#i'm really was digging this when i was writing it

[freshbakedbreadstick]

Small NSFW Viktor Blurb... because i'm thinking too much about him

Arcane Viktor x F!Reader

The way Viktor fucks is so... scientific.

The way he speaks to you, so softly yet so calculatingly is addictive. It's embarrassing how wet it makes you when he speaks this way. It's not at all that he's talking down to you as he dirty talks, he speaks in the manner that a scientist testing his hypothesis would. He has no condescending tone, no hint of sarcasm, and certainly not trying to degrade you. The opposite really.

"Interesting..." he would murmur as he notices you twitch particularly hard, sitting back against the pillows as he watched you feed his thick cock into your throbbing core, watching the way your slickness coated him with every miniscule movement.

He adjusts himself with his arms, eyes piercing your pussy as his shifting makes you gasp out, pushing more of his length into your tight heat. His voice is strangled as he speaks,"You really seem to like it when I move like this..."

If it were his way, he would have a notebook out to jot down everything he notices as you two fuck. You're pretty sure you caught him writing in a small black notebook one time after a particularly good romp too, but you've never been able to find that little notebook and have never been able to figure out what it contains.

Between his gasps and clutching of the bedsheets underneath him, he stays trained on the way your pussy takes his thickness, stretching around him and leaving a creamy ring around the base as you rode him.

"Hm," he would murmur, hands reaching to shift your hips forward a bit, shifting them back when he notices your brow furrowed more when you were positioned that way on his cock.

He would spread your legs carefully, with shaky hands, adjusting your position to one that he hypothesized and tested before as to being much more comfortable for you. He knew you wouldn't get as tired in this position and that he had easier access to that throbbing clit of yours, nimble and long fingers trailing from the soft mound of your right breast, thumbing your pebbled nipple, down the softness of your torso to where you ached for him the most.

He bit back smirks as he moved his fingers in the exact motion he knew made your eyes screw shut and mouth drop open, drool running down your plump bottom lip before hitting and running over your chest. Of course, he tried and tested it before.

"Like that, yes? I know, I know my sweet, I know you like it this way... prefer to have my fingers move like this, yes? Feels good when you move your hips like that?" He would coo, free hand moving to your hip, digging his fingertips in.

He knew this amount of pressure would leave small finger shaped bruises on your skin, the very kind he loved to see when you two would retire to bed in the lateness of night, fingers tracing over the skin under the glittering moonlight. 

His amber eyes would rake over your form, listening to you gasp out. He would be mentally taking in the tell tale signs that you were close to cumming, getting closer and closer with every gasp. He would take note the way your eyes would glaze over before shutting, how your head settled, brows furrowed. Between his own pleasure he would note the way your clenched, milking him so sweetly that he couldn’t help but jerk his hips up, using his arms to move. 

It made the mattress creak, the frame hit the wall, the pillows go tumbling down. It made his mental notes, ones he made sure to write down once he had a chance as any researcher does, go blurry in his mind. But his eyes never fell from your body, watching his most perfect work bring you to that peak of absolute pleasure, crying out his name as he did everything he knew was tried and true to make it feel so overwhelming. 

Viktor was a scientist at heart, always has been and always will be, but that doesn’t make him a boring academic when it comes to intimacy. If anything, that makes him a lot more mindful, as any good scientist in his field is. 

[rafayelscutie]

Never Again

Late to the party but finally finished Beyond Cloudfall and I was so devastated I had to write something to cheer myself up 😭😭😭

***

She dreams of rolling in a field of datura flowers, his arms holding her strongly against his body. She hears his laughter, a song much more beautiful than the one he keeps asking her to sing. He smiles, untangles a petal from her hair, and gazes into her eyes, and she always wishes she could pause the dream right here and replay this same scene over and over and over again, live in it forever.

Because she's had this dream so many times before.

And it always turns into a nightmare.

Blood. So much blood. It runs boiling hot down her hands, down her arms.

Her beloved dragon's cries pierce a blood red sky.

Her hands are not her own as she drives the sword deeper into his chest.

The datura field that had once harbored all of her happiness, all of her hopes and dreams suddenly becomes his graveyard.

And the sacred promises of forever that had once spilled so freely from her lips suddenly becomes a curse.

Then an emptiness follows. Not even air fills her lungs and she wakes up gasping from the burning pain. Her screams fill her dark chamber.

"My dragon is gone! My dragon is gone! Bring him back to me!"

But when her eyes finally snap open, the warm light from a nearby lamp fills the room.

The bedroom door swings open so hard it's a miracle it doesn't fly off its hinges.

He's at her side in a millisecond, his strong arms pulling the sobbing girl into his lap, holding her down like gravity.

"You were gone," she gasps, her body shaking violently. "You were gone and I couldn't find you! I looked for you everywhere and I- I couldn't find you..."

"Shh...shh now, Kitten. I'm here now. It's alright, I'm here now." The deep, soothing rumble of his voice is her new song, her lullaby.

Her fingers dig into his shirt and she pulls him even closer, so close she can hear his heartbeat, the sound further grounding her aching soul.

He's here! He's really here!

"Please, Sylus. Please don't ever leave." She pleads. It's her prayer, her only wish.

He nuzzles her hair, then leaning his head down, he places a gentle kiss on her forehead, the gesture an echo of a past promise he'd made that had resonated across ages, across lifetimes.

Sweet, desperate relief floods her body.

"Never again."

[mustangbby]

merry christmas!

featuring... tecchou suehiro, jouno saigiku, chuuya nakahara, nikolai gogol, kinich, wriothesley, lyney, kamisato ayato, kaedehara kazuha, boothill.

description... what do you guys do on christmas day??

authors note... MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS GUYS i wanted to write small little things about each of my favs from my three main fandoms lolllll! i hope all of ur guys christmas is going so well so far :)))) quite literally wrote this by alternating between hyaena by travis scott and tyler durden by madison beer so this might be all over the place

*i do take requests by the way!!!!! i'm just writing my own thoughts for now

warnings... none! some do lean towards fem!reader tho

🎧 all i want for christmas is you : mariah carey

tecchou suehiro

really, all the man wants to do is take the day to sleep and hangout with you.

there's some gift exchanging, you both picked out a few little things for each other that you passed over during breakfast. but then it was straight back to bed for both of you. all he wants to do is cuddle you all day. it's so cold out, and when does he ever get to have a day off????

you watch some christmas movies and make a nice dinner in the afternoon. he's mainly just watching, hanging out next to you (and accidentally getting in your way, but that's alright) because seriously, who would trust this man to cook.

to the both of you, it was a very relaxing day. staying inside, drinking tea and hot chocolate while snuggling up to each other. he just wishes he didn't have to get right back on his work schedule tomorrow...

jouno saigiku

he's so used to getting up early, that the day starts at 6:30 in the morning (if you're lucky).

like tecchou, he doesn't go full out with gifts. you've pretty much got everything you need, and he only heard you mention just a few things you've been looking at. so he got that for you.

you both exchanged gifts before you got out of bed. and when you did, you went out for a nice little breakfast and took a walk around the city. it was very pleasant; you got coffee and had walked to look at all the christmas displays (although he may not be able to see them, the most important part of it all was getting to spend his day with you).

dinner isn't very big at all. you were out all day, and you got a nice breakfast, so dinner was just what it could be any regular day.

the night was ended with cuddles to sleep! he's not one for physical intimacy, but sometimes, during times like these, it's nice.

chuuya nakahara

oh, what a lavish christmas you had.

the tree was piled with gifts. all for you. you insisted it was far too much, that what you'd bought him would never amount to this, but he waved it off, taking the gifts you got for him out of your hands and opening them with gratitude.

he made breakfast while you opened the rest of the gifts. a nice set of earrings, a new expensive handbag, you name it. you thanked him with a fat kiss on the lips before digging into breakfast.

it was a pretty chill day. he took you out for a very nice dinner later on, saying it was the "grand finale" to his gift giving. he was sure to order the most expensive red wine on the menu, letting you indulge in whatever you wanted (even though he never looks at the prices).

he ended it off by opening up a wine he treasured and sharing the bottle with you when you both got home. you were curled up on the couch under a fuzzy sherpa blanket, before eventually falling asleep on his shoulder.

nikolai gogol

an interesting christmas, to say the least...

he was so excited! he looked like a kid in a candy store, which made you laugh. he got you gifts that he absolutely knew you'd enjoy, making sure to compare them to things you tend to gravitate to and going from there.

he was also all the more grateful for what you got him, of course.

somehow, it was a more relaxing day. but he was extremely clingy.

when i say extremely, i mean extremely. if you needed to get up to grab something from the kitchen, or you were hungry, or whatever it may have been, he wouldn't let go of your waist, slowly walking with you to wherever it may be you needed to go (besides the bathroom. but he'd still put up a fuss about you leaving him in the "freezing cold").

it kinda stayed like that the whole day. you eventually had dinner, and that felt like the only separation you had from him (which, in the nicest way possible, felt like a breath of fresh air. but you could never be tired of him, right?)

you ended the night with a warm bath, sitting in his lap as he gently washed your hair. gentle was a huge contrast to who he is and what he'd usually do, but it's nice for a change every so often.

kinich

honestly, it felt like a regular day to kinich. he never really got a true christmas when he was younger, so he never viewed it as something he needed to celebrate.

that was until you came along.

all you both wanted to do was sleep in, but there's no way in teyvat ajaw was going to let you. he woke kinich first (because your his favorite human, and he's just there to annoy kinich) and demanded that kinich wake you up.

the day started with gift exchanging, as it usually goes during christmas. you gave your gifts to kinich and ajaw, and ajaw and kinich gave theirs to you. ajaw was seemingly very satisfied with the tiny little green scarf you knitted him.

you made a light breakfast before going into the inner city of natlan and joining in on the small christmas festival that was going on. you met up with mualani and kachina, and ajaw showed off his brand new scarf (a good way to keep him occupied from being a total bitch. you and kinich were very proud when mualani asked you what you changed).

it was like that up until dinner, where you stopped at a small little restraunt on the way home. kinich put ajaw in timeout, so you could have this moment together. the walk home was even more peaceful, and after getting home, it was straight to bed.

wriothesley

if i'm being honest, he probably forgot it was christmas...

he had gifts ready, but being down in the fortress almost every day screws up the sense of time, it seems. that was until you hurried up the stairs to his office, a few boxes in hand. he took the ones he had for you out from under his desk, and you opened the gifts while chatting over tea.

sigewinne came by to wish a merry christmas and handed you two little cards before heading back to work. they were the same cards, just different little messages on the inside (sigewinne is so sweet i love her so much i just had to include her...)

