t have any objections."

Lann looked at her in panic. Was that an invite or a joke? She leaned her forehead on his, and the mongrel couldn’t take off his attentive eyes of her. They have never been that close until that very moment.

"Friends kiss... right?" The words tripped.

"You tell me."

Lann felt her lips pressing against his, and like a magical trickery, she found her way in.

[queen-scribbles]

For Next Time

Playing with the dialogue from the end of Lann's personal quest bc Trinne wanted to put her own flair on it. 😉 ---

Trinne had concocted and carried out her share of harebrained schemes in her life, some solo and some with help from siblings or friends. None were as crazy as the words she'd just heard come out of Lann's mouth.

Her fingers latched onto Woljif's arm, drawing a startled yelp. "Did he just-?!"

"Yeah." It came from Seelah, hands tight on the haft of her glaive and gaze fixed in the same direction as Trinne's. "We still waiting...?"

Trinne nodded, yes stuck in her throat and fingers digging into Woljif's wrist. "I trust him. That he can do this." And she did, of course she did. That trust didn't preclude her heart pounding as she watched and waited. Or the lingering thought, You die here because you dared a demon to poison you, I'll drag you back from Pharasma's court myself to yell at you.

No. I trust him. I trust him, I trust him, I trust him. Maybe if she repeated it enough times--

"Chieeefff, owowow," Woljif hissed, "Could y- ow, Chief-"

"Sorry." She loosened her grip-- and then squeezed twice as hard a moment later as Savamelekh's stinger plunged into Lann's chest. ItrusthimItrusthimItrusthim-

"Chief-!" Woljif's voice was a whine now, but Trinne's grasp loosened of its own accord as Lann wavered but didn't fall, as he threw the demon's enticements back in its face, as he hollered defiance and encouragement to his fellow mongrels.

Her heart was pounding for an entirely different reason now, a grin curving her lips as she fully released Woljif's arm to reach for her quarterstaff. All but a few of the mongrels rallied at Lann's words, shaking off the demonic influence to launch themselves at their progenitor.

"Now," Trinne hissed in answer to Seelah's question before she asked it, gathering storm energy around her.

The fight didn't last long. All of Savamelekh's power couldn't save it from Trever's greatsword or Lann's arrows, and the few mongrels it had corrupted into service fell swiftly to blades and magic. While Sosiel and Seelah saw to the freed mongrels' injuries, and Woljif and Trever ensured the dead foes were dead, Trinne beelined for Lann.

"Hold still," she demanded as healing magic glowed in her palm. She wasn't entirely sure if she wanted to smack him in exasperation or kiss him in relief right now, but she could heal the stinger wound trailing blood down his stomach while she made up her mind.

Lann obeyed, swiping black trickles off his face before clasping his hands at the back of his neck to keep out of her way. "Well, there we go." It was impossible to miss how satisfied he sounded. "Not another mongrel will die today." She caught him glancing at her hand pressed more forcefully to his chest and her expression must've been thunderous as her favorite spells because his eyes went just a little sheepish. "unless... there's one more mongrel who's still in for it?"

"What, and deprive myself of your fabulous company?" Trinne deadpanned. He let his arms fall and she reluctantly pulled her hand away from the warmth of him. But he was warm and talking to her and alive. He hadn't gotten himself killed. "You could have told me, y'know," she groused, lightly whacking the back of his head, careful of the angle so her arm didn't catch on his horn. "You know I'm all for brilliant, crazy plans."

"...I'll keep that in mind for next time," he chuckled. "If there is one. But I was worried this might be a little too far even for you, and I needed to do it. For myself, for my tribe." He held her gaze steadily. "It's important I make you proud--"

Trinne grabbed a fistful of his shirt and dragged him into a hug. "You do," she whispered fiercely. She held tight as she could for a long moment before pulling back to look him in the eye. "I'm proud of you, Lann. And I trust you, and I'll have your back for anything. I would just like some warning to prepare myself if someone I care about is planning to do something crazy, like, oh, tell a demon prince to sting him. Just... for next time, if there is one."

Lann laughed sheepishly. "Well, I didn't know I'd be doing that precisely, so I couldn't have gotten quite so specific, but... noted. Next time I do something insane that I might not survive, I promise to warn you."

"Thank you," Trinne said with faux-gravitas. Something inside her twisted at the thought of him not surviving. She shook it off. "For the record, I'm really glad you did survive this one."

