#it's late so sorry for any mistakes

[specsthesecond]

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°

A gentle brush along your hairline coaxes you from sleep and another against your cheek has your eyes fluttering open. Your hazy eyes take in the orc, lying on his side next to you.

The rough pads of his fingertips lightly brush a few stray hairs back as he takes in every part of your face like he'll forget if he looks away for even a second. The emotions his eyes hold are far too much for you to handle, especially after just waking up from what feels like a rather deep nap. You probably haven't slept that well since the first time you slept against his warm body, except that was in his living room.

He cups your cheek and caresses the cold skin with his thumb. His warm hand brings a shiver to your body and he chuckles before bringing you in closer. He hugs you close in such a warm loving embrace, you have to hold in the urge to push away from the sheer overwhelming affection. You allow yourself to bury your face into his warm neck, breathing in his scent.

Your hands reach out to soak up some more warmth and it's then that you remember he's not wearing a shirt, meaning he slept on your couch without even a blanket or anything covering his upper half. Do orcs just have boiling hot blood or something? Maybe he's part dragon?

The arm he has slung over you is so big and heavy, it's making you feel confined but in a way that isn't making you panic. It's rather nice to be engulfed by him. His legs are intertwined with yours, snugly rubbing together the thick material of your winter pants.

You place your palms on his broad chest, wanting to feel more of him but your fingers meet a scratchy material on his chest. You part from his neck, looking for the strange obstruction, and all the despair you felt just a few hours ago comes rushing back when you see the banged wound on his right chest.

You pull away from him to get a better look, ignoring the displeased grumble from the orc. Worry only worsens when you see the white gauze turning a yellowish orange. You must have slept for awhile if the bandage already needs changing. You sit up, with some difficulty, as your...friend? is very reluctant to let go.

You reach for the medical supplies left on the low lying living room table and waste no time gently peeling the dirty bandage off. As gentle as you can be, at least. The orc under you doesn't seem to mind any pain, the only time he expresses displeasure is when you get up to fetch some water and a cloth to clean his wound again.

Ignoring his melodramatic complaining, you get up and grab the blood soaked cloth off the floor as well as his tunic, which now has dark crusted blood embedded into the fabric. In the kitchen, you rinse both the cloth and tunic in your sink, it definitely doesn't clean all the blood off but it's better than nothing.

On your way back to the couch you see him fidgeting with the stitches and you lightly smack him upside the head, mumbling "Don't touch." He lets out a half grumble half laugh and lets you bring the cold wash cloth to his wound. You gently clean the raw stitched up skin, wiping away any excess blood and plasma that's seeped out. The red of the blood clashes so grimly with his green skin.

While you work, you're keenly aware that the orc is staring at you, very shamelessly. As you reapply the antibiotic ointment and rebandage the wound you can't help your eyes flicker up to meet his. His absolute smitten expression doesn't make you feel good, like it might in any other scenario, it only makes the prickling anxiety in your stomach bubble up further.

When you're done with the rebandaging, you assess your work and only feel shame, you know this only happened because of you. He should at least be upset but he's clearly not and that only makes you more worried.

Crossing the boarder is a crime punishable by death, You put his life in danger multiple times just because you were lonely. You should never have gone back to his cottage, he’d be much better off if he’d never saved your life in the first place.

Your orc looks at you with a questioning expression, worry pinching his eyebrows. You de-tangle from his hold again but this time he doesn't argue, only sits up with concern. You crouch by the hearth and poke at the smouldering fire, adding a log and nudging the flames slowly back to life. You sit on the floor in between the table and couch, grab your translation book and pencil from under the table and think for a moment on how exactly you should word your concerns.

After a few minutes you've scrawled a few choice words in orcish and slide it closer to him so he can see it. It reads,

"Leave. Not safe."

He reads it and pauses for a painful moment, before he looks you in the eyes and shakes his head.

You look at him in disbelief, does he mean he won't leave or that he thinks it actually is safe? Both?

Confused you point towards the Orcish words fro “Not safe” again, trying to get the point across. He shrugs and rests his head on his hand, propped up on his elbow on your couch like nothing in the world bothers him. This makes you far more upset than you’ve been in a while, maybe ever. Why would he have such a frivolous attitude towards his own wellbeing? He saved you, why wont he let you save him.

The anger must show on your face because the nonchalant expression he wore quickly turned to something more concerned. He lifts himself from the couch to shuffle closer to you. He tries to reach for your hand but you pull away, you just don’t want to touch him right now. You can barely look at him without thinking of how he looked bleeding out in the snow, arrow stuck in his chest, he looked absolutely terrified then, why is he acting this way now?

You hear him flipping through pages and the scratch of graphite on paper. He slides over his own torn piece of paper. It reads,

"Not scared"

In poorly written Human Common. You can't help but scoff, who does this orc think he is? He just got shot and could have bled to death, all from just one knight, how could he possibly say he isn't scared of more showing up? After a minute of stewing in your anger and thinking about how to possibly respond to that, you start scrawling up a response. After a few minutes you slide over your own piece of paper that reads,

"Should be. More coming."

He stares at it for a second, looks back at you and then slides over his "Not scared" note again, emphasising his point. You honestly don't know whether you should try writing out an entire paragraph trying to explain this situation to him or if you should just write the word "fool" to get your point across. You decide on just looking at him disapprovingly, pointedly moving your gaze to his freshly bandaged chest and then looking away from him, shaking your head lightly.

It's a long, tense moment before you hear graphite scratching on paper again. You look over to where he hunches over the tiny table, catching him writing the words,

"Can't leave-"

and it only feeds your anger, how can you get him to realise the trouble he's in? Was he always this stubborn? Maybe if you just kicked him out in the snow he'd eventually just walk home, away from you, away from danger. Maybe if you made him leave... Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of paper sliding on the wooden surface of the table, you give an exasperated sigh and look down at the paper.

"Can't leave you alone."

The anger that was just bubbling up, cools into barely a simmer. The realisation splashes you like a bucket of cold water to the face. He's completely right. You threatened a knight with an arrow to the skull and then you just let him go. He knows where you live, he knows no one will even notice if a solitary woman living deep in the woods just disappeared. Not to mention, if they find out you spared an orc (much less fell in love with said orc) instead of killing him for the crime of crossing the border, they'll certainly kill you too, if not worse.

Were you really so troubled with making sure he was safe that you barely even realised how deep in trouble you are? You cover your fatigued eyes with the palms of your hands, heaving a tired sigh. It feels like a ten ton stone has been dropped on your shoulders. What the hell are you going to do now? Your quiet life is completely compromised. Your hands hide the few tears that squeeze out from your eyes but you fail to hide the sniff that leaves you.

You hear your orc shuffle closer promptly after hearing your sob, you let him gently usher you into his arms. You sit in his lap, cradled by his massive frame as he rubs his huge hand up and down your back.

He says something in orcish. It’s a single word said with gentle determination. You meet his eyes, the lack of understanding obvious. He grabs his book and flips through it, fumbling with the book in one hand while the other's still on your back. You hold the well worn book for him as he points towards the word,

"Together"

You stare at it, not really surprised that's what he said. It was rather foolish of you to think he'd just leave you to deal with this situation alone. You two are now deeper intertwined than before, and that was already a lot for you. You'll figure this out together, that’s then only way forward.

You rack your brain for a solution, a resolution, anything but you come up blank. Your orc sighs down at you and runs his thumb across your forehead, smoothing out the tense muscles between your furrowed eyebrows. He leans over the table and grabs the piece of paper that says "Leave. Not safe." He folds the paper so that only "Leave." is visible and he places that paper above the other slip of paper that says "Together".

He then takes a new sheet and then spends some time writing down the words,

"Until safe."

You stare at the makeshift sentence before looking up at him, making sure you didn't misinterpret, his hopeful eyes are all the confirmation needed. He wants you to stay with him until your home is safe again. Your home might never be safe to return to. Does he know that? Does he actually know what he's offering?

