#like he may be absolutely SERVING here but trust me when I say he is not doing well LOL

[canayams-art]

Informant and Spymaster of the Healing Church — Yon Novarlam.

[raenegade-accio]

Beware the following mindless deranged rambling that randomly hit me at 3am, but I can't be the only one who felt this way when playing for the first time...

Not having Officer Singer conspiring with Rookwood was a big fat missed opportunity

And whether it was intentional or not, it was all perfectly laid out for a plot like this since the start!

From her first theatrically heroic appearance in Hogsmeade:

As a Magical Law Enforcement Officer, I assume Singer is equipped with the basic knowledge of evacuation procedures e.g. steeling all persons away from the ongoing threat and ensuring they exit the area safely.

But what did she do instead?

Luring the massive troll into rampaging further into Hogsmeade, leaving a pair of 15-year-olds completely out in the open, vulnerable to new imminent dangers. And sure enough, as soon as MC and Natty/Sebastian were alone, another troll bursted in, mere seconds after Singer left the scene.

What's not to say she was only there to clear of any potential civilian witnesses, using the first troll to scare them away under the guise of doing her job, while the second troll quickly comes crashing in, with MC being served up in a silver platter.

Later we saw Singer comes running back and is understandably surprised to see MC unscathed. We get this strange piece of dialogue:

She didn't bother assessing, or at least securing the crime scene when it's literally the first step to ensure an initial investigation can later be conducted properly. Instead she does the complete opposite by having someone else to practically wipe it clean of anything worth further investigating; there definitely would’ve been debris or bits of damaged armour with lingering traces of dark magic, now all gone. Then she just vanished, leaving a couple of teenagers alone in an deserted area, again.

Later we meet Rookwood for the first time.

From here we learned that Rookwood watched the whole incident unfold, implying he planned to abduct MC at the first chance he got, one which Officer Singer very conveniently provided. The only thing stopping him was seeing the new kid had absolutely Thanos-ed a troll using an unfamiliar form of magic.

And he wasn't exactly discreet either. Rookwood, an infamous criminal gang leaders was allowed to so nonchalantly wander around Hogsmeade in the broad daylight and it was clear he could to barge into public establishments whenever he wanted while openly threatening a pair of minors. A Dark Wizard who was now actively stalking a literal child got to walk away scot-free. Pretty lenient...

At this point it wouldn't be too outrageous to say Singer is systematically participating in organised wizarding crime. Here's an interesting piece of dialogue from Rookwood:

"Favours." now we have proof that Rookwood somewhat has a little power in the Ministry. There could've been a transactional relationship between Rookwood and Singer too.

British policing wasn't exactly well liked; venal and corrupt as it was, elite officers colluding with criminals weren't new.

Assuming it applied to the Wizarding World too.

At the era HL takes place (the 1800s), bribery and cover-ups were daily occurrences, which could garner favours that often came from the very criminals from whom corrupt officers have collected in exchange for "turning a blind eye".

This one's a bit of a stretch to be honest, but it may have explained how Rookwood evidently was able to be as active as he was for "months." And it certainly would make more sense in how Singer maintained keep her position a lawwoman that's reputable and admired by the locals as long as she did despite her blatant inactions, considering the possibilities he helped pulled some strings.

It'd be too easy to claim Officer Singer was never fired simply by theorising the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were as unfit, unintelligent and incapable as the forces from the Victorian Metropolitan Police.

But it's later found out the locals felt very differently:

People trusted her, relied on her. They felt safe whenever she's near and all have nothing but praises for her.

Imagine the potential - the level of public outrage and betrayal - among the common folk, that the person who was supposed to defend them has been aiding the Ashwinders extorting, threatening and bullying them this whole time, possibly allowing said group access to all the needed private information to terrorise them even further (e.g. their names, private residences, workplaces and occupations, and all that of their loved ones, too)

This can easily be backed up by Natty’s questline: A Basis for Blackmail

We meet a few of the victims - targeted by Theophilus Harlow, another notorious Ashwinder leader and Rookwood’s right hand man - most notably Mr Isko Rabe and his wife.

Harlow knew their names, where Mrs Rabe worked (Gringotts), what she and her husband do for a living (bank security and curse breaker) and where they lived (to plant the threatening note and destroy their garden). Both careers are as high profile as they are dangerous, so it’s not surprising Mrs Rabe was approached about extorting the bank itself. What is disquieting was that their private homes were infiltrated a little too easily, especially concerning her husband is a talented curse-breaker.

