#i think this is a turning point in the sense of... i don't think it was necessarily an epiphany at the time.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Ś̷̻̼͉͍̙̱̰͔͉̊̔͑͋̅͊̉̍͆̂̄́͘͜ų̷̯̬̅̎͌r̵̡̡̛͖̖͚̟̫̤̯̼͈̂͋͂̏͜v̴̧̠̳͛͠ḯ̶̝͈͈̩̖̳͎̒̃̈́͗͛̽̎̕v̶̨͚͚̪̜̥͓̩̲̖̿ę̶̡̨͇͙̬̮̪̗̓̐

Get In the Water Ruthlessness Hold Them Down

Danyal's blow forced Constantine to skid back several feet. The only reason it didn't cleave him in two was the magical shield he'd thrown up last minute. Damian could only watch as the white magic crawled up his brother's arm.

Danyal screeched, a shockwave erupting from his mouth and shaking the cavern. Gritting his teeth, Constantine grabbed Danyal's arm with both hands and yanked him off course. Whirling around, Constantine threw Danyal across the room. Danyal righted himself midair and lunged again, but Constantine was ready. With a flick of his wrist, a sigil burned into the air, and a barrier of golden light erupted between Danyal and Talia. Danyal’s claws raked against it, sparks flying, but it held—for now.

The whites of his eyes had turned green.

Constantine staggered back, sweat dripping from his brow. He looked worse than Damian had ever seen him, gaunt and exhausted. "That won't hold 'im for long," he remarked. "Lad's losing all sense of himself. It’s the Pits—too much exposure to ‘em. They’ve warped him, torn his essence to shreds." He grimaced. "But if we stay here much longer, he's going to tear us to shreds."

Damian looked away from his mother fleeing the room, to Danyal, hissing and spitting insults as his claws ripped into the magic shield. In the Lazarus Pit, Danyal had been... calm. Disdainful, but calm. It was only in the overworld where Danyal lost his reason-

"No!" Damian said. "We don't need to leave. He does."

"You want to inflict that thing on the rest of the world!?" Todd yelled back.

Damian snapped, snarling. "That thing is my twin brother, and you will treat him with the respect he deserves!"

Danyal screamed from behind the shield. "I'm your murder victim, not your brother!" Danyal cackled again. The green leaked out of Danyal's eyes in jagged cracks as his voice suddenly deepened. "Ṭ̴̢̢̻͓̱̯̭̊̄͊̀̐̐̏̃̊̊̉ê̶̆��̢̱̪̰͇͇̻̺̋̃̾̓͑̄͘l̴̥̹̫̦̲̳̼̗̮̗̼̤̒͛̇̇̐̔͜l̷͖͕͇̯̹̖̲̬͔̈͑̒̈́̀̕͜ ̵̪̋̋̄̈͘ṱ̸͇͓̃̌̄̄͒̍̒̃̌̔͘h̵̡͈̝͈̠̜̞̳̻̮͕̻͓̯̘̒́̽̓͝e̵͎͔̼̘̺͓͎̹̅̊m̵̛̠̻̰̦̀͋͋̓̈́̿̊̓̈́̿̕̕."

Damian closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose. Upon his exhale, he opened his eyes again, certain of what he has to do. Damian stepped forward, Grayson's hand falling away as he squared himself against Danyal. His voice was steady, though it carried the weight of everything he’d been holding back. “I killed you. I snuck poison out of Mother's room and slipped it in your evening drink.”

The room fell deathly silent. Even the faint hum of the Lazarus Pit seemed to fade as Damian’s words echoed.

Danyal tilted his head, his twisted grin spreading wider. “There it is,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “The truth, laid bare. But do you feel better now, little brother? Does admitting it cleanse you of your sins?”

“No,” Damian replied firmly. His hand drifted to his sword hilt, but he didn’t draw it. “But I’ll make it right.”

Danyal’s smile vanished, his eyes narrowing as he floated , green light crackling like static around him. “Make it right? You think you can fix this?” His voice was a roar, reverberating through the chamber.

Damian drew his sword, the blade glinting in the eerie light. He pointed the blade at Danyal, his stance resolute. “You said it before; me or them. Me or Gotham. So here I am. I challenge you to a duel. One last battle, brother. Just us.”

"No!" Grayson protested. "Damian, you can't-"

"T̷̲̳̀̋̈́͗͝h̵͓̦̹̪̟̤̀͂̓̃̍̍ȋ̶̖̞̝̐͑́̀̓͝͝s̶͍͎̩̱̫̰̟̈́ ̶̞̺̹̔̂͌͗͒͐͜ȋ̷̢̛̞̱̘͎̙̐ş̴͈̣͎͖̐̐̌͠ņ̴̟̥̟̉̓͂̐̑͗'̵̭͙̳̥̱̦̖̇͂̆̕ͅt̶̲̱̪̠͓̀́͋́ ̵̜͚̪͕̣̙̯̦̈͒a̶͔͔̫͖̹̝͗̀̓̚͜b̷̨̨͚̯̲̮̠̏̍͛̇͊͝ơ̴̙̥̪̰̦̭͆̀̒̐ư̵̻̰̍̇̅̾̎̅̃t̷̢͔̣̻͖̙̦̃̈́͆̆̈́̚̕ ̴͍̖̰͎̪̹̮̲͐̎ỳ̶̖̼͈̥́̀͊̂o̶̡̪͕̒́ư̴͍̬͗̀͗̿͐̊.̴̯̻̭̱̤̩̋́͛͠ͅ" Danyal sneered at Grayson. His claws finished slicing clean through Constantine's barrier. With a deafening screech, Danyal lunged, his hand glowing with green light that morphed into a sword. Damian met him head-on, their clash sending shockwaves through the chamber. His family scrambled to stay out of the way, their shouts of protest drowned out by the sound of steel against spectral energy.

Danyal fought like a demon, his movements erratic but deadly, each strike fueled by years of pent-up rage and pain. And Damian did not stay uninjured, as cuts and bruises built up as he, inch by torturous inch, forced Danyal back towards the Lazarus Pit.

With every strike Danyal landed, Damian gave him one in kind. The moment his feet touched the ground, Damian struck at his heel. In the air, he focused on attacking from behind. And Damian kept up his attack, without falter, because defeat was not allowed.

"I won't let you kill me," he said during a parry.

“You don’t know what it means to survive!” Danyal roared, slamming his claws into Damian’s blade. “You don’t know what it’s like to claw your way back, piece by piece, from the darkness you threw me into!”

“You’re wrong,” Damian shot back, his voice fierce. “I’ve been in that darkness too. I’ve fought my way out. And I won’t leave you there.”

Their battle raged on, but Damian slowly drove Danyal back, step by step, toward the Lazarus Pit. Finally, with a calculated feint, Damian disarmed Danyal, dispelling his etherial sword. Before Danyal could react, Damian lunged, tackling him with all his strength.

The two of them tumbled backward, plunging into the glowing green depths of the Lazarus Pit. The chamber shook, the waters surging violently as they disappeared beneath the surface.

And the world turned green.

[nemesyaaa]

i wish i knew where to start but i really don't know. i can't believe i've only find this now when i love to read some good patrick x reader. and this one was fabulous, because i feel like pairing this guy with a crybaby!reader is something so genius. and just the way it's exploited, i want to put myself in the corner of my room and rotting in it. the fact, he's placed a gentle kiss after literally kind of bullied her, it's killing me because it's resonate in me really deep. « he wasn't a bad guy [...] But he couldn't help he got a crybaby girlfriend. » this ‼️we all know patrick is a sweet guy but gosh, give him a crybaby and he's gonna fuck her real bad (i'm talking about the mind, but it's working on both sense)

like usual, you and patrick were arguing over something petty that neither of you could remember, but that was beside the point. he was getting fed up with your snappy attitude, and when he called you out on it, you started to cry. how ironic, right? make him seek like the bad guy. it really pissed him off. because he wasn't a bad guy, but he felt as if you made him out to be the bad guy. but he couldn't help he got a crybaby girlfriend. — why i can see his face through the lines of your writings 😵‍💫

"stop fuckin' cryin' or i'll give you something to cry about." patrick threatened through gritted teeth. he sounded like a toxic parent, and per usual like the child would, you kept crying. his hand grabbed your jaw aggressively, "i ought to—" he paused, plotting. — not but in a way, it's really hot or am i too weird....tell me it's the first option...

"get on your knees." he said roughly, and as you started to protest, he grabbed your hair at the roots, pulling your on your knees. you looked up at him with ruined mascara, big teary eyes and that was all for him. but appreciation could be shown later. he hooked his thumb underneath his a gym shorts (he hardly went the the gym) shoving down his pants. following suit were his boxers. — the treatment he can gives me everytime....(Especially after gym). « but appreciation could be shown later » oh my god ?? 🫠🫠

your eyes shimmered staring down at his cock, leaking precum, and looking painfully hard. did your crying.. turn him on? you wondered, before he forcefully slammed your face onto his cock. you cried out, choking on it, his aftershaved balls tickling your nose. "givin' you somethin' to cry about, huh?" he snorted as he face fucked you, he barely received pleasure because he never gave you a chance to suck, so he opted for you to play with his balls. — toxic!patrick who make up to you with sex doesn't surprise me. i'm spiraling. angst + smut is an underrated pairing. the end sounds so bitter but it was beautiful. it makes me think of the movie blue valentine 🫶🏿😫

Patrick zweig x crybaby reader? they're arguing and he gets so fed up with her crying hell give her something to cry abt (his gorgeous dick)

-🎶

CRYBABY.ᐟREADER and patrick arguing . . .

like usual, you and patrick were arguing over something petty that neither of you could remember, but that was beside the point. he was getting fed up with your snappy attitude, and when he called you out on it, you started to cry. how ironic, right? make him seek like the bad guy. it really pissed him off. because he wasn't a bad guy, but he felt as if you made him out to be the bad guy. but he couldn't help he got a crybaby girlfriend.

"stop fuckin' cryin' or i'll give you something to cry about." patrick threatened through gritted teeth. he sounded like a toxic parent, and per usual like the child would, you kept crying. his hand grabbed your jaw aggressively, "i ought to—" he paused, plotting.

"get on your knees." he said roughly, and as you started to protest, he grabbed your hair at the roots, pulling your on your knees. you looked up at him with ruined mascara, big teary eyes and that was all for him. but appreciation could be shown later. he hooked his thumb underneath his a gym shorts (he hardly went the the gym) shoving down his pants. following suit were his boxers.

your eyes shimmered staring down at his cock, leaking precum, and looking painfully hard. did your crying.. turn him on? you wondered, before he forcefully slammed your face onto his cock. you cried out, choking on it, his aftershaved balls tickling your nose. "givin' you somethin' to cry about, huh?" he snorted as he face fucked you, he barely received pleasure because he never gave you a chance to suck, so he opted for you to play with his balls.

he groaned out, watching tears stream pass your mascara. "fuck you look s'good f'me." he used his hand free to gently tap your cheek. as your fingers gently massaged his balls, he felt release coming closer and closer. when he did let out a release, he finally pulled out your mouth, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before shooing you away, maybe go watch tv or do dishes, but leave him alone kind of shoo.

[unknown7s]

Can I just say that I really fucking HATE how the majority of the Arcane fandom praising Season 2 is deeply in the mindset of Piltover in reality? Like, it's not even funny, and I don't know where to begin.

I'll just start with Silco because he's this huge metaphorical character who is clearly written as the embodiment of a long list of sociopolitical agendas in the real world. And before I start, pardon my English, since it's not my first language.

I know y'all in the Anglo-American sphere tend to focus more on classism, inequality and police brutality theme. But the way I see it, THAT and every single dialogue plus the specific word choice of Silco & Sevika literally SCREAMS of postcolonial discourse (I guess F. Fanon is most well-known to y'all) and even some part of M. Foucault's philosophy, etc. I'm writing "etc." because the list will go on forever if I describe all these creepy historical parallels between the depiction of Zaun's internal conflict and what real countries that have been (or still are) colonies went through, and what real colonizer propaganda looked like during that time—like how those characters who fight for the nation's independence are the big bad villain and psychotic monsters who need "redemption arc" therapy, while those who cooperate with the oppressors are the good-hearted familial heroes of this story.

So upon reflection, if this fandom were to be a collective intelligence, we should have asked ourselves, "Is this show truly not problematic for portraying such a character as villainous?" and thus, "Is this show thematically implying far-right propaganda?" even before Season 2 presented us with this insane plot that glamorized the militaristic fascist aristocrat proclaiming martial law as a 'romantic revenge arc'.

But what did the majority of the fandom do since 2022? They were so busy shitting on this dead villain, claiming he has done so much wrong that he doesn't even deserve to be praised as a character. So instead of trying to understand where this character's point of view is coming from, they blindly hate him to the point where they are now fabricating a list of crimes that he didn't even commit, editing false information on the fandom wiki profile.

What's more frustrating to me is that I thought the problem was media illiteracy all along, but oh no, I was being way more optimistic than the reality. Now that I’ve read all these interviews from the showrunner and main writer—Linke and Overton—I get the sense of why Season 2 turned out like that. The more they babble on about this show, the clearer it becomes that they don't even acknowledge how messed up their political views are, which are so far-right. Taking the seemingly-centrist line doesn't make you fair, you're just passively siding with the oppressors. And lesbian sex scene doesn't make this show "progressive", in fact, hiding oppressor fantasy behind a rainbow flag makes it even more treacherous.

So yeah, I think critical voices should be much louder than this, but watching the majority of this fandom neglacting problems only to praise the show? I think my hope for humanity kind of get lost more and more as time passes, lol.

[caelivir]

mistletoes w oliver aiku! ♡

i hope everyone is having a wonderful and joy filled winter/holiday season!!

“you do realize that the party’s inside, right?”

you turn your head to look behind your shoulder, offering a weak grin at the presence of the person who joined you on the balcony. “hi oliver.” you greet, more quiet than enthusiastic.

“well don’t get too excited now.” oliver chuckles, joining you at the black railing that bars from accidental falls. he’s awfully close. his arm brushing against yours, dual-colored eyes staring at you intently. you don’t hate this, but you pray oliver can’t hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears. “what’s up?”

for a moment, you cast your gaze up, humming as you think, wondering if there’s anything worth telling him. “noth-” you begin.

and then you see it. hanging above both you and oliver are green leaves with red berries, tied together by a pretty white bow—a freaking mistletoe.

your gaze snaps down; the reaction is too sudden, too sharp, and oliver furrows his brows at your newfound panic. his gaze finds focus in where your eyes last lay, and it clicks for him.

oliver is unable to hold back his hearty laugh at your flustered expression. the situation itself is beyond embarrassing. you wonder if it’s possible to sink into the ground and never come back.

“this is not happening.” you mumble, your palm a barrier between the coherency of your words.

“ouch, babe.” oliver feigns a wince. he places hand over his heart in offense.

“i didn’t mean-”

“i’m kiddin’.” he clarifies, amused. “i know you didn’t.”

you purse your lips. “i think i’ll just head back inside.”

oliver gently grabs your wrist as you start to leave. it’s electric, humming soundly throughout your nerves. “woah, woah, woah, are you tryin’ to curse us with bad luck?”

“didn’t take you to be the superstitious type, oliver.” you raise a curious brow at him.

he smirks, winking at you. his charm nearly makes your knees give out. “i take my mistletoes very seriously.”

“somehow i don’t doubt that.”

“what? i never pass up on holiday traditions.” he shrugs, lazy grin raising the apples of his cheeks. his heterochromatic irises pour into yours.

“i don’t either.” you agree, but you point at the mistletoe above you. “but this one i don’t do.”

“why not?” oliver’s thumb runs gentle patterns near your pulse. your breath hitches, stuck in your throat.

“i don’t want people to feel like they’re forced into it. that’s all.”