"Heh, me, too." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh, wasn't sure I would. I wanted to." He said the words like a revelation. "Wanted to hear... well, anything really; compliments, curses, you chewing me out for out-crazying you... anything that meant hearing your voice again."

Ironic, then, that the confession left her speechless.

Lann cleared his throat, the human half of his face bright pink. "Or... you know, see our weird crew.," he mumbled, gaze now on the tiefling and former gladiator rather than look at her. "Just to live longer in general."

"That's a good goal." It came out soft, not enough air in her lungs to give it more volume. She took a breath and cleared her throat. "We all like having you around."

He kicked the dusty stone. "Good... good to know--" Something caught his lowered gaze and he grimaced. "Oh, dammit." He bent to retrieve the longbow he'd dropped at some point during the fight. "I may have survived, but something didn't," he said grimly, showing her the deep crack in the top curve. "I liked this bow...."

Trinne snickered. "We'll get a new one. I think it's the least you deserve after that." She nodded toward the sting-mark dead center on his chest, still an angry red despite her healing. "It's not gonna be trouble, is it? Are you part demon now or anything?"

"I don't think so," Lann said slowly. "I don't feel any different right now, but I guess we'll have to see." Something mischievous danced in his eyes. "If I'm craving human flesh at dinner, that might be a problem."

She snorted and whacked his arm. "I think craving human souls would be a bigger problem, but I'll keep an eye out."

"Thanks, I appreciate you watching out for me," he drawled. Sincerity took over half a heartbeat later. "I really do, Trinne. That and... everything else. I.. Without you and everything you've done for me, I don't think I would have survived... this."

Trinne shook her head, slipping her hand in his to give it a squeeze. "You're givin' me too much credit."

"No, I'm not." He squeezed back, human side of his face giving a wry smile. "Without knowing you believed in me, in what I can do, I wouldn't have had any reason to keep on living. Heroic sacrifice to save my people's a good way to go, right?"

She bit her lip, mentally replaying the times he'd talked about dying, from the sardonic and joking to the serious mentions of mongrel lifespans, and squeezed his hand harder. "Happy to help," was all she could think to say.

"It's a little more than help." Lann studied their joined hands, then looked up to meet her eyes. "You turned everything in my life on its head, and it's the best thing that ever happened to me." His cheek shaded pink again. "And to my tribe, too, I bet."

"I am good at shaking things up," Trinne said with exaggerated innocence and pretending not to notice his blush.

"I mentioned that's a good thing, right?"

"Mm-hm. Lann?" She tugged him back when he started to step away, pressed a kiss to his cheek just at the corner of his mouth. "You're good for me, too."

"I'll, uh, I'll keep that in mind." This time he did disengage, angling toward the mongrel tribesmen. "I should.. make sure they're okay."

Trinne nodded and watched him go, grinning when his hand flexed and curled at the same time hers did.

[thegnomelord]

Congrats on the 500! I'd like to see prompt 14 with Ghost and Soap but it's the reader dealing out the punishment.

Thanks mate :D My inner kinkster came out and this got waaaayyy longer than I expected it to be, hope ya'll like it :D. Play the game HERE:

Prompt: "I’m in a good mood today, you may choose your punishment this time but only if you ask for it politely."

CW:NSFW, puppy play, puppy Simon and Soap, GN reader, bondage, spanking, overstimulation, BDSM, orgasm denial, numerous orgasms, Dom/Sub dynamic, my inner kinkster came out.

Johnny pants against his lips as they thrust both of their cocks into the fleshlight between them, slick lube and precum wetly 'squelch' inside the silicone hole when Johnny bucks his hips, gripping Ghost like a lifeline. Ghost can't believe he let Soap coerce him like this— to go into your shared bedroom to steal the fleshlight you use to reward them and fuck it when you've given them a direct order not to cum without you.

But with all of you so busy the frustration had been steadily building in their bones for weeks now and it wasn't like you'd ever find you; they'd be quick about it, just a quick rut and then clean up like they had never been there — That's how Johnny had justified it, whimpering so sweetly against Simon's ear as he grinded against Ghost's leg.

"Yeah, fock, just like that Si," Johnny groans at the tightness both of their cocks make of the fleshlight, shivers racing down his spine as Simon presses him further against the wall. "C'mon, clo-I'm close-"

"Johnny, actin' like a desperate slut there." Ghost growls and bites Soap's shoulder, cock throbbing at the way his words make Johnny moan, the fleshlight getting slicker from Soap's precum.