He can obviously see the turmoil on your face, he knows you won't just accept his offer so easily. He holds your cheek again, making sure you can't look away and says to you, in orcish, what you're pretty sure means,

"Please, I love you"

You let out something between a sob and a laugh, clutching his hand on your cheek and kissing his wrist as he wipes your stray tear away. He looks at you with such love it pulls more laughter from your lungs, his eyes crinkle with how wide he smiles. You lean up and pull him into a deep kiss, much deeper than the first. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and his hands hold your waist, keeping you close to him, as if that's really needed. One passionate kiss turns into another and another until you're making out only separating when you laugh too much to actually kiss.

You kiss along his cheek and down his neck and his naked shoulder. He runs his massive hands up and down you waist, returning your affections by kissing down your neck, nuzzling you with the blunt ends of his pretty tusks. The feeling of his tusks on your throat makes you let out a pleasured sound you’re not sure you've ever made before, and it shocks you so much you cover your mouth with your own hand. Your orc looks at you with the same shock in his eyes, also mirroring the deep desire simmering just below the surface.

All you can do is stare into his eyes as he stares into yours, breaths heavy, bodies close. This is it. This is all you want.

And then your heart drops, the air is punched out of your lungs and ice swallows your entire body. You see the exact same dread reflected in his eyes and you know he hears it too.

The distant neigh of horses and the clopping of hooves on hard icy ground, getting closer and closer.

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°

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[mud-muffin]

Tea time with your future little sister 😌

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[ayzaart]

would you dance with me? ♡

(quick doodle based off her words in the artbook)

[zzoupz]

redraw of a young garcia I drew in august last year

[typing-catastrophe]

I have been so cooked for this man lately that I need to talk about him— I genuinely think that with a ADHD/autism/AuDHD partner Ford takes notes on your stims and quirks, even before any serious relationship. Just little things like “waves hands when excited :)” and “prefers baggy sweaters” just like a little way of understanding you better 🥺💖

yesss definitely! as an AuDHDer who stims a lot myself, this is everything!! jfskhfshsk

--------------------------------------------------

"Aaaahhhhh oh myy-" the rest of what you were saying was incomprehensible because the words slurred together in an excited squeal. A gleeful expression upon your face, you waved and shook your hands in front of your body, then pressed them over your mouth, to stifle another squeal.

Ford smiled to himself as he watched you from the other side of the room, where he propped his notebook open to scribble something down.

"Heeyyyyy Grunkle Ford, watcha got there?" Mabel's voice rang out right beside him.

He snapped the book shut and whipped his head around.

"Mabel!"

"Waves hands when excited." she cited what she had just read, "Were you talking about-"

"No, I was certainly not!" Ford said, while his cheeks started to turn a deep red colour.

"Are you suuuure? Because to me it looks like you diiiid." she said, a cheeky grin on her face and dragging some of the vowels.

"You are mistaken, dear child. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." he excused himself and stood up, holding the notebook close to him.

Without letting her get another word in, he moved past her and made his way into his study.

There, he propped open the notebook to the page he'd just added a new note onto.

- likes to hum when no one is around - seems to prefer more loose fitting clothes. possibly because the don't restrict movement as much - will subconsciously play and fidget with any jewellery they're wearing - sorts and eats their food in a particular order - would rather not eat at all than something not appealing - skin irritating clothing causes great discomfort. remove tags!! - wants to talk but holds back. encouraging them has positive effect - avoids eye contact but will look at faces when the person isn't looking at them - do not touch without warning and do not force contact! expressed great discomfort to me after being forced to physical contact by someone else - repeating phrases and noises (quite endearing) - easily startled by sudden and loud noises, as well as irritated by high pitched ones, almost too quite to hear - shows behaviours similar to felines. has stated that they would be delighted to posses the ability to purr (he would be delighted too)

Ford smiled as he looked up and leaned back. He really hoped Mabel hadn't seen too much, otherwise she might figure out how interested in you he really was. And we wasn't sure if he was ready for that.

For now he would be very much content continuing to dreamily gaze over at you and notice all the little things, so he could understand you better.

Maybe one day he could work up the courage to ask you out.

-------------------------------------------------- thank you for reading <3 reblogs are appreciated

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part three

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 3.4k

You woke again nearing midday and, as expected, Ale was nowhere to be found. If it weren’t for the still sensitive marks that she left on your neck and the soreness between your thighs, you would’ve thought it was all a pleasant dream. Something on your nightstand caught your eye as you stretched and when you picked it up, all the remaining doubt shattered. 

On the piece of paper was a phone number with a little note that said ‘text me?’ and you couldn’t help the grin that made its way to your lips at the drawn smiley face at the end of it. You picked your phone up, added her to your contacts and sent her a hello-it’s-me text, noted the notification of an email from Derek, and then you got out of bed to get ready for the day.

When you returned to the bedroom from your shower, a message from Ale was waiting for you. 

‘Hey, good morning! Listen, as much as I’d love to… have fun with you again, I can’t see you the next few days.’

You laughed at the varying degrees of sad emojis that superseded her text. Then you messaged her back. 

‘That’s fine. Just text me when you’re free. And you already know where I am so…’

You abandoned your phone after that in favor of your laptop as you remembered Derek’s email. Upon opening your mail, you found it immediately.

‘Good news. Robert sealed a deal with a client and they want you to follow FC Barcelona in their Liga F campaign this season. We got 5 match passes so far–Robert believes that the client might be inclined to commission for more photos depending on how the club progresses throughout the season.

Find the passes in the attachment as well as the in-depth commission details but in short, apart from the customary team photos, they want photos of the following players prioritised in order: Alexia Putellas, Maria ‘Mapi’ Leon, and Caroline Graham Hansen. I’ll leave the research to you.

On an informal note, the window to decline is still open. As previously discussed, you don’t have to do this. Let me know what you decide as soon as possible.’

You checked the attached files and sure enough, you found the passes for Barcelona’s matches against the following clubs: Real Madrid, Roma, Alhama, Atletico Madrid, and Sporting Huelva. You noted the date for the one against Real Madrid–it was in a couple of days, the same one Ale suggested and a thrill of excitement went down your spine at the thought of possibly seeing her again. Maybe you should message her to let her know that you were going. 

You sent a confirmation to Derek before you created a new tab to begin your research. ‘Alexia Putellas’, you typed and hit enter. When the results came back, you stilled. 

You blinked. 

Then you blinked again.

Of all the places you’d expect to find Ale’s face, a search result about a professional football player was the last thing you could think of. But memories flashed unbidden through your mind: the exclusive night club, Ale’s vague answer about her job, the way her eyes shone whenever you mentioned sports or football, her reflexes, her physique, Ale… Alexia–it all made sense now. 

Groaning, you put your face in your hands as your cheeks and ears burnt from the embarrassment that flooded your veins. Oh, how dense could you get! She must’d thought you ignorant for not knowing who she was. Foolish! 

But then again… if she didn’t get a kick out of you not knowing, why did she allow the second time to happen? And why promise a third? The thought calmed you down enough to decide not to text Ale–no, Alexia–about this like you’d originally planned especially since you were most likely going to see her at the game anyway.

After another moment to regain your composure for the time being, you proceeded with your research. You clicked on an article, and an article lead to another, which carried you over to a video, and so on. By the end of it, evening had settled and you only managed to discover little. But from what you found out, there was no question to Alexia Putellas’ nascent legacy, both on and off the pitch–an undisputed, modern trailblazer for current and new generations of female athletes. You were gutted to know about her ACL injury though–a quick deviated search made it known to you how serious of an injury it was, especially for an athletic career–and you wondered when she would be able to play again or if she would be playing in the match against Real Madrid. After all, she did say she was going to be there.

You wrapped up your research about Alexia then and you finally moved on to Mapi Leon, then Caroline Graham Hansen. Afterwards, you briefed yourself on the rest of Barcelona Femeni’s 1st Division players as well as the rules of football to come up with a strategy to tackle this task.