you both went up to the surface and took a walk around fontaine before heading off to have an early dinner. lyney and lynette were having a little christmas special magic show, so you bought tickets, and would see the show after dinner.

dinner was pleasant, and so was the walk to the opera epicles. you both found your seats and intently watched the show, performed by the one and only, lyney and lynette.

after the show was over, it was about time to head home. he normally would have stopped by the fortress once more, but chose not to because he just needed to have the rest of the night with you. there wasn't a single cloud in the sky, and though it was a little chilly, the night ended with a little bit of stargazing.

lyney

he's so excited!! christmas is his favorite holiday, mostly for the fact that it brings all of his family and friends together.

he couldn't wait for today, specifically because he put his blood sweat and tears in finding you the perfect gift. when i say perfect, i mean something that you've mentioned a bunch, while also resembling him in a way.

and when he saw your face after you opened it, full of shock and gratitude, he almost died of a heart attack.

you spent the day with him, lynette, and freminet. you and freminet were making the food for dinner while lyney and lynette were performing little magic gigs in the inner city. it gave you some time to bond with freminet, and he turned out to be quite the help in the kitchen!!

dinner between you four was very pleasant. there was idle chatter, along with some nice jazz music in the background. the food was all devoured with only a few leftovers, which you decided you'd reheat them for lunch tomorrow.

lynette and freminet went back home, leaving you and lyney to yourselves. you cuddled the night away, eventually falling asleep in each others arms.

kamisato ayato

the morning started by sleeping in. he really enjoyed that he was able to allow himself that joy for at least one day.

he didn't go crazy on gifts, just got a couple little things that may be small, but are very luxurious. bracelets, maybe a nice necklace, a hand-made kimono by the one and only chiori (although you wonder how he made that happen).

you both decided to have a slow morning. a little breakfast, then getting ready for the day. you both went into town, simply taking a little walk in order to pass time.

ah, but dinner was very luxurious. you had it with ayaka and thoma. the chefs had worked multiple hours, just for a bunch of food that may not even be eaten... but that's okay. there were so many options, and once you took your pick you sat down next to ayaka.

after dinner was over, you fell asleep almost instantly. you quite literally handed in your empty dish, bid ayaka and thoma a goodnight, and headed to shower. once you got out, you found ayato lying on his side. the night ended when you curled into his chest, shutting your eyes.

kaedehara kazuha

he started your day by waking you up with breakfast in bed, and a fresh cup of tea to go with it. after you finished eating, you both grabbed the presents you had for one another and exchanged gifts. he didn't splurge, he got you something that would be meaningful to you for the rest of your life. he's not one to attempt to buy your love.

you took a long walk. it was very refreshing - the harbor was bustling, and the breeze was cool and crisp, perfect sweater weather in your opinion. you took a break on a cliff, watching the waves, and eventually watching the first part of the sunset before walking back home.

dinner wasn't very big, making smaller portions that you both knew you could eat and going from there. he surprised you with a bottle of nice wine, and you drank that with the steak that was also served.

while cleaning the kitchen, there was christmas music playing in the background, and you both were dancing along a little bit. eventually, a song you both enjoyed came on, and you dropped everything and started to slow dance.

slow dancing ended up laying on top of one another on the couch, your head on his chest. and eventually, you closed your eyes. another successful christmas, you think to yourself.

boothill

this could go two ways. he could absolutely forget the holiday even existed and goes about it on a normal day, or he'd be super excited about it.

if it goes the first way, you'd just continue your day as if it was any normal day. you'd give him a small little gift though, and he'd immediately feel bad because he forgot. please reassure him that the gift isn't the thing that matters the most to you.

he'd take you out to a nice dinner, though. penaconys fanciest restraunt. he thinks it's the least he can do to make up for him being forgetful, and it worked. you completely forgot about the fact that he forgot the gift, and he eventually made it up to you by finding something really worth it and bringing it back to you.

if it went the second way, he'd probably wake you up pretty early to show you your present. you'd be scrambling to grab his and he'd be right up your ass until you saw everything he gave you (who can blame him? he's proud of himself).

he wants to spend all day with you. he also made sure to establish a while ago that there must be a tree. to really get into christmas spirit! you'd make a fire and watch some movies before he has you come with him to a nice dinner.

it's not the nicest place in penacony, but the food is certainly amazing. you chatter over your food, catching up with one another since he had just arrived from a pretty long mission.

the night ends with cuddles, cuddles, and even more cuddles! he hasn't seen you in a while, he's obviously gonna want to be all over you for the time he has with you. he falls asleep immediately, which leads you to slumber, as well.

[prettypinkporkchop]

The way i've been going thru all your post just reading everything 😍😍😍

If your accepting request, would you mind writing a little something about jacob x shy reader, where jacob is shocked when he finds her little stash of sex toys 🤭

I'm really obssesed with your writing 🩷🩷🩷

Stash

Warnings: sexual ish? Making out, language

Since being imprinted on by Jake, he has done everything to make you blush. He loves that you're shy. God, to get under your skin makes him satisfied. He swears you're secretly bad under your shy and innocent attitude.

There's a knock on your bedroom door. You know it's him. The guy literally has a key to your house. You don't mind. It makes you feel so damn safe.

"Come in!" You call out.

He opens the door, shirtless and handsome as fuck. He eyes you sitting on your bed in your christmas pajamas. He smirks and sits on the end of your bed. "Hey, pretty thing." He touches your jaw and kisses your cheek.

Your heart skips a beat, and your cheeks burn red. Your eyes widen a bit. "Hey.." You smile.

He smirks and lays back on your bed. "How was your day?" He asks.

"It was good! Been wondering why you haven't been texting me back." You bite your lip.

"Sorry, pretty one, I was just busy doing wolf shit." He groans before smiling up at you. "Missed me?"

You slowly nod your head. "I did." You whisper.

"Good." He lays out his arm behind you, his hand resting on your hip. Suddenly, he sits up. His eyes scan your face. "Would you like to go out tomorrow? Dinner?" He asks.

You smile widely. "I'd love to, Jake." But then you frown. "Wait, I don't know if I have anything good to wear."

He stands up and walks to your closet. "You look good in everything. I promise you that." He opens the closet and turns on the light. He looks up at a plastic box full of dildos and vibrators.

You totally forgot about it. Oh, shit.

Jacob is in shock. He grabs the box in disbelief. He slowly walks to the end of the bed and puts it down. He looks up into your eyes with a raised eyebrow and his mouth slightly open. "Care to explain?" He asks.

You gulp, blush, and want to scream. "I.. I. Oh, god." You groan and cover your face.

"You use these?" He asks.

You nod your head behind your hands.

He chuckles before putting the box on the floor. "I knew you were freaky." He jokes. "But, I'm better than a toy." He says casually before turning back to go through your closet.

You gasp and look at him. Now, you wanna find out. "What do you mean?" You ask.

"Exactly what I said." He grabs an outfit and places it on your vanity chair. He falls back on your bed and looks up at you.

You breathe heavy as your heart pounds out of your chest.

Jacob senses your want. He sits up and grabs the back of your head, and smashes his lips onto yours. You kiss him back and wrap your arms around his neck. His hands grip your waist, digging in your flesh. He pulls you on top of him. You run your fingers through his hair and tug. He grunts and pulls away. "Let me show you.." He whispers.

[ispeakforthetrees19]

Puck Me

Hockey Player!Levi x Ice Skater!Reader

Summary: Hockey Player Levi and Coach Reader make a bet...who will win?

A/N: I can't stop writing this and I'm having too much fun with it to enjoy it alone. I suck shit at fancy Tumblr HTML and theme, but here it is.

This story is based on some of my own experiences as a figure skater. This will eventually feature smut, and I will update the tags as I go. I may update again this weekend. Thanks to my beta @nilfgaardianleviosa, as always.

Cross posted to AO3.

Tags: Levi Ackerman/Reader, AU-Modern Setting, Hockey Player Levi Ackerman, Figure Skater and Coach Reader, Enemies to Lovers, You know where this is going, this will be explicit in the future, 2nd person POV, female reader.

TW: bad words, fuckboys

Words: 2.7k

Chapter 1: Teaching Tots

You step out onto the ice with Petra, fresh and smooth after the Zamboni cleaned up from morning sessions. You bend your ankles, testing your laces to make sure they’re tight enough, and start skating around the rink, warming up against the cold air.

You do some basic footwork and finally you feel warm enough to take off your jacket, leaving you in leggings and a form-fitting long-sleeve shirt. Petra is at the boards when you skate up to hang your jacket on the side; she has her foot up, stretching out her hamstrings.

Public ice is pretty dead today, maybe ten or fifteen people in rental skates starting to get on and wobble their way around the ice as they cling to the wall. You smile at the toddler bravely making their way out to the center, holding onto the PVC pipe support that kids use to stay upright. His mom calls out to him, begging him to come back to where she can’t leave the wall, too unstable in the mediocre skates with limited ankle support.

“Wanna run through jumps?” Petra asks, smiling at you with her big, hazel eyes.

You shrug. “Sure.”

You and Petra each claim a side of the ice, doing crossovers to gain speed, running through your single jumps in order, then your doubles. You’re warm now, and you take off your shirt, grateful for the cool air to hit your arms and shoulders uncovered by the tank top you have underneath.

“Fuck, my double lutz is kicking my ass,” Petra complains as she finds her way next to you. “I just can’t get enough oomph on the entrance.”

“That’s because your toe picks are weak as fuck,” you laugh, pointing to her blades. “They aren’t big enough to really dig in and get you the momentum you need to get your ass in the air.”

“But your blades are so expensive,” Petra whines, looking down at your skates.

“Black Friday still happens for figure skaters,” you remind her. “It’s almost the holidays, why not put it on your Christmas list? Not like your dad can say no to you anyway.”

Petra laughs and pushes your shoulder. “Maybe I will. Hey, are you working on your triples?”

You grimace and shake your head. “A little. Waiting for the bruises on my hips to subside before I bruise them again.”

Petra’s about to respond when you hear loud voices whooping from across the ice. You turn to look at the hockey team getting on the ice and roll your eyes.

“God, the Titans,” Petra mutters. “Don’t they have practice later?”

You raise an eyebrow at her. “Tell me you aren’t already drooling over Ackerman being on the same sheet of ice as you.”

Her cheeks light up pink, and she shakes her head furiously. “No! It’s just—ugh, he’s so distracting.”

You laugh at her embarrassment, pulling her wrist to drag her away from the boards. “Come on, let’s work on our jumps before they take over the whole ice running drills.”

Petra pouts but follows, and you both run through some more doubles before the hockey team starts running exercises, tearing through the ice with their abrupt stops and deep edges.