“i want to though.”

“oliver, they are literally just leaves. we don’t have to-”

“is this you saying you don’t wanna kiss me?” oliver tilts his head, baiting you. you spot the glimmer of tease in his gaze.

“don’t put words in my mouth.” you huff.

“so you do want to kiss me then.”

“i didn’t say that either!”

"(y/n), you’re gonna break my heart with these mixed signals-"

"god, okay. i get it." you roll your eyes, fed up with his antics.

you fist the fabric of his shirt, pulling him by it until the space between you two is reduced to nothing, and your lips press onto his. you feel oliver's cocky smile just before he melts into you.

he's gentle with you. his calloused hand finds solace on your cheek, the other drops your wrist to place itself gently upon your waist. the stubble on his chin tickles your skin.

oliver tastes oddly sweet, milky even. your curiosity of it forces you to pull away despite the sparks dancing on your lips. you run your tongue on the lingering remnants of the delicacy. "is that hot chocolate?"

"don't know." oliver shrugs, his hands still on you like they're meant to be there. you can immediately sense that he's lying through his poorly hidden smirk.

you throw him a dubious glance. "i'm pretty sure it is."

you would be right. it is hot chocolate. it's a special recipe that oliver mastered from his grandma in sweden. he already has a mug of it ready for you on the counter. he thinks it'll go cold by the time he decides he’s satisfied with kissing you.

"but it might not be. i think i need another taste." he sighs, already leaning in.

"isn't it supposed to be the other way around?" you question teasingly, a grin pulling your cheeks upward.

"you focus on details too much." oliver mumbles, his nose brushing against yours. he locks your lips together, and this time you can taste whipped cream.

[whoops-all-jennas]

Past Lives pt.2

Wednesday x witch!reader

"I've got this strangest feeling."

"This isn't our first time around."

Summary: You and Wednesday get a bit closer after she escapes therapy.

The sound of your phone is the only thing breaking the silence of your dorm, until the entrance creaks open revealing your gothic roommate.

"Hey are you okay?" You say, standing from your bed.

"My well-being doesn't concern you." Wednesday approaches her section of the room with her usual perfect posture.

You watch as she sits at her desk, preparing her typewriter. Soon the clacking of the keys replace the sound of your phone.

You lay back down in your bed, browsing on social media. You turned your volume down so Wednesday couldn't hear it.

After the experience last night of Wednesday and Enid fighting over Enid's music choice, you didn't want to see Wednesday annoyed again.

So you settled in keeping your volume low.

At first you found the typewriter to be annoying, the clicking of the keys drilling into your skull. But in times like this you found comfort in it.

It reminds you that you're not alone in this dorm, like usual.

Breaking through the wall of sound, you hear a shuffle from Wednesday's side of the room. The clicking stopping soon after.

You quickly stand, approaching Wednesday. She is now standing, glancing at you before approaching her bed precariously.

There was a lump sticking up from underneath Wednesday's blanket.

Wednesday pulls down on the quilt on her bed, revealing a severed hand.

"Holy shit!" You quickly pull out your wand, pointing it at the hand.

"Don't!" Wednesday shouts, you see concern on her face for the first time before she grabs your forearm forcing your arm up.

A red projectile hits the ceiling, leaving hardly a mark. It was nothing more than a simple defense spell, nothing stronger than a punch.

Wednesday let's go of your arm, You rest your arms back to your side. Still holding your wand just in case.

The concern leaves her face in an instant, replaced with a small smirk.

"Hello, Thing."

The hand stays frozen in place for a moment at Wednesday's gaze.

"You know that, uh. Did you say Thing?" You and Wednesday glance at each other for a moment, Thing sees the opportunity to try to scurry away.

Wednesday breaks eye contact, seeing Thing trying to escape, grabbing the severed hand as he grabs the railing of the bed.

You take a step back as Wednesday pulls harder, prying Thing's grip off the railing.

"Did you really think my highly trained olfactory sense wouldn't pick up on the faint whiff of neroli and bergamot in your favorite hand lotion?"

Wednesday carries Thing to her desk, you stand watching with your mouth slightly agape.

You knew Wednesday was a little weird, but how is she just casually knowing severed hands? Even in a school like this it's unusual.

"I could do this all day." Wednesday says, before slamming Thing onto her desk, pinning him in place.

"Surrender?"

The hand starts tapping on the desk like he's tapping out of a wrestling match.

It seems you were staring for too long because Wednesday turned around to meet your gaze with her stoic eyes.

"Are you still here?"

You would of preferred if she asked you more nicely to leave, but you're not gonna argue with a supposed murderer.

"Okay, I guess I'll just." You stand there for a moment, unsure how to complete your thought. You head to your side of the room, grabbing a book before going to leave the dorm.

"Mother and father sent you to spy on me didn't they?" Is the last thing you heard Wednesday say before leaving the dorm.

-

You find yourself sitting on a bench in Jericho reading a book. You use to read inside the Weathervane, but ever since Tyler started working there you avoided it like the plague.

You have a strong hatred for Tyler after what he did to one of your only friends Xavier last Outreach Day.

You hear a squeaking from above, the sound descending.

Your eyes drift from your book to inspect the noise, to find a woman dressed in black sliding down a pipe.

Its Wednesday.

"You escaping prison or something?" Wednesday quickly turns to you like she just got caught, bumping into an older man carrying a basket of fruits.

Wednesday's head suddenly flies back, her eyes looking up into her skull, showing the whites of her eyes.

"Wednesday!" You stand to your feet, your book falling to the floor flipping through random pages due to the wind.

You catch Wednesday, it looked as if she was getting possessed.

A moment later Wednesday's head comes back down, a startled look on her face.

You two share eye contact for a moment, concern on your face.

"Who let you two out."

You both look to find the older man scowling into your eyes while Wednesday steadies her feet, leaving your arms.

"You goddamn weirdos."

You grab Wednesday's hand, dragging her away from the situation, forgetting your book on the floor.

After a few seconds of walking Wednesday forces her hand out of yours.

"Sorry! I didn't realize I- uh." You hold your hands together in front of you, a small wave a heat covering over you.

After a few seconds of silence you decide to try to break it.

"So, what was that?" Wednesday stops walking and glances at you with her usual stoic face.

"I can't really pretend like I didn't just see you look like you got possessed for a second."

After a moment, Wednesday looks past you to the inside of a coffee shop.

Wednesday heads to the entrance, her stride faster than before.

"Wednesday, I don't think this place is a good idea-"

"Stop engaging with me." There was a hint of malice in her voice.

The sound of a bell fills the cafe as Wednesday opens the door. You follow her inside, seeing Tyler working behind the register.

You opt to sitting in a booth, facing away from Tyler.

You glance to Wednesday who is talking to Tyler before going to grab your book.

Your book.

You scoot down the isle of the booth to look out the window, seeing your book on the floor outside down the street. The pages flipping rapidly.

"Shit, shit." You mutter to yourself, climbing out of the booth, glancing towards Wednesday again before leaving to see her sticking a screwdriver into an espresso machine.

You walk back down to the bench you were sitting at, bending over to grab your book before heading back.

You look through the window on your way to see Wednesdays boot meet the face of a teenager in a pilgrim outfit.

"Holy shit!"

You run to the door, the bell interrupting the sounds of fighting.

One of the the teenagers fell on the ground near you, he tried to stand up but failed.

There were three kids, who you also hated, on the floor. Too hurt to keep fighting.

Tyler was standing next to Wednesday, looking out of place.

"Can you do that to Tyler next?" You say teasingly, your head sticking through the door before you enter.

Tyler gives you a stern glare, Wednesday meets your glance with her usual stare.

You look past Wednesday to see Principal Weems approaching the cafe from down the street.

Your eyes go wide before grabbing Wednesday by the wrist instead of her hand this time.

You can't imagine Principal Weems would like to see you two surrounded by a small group of beaten normies.

"We gotta go." Dragging her towards the exit before almost bumping into the sheriff.

The sheriff is a middle aged man with a small scruffy beard. He's also Tyler's father.

"Tyler what is going on in here?" The sheriff looks at the scene in front of him before staring at us.

I quickly let go of Wednesday's wrist, not wanting to recreate what happened earlier.

"They were harassing a customer, and she put them in their place." Tyler gestures his hand to Wednesday.

The sheriff inspects the scene again before looking at Wednesday.

"This little thing took down three boys?" The sheriff asks, concern sketched onto his face.

"Did you help her?"

Wednesday gives the sheriff an annoying glare.

"Dad, I swear I wasn't involved." The sound of the bell interrupting the conversation.

"I'm sorry sheriff these two must've slipped away from me." Principal Weems enters with the usual smile plastered onto her face.

"Come on Ms. y/l/n, Ms. Addams time to go." Principal Weems gestures her hand for us to leave.

You both start heading to the door, following Weems.

"Hang on, you're an Addams?" The sheriff asks, causing you both to turn around.

"Don't tell me Gomez Addams is your father." Wednesday responds with a slight nod.

"That man is supposed to be behind bars for murder. I'm guessin' the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Sheriff Galpin points his finger between you and Wednesday.

"I'm gonna be keeping my eye on your two."

Wednesday smiles with a hint of mischief.

"Okay." Weems states quietly before guiding us out the door and towards the car.

Wednesday takes the passenger seat while you take one of the backseats.

"Your first day and you're already on Sheriff Galpin's radar. Wish I could say I'm surprised." Principal Weems speaks over the console to Wednesday.

"What did he mean about my father?" Wednesday looks towards Weems with a curious glance.

"I have no idea, but a word of advice. Stop making enemies and start making a few friends."

The car is silent for a moment, Wednesday slightly turns her head around like she's about to look at you before she stops.

"Y/n is my friend."

You give Wednesday a confused look at the back of her head.

Since when? didn't she just tell me to 'stop engaging with her.'

The car starts approaching a car crash between a truck and another car.

"Looks like an accident." Weems says, grabbing your attention, causing you to look out the front windshield.

"I hope the drivers okay."

A few seconds of silence pass as we get closer.

"He's dead." Wednesday says flatly. "Broke his neck."

You look at the car accident, there is no way Wednesday could see that he broke his neck, let alone know that the person is a he.

"How can you tell from this angle?" Weems has a face mixed with concern and curiosity.

The car passes the accident and you can see inside the truck.

Its the man Wednesday bumped into before.

It clicks in your head what happened.

You both get out of the car after arriving back at Nevermore, grabbing your belongings.

"See yourselves back to your dorm." Principal Weems says while closing the car door.

"No detours." Weems looks at you, not with a smile for once, causing you to nod with a bit of fear while Wednesday stood there silently.

"No detours, got it." You give Weems an awkward thumbs up. Meanwhile, Wednesday has already started walking away.

After a few quick steps you catch up. "When were you going to tell me you're a psychic?"

"What?" Wednesday stops to turn to you, with a fake look of confusion.

"It doesn't take a genius to put 1 and 2 together Wednesday." You say unamused by her act. "The guy you bumped into, you saw him die right?"

Wednesday looks at you a few seconds longer before taking a quick exhale through her nose. She turns to keep walking to the dorm.

"Wednesday?" You take a few more quick steps to catch up again before you two walk to your dorm in silence.

-

The sound of Wednesday's rendition of 'Paint it Black' on her cello fills the room from Wednesday's patio.

You sit close to Wednesday's section of the dorm, listening to her beautiful performance.

This is all a nice change of pace, Enid is typically always out so even just the noises of someone else being here makes you feel less lonely.

Doesn't help that these noises are easy to listen to.

After her performance, you knock on the window before going onto her patio.

"That was beautiful, very you. You know?" You say getting closer.

Wednesday glances at you from her seat before putting her cello down.

After a few seconds, your voice breaks through the silence in the chilled air.

"Did you mean what you said in the car? That I'm your friend?"

Wednesday stays silent, unsure what to say.

Her eyes meeting yours.

You can tell Wednesday is the type of person to easily deny an accusation like that, so you take her silence as confirmation.

"I see you as a friend too Wednesday." You smile to her.

You hesitate, admiring her appearance for a moment.

"I'm going to get ready for the Harvest Festival, see ya later Wednesday."

Wednesday looks at you with slightly softer eyes than before.

"Bye Y/n."

You close the window behind you, going to your closet to decide what to wear while Wednesday continues to play her cello.

You hear Enid enter the dorm while you're putting on some makeup. You don't usually wear much makeup but something is telling you to tonight.

Wednesday's cello stops, you can faintly hear her talk to Enid from her porch.

"How would you like your dorm back?" Wednesday says, the sound being muffled through the wall.

Part 3

Past Lives Masterlist

[trisockatops]

Sorry, but what? The only possible tags I can find that you could be talking about are:

#its almost as if transradfeminism is incoherent as an ideology and its only purpose is to harm specific types of trans people

#how much do you want to bet that reviewer considers themself a transfeminist

The first is actually "transradfeminism" of which there's no such thing, which is what the tag is saying. And the second in no way conflates transfems with transfeminists, which are two different things. One's a person, the other is an ideology. I also personally don't take that to mean "transfeminists are transphobic" but rather that a lot of people will claim a certain belief and then not actually live that life (I'm sure you've met your fair share of people who claim they're allies and then turn around and spout shit like "love the sin, not the sinner" and "y'all are just too loud about it, though" and "they/them just doesn't make any grammatical sense, really"). Like the person leaving the review probably thinks of themselves as a trans ally - just of the right kind of trans.

And while I agree on curating your own safe space, this is the piss on the poor website (which...is people at large, tbh, but magnified on the internet imo). There are posts out here with large, bold, all caps "THIS BLOG IS RUN BY A TRANS WOMAN AND SUPPORTS TRANS WOMEN" at the top and bottom and those posts still get co-opted by transmisogynists. OP can only be in charge of what they post. No one else. That's holding OP to a higher standard than supposed bigots you are trying to point out, and that's just not fair.

review posted on shinigami eyes

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Extra cream and sugar.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader Words count: 5295 Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI. Summary: Frankie is your barista, every morning you walk into his café asking for a tall coffee with extra cream and sugar. He dreams of giving you another kind of cream… Tags: Frankie's POV, brief description of reader and what she wear but no mention of her skin tone, she doesn't blush, she has hair but it's not described (she's you, baby ♥︎) , reader has her own business, pining, yearning, slow burn, Frankie is eager for you, masturbation, obviously mention of coffee and sweets, a side of Christmas (just a glimpse), soft!Frankie, kinda rom-com vibes but we go smutty 😏, unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but still, do better irl), cream pie, nipples play (At this point you know me so you expect it, right?), reader rides him cowgirl style (yeehaw!), teasing, Frankie wants you to tell him exactly what you want from him, pussy pronouns, Frankie is smitten with you bb, no age gap, mention of alcohol, derogatory pussy eating (because it's Frankie, you know), oral (m! receiving), masturbation, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, some more filth I probably don't remember. Please, excuse me, I'm posting this almost 2 am as the usual mess that I am LOL. If I forgot something I will add it asap. I wrote a temperature in Celsius degrees somewhere in this fic, I don't know anything about Fahrenheit, sorry, I'm Italian. A/N: This fic is my Christmas gift to all of you who support me and have loved my Frankie so much in the past, I really didn't think so many people would like him 🥹 And it's especially dedicated to @baronessvonglitter who gave me this prompt around November, I promised her I would do something with it and this is the result 🤭 No beta, no proofread, no nothing, we're going down with this ship, please have mercy. I really hope you like it and I wish you happy holidays, love you all ❤️

Frankie had been noticing you for weeks. You would arrive every morning at 10:30 and ask for tall coffee with extra cream and sugar. 

He thought you looked lovely, with your sexy dresses, a dainty necklace around your neck, little makeup except for a red lipstick on your gorgeous lips. 