A mixture of anxiety and excitement rushed through you as you settled in for the night at the thought of seeing Alexia again now that you know about her identity. You didn’t know what you had gotten yourself into the moment you let her take you to the dance floor but the pull was there from the very beginning. And you decided you were going to see this through to the end.

No. This wasn’t going to change anything at all.

–––

There it was: Estadi Johan Cruyff, home to Barcelona Femeni, stood proud in its blue and red glory.

There was still about an hour and a half left before kickoff but already, people had gathered and started to enter the stadium, you being one of them. Security scanned your press pass as you entered and you were told to head through a different corridor which lead you out to the pitch. Once inside, it was no surprise that the stadium’s interior was no less grand than the outside, the well-tended grass was just a taste to the quality that this place had to offer. 

Greeting the other photographers who’d settled in earlier as you walked, you searched for a spot and found it by the space adjacent to the corner flag farthest from the tunnel entrance. There, you placed your duffel bag and your portable stool as you worked to set up your equipment: you double-checked the batteries, attached the right lens to your camera, unwounded your monopod and connected it to your camera. 

By the time you looked up, there was already a significant crowd awaiting the players for their warm-ups. You took this chance to take a few shots of the still half-filled stadium, tweaking your settings as you did so and you waited for the players to come out.

About an hour before kickoff, you spied movements inside the tunnel and immediately, your eye was to your viewfinder.

Players from both teams emerged from the tunnel and names popped in your head as you scanned the faces from Barcelona, taking shots of them as they stepped foot on the grass and took off in a jog. There was no sign of Alexia though but you spotted two of your marks on the pitch so you wasted no time to frame them in your camera.

A moment later though, you heard a sudden cheer from the crowd followed by a collective flutter of camera shutters. You lifted your eye from the viewfinder, turned your head to the side and saw that your fellow photographers had their cameras focused to the direction of the tunnel entrance. Your heart quickened. Could it be? And sure enough as you looked to the sidelines, you could make out Alexia’s blonde hair and her unmistakable silhouette. Through your camera’s lens you were able to see her better. 

Alexia had on a black leather jacket paired with a top that revealed a strip of skin before the cut of her jeans, finishing her look off with a pair sneakers on and loose blonde hair. She was conversing with her coach, bumping fists and patting the backs of players from both teams who went over to greet her. Then she turned to the stands, waved at their supporters, and she moved close enough for pictures and autographs. She gave one last wave to the fans, shouted an encouraging word to her teammates with a fist in the air, before she headed back into the tunnel. While all of this was happening, you’d framed her through your lens yourself, taking the photos you needed, cheeks warm despite the cooling afternoon air. 

Then all the Barcelona players jogged over to the sidelines and huddled, side to side, arm in arm. You took a shot. Not long after that, all of them left the pitch. 

The game was about to start. 

Alexia wasn’t lying when she said the stadium would get crowded: the stands were filled with blues and reds, flags were flown and waved about, chanted anthems resounded loud and proud in the air–the atmosphere was nothing short of electric. 

You’d moved by the sideline close to the tunnel entrance for the beginning of the match along with your fellow photographers so you could capture Barcelona’s starting eleven. When the players came out, they were welcomed by singing and cheers from the crowd. And as they stood there, you took photos of the entire team first before you moved on to focus on Mapi and Caroline. 

When the whistle blew and the match began, you were back to your original spot, looking to the stands above the tunnel entrance as you tried to pick Alexia out from the sea of faces through your camera. You managed to a few minutes later, and you found her looking rather pensive: one arm crossed over her chest, the other resting on it as she rubbed her chin with her thumb, eyes focused down at the pitch with her brows slightly creased. It looked like longing to you, a burning desire to return home–to start playing football again. The sight evoked such a feeling in you that you couldn’t help but capture the moment. This shot, however, you were going to keep for yourself.

 Now that you knew where Alexia was, following the client’s requisites just got a lot easier. Up until the final whistle, you immersed yourself in your work and the game, focusing more on Mapi and Caroline as they were playing. There were times that allowed you to shift your camera to the stands to where Alexia was and took shots of her, too. By the time you knew it, the game ended and Barcelona won 1-0.

You expected a celebration from Barcelona because they were in their turf after all so you loaded up your camera with a freshly charged battery. The next thing you knew, Alexia was there with the team, hugging and patting them congratulations and her teammates beamed at her, happy to see her there. 

Click You took a shot. 

The players then began their procession around the stadium, waving at and signing things for their supporters. Through your camera, you saw Mapi signing the shirt of a young girl. Click. Next to her was Caroline, reaching over the barrier to sign a ball, smiling as she talked to the boy holding it. Click. 

The procession was near enough that you could hear their banters, growing louder as they approached where you were and the beating of your heart thumped as loud as the chants from the crowd. You congratulated the players as they passed and kept your camera away out of respect. You looked at the end of the line and you met Alexia’s gaze. She was smiling at you while she talked to Irene Paredes beside her and she never took her eyes off you. There was a gleam in them, something akin to mischief and… a challenge? If so, why? 

At that you raised an unimpressed brow at her, both a question and a statement. Your reaction seemed to amuse her because her smile turned into a full smirk.

The procession passed but Alexia lagged behind, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Irene who threw Alexia a questioning look. You watched as Alexia waved her off before she began walking your way and you didn’t miss the fluttering of shutters from your fellow photographers’ cameras. Some called Alexia’s name to get her attention but she ignored them, her attention only at you. You barely had enough time to school your features and hide any signs of familiarity before she was standing in front of you.

“Hey, you. You made it here after all.” Alexia said cooly, lips slanted in a half-smile, one hand in a jean pocket.

“Yeah, I did. Sorry, but do I know you?” You asked in an excessively dry tone paired with an raised eyebrow, but you made sure your voice was just loud enough for her to hear. Catching your drift, Alexia laughed, rubbing the bridge of her nose to try and cover it up. 

“I suppose not,” she extended a hand towards you, “I’m Alexia, and I’m sorry about… you know.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Alexia. Congratulations on the win, by the way.” You shook her hand, ignored the way her warmth seeped into your skin, and hummed. “You know, you remind me of someone I know. Your resemblance to her is uncanny.”

Alexia nodded as she took her hand back, lips quirked. “I think I know who you’re talking about. I think she also wants to know if she could stop by later tonight?” 

Your cheeks warmed and you didn’t fight the smile that made its way to your face. “I did tell her she could whenever she’s free.”

“So, yes?”

“Yes.”

———

You braced your weight against the headboard, forehead over your folded arms, eyes barely open and the erotic sight in front of you did nothing to help the building flood in you. With your thighs bracing her head and from this angle, you could only see Alexia’s closed eyes but you felt her hands roaming and supporting your lower back as her mouth and tongue worked on you. 

She was taking her sweet time though, brushing her tongue over your clit lightly, sucking just enough to build up the pleasure but nothing too much to bring you over the edge. You whined because she did it again only with more pressure this time, circling your clit a few times before she moved away again. You were starting to learn that she liked to play; she liked to take her time and get as many reactions from you until she was satisfied, until she’d completely unravelled you.

A particularly cruel swipe of her tongue, accompanied by the obscenely wet sound it made, nearly incited a sob from your lips but the plea you made was nothing short of similar.

“Ale… please…” You panted.

“–my name.”

“Huh?” You whined out, not hearing what Alexia said after a flick from her tongue sent shivers down your spine.

“Say my name.”

Then she circled your clit with more urgency after she said that–demanding. You keened and ignored her, canting your hips forward to chase that delicious friction you were desperately searching for. 

“Ale… Ale… please!”

Then she stilled completely and you cried out in protest, eyes flying open to meet lidded hazel ones.

“What–”

“Say my name.” She licked your inner thigh deliberately close to where you wanted it the most.

“Alexia, pl–” You didn’t even need to beg because right after her name left your mouth, overwhelming heat was all you could feel as she ate you out earnestly. Her hands gripped your thighs so tight that you wouldn’t be able to pull away–not that you could ever do such a thing.