Eventually, you give up trying to squeeze in practice and just skate around the rink with Petra, staying out of the hockey players’ way.

“I’m annoyed,” Petra pouts. “I wanted your help on my double axel.”

You shrug. “They’ll get off like thirty minutes before practice so they can gear up.”

“But the ice will be ruined!” Petra whines.

You laugh at her valid complaints. “Well, if you can learn to land a double axel on shitty ice, think about how well you’ll do in competition with fresh ice.”

Petra visibly debates your logic for a moment before nodding. “I can try.”

You’re about to suggest a break for hot chocolate and a protein bar when you hear, “Oh shit!” and something solid collides into you.

Arms wrap around your waist, and you turn mid-fall, your back pressed against firm muscle of someone’s chest as you go sliding across the ice.

“What the fuck?” you ask as the arms release you to roll onto the ice.

You look over to see Levi Ackerman himself, captain of the hockey team, groaning as he pulls himself off the ice. “For someone who looks as good as you do in tights, you sure weigh more than you look.”

You sit up, glaring at his smug expression. “Excuse me?”

“Just saying,” he mutters, getting to his feet. He extends a hand out to you to help you up and you swat it away, getting up yourself.

“Can you watch where the fuck you’re going?” you ask him bitterly.

“Can you? You know we’re running drills,” Levi says, crossing his arms at your rejection of his assistance.

“I was skating forward! You hit me from behind!” you protest. “How am I supposed to watch out when you sneak up on me?”

“Pay attention, princess,” Levi says mockingly. “It’s not just your ice.”

You’re absolutely fuming, ready to unleash on him, when you feel Petra’s hand on your arm.

“Are you okay?” she asks, noticing the snow in your hair.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, looking away from Levi’s piercing blue eyes. “Jackass knocked me off my feet.”

“Jackass?” Levi questions, irritation shining through his expression.

“Yeah,” you say emphatically. “Jackass. I think it’s perfect to describe you. Or do you prefer Captain Jackass?”

“Bitch,” he mutters, skating away back to his team who are carefully watching the interaction.

“Fucking hockey players,” you grumble to Petra, who loops her arm through yours as you start to skate around the rink again. “Think they own the ice. It’s not even time for their practice and they’re running drills, terrorizing the public skaters.”

“Yeah,” she says, unconvincingly. “Jerks. But hey, at least he broke your fall, right?”

You turn to look at her, mouth parted open in shock. “Seriously? He slammed into me from behind and you’re giving him brownie points for not knocking me unconscious?”

“Well,” Petra says sheepishly. “I saw him turn so that he fell against the ice and didn’t fall on top of you. He was going pretty fast.”

You press your mouth into a line, shaking your head. “You’re a simp, you know that? An Ackerman simp. He could burn this rink down and you’d still justify it, fawning over him.”

Petra protests and you giggle at her poorly crafted excuses. You shake your head, pulling her off the ice to the lobby, where it’s warm and loud.

“Hey,” your boss says, waving at you from the rental counter. “I know it’s not your day for Learn to Skate, but we need coverage on Saturday. Can you do it?”

“Miche, come on!” you whine, sighing dramatically. “I work two of the three sessions every week. Tuesdays and Thursdays. One day more than my contract actually says, because I’m so generous and nice.”

“It’s just the tots,” he says, eyes pleading.

“Miche, no!” you exclaim, unable to help the smile spreading across your face. “You know I hate teaching the little ones.”

“Come on,” he says. “I booked a trip out of town for Nanaba and I’s anniversary and I totally forgot she’s on Saturday rotation. Please, help me woo my wife and preserve my marriage.”

“Miche, you’re really a piece of work,” you sigh. “You know I can’t say no to helping my coach.”

“I knew there was a reason you’re Nanaba’s favorite,” he says with a smile. “Thank you so much!”

“You owe me!” you call over your shoulder, walking over to the viewing bench. “Man, I can’t believe I have to cover the tots. I hate that shit.”

“But they’re so cute,” Petra protests.

You groan at her utter betrayal. “No, they aren’t! They fall and cry, and cry and fall, for almost an hour. It’s horrible. I finally worked my way out of teaching tots.”

“It’s just one Saturday,” Petra consoles. “Plus, I’m on Saturdays too! We can get lunch after.”

You pout your lips out at her. “Fine. We can get lunch.”

Your blood is pumping as you skate down the rink, edges ripping into the ice as you precisely carve delicate swirls with your blades. Loud techno music plays over the speakers as you skate, all in perfect synchronicity with the other skaters as you do footwork.

“Faster!” Coach Pixis is sitting on the boards at the side of the rink, sipping from a water bottle that certainly isn’t filled with water.

You reach the goal line and circle back to run the same footwork back down the way you came. Power class continues like this for another twenty minutes until Pixis finally dismisses you, calling it “slightly less than abysmal this time”.

As he swings his legs over the boards to walk back to the lobby, you collapse onto the ice, chest heaving. Your best friend peers at you from where she stops beside you, eyes curious.

“You alright?” she asks, out of breath herself. Petra’s face is flushed after thirty minutes of on-ice cardio.

“So...sweaty,” you groan, enjoying the feeling of the cold against your overly warm skin. “Cold feels good.”

“You’re in a tank top, you’ll get ice burn if you don’t get up,” Petra chides. “Come on, it’s almost time for hockey practice anyway.”

You reach up a hand and she pulls you to your feet. You brush the snow off of your leggings and tell her you’ll catch up, grabbing your jacket and water bottle from the boards.

The hockey players spill onto the ice, immediately skating laps at high speed forward and backward around the rink, warming up. You purse your lips, annoyed that they couldn’t wait another fifteen seconds for you to grab your shit and get off, instead making it nearly impossible for you to reach the exit closest to the coach’s room, meaning you now have to walk around the entire rink from the bench.

You decide to wait them out, annoyed with their crappy behavior. You lean against the boards, your things in your arms, for the full five minutes, watching them, making eye contact, waving at one or two that you know.

They run laps until Commander Erwin calls for them to line up on the blue line in front of him. When he does, you leisurely skate behind the group of men to get off at the exit you wanted.

They all turn around to watch you, evidently surprised you didn’t chew them out like usual for doing this. You smile at them, your eyes finding Levi’s from where he’s smirking at you. You raise an eyebrow at him and exit the ice, feeling him watch you until you disappear behind the bleachers.

Petra is inside the coach’s room already, unlacing her skates as she sits in her assigned chair. You sit in your spot next to her, following suit.

“Ugh, did you see Levi?”

You roll your eyes at Petra’s simpering expression and wide, hazel eyes.

“Why are you such a simp for him? For any hockey player? They’re dicks and they smell bad,” you complain.

“Not Levi,” she says with a dreamy look on her face. “Remember? He helped me when I cut my hand.”

“He wrapped a dirty hockey rag around your hand and told you to stop bleeding on his ice,” you say flatly. “He’s not exactly a knight in shining armor.”

Petra continues on, dithering about how Levi is, in fact, kind of an asshole but if you look past his harsh words, sour attitude, huge ego, and generally rude demeanor, there’s probably a decent guy in there. Yeah, okay.

You slip on your tennis shoes and pull Petra out to the lobby, grabbing a Gatorade and a protein bar from the concession stand.

“Let’s sit on the bleachers,” Petra says, trying to be nonchalant.

“Because we don’t spend enough time here, let’s go watch the hockey players on our break?” you ask sarcastically.

But it’s hard to say no to Petra, with her wide eyes and pouty lips. So you cave, agreeing to go sit on the bleachers, grateful for the cool metal against your back as you lay against the bench. Petra sits at attention, watching the players skate up and down the ice, practicing formations and plays.

“He’s looking over here!” she practically squeals.

You roll your eyes, scrolling through Spotify for a bass-laden playlist to mentally prepare for spending an hour with the tots later this morning.

There’s a loud crash against the boards and you jump, nearly falling off the bench. You shoot up, glaring at the plexiglass, behind which stands a smug Levi Ackerman, smirking at you. He raises an eyebrow at you and shrugs, feigning innocence. How mature, hitting the boards to startle you.

Petra gives you a sidelong glance, a slight furrow in her brows as you roll your eyes at Levi who’s wiggling the fingers in his glove in a semblance of wave. For which you return a middle finger, setting off a round of laughs between his teammates.

You look over at her with a raised eyebrow, wondering what she’s so concerned about, but she shakes her head and turns back to face the ice, eyes watching intently as they start running drills.

Later, you teach the tots a fun fishing game, where they pull out fish from the ‘pond’ you drew on the ice with a marker, and then you teach them how to skate away according to the type of fish they caught. It’s nearly time to go, and the class has been surprisingly smooth.

However, as your last student pulls out a “big fish! So big and scary!”, and you all skate backwards away from it, doing swizzles on their unsteady little feet, your smallest skater falls.

Oh fuck, here we go.

He looks up at you with wide eyes, lip trembling as he clutches his hand to his chest. He’s two feet tall, you know he’s fine, but he thinks he’s hurt, so you let out a quiet sigh and kneel next to him.

“Oh bud, that was a big fall,” you say empathetically, pulling off your gloves and taking his ‘injured’ hand between yours. “You did great though.”

“I did?” he asks tearfully, clearly wanting to have a huge meltdown but also wanting to hold it together to earn your praise.

“You did,” you confirm with a nod. “You know what I do when I hurt myself from falling? I take a big deep breath, and I shake the ouch out. Have you ever done that?”

He shakes his head no, eyes wide, and you smile at him, a little charmed by his chubby cheeks.

“Hey, isn’t that the chick you nearly took out on public the other day?” Eren nods to the ice as he throws his bag over his shoulder coming out of the locker room. “Is she a coach?”

Levi looks over and sees you kneeling down on the ice, holding the hands of a tot who must have taken a fall. He watches you shake out your hands, and the little boy imitates you. You throw your head back to laugh at the boy’s enthusiasm, quickly wiggling his whole body, and take his hand to pull him back to the other tots who have been watching curiously.

You lead them in a line that snakes around the designated area until you reach the door of the rink, making sure they all get off and into the waiting arms of their parents.

He catches your eye, thinking about how pretty you look when you aren’t flipping him off or cussing him out. You give him a hesitant smile before you’re pulled into a conversation with one of the parents.

Eren is looking at him, mouth open as he watches Levi watch you. “Uh, hello?”

Levi looks at him blandly. “Yeah, yeah. She must be a coach if she’s teaching Learn to Skate.”

Eren raises an eyebrow at him. “You look like you’re down bad. For a figure skating coach, of all people.”

“Fuck off, Yeager,” Levi says, pushing him into the wall as he heads for the doors.