Interestingly, Mrs Rabe and officer Singer were likely colleagues (as per the cutscene of the first Hogsmeade troll attack, you can see Mrs Rabe following closely behind Singer). Someone with Singer’s position would have all the necessary connections and know-how to learn all she needs to someone of lower rank, especially when divulging them to a powerful gang leader she may had been conspiring with…

—

I got so excited because I was convinced there would be a twist of some sort, where we may get to pull a Houdini or a Scooby-Doo then unmask Singer as another sleazy dark witch that's been undercover and lying to the locals for years, secretly exploiting with Rookwood and manipulating the same people she's meant to protect.

I was so mentally prepared for the scandal, already so gleefully imagining the reactions of the villagers, the teachers or students from the sheer betrayal after speaking so highly of her and putting so much trust in that woman.

Imagine my disappointment when I find that she really was just hilariously incompetent 😂

Shit, even MC themselves pointed this out ( after local businesses were being extorted and a student was just kidnapped by a group of adults:

I can always incorporate this post in the fic, that'd be fun.

[neversetyoufree]

I think Luna, Queen Faustina(naenia) and the shapeless one are wayyy too similar in the way they are drawn, the lines, the eyes. Shapeless one has one red eye and another blue eye, like naenia and the vampire of the blue moon..... am i missing smt or?

You're absolutely right! A lot of this actually gets pointed out by characters in the manga as well, so we know it's all intentional on Mochijun's part.

When Noé sees Luna in Misha's memories, he remarks in confusion that Luna looks extremely similar to Faustina:

Then, when Jeanne sees The Shapeless One for the first time in the amusement park, she observes that his left eye is the exact same color as Vanitas's eyes (and therefore the same color as Luna's eyes).

Teacher's right eye is violet, not crimson like Faustina's, so he's not a perfect combination of the other two, but there's definitely something going on here. Even without the visual link, we know they're connected, as Ruthven says Teacher was the first vampire to serve her (and the one to do so for the longest). He's extremely old, the oldest vampire we know of besides the queen, so he may even have some connection to Babel and Faustina's origins. (I'm personally a fan of the Teacher is Paracelsus theory, but that should really be a separate post).

As for your confusion, I honestly think you're right to be confused! We have all these extremely conspicuous connections and similarities, but no explanations yet. It's all just hints and gestures toward Big Reveals that are yet to come.

That said, I do have theories.

Luna and Faustina are similar-looking enough that I think they have to be related in some way. They could be normal relatives, one could have been artificially made in the image of the other, or it could be something even weirder that I haven't thought of yet, but there's no way their origins aren't connected somehow.

I know some people theorize they're twins, but that would require discounting all of the fairytale version of Luna's story, so I'm not ready to commit to that one quite yet. Faustina is supposed to be the first ever crimson vampire, created during or right after Babel, while Luna was supposedly born under a blue moon and born late enough that there were other vampires around to resent and reject them. Some of that mythos could be wrong! I'm absolutely not trusting that the fairy tale is telling the truth about Luna (or Faustina). But it's enough for now to make me suspect that their connection is something more complex than their simply being twins and/or both born from Babel.

Meanwhile, with Teacher, it seems like Mochijun is hinting to us that Teacher took Luna's left eye. Teacher has a left eye that we're specifically told is Blue Moon blue, and Luna's left eye is constantly hidden from our view under their hair. We also know from the above "most beautiful creature in the world" line, his involvement with both Misha and Noé/Vanitas, and his shapeshifting into them that Teacher seems to have some kind of fixation on Luna. If that fixation didn't drive him to take their actual left eye, then Mr. Shapeshifter may well be turning his own left eye blue on purpose in Luna's image.

I'm not discounting the possibility that the obvious explanation of "eye theft" could be a red herring, but Teacher's left eye's connection to Luna definitely strikes me as something affected rather than a sign of actual relation to the Blue Moon. After all, in that panel I included above, he discusses the beauty of "Blue" in a way that makes it sound like something external he's fascinated with, rather than something he possesses or is part of.

Overall, all three of these characters are obviously interconnected, and they all have equally mysterious origins, but with the information we have now, it's impossible to solve those mysteries. For now all we can do is theorize and wait to see what future chapters might clarify.

[sky-kiss]

YAS! Free time is best time! Hmm for prompts, I love the idea of low intelligence Tav and Raphael? Like Tav convinced Raphael is a Fae? Man offered her food, won’t call her by her name, rhymes, and wants to make deals. He’s totally a fae, and he gets so pissy she won’t be convinced otherwise.

Or for spicy prompt. I know it’s not everyone’s thing, but innocent Tav being deflowered by Raphael as part of a deal? Or cockwarming, that’s my favorite as well.