“Oh, fuck!” 

Euphoria tore through your body in concurrent waves with brutal intensity that it ripped the strength from your bones while your muscles shook helplessly. Even the gentle touches from Alexia tongue as she cleaned you up were enough to make you hiss from overstimulation. 

God… she really did a number on you this time.

After you finally calmed down, you shifted so that you could lay by Alexia’s side, kissing your way up from the column of her neck to her lips where you found your taste heavy on her tongue. You dragged your fingers from the crest of her hip to her breast, feeling the ridges of her hard-earned muscles as you did so and revelled in the way they tensed beneath your touch, the softness of her breast a beautiful contrast to the firmness of her stomach.

Alexia gasped when you rolled her nipple between your fingers and you gladly swallowed it as you deepened the kiss. You slotted your leg to apply pressure between her thighs, ample wetness coated your skin and you couldn’t help but moan at her arousal.

You nipped a path down between the valley of her breasts but not before you had given both of her nipples the attention they deserved. You continued your journey, licking and nipping at her skin as you moved down her toned stomach.

As soon as you reached her navel, she parted her legs to make space for you. You kissed her inner thighs, loving the way they tensed beneath your lips and as you trailed closer to her core, you flashed your gaze upwards to meet hers. When you finally got the first taste of her tonight, you watched intently through lidded eyes as she closed hers, dropping her head on the pillow and sighed out a long, low moan. 

You gave her a few slow and broad strokes, closing your eyes as you savoured her taste. When she began to urge her hips quicker, you picked up your pace all the while mapping her thighs and stomach with your palms.

You found you liked how responsive she was to your touches, liked the way she demanded for more which you gladly gave to her as she asked for them. And when she cradled the back of your head and buried her fingers in your hair so she could meet your tongue the way she wanted it, you moaned loudly, taking from the way she took hers from you.

“Yes, right there, just–” Her back arched and you clung to her hips like a lifeline. You rolled your tongue against her and sucked, not wanting to disrupt the pace of her fall. 

And fall, she did.

She came on your tongue and you accepted it with a grateful moan, slowing down your pace as she came back down from her high. It was sticky and heady, a reward that you lapped up eagerly, and from the pleased way Alexia threaded her fingers through your hair, she was satisfied. Like her, you took your time cleaning her up because after all it was only polite to do so and you enjoyed the way her leg muscle tensed when you kissed her clit one last time. 

Content with your work, you kissed the top of her left thigh as a form of gratitude but instead of making your way up, you traced the line of muscle that lead down to her knee where scars from her injury had carved themselves permanently into her skin.

You’d kissed those same scars the last time you were together without knowing the story behind them and now that you know, you dragged your lips over them ever more softly, looking Alexia in the eye as you did so. She watched you intently with lips slightly parted, eyes dark and lidded.

Alexia bent forward so she could reach out to you, lifting your chin with a gentle hand. Then she brushed her thumb over your upper lip to wipe the wetness there but before she could pull it away, you parted your lips and took her thumb into you mouth, sucking and licking off the taste there, never taking your eyes off hers.

“My god,” came her breathless murmur before she moaned out, “come here.”

Then she guided you to her mouth with her gentle grip on your chin and before you knew it, you were under her again, sighing in grateful surrender to the mercy of her and her hands. She kissed and ravaged you many times over–and you, her–that by the end of the night, you’d completely forgotten the weight of her name.

[conan-hearts-u]

Sleeping beauty !

"why is he is so pretty " You brush his hair out so you could see his face better

You had been awake for almost an hour. You should have already started your day but you didnt want to get up. Not with the pretty boy sleeping next to you.

Your boyfriend Ran was the most beautiful human being you had ever meet (other then you ofc🤭) but his beauty was tripled when he was sleeping. Its just the way he looked so peaceful as if he hadnt almost beat up all those people. And his "messy" black and blonde hair always looked so perfect.

But of course he is such a blanket hoarder . Sometimes you wake up at night feeling cold only to see that your boyfriend has taken the entire blanket all to himself. And when you complain about it he just denies it!

You fell back as soon as you notice that he was awake and smilling at you. You dont know show long you had been staring at him. You quickly tried to prentend that you sleeping which didnt work.

He started laughing "I caught you dont pretend to be asleep"

Made with love by very sleepy Conan <3

[cherries-in-wine]

I love ur posts on lolita the book- what are ur thoughts on the movies?

aw tysm anon mwah <3

(Made a few edits because my perspective changed a little)

I don't really like the movies- in fact comparing them to the masterpiece that Vladimir Nabokov wrote feels like an insult. Sometimes art can only exist in a certain medium and when you take it out of that medium it loses its integrity. Lolita is art that can only exist as literature. This is what I used to believe but to be honest even as literature it's being misunderstood a lot so it feels as if no matter what medium lolita exists in, it'll always be interpreted wrong.

It took Vladimir Nabokov 5 years to write lolita because writing from the perspective of a pedophile is tough- it's using the abuser to tell the victim's story but in this case the abuser is our unreliable narrator, he had to make Humbert Humbert charming or at least intriguing in a fucked up way enough that the reader would be compelled to read further (lolita will disturb you but you won't able to put it down) but any competent reader would will be able to figure out that Humbert Humbert is just spewing his delusional bullshit.

It feels as if Vladimir Nabokov predicted the romanticization of Lolita as soon as we started putting girls on the book covers- he intended on lolita being faceless

So much of what makes the book incredible lies in reading in between the lines to figure out what's actual going on. Think of it as Humbert Humbert is forcing his heart shaped rose coloured glasses onto you like "see it's a beautiful tragic love story" and it's your responsibility to take them off to see things as they are, a 12 year old child being abused constantly.

Unreliable narrators in general are hard to portray on screen (it's not impossible ofcourse, gone girl, 500 days of summer and black swan do it really well) but extra difficult in this case because lolita and Dolores are 2 different people entirely. Lolita is the persona, Dolores is the person. Lolita is the nymphet, the seductress that only exists in Humbert's twisted mind, Dolores is the 12 year old child. Humbert sees lolita, he wants you to see lolita, but you need to focus on Dolores.

Lolita 1962 was laughably inaccurate, they made Dolores look like an elegant woman when even Humbert Humbert describes her as a messy tomboy. Lolita 1997 is better I guess, it follows the book a little more accurately. The movie is definitely pretty to look at and I don't have a problem with Dolores being an icon or people taking fashion inspiration from her. In my opinion she is an icon, it isn't fair to reduce a victim's identity to their trauma and abuser. Also she's so funny and is constantly insulting Humbert so mwah love her so much plus I relate to her a lot as I went through similar things. I think some scenes of Humbert Humbert being an unreliable narrator were translated really well, for example this argument-

Humbert gave a short description while the movie is more of lo's point of view, it's all screaming and shouting and absolutely devastating, Dominique Swain did an amazing job.

Both of the actresses were 14 during filming and that's just so unsettling to me. Sure you're using a body double for explicit scenes but isn't that just content for actual pedophiles, the closest thing to CP that's legal?. There are many older actresses that look younger but honestly that scares me more, because now there are no restrictions to the scenes they can film, which usually ends up underage characters in extremely exploitative scenes (think euphoria).

My feelings are sort of all over the place on this, I simply can't reach a satisfying conclusion- I don't think it's impossible to adapt lolita into a good film, black swan is one of my favourite movies ever and nina sayers is as unrealiable as a narrator gets, so it's not impossible to portray Humbert Humbert on screen but it will be difficult. On the other hand I just know that people will find some way to romanticize the movie- no matter how well it's written like in the novel it's so obvious Humbert is a pedophile that he might as well get it tattoed on his head but people still think of it as "aw tragic beautiful love story". But part of me thinks that if they write it kind of like gone girl, you believe nick is the murderer in the first half then amy's scheming is revealed in the second, just like that if lolita is shown in the first half but after dolores runs away her perspective is shown to audience, how she's so miserable and gives an accurate depiction of Humbert Humbert's abuse, maybe showing that horrifying reality of the story will end it's romanticization once and for all.