The sound of the door opening rings like an executioner's gavel. Simon yanks the toy off their cocks the moment his brain registers the sound. "Simon! Oh you focker-" He slaps a hand over Johnny's mouth before he can make things worse, the rough move finally drawing Johnny's attention to you. Slut, Simon want's to call him when Johnny's cock twitches upon meeting your gaze, no doubt burning even hotter from being caught.

Simon knows they're in deep shit when, upon finding them fucking a toy pussy like mongrel mutts, all you do is smirk. "Well look at you two." You hum, eyes momentarily flickering to the used toy Simon had flung across the room. "I'm in a good mood today," Walking up to them and scruffing them both gently. Too gently. "You may choose your punishment this time, but only if you ask nicely."

Dumb little Soap perks up at your words, unable to notice the dark look in your eyes when all of his blood is rushing south into his throbbing cock. The fucker bites Ghost's fingers and the moment Simon jerks back from surprise Soap's on his knees, nuzzling his head into your groin. "Please bonnie-" He breathes out, sticking out his bottom lip and forcing watery tears to prickle the corners of his eyes. "-need tae cum, please, want tea cum so bad." Soap's clever, knows how to make himself look so pathetic you can't help but indulge the little glutton; but not clever enough.

You card your fingers through his short mohawk, a soft smile tugging on your lips as his cock bobs uselessly against your boot. "My little puppy wants to cum for his punishment huh?" Soap nods his head frantically, melting against your leg as he thinks he's won you over; think's he's escaped your wrath; thinks he's safe.

Ghost knows better, sees the mischievous look in your eyes. "And you?" You ask him, choosing to ignore Soap when he starts grinding his cock against your boot, "How do you want to be punished?" Your hand squeezes the back of his neck, letting him know it's not a question he has time to ponder.

Numerous punishments run through his mind, all bound to leave him pleasantly aching for days, but he choses the one most likely to give him a release- "Spanking."

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline and even Soap stops his grinding to look at him, muttering a smug 'blimey dumbarse' under his breath. "Is that so?" You ask, your tone reminding him of your previous words.

"Please," He manages to say, biting on his bottom lip. "I've been bad, need to be punished." A shiver races down his spine in the way your eyes light up, something foreboding gnawing on his bones as you ruffle his hair.

"If you say so," You glance between both of them. "On the bed then, clothes off." You say, stepping away to go grab their toys, expecting them to comply.

Soap still thinks he's safe, eagerly stripping bare without a care, whining and tugging Simon's clothes off when he feels like Ghost is going too slow. But a bad and hot feeling stirs in Simon's stomach when he catches sight of what you bring back; rope, collars, a puppy mask, plugs, a paddle and the toy they both hate- the vibrating cock ring and plug combo that can edge them for hours without letting them cum.

"Since you're the one who brought Simon down to your level, you don't get to talk tonight." You growl as you fasten the collar and puppy mask on Soap's face, the muzzle turning him mute as the matching pink collars humiliate them both wonderfully. Before Soap can even begin to struggle upon seeing the hated toy you quickly tie him up, hands above his head and legs spread with his knees near his chest.

"Shhh-" You shush Soap as you push a lubed finger into him, more to get his hole slick than to stretch him out. "-you're the one who wanted this puppy," Soap growls pitifully when you replace your finger with the plug; it's slender and long, not even as thick as your finger, but the curve in it's neck forces the bulbous head to press against his prostate. "And don't you worry, you'll be cumming until you can't." The dark promise in your words has Soap squirming, the way you harshly put the cock ring on him making Soap squirm and yip as if that'll be enough to change your mind.

"Now as for you-" You're a little softer with Ghost, gentle but firm hands spreading him on his belly so his head's resting between Soap's thighs, so close to Johnny's cock he could kiss the red tip. "For every 10 spanks Johnny will get to cum," Your lubed fingers breaching Simon's ass makes him groan, his walls clamping on your fingers and a bead of precum seeping into the sheets against his cock every time your fingers press massage over his prostate. "You aren't allowed to cum." Ghost squeezes his eyes shut, whole body shuddering and nodding his head as you push a second finger inside him to squeeze the special spot inside him between two fingers; he's already used to this trick, knows how to tense his leg to stave off orgasm.