[woozinhos]

heyyy congratulations on you 400 mark, deserved

i think you'd write this well so, id add to my previous ask +

joshua office sex, but a lil bit of power dynamics, like he's suited up and op's bare?

I decided to make Joshua our boss in this one with a bit of power dynamic hope you enjoy :D

You sit at your desk, trying to focus on your work as the tension in the air becomes almost unbearable. Joshua, your boss, sits across from you, his eyes fixed on you with a look of disapproval.

"You're behind on your work again," he says coldly, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

You can't help but wonder why he's sitting at his desk instead of in his office. It's not like him to be this close to you, especially when he's been in a bad mood all day. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he continues to scrutinize you.

"You're not paying attention," he snaps, his eyes narrowing. "Do I need to spell everything out for you?"

You flinch at his harsh tone, feeling a mix of irritation and anxiety.

"I'm trying to pay attention," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. "But it's hard when you're breathing down my neck like this."

Joshua raises an eyebrow at your comment, clearly not amused.

"You're getting mouthy," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't appreciate your attitude."

He stands up from his chair and walks over to your desk, towering over you as he looks down at you with a smirk. You feel your heartbeat quicken as he looms over you, his presence intimidating and domineering.

"I've had enough of your insolence," he growls, leaning in closer to you. "You need to learn your place."

He reaches out and grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"You're just a little employee," he says, his grip tightening as he speaks. "And I'm your boss. You do as I say, and you do it without question."

In a moment of anger and defiance, you slap his hand away from your face, glaring up at him.

"I'm not some puppet for you to control," you snap, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

Joshua's eyes flash with anger as you slap his hand away, and for a moment, you think he's going to hit you back. But instead, he grabs your wrists and pins them against the desk, leaning in close to your face.

"You just made a big mistake," he hisses, his face inches from yours.

"Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?" you retort, trying to keep your voice from wavering.

You can feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you struggle against his grip, your body pressed against the desk beneath him. Joshua smirks at your defiant words, his eyes gleaming with a mix of anger and excitement.

"You're really pushing my buttons, aren't you?" he says, his grip on your wrists tightening. "You have no idea what I'm capable of when I'm angry."

"I don't care," you spit out, your words laced with defiance. "You can't intimidate me into submission."

With a snarl, Joshua pulls you up from your chair and drags you into his office, slamming the door shut behind him.

He shoves you against the wall, pinning you there with his body as he towers over you. With a click, Joshua locks the door, ensuring that no one will interrupt them. He leans in close to you, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers in a low voice.

"You're all mine now, little one."

"And I'm going to make you pay for your insolence," he continues, his hands trailing down your body as he speaks.

He grabs your hips and pins you more firmly against the wall, his body pressed against yours as he looks down at you with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"You think you can just punish me whenever you feel like it?" you say, trying to sound defiant despite the heat pooling in your core.

Joshua chuckles darkly, his hands moving up to cup your face as he forces you to look at him.

"Oh, I know I can," he says, his voice low and commanding. "And you're going to take it like the good girl you are."

"Say it," he growls, his fingers digging into your skin. "Say 'stop' and I'll let you go."

He takes your silence as a challenge, and with a possessive growl, he crashes his lips against yours in a rough, demanding kiss. In your mind, you're screaming at yourself for kissing him back. It's crazy, it's wrong, but there's something about the way he dominates you that makes your body respond in ways you can't control.

As you kiss him back, your mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. You're angry at him, furious at his arrogance and his domineering behavior. But there's also a part of you that craves his touch, that revels in the way he makes you feel small and powerless.

His hands roam over your body, exploring every inch of you as he deepens the kiss, his tongue invading your mouth as he claims you as his own. You moan into the kiss, your body betraying your anger as it melts into his touch. He pulls back for a moment, a smirk on his face as he sees the desire in your eyes.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Despite your protests, you can't resist me."

"Shut up," you manage to gasp out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Despite your words, you can feel your body arching into his touch, craving more of his dominance and control.

With a rough movement, Joshua lifts you up into his arms and carries you over to his desk. He swipes everything off the surface in one swift motion, sending papers and pens scattering across the floor. He sets you down on the desk, positioning you so that you're sitting on the edge, facing him. As you grab onto his tie, pulling him closer to you, he grins, his eyes dark with desire.

"Oh, you're a feisty one, aren't you?" he says, his hands resting on your thighs as he stands between your legs.

"I hate you," you whisper, even as your body betrays you and presses closer to his.

Joshua laughs at your words, his hands tightening on your thighs as he leans in closer.

"I know you do," he says, his voice low and seductive. "But your body doesn't seem to agree."

He runs his hands up your thighs, his touch sending shivers through your body.

"Your body is practically begging for me," he continues, his fingers trailing higher and higher until they're teasing the edge of your panties.

"Do you want me to take you here, right now?" he asks, his voice rough with desire. "Right on my desk, where anyone could walk in and see us?"

"Yes," you say, the word tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop it.

You feel a mix of shame and excitement at the thought of being taken so publicly, so wantonly. A wicked grin spreads across Joshua's face as he hears your answer.

"Good girl," he says, his fingers tracing the outline of your panties. "You're learning to be honest with yourself, at least."

He leans in, his lips trailing down your neck as he whispers in your ear.

"I'm going to make you mine, right here and now. And you're going to beg for it."

With a swift motion, Joshua bends you over the desk, your chest pressed against the cool surface as he positions you exactly how he wants you. The sound of his belt buckle being undone sends a shiver down your spine, anticipation building within you. You can feel his hands on your hips, his touch rough and possessive as he pulls your panties down your legs.

"You're mine," he growls, his breath hot against your skin. "And I'm going to make sure you remember that."

You hear the sound of a condom wrapper being torn open, and a moment later, you feel him press against your entrance.

"You're going to take all of me," he says, his voice filled with raw need. "And you're going to scream my name."

Joshua takes his time, teasing you mercilessly as he rubs himself against you. He knows exactly how to make you desperate, how to push your limits until you're begging for him to take you.

"Please," you gasp out, your body aching with need. "Please, just take me already."

"Beg for it," he says, his voice firm. "Beg for me like a good girl, to take you, to make you mine."

"Please, Joshua," you whimper, your body trembling with desire. "I need you. I need you inside me. Please, take me. I'll do anything."

Joshua finally gives in to your pleas, sliding into you in one smooth motion. He groans as he feels your tightness around him, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he begins to move.

Joshua sets a brutal pace, his thrusts hard and fast as he claims you on his desk. He grunts with each movement, his hands leaving bruises on your hips as he pounds into you relentlessly. Yes, he's being deliberately loud, his moans and grunts echoing through the room as he makes sure everyone outside can hear what's happening.

He wants them to know that you're his, that he's claiming you right here and now. With each thrust, he hits that sweet spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. He leans over you, his chest pressed against your back as he whispers filthy words in your ear.

"You feel so good," he growls, his hot breath on your neck. "So tight and perfect around me. You were made for me."

Joshua's moans grow louder and more desperate, his body trembling with pleasure as he nears his release.

"I'm going to come," he grunts, his fingers digging into your hips as he drives into you harder and faster. "I'm going to fill you up and make you mine, forever."

With a final, powerful thrust, Joshua reaches his peak, his body tensing as he spills into the condom. He lets out a low groan, his face buried in your shoulder as he rides out the waves of pleasure. For a moment, he just holds you there, his body still pressed against yours as he catches his breath.

Then, he slowly pulls out of you, discarding the condom in a nearby trash can. As he straightens up, Joshua can see the unsatisfied look on your face. He smirks, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Looks like I still have some work to do," he says, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Joshua spins you around and lifts you up onto the desk, your legs spread wide for him.

He drops to his knees in front of you, his eyes dark with hunger as he takes in the sight of you.

"I'm going to make you cum so hard you forget your own name," he growls, before diving in between your legs.

His tongue laps at your sensitive flesh, tracing every inch of you with skillful precision.

He knows exactly what you like, exactly where to touch and how hard to press. He alternates between teasing your clit and plunging his tongue deep inside you, driving you closer and closer to the edge with each passing moment. As he works you closer to your climax, he slides a finger into you, curling it just right to hit that sweet spot.

He can feel your body trembling beneath him, your moans growing louder and more desperate as he brings you closer and closer to your release. Joshua adds another finger, scissoring them inside you as he continues to work your clit with his tongue. He can feel you getting close, your walls fluttering around his fingers as your body starts to tense up.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs against your skin. "Let go for me. I want to taste you."

He redoubles his efforts, his fingers pumping in and out of you relentlessly as he sucks hard on your clit.

Your body shudders and convulses as you finally reach your peak, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you come undone. Joshua doesn't stop, continuing to work you through your orgasm with his mouth and fingers until you're a trembling, boneless mess on his desk. As you come down from your high, Joshua slowly pulls back, licking his lips and grinning up at you.

"Delicious," he says, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

He stands up and hands you your pants, helping you to slide them back on as your legs are still a bit shaky.

"You okay, baby?" he asks, his tone softer now as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

You take a deep breath, still feeling dazed and floaty from your orgasm.

"Yeah," you manage to croak out, your voice hoarse. "I'm good."

"Good," Joshua says, a smirk on his face. "Now, get back to work. I have a lot of paperwork to do, and you're distracting me."

[voxofthevoid]

Merry Christmas Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #15 🎄

Writing was sparse this week, and the rest of the month is...uncertain. I'm currently on Chapter 19, and this fic is officially my longest JJK story at 137k and counting.

This chapter is a bit of an experiment. Part of it was intended to be a montage of sukuita and goyuu sex scenes flowing into each other, and I was going to write just a few lines for each—but then I realized that wouldn't work so well for what I wanted to show. It'd have made a good visual montage, but to get the right vibes with text, each scene is around 1k.

So this week, you get two of those—goyuu and sukuita both, for a change!

Yuuji grips what he can, squeezing tighter than he’d dare with any other body, but the deep rumble that trembles through Sukuna is only pleasure, and his monstrous cock shifts and resettles around Yuuji’s hand. His fingers are wrapped around the base, but there’s a hell of a lot of cock after that too—enough to form two full coils around his wrist. The black plates dig into Yuuji’s skin, threatening to bruise bone, but it’s the glowing bits in between that really hurt.

They burn, yielding like flesh but searing like embers.

Better his hand than his cock, which was what Sukuna was aiming for before Yuuji grabbed his fucked-up tentacle cock in unthinking defense, and now the consequence is slowly eating through the flesh of his dominant hand.