[reyolfx]

destiel fic excerpt - claire kinda tricks dean into going to pride with her

okay i've been in a massive block lately for any writing whatsoever but i'm TRYING to get back into it. mentally i'm just not really anywhere but i would like to be anchored back down into writing mode.

so here's a little bit of the destiel fic i have in progress. it's a dean focused post-15x19 (lol what finale) fix-it that deals a lot with dean's grief. this particular excerpt is quiiiiite a ways in, cas has been dead for almost a year at this point (happy destiel ending guaranteed fam). dean is still absolutely grieving but he's been doing a lot of work.

(warning dean does use the word queer here in a way that's like, halfway between accepting and internalised homophobia - it's not made out to be a big deal in this but i thought it would mention anyways)

***

"I'm not a parade guy, Claire, and I sure as hell ain't a flag waving queer. I'm not - I'm not this." Dean gestures vaguely to the revelry and upbeat atmosphere around him. He feels like a fish on a bike.

Claire shrugs with her whole body. "I don't give two shits what you think you are or aren't, grandpa. Every baby gay needs to attend their first Pride, it's like a right of passage or whatever."

Dean gawks at her. "What the fuck," he sputters. "Baby- did you just call me grandpa and a baby gay in the same sentence? What the fuck is that?"

Claire rolls her eyes like Dean's a fucking idiot. He feels like one right now, in his jeans and flannel with a knife tucked into his waistband, surrounded by rainbow everything and kids making out in those weird napkin tops that don't pass their navels.

She says, "exactly what it sounds like, loser. You're old, but you finally had your big gay realization, it's fresh and shit, erego, baby gay. Reborn a queer, hallelujah."

Dean stares at her like she's speaking another language, but he latches on to one bit that's plain. "Ain't that fresh," he mutters.

Because. Because it's not like Dean never had an inkling he was into dudes as well as chicks before. Not like he never had any tiny lightbulb moments while drooling over Doctor Sexy or being 16 and watching a hunter in his 20s clean a gun in front of him. It's just that every time that lightbulb flicked on, Dean had been very quick and very thorough in burying it 6 feet under like it was a body in a grave after a salt'n burn. Expert, even. Like he was was with real graves. He could go years without that lightbulb resurfacing, and he could forget. He could flirt with women and forget, kiss women and forget, take women back to his motel room when he was 24, haunting small towns all alone, and forget. It was easy. Because women's waists and women's hair and women's voices made it easy. When they pitched their words low and came on to him with confidence and a shadow, a daintier echo of violence than what he was used to, it was easy. What would have been the point in—in anything else?

Nothing. No point.

Until his best friend told him he loved him and his graveyard of buried lightbulbs was flooded, upturned, exposed. Electrified. He sees the bones of every man he ever desired like they're cartoons sticking their fingers into sockets.

Bzzzt. That hunter with his rolled up sleeves, exposed forearms, cleaning his gun while chatting easily to John. Dean sitting there, trying his best to be a part of the conversation, puff himself up like he belonged at the table, 16 in a too-big jacket, a real hunter, a real man, dragging his eyes away from the hunter's hands again and again until he could unfocus them entirely with the beers his dad let him sip.

Bzzzt. A shop teacher of his, once, during a 9th grade stint somewhere in Nebraska. Mr. Callaghan. Showing the class how to use a circular saw, sparks flying, Dean's eyes wide, mouth a little dry.

Bzzzt. Benny in purgatory. Slicing and hacking his way through monsters to get Dean to Cas before they could escape. Dean's weird, twisted up, sickening feelings of - I love you because you know my secret. Because you know I love someone else even though I won't let my own self know. I love you because you have big hands and a big heart and an appetite for blood and because I can bully you into staying, searching, endlessly, for the one. The one I love the most. I love you until I find him and then I still love you a little because you helped make that possible and because you did it for me.

Bzzzt. Cas. Castiel who walked into a barn, sparks again (maybe men are electric and women are grounding, or - fuck, who knows, maybe sparks are just hot) a few days after Dean rose from the dead. Castiel who walked towards him with steady eyes of blue fire and withstood every act of violence Dean could commit against him (or so he thought). Castiel who saw into his soul, maybe not even into it, just the whole scope of it, macro and micro. Cas who shoved him into walls, laid hands over his mouth and a knee between his thighs (accidental?), Cas who spoke to him vulnerably one moment and then disappeared the next, Cas who stared into his eyes and made Dean's chest feel molten, his tongue feel heavy. Cas who wore a stupid trench coat, even when given a fresh start, an opportunity for reinvention. A trench coat Dean grew to hate because of the sheer amount of times he imagined pulling it gently off the angel's shoulders. It always stayed. Dean could burn that fucking coat.

He kept that coat. He carried it. He misses it.

Dean comes to in the middle of a fucking pride parade with the desperate, overwhelming urge to press a coat that he no longer has into his nose. He needs—

"Earth to fuckin' Dean Winchester," Claire is saying, eyebrow cocked kinda like Cas, which is weird because he doesn't remember Jimmy ever doing that. He guesses he didn't know Jimmy very long though. Maybe he's just seeing Cas wherever he can manage it.

"Sorry, kid," he says lamely. No follow up. He feels the hole and it aches and aches and he needs to get a hold on it before it engulfs him.

"Dean," Claire says gently, and she sounds like she knows where he is. Like she can find him back here among his grief that is so far removed from, and unrelated to the situation.

He looks at her and forces a grin that cracks his face. Painfully. Half rolls his eyes.

"C'mon kid, show me the ropes then," he says. He's here now. Probably wont ever be again, but he's with Claire.

And he loves Claire. Because she reminds him of his not so long ago self—young and angsty and passionate and angry and full of mistakes past, present and future—and because she reminds him of Cas. Her face, her independence, her stubbornness, her smile. Because Cas loves (loved, Christ) her, even if her feelings towards him might be more convoluted.

She doesn't let him off easy, a trait she kind of shares with both of them.

"Dean... I miss him too".

Years ago, maybe even just months ago, Dean would have rolled his eyes and changed the subject. He would have deflected: "so how do you get on one of those floats" or "why is there so much mesh here" or maybe mouthed the words to You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real) right along with the drag queens in the parade without even realising it.

But now—

"Claire—I can't. Not if we wanna— not if today's gonna be any good."

His voice sounds far away and raw and he feels tears in his eyes even still. Even still after all these months. He wants. Wants Cas back so hard it scalds his insides.

Claire's mouth sets hard and she nods once. There's a grim-feeling cloud around the two of them, a black hole in the middle of this rainbow candy-land ass street block on a sunny day.

And then Claire scares it away. Physically waves it off like she can see it and then plasters a grin on her face that's almost conspiring. She can rally, Dean'll give her that. It's not as if Claire completely fits here either—she looks more like him than she does most of the other revelers. Black tank top, red flannel tied around her waist, black shit kickers. Hunter get-up. But she grabs some stickers from a drag queen that's handing them out and slaps one on her chest - it says "I support gay rights and gay wrongs" on it and the circle behind it is striped orange and white and pink. Dean snorts. He doesn't know for sure what that means but he guesses it's probably for lesbians cause he knows everybody gets their own flag in this world. He's learned that through osmosis at group*.

She grabs his hand and slaps another sticker on the back of it. The circle is blue, purple, and pink, and he does know the bi flag, has figured that one out at least. The words in the centre say "oh no, everyone is so hot".

Dean rolls his eyes so hard he almost throws his neck out. "There's no way in hell you think I'm keeping this on," he says.

"You are keeping it on, old man, and if i see you've taken it off I'll take you to the face painting tent and make them give you full bisexual glam." The threatening tone of her voice contrasts too deeply with the contents of that sentence and Dean huffs out a surprised laugh.

"Oh yeah? How do you think you're gonna make that happen?"

"You're not the only one packing here, Winchester."