"If you can reach 60 spanks without cuming, I'll let you fuck him." You add, removing your fingers to push the broad head of a tail plug against his pulsing rim. It's not the vibrating kind, thank god, but Soap watches transfixed how Ghost's mouth opens in a silent moan as his his walls are forced to stretch around the large insertion. "Fail, or let Johnny cum without getting your spanks in, and your cock's joining Johnnie's in a cage for a few weeks." The plug, thankfully, doesn't press right on his prostate like Soap's, but the playful swat you give his rump has a strangled moan falling from his lips as the head of the plug bashing against that special spot inside him. "Am I understood?"

"Crystal." Ghost breathes out, his eyes already getting bleary. He can see your reflection in Soap's eyes, knows when you pick up the paddle by the way Johnny's dick twitches against his face. The sudden smack against the fat of his arse has him wheezing out a "One-" his cheeks jiggling from the force, the skin reddening soon after.

Just watching you spank Simon has Johnny's cock leaking, every number moaned in Simon's rough voice making his cock throb. The way Ghost's eyes close when a new smack of the paddle has that large plug brushing against his prostate makes Soap clench pitifully around the inactive plug inside him, wanting something bigger. The dead toys inside and around Soap's cock come to life the second Simon growls out a "Ten.", causing Soap to moan.

You push Simon's gasping mouth down on Soap's cock, putting the paddle down to firmly grope his reddening cheeks as encouragement. They're both such masochists that it works like a charm, a sharp pinch of his ass getting Simon to messily suck and slurp down his dick while Johnny whines and trembles, assaulted with sensation until he cums inside Simon's mouth with a loud whine. Simon swallows down it all without complaint, barely fast enough to pop off Johnny's cock to croak out an "Eleven-" when the paddle spanks his flesh again.

Johnny whines, thighs trembling pitifully as he realizes the vibrations don't stop after his orgasm. Simon notices the way Johnny's whines grow soft again, the Scott tumbling towards orgasm faster than the leisurely pace you're spanking Ghost with. Without thinking he reaches out to grab the base of his cock with a firm grip, his fist like a secondary cock ring, Ghost's hand keeping Johnny's hips pinned until you smack his rear again-"Twenty!"- and Soap cums the second his fist eases, splashing his sweaty chest with his cum.

You look up to see Soap's cheeks stained with tears, chest rising and falling rapidly with disformed hiccups as the toys just continue to vibrate on max. Simon's skin is also starting to from bright to dark red in some places, the force behind each slap ensuring he'll be able to feel this punishment for weeks.

Soap's shaking his head desperately by the time Simon grounds out "Thirty-" and it takes a few sharp pinches to his aching rear to get Ghost's mouth back on Johnny's cock, but even half blissed out as he is he knows how to make Soap cum, running his teeth along the oversensitive vein along the bottom of his cock and nibbling a bit on his swollen balls enough to force him into another orgasm.

At "Fo-forty!" there's a growing damp spot of pre beneath Simon as he tries desperately to keep his cock from brushing against the sheets. "Fuck...Fifty-" Comes soon after and both of them are so fucked out that Soap can only manage a weak spurt of cum, whole cock as red as Simon's rear.

"You two are doing so well," You praise, tracing the rapidly blooming bruises from the swell of Simon's arse to the middle of his thighs, purposely tugging on his tail to have him moan around Johnny's length, his cock weakly spurting a small dollop of precum onto the sheets as the wide head of the plug grinds against his prostate. "Just, one more, you can do it."

You wait for a few seconds after Soap cums again for Simon to settle against his legs, his body so worn out by the constant abuse on his prostate that he doesn't even notice when he nuzzles into Soap's aching cock. Only then do you strike again, abstaining from the paddle to smack the reddening flesh with the flat of your hand just so you can grope his cheek, making the plug insistently shift inside him.

"Fifty- shit, Fifty one..." Simon slurs like he's drunk, both of them long past tears. You draw out the last 9 slaps, groping and pinching his aching skin and loving how Simon groans and drools against Soap's cock. "Sixty, ah! Sixty!" Simon howls with the final slap, whole body feeling like it's ready to fall apart, his brain desperately clinging to his skull when the rest of him is ready to leak through his dick. There's a painful cramp in his stomach from having to hold off so long, having long since replaced the jealousy he'd felt at having Soap cum again and again while he's kept on the edge of a knife.

"Such a good boy Simon," You coo softly, even a gentle rub of his flesh causing him to hiss and attempt to wiggle away from your hand. You catch his eye as he stares back at you, Soap's cum staining his hair as his cock rests against Simon's face.