You were the highlight of the day. He had decided to open a café after retiring from the army because there was nothing he wanted more than to live a quiet life. He had seen enough pain and destruction for two whole lifetimes, all he wanted to take care of now were coffee blends, foamed milk, blueberry muffins and chocolate chip cookies. 

He loved arriving in the morning and quietly opening his place, arranging the pastries in the display cases, turning on the coffee machine, setting up the tables, and getting everything ready while waiting for the city to wake up and the customers to start arriving. You were his favorite since you first appeared before him almost 3 weeks ago, but who was counting?

You were pretty in the truest sense of the word according to him, radiant, elegant without striving, charming and nice.

He had started waiting until 10:30 just to see you, with butterflies in his stomach in anticipation and his heart pounding in his chest as soon as you walked in the door.

The first time you had spoken to him he had been enchanted by your eyes; he could have sworn they were the most beautiful he had ever seen. He had not heard a single word you had said and had made you repeat the order, apologizing. 

You had laughed, and your sweet laughter had resounded in his ears like music. It had never happened to him, not even once, but at that moment it was as if everything else in the world had stopped and only you existed. 

“One tall coffee to go, extra cream and sugar, please,” you had patiently repeated.

You looked so pure that it seemed almost immoral to him the way his jeans had suddenly become tight. 

He had shaken himself, trying to come to his senses, hurriedly headed for the coffee machine. He had prepared your cup to go and set it on the counter in front of you "cocoa? sprinkles?" he had stammered, awkward and nervous. Heck, he'd spent years in the military, he could fly a damn helicopter, his business was going strong, but in front of you he felt like he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Uhm..sprinkles, thank you," you had smiled.

He had sprinkled colored heart-shaped sprinkles on the cream -- so pathetic, he had to admit, but they seemed to suit you --, closed it with the clear plastic lid and handed it to you, all with fear of spilling something and making a mess. 

"It looks so yummy, thank you" you chirped handing money to him.

“Thanks to you, um, come again,” Frankie had stammered, running his sweaty palms over his apron. 

He had watched you leave, your ass swaying deliciously wrapped in your skirt, and a whiff of your perfume had reached his nostrils, filling them with a heavenly flowery scent. 

It had taken him a few seconds too long to pay attention to the next customer, a rather impatient middle-aged man who had ruined the magic you had brought into his café.

He had hoped you would come back all evening, and the next morning he woke up even earlier than usual, showered, stood several minutes in front of his closet thinking about which of his shirts you might like best, even wasted time adjusting his beard. He had even contemplated not wearing the cap he always wore with fear that you might find it silly, but in the end habit won out. Besides, he had thought, I might as well show her who I really am. That is, assuming she comes back. And if she doesn't come back? He had felt so disappointed at the idea. Maybe you hadn't even liked his coffee in the end. Once at the café, he had kept himself as busy as possible so as not to drown in false hopes, but he had found himself staring at the clock more often than he would have liked to admit. 

At precisely 10:30 a.m. you had entered. You were even more beautiful than the day before, wrapped in a little flowery dress, your beautiful legs exposed, your sweet scent in the air.

He knew absolutely nothing about you, had barely spoken to you and yet his palms were sweating again, his throat was as dry as a desert, he nervously switched his weight from one leg to the other, standing behind the counter as he watched you approach.

“Good morning,” you had said, with a sweet smile spreading across your face.

“Uh...good morning,” he had stammered, ”what would you like this morning?” 

“Tall coffee to go, extra cream and sugar, please.” 

Your melodious voice had again gone straight to the crotch of his pants. 

“Same as yesterday” he had said ”coming right up.” 

“Oh, you remember!” you sounded surprised. How could he have forgotten the most beautiful creature who had ever set foot in his café?

“Um, yeah, it's my job after all” he had clutched his shoulders. He didn't remember orders from customers who had been coming to him for months, he had memorized yours instantly. He didn't need to let you know anyway. 

“That's so cute,” you had observed while continuing to give him that amazing smile.

He had turned to make your coffee feeling your eyes behind his back, he was so nervous that he almost burned himself pouring the coffee into the cup. 

He had managed to avoid it by a whisker; he would have hated to look clueless in front of you. 

“There you go,” he had smiled nervously at you, ”be careful, it's very hot.”

“I will, thank you” you had answered him softly. 

You had paid him and headed for the exit, turning to look at him before pushing open the door “Have a good day” 

“Oh, thank you, you too” he had replied, his voice hoarse with excitement.

That evening he had surrendered to his lowest instincts and as soon as he had jumped into the shower after a long day's work, he had allowed himself to close his eyes and think about you. 

He had tightened his hand around his cock and thought about your scent, your smile, how your dress deliciously enveloped your tits, showing off your cleavage.

He had imagined kissing you and feeling the softness of your lips, lowering a hand between your legs and discovering that you were not wearing panties, running his fingers over your wet folds and then bending over in front of you and making you come with his tongue. 

He had lingered in these fantasies as he pumped his cock faster and faster, stroking the tip, imagining that it was your delicate hand doing it, your red-enameled nails wrapped around its length. 

He had come in his hand, soiling the shower wall, uncontrolled, totally enraptured by the wonderful vision of you in his head.

____________________________________

He had continued to play it cool for three weeks, but by now every time you came in his head was just thinking “say something more than ‘good morning’ and ‘be careful not to burn yourself’ and ‘have a nice day,’ you idiot.” Ask her something, find out if she's involved with someone.”

So one morning he finally had attempted “Do you work near here?” he had asked, handing you your usual coffee. 

You had hesitated a moment before answering, “Actually, yes, just a stone's throw away. You know that jewelry store that opened three weeks ago? That's mine.” 

“Oh, great,” he had said, straining not to smile like a sucker. 

“Yeah, I'm a jewelry designer, I finally got to open a store with my own brand, I'm very excited.” your eyes twinkled with pride and Frankie had thought you were so incredibly beautiful that he wanted to kiss you there and then. 

You had held out your hand to him and said your name, and he had shaken it with his heart in his throat. 

“Nice, and nice name by the way” he had replied instead, ‘did you make that one?’ pointing to your necklace. It had a small star-shaped pendant. 

“Yes, do you like it?” you had asked, brushing it with your fingers. 

“I like it very much, it looks good on you.” 

“Thank you,” you had replied, smiling, ”well, if you have to give any gifts to your girlfriend or wife, come by and see me.” 

“Uh, actually, I'm not married or even engaged.”  He babbled, looking at you embarrassed.

“Oh. Well, I see.” and then in a lower voice and winking at him you had added, ”Can't say I'm sorry.” 

Holy fuck, you were flirting. 

His cock had twitched at your wink; he couldn't believe that all this time you had been reciprocating his silent interest. 

“I have to go back to work, now. Have a nice day, Frankie,” you said, smiling and heading for the exit. 

He was dumbfounded a few seconds wondering how you knew his name, since in the heat of the moment he hadn't even told you. Then he had looked down at his shirt, where his name tag was pinned.

“I like your cap, by the way,” you had said before you left.

“Oh. Thank you. I like your dress," he had replied a little too loudly, so much so that people at the tables had turned around cackling.

You looked at him one last time with a smug expression before disappearing down the street.

____________________________________

Christmas was coming, as much as it may have felt like Christmas in Florida with 26 degrees during the day. Frankie had decorated the café with small silver decorations at the windows, a small Christmas tree near the counter filled with lights that were also silver. 

While decorating however, the only thing he was thinking about was you. He had done everything early in the morning, before opening, wondering what you were doing, if you had just woken up and were stretching in bed with your hair tousled and your eyes still clouded by sleep. He wondered what you were wearing to sleep, wondering if you were a babydoll type or more of a T-shirt and shorts type. 

Or maybe you were sleeping naked. He daydreamed of your florid body wrapped in your sheets, the soft curve of your ass, your breasts, your nipples brushing against the cotton fabric.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, realizing that he had dropped one of the balls he was putting on the tree, which had ruinously fallen to the ground, splitting into a thousand pieces on the floor.

He rolled his eyes as he went to the closet to get a broom and dustpan.

Maybe it was time to stop fantasizing and get moving on asking you out. 

He was terrified that you would say no but he had to do it before someone else tried. Someone like you wouldn't be alone for long.

You had entered the venue at the usual time, admiring the decorations. Frankie felt a small surge of pride in the middle of his chest as you approached the counter. “Oh wow, this is so festive, I love it.”

He knew he had just smiled like a dork but he didn't care. 

In your brief little chats you had mentioned that you were not originally from Florida so he took the opportunity to ask, “Are you going to visit your family for Christmas?”

You had smiled, squinting slightly, with that look that was now familiar from when you noticed his true intentions. You had given it to him with every attempt he made to flirt with you.

“Um no, actually Christmas is the best time to work for me. So I'm going to stay here.”

He had felt his heart do a little jolt in his chest as he struggled to find the right words to ask to take you to dinner.

He felt like he had never been so awkward in his life, but the truth was that he really liked you and made him nervous with your innate confidence and the sensuality you exuded. 

 “Well, if you'd like to go out sometime, I'd be happy to” he babbled.

“Gladly.” you had replied, looking at him -- he would have sworn -- mischievously.

“So...um...how about Saturday? Is 7 okay?”

“Perfect. You can pick me up at the store.” you had replied, fiddling with your pendant. 

“Okay, well...see you soon then.” 

You had leaned over the counter for a moment, signaling him with your finger to come closer, and when you had been close enough to his ear you whispered, “It's about time.”

You had left while your voice still rang in his ears like a siren song.

On Saturday night Frankie was so nervous that he had changed his clothes four times. Finally he had decided that a blue shirt and a pair of jeans would do. Maybe. 

You had said you liked his cap but he had decided it was not appropriate to wear it to take you to dinner, so he had left his hair wet and styled it back with a little gel.

He arrived at 7 parking in front of your store and entered looking for you. 

You weren’t there. He had looked around and the place was just like you, elegant but not overly so, bright and warm. 

There were small display cases filled with bracelets, rings, necklaces, watches even. 

All very fine, carefully crafted things, not that he understood much about jewelry but they looked well made and high quality to him. 

You had put little window decorations similar to his own, and he couldn't help but smile as he looked at them.

Not only you were beautiful and funny, you were also talented and smart enough to run your own business,  a strong independent and brilliant woman with ambitions.

He felt a jolt down his spine feeling unworthy of you with his simpler and quieter life. 

You had appeared from the back after a short while "Oh there you are! Hello!” you had greeted him with a smile, approached him and kissed his cheek. He had brushed your arm as you leaned closer, feeling your soft skin under his fingers and his heart bouncing in his chest. 

"So what do you think?" you had said, gesturing to the place.

“I can't say I'm a connoisseur, but it looks like a beautiful store to me,” he had said. 

“Thank you. I really like your café, too.” 

“Oh, that’s nothing compared to this” he brushed off. 

“I don’t think so, your coffee is so good and that cupcake I tried the other day? It was heavenly. I would say you did a great job with it” you insisted and he felt suddenly better.

"Well I actually… I don't bake them, I get them from a supplier.” He had admitted.

“You have good taste anyway.�� You had shrugged, smiling.

The hold you had on him was ridiculous at that point, you could have said whatever to him and he would believe you without hesitation. 

“Let me get my purse and close the store and then we can go.”

___________________________________

Frankie had tried to behave like a real gentleman, had opened the door for you, complimented you on the dress you were wearing  -- continuing to ogle your thighs while you were sitting next to him -- , asked you things about yourself, your studies and your life while driving to the restaurant. 

The more you chatted the more comfortable he felt, you were witty, subtly flirty, exactly what he expected. 

Truth was that he would have jumped on you immediately but he was trying to control himself so you wouldn't think he was a creep. 

His cock however was of a different opinion, his jeans were starting to get really tight and he was afraid you would notice. You had a smirk on your face, something that made him think it was possible that you were desiring him as much as he was desiring you but he didn't want to risk making a wrong move.

“I'm sorry not to see your cap tonight” you had joked and then added ”your hair looks good though.”

“Thank you.” 

“And I like the shirt,” you had said, lingering with your gaze on his outstretched arm holding the steering wheel. 

He had decided to take you to one of his favorite restaurants, nothing too fancy because he wouldn't feel comfortable, the place was warm and familiar and put him at ease. 

He had asked for a table with settees, to have a chance to be closer and talk more easily. 

Maybe even reach out a hand to your beautiful thighs, if he had any luck.

You had ordered and he had chosen a wine, you had continued talking, and you had asked him several questions, very politely, without making him feel like you were interviewing him.

“So you were in the army...and you can fly a helicopter. Heck, I never would have guessed that. I like a competent man,” you had cooed, and he had felt his neck and face on fire. God, he wanted you so badly he felt like he might explode at any moment. 

“Yeah...apparently,” he had replied proudly.

“And how did you end up opening a cafe?”

He had become serious, feeling that he was about to open up about something very intimate “Well...I actually couldn't take that life anymore. It's very hard, you know. When I got discharged, I thought all I needed was to live a quiet life without slinging a rifle for hours and playing with danger 24/7.”

You had nodded, “sure, that's perfectly understandable. It must have been brutal.”

“It was. I decided to open a coffee shop because well... basically, I love coffee.”

You had burst out laughing, a full, lovely laugh that had made it difficult for him to keep his hands in place resting on the table.

“It makes perfect sense,” you had agreed immediately afterward.

You had kept talking until you had said, “So, Francisco Morales, I have a question for you.” your expression was enigmatic and he didn't understand where you were going with this. 

“Go ahead.” 

“Why haven't you kissed me yet?”

He had chuckled, “Good question. And I really want to do that. I've wanted to do it from the first moment I saw you,” he had admitted.

“Then do it,” you had urged him. 

He had moved closer toward your lips, breathing in your perfume mixed with the scent of your skin; you smelled good, clean, like a sunny morning in spring.

Your lips were even better than he had imagined. Soft, delicious, inviting. You were incredible. 

Everything around was suddenly gone, there was only you and the way your lips encouraged him to continue, the way they had parted at the approach of his tongue, your intoxicating taste on his tongue. 

Your fingers lingered on his biceps, wandering over his shirt and down his forearm, while his hand wrapped around your face caressing your cheek.

He had pulled away from you a moment before putting on a show inside the restaurant, his hands tingling with the urge to touch your breasts, reach down between your legs, get rid off your dress and finally feel your body against his.

“God...maybe we should go,” you had whispered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. 

“I think so, too,” he had breathed.

He had stood up trying to keep at bay his erection pressing impatiently against his jeans.

He had paid the bill and escorted you out, despite your insistence to go halfsies. 

Once you reached the car he had not resisted and had kissed you again, pushing you against the door. “I want you so bad,” he had whispered against your skin. 

“Take me home,” you had replied, looking into his eyes in a way that drove him crazy. 

Once in the car, you had placed your hand on his leg squeezing it from time to time. At a stoplight, you had moved your hand to his hard-on, massaging it slowly. “God, you are naughtier than I thought.”

"Is that bad?" you had asked feigned innocence.

“Not at all, baby...if I'm being honest...fuck...” he had interrupted when you had squeezed harder on his cock ”Christ, I can't wait to rip that dress off you.”

“I’m glad to hear that” you had replied in a honeyed voice. 

_________________________________

The instant you had entered the door he had dragged you into the bedroom. 

He had pulled down the zipper of your dress, letting it fall at your feet, and pushed you onto the bed. 

“You're so beautiful.” he had whispered, almost more to himself, as if trying to convince himself that indeed everything he had imagined in previous weeks was coming out of the territory of his wanking material.

“You too,” you had replied sweetly, ”why don't you get rid of those clothes and come and get me?”

Frankie hadn't had it repeated, standing naked in front of you in an instant; he had never undressed so quickly even when he was in the army and had to observe a curfew. 