Dean keeps the sticker on his hand. Stares at it for a minute, then looks all around him, taking in the colour and the joy like a thing that's not used the sun would. A rodent or a worm. Maybe a monster.

"Don't get me wrong but this doesn't really seem like your scene," he says.

Claire shrugs. "I dunno. Maybe a couple years ago I woulda felt the same. Used to think it was all real frivolous and silly y'know?"

She pauses for long enough that Dean's pretty sure the conversation's over. Finally, she speaks again, just a bit quieter: "But, I kinda figure, I can be more than just one thing, right? I can be a hunter and still enjoy some of the nice shit in life. Frivolous and silly is kinda fun."

She's not wrong. Dean doesn't get a lot of moments to be frivolous and silly, but he takes them when he can. Feels like maybe if he'd been born in an different universe he could've known those feelings full time like they were an engrained part of him rather than just fleeting visitors.

Then Claire says, "you're more than one thing, y'know. You're lots of things"

Dean huffs a little laugh and shakes his head, not really sure what he's denying.

"Don't make me give you a whole rundown on your own personality dude. You're not just some workhorse hunter, you got other stuff. Like, gay shit like this doesn't have to be one of your things. But everything's worth a shot once, right?"

He wants to agree. Thinks maybe he'd like to be a lot of things, but everything is kind of blur right now, has been for a while. What are the things he'd like to be? Like to enjoy?

He shakes his head again, not so much denying as delaying.

"Okay Oprah, what got you so wise?"

Claire smirks. She nudges him forward to follow the parade and says, "the internet mostly."

[purplink8]

If light really cares about his father he should have tried to persuade Matsuda.

In the earlier scene where they're trying to decide how to handle Sayu's kidnapping Soichiro wants to go public to the broader NPA with it because he thinks its the correct and ethical thing to do (much like his choice to step up here) but in that case Light had no hesitation to butt in and tell him he's wrong and there's a better way to do it if they just think it through.

So why doesn't he do the same here? Matsuda -already- volunteered, so with all his persuasion and improv skills Light could easily be like "please dad I don't want you to shorten your life, our family has already been through so much, we can't do this to mom and Sayu. I'm sorry to say it but Matsuda is a better choice. He said he WANTS to do it, and he's so much younger so even if it costs half his life he can still live a very long time and doesn't have dependents, unlike you who has a family and already has fewer years"…blah blah blah.

He could have also tried to come up with a new plan altogether, Light is amazingly skilled at adapting to changing situations and coming up with new tactics on the fly. I'm sure if he pressed the case to his father, the other members of the Task Force would also agree and Soichiro would relent and agree not to take the eyes.

Even if it didn't ultimately work to convince him, it would still be worth a shot. If it were my family member you'd better believe I would relentlessly argue until I'm blue in the face to stop them, whether or not I thought it would work.

Btw it’s also a strategic miscalculation on Light's end to have his father be the eye-haver, since he KNOWS despite Soichiro's assurances otherwise deep down his Dad is unlikely to be able to kill another person. And Mello is just a kid in Soichiro's eyes, he's not even as old as Sayu. Was anyone actually shocked that he couldn't finish writing the name? Matsuda on the other hand would have done it without hesitation.

Hm, I can sort of see your point! However I'm very much in the 'Light cares for his father & his approval immensely' camp so allow me to write my reasoning for the same.

The two situations you outlined seem a little different to me when we consider the bigger picture.

In the earlier scene where they're trying to decide how to handle Sayu's kidnapping Soichiro wants to go public to the broader NPA with it because he thinks its the correct and ethical thing to do (much like his choice to step up here) but in that case Light had no hesitation to butt in and tell him he's wrong and there's a better way to do it if they just think it through.

Yes, that is very correct. But here's the thing: Soichiro was pressured into that decision by Ide. He looks really troubled and in pain since he's doing this only because of his obligation as the deputy director as reminded by Ide.

Aizawa & Matsuda were concerned for Sayu along with Soichiro (who I admit often puts work before his family, still that doesn't make him entirely unbiased when it comes to his loved ones) and that's part of the reason why Light was able to convince the task force, mainly his dad, by debunking the whole (assumed) premise of the kidnappers killing the director, instead blaming Kira for it in order to save Sayu.

This is beneficial to Soichiro since that means they don't have to alert the other personnel of the NPA (according to Light's logic) and Soichiro is saved from his terrible decision to throw his daughter under the bus with his sense of integrity/responsibility as the deputy director intact.

Notice that Light offers this way out by using logic. What I mean to say is: Light rarely appeals to his father's emotions when attempting to change the latter's mind (the only instance where he does so that I can recall is when Soichiro is literally shooting him in the face (which is traumatic as hell but I digress)).

Light, in that situation, did not go "Dad that's unfair to Sayu, you need to rethink this decision as her father". Like he knows it would be a weak argument to Soichiro 'duty comes before family' Yagami.

That is why he solves the dilemma by completely turning around the situation not in emotional terms but rationally- in the manner that he knows his dad will concede as the question isn't to choose between work or family anymore because Light has argued to not notify the other NPA departments otherwise Kira would know about the kidnapping and kill Sayu (and they wouldn't get a chance to investigate the kidnappers if Kira kills Sayu before they can negotiate with them). So their best bet is to keep quiet about it so that Kira doesn't know; meanwhile they can, as Ide says, try and catch the culprit while negotiating the exchange.

Light adds an obligatory "But in the end, it's your decision, Dad" to mollify his father and it works! We're not shown Soichiro trying to persuade the task force by repeating what Light said but they're all able to come to a mutual agreement with Ide (the one who was most insistent on notifying the other NPA heads) conceding the ground first.

So why doesn't he do the same here? Matsuda -already- volunteered, so with all his persuasion and improv skills Light could easily be like "please dad I don't want you to shorten your life, our family has already been through so much, we can't do this to mom and Sayu. I'm sorry to say it but Matsuda is a better choice. He said he WANTS to do it, and he's so much younger so even if it costs half his life he can still live a very long time and doesn't have dependents, unlike you who has a family and already has fewer years"…blah blah blah.

As I said before, Light doesn't try persuading in emotional terms when it comes to his Dad. Also the two situations are quite different, I'll highlight this by first explaining the wider context going on in the 2nd situation.

So Sayu has been rescued at the cost of the Note being handed over to Mello who still hasn't stopped blackmailing Soichiro (Mello contacts Soichiro again (the latter's phone is to be kept on in exchange for the former not killing him). And asks him about the new L's identity and threatens to kill Sayu if Soichiro doesn't answer. Matsuda saves the day this time.) which is an unpleasant reminder of his "failure as a police officer".

Soichiro is pained by guilt at the risk he poses both to his family (esp Sayu) & the task force. He fears Sachiko would divorce him. He's painfully aware of the fact that if he dies now, Sayu's life will no longer be in danger and he may no longer be a burden to the task force.

Meanwhile, Light has his own plans as Kira- which involve killing Mello with the help of Shinigami Eyes. To achieve this, he needs a member of the Task Force to attain ownership of the Note and subsequently make the deal for the Eyes. He intends Matsuda to take the fall. (Choosing/Having Soichiro volunteer instead doesn't even come across as an option in Light's head.)

And just as he predicted, Matsuda volunteers to do the job with no hesitation. The guy is disposable in Light's eyes so it does not matter in the least that he may have to kill Matsuda in 13 days. Like he does not spare a thought regarding it; that's how Light is with people he doesn't care about.

Ide agrees; everything is going according to Light's keikaku until...

Soichiro comes up with this bombshell. Light's face here says it all. He's beyond shocked. After all, he hadn't accounted for this possibility at all. He was so focused on Matsuda volunteering (which, to be fair, he did) that he hadn't thought of this from Soichiro's perspective.

How he feels after practically handing over the Note to the kidnappers to save his daughter's life. How he feels guilty & ashamed of himself for being a failure as a police officer. A danger to his family. A burden to the task force. He even contemplates killing himself as he feels that there would no longer be a threat to Sayu's life (since Mello can't blackmail him if he's dead now, can he?)