Yuuji’s almost too tired to really feel the hurt. Sukuna was even more violent than usual tonight. They fought, and it wasn’t even Yuuji who started it this time. He tried to give as good as he got, but it always ended the same way—Yuuji on his back, half submerged in blood or flattened on unforgiving marble, Sukuna looming above him like a monster made flesh, sex and pain and teeth and blood.

Freshly clawed skin bleeds freely at Yuuji’s back, and his limbs all feel like one great bruise. His cock is a spent ache between his legs, wrung dry more times than he managed to count. Distilled exhaustion has sunk into Yuuji, weighing him down from flesh to bone, and now there’s Sukuna weighing him down too, all six of his limbs folded into Yuuji’s lap.

He slumps forward, abandoning his hand to his fate, but it’s more of Sukuna that greets him. Yuuji finds himself pressing his forehead to the obscene swell of a massive chest. Even the skin there is too warm to be comfortable, but he can’t make himself pull away.

Fingers wind into his hair, shoving his face more firmly into Sukuna’s chest, and Yuuji will never know whether its protest or resignation that has him opening his mouth, but the end result is the same anyway—the pebbled flesh of a nipple in his mouth, pressing demandingly onto his tongue.

Yuuji flattens his tongue to it for lack of anything else to do, and Sukuna’s cock tries to burn Yuuji’s fingers off.

He bites.

Sukuna arches into it, his chest rumbling with another great noise and his cock pulsing like hellfire, and through it all, his hand holds Yuuji fast to his tit.

There’s a moment Yuuji considers biting through. It wouldn’t be much of a mouthful, but at least he’d feel good. Maybe.

Sukuna would grow it back though. The bastard would probably keep Yuuji like this the whole time too.

Yuuji tears his mouth away from the nipple, trying to ignore the noise Sukuna makes when Yuuji’s teeth scrape along its length, and it’s only more flesh than fills his mouth, but it’s a flat expanse of muscle this time, and when Yuuji bites down, his teeth part flesh from flesh.

He swallows dully, his lips and chin growing wet with blood.

Sukuna cuffs him upside the head. Yuuji’s teeth sink deeper into flesh on instinct.

Hot blood floods his mouth, all sweet rot.

Sukuna growls, the noise felt in Yuuji’s teeth and all along where they’re pressed so close together, but the cock writhing around Yuuji’s hand is more honest, even as it bruises and burns him. There’s a steady trickle of overheated precome down his skin, every drop an acid bite.

Yuuji swallows convulsively, every bloody mouthful strangely soothing. It warms him, and as it does, the pain feels lesser, distant.

Sukuna fists his hair again, and his other three hands dig sharp claws into Yuuji’s shoulders and back. “You’ve grown too presumptuous, brat. If you must suckle like a newborn waif, do it right.”

Yuuji’s dragged back to the nipple, a hot smear of lips and teeth and blood, and he does suck on it, swallowing the blood still coating his mouth with every swallow, and Sukuna moves against him, his cock a shuddering hurt around Yuuji’s hand and the rest of him an oppressive block of heat, and Yuuji sucks harder and harder and harder on his tit until his teeth sink through flesh and flesh blood wets his mouth.

Sukuna jolts, his cock threatening to shatter Yuuji’s wrist even as it drips it pleasure in blistering bursts.

“Filthy dog,” Sukuna curses, suspiciously breathless. “Always taking more than you’re owed.”

Yuuji opens his eyes, but it’s only blurred skin that greets him, broken up only by the bold black of Sukuna’s tattoos, and he closes them again, sucking harder, his tongue pressed to the intact nipple while his throat grows hot and ripe around every swallow, and the pain and the exhaustion all fade to the background, replaced by a full-body pulse that throbs in time with the cock wrapped around his hand.

Yuuji’s other hand is grabbed and yanked, from its death grip on Sukuna’s thigh to something rounder and meatier, and he barely needs the guidance to grope his way to the warm, wet space waiting for him, and Sukuna’s already gaping there, dripping Yuuji’s come and the viscous slick that isn’t just spit but isn’t really anything else either, and for a moment, Yuuji hesitates, a sliver of sense snaking through the heady heat in his body, but then something licks his fingers, and Yuuji chases it on instinct, his fingers sinking—

-

—into that straining hole, broken open all hot and tight around four whole fingers.

Satoru makes a throaty noise, gripping the pillow with a trembling hand. All of him is trembling, from the parted pink lips to the legs splayed around Yuuji.

Yuuji swallows, no less dazed. “Too…much?”

Satoru wheezes. It’s a laugh, inexplicably. “Yes.”

“I’ll take it out—”

“Don’t you dare,” Satoru says through gritted teeth. “I’ve taken your monster cock. You’re not gonna break me with your fingers.”

“Don’t call it that,” Yuuji whines, forcing down unwanted images of something too long and too bright and patently inhuman. “And this is—this is a lot, Satoru, you look—”

 Obscene, Yuuji doesn’t say. Open.

“Good?” Satoru offers instead, his lips curling into a smirk, which doesn’t tremble at all. “Sexy?”

“Y-yes,” Yuuji says in a breathless rush, and it’s not a lie, it’s just—

Yuuji’s narrowed his fingers as much as he can, and he’s poured so much lube on them that there’s a thick wet stain on Satoru’s nice, probably expensive sheets, but it still feels like he’s tearing this man to make room for something that doesn’t even need to be in there. This is unnecessary, right? He doesn’t need this; Yuuji knows he doesn’t need this.

But Satoru told him to open him up properly for once, as if Yuuji was the one who kept making him take his dick without anything more than lube—and sometimes not even that, reminds the blood-hot memory of Satoru jolting around the tip of his cock and sliding down—to ease the way, and Yuuji obeyed anyway, warm all over and eager to touch this man like this too, to feel him tight and clenching around his fingers, and it was Satoru who kept asking for more, more, more, well before Yuuji was done marveling at the stretch of his body around one, two, three fingers, and now he’s half a hand deep, and Satoru’s panting up at him like he’ll swallow the rest too.

Yuuji’s whole fist grows warm in dirty anticipation.

No, he tells himself. That’s not what Satoru asked for anyway, and Yuuji’s own aching cock is already feeling more neglected than it has any right to.

“Come on, don’t just keep them there,” Satoru demands, a serrated edge to his voice. “Move.”

Yuuji’s hand obeys on instinct, pressing all four fingers in deep until that little hole vanishes under the spread of his fingers, except he can feel it, the stretched-out rim and the pulsing muscles inside, and when he pulls them out, almost as slow and careful as he was when he worked the fourth one in, it’s like Satoru’s flesh tries to suck him back in, every tight clench coaxing Yuuji’s fingers deeper.

He keeps sliding them out, until the little finger slips free and the tips of the rest are tucked just inside the rim.

Satoru’s rim flutters wetly, its pink brighter and maybe a little bruised.

Yuuji’s mouth waters, and when he swallows, the noise seems to echo in the room like a gunshot.

Satoru makes a low noise. “Not yet, sweetheart.”

The endearment buzzes through Yuuji the way it does every time, sweetening the heat in his body. It drips warm down his face, his throat, and for a moment, meeting Satoru’s eyes feels more bitingly intimate than staring at the gape of his hole around too many of Yuuji’s fingers.

Satoru’s smiling—radiant, from the luminous blue of his eyes to the candy pink of his cheeks.

“Not yet?” Yuuji manages to ask, pulling his scattered thoughts together.

“You want to eat me out, don’t you?” Satoru asks, except he answers it the next second, “You do. I know that look. But I want your cock first. You’ll give me that, won’t you, Yuuji?”

“Satoru,” Yuuji whimpers.

“You will,” Satoru purrs. “You’re a very good boy.”

Yuuji’s fingers drive deep into that slick heat with barely any conscious thought, and Satoru’s lips flinch into a bare-toothed snarl, soundless but violent, and his legs try to close around Yuuji, but they can’t, and Satoru doesn’t even want them to, Yuuji knows, but god, there’s just something about the way his thighs tense and hips lift, mindless protests that leave him hovering in the air, still caught on Yuuji’s fingers, and Yuuji can’t not fuck him like that, drilling his fingers into that burning, rippling heat, and Satoru hips rise even higher, his shoulders and feet digging viciously into the mattress, but that just leaves him fucking himself on Yuuji’s fingers—on half his hand.

Wet, squelching noises skewer the air and Yuuji’s gut, dripping down his hand to bolt to his cock, and when he yanks his fingers out, less kind than he’d like to be, Satoru makes a gutted noise and collapses, his ass slamming back into the pillows keeping his hips raised just right.

Yuuji runs soothing hands up the insides of those taut thighs, except they feel more greedy than gentle, and Satoru’s peering at him with liquid eyes like he knows every filthy thought in Yuuji’s head.

And he still bites his lip and spreads his legs, a silent invitation no less demanding than his words earlier, and Yuuji answers, fumbling and frantic, his hands slick around his cock while he guides it into that hot clutch—

-

—which sucks him right in and licks him up too, as Sukuna’s muscles split around what feels like a dozen greedy tongues.

[gingermintpepper]

As usual I read your tags always and so you said Apollo did not ask for resurrection of Asclepius and Hyacinthus so i just wanted to share this. About Asclepius death I read it on theoi.com, that earlier authors don't make him resurrect as a god but that's a later development mentioned only by Roman authors like Cicero, Hyginus and Ovid. But still Apollo has a role in Ovid's version

Ovid, Fasti 6. 735 ff (trans.Boyle) (Roman poetry C1st B.C. to C1st A.D.) : Clymenus [Haides] and Clotho resent the threads of life respun and death's royal rights diminished. Jove [Zeus] feared the precedent and aimed his thunderbolt at the man who employed excessive art. Phoebus [Apollon], you whined. He is a god; smile at your father, who, for your sake, undoes his prohibitions [i.e. when he obtains immortality for Asklepios].

So here it is actually because of Apollo the decision was taken to resurrect him as god. And with Hyacinthus, I don't think I've read about Artemis playing the primary role. I know in Sparta there was a picture of Artemis, Athena and Aphrodite carrying Hyacinthus and his sister to heaven.

This is not on theoi.com but I saw on Tumblr it's from Dionysiaca by Nonnus

Second, my lord Oiagros wove a winding lay, as the father of Orpheus who has the Muse his boon companion. Only a couple of verses he sang, a ditty of Phoibos, clearspoken in few words after some Amyclaian style: Apollo brought to life again his longhaired Hyacinthos: Staphylos will be made to live for aye by Dionysos.

So since he is singing inspired by amyclean stories it probably means in that place it was believed Apollo was the one to bring back his lover to life.