He had stretched out beside you, his cock semi hard, his hands roaming over the bare skin of your hips over your panties, reaching up to graze your lace bra, brushing against your exposed neck as you lay limply sprawled on his bed as beautiful as a goddess. 

“Tell me what you want me to do, baby,” he had whispered.

“What you want, I-” you had tried to answer but he had interrupted you.

“No, tell me, please. I would like to hear it. I would like you to tell me exactly what you would like me to do to you.,” he had urged you “is that okay?”

“Yeah” you murmured 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. I like it…so uhm…Undo my bra and play with my titties, first. Would you?” You cooed.

“Of course, honey” he replied

You got up to sit to ease it, and then you lay down again as he tossed the bra to one side.

Frankie's eyes were fixed on your exposed breasts, he reached out a hand surrounding one of them with his palm, marveling at the softness of your skin.

“Jesus, I’ve never seen anything more perfect” 

Your skin exuded an enveloping warmth that flowed through his body and merged with him. He moved a finger closer to your areola, circling your nipple very slowly and then pinching it suddenly, making you gasp.

“Too much?” 

“No…go on” you sobbed “please”

“How?” He pressed you gently, continuing to brush your nipple with his fingertip. 

“With your mouth…” you murmured.

He was full hard at that point, his cock grazing at your thigh while he lowered himself on your of your tit, sticking out his tongue and making you arch your spine as soon as he kitten licked your nipple. He smirked “mmm so sensitive, baby” before wrapping his lips around your bud and beginning to suck slowly, his beard pinching lightly against your skin.

His tongue brushed over you in short thrusts as he sucked greedily, his hand slowly descended over your torso, over your tummy, down to your mound and had stopped there, just above the hem of your panties. 

You groaned beneath him, melting at his touch, he could feel your body slowly becoming more pliant to him.

“Yes - oh my god - go on like that” you whined and he couldn’t help but smile on your skin. 

“What more do you want me to do?” he had asked, and to your discomposed groaning he had replied ”with your words, remember?”

He liked that you were slowly losing control, your barely half-closed eyes glazed with pleasure silently pleading with him.

“Touch…touch my pussy. Please”

He had moved his fingers down from your mound, slowly, over your folds, feeling your body tense deliciously. 

His index and middle fingers had slipped between them, bathing in your essence. 

"God, you're soaked," and you had panted. 

You looked like a dream to him, your hair disheveled on his sheets, your legs spread wide for him, your breath coming in short gasps, your little pendant that rose and fell on your chest as he worked in your cunt with his fingers, lingering on your opening, going up to your clit and barely touching it, leaving you eager and hungry, just as he wanted.

"mmm more, please" you had begged and a smirk had unfolded on his face "be more specific, baby" 

“I want ... fuck ... I want you to put them in me.” 

"Yeah? You want me to finger-fuck this pretty cunt?” He purred, while stroking your labia, gently circling your clit with his thumb.

“Yes” you had sighed and he had easily entered you, slipping into your arousal. 

He had curled his fingers looking for your special spot as you squeezed them hard “Oh damn...right there...God Frankie...right there” you had whined as a swell of pride was spreading in his chest and his cock throbbed. 

You had the sweetest pussy he had ever been lucky enough to see, the obscene wet sounds coming out of her as he never stopped moving his fingers inside you was heaven.

You were magnificent, just magnificent, his cock was begging for mercy but he had no intention of rushing it. He wanted to fill his eyes with you, he wanted to see you sink beneath him, to lose your inhibitions completely. 

Every fiber of his body longed for you but he stifled his need to take care of yours first; it was too good to see you like that, your pussy clenching convulsively, your mouth half-open, your moans filling his ears.

“I need...your mouth...”

“Where?” he had asked feigning naivete.

"On my clit...please" you had cried. 

He had moved, taking down your panties, lowering to reach for your clit, passing his tongue flatly all over it.

“suck it,” you had said in a whisper, ”please.”

And so he had done, taking it between his lips, savoring your taste on his tongue as you cried your last wail and broke down in shattering pleasure.

Your back had arched, your hand had flown through his hair as the other gripped his sheets tightly, and your hips pushed against his lips, your lips bent in a grimace of pleasure that radiated into your eyes, your pupils dilated, tiny droplets of sweat beading on your forehead.

“Yes… fuck… YES”

He had continued to lick and suck and push on your spot until you had calmed down.

But you were not yet satiated, as soon as you had regained the ability to speak you had whispered, “I want your cock.”

“Mmm baby” he had said arching an eyebrow, scrutinizing your face unmade with pleasure and your eyes still glazed with your orgasm.

“Really. I want it.”

You had accompanied this last sentence by wrapping your delicate hand around his length "he wants me too," you had said with a smirk, beginning to massage him, running a finger over the tip to collect the pre cum dripping down profusely from it. 

“who am I to say no to you...do what you want, baby” he had granted you. 

As much as he had tried to dominate, he had to admit that he was completely subdued by you, and he didn't mind it, he didn’t mind that at all.

You had gotten up and gently pushed him onto the mattress, settling between his legs, locking your gaze with his, a glint of desire in your eyes as you began to lick his engorged tip, sliding down his shaft humming in pleasure “mmm you taste so good” you cooed.

"God, baby, if you do this I'm not going to last long." 

He had craned his neck not to miss any of your moves, but he already felt he was on the verge of bursting, had tried to control his breathing and stay right on the edge, without plummeting down.

"Hold on a little longer, I want you to finish in my pussy. Please, Frankie?” You had purred.

He had let out a long sigh as your mouth descended on his cock, enveloping it as much as you could, continuing to stroke the rest with your hand. You had red nail polish, just like in his fantasies, but the reality was even better. Your mouth was incredible around his cock, your tongue vexing his swollen veins, your saliva sliding slowly going to pool on his crotch. 

“Please, baby,” he had grunted, and you had hummed in response, vibrating on his cock.

Your tongue had swirled over his red, swollen tip, then you had pulled away and said, "Please what?" glancing at him.

“Sit on me, please, I can’t…” he had groaned.

You had moved warily, straddling him, taking his cock back into your hand, aligning it with your entrance.

You had lowered yourself slowly, moaning "you are so thick" as he felt your cunt open up for him, your walls stretch and your essence coiling around him mixing with your saliva.

“And you are so tight ... fuck, baby, it’s so good.”

The instant you had sat completely on him had been unreal, he felt so deep inside you he swore he was pressing against your cervix, and you were squeezing him so hard he had thought he would lose his mind. You began to roll your hips over him, rubbing your clit with your fingers while your other hand was anchored on his hip. 

He had begun to move his hips in rhythm with yours, thrusting inside you “harder” you had urged him “please, Frankie” 

He was lost in the instant he had seen you bring one hand to your tit, kneading your breast as you continued to ride him faster and faster, pinching your nipple while rubbing your clit with the other. 

“I’m coming…fuck..where, babe?” He had stammered and you cried “inside, please, I’m on the pill.” You had thrown your head back immediately after, your eyes closed, your mouth open, your disheveled hair falling over your neck, seeing you so totally ravished had made him explode inside you, painting your hot, soaked walls with his cum. 

You were collapsed on top of him, wrapping yourself around his body while he was still pulsing inside you. You had waited for his breathing to return to normal by peppering his neck with little kisses, going up his jaw and ending on his lips.

He had hugged you tightly, reveling in your warmth, the softness of your breasts on his chest, your legs wrapped tightly with his, and the intoxicating scent of your skin.

You had hummed in the crook of his neck, then looked into his eyes and moved a lock of hair from his sweat-beaded forehead, kissing him one more time, his mustache tickling your cupid's bow. 

“From the first time I saw you, I knew we would end up like this, you know?” you had said with a proud undertone.

“Oh yeah?” he had replied, wryly raising an eyebrow, ”how were you so sure?”

You had looked at him with the look of someone who knows very well what she is talking about and had replied, “For three reasons. First, I noticed right away how you were looking at me, second, I wanted it too and usually when I want something I get it, and third, you never charged me for the extra cream.”

bb tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @harriedandharassed @milla-frenchy @almostempty @thundermartini @cas-readsandwrites @lemon-nomel

I would like to add a couple of special people that I am starting to know a little bit better and I like them a lot: @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk @gothcsz @msjarvis

archive: @pedrostories

[shuenkio]

Wishing on You | 니키 — 엔.하.이.픈 🎄

• Paring: Ni-Ki X M!reader | Genre: Soft fluff.

Synopsis: Dating M/N as a joke, using the relationship to escape his own painful memories. However, karma strikes when Ni-ki unexpectedly falls deeply in love with M/N for real.

Cw: bad language, none.

Non proof read | English is not my 1st.

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

A☃️N: A Christmas gift for all lol, I cannot can't be in this holiday 😜 can't exactly say I'm back but it's 5050. Anyway advance happy Merry Christmas.

"I'm sorry about this m/n, look I'm sorry ok? You know I never apologize to someone but you. I know I was wrong in this for toying you, and I know you won't forgive for what I've done for... Can we pretend like this was never a joke ? Like we're for real together now?" Ni-ki expressed how guilty he was, he never said the word sorry before which made this situation even worse and somehow made you feel special? Or was it a lie again?

Snow continues falls softly, blanketing the world in quiet. Each flake drifts lazily, melting on warm skin of both, turning the air crisp and still.

The icy weather does help you to get from boiling hot at some point however, deep down in your ocean of thought, it feels like he meant what he was saying. The bad guy who got destroyed by many girls, the one who got cheated on, the one who got hurt the most in the end. Then why would he toy with you, when he knows so well about this feeling, being betrayed on?

That's not the case right now, for what you're thinking. Kinda toxic that you wanted to get back with him too but why not? He can change, you can change him don't you? The one that never says sorry or thank you typa guy but for you, it was a different scenario? Ni-ki is regretful for what he did, well his nose is kinda red right now wait is he tearing, gosh.

Stressing, Hands tucked into coat pockets, m/n exhaled, warm breath curling into the frosty air. You made up your mind, either staying with him or ending this relationship for real.

Tears streamed down his face, silent and unbroken, Ni-ki's chest still as if even grief refused to shatter the quiet. He looks down to the snow covered ground, avoids being looking at, while he is on his weakness.

Close the distance between you and him, as you lift up his chin.

"Are you sure you'll never do it again?" You asked. He drew a shaky breath, forcing himself to steady, his voice trembling but clear as he spoke through the tears, determined something.

"i swear to Santa, if I'd toy, cheated, playing with your feelings again on you, I'd let you shave my head bold" what?

"sigh shut up"

"can I...hug you?" M/n rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply as Ni-ki, still wiping away tears, hesitantly asked for a hug.

"fine I guess..," You said nonchalantly, the voice is flat, as you shrugged slightly, offering no more than a careless glance. Despite the dismissive tone, you didn’t pull away when Ni-ki stepped closer.

Ni-ki wrapped his arms around you, pulling them close, resting his chin on your shoulder despite the height difference. There was a warmth in the embrace, a sense of quiet comfort that filled the space between them.

Under the flake storming, You could feel the weight of Ni-ki sigh against your neck, the way his body seemed to melt, just for a moment, into the calm of being held. It was a strange mixture of vulnerability and safety, and though You'd remained still, that both of you couldn’t ignore the faint tug in their chest.

"I'll be good for you... Really"

"..."

"바보같이 사랑해..."

"Okay... Well um... Merry Christmas?"

© to all the rightfully owners of pics and dividers.

[fitzjamesbulletwound]

well i finally made it... here's my episode by episode deep dive into every joplittle moment in the entirety of the terror for all of my fellow joplittle freaks out there. i can't draw or write fiction but i CAN be insane about details :) i did my best to edit this so please forgive me if there's typos or things that don't make sense. and a final note before you start reading- i think i make a point to say this in some instances but it bears repeating at the beginning- i could certainly be wrong about some of these observations as they are largely in the background and usually happen very quickly while something more front facing is happening in the scene. i did my best though!

Episodes 1&2- basically nothing, at the dinner scene in episode 1 we can infer that jopson shuffles behind edward at one point but there’s no onscreen proximity or eye contact. neither of them are in episode 2 at all. 

Episode 3: we have one of the joplittle scenes to end all joplittle scenes in this episode. When edward is talking to crozier, blanky, jirv, and hodgson about his fears of netsilik retribution, jopson knocks and walks in the door. When he enters the room, edward immediately stops talking, makes eye contact with him, then starts tugging his jacket down, almost to the point of squirming and fidgeting. Jopson walks into the room making eye contact with edward with the tiniest smile on his face and his eyes are so bright and interesting in this scene. And i think there could be some arguments made that this is just how these two are but i have some additional thoughts- yes edward is an awkward guy but he outranks so many people in that room, jopson most of all, and yet he immediately stops speaking and becomes visibly flustered when jopson walks in. And their eye contact lingers for such a long time before jopson looks to crozier, the person he actually came to address. And just again with how bright jopson’s eyes are and the tiny tiny smile he has on his face when he’s looking at edward that then turns a little more serious when he turns to address crozier. It’s such an interesting scene! 

later on when the terror boys are going across the ice to sir john’s funeral, jopson is walking behind edward… he might be looking at him but it’s very hard to tell so i hesitate to even include that instance. HOWEVER during the camera pan when crozier is reading sir john’s eulogy, we see jopson looking up at one point, and then his gaze briefly comes down to the person directly in front of him… which is edward. 

Episode 4: When crozier is sitting in the dark drunk and depressed and probably listening to the cranberries and jopson comes in, the script says he shows somebody down the hall five fingers, probably to indicate “give me five minutes”. Since he then says that lieutenant little is asking about the meeting, we can presume they came to see crozier together. 

When jopson is giving crozier the headlines of the meeting, the way he talks about what he knows from edward sounds more like it was from an actual conversation they had vs the other two he mentions- he says “mr reid reports” and “lieutenant irving has what sounds like a pressing issue”- both of these expressions imply that he was doing exactly what crozier says he does- hearing everything. but with edward it’s “lieutenant little is wondering, he says/thinks this this and this”. The language used to describe what he knows about what edward will report on is much more direct and familiar. I think ned and jopson were hanging out before they came to see about the meeting with crozier hehe

In the scene where heather gets his shit rocked it’s very hard to keep track of edward and jopson but there is proximity and it’s very possible a few times that they might exchange glances. It certainly seems that when edward goes below decks to arm the men jopson watches him go. 

Episode 5 ended up being the most fruitful for pretty clear glances and looks that i had never noticed before

when jopson comes in with the tea tray he and edward look at each other the whole time Jopson is walking to the table to set it down

after Jopson says “consider it done sir” edward watches him as he walks out of the room until crozier stops him, then he looks at crozier

Ned could definitely still be looking as Jopson answers crozier, the line of sight is correct and in the script it specifically says that little has to look away from Jopson (not crozier) as they discuss the whiskey because it makes him so sick that this is being discussed right after talking about hornby’s death

A lot of proximity during the Silna and crozier conversation but I don’t think they look at each other.. Jopson might be looking at Edward when he walks in with silna and he might glance at him when he walks past him after setting the tea tray back down but I’m not sure. 

In the script it says that jopson and little exchange a look when crozier says he’ll go to get the alcohol for blanky’s surgery but it looks like it’s him and hodgson looking at each other.. however edward looks at someone offscreen too that would make sense to where jopson is standing at the time. There’s a lot of proximity in that scene where they carry blanky down and set him on the table

Damn that extremely prolonged eye contact when taking the whiskey shots is so interesting too? Especially since it seems like jopson struggles to take the shot.. It seems like he might not drink a lot and that could be for 2 reasons- another callback to historical jopson and him being lashed 30 something times for drunkenness or it could be because of his mother’s addiction which at this point in the story we don’t even know about it. Either one would make sense but if anyone has any ideas please share them

they are right next to each other while blanky gets his leg cut off

In the script it says that jopson brings edward into the room for the meeting with crozier after blanky’s surgery, I believe they are the last two to join but even if not.. interesting for sure.

when crozier stands up to give the whiskey to jopson to pour out, Jopson is looking down but for just a moment before he turns to crozier again he looks at edward

Aaaaaand edward then watches crozier take the last drink of whiskey but then he looks right at Jopson!!!!