Soap can barely lift his head to look at you, eyes blurry as he tries to convey that he can't cum any more, his cock throbbing from the constant stimulation. When you turn off the vibrators he swears he'd cry tears of joy if there was anything left in him, body so lax he feels like a puddle.

Then you sneak a hand down to feel Simon's dick, still achingly hard , chuckling when Simon groans and bites down weakly on Soap's thigh. "How about it boy? Ready for your reward?" You laugh as your words make both of them twitch, Soap's hole clenching needily on the slim neck of the plug as the thought of having something thick spread him open cuts through the fog of overstimulation and exhaustion like a knife.

You smirk for Johnny and easily slide the vibrating plug out of him, receiving a whine from Johnny like he's hurt. You shush them gently, having to support Simon as you reposition his cockhead against Soap's twitching hole.

"Go on then, good boy," You chuckle, "Take your reward Simon,"

[colourful-jack]

Paper Talk Special: YOSHIHARA Rieko's interview (1989)

“Riki is an almost full-grown black panther”

YOSHIHARA Rieko has written in a wide variety of genres, from high-school stories to fantasy and science fiction. If there is one thing her characters, like Aki and Kacchan or Iason and Riki, have in common, it’s their impressive charisma. We had the opportunity to ask her more about Ai no kusabi in this interview.

Profile

Pen name’s origin: My birth name. My family name changed when I got married, so I thought “nobody would know it’s me!”.

Date of birth: October 4th, 1954

Blood type: B

Place of birth and residence: born in Fukuoka Prefecture, living in Kumamoto Prefecture

What made you send your manuscript to the magazine: It had been a long night…

1. What made you start writing Ai no kusabi?

I didn’t really… want to write about “pure love” in a science fiction setting (ah ah ah), because I wanted to write about an “encounter” than would not just be casual, the bonds it would create and the various feelings they would draw along.

2. Which character can you empathize with the most?

Probably Riki, as one could expect. Because, even though he has a sharp tongue and is quite mature, his way of thinking is fundamentally straight. Him running around struggling yet unable to act, because he’s caught between two feelings of different natures, makes him seductive, I like it.

3. What is your favourite scene? And what is a line you like?

My favourite, hmm… It would have to be the scene where Katze cries while stifling his voice. But I also cannot put aside the scene where Riki is kept waiting in vain in the rain by Guy… As for the lines, those would be “there’s no way I’m letting him die alone” or “you may be able to look the other way despite everything, but I… wouldn’t be worth more than trash if I did. I couldn’t go on living.”

4. Could you tell us about the creation process of the characters, like Riki and Iason? (size, weight, blood type, date of birth, etc.)

I had their personality roughly figured out, so I didn’t think about their finer characteristics, but…

Riki: Because he’s a slum mongrel, I pictured him as an almost full-grown black panther. Not frail, but slender and lithe. As for his appearance, his intelligence shines through the strength of his obstinate spirit, that’s all.

Iason: Since he’s an absolutely perfect member of the elite and the Black Market’s king, he should definitely be like the God of the Sun Apollo, but raised in the depths of the sea (or something). He’s shrewd and good-looking, incredibly proud, and wouldn’t collapse under any circumstances. Regarding his height, all things considered, he’s a head taller that Riki.

Guy: In my first draft, he was a tolerant and broad-minded herbivorous felid… that was my intention, but I wonder where and how things went wrong.

Raoul: His looks, intellect and handsomeness are on par with Iason’s. He has a sense of humour and, even more than Iason, nerves of steel.

Katze: Went from being raised in the slums to being a Furniture in Eos to being a broker on the black market. Putting aside the protagonists, he’s the one with the most dramatic life, so that’s probably why I gave him a tragic handicap, like being a scarface or being a man without manhood…

Kirie: Representing slum dwellers in their late teens, he’s overconfident and reckless. He has a very limited worldview, so he’s the most fragile yet also the most dangerous character.

5. Concerning the way you chose the characters’ names, you previously said you were “drawn to the “dragon” kanji”, were you fixated on something like that for Ai no kusabi?

This time I wanted to give them names that would fit their character, so… I gave Riki a name conveying “power” (riki is one of the few ways to read the kanji meaning “power”), I named Iason after a hero from Greek mythology, and Guy after the goddess of the Earth, Gaia, for his ability to embrace everything. But when you list them, they’re not consistent. All things considered, you could say they’re just far-fetched choices, ah ah ah…

6. Writing Ai no kusabi, what did you enjoy? What did you find difficult?

For the most of it, the story was ever changing with the characters’ feelings, so until I had reached the ending, I had fun worrying (somehow) while writing. Difficult things that would bring wrinkles to my forehead, I tend not to think too much about them.