A/N: Had to fight, had to actively restrain myself for going for one of these prompts. Will do the scenario though. And I weep. But when Idiot!Tav calls, I answer.

______

R/T: Local Devil Tries to Flirt; Local Idiot Too Far Gone for Banter

______

There are mortal eccentricities he finds charming. Ambition, for one! Their pluck! The gods create meager little creatures, soft, small, and weak, yet they forge ahead! Unconcerned by their relative lack of status in the universe! He'd go so far as to say he admires the trait. And there is something endearing in their youthful naivete, comparative ignorance of the outer planes. Raphael is not so proud as to admit he has not actively exploited this lack of knowledge in the past. It's always served his best interests! 

But it can be, and currently is, a double-edged sword. The cambion strokes his chin, lips pressed to a thin line, as he surveys his champion. His little mouse regards him with narrowed eyes and a vacant stare. "Come, my dear! Eat and make merry for tomorrow," he prolongs the sentence, letting it hang between them with a practiced theatricality. "You may die." 

"Is that a threat?" 

Raphael chuckles, shifting his weight to the back foot, his right hand pressed to his sternum. "From me? Have I been ought but a friend? A champion, an advocate, in this your hour of need?" 

She huffs, "I can't see that you've done a thing for us. You dangle a deal and won't let me take it!"

"The thrill of anticipation, sweetling. Best in all things." He winks. 

She does not reciprocate. Her brows pulled together; she frowned, arms crossing her chest- not the body language Raphael wanted. In truth, he's been finding the whole arrangement a touch challenging. There's no back-and-forth or witty banter- not like he planned it. Tav shakes her head. "And that's another thing. I'm not your sweetling. Or your dear. I'm Tav. Can you manage Tav?" 

"We're certainly feeling combative, aren't we?" The devil narrows his eyes. 

"You can do it, can't you?" 

And he's momentarily struck by the notion that she isn't challenging him; she's genuinely curious if he can do it. Raphael hums, "Nuanced as it is, I am perfectly capable of naming you, Tav. Is that satisfactory?" 

She shakes her head. "I don't trust you." 

"Clever girl. Only you don't have to trust me. There is something deliciously illicit in such partnerships—a hint of intrigue. A flash of- "He leans nearer, flourishing with his right hand. Sparks dance from the tips of his fingers. "Danger." 

"No good ever came from the fae-folk." 

"My dear, I assure you, I…" Raphael cuts off, brain catching up to his tongue. "Beg pardon? Fae?"

"Fae," she repeats. Tav eyes him with renewed caution, hand slipping to the hilt of her (comically ineffectual) cold-iron knife. "I'm many things, Raphael, but I'm no fool."

"Truly." He licks his lips. It's rare for him to be purely baffled, but here it is. Nothing about her suggests she's joking. A quick peak in the little idiot's head suggests she believes her statement with absolute certainty. He crosses his arms over his chest, indicating himself with a hand sweep. "My dear, what do you make of all this?" The horns, red skin, the tail…clearly infernal. 

She shakes her head. "A devil would deal more honestly. I'd be more inclined to trust them. This is…a glamor. Convincing, but false."

He blanches. "What." 

"You bring me here. You make me pretty promises and ply me with wine and sweet words. You speak in riddles and songs!" He wants to argue that those are all devilish traits, but gods, why bother? Raphael pinches the bridge of his nose. "Devils may be evil, Raphael, but at least they're honest."

"To their detriment, apparently." He sighs. "Pet…" 

"Tav." 

"Tav," he corrects, feeling his temperature rise in response to his temper. "I have offered a contract, its terms clearly stated."

"No. You've offered me a deal. No contract, no terms. And the matter with the Orthon! A purely verbal arrangement. No devil worth their salt would go along with that." 

"How dare you! Impertinent, thoughtless…" Raphael catches himself. He makes a mental ten count and assures himself the deal will be done shortly. It all comes back to the crown. He needs them. He…gods, he has to play along. It tastes like bile on his tongue. "Fae, yes. You've found me out, pet. A…creature of chaos. Such am I." 

Tav nods. "Thank you for your honesty." 

He honestly considers strangling the little idiot. 