When crozier goes to his berth it pans over to Jopson and he eventually looks at ned AGAIN

Ugh I loved this episode because there was truly so much to notice and like it’s there! I need to know why!!

Episode 6: okay we have one of THE joplittle scenes and god fucking bless Liam for his commentary here because there’s just so much to it… like the fact that he’s trying to convey to Edward that things are bad but they will be okay with a single look suggests such a familiarity and closeness and understanding between them because like how would you communicate that with a look to someone that you weren’t on fairly intimate terms with?? (need to make post about other pairs that talk through eye contact in the show, like hickey and tozer). at the very least we have to assume they confide in each other and understand each other to a certain degree and like now we’re slightly straying into delulu land but I love how protective Edward looks when hickey walks over and kinda gets close to jopson lol edward is already watching jopson walk away and he gives hickey this little glare when he realizes hickey is too. also just the simple fact that they were eating together??

When Reid bumps into crozier at carnivale and little tells him to step back he’s looking at jopson and when it cuts to jopson he’s looking back at him

They exchange a glance in the background of crozier reacting to hoar and crispe in the big pot lol

Jopson watches Edward for most of the little clip where crozier is walking away after telling the men to get of the pot

After crozier says they’ll be abandoning the ships and walking Edward looks over at jopson for a long time

When crozier is saying “they are a good people who we can greet as friends” jopson looks over at Edward and looks him up and down twice… that’s 4k babyyyy, that one was crazy

When Stanley sets himself on fire and it cuts to the crowd Edward definitely looks around until he sees jopson in front of him

It’s extremely hard to tell but at one point it looks like ned crozier and jopson are all moving together looking for an exit and ned briefly puts his hand on jopson’s back or at the very least reaches for his back wtffffff

Mmm not sure about this one but in the background of the cleanup scene you can see Edward helping people and it looks like jopson may be with him

Episode 7: ugh the promotion sceeeeene idk what i can say that hasn’t already been said but i will always always always point out that this is the happiest we EVER see Edward in the show, his smile is so huge and throughout the scene he keeps giggling to himself and when he’s still sitting down you can see him kinda do an eyebrow raise thing like “oh my god well I wasn’t expecting that but this is amazing” HE LOVES THAT MAN UUUGH AND THE WAAAAY he looks so fondly at him after he shakes his hand and he just keeps smiling and giggling like everyone is so happy in this scene but Edward is the happiest…

Episode 8: when crozier is yelling at edward for arming the mutiny jopson is turned around watching ned.. Ugh :( 

another shot of jopson turning to look at ned before he looks at crozier in this scene 

eye contact when Edward walks into the tent where Irving’s body is

definitely some potential eye contact when they’re asking hodgson to confirm that hickey lied

jopson watches Edward when he’s explaining why they shouldn’t trust the marines

edward is looking at jopson right before crozier says to find the carpenters

Episode 9: what i believe is the last joplittle scene…. god it’s so rough. I feel like jopson is so hurt because he knows his time is coming and i feel like Edward thinks everyone in that tent including jopson will be able to continue to haul south… ugh and then jopson just stares Edward down the whole time when dundy starts talking :(

Episode 10: when edward is walking to the tent to address the men his gaze lingers on the sick tent where jopson is now…

i also find it very interesting that he was all about going south and leaving the sick behind in episode 9 but completely changes his tune now- i know that this has to do with saving crozier but he makes such a strong argument for not leaving the ill behind (although he of course obviously somehow does) that it makes me wonder if jopson had anything to do with that.. like a big difference between when they first made the proposal and now is that jopson could still haul when they suggested it before but he can’t now

And his reasonings point to jopson a lot too- “9 so ill they can’t walk, only 2 able bodied lieutenants” like he was thinking of him!!

and one last fucking thing before I fucking die- edward’s last word “close?” mirrors some of jopson’s first- “we’re close sir”.. They are the last two to be found by crozier, two of the men who saw almost everything and died last… ugh. 

Final thoughts: i will constantly make the argument that when it comes to the terror, absolutely nothing is on accident. Nothing. Some of the scenes i described can certainly be debated but the simple fact is, edward and jopson spend a lot of their scenes together exchanging looks and watching each other. It is safe to assume based on their roles that they must share at least a small amount of familiarity but i think that these shared glances suggest a deeper connection. They seem to be able to communicate seamlessly without ever really speaking to one another and when they aren’t communicating through their eyes, they are still watching each other in shared scenarios. I would love to know more about whether this was just how liam and matthew chose to act their dynamic or if there’s more to say about them. Either way i’m going to keep being delusional about them because i love them together and i think there’s ample evidence to prove that they are more familiar than we might realize

[chimindity]

No swimming

summary | john b doesn't allow his sister to go swimming because of the hot weather. request by @/anon

pairing | john b & sister!reader

warning | a bit of yelling?

a/n | john b icon by @tinylilacbun ; i apologize for the wait once again!

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

you've been pleading with your older brother to let you swim, but he still shakes his head, refusing to even glance your way as he forbids you from walking to the shore. “john b said no. why don't you take a nap with your brother instead?” he suggests, trying to distract you from your desire to swim.

your bottom lip protrudes as you shrug your shoulders. “noo,” you mumble, observing sarah as she offers you a piece of apple. you shake your head again, your sulky demeanor becoming increasingly evident. you catch john b sighing in annoyance for the ninth time since you all arrived at the beach.

john b chooses to lie down on his beach towel, opting to ignore you, believing you'll calm down soon enough. meanwhile, sarah is too caught up with the pogues to keep an eye on you. as you stumble toward the shore, just before your feet can touch the water, a loud voice from behind you catches you off guard, making you spin around.

you see jj sprinting toward you, his face twisted in anger as he lifts you by your armpits. “what did your brother tell you? not to go swimming!” he shakes his head, and you gaze up at him, tears brimming in your eyes from his harsh words. you wrap your arms tightly around his neck. “m' so sorry,” you whisper into the crook of his neck.

he gently sets you down on your beach towel beside John b's. “stop pouting and stay right here,” your brother says, his voice rising as he points a finger at you. he carefully places your pink hat on your head. you lower your gaze, fidgeting with your fingers while john b scolds you.

you fold your arms across your chest, sulking as you sense your brother's gaze on you. “bubba, it’s way too hot to swim,” john b says, observing you with a mix of concern and amusement. you hum in response, turning your face away. “wan' swim” you pout, letting your fingers sink into the warm sand.

john b lets out a sigh every time you mumble something under your breath. he chooses to overlook your grumpy attitude, fully aware that the weather is far too unbearable for swimming. you continue to pout and deliberately sigh loudly, trying to grab your brother's attention, but it’s all in vain. “jombeee!” you whine, feeling increasingly frustrated by his indifference.

as time goes by, you start to accept your time out. you let go of your grumpy attitude and calm down. just as you’re about to stand up to reach for your sand bucket, jj sits down next to you and wraps you in a warm embrace. “hey, cupcake, i think i need to explain something to you. do you feel how hot the sun is today? well, it could be dangerous for a little one like you to go swimming.” you tilt your head in confusion, not quite grasping what’s going on. jj is cut off by sarah, who chimes in, “your brother is just trying to protect you from a nasty sunburn.” she gently rubs your back in a comforting way.

john b's eyes flutter open as he slowly wakes from his nap, taking in the sight of his friends gathered around you, trying to explain why you can't go swimming. his heart sinks at the sight of your bottom lip poking out. with a sigh, he reaches out his hand, and you gently grasp it while looking up at him. “come here,” he says, sitting up to pull you onto his lap. “i know i'm being mean, and this isn’t really fair, even for me. i don’t like being strict, but i just don’t want my baby sister to end up with a nasty sunburn, okay?” he tenderly wipes away your tears with his thumb.

you nod sheepishly, finally grasping why he was keeping you from swimming. a warm smile spreads across your face as you rest your cheek on his shoulder. “i forgive you,” you mumble softly, and he can't help but return your smile.

taglist

@jjsfavgirl ; @nemesyaaa ; @mrvlxgrl ; @tinylilacbun ; @jjmaybankssurfergf ; @mylettterstoyou ; @sweetstars-posts ; @hallecarey1 ; @aariahnaa ; @mirellef2001 ; @flora-eva

[chimggukchim]

Share our @s so we can be bullied in our inboxes till kingdom come and be ostracized by you lot? No, thank you. I'm a Jikooker too and I've seen it happen to other Jikookers too many times just because their view of Jikook isn't "they are 100% together and practically married and monogamous towards each other for more than 10 years now"

Unfortunately this space has become too cult-like where one just can't have a slightly differing opinion about Jimin and Jungkook's relationship or express how they personally truly observe it without Jikookers losing their minds or accusing them of things, the way you guys are doing right now.

There's literally no difference between this community and the Taekooker community anymore - I've seen that crazy side turn on their own just because they had the audacity to point out the ITS talk made sense to them because for a while prior to that even they felt things weren't the same between Taekook anymore. And now it's Jikookers doing the same to other Jikookers🤦🏻‍♀

People can believe that Jikook is real while still pointing out the things they feel contradict that belief, or they can believe they were together and no longer are but still think they are special to each other, or they can believe they aren't together in what one would consider the "conventional, traditional" sense.

Taekook can never be real. That is a ship that has no real substance and was literally formed on aesthetics and vibes and had a whole false narrative attached to it that became lore over the years. A lot of people say just Jikook's existence alone cancels out Taekook, but I think even if Jimin and Jung kook didn't have the kind of dynamic they have and/or they didn't exist as a duo, Taekook still wouldn't be real. Please there's fuckall there.

I am someone who believes there's something more than platonic between Jimin and Jungkook and that Jungkook is deeply in love with Jimin, but still I agree with everything the last anon's(s') said. They *are* different from how they were before and the last few years make it hard to believe in the kind of image of them that Jikook shippers have painted for years.

We are Jikookers, we are here, we exist. Accusing us of being Taekookers won't make that shit true. We don't have to be a monolith.

First thing's first - YOU may not be a taekooker in disguise, but the other anon most likely was. And most with dumb takes are as they have a knack of using the SAME rhetoric and examples every single time, not to mention, always managing to slip in Tae somehow. Let's get that out of the way.

Now, here's the thing, anon.

I understand completely, the feelings of confusion and second-guessing whether jikook are really together or not. I have been there before, on multiple occasions. There were things in the past as it happened that made me doubt whether my suspicions about the true nature of their relationship was right. I get it.

So don't go putting words into my mouth and think that you can assume 'what kind of jikooker' I am.

Cause like I've said on multiple occasions now, I did not start out in the ARMY fandom space either as a jikooker or as a shipper. I had no clue what shipping was. And til this day, I remain an ARMY supporting all of our boys as a group before any sort of shipping enters my mind. Whenever I watch BTS content, jikook as a couple is never at the forefront of my mind. I watch them as a part of Bangtan.

There are certain moments that jikookers put on a pedestal as concrete 'proof' of a relationship, that I side-eye and hence, make no post or comment on because it does not make sense.

If tomorrow, Jimin and Jungkook were to announce they were both dating other people, I would still be happy for them because before anything, I want them to be happy. If that's with other people, so be it.

So I know me and how I perceive Jimin and Jungkook's relationship. I trust my objectivity of their relationship over yours, thank you.

Now to what you have accused most in this community of...I have honestly yet to see to the extent that you have indicated. Harassing? Bullying? Cult-like? Well, I've got news for you. You're in the wrong side of town, deary. And people who go looking there, clearly want to find what they're looking for. (toxicity, by the way)

And the way you spoke of taekookers and knowing how they behave and treat each other?...Honey, the 'normal' jikooker would NEVER EVER find themselves anywhere near taekooker spaces willingly. But you have apparently. That says a lot.

You're looking for trouble. You're going to find it.

Also...my sympathy for you lessened when you compared jikookers to the cult. Because the last time I checked, jikookers didn't go around literally harassing Tae's and JK's FAMILIES AND FRIENDS in real frigging life. So miss me with that similarity nonsense. Point out all you want about SOME jikookers not being able to handle different takes of others all you want, that's fair. I'm sure there may be the immature ones like that in this community, I'm not denying it. I assure you, they're in the minority. But the minute you go comparing any shipping community's behaviour to THAT CULT...it clearly shows loose objectivity.

So with my sincerest heart, I would advise you to change your space. You're clearly in toxic spaces, jikook and taekook-wise. This is bound to influence how you view not only jikook but more importantly, the jikook community.

There is a reason why I don't answer or comment on toxic asks. It's because it brings negativity to the jikook space. And I don't want that. I have found myself probably treading on that territory these days with this discourse. But I'll work it out to bring back the space to positivity and just focusing on Jimin and Jungkook.

Anyway, the final thing I'm going to bring up is that you all keep speaking about Jungkook and Jimin's relationship changing with no actual evidence. You all simply point out things happening now but fail to actually show a proper comparison to the past to highlight the 'CHANGE'. That's not how that works.

For instance, I can say their relationship changed in that Jungkook became a lot bolder with JImin publicly as opposed to years ago. He actively flirts with Jimin on stage when, for instance, during the Red Bullet Tour (back in 2014-2015), he didn't. Jimin did. See how easy that is? Comparison.

If you have any sound comparisons...with proper context, by all means, share. I'm up to hearing it.

PS. This does not include "they don't see each other as much" because we are not privy to how much they actually saw each other back then nor how much they did in 2022/2023.

Anyway, that's all from me. Peace!

[creweemmaeec11]

Just a Sense

This is my secret santa snippet I wrote for @chaoticgoodthief. Their Prompt was:  "how about the joke villain going ballistic when someone hurts their designated hero?"

I really hope you like it!!!

"Alright, party's over," Hero's voice echoed through the empty halls of the museum.

Villain didn't bother turning around immediately, continuing to admire the painting they were looking at before casually turning to face their guest, "I'd have to disagree," They mused, hopping down from the ledge, "Now that you're here, the party can finally start,"

The Hero grinned, pulling their dagger out and twirling it between their fingers, "Alright, if you're looking for a dance partner-"

"Awe, come on!" The criminal interrupted, "We haven't even gotten to enjoy the museum yet!" they twirled with their arms out to gesture to everything around them, "We have the place to ourselves tonight! We can even go past the guard ropes, don't worry, I won't tell,"

The Hero raised an amused eyebrow, "You don't think I have better things to do?"

The Villain shot them a cheshire, all too knowing smile, "I think we both know you do, and we both know that's exactly why you're here in the first place,"

It was a distraction, for both of them. A game of cat and mouse that repeated like clockwork, comforting in its predictability. They were both safe here, in a weird way. They knew each other, knew the stakes, knew it wasn't actually a fight to the death, that no matter what, Villain would slip away at the end of the night, so they could do it all over again.

The Hero blushed, but rolled their eyes, failing to keep the slight smile off their face, "Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night,"

"Put that butter knife away; we both know you're not actually going to stab me with it,"

"Oh yeah? I do have an actual job to do here, you know?" The Hero countered, crossing their arms.

"Oh my god, are you two done flirting yet?" A new voice cut in mockingly,  as a figure came out from behind one of the museum's pillar supports.

"Supervillain?!" both parties cried in unison.

Hero instinctively reached for their communicator, but Supervillain flicked a hand. The device shot out of Hero's grasp, shattering against the far wall.

"Now, now," Supervillain drawled, their voice cool and condescending, almost like disciplining a misbehaving child, "Calling for backup would ruin the whole point of me going through the effort of getting you alone, wouldn't it?"

"Supervillain, what are you doing here?" Villain asked, a cautious edge creeping into their usually carefree tone.