He's resolute in his decision. More importantly, he's not pressured into it by anyone else, he's the only one advocating for it- anyone who knows Soichiro well enough would be sure that he can't be shaken away from this decision. Soichiro has made up his mind.

Light, after hearing this, can of course make sense of his father's behavior. The reason why he hadn't thought of it before now was because Soichiro was not in the list of potential candidates for taking the eye deal, Light didn't take the circumstances of his dad into account because he was never meant to take the eye deal in the first place.

Light does think that it's meaningless to try stopping Soichiro but before he can think any further, Matsuda butts in, offering himself for this role instead. Soichiro is not deterred as the guilt (of letting the Note in the kidnappers' hands) is weighing in on him.

Despite Light's misgivings that he may not persuade his father (from sacrificing half of his lifespan for the Eyes), he does try to dissuade him by mentioning that Soichiro may have to kill criminals himself and asking if he can do it. This, I believe, is not so much of a question rather a discouraging tactic:

Light knows on an intimate level that Soichiro despises killing people, even if they're criminals. ("The real evil is the power to kill people." anyone? Also this scene: that comes later:

Although Mello is partly taunting Soichiro here, watching the latter's face in reaction to that comment is very telling: Mello has hit a little too close to home.)

But like I said before, it's near impossible to change Soichiro's mind now. He will say anything, even the things he's not so sure about (re: killing others), to convince the task force that he's the one accountable for the mess they're in and he will sacrifice himself in the line for his duty.

"I'll kill them... And then I'll die too, 13 days later."

Light is unfortunately well-aware of his father's self-sacrificial nature when it comes to his duty as a police officer & towards justice (Soichiro is his role model & Light has deeply internalized these teachings himself but I digress.). There's no stopping him as Soichiro is rigid in this mindset of his.

Soichiro thinks that him dying would be a favor both to his family and the task force so why not die while being of use/service through possessing the Shinigami Eyes? His will to live has diminished enormously; I feel that a pep talk by Light won't fix anything at this point.

Not only would Light not be able to persuade Soichiro otherwise that it's not Soichiro's fault the Note got handed over to Mello's gang (I'm adding the mangacap below again to emphasize this when Light tries to argue the same, he gets shut down by guilt-ridden Soichiro)

But also that Matsuda would be a better choice. Matsuda has made it clear enough, and it's apparent that the task force is not so happy with the way things are turning out but nobody dares to speak against their deputy director whom they respect.

Light also never finishes his thought: "If the need arises for my father to write a name in the notebook... Then I..." leaving it open to our interpretation as to whether he's kill his own father for enforcing the 13-day rule. I, personally, believe that he wouldn't murder his Dad (he cares for him too much for that)

Light, in the end, yields for his father's wishes. Still, you can see the emotional turmoil in his face before his eyes are hidden.

I would also like to address Ryuk's comment "Hyuk. So even using your Father...?"

I think Ryuk's wrong here, he's implying that Light would resort to even using his father as a pawn for his plan. This is so. Not. true.

Light fully intended it to be Matsuda (which is shitty of him, I know) NOT his father. He knows, from his experience, how stubborn his Dad can be about these things. Yet he did try to stop him (not in an obvious way or a way most people would) in his own subtle way, i.e., reminding him that he may need to kill people for their plan to work. It was his big shot in discouraging Soichiro from sacrificing himself as he KNOWS Soichiro isn't one for killing others.

And we all know, how it turned out, with Soichiro not budging in his decision until all the task force members had to contend with that fact.

Back to how Light feels about this situation folding out: his eyes are hidden as they usually are when he's experiencing emotional conflict:

Also look at how stressed Light seems to be before ordering Soichiro to take the eye deal. He's sweating, the pain written all over his face. He does not like this one bit Matsuda had already volunteered for Kira's sake why does Dad always make things so complicated

He could have also tried to come up with a new plan altogether, Light is amazingly skilled at adapting to changing situations and coming up with new tactics on the fly. I'm sure if he pressed the case to his father, the other members of the Task Force would also agree and Soichiro would relent and agree not to take the eyes.

Light is a genius but he has his limits too, I think. His plan requires someone in the task force to trade for the Eyes since it'd be difficult (& suspicious as hell) to have Misa (who has the Eyes) take a look at Mello's face (they only have his drawing by Linda). The task force has the means to meet Mello face-to-face as they've discovered their hideout. Yet, a face by itself is not enough for killing him through the Death Note, obviously. They need his name too, for which the Shinigami Eyes are essential.

Light says it himself in his mind: 'Unless someone makes the deal for the Eyes...This plan can't go forward.'

It's an overall difficult situation to be in. If Light was capable of coming up with a new plan, he would definitely have stopped his father. As it stands though, Light is at a loss of alternatives which is why he has to (with a heavy heart) agree to Soichiro's arrangement.

Even if it didn't ultimately work to convince him, it would still be worth a shot. If it were my family member you'd better believe I would relentlessly argue until I'm blue in the face to stop them, whether or not I thought it would work.

That is the natural response, yes. But when your father is Soichiro Yagami who is unwavering in his view of his moral duty, arguing relentlessly won't work. Besides, Light is not one to directly challenge his father when it comes to taking responsibility and/or when it comes to making up for guilt over past actions. He makes a subtle attempt despite knowing it might not work (re: him bringing up that Soichiro might have to kill, as a deterrent) and is shot down by his father.

Soichiro won't take no for an answer when his integrity as a police officer is at stake.

Btw it’s also a strategic miscalculation on Light's end to have his father be the eye-haver, since he KNOWS despite Soichiro's assurances otherwise deep down his Dad is unlikely to be able to kill another person. And Mello is just a kid in Soichiro's eyes, he's not even as old as Sayu. Was anyone actually shocked that he couldn't finish writing the name? Matsuda on the other hand would have done it without hesitation.

It is not a miscalculation on Light's part because he never intended Soichiro to be in the possession of the Shinigami Eyes in the first place. He (in his mind) meant it to be Matsuda doing his bidding from the very start. But due to unforeseen circumstances he had to relent and have Soichiro make the Eye trade. This is, as you say, disadvantageous to Light both at a strategic level AND on an emotional level.

Soichiro is reluctant to use the Death Note- Light knows it all too well ("The real evil is the power to kill people." again). Matsuda, on the other hand, is somewhat sympathetic to Kira's cause, he'd have no problems to use the Note as long as it's for the right reasons so yeah he'd have written down Mello's name with zero hesitation.

Plus, Matsuda is easily disposable from Light's perspective; killing him after 13 days would be a piece of cake to Light. While Soichiro is very dear to Light, so much so that he can't even finish thinking about killing him after 13 days.

These disadvantages and the fact that Light was shocked with his father's announcement to take up the Eye deal show that letting Soichiro have the Eyes was not considered at all.

And why would Light further persuade Matsuda? Matsuda had already tried & failed at convincing Soichiro. It takes two to tango: both Matsuda & Soichiro needed to be in agreement about who would have the Eyes. Matsuda wasn't the problem, Soichiro was from Light's POV.

Light is smart enough to see a lost cause when it appears before him, Soichiro wasn't gonna budge and they were in a stalement as killing Mello was near impossible without the Eyes. It wasn't ideal thus Light had to make do with the current situation- to ease his Dad's guilt and kill Mello with one stone with the price being half of Soichiro's lifespan (no I don't think Light would kill him after 13 days).

Light cares for his father very much, it was just an unfortunate stroke of luck to have it turn out like this. With Light indirectly & unintentionally putting his father at danger- that's the tragedy of using the Death Note, I guess.

[luvdegreen]

I'm presenting my end-of-year project based on the work "Rebecca".

I'm including with the animation (which I hope hasn't lost too much of its quality with Tumblr), the file (in its original language = French) with the steps from start to finish. PS: if you need a translation, you can always dm me!

The rule (given by my school) of this animation was to animate and give life to an object. I decided to animate an origami boat (representing Mrs Danvers) which decides to let itself sink to find Rebecca in death (representing the sea).