7. A number of different types of Pet Rings appear in readers’ four-case mangas, but how do you picture them yourself?

No, well, when it comes to Riki’s, its basic image was something like Sun Wukong’s circlet. Looking at it like this makes Journey to the West quite salacious too… don’t you think?

8. Could you tell us your thoughts about the cassette adaptation?

I thought “Are you sure we can really do that?”… but when it became real, well, I mean, ah ah ah, what could I say? As you know, this work involves many human relationships, some violent lines, and it’s quite heavy on that. “How can we make all that fit in 60 minutes?” I wondered… When I heard the tape for the first time, it dawned on me that letters and voices are truly two completely different things, obviously. I wrote it, so it’s weird for me to say that, but I thought “can I really make Mr SEKI and Mr SHIOZAWA say those things?”… on the other hand, when I wondered what faces they made then, Tokyo felt so far away… So those were my thoughts. But everyone used their beautiful voice to give impassioned performances, so I’m very happy!

9. And lastly, what is June to you?

A breather between child rearing and house chores, a teatime friend… or something like that. (October 1989)

[queen--kenobi]

WIP Whenever

Thanks for the tag @evita-shelby

I actually have something unrelated to kinktober, so I think I'm going to pull that

“Yes, I know what is expected of me.” Elayna almost snaps. She pauses for a second and then sighs. “I'm... I'm sorry. While my father has yet to put pressure on me, the rest of my family has.”  In her opinion, they've done more than just put pressure. They have picked and picked and picked until the topic feels much like an oozing sore on a mangy mongrel. At this point, she wonders if her mother and siblings are enjoying her discomfort. It certainly seems as if they're out to draw blood. Elayna cannot find a moment's peace without them poking and prodding, trying to figure out answers Elayna frankly thinks they have no right to know. At least, not until she feels ready to tell them.

The more they try to unearth those answers, the less inclined she is to giving them the information they so desperately seek.

No pressure tags: @selfproclaimedunicorn @emilykaldwen @ewanmitchellcrumbs @lady-morrigen @baba-fett @purgetrooperfox and anyone else who wants to!

[wisconsin2002]

"VIVZIEPOP IS FATPHOBIC!"

Omg that sounds bad! What did she do?

"SHE DRAWS LITTLE AMOUNT OF FAT PEOPLE IN HER SHOWS AND SHE DRAWS THEM WEIRD!"

.....I beg your pardon?

"She barely draws fat people and she draws them weird. And she makes fat jokes in her shows"

..... Oh good fucking lord.

"Yeah so she's fatphobi-"

No you want to know what's fatphobic? The fact this is what yall wake up to first thing in the morning and get pissed about.

The fact you can look yourself in the mirror because you don't hate your reflection and your body reminding you of the trauma of the bullying you went through when you were just a little kid. And memories replaying that shit over and over again in your head even now in your fucking 20's!

Being envious of the motherfuckers who's only problem seems to be waking up everyday on this bullshit site and bring out their imaginary picket signs out on a cartoon instead of actúal in real life issues.

Fatphobia is waking up, going places and not knowing if you have motherfuckers talking mess behind your back or if someone's gonna just randomly start touching and mocking your body and calling you a whale or meatball.

Fatphobia is being told that you have people out there who stand with you and you believing them only for those people to point the blame at cartoons and the people who make them whose livelyhood is to create silly characters, stories and jokes for people to enjoy and entertain with!

Fatphobia are the fuckers on here who use their clear biases and feelings towards a person and use your issues and your trauma as a means to disguise themselves and start a spitefull movement towards the most miniscule shit.

The fatphobic assholes who bullied me didn't even watch cartoons. They were never set an example from that. You know who did watch cartoons and was set an example from it?

I DID! And never did they lead me to be a bigot or diversity hating, body shaming mongrel.

The people who bullied me were tho. And you know what DID set that example on them? FUCKING PARENTS! Ignorant ass teachers as well that saw you get kicked and punched to the ground and didn't do shit! And the assholes who told you to ignore all of that pain!

THAT'S where it starts and THATS where it continues!

Not with Vivzie. Not with her drawings or art NOT ANY OF THIS SHIT PEOPLE ARE SO TERMINALLY ONLINE OVER!

Vivziepop doesn't opress me! I DON'T EVEN KNOW HER!

Her cartoons don't opress me. They don't take away or cure any of the pain and traumatic memories and shit I went through.

Looking at this motherfucker doesn't opress me.

You want to know about Fatphobia? You actually want to give a shit? I promise you don't get the answer from obsessed Vivzie hate blogs that sit around like vultures and do nothing but wait for Vivz to show any sign of imperfection to strike down on her.

You get to know about Fatphobia from actually TALKING TO PEOPLE! IN THE REAL WORLD! Not the these motherfuckers who have a fetish to game over careers for irrelevant shit people did 30+ years ago. Go to any fat friends or fat family members, fat people you trust and ask them!

I know my time would be better spent watching paint dry than asking people on here to think logically. But this is one of the few issues in the Hellverse fandom that I can actually speak up about and man I had to.

With that being said. There's issues in media about how Fat people are always reduced to being one off flanderized background characters and while I don't take issue with that as much as others do, I think it's perfectly fine for people to ask and critique for more effort to be done in that regard. But I don't believe throwing fatphobia claims at artist and demanding change is the way to do it at all.

Anyways that's all I had to say, imma go touch grass now. I suggest some yall do the same.

[dragonness]

Okay, but imagine that maybe Satan gets overwhelmed at his rage and it becomes more directed at him?

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

You were curled up on Satan’s chair, a new book in your hands as you hungrily ran your eyes over the words. The room was warm, and steam curled around you from the two cups of tea that were on the table beside you. You spared a glance at the clock atop the mountain of Satan’s books. You nibbled on your lip as you took another long, long sip. It was 4:07. He was an hour late. He was NEVER an hour late.

“I can’t stand these people. Their idiotic questions and banter makes me want to punch a hole in the wall,” he would always smile at you as he would pull you close.

This wasn’t normal. Was he hurt? Was he in a fight? No no, he said really doesn’t like getting other people’s blood on his hands, he thinks the mongrels aren’t worth it. But it still ate at you, and your leg found itself moving at light speed against the arm of the couch. You sat there, forgetting the book in your hands as the hands on the clock’s face moved at an agonizing speed. After five more minutes, you jumped up, grabbing your school jacket and marching towards the door. You would find him, one way or another.

You wandered all around the school. It was mostly empty, except for the occasional student staying late for a club. Beel was off in the background, getting ready for training when you ran up to him. His usual broad smile welcomed you warmly.

“Beel, do you know where Satan is?”

He blinked and lulled his head to the side. “No, has he gone missing?”

You opened your mouth, but paused, drawing circles on the ground. Satan was never the type of guy who wanted a lot of fuss over him. He knew his moods, and he knew his brothers; having his brothers be focused on his anger usually had the opposite effect. You shook your head and smiled. “No, no, but he said that he was going to be busy, so, you know, just wanted to surprise him! Okay, bye!” The words rushed out of your voice as you spun on your heel and zoomed down the hallways.

Your feet carried you to the courtyard until your breath finally gave out on you. You doubled over and gasped for breath, groaning towards the cobblestone. You took your time, letting the breeze wash over you until you were cooled and replenished. But as your gasps quieted, you heard quiet sobs from the dark corner. You tiptoed closer to find Satan curled up on the ground, gripping his hair and shaking. “Satan,” you softly called, kneeling beside you. He jumped and looked at you, his green eyes white and filled with tears. You could hear your heart shatter. You scooter closer, whispering, “Hey hey… Tell me what happened?” He slowly leaned on you, trying to catch his breath.

“Why am I always angry angry, MC?” His words were quiet and vulnerable, threatening to break at a moment’s notice. “Why can’t I just stay calm…?”

“You aren’t always angry, though.” Your hands found themselves playing with and running through his golden hair. “I have heard you laugh, and that is the most amazing sound ever. I have seen you smile, and it’s the most amazing sight ever.” You choked his face, lightly brushing aside his tears. “You are amazing, and so is what you feel, but there is more to you than anger.” His shoulders shook as he clung to you and buried his face in your shirt. You held him closer, swallowing the lump that was growing in your throat.

“I love you, MC,” he whispered with a shaky voice.

You squeezed him closer, trying ti blink sway the tears that clawed at your eyes. “And I love you, Satan. Through your anger and happiness.”