Supervillain glanced over to them, surprise flashing in their eyes, like they were shocked the Villain had even dared to speak to them.

"Leave." They commanded, "This doesn't concern you anymore," turning back toward the Hero, who was slowly backing away.

Villain saw the Hero glance at them, the fear, the silent plea for help in their eyes. They clenched their fists at their sides.

"Back off, I was here first,"

The Supervillain spun around at that, eyebrows fully raised, shock morphing into an almost... impressed expression.

"Oh, you're cute," they replied, lips curling into a smirk. "I don't believe we've met face to face, have we? Small fries don't usually cause much of a blip on my radar I'm afraid. But don't worry, tonight I'm actually doing you a favour,"

"A favour?" The Villain replied skeptically, narrowing their eyes.

"Well, I'm about to take this little nuisance behind us out of the way for you-"

Suddenly, the Hero behind them made a dash for it, but it was no use, as they were immediately flung backwards, crashing through a wall and an expensive painting along with it.

"Seriously, Hero? Running? You should know better by now."

"Get away from them!" Villain shot back, running toward the Hero who was struggling in the rubble.

"All right, your entertainment value has expired. I needed them without their backup, which they never need with you. You've served your purpose, now get out of my way," the Supervillain gestured at the Villain, as if to send them flying, but to their surprise, nothing happened, "what-"

Suddenly the Supervillain's world seemed to be spinning, running laps around their skull as they could no longer tell up from down. It was like vertigo from all directions at once. It was only then the horrifying realization hit them that their vision was fading.

"What the hell are you-!"

"Sensory manipulation," Villain said calmly, striding toward them, watching as the Supervillain came crashing down to the floor. "A little something I haven't had to use in a long time."

"You insolent little-!"

"Sense of sight, balance, motion... kind of hard to function when they suddenly get thrown into a blender huh? Proprioception really is a wonderful thing."

Supervillain was very quickly beginning to feel sick.

"Certain senses are more fun than others..." the Villain mused, crouching down next to them, "Nociception... the sense of pain... for example"

A gut-wrenching, blood-curdling, animalistic scream suddenly erupted from the Supervillain on the floor.

The pain only lasted for a second, but that was one second too long.

They were flailing, trying desperately to get away, to get a sense of anything. They couldn't tell where they were. Were they on the ground? Were they stuck to the ceiling? Were they floating in water? Even worse, they felt like they were losing a sense of not only where they were, but what and even who they were.

Supervillain didn't even realize they were shaking. They could feel panic flooding their system.

"Interoception is probably my favourite, though," Villain mused, their voice almost playful. "The sense of internal body states. Hunger, thirst.... panic... fear...." The Villain mused, tilting their head in thought, "How high do you think your heart rate can get before it gives out? Shall we find out?"

The Supervillain tried to speak, they really did, but it felt like the couldn't get enough oxygen into their lungs. They couldn't- hyperventilating- their body was-

It was like their body couldn't tell how fast their heart was already beating, yet it felt in desperate need to beat faster.

Then, like a sudden plunge into icy water, everything in their body seemed to balance. Their head was spinning, but they could see their vision beginning to come back. They could make out a blurry figure standing above them that was starting to move away.

"If I ever see you anywhere close to my hero again, I'll get the answer to my question," they warned as they went back over to the Hero in question.

There was a flash behind them, and the Supervillain vanished as they crouched down, "Are you okay?"

"What-.... what the hell was-..."

"Where does it hurt?" the Villain asked instead.

"Everywhere?" The hero huffed, dropping their head to the marble floor below.

The Villain closed their eyes for a moment, and suddenly, the hero could feel the pain melting away.

"Better?"

"How the hell did you-"

"Let's just say I always go easy on my favourite hero," they stood up, extending a hand down to the Hero, "Come on, I'll stop the heist if I get to take you out to dinner, on me,"

"Only if it comes with a side of explanations." The Hero rebuked.

"Deal,"

With that, the Villain helped the hero to their feet. They may have had a lot of explaining to do. But they also had a steak to order, and they had their priorities in order.

[illuminatedquill]

Story Summary: The rebels on Atollon base take a much-needed rest for the holidays. However, Sabine is not in a festive mood since she has noticed Ezra slipping away during some nights to spend time with Nadia Arcossa, a beautiful young Rebel pilot that has recently joined the Rebel cell. With no one on the Ghost crew willing to disclose what her best friend is up to, an increasingly jealous Sabine decides to investigate . . .

For @ana-cantskywalker

Happy Holidays! Hope you enjoy this present from your Secret Santa.

Her quarry was slowly approaching, Sabine could sense. With quiet, steady footsteps, walking into the Ghost's communal area. The hour was late - or early, depending on how you viewed it; Sabine had been lying in wait since the early evening, choosing her spot carefully for its vantage point. It was during these moments that she felt grateful for her time spent in the bounty hunter business with Ketsu. Hunting and tracking, something ingrained into every Mandalorian warrior since birth, could only truly be honed with experience.

In the shadows she waited, senses keen and sharp, tracking her target. She inhaled slightly as he entered cautiously into the room; a familiar, pleasant musk drifted over to her.

Sweat.

Not from being nervous, but from whatever physical activity he had been doing in the hours prior. What could he be doing that would cause him to sweat during this late at night, she wondered.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, gut churning at the twisting feelings arising within her.

There was a quick exhalation of breath from the quarry, signaling relief. He seemed to think the coast was clear - that no one had been watching and waiting for his return.

Sabine smirked. Your mistake, goober.

She snapped her fingers. The lights came on.

Frozen, like a loth-cat caught within a trap, standing in the communal area entryway mid-step, was her best friend, Ezra Bridger, Jedi-in-training. Eyes wide, mouth agape, his sky-blue eyes swiveled over to her, sitting calmly at the nearby round table they used for meetings.

A choking noise came from the young Jedi's mouth. Sabine enjoyed watching her panic for a few seconds, savoring the sheer look of terror on his face, before speaking.

"Hey, Ezra," she said casually. "Where ya been?"

He was already sidling away from her, trying to go back out the doorway. "Uh . . . nowhere."

She leaned forward, smiling wolfishly. "Nowhere? Hmmm. I don't think so."

A solid mass of fur and muscle appeared behind Ezra suddenly, blocking his way out. He slowly turned around to find Zeb standing there, the Lasat's meaty arms folded across his chest.

"You can't run from this, Ezra," Zeb said.

The young Jedi shook his head. "You're helping her?" he asked, incredulous.

"She threatened me!", the Lasat complained, eyes pleading. "I accidentally broke the new steering yoke in the Phantom - you know, the one Hera just installed. She thinks the piece was faulty, but Sabine knew it was me and Hera will take it out of my hide if she ever finds out - "

Ezra snorted. "You caved big time, you big furball," he retorted.

"Focus less on him and more on me," Sabine interjected, fingers drumming impatiently on the table surface. "Answer my question, Ezra."

His face went stony with silence. "No."

Sabine's eyebrows raised perceptibly with his defiance. "No?", she repeated. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

Ezra crossed his arms, eyes sparkling with rebelliousness. "It means 'no'. I'm not telling you."

She stood up from her seat, trying to reign in her patience - and failing miserably. "You've been sneaking out in the middle of the night and coming back early morning. What are you up to, goober? Why aren't you telling me?"

Sabine cracked her knuckles, as an added effect. Ezra winced at the sound but, to her surprise, he stood his ground.

Both of them glared at each other, neither backing down.

Then -

"What are you all doing at this ungodly hour."

Kanan Jarrus, Jedi Knight and Ezra's mentor, had arrived. He was dressed in rumpled sleepwear, his hair disheveled. Although his scarred eyes availed him no vision, there was still the sense that the older Jedi saw everything before him clearly. A chagrined Zeb stood hunched over, scratching at his head.

"Sabine bullied me into doing this, Kanan," he whined.

"Yeah, she knows about you breaking the Phantom's new steering yoke," Kanan said, exasperated. "Everyone does."

Zeb froze, his ears twitching in shock. "What - does Hera know?"

The Jedi clapped his friend on the shoulder. "She does. Best go to sleep now and enjoy your last night of freedom. Hera's got a list of chores for you to do when you wake up."

The big Lasat deflated, shoulders slumping in defeat. "How many? And for how long?"

"Many, many chores. Enough to last a lifetime - even for a Lasat," Kanan replied.

Zeb whimpered, cast a sad look around at his friends, and then shuffled off to his bunk. Kanan sighed. "Poor guy."

Ezra immediately slid behind Kanan, putting his mentor between him and Sabine. "Need your help, Master."

Kanan snorted. "Quick with the honorifics, eh? Scared of Sabine?"

"Always," said Ezra.

"Very wise of you," Kanan said. He frowned at his padawan. "You were with Nadia tonight?"

A face flashed through Sabine's memory at the name; a human female rebel pilot, slightly older than her. Sun browned skin, cropped auburn hair, jade green eyes, with a wicked grin. She had showed up a month ago and had become the darling of Atollon's rebel cell since her appearance backed by glowing performance reviews from Commander Sato. Rumor had it that she had been recruited by Mon Mothma herself.

Sabine had only caught a handful of glimpses at her - each time with a nagging sense of familiarity. She could not pin her name or face down, but Sabine swore that they had crossed paths before . . .

She shook her head. None of that mattered. She had a new line of inquiry to pursue regarding Ezra's late night jaunts.

"Nadia?" Sabine asked sharply. "Nadia Arcossa? That new rebel pilot?"

Ezra cast a nervous glance at her but answered Kanan's question with a simple nod. The older Jedi sighed.

"Right," he said tiredly. "You can go to your room. I'll cover for you."

"Cover what?" asked Sabine, annoyed. "What are you all hiding from me?"

Her friend gave her a guilty look, opening his mouth to say something - and then, deciding last second, kept it shut.

"I'm sorry, Sabine," he said in a sincere tone. "It'll make sense in a couple days, I promise." He ducked out into the doorway, before Sabine could say anything back.

Which just left her and Kanan alone in the communal area.

"I suspect you have questions," he said, grinning.

She ground her teeth in frustration but kept a calm tone. "A few, yeah."

He held out a hand in a placating gesture. "I'll answer the most pressing one first, before you blow a gasket."

"Blow a - I'm not angry. Who's angry, not me," Sabine sputtered. "Why would I be angry about the goober's late-night wanderings with Arcossa?"

Kanan raised an eyebrow. "Can I finish?"

With a heroic effort, Sabine kept her mouth shut and nodded in a jerky fashion.

"It's nothing . . . nefarious," Kanan said, wiggling his eyebrows up and down in comical fashion at that last word. "He's learning something from Nadia. That's all."

She crossed her arms. "Aren't you the Jedi Master? What can he learn from her, that you can't teach him?"

Kanan's grin widened. "There are some things even I don't know, Sabine. He's in good hands, don't worry. Nadia is plenty knowledgeable about what she's teaching."

At the mention of hands, images burst free to the forefront of Sabine's thoughts, flooding her mind.

Hands, roaming over sun-kissed skin.

Ezra leaning close to beautiful Nadia's face, their lips inching closer and closer -

She shook herself roughly, desperately trying to clear her head of such thoughts.

No.

No, that was not happening. Not on her watch.

"I'll take your word for it," she said, trying to sound casual.

It didn't work. Kanan snorted and said, "I don't need to be a Jedi to know you're lying, Sabine."

"Yeah?" she challenged, sticking her hands firmly on hips. "What are you going to do about it?"

He laughed. "Watch from a safe distance."

_ _ _ _ _

The next few days were filled with a busy assortment of activities and work as Atollon base geared up to celebrate Life Day. The hangar was being converted into a dance hall, complete with a stage set up for music. Some of the rebels there were musicians and were planning a medley of festive songs to accompany the dancing.

Others were cooking up a storm in the makeshift kitchens, bringing various cuisines from all over the galaxy to feed everyone. It promised to be a relaxing, fun event which was sorely needed to boost morale during these dark times. Commander Sato himself was planning to sing, having studied opera while growing up.

It was a much-needed reminder of what they were all fighting for. Some days the war was all they had. But there had to be other things. And Life Day was a celebration of that.

Sabine did her best to keep an eye on the wandering Ezra, catching glimpses of him all over the base engrossed in different activities while helping out. She had an ugly suspicion that he was using the preparations as an excuse to hide from her since their confrontation. She was busy herself, having volunteered for a dozen different projects to help set up the upcoming event's festivities. The hours flew by, faster than light it seemed.

She did, however, see Nadia several more times. Looking at her more closely, Sabine was once again filled with a nagging sense that they had met before. It wasn't a particularly good feeling either; it resembled a stone, sitting heavy in the pit of her stomach. And it grew heavier every time she saw Nadia interact with Ezra. Always they talked in hushed whispers, a few gentle laughs, and always it seemed Nadia found an excuse to touch Ezra in an affectionate manner.

An amused Kanan continued to watch from the sidelines, as he promised, which only further annoyed her. Whenever she managed to snag time to question him again, the Jedi continued to remain frustratingly silent on the whole affair. Hera also was of a similar disposition and a woeful Zeb was too busy with the endless list of chores Hera had set up for him as punishment to talk.

At the end of the last day before the celebration, Sabine decided she could take it no longer. It was time for action.

_ _ _ _ _

The normally arid temperature of Atollon had dropped precariously as the planet approached what resembled winter. Sabine had fared far worse - particularly on her on home world, Krownest - but tonight she was forced to dress light, without her customary beskar armor. Night was falling fast across the desert planet, and the thin cloak she wore in place of her armor was little protection against the cold.

Through some careful observation and more tracking, she had finally located the small bunker where Nadia and Ezra were doing their secret activities together on the perimeter's edge of Atollon base. Far away from wandering eyes, it was still used as a storage for excess supplies and munitions, but not a high enough priority to be watched constantly.

From an outcropping of rocks nearby, she waited for the pair to arrive. They did so, ten minutes later; Ezra dressed in his usual outfit, Nadia still wearing his flight uniform. Sabine watched Ezra scan around them, his face relaxing when he saw nothing suspicious. He muttered something to Nadia, who keyed an access code into the bunker's door. They entered with a hurry, eager to get out from the cold.

Sabine had caught the access code from his hiding spot, but it would be stupid to waltz through the front door. She needed to see what they were doing that required such secrecy. Unfortunately, the bunker was solidly built - only one way in or out. Which meant that she had to get creative.

It still needed a ventilation system to preserve the supplies inside. That was her ticket in - or so she hoped. This was uncharted waters for her, since Ezra was usually the one to scurry around a Star Destroyer or Imperial Base air vents.

Sneaking around to the back, she found her opening and quietly uncovered the access port leading inside.

"Dank ferrik," she whispered, the moment a proper look was available of her entryway.

It was narrow. Extremely narrow. She looked down at her clothes, grimacing.

Need to shed more layers to fit, she thought.

It occurred to her, not for the first time, that crawling into an old air duct to spy on her best friend and his beautiful female acquaintance was beyond insanity. But, then again, nothing felt sane these days. Sabine had felt off-balance since those creepy caves on Dathomir. It wasn't being possessed by the spirits of witches long dead that unsettled her - it was what she had found in those dark caves that filled her with dread about the future.

The Darksaber. An ancient weapon with a loaded history that gave its wielder the right to rule Mandalore.

And it was now in her possession. Oh, the things she could do with it . . .

She shook her head free of such despairing thoughts. It was something Sabine desperately did not want to think about right now.

With a deep breath, she stripped down, leaving only her thin undergarments to at least feel some miniscule sense of modesty. Folding her clothes neatly into a pile next to the vent opening, she wriggled her way inside, managing a clumsy sort of half-crawl to move forward.