[venusandsaturnsrings]

out of all of ur tarus,, who’s the most obsessed with eating ur pssy

EXCELLENT QUESTION THANK YOU!! okay, i have a firm answer on this already but i’d like to dissect the different taru pussy eating styles. that way you all can decide who you’d want most based on skills and experience!! more exciting than a regular answer me thinks… anyways!!

inceltaru: my personal most beloved taru au!! but… zero experience. could not name a single anatomical part of a pussy if a gun was to his head. knows nothing and has never even been close to eating someone out. when first meeting him, he’s the type of guy who says “girls are supposed to give head not get it. i’m not into that, shits gross,” with a grimace. his curiosity is the saving grace here plus his obsession runs deep. tries it and immediately cannot get enough though he doesn’t get you off (he’s bad at it initially). give him a couple more goes and he’s worked out what makes you sob the hardest!! inceltaru is majorly into seeing you give him the same heart eyes back and going down on your for hours gets him that so it’s a win-win situation. he’ll be between your legs the most often when he’s stressed or feeling nice for once. stress leads to him nibbling and slapping your clit while nice will have him placing sloppy kisses all over!! does expect a blow in return though.

frat taru: eugh… he’s not very good at all… almost never gives head. minimal experience and not passionate about it until he’s actually into you which may take some time. he’ll come around eventually and when he does, trust you’ll get it the most often in the back of his car. makes snide remarks about how he doesn’t want his frat bros seeing him be such a beta but it’s clear he loves it if the way he palms himself through his sweats says anything!! eventually he’ll get better at it and like it more and more but he’d prefer fucking you properly. he does finger you more often, usually in the corner of random parties or places where you don’t have much time.

foxtaru: if there was an award for most toothy head, foxtaru would get it. he’s not mean and doesn’t bite, just likes gently nibbling your pretty lips and clit!! he loves the way it feels between his canines. gives very good but cheeky head; he’s rather teasing about it most of the time. tail swishing, you’ll be pushing his head closer whenever he slows down to get a ride out of you. all tarus are sadomasochists, foxtaru included, so pinch his ears and he’ll get back to it properly. definitely gives head the most!!

puptaru: sweet boy :(( overwhelmingly passionate about eating pussy!! will whine, paw at you, and beg until you let him. sobs for “just a little taste!” until you’re pushing your panties to the side for him to shove his face in. it’ll always end up being more than a taste though. he’s grabbing your thighs and slobbering all over you with ears pressed back and his tail wagging so hard you fear he’ll hurt himself. absolutely ADORES sucking on your clit. could spend hours abusing the little bud just to make you feel good and satiate his need for mouthfuls of your delicious juices :(( cross eyed and humping whatever he can the whole time but has gotten off untouched just by eating you out before. very much enjoys sticking his tongue in you and just feeling the way you squeeze it like it’s his dick. more often than not, you’ll be pinned down and bred once he’s had his fill. eating pussy is his full time job and he’s never called in sick!!

canon taru: what would this post be without the original?? he loves to serve, a soldier in all ways including when it comes to your pleasure. he takes it the most seriously, even pulling out a timer one time just to see how fast he could get you off. he can be teasing but he’s got that winner mindset even when he’s between your legs. he gives relatively steady head when his competitive nature is set aside. likes bringing you to the edge gently before prolonging your orgasm as long as he can. it’s not worth it to him if your legs aren’t trembling when he’s done!! i could make an entire separate post about foul legacy pussy eating but just know, he’s nothing but rough when he gets like that. tongue fucks you into the next dimension, mouth covering the entirety of your cunt with ease. his tongue his about has long as his normal dick is in that form…

ahem… if you couldn’t tell, puptaru is the most obsessed with eating you out!! foxtaru is a close second though!! inceltaru and canon taru tie for third while frat taru is last place… rankings aside, he loves eating you out regardless of au!! he’s a pussy pleaser!! pussy lover!! pussy adorer!! needs four square meals a day; breakfast, lunch, dinner, and pussy!!

[faithful-christian-walk]

✝️ 『 Testimony - Jesus saved me 』 ✝️

Hello everyone!

I'm called to share my testimony here by the Lord. Thank you firstly for reading it, God bless you!

So, in 2023, I was saved by Jesus when I was a devoted new age believer without even knowing it. The new age preachers spoke well-packaged brainwash to me daily, and I was naive enough to succumb to their philosophies. I prayed to many gods and deities, channeled "fallen angels", played black magic and witch crafts with the thought of trying to help people like myself.

A little story about myself, I grew up in a neglecful and emotionally abusive family. My dad would use fear to threaten me daily while belittling anything I ever did, there was no love but controlling behaviors from him. It was awful. My mom was ignorant to it too, my sisters all thought it was "normal" so to speak, so I was always gaslighted into thinking it was normal. As an only son, there was a lot of pressure on me due to Chinese tradition, my life since young was full of degradations packaged in the name of "lessons" and "upbringing". There was no little rest for me daily, but work and learning, all in order to satisfy my dad's narcissistic, egotistic, abusive and self-exalting mindset. He saw himself as a god, always saying how