Apollo as god of order was very important so i think it shows how special these people (and admetus too) were to him that he decided to go against the order for them 🥺

ANON!! Shakes you like a bottle of ramune!! BELOVED ANON!!!!! I'm littering your face with kisses, I'm anointing you with olive oil and honey - you absolutely made my night with this because, not only did I get the pure serotonin shot of having someone interact with my tags (yippee, wahoo!!) I also got to have that wonderful feeling of "oh wow, have I misunderstood something that was integral to my understanding of this myth/figure this whole time or is this a case of interpretational differences?" which is imo vital for my aims and interests as someone who enjoys mythological content and literature.

I'll preface my response with this: Hyacinthus is by far the hardest of these to get accounts for because his revival itself, as you very astutely point out, is generally accounted for in painting/ritual format which muddies the waters on who interceded for what. I wasn't actually familiar with that passage from the Argonautica - and certainly didn't remember it so thank you very much for bringing it to my attention!

That said, what I've come to understand, both about Hyacinthus and about Asclepius is that in the accounts of their deaths, Apollo's position is startlingly clear.

For Hyacinthus, it is established time and again that Apollo would have sacrificed everything for him - his status, his power, his very own immortality and divinity. Ovid writes that Apollo would have installed him as a god if only he had the time:

(Ovid. Metamorphoses. Book X. trans. Johnston)

Many other writers too speak of how Apollo abandoned his lyre and his seat at Delphi to spend his days with Hyacinthus, but they also all agree that when it came to his death - he was powerless. Ovid gives that graphic account of Apollo's desperation as he tries all his healing arts to save him to no avail:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book X. Apollo me boy, methinks him dead. trans Johnston)

Bion, in one of his fragments, writes that Apollo was "dumb" upon seeing Hyacinthus' agony:

(Bion, The Bucolic Poets. Fragment XI. trans Edmonds)

Even Nonnus in the Dionysiaca speaks constantly of Apollo's helplessness in the face of Hyacinthus' fate where he writes that the god still shivers if a westward wind blows upon an iris:

and when Zephyros breathed through the flowery garden, Apollo turned a quick eye upon his young darling, his yearning never satisfied; if he saw the plant beaten by the breezes, he remembered the quoit, and trembled for fear the wind, so jealous once about the boy, might hate him even in a leaf...

(Nonnus, Dionysiaca, Book 3. trans Rouse)

And the point here is just that - Apollo, at least as far as I've read, cannot avert someone's death. He simply can't. Once they're already dead - once Fate has cut their string - all Apollo's power is gone and he can do nothing no matter how much he wants to. And this is, as far as I know, supported with the accounts of Asclepius as well!

Since you specifically brought up Ovid's account, I'll also stick only to Ovid's account but in Metamorphoses when we get Ovid's version of Coronis' demise, he writes that Apollo intensely and immediately regrets slaughtering Coronis. He regrets it so intensely that he, like he does with Hyacinthus, does his best to resuscitate her:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo's regret)

And like Hyacinthus, when it becomes clear that what has happened cannot be undone, Apollo wails:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo wept.)

Unlike his mother, Asclepius in her womb had not yet died and so, with the last of Apollo's strength, he does manage, at least, to save him.

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo puts the 'tearing out' in Asclepius.)

But it goes further than even that because Ocyrhoe, Chiron's daughter, a prophetess who unduly gained the ability to directly proclaim the secrets of the Fates, upon seeing the baby Asclepius, immediately prophesies his glory, his inevitable death and then his fated ascension:

(Ovid. Metamorphoses, Book Two. Ocyrhoe's prophecy. trans Johnston)

Before she too succumbs to her hubris and is transformed by the Fates into a horse so she can no longer speak secrets that aren't hers to share.

These things ultimately are important because it establishes two very important things: 1) Apollo can't do anything in the face of the ultimate Fate of mortals, which is, of course, death and 2) even when Apollo is Actively Devastated, regretful, yearning, mournful, guilty or some unholy combination of all of the above, when someone is dead, he accepts that they are gone. Even if he is devastated by it, even if he'll cry all the rest of his days about it - if they're dead? Apollo lets them go. In Fasti, when Zeus brings Asclepius back, he does not say Apollo asked him to - Zeus, or well, in this case Jove, brings Asclepius back because he wants Apollo to stop being mad at him.

(Ovid, Fasti VI. Apollo please come home your father misses you. trans. A.S Kline)

Even Boyle's translation which you used above in your findings hints that Zeus made Asclepius a god because he wanted Apollo to stop grieving. (i.e 'smile at your father', 'for your sake [he] undoes his prohibitions')

And like, Apollo was deeply upset by Asclepius' death - apart from killing the Cyclops in anger, in book 4 of the Argonautica, Apollonius writes that the Celts believe the stream of Eridanus to be the tears Apollo shed over the death of Asclepius when he left for Hyperborea after being chastised by Zeus for killing his Cyclops:

But the Celts have attached this story to them, that these are the tears of Leto's son, Apollo, that are borne along by the eddies, the countless tears that he shed aforetime when he came to the sacred race of the Hyperboreans and left shining heaven at the chiding of his father, being in wrath concerning his son whom divine Coronis bare in bright Lacereia at the mouth of Amyrus.

It all paints a very clear picture to me. Apollo did not ask for either of them to be brought back. Though bringing them back certainly pleased and delighted him, they are actions of other gods who are moved by Apollo's grief and mourning and seek to mollify him. Him not asking doesn't mean he didn't want them back which I think is a very important distinction by the by, but it simply means that Apollo knows the natural order of things and, even if it hurts, he isn't going to press his luck about it.

Which, of course, brings us to Admetus. And I'm really not going to overcomplicate this, Admetus is different because, very vitally, Admetus is not dead. Apollo can't do a thing once Fate has been carried out and Death has claimed a mortal but you know what he absolutely can do? Bargain like hell with the Fates before that point of inevitability. And that's what he does, ultimately for Admetus and Alcestis. He sought to prolong Admetus' life, not revive him from death or absolve him from death altogether and even after getting the Fates drunk, he's still only able to organise a sacrifice - a life for a life - something completely contingent on whether some other mortal would be willing to die in Admetus' place and not at all controllable by Apollo's own power.

All of these things, I think come back to that point you made - that Apollo's place as a god of order is very important and therefore these people are very special to him if it means he's willing to go against that order but, I also wish to challenge that opinion if you'd let me. Apollo's place as a god of order is very important and therefore, I would argue, that it is even more important that it is shown that he does not break the divine order, especially for the people that mean the most to him. The original context of my comments which started this conversation were on this lovely, lovely post by @hyacinthusmemorial which contemplated upon Asclepius from the perspective of an Emergency Medical personnel and included, in their tags, the very poignant lines "there's something about Apollo letting go when Asclepius couldn't that eats my heart away" and "you do what you can, you do your best, but you don't ever reach too far" and I think that's perfectly embodied with the Apollo-Asclepius dichotomy. Apollo grieves. He wails, he cries, he does his best each and every time to save that which is precious to him but he does not curse their nature, he does not resent that they are human and ultimately, he accepts that that which is mortal must inevitably die. There is nothing that so saliently proves that those who uphold rules are also their most staunch followers - if Apollo wants to delight in his place as Fate's mouthpiece, he cannot undo Fate. And, if even the god of healing and order himself cannot undo death, what right does Asclepius, mortal as he is, talented as he is, have to disrespect it?

The beauty of these stories isn't that Apollo loved them enough to bring them back. The beauty is that Apollo loved them enough to let them go.

[anonomi]

of the The Tirek Who Tolerated Me. Tell me why the fic where Spy literally sings a villain song while fighting a horse (and horribly losing) almost made me cry due to the relationship between a dashing, globe-trotting assassin and an evil pink little horse... literally literature

[hephaestuscrew]

“This has both our names on it”: Viewing Fleet and Clara’s relationship in Victoriocity through a queerplatonic lens

TL;DR: By Season 3 of Victoriocity, Fleet and Clara have developed a committed emotional partnership that certainly moves beyond the purely professional. Whilst very much operating as a duo, they can be interpreted as often rejecting or subverting romance-coded elements in their relationship, instead embracing a unique dynamic that can be read as resonating with the concept of a queerplatonic relationship (QPR).

Buckle up because this is over 2,500 words long! If you'd rather read it as a document, you can access it here: Fleet & Clara QPR Google Doc

Disclaimer: I'm not making any claims about creator intent, nor about how anyone else ought to interpret Fleet and Clara's dynamic. It's also worth acknowledging that queerplatonic relationships are inherently defined by the people in them and any attempt to apply such terminology to a story set in 1887 is obviously anachronistic (although whether that should matter when said story also contains a cyborg Queen Victoria is up for debate). 

With that said, if we define a QPR as a committed personal partnership which is not entirely captured by the typical expectations of either friendship or romance but may contain some elements typically associated with either (other definitions of QPRs are available), I enjoy viewing Fleet and Clara's relationship through a QPR lens, and I want to talk about some of the reasons why I think this reading works.

***Spoilers for all three seasons of Victoriocity and the novel High Vaultage***

Detective duos

Even before we actually get into Fleet and Clara's particular bond, detective / crime-solving duos as a general concept have QPR energy to me (which probably predisposed me to this interpretation). It's the Holmes-and-Watson legacy. It's the use of the word 'partner' in a non-romantic context (‘associate’ or ‘companion’ can also serve a similar purpose). It's the intense trust and reliance on each other. It's the sense of being a recognisable pair, always appearing together, known as a duo, with skills and attributes that complement each other. 

Romantic assumptions

Moving on to Fleet and Clara specifically, one aspect of their relationship that can be read through a QPR lens is how they are often in situations where other people believe or imply that there is a romantic relationship between them. Sometimes this is a deliberate strategy of theirs, and sometimes it’s imposed upon them by others. But I’d argue that there’s never a point where they both simultaneously seem entirely comfortable with that romantic narrative for their relationship. Usually one of them will actively deny the assumption or react negatively to the implication:

When Mrs Hampshire interprets Clara and Fleet as a couple experiencing “young love”, Clara might be happy to adopt this as an effective cover story, but Fleet seems unsettled and keen for them not to be perceived this way: “No. No. You’ve misunderstood, we are not, that is to say I am…” (S1E2)

When Warden Hughes assumes Fleet is the new Warden and Clara is the new Warden’s wife, Clara says “I am certainly not”, with emphasis on the ‘certainly’. (S2E2)

Fleet definitely doesn’t sound enthused when he realises Clara has gone for a married couple as their cover story at the Grand Salcombe: “I am sure I’ll regret asking, but by any chance am I [Mr. Theasby?]” (S2E2)

When Titus Byrne tells the pair “I take it you're happy sharing [a room]”, Clara responds with a horrified “What?” (S3E4) (Obviously sleeping in the same room isn’t inherently romantic, but it is often perceived that way.)