She made her way through the ventilation system's guts for a good fifteen minutes by her estimation. The interior of the duct system hadn't been cleaned in a long while; cobwebs, dust, and other detritus cluttered inside, scraping at her exposed skin. Sabine winced at raw scrapes, her grip becoming slippery with sweat as she struggled through the air duct.

Finally, she began to hear voices reverberating through the vent: Ezra, followed by Nadia's. She saw a light up ahead - another opening. Hopefully, she could get a view of what was happening below inside the bunker.

With a final huff of effort, she reached the opening -

The metal beneath her suddenly shifted with an alarming groan. Sabine froze, heart thumping painfully against her ribs.

Oh, kriff, she thought. The realization hit that the vent was probably made from cheap durasteel that was not built for a human to crawl through.

Ezra's voice came then, sounding wary: "What was that?"

"Sounds like it came from above," said Nadia. "From the vents . . . maybe a rat?"

"Sounds too big to be a rat," replied Ezra nervously. "Maybe we should - "

With a horrible screech, the metal beneath Sabine gave way and she fell through the air -

Only to be caught in an invisible grip, a mere few inches from the solid concrete floor. All around her, small pieces of concrete and steel pelted the floor, but Sabine remained unharmed.

She looked up to find Ezra, his expression started but his hand outstretched. Her best friend's eyes flashed with worry, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he concentrated holding her steady with the Force.

Next to him was Nadia. Her expression was settling into one of gentle bemusement.

Sabine suddenly remembered how she looked to the both of them: dirty, bruised, scratched, and mostly naked.

"You can set me down now, Ezra," she said quietly.

He did so. The worry in his eyes never faded entirely but new emotions began to flicker forth: annoyance and frustration. Ezra reached behind him and grabbed a towel off a nearby crate. With a flick of his hand, he tossed it to her. Sabine caught it gratefully and began to wrap it around herself.

The young Jedi folded his arms. "Explain," he said.

Sabine shrugged. There was nothing she could say to salvage this situation.

"You were spying on us," Nadia observed wryly.

Ezra groaned and buried his face into his hands. "Sabine . . . "

Well, she thought. I came this far.

"So," she started casually. "What have you guys been up to?"

_ _ _ _ _

The Life Day celebration festivities were in full swing when Sabine arrived. She was not in her usual get-up, instead choosing to wear a shimmer-silk dress colored with a blend of lavender and sunburst orange hues that fell just past her knees and a pair of sandals with straps that wrapped up her thighs. Where Hera had procured such a dress, Sabine had no idea but was moved by the Twi'lek's generosity.

She scanned the crowd inside the main hangar bay, searching for Ezra. Hera and Kanan were already on the dance floor, holding each other close and swaying to the music. Zeb, given a one-night reprieve from his punishment, was partying it up with a group of rebels in a corner, taking a swig of some green colored liquor from a glass jug. Chopper trundled around, taking in the sights, the droid's tiny mechanical widgets balancing a tray of appetizers. Somehow, Hera had bullied him into playing butler for the evening.

"You clean up well," came a voice from behind her. She turned to find Nadia, surprisingly still in her flight uniform.

"You're not going to dance?" Sabine asked, frowning.

Nadia smiled at her. It looked a little sad, she noted. "I've got orders to ship out in the morning," she replied. "I'm just here to say good-bye to everyone."

Sabine nodded. The last night's events were still vivid in her memory, and she struggled not to feel embarrassed in Nadia's presence. She - and a flustered Ezra - had explained that he had been taking dancing lessons from her. It wasn't just an old dance, either - this style was specifically used for Mandalorian royalty, back in the old days. Ezra had been hoping to surprise her during the Life Day celebration.

It was then it had clicked for Sabine why Nadia looked so familiar.

The rebel pilot was Mandalorian. Clan Arcossa. She and Sabine had been classmates during the early days of Mandalorian training. Not quite friends - more like friendly rivals.

Nadia smirked at her. "Humbled to know that the infamous Sabine Wren finally recognizes me."

"Hey," countered Sabine. "It's been a while. Last time I saw you, you were all curls and missing teeth."

"Yeah," shot back Nadia. "You were the reason for those missing teeth, if I recall."

Sabine laughed. "How's your family?" she asked.

Nadia's smile vanished. "Dead," she said.

Sabine felt her stomach drop at the revelation. She reached out and gripped Nadia's arm with an affectionate squeeze. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "How?"

The smile came back, full of bitterness. "Same story as everyone else here, I think," she said. "The Empire. My parents were trying to stay neutral throughout this whole war. I was trying to convince them otherwise. It didn't matter, in the end. The Empire made the decision for them."

"Hail, Countess Arcossa," said Sabine.

Nadia snorted. "Thanks, I guess. Never wanted it like this. And speaking of Countess . . . "

She leaned forward, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Word is that your mother is looking for you."

It was Sabine's turn to smile bitterly. "She can keep looking," she answered. "I have no interest in going back."

Although I might need to, she thought. Very soon, at that. Don't know how much longer I can put off that reunion.

Nadia nodded. "I get that. I haven't heard good things about Clan Wren lately."

"Yeah," said Sabine bitterly. "I know."

Nadia raised a glass in mock cheer. "To our families."

Sabine snorted. "May they continue to be complicated."

The rebel pilot tipped back her glass and drank. "Your boyfriend has arrived, by the way," she noted.

Sabine whipped her head around quick enough to cause a crick in her neck. But, sure enough, there he was: dressed formally in a layered robe tunic, with a dress vest, black seamed pants and polished black boots that rode up to his calves.

He looked handsome. Ezra saw her and gave a cheerful wave. Despite her antics from last night, he didn't seem to be harboring any grudges. Although, Sabine suspected, he would want to talk with her about it later. She gave him a gesture that meant to wait a couple minutes while she finished talking with Nadia.

Ezra gave her a swift acknowledgment and made a beeline towards Chopper with the appetizers. The droid stuck out his electric probe and zapped him as a greeting.

It took a full ten seconds for Sabine to register what Nadia had said fully. "Hey," she said, turning to look back at the rebel pilot and finding a smug expression on her face. "He is not my boyfriend."

"Uh-huh," replied Nadia. "Sure."

"He's not," Sabine insisted. "We're just . . . we're partners. That's it."

"Is that so?" Nadia asked. "Well then, you won't mind if I - "

She stuck out an arm, shoving (politely, in her point of view) Nadia back from taking a step towards her friend. "No, I do mind, actually."

The fellow Mandalorian smirked. "Case closed, I think. If you don't act on it soon, Wren, then someone else will. He's an amazing partner. Not just in dance, although he is kind of hopeless. Two left feet, but he's sincere about it."

Sabine's eye began to twitch. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Great smile, easy on the eyes, and he's good with his hands. Knows where to place them."

She gritted her teeth but stayed quiet.

Nadia paused. "Shame about that haircut, though."

Sabine's cheeks flushed. "That was me," she confessed.

The other girl stared at her. "You did that to him? Maybe I was wrong about you two."

"I was mad at him," Sabine replied, exasperated from just thinking about the memory. "We went out to Ilum - "

"Ilum? That place is crawling with Imperials last I heard."

"Yeah, but he needed a kyber crystal from there to complete building his second lightsaber. Things went sideways and he got . . . "

Words failed her then, trying to describe the dark, difficult journey Ezra had undergone on that planet. It had left him changed - and their relationship was forever altered, as well.

She sighed. "Story for another day," she said. "Not relevant right now."

"I'll take your word for it," Nadia said. "You know, I've never seen you struggle so much with another person. The Wren I remember always went after what she wanted."

"I don't struggle with Ezra," Sabine said, surprised.

The other Mandalorian gave her an incredulous look. "You. In the vent. Covered in dirt and bruises. Almost naked."

Sabine flushed. "That was - look, we all have our moments of temporary insanity."

"Funny thing is," Nadia said, brushing off her weak excuse, "Ezra told me that's the craziest thing he's seen you do. And if the stories I've heard about the Ghost crew are half-true, then that's saying something."

Sabine was silent, her face pensive. Nadia eyed her.

"Wren - look, you care about him. Deeply. What's the big deal?"

Finally, Sabine said in a low tone, "I found the Darksaber."

Nadia went still, her eyes widening in shock. "You - what? For real?"

She nodded. The other Mandalorian whistled.

"Yeah, that does complicate things."

"It does," Sabine agreed miserably.

For a long few seconds, neither of them spoke. Both were thinking of the ancient weapon's history - and potential future, especially in Sabine's hands.

Then, Nadia shook her head. "I don't have any words to comfort you, Wren. That's a heavy burden. But . . . this thing you have with Ezra? It's going to change things. You need to tell him how you feel. Soon."

"I can't," Sabine whispered.

"Why not? I know he'll back you up. No matter what. Tell him, Wren."

She shook her head. "I can't tell him . . . "

"Why?"

"Because, one day, I won't be able to anymore. The galaxy will break whatever promise he makes."

Nadia looked at her with pity. "I understand. In these times, it seems like we have no good choices left. But we still have to choose."

"How?" Sabine asked.

Nadia looked at her. "Whatever you can live with."

_ _ _ _ _

After saying their final farewells, Sabine made her way to the dance floor where Ezra was waiting. He was rubbing his side, muttering darkly; a small scorch mark marred his fancy dress tunic, where Chopper had zapped him earlier.

"Ready?"

He did a double take at her outfit, before standing ramrod straight. "Yes," he said, looking flustered. It was adorable.

Moving to the center of the crowd, they began to dance, keeping to the rhythm of the music being played. Ezra's Mandalorian dance technique was, as Nadi said, clumsy.

But he was trying, which all that mattered to her.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled to her, concentrating on not tripping. "I shouldn't have kept it a secret."

Sabine laughed. "You're apologizing? I'm the one who's been going stir crazy because of it."

"Well," Ezra said, "since you agree . . . "

She sighed. "You want me talk about it, huh."

"Only if you want to," he added hastily. "But I have been concerned. You've been . . . distant since Dathomir. Holed up in your room."

Sabine grimaced. "I have, haven't I?"

"Yeah," Ezra said. "Again, if you don't want to talk about it . . . "

She thought hard about what Nadia had said to her earlier.

Things were going to change very soon.

"I . . . not right now. It's something personal to me, Ezra. But I'll talk to you about it soon, I promise. Just for tonight, I want to dance with you. If that's alright."

She braced herself, expecting a recrimination. But Ezra simply said, "Okay."

Mentally, Sabine breathed a sigh of relief.

"Can I ask why you don't want to talk about it?"

She pursed her lips. "Because it will change things."

"Not us," Ezra shot back instantly. "I'm here for you. Always."

Her heart lurched at the certainty in her friend's voice. Oh, Ezra . . .

"I'll hold you to that promise, goober," she replied quietly, leaning into his embrace.

"Okay. And if you ever need reminding - ack!"

They both fell over, Ezra tripping over a familiar object - Chopper. The droid wheeled himself away, chortling over his little prank.

"That little . . . are you okay, Sabine?"

She doubled over, breathless from laughter. "I'm fine. Nadia was right; you really do have two left feet, huh."

"Yeah," he said, cheeks flushed. Ezra stuck out his hand and hauled her up to standing position.

Sighing, he admitted, "I'm no good at this. Sorry. Nadia tried her best."

Sabine looked at him, smiling a little.

The Wren I remember always went after what she wanted.

Things were going to change very soon, she knew deep down in her heart. That's why she couldn't tell him everything. Not yet.

But maybe, just for tonight, she could allow herself to be a little brave. Just for tonight, and tonight alone.

She leaned forward and gave Ezra a soft kiss on his cheek. As she pulled away, she felt a tingle of satisfaction at seeing the look of slack-jawed astonishment on his face.

Squeezing his hand affectionately, she led him back into the dance. "Don't worry, Ezra," she said. "I'll take the lead in this dance tonight."

~ epilogue ~

The morning after, Sabine wandered into the Ghost communal area for breakfast. Hera sat there, reading through her datapad.

"Good morning," said the Twi'lek.

"Morning," mumbled Sabine. The Mandalorian began to mix ingredients into a bowl for some thick porridge. Her head was pounding from all the festivities of last night.

"So," Hera said in a sly tone. "Heard you were out late with Ezra last night."

Sabine spilled her porridge. "Hmmmm? Is that so?"

"Yup."

Cleaning up her mess quickly, she grabbed what was left of her porridge and sat down at the round table, keeping a calm expression. "And is that all you heard?"

"Maybe. Saw Ezra this morning too, you know. He had a bounce in his step."

"Did he now?" It was very hard not to express smug satisfaction at hearing those words. So very hard.

"Yup."

Sabine shrugged. "Well, you know Ezra. He probably sprained his ankle or something."

Hera snorted. "Sounds like him." She got up from the table, taking her datapad with her - but not before bending down to whisper in Sabine's ear.

"Next time," she said, "might want to cover up that mark on your neck. Strains your credulity a little, otherwise."

Sabine slapped the side of her neck in horror.

Hera laughed.

[kinzhae]

Hi hiiii! Okay so... I'm not quite sure if you accept like request and all but i enjoyed your vlog so much cause been craving for Gojo angst that hurts my heart and i love it 😭😭

And i have this idea... You know Toga Himiko right? So like i have this idea in mind where Gojo neglected the reader, like the bully fic you made? And so, in the end Gojo was like dyin (In his teens where he still didn't know RCT). Reader having the same power as Toga Himiko so yeah you know what happens next.

That episode ached my heart so much that i cried and i kinda wanna see it in Gojo x reader part. You don't have to make it just sayin my idea and all 😅

Omgg hello, you are actually the first person who requested to write something so ofc I will do it. I didnt continue watching MHA after season 2 so I might not capture Toga Himiko's quirk that well </3 but I still tried and hoping you will like it.

Note: it ended with a slight angst.

Past Wound That Will Never Change

The world had always been cruel to those who were different, and you learned that lesson early. Your cursed technique was rare, one that made people uneasy. By consuming the blood of others, you could take on their appearance and, to a degree, their abilities. It was powerful, yes, but it was also isolating. People whispered behind your back, called you a parasite, and avoided you like a curse waiting to manifest.

Gojo Satoru, of course, had been the worst of them all.

He wasn’t just cruel; he was relentless. With his unmatched abilities and natural charisma, he had no reason to think twice about how his words or actions might hurt you. To him, you were a joke, a walking anomaly he could poke fun at when life at Jujutsu High grew dull.

“You ever think about how creepy you are?” he’d say, his friends laughing along. “Like, do you just look at someone and think, ‘Wow, I wanna drink their blood’? That’s disgusting, man.”

The words stung every time. You tried to fight back, to pretend his insults didn’t matter, but he had a way of cutting deeper than anyone else. The more you tried to stand your ground, the more he mocked you.

“You’re not even a real sorcerer,” he said once, his voice dripping with disdain. “You just leech off of everyone else. What’s the point of keeping you around?”

No one defended you. Geto sometimes gave you a pitying glance, but even he didn’t dare go against Gojo. They were close friends after all. You were utterly alone, and every day felt like a battle you were losing.

It all came to a head during a mission gone wrong. You’d been sent out with Gojo and another student to exorcise a particularly nasty curse. Things had been going well until Gojo, confident as ever, underestimated the enemy. The curse turned its attention on you, nearly killing you in the process. You barely managed to survive, but when the dust settled, Gojo shrugged it off like it was nothing.

“You’re fine,” he said, his tone dismissive. “Stop being so dramatic.”

That was the moment something inside you broke. That night, you packed your things and left Jujutsu High without a word. If they thought you were a parasite, then so be it. You would survive on your own terms, far away from their judgmental eyes.

---

Years passed, and you became someone entirely different. The pain of your past hardened into a cold resolve. You used your cursed technique without restraint, earning a reputation as a rogue sorcerer. People feared you, and for the first time in your life, you felt powerful. You no longer cared about proving yourself to anyone. You lived by your own rules, taking what you needed and leaving destruction in your wake.