Please be gentle with me; this is the first time I've used this animation technique. I know the animation has a few problems with rhythm and transitions, but I'm still proud of what I can show you. @gwouinaelle Thank you for your help and advice ♥ @aliesafenlock Thank you for following the animation process with me :)

[notozthewizard]

Merlin fantasy creature AU part 3

The poem in the picture is a part of "Giving" by Khalil Gibran

The first time Merlin has to use so much magical energy, he's not ready for the consequences. He used to feel exhausted after using too much at once, that's a fact. But he didn't know the chaotic force would literally rip his human body apart.

The pain doesn't matter though. If he doesn't do anything he'll die here right after Lancelot and then the serpents will invade Camelot. Even if he did survive there would be nothing to come back to. So he braces himself. Ready for any outcome.

He blacks out. Wakes up with Lance tending to his wounds and regrets not dying because it hurts even more.

They have to spend a few days away from Camelot so Merlin's power stabilizes again and he can regenerate his body at least to the point of getting rid of the very visible and unnatural crystals and holes pulsing with yellow energy.

Arthur is kinda annoyed at first. They were supposed to be back ages ago and it wasn't even that hard of a mission. He knows very well how close Merlin and Lancelot are. He's seen them whispering in the castle's corridors to each other countless times. Maybe that was their whole plan, to get a week or two off work.

Few more days pass by and he's pretty sure that's not it. He starts worrying and honestly hoping. Maybe they did run away together. Good for them. At least they're alive. Somewhere. Ugh.

He finally gets some free time and almost decides to go on a search when finally he's informed that Merlin and Lancelot came back. He doesn't think. Just wants to finally see them again. See Merlin again and make sure he's okay.

He's far from it but he's breathing. And that's something. Arthur gets angry at Merlin for neglecting his wounds and takes him to Gaius. He gets a few days off after that.

Part 2

[scootkiddo]

Jerry: “I won’t let you take her.”

Joel:

[dandylovesturtles]

TMNT AU Propaganda whooo

Hello, I'm back again. With fic this time.

I bingeread all of Call Me Here (I Will Appear) by @callmehere-iwillappear a little while back and it's so good! So heartbreaking but so heartwarming at the same time! And with both IMBI and CMH both being in the @tmntaucompetition we decided they are ghost buddies, and then they drew this adorable artwork and I had to write a little something because listen I need good things to happen to both of these boys.

So here you go! And please vote for both I May Be Invisible and Call Me Here in the TMNT AU polls tomorrow!

(And also 2 Arms Left, those boys aren't really in this fic but listen if you vote for both IMBI and 2AL then Ell and I will face off in the next round please it's so funny-)

cough ANYWAY HERE'S THE DRABBLE OK BYE (spoilers for both fics within)

Was getting abruptly kidnapped to an interdimensional sports tournament the weirdest thing that had ever happened to them? Hard to say, but it was certainly a surprise anyway. Right in the middle of Leo's very dramatic catatonia arc, too...

The place is a madhouse. There's so many different versions of himself and his brothers, some of them older, some of them missing limbs, and some of them from different universes entirely. There's cheerleading. There's fighting. There's an older Michelangelo giving all the visible Leos bats for some reason.

Leo guesses he shouldn't be too disappointed that even in this crowd, only his own specific brothers can interact with him; he hasn't had dramatic life-saving encounters with any of these other people, after all. He keeps getting walked through, talked over, and he can't very well take part in the actual basketball playing.

But it's fine! He can vibe! He's so cool with vibing. His brothers seem to be enjoying themselves, after all, and Pizza Supreme knows after the weeks they've been having they deserve something fun and... probably not life-threatening (he's still eying those bats, though). So he can just... watch. Spectate.

So fun.

He's standing by while Raph chats with a whole group of assorted Raphs, surveying the diverse crowd when it happens.

His eyes lock with another Leo's.

The other Leo seems just as startled as he is to be seen - his mouth pops open in surprise, posture going stiff in a mirror of Leo's own reaction. Other than that, there's no immediate signs; he's not see-through, or floating, or anything else one might expect. The only immediate difference he can see is that the three clones of his brothers standing near the other Leo are all wearing their own version of Donnie's goggles.

And yet, he still knows.

"Hey, I'm going over there for a sec," he says over his shoulder to Raph.

"What? Hey, don't wander off!"

"It's fine, big guy, I'll stay in range."

He trots off across the court, not bothering to dodge anyone who steps in his path. The other Leo and his group aren't too far away, and once he gets there, the two of them look each other up and down, like wary dogs unsure about entering another's space.

He gives the other Leo a very serious look, which is mirrored back to him.

And the other Leo starts them off.

"What's a ghost's favorite fruit?"

"Booberries. What's a ghost's favorite car?"

"A Boo-gatti. Why don't ghosts go out in the rain?"

It dampens their spirits. What-"

"Who are you talking to?" the other Donnie asks, turning their way. He has his goggles pulled down. Leo gives him a wave, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Just another Leo," says the other Leo, before turning back to him. "You can't be seen by the goggles?"

"Nope. That hasn't worked for us."

"But I saw you say something to your Raph."

"Yeah! Raph can hear me, Mikey can see me, and Donnie can touch me."

"Huh. Sounds inconvenient!"

"Oh, it is." Leo shrugs. "Curses, man, what can you do?"

Something quick passes over the other Leo's face; he only notices because it's so like his own. "You were cursed?"

"Yep! Some bad guy thought it would be a good way to get rid of me. You?"

The other Leo's smile droops only slightly. "...Do you know about the Prison Dimension?"

Leo's own smile drops, and he hunches in on himself, which just makes the other Leo's grin slip further. It hurts; he was there, for real, and again too recently in his mind, and now he can say this with certainty, with clarity:

No Leo deserved that.

But this Leo, who has persisted after death, who's with his family now... even if it's a tragedy, Leo can admire that. And they can see him - they can apparently hear him, and Leo knows from experience that that's everything.

(And still not quite enough.)

"...That sucks," he says, because what else do you say?

The other Leo shrugs, looking a little self-conscious. "It's not too bad. Donnie's making me a body."

"Oh, that'll be sweet." Leo picks his grin back up. "Wait, can you actually touch stuff? Are you going to haunt a robot?"

"I can if I focus." He looks smug. "It takes practice, but I'm getting better."

"Whoa, nice. I can't touch anything other than Donnie. Can't float or anything, either."

"Me either!" The other Leo throws his arms up dramatically. "What a ripoff, right?"

Leo matches the movement. "That's what I've been saying!"

"Man. It's nice to finally talk to someone who understands."

"Heh, same here," says Leo. He reaches out to give the other Leo a friendly pat on the shoulder.

He expects his hand to just pass through. He doesn't expect it to connect.

It's not really feeling, not like when he touches Donnie. It's more like when he touches his own body - his hand stops moving through the air, but he's not getting any tactile sensation from it.

He doubts the other Leo can really feel it either, but the way his eyes latch on the point of contact tells Leo everything he needs to know.

He doesn't hesitate, just wraps his arm around the other Leo and pulls him in for a hug. He doesn't resist, just puts his own arms around Leo, and he can't feel it but he's pretty sure he's holding tight.

He doesn't ask how long it's been since he's been hugged; he feels like he doesn't have to.

They stay that way almost a minute (and he's glad for their reputation as Leos that no one can see them), before the other Leo pulls back. His eyes are glassy and his smile wavering, but it's real and it's there, and Leo can't help but smile back.

He decides to save them before this gets too mushy.

"Hey, you said you can touch things, right?"

"If I focus."

"Well!" Leo moves so his arm is draped around the other Leo's shoulders, walking him toward one of the goals. "Get ready to focus on making sick dunks."

Instantly, the other Leo's eyes light up with delight. "Ooooh ho ho ho yes. We are going to freak some people out!"

He offers his fist, and Leo gleefully bumps it.

[nana2009]

GUARDIANS

Merry 4/13!! >:D