Of course, fake dating and external assumptions of romance are very common tropes in romantic will-they-won't-they dynamics, and these moments could definitely be interpreted that way for Fleet and Clara. But I prefer to read these instances as reflecting a different kind of closeness between these two characters. They have a sense of emotional partnership that allows a marriage cover story to seem plausible to others and that other people sometimes automatically assume to be romantic (obviously with some period-typical heteronormativity at play). But to me, it doesn't seem like either of them are fully comfortable with their relationship being perceived in a directly romantic way. Perhaps they are a couple in a different sense…

Proposal via door plate 

The way that Fleet asks Clara to be his business partner has always seemed to me like a platonic version of when people find personal ways to surprise their romantic partner with a proposal:

CLARA: You bought me a door plate for your office? [...] This has both our names on it. FLEET: What do you think? CLARA: I like it. (S2E7)

Fleet could have just asked Clara outright, without going to the trouble of buying a sign that would have been useless if she’d said no. If it was purely a professional business proposition with no emotional meaning behind it, I think he would have just asked verbally. But instead, he gifts her a sign with their two names paired together: Fleet-Entwhistle Investigations. There's something so intimate about that to me: about Fleet asking Clara whether she would like to be a duo with him in a more formally-defined but still non-romantic way; about him choosing to present this offer in the form of a gift; about the way he presents her with their two names joined together etched into metal and asks what she thinks; about the significance that this gesture attaches to their partnership; about him having enough trust that she'll say yes that the effort and vulnerability of presenting her with that sign seem worth it for him. And the gesture means an awful lot to Clara:

She thought about the door plaque he’d had engraved with both their names on it as his way of inviting her to be his business partner – typical Fleet, refusing to tell her so much as his favourite breakfast food and then to go and do something like that. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her. (High Vaultage, p187). 

Anniversaries

In the special episode ‘Murder in the Pharaoh's Tomb', Clara says “And you know what else is a big occasion Fleet? It's our one-month anniversary.” She wants to celebrate the anniversary of Fleet-Entwhistle Investigations. Their partnership holds a significance for her that means key dates associated with it are worth remembering and remarking upon. 

When Clara first mentions their anniversary, Fleet nearly chokes on his drink, which seems like an instinctive reaction to the usually romantic connotations of an anniversary (see my point above about Fleet not being comfortable with their dynamic being perceived as romantic). But when Clara clarifies what she means, Fleet seems much more cheerful about the notion of their anniversary: “Ah, so it has.”

“Miss Clara Entwhistle, my partner”

I get extremely strong QPR vibes from this moment, when Fleet introduces Clara to the sailors at Grave End:

FLEET: This is Miss Clara Entwhistle, my partner - in business, my business partner. CLARA: I'm also his friend, but he doesn't like to say it. (S3 E3)

Fleet and Clara are partners, but not in the way the average person might assume from that word, which Fleet realises mid-sentence here. This is another instance of Fleet reacting negatively to the idea that their relationship might be interpreted romantically (see above). And yet, 'partner' (rather than, say, ‘colleague’) is the word that comes naturally to him in this moment to describe who Clara is to him. He then frantically emphasises the professional element of their relationship so as to avoid the romantic implication, but Clara is keen to proudly assert that there is a personal, emotional aspect to their dynamic too. They are first-and-foremost partners, and they are friends, and they do not want to be seen in a romantic light - this post basically writes itself... 

“Her ridiculous detective.”

When Clara fears for her life at the display of the Lanterns, the narration tells us:

“she thought of her brother, her sister, her parents... Her ridiculous detective.” (High Vaultage, p172) 

The fact that Clara thinks of Fleet in this moment of fear clearly indicates his importance to her, but I think the phrasing of this quote is particularly interesting. The narration lists Clara's immediate family: two of whom are dead (her sister and father), one of whom is publically mourning Clara's life choices (her mother), and only one of whom we have any real evidence of her having a positive relationship with (her brother). And then, separated from these complicated familial relationships by an ellipsis, the narration tells Clara also thinks of Fleet, “her ridiculous detective”. 

Parents and siblings are familial relationships that tend to come with established expectations, in which the use of a possessive pronoun (i.e. her brother) to indicate the relationship is a norm. ‘Detective’ does not fall into this category; unlike ‘brother’, ‘sister’, ‘parent’, ‘friend’, ‘partner’ etc., ‘detective’ is not a word that inherently implies a relationship or that we'd usually expect to see preceded by a possessive pronoun. The idea of ‘her detective’ therefore stands out, giving the sense that there is a unique relationship being indicated here. The way in which Fleet is ‘hers’ is something that Clara has chosen for herself, something that they have shaped together. Who they are to each other can't necessarily be fully expressed using standard phrases that traditionally describe relationships between people. But Fleet is Clara's detective, of which she only has one, and who she'll think of in the midst of “the screaming of the heavens at the end of the world”.

Fleet is also the only one in this list of Clara's loved ones who gets an adjective - her love for him has detail. And while “ridiculous” might often be perceived as negative (it's certainly not a classic romantic endearment), it seems to me like there's such fondness in it in this context: the recognition of and affection for eccentricities, the idea that his importance to her is not (purely) based on his professional strengths but on Fleet as a whole - perhaps at times ridiculous - person.

“Settled”

When Clara and Fleet talk about Clara's mother’s expectations for her, they have this exchange:

"She's still living in hope that one day I'll settle down."  "You're not settled?" asked Fleet. "I am." (High Vaultage, p259) 

By ‘settle down’, Clara's mother of course means ‘marry’, ideally into “at least a minor baronetcy”. But Clara already considers herself "settled", just not in a way her mother would understand or appreciate. She's not looking to "settle down" into a lifestyle other than her current one. She is settled in a situation where Fleet is certainly her closest personal connection in London (and perhaps anywhere), and where the two of them work closely together, operate as a duo, and then go back to their separate homes. And this partnership with Fleet is a comfortable set-up that feels right for Clara exactly as it is, rather than being a precursor to, or a distraction from, the marriage ambitions that her mother wants for her.

I think this exchange also contains an implicit sense of the commitment between the two of them. Fleet wants to check that Clara is ‘settled’ in her current situation, of which working closely - and platonically - with Fleet is obviously a major element; Clara confirms she is. There's a subtle indication of their shared intention to be in this for the long haul.

As a sidenote, Fleet and Clara’s implicit assumption that their partnership is a long-term one can manifest itself in joking contexts as well as serious ones. Look at this exchange from S3E5: 

FLEET: We're not bandits, we're just going to flag it down. CLARA: We'd be terrific bandits! FLEET: Let's just see how our current line of work goes.

I think it’s notable that, in this joking speculation, both Fleet and Clara use ‘we’ and ‘our’. The joke could have been phrased just as effectively if they were imagining only Clara becoming a bandit. But the suggestion is that, if either of them was a bandit, they’d be bandits together. Even if they changed their lives entirely, they'd still approach life together.

Inseparable 

Fleet and Clara have become a nearly inseparable duo in a way which is noticed by others. For example, after Clara and Fleet fall out in High Vaultage, Fleet meets with Keller, who says: 

"You're here with me instead of barrelling across town with her, so I'm just assuming there is some thickheaded puffinry for which you need to apologise to Miss Entwhistle" (p335)

Keller, hardly the most emotionally perceptive man in Even Greater London, automatically infers from the fact that Fleet is on his own that he has had a falling out with Clara, rather than that they just happen to be in different places. When all is well, Keller expects to see the two of them together, whether or not they are in a position to be actively working a case.

Going back earlier in their partnership, Keller makes a similar assumption about Fleet and Clara being inseparable in S2E6. When Clara shouts her name amidst Keller's anti-Vidoc booby traps, Keller asks "Entwhistle? Which means… Fleet?" Again, there's this idea that if one of them is there, the other is likely to be there too - they come as a pair. (It's worth noting that this scene takes place less than two weeks after they first met.)

“Like a friend might?”

At the end of S3E7, Fleet suggests that he and Clara go to the theatre together. It would have been easy for this invitation to have been explicitly framed as a romantic proposition, or even for the nature of the offer to have been left more ambiguous. But Clara says "Archibald Fleet, are you inviting me to a social activity? Like a friend might?" The use of the word 'friend' directly labels this as a platonic interaction. And it's with that platonic lens on it that Clara is extremely excited to spend non-work-related social time with Fleet.

“Maybe it'll just be my good luck charm.”

CLARA: My grandmother's ring, I don't suppose you managed to hold on to it? [...] FLEET: Oh, it's been crushed.. I'm sorry Clara [...] CLARA: No, you keep it. FLEET: What? No... CLARA: Keep it. Maybe it'll remind you not to run towards trains. FLEET: Maybe. Maybe it'll just be my good luck charm.

In S3E7, Clara gives Fleet a ring, which - as a gift from one person to another - is traditionally a symbol of a particular, legally recognised, kind of personal commitment. But when Clara tells Fleet to keep the damaged ring, down in the Underground tunnels after the destruction of the beast and Fleet's latest brush with death, it is quite a different situation to a wedding or a proposal. A married man would traditionally wear his wedding ring on his finger for all to see, but Fleet won't ever wear this ring like that. The ring itself has been bent into a different shape between the wheels of their misadventures, subverting the usual associations of a ring given from one person to another. (In a heteronormative world, those associations are particularly strong when the two people in question are a woman and a man.) 

That ring is not an engagement ring, but it is Clara’s grandmother's ring, an inheritance from the blood family she never really felt she belonged in, now given to the man who might be a very different kind of family for her in London. That ring - with which Clara saved Fleet's life - is a symbol of their bond. And it therefore serves as a reminder for Fleet “not to run towards trains" and as a “good luck charm”. I like to think he'll carry that ring with him, perhaps in his jacket pocket - a little piece of his partner, kept close to his ticking heart…

Thank you for reading all of this!

If you’ve read all of this, I'm assuming you also enjoy the concept of Fleet and Clara as a QPR (unless you're really a glutton for punishment) and that makes me very happy! This was long because there's so much to say about them… And I wrote all of the above without even getting into: the potential to headcanon Fleet and/or Clara as aspec (which I don't think is necessary for QPR headcanons, but which is also fun); Clara's baggage around and discomfort with marriage in general; the speed with which Fleet and Clara become a ride-or-die duo; and the many other demonstrations of care, understanding, trust, respect, and affection between them that didn't feel as directly QPR-coded to me but are nonetheless wonderful. Please do feel free to share your own thoughts!