But fate had a twisted sense of humor.

You found him in the ruins of a cursed battlefield, slumped against a crumbling wall, his once-pristine uniform soaked with blood. Gojo Satoru, the untouchable, was dying.

He looked up at you with bleary eyes, his usual confidence replaced by something fragile.

“Figures,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “Of all people… it had to be you.”

You stared at him, your emotions a tangled mess of anger, bitterness, and something you didn’t want to name. He looked so different now—vulnerable in a way you’d never imagined. For a brief moment, you considered leaving him there. It would be poetic, wouldn’t it? Letting him die alone, just like he’d left you to fend for yourself all those years ago.

But you couldn’t do it.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said coldly, kneeling beside him. “I’m not doing this for you.

He didn’t respond, too weak to argue. His blood pooled around him, staining the ground a deep crimson. You bit into your hand, drawing your own blood, and then leaned down to press your lips to his wound. The metallic taste filled your mouth as your cursed technique activated, his power flooding into you.

It was overwhelming. For a brief moment, you were the strongest, the infinite possibilities of his Limitless technique unfurling in your mind. You used it to heal his wounds, channeling his power with a precision that surprised even you. When it was done, you pulled away, wiping your mouth as you staggered to your feet.

Gojo sat up slowly, testing his limbs. He looked at you, his expression unreadable.

“You saved me,” he said quietly.

“Don’t read into it,” you snapped. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

He frowned, guilt flickering across his face. “Why? After everything I—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “You don’t get to apologize. Not after what you did.”

He fell silent, his usual arrogance nowhere to be found. For once, he looked small, almost fragile.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was a fool back then. I didn’t—”

“Stop,” you said, your tone icy. “I don’t want your apology. I don’t need it. Just live with it, Gojo. Live with what you did.”

You turned and walked away, leaving him sitting there, his words hanging in the air. He didn’t try to stop you. He didn’t call after you. He simply watched as you disappeared into the distance, the weight of his guilt settling over him like a shroud.

---

Gojo recovered, but the encounter haunted him. He searched for you, hoping for a chance to make amends, but you were always one step ahead, always out of reach. The guilt of what he had done to you lingered, a constant reminder of his failures. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t fix what he had broken.

You, on the other hand, continued to live on your own terms. Saving him hadn’t changed anything. It hadn’t softened the bitterness in your heart or erased the scars he left behind. You didn’t forgive him, and you didn’t need to.

In the end, the past was a wound neither of you could heal. He was left to carry the weight of his guilt, while you carried the scars of his cruelty.

[fynnlink]

First of all: Thanks and Merry Christmas / Happy Holidays to you too.

My first response was to your framing it as not having any answers to the points you brought not that said answers maybe weren't satisfying or "enough".

And I in no way mean to argue against your "being pissed off" since it's a valid opinion especially if you like Aaravos a lot. So if I in turn offended you I apologise; I merely mean to discuss and engage with the media.

Now on to the important stuff:

I agree wholeheartedly with the point regarding "external" material (outside of the main series) but I think one of the issues TDP suffers from most is too much lore/story having to be squeezed into short, 9 episode seasons which is a shame as the world building is my favourite part of the series. Thus the need to use other ways to communicate parts of the story or lore. (The image of Ziard for example and the monologue/story attached to it are freely accessible but the point stands)

Having certain expectations even "high" ones is of course more than justified and feeling upset/unsatisfied when those expectations aren't met is too. There are quite a few plotlines which have developed in a specific way or not developed at all, that have disappointed me after waiting for answers since 2018. (Damn I've started this series at 14. That hiatus, seriously, never again please)

When exactly did Zubeia say that? Or are you referring to her lines in S4 E4? Because I wouldn't call the results of Aaravos' actions/involvement before his imprisonment Revolutions but rather Civil Wars / Unrest and I think her line "A Startouch Elf, one of the Great Ones, respected and loved by all until we discovered long-hidden treachery." is more of general statement than referring to her and the Archdragons. And the crime he was punished for was being responsible for Queen Aditi's disappearance (though no one knew what exactly happened to her until Aaravos told Khessa and then Janai found out) thus causing the tensions between the Elves and Dragons to boil over and also depriving the Archdragons from ending their succession conflict peacefully. (I'm hoping that if we get Act 3 we finally actually learn about the Orphan Queen.)

As to the severity of Aaravos' punishment it is quite literally the only punishment pissible as murdering him would've just had him return at a later point and imprisoning him in any other way would be nigh important due to his immense power both in terms of magical ability and persuasiveness manipulation.

I wholehearted agree that the involvement of both the Orphan Queen and the Jailer is less than adequately explained. Like you said it makes little sense to 1) believe a random human who at the time was probably young too and 2) to entrust the entire imprisonment process to another human one who was supposedly very mysterious. It would also be interesting to know whether or not the Jailer used Dark Magic or just other means like a primal stone or inanimate objects like gemstomes.

I don't think Aaravos had enough power (as in political influence not magic) to do anything against Sol Regem overtly. As even back then Anak Arao was THE dragon prince (Aaravos calls him that in S6 E9) so one of his parents was mostly likely the current regent during Leola's childhood 2000+ years ago. And back then Aaravos seemed to live a humble(r) life away from the heavens on earth with Leola and had no sway on the council. (Though it is interesting that The Merciful One apparently cared enough about Aaravos to comfort him above the Sea of the Castout). The entire story isn't resolved but Aaravos playing the long game was him drawing it out. He, at least in part, is responsible for humans learning dark magic and thus for Ziard "blinding" Sol Regem, Aaravos was also probably involved in whatever caused Sol Regem to get angry enough to indirectly kill Aithne Solaire as Aaravos even knew about it. This to me at least is reminiscent of Aaravos' incredible quote about surviving such a terrible wound (losing a loved one) and thus suffering forever. Aaravos didn't directly attack or kill Sol Regem to prolong the Archdragon's suffering and since he knew how to easily manipulate and use Sol Regem to further his own plans. Never throw away something that could one day prove useful. It took barely any work to get Karim to do exactly what Aaravos wanted and then to use Pharos to direct Sol Regem against Katolis, Viren and Aaravos' imprisonment. (A bonus benefit which in my opinion Aaravos also planned for is that this further turned Claudia on this "dark path" when she was just beginning to question/regret it)

Personally I don't think Aaravos' line was supposed to single out Zubeia from the other Archdragons as the only/main one to BETRAY Aaravos. Both the Archdragons and Aaravos call what happened back then a betrayal (Rex Igneous' line about "Not long enough, Betrayer") the Archdragons for Aaravos' manipulations and Aaravos for the imprisonment. It's simply that she's the only one who was involved when he says it and he's addressing her and not the others in the beginning of his conversations via posessed Callum. And Zubeia has proven she's ready and willing to fight when necessary (the standoff with Rex Igneous, her fighting against the corrupted Banthers in the great bookery and her attacking Aaravos in the finale)

When does he differentiate between Zubeia and the other Archdragons, he has the lines about Zubeia being "ravishing" but back when he tells Viren about Avizandum imprisoning him him only mentioning Avizandum is, in my opinion, just the series trying to keep it simple and even in a watsonian sense Viren proved just moments prior that the names of the Archdragons aren't known to him. And he does seem to enjoy her suffering by making her face Avizandum in the finale.

Regarding the Staff of Ziard that's why I amended that Aaravos had taken the Staff not necessarily that he had stolen it.

I think the Starscraper might function as the Star Nexus and thus draws in a semi-religious following and it's made up of other Elves since the Startouch Elves "don't intervene" which is probably what inspired that part of the Celestial Elves' culture. As to why it's Skywing Elves, earlier it was said that only winged Skywing Elves live there before they changed it. Again in lore this change probably happened because some elves at the Starscraper were born without wings. But yes it is something they could expand upon hopefully if Astrid sticks around the Dragang.

There was at least one more Startouch Elf around during the division of Xadia and expulsion of the humans to the east. (Visible in the opening of S1 E1 next to what is either Queen Aditi or her daughter. And they look distinctively different from Aaravos)

100% agree. Elarion has fascinated me since the poem was first translated and has only grown more and more interesting since. It's probably too big/important and needs to be the main focus. I think Claudia's final scene might be near Elarion since it's the same place as the S4-S7 intro sequence and the mountain range and sky full of stars and nebulae looks like the one from the scene of Aaravos crying over (creating it) the Sea of the Castout.

I don't view it as the finale of the series just of the act and season. Both the way it ended and the fandom's reaction is exactly the same as when Miraculous' fifth season ended. If you view it as a Series Finale not a Season Finale then yes it leaves certain storylines and plotpoints unresolved but whether they continue the story via more seasons or novels, etc the story isn't over.

Which is not to say you're not allowed to disagree. Art and Stories and their interpretation are up to any who behold them. It's just a matter of viewing it as an end for now rather then a complete end. And since Act 3 has been planned for a while I don't judge the story without also factoring in the limitations placed upon it by Netflix at first only paying for the first three and then the next four seasons. Of course a story made for ten seasons limited to seven can't resolve all plotlines. It was always meant to have an open end to entice viewers to want the final instalment.

Ultimately I hope/want Act 3 to focus on explaining the history more in depth especially from 2000 years ago at the founding of Elarion to 300 years ago with Avizandum's reign, a more in depth look at the Startouch Elves and the Star Arcanum and 'everything' related to it (for example Stella having the Star Arcanum??) and most importantly, to me, the origin of Dark Magic and further explaining it's specifics.

All three could be tied to Elarion as the main geological focus (along with Evrkynd probably, which could even draw parallels with the first human city built in opposition/definace to "Xadia" and the latest built in cooperation and peace. Once again I'm also glad Sol Regem is just bones now because that prick deserved what he got.) as all paths converge either in Elarion or at the Sea of the Castout.

- - - - -

Unrelated Sidenote but I think Aaravos will ultimately be "defeated" by, like most other parents in the series, sacrificing himself to restore/resurrect Leola. 1) He wanted to sacrifice his life for her in the beginning but wasn't allowed/able to do so and 2) it would even be akin to a final victory for him in undoing the Cosmic Orders' plans. And it would once again call back to the series' message of Love triumphing over Hate and Vengeance and the theme of Parents giving their future for their children. And this isn't as unlikely anymore since the series has begun to make certain deaths less permanent i. e. Harrow = Pip

Narrative of Love not Strength as Aaravos can't be defeated by force alone but by appealing to his love for his daughter(s).

Depending on when this happens and whether or not the Cosmic Order feels threatened or disrespected by it it could even put the Dragang (who would probably not turn against Leola) and the C.O. at odds and lead to a resolution in which there's justice for the C.O.'s wrongful deed(s) and not Revenge the way Aaravos dies it right now.

Also it would be similar to Elves and Humans working together to return Zym and bring peace and would be poetic to now also "repay" Leola's kindness and her friendship to both peoples in the past.

wait a fucking minute...

We still don't know why and how Aaravos was imprisoned.

And what exactly his beef with Sol Reg and the other archdragons was about.

And what his relationship was with the Orphan Queen.

Oh yeah! And also his relationship with Ziard... and city of Elarion...

DID THEY JUST KILL HIM WITH ABSOLUTELY NO EXPLANATION?

I'M SO PISSED OFF

[yourheartonfire]

Secret Santa 2024!

This one is for @wren-l-winter for the secretsanta2024 exchange! Prompt: Explore the dynamic between two rivals. One, an ancient vampire, and the other, a new vampire hunter eager to have her name written into legends.

It was a properly dramatic confrontation. Sheeting rain, lightning flashes, a marble floored pavilion in the middle of the city's oldest cemetery. The hunter skidded across the water-slicked surface on one knee, ending in a half-spin and a perfect three point landing, sword out and eyes narrowed.

The ancient vampire, the dreaded apex predator herself, rolled her eyes. "For fuck's sake," she said in a perfectly modern accent, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "It's going to be a clear night tomorrow, and this rain is going to wreak hell on all that fancy leather you're wearing. Can't we do this then?"

The hunter sprang. The sword flickered out. The vampire flung herself down into a shoulder roll. Sparks exploded against the pillar, inches from where her neck had been moments ago.

"Ow," said the vampire, brushing water off the shoulder of her wool coat. Somehow, none of the rain seemed to stick to her pale skin or dark hair. "How fun to see someone with a sense of the dramatic. Do you talk?"

"No," the hunter said and lunged again.

The vampire hissed, dodging and retreating from the flurry of blows, leaping with superhuman grace up onto the banister. "C'mon, kid. I'm giving you a chance here to walk away. I don't know which mothball-ridden cult trained you in sword-fu or whatever this is, but I can tell you this won't end well. It never ends well for your type."

"Don't try to get in my head, you monster!" the hunter snarled. "I grew up on social media, and believe me, your psychological warfare has nothing on unsupervised teenage girls."

The vampire arched a flawless eyebrow. "Oh honey. If that's your idea of evil, you are not at all prepared for this."

"If that's so," the hunter said with just the tiniest sneer, "why are you retreating?"

The vampire shrugged, and thunder boomed behind her as she spun around a pillar. "Maybe I'm sick of killing. Maybe the long centuries have infected me with a sense of empathy. Maybe I just don't want to deal with vampire hunter secret society bullshit again. The last time that was in fashion was the nineties. You don't want to go back there, kid. The economy was great but those cargo pants were a nightmare."

The hunter flicked water off her sword. "I think you're afraid," she said, letting the tip of her sword ring against the marble as she stalked closer. "I think you've gotten too comfortable, too lazy. Too used to picking off the easy targets. You don't remember what it's like to face a real threat-"

"I think you're dulling your blade," the vampire said with a half smile.

For a brief moment, the hunter glanced down. The vampire moved.

The world turned upside down with a painful crack, and suddenly the hunter was on her back, head dangling over the edge of the loggia. Hands empty, wrists pinned.

The hunter froze, adrenaline turning to ice in her veins. Oh god, her veins. Oh, no no no. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

"So," the vampire said with a fanged smile, shifting her weight over the hunter's hips. "Now what, honey?"

The hunter swallowed, and then flinched as the vampire's eyes flicked down to her throat. "You said something about a rain delay?" she said hoarsely.

The vampire chuckled, a noise like glass shattering. Her eyes seemed to widen, turning a honey-golden color as slow and sticky and sweet as molasses. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Who are you, sweetheart? More importantly - who sent you?"

The hunter gasped and slammed her eyes shut, before the hypnosis could take her.

"Now, now," the vampire purred. "No need for loyalty. You have potential, I'll grant you that, but whoever it was that sent you after me as your first target is either cruel or insane. Or," she said thoughtfully, almost to herself, "they wanted to send a message. Run a pawn out to take a swing at the queen, while they get the board in order. What an opening move. Where did that sword go?"

Abruptly the vampire's weight and grip were gone. The hunter flailed up to her feet with all the grace of an overturned hedgehog. The vampire was across the pavilion, examining the blade, her back to the hunter as if she'd dismissed her from her thoughts. As if the hunter was nothing.

"I am not a pawn!" the hunter screamed, water running down her face and empty hands. "They sent me to end you and I will!"

"Sweet girl," the vampire said, tucking the sword smoothly into her belt as she stood. "You're a Christmas gift to me from an old enemy. A little holiday treat before the real fight begins." She tilted her head. The hunter took a step back. "But. You do have potential. I'm rather curious to see what happens if you do make it across the board, if you'll be a rook, a bishop, a knight. Yes. A little catch and release might be fun. You go on back to your masters, tell them I reject their trap. Look them in the face and ask them what game they are playing. But-" The vampire's eyes lit up from within. "-that's after you pay the penalty."

The hunter turned and fled. She made it down before a clawed hand caught in her hair, yanking her back into an iron embrace.

"J'adoube, little pawn," the vampire whispered into her ear. Hot breath and sharp points sank into the hunter's throat and everything went white and cold.