[i-wiggle-i-squirm-bc-i-am-a-worm]

Unnecessary discussion about Chat Noir and the Drums

There’s something I love so much about Chat playing the drums in Horrificator. This is something that’s been on my mind since I was 13, so hold on here.

First, obviously, Adrien also plays the piano - which obviously still has a lot of meaning!! - I’m not here to diss on the piano, there’s a lot of freedom of expression in every instrument type and music expression in general, but there’s a reason why some people are more inclined to different instruments, and I think there’s a lot more to it than just sound, but feeling as well. The role you play. How it feels to play it alone vs. playing it with others, if it’s typically something that you can play alone vs. in a group.

So first, the piano, and how I think it relates to Adrien’s character, plus how it relates to those points.

The piano, let’s be real, is something that a lot of us were forced to take lessons for at some point. It’s something that has ties to high society (there’s a HUGE discussion and so much more to say about that, but let’s not go there) and honestly?? I think it works pretty well with symbolizing the obsession with perfection that Gabriel shoves onto him. I’ve known many piano players, and while some genuinely loved playing it, it was always easier to somehow stumble onto someone with a deep hatred for it after being forced into lessons. Whenever I asked them why they hated it, I got almost the same answer every time: “I need to be perfect.” (Along with people saying that they were forced to lol)

Then there’s the role you play. You can play with people in a band, an orchestra, as an accompanist, a duet, at a bar with a bunch of people singing - whatever - music has many forms, and many different connections. But the piano is something you can play solo, no need for anyone else. It isn’t what you can do with other people that I’m focusing on for this, it’s the fact that you don’t need anyone. You can play alone, and it’ll still be fine. You can be alone, and you’re still fine - perfect even - which is something that Gabriel shoves down his throat, resistant to him playing with his friends by touching on this ideology.

Which is a glimpse into how he sees Adrien, and how Adrien experiences life. He can be alone, in fact he’s more perfect when he’s alone. And when other people are added, the attention to his perfection is taken away bit by bit, until he’s not good enough. He has to play solo in concert halls, on stage for everyone to watch, not in the back of a bar, playing with his friends.

Alright, so now we move to Chat Noir and the drums. The main play of this fake essay. 

It would be so easy to just ignore everything and just go “haha, he’s the energetic one, so ofc Ladybug gave him the drums! And they’re an easy instrument to play, etc.” but that’s far from the truth.

Ok, so I’m not a drum player or percussionist in any way, but I am a bass player, and genuinely love the drums so much because they’re incredibly important, and here’s my cheesy analogy: the drums are the heart of the band, keeping everyone on beat, it’s what you feel at the centre of it all. The band is nothing without the drums, without the percussion (The bass is what connects the band to the beat of the drums, kinda like the blood vessels, but sadly this ain’t about bass).  Like do you know how easy it is for a band to fall apart if they don’t have a drummer??? You need a drummer. You literally can’t survive without a drummer, because even if you manage to work together, use the bass as a backing, whatever you try, there’s still not much of a heart left.

But besides that, do you know how hard it is to play the drums??? You can’t just throw someone crazy, or energetic there just because “crazy drummers lol” you need someone who listens. Who can set the beat. Someone you can rely on, because they are the person in control, even if they aren’t as flashy as the guitar player. Reliable is the word that comes to mind. The drums can make or break a band.

And wanna know who that reminds me of?

Yeah. I highly doubt that the writers put this much thought into a random five second scene in an episode of season one, but it fits with Chat Noir SO well. 

Unlike the piano, the drums are almost solely played in a group setting - you need other people, and other people need you - he needs other people in his life, his friends are needed, but they also need him. Ladybug needs him, along with all the other heroes in Paris, whether he sees it or not. He seems to get in a state of thinking he’s not needed, but i do really think he’s the emotional glue that keeps the team connected, the heart that keeps them beating. If he’s isolated, he can’t quite reach his full potential that he can when he’s allowed to be around others, just like they can’t reach their own without him.

But on top of that, I think the stereotypes of the drums actually works in his favour for the next part. 

Breaking free from his dad, and being his own person, letting that fame go and embracing what he wants... well, to some that would look stupid. 

Relating it to music, the piano is flashy, you can play it solo, it sounds impressive, looks impressive, and people won’t think you’re just hitting pots and pans in the garage when you say you play it. But the drums are underestimated, a lot of people think you don’t need much practice, that they’re just the guys who sit at the back of the stage, not doing much, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Just like Adrien finally being who he wants wouldn’t be stupid, it could never be stupid, but there’s a stigma. But letting go of his flashy, solo life, and being the heart of his friend group is something that I think makes him truly happy as Chat Noir, and hopefully he gets to be like that as Adrien too.

Like Plagg said, Chat Noir and Adrien are both the real him, and I think the drums capture that perfectly. The heart and freedom, the meticulousness (rather than perfection) and steadiness, those are good qualities of a drummer.

I dunno, I just think it fits.

(sdfghjklkjhgf again I should state that acoustic versions of songs exist, and you can play songs without a drum and it sounds fantastic, but I’m not going into that today. Just talking generalization, and playing in a group setting). 

[silusvesuius]

my nelvas and moraak thought crumblets

[melancholic-pigeon]

Okay this is the *actual* last comment, for real, but I just found out Spider is now smearing me as a convert and accusing me of being involved with drama I was not involved with because he mistakenly attributed my apologies for his public temper tantrum as being about something unrelated.

THIS IS A FALSE ACCUSATION and I do not appreciate having yet another bit of fake malicious intent falsely ascribed to my actions and* attributing a completely unrelated attack to me.

Also, it's very sad and disappointing whenever a Jew gets mad at a convert because something else is going on in the Jew's life and the convert happens to be in the splash zone and the Jew falls over backwards to smear the convert and invalidate her faith.

Just....the childish aggression is making me so, so sad and disappointed, from someone I used to think very highly of, who is now lying about me and publicly smearing me with false accusations based on a conflict he started because he misinterpreted something I said and I went out of my way to give him the benefit of the doubt when trying to clear up the mistake HE MADE that led him to decide bullying and attacking me for three fucking days was appropriate and okay and that I'm the bad guy for saying it's wildly unprofessional to behave like this in public to a former customer face.

Sorry, but facts, reality, linear time and the truth of what I actually said and did are on my side here, and I will not stand for being smeared and attacked and shat all over because I had the gall to try to kindly resolve his uncalled for, unjustified temper tantrum.

I am also not sorry that I left a side note in the tags that it was also unacceptable for HIM to drag his daughter into a stupid internet slapfight based on his own reading comprehension failure. Because it was and is unacceptable, and she needs to hear that message from someone.

End of story. Keep digging that hole as long as you like, Spider. It's not helping your case and is continuing to make you look progressively worse and more unreasonable, and the only person you have to blame is yourself.

*revised for clarity

[mantisgodsdomain]

We ought to write more Pokemon fic some time. We want to recreate the Pokemon Manners/Human Manners cheat sheet that we made a few years ago we think that this site would like the Sliding Scale Of Politeness When Greeting A New Pokemon You've Never Met Before.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Developing story ideas involves going through this process.

"Let's put all these interesting pieces together like a nice jigsaw puzzle and create a sensible story structure."

"Oh, don't forget, stories get their power from emotion, make sure to put the emotions in there."

[several daydreams later]

"That is TOO MANY EMOTIONS! PUT SOME BACK!"

(My brain has two modes: Analysis and Melodrama. There is no in-between).

[shivunin]

Songfic Tag Game

Rules: Pick a song to accompany each of your fics or as many as you like. This might be the fic's inspiration or just pure vibes that you'd like to share with readers. Tag as many people as fics you feature (or do as you please!)

Thank you for the tag @greypetrel!! You know I'm a sucker for anything music-related 💗

Lol well I sure have more fics than I remember, so I'll do them until I'm ready to go back to writing/editing the oc kiss things c:

Tagging back @idolsgf @nightwardenminthara @inquisimer @dreadfutures @bitchesofostwick @vakarians-babe @jtownnn @ndostairlyrium @dungeons-and-dragon-age @star--nymph @zenstrike

Your Fate For Mine: (Elowen decides to sacrifice herself instead of allowing Hawke or Stroud die in the Fade; her friends try to find and bring her back) Anywhere On This Road by Lhasa De Sela

Wander the Drifting Roads: (After a horrible accident, Emmaera loses her Commander and lover in one stroke of a knife. Separated, the two of them must relearn who they are and where their paths lead) Mausoleum by Rafferty or Remember Us by Gabriel Royal or Flowers from Hadestown

Between Strokes of Night: (Hawke and Fenris's first night after deciding to be together again) Awake at Night by half alive

Saccharine: (Arianwen gives in to emotion for the first time in her life and takes Zevran to bed) Saccharine by Jazmin Bean or Kiss Me You Animal by Burn the Ballroom

To the Bone: (Soulmate AU! The last person Salshira intends to seek out is the one on the other side of the flame brand at her jaw. Love is, after all, one of the most dangerous things a person can do. Luck--or fate--drags her to the Inquisition anyway) Die Young by Sylvan Esso or All I've Ever Known from Hadestown

Scattered Stars: (Fenhawke anthology fic--this is where all my Tumblr fics go when they've been edited and expanded upon c:) Right on Time by Brandi Carlile or Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac

Palimpsest: (Fenris's perspective of the events leading up to the romance scene in Act II) That Unwanted Animal by The Amazing Devil or Peregrine by Mako

Tempered: (The Inquisitor learns of a death in the family and tries to manage her grief) Good Grief by Dessa

In Any Life: (Fenris leaves for Tevinter; he and Hawke try to write to each other, but their letters have gone astray) Siuil a Ruin by Anuna or Francesca by Hozier

The Scourge of Sundermount: (A monster lives in the mountains outside of Kirkwall. What fate is there for a monster but a knight with a blade sent to kill it?) Leviathan, the Girl by Phemiec or The Killing Moon by Echo & The Bunnymen or Strangelove by Black Math

Misericordia: (An elaboration on the scene where Cullen explains lyrium addiction to the Inquisitor) The Myth by San Fermin or Nothing Fades Like the Light by Orville Peck

As Two Reflected Stars: (Hawke and Fenris's developing relationship, as traced by the healing of wounds) I Know You Know by Charming Disaster or Arms by San Fermin or Anybody Else by The Ballroom Thieves

Book of Memories: (Sequel of sorts to Wander; moments in Emma and Cullen's relationships, each carefully noted in a single book for later reference) You and Me On the Rock by Brandi Carlile or Photograph by Cody Fry

Sleight of Hand: (Hawke is a stage magician. She's asked very few questions about her surly assistant, which has worked just fine for both of them--until his past comes calling) Enchante by Dirt Poor Robins or The Magic by Lola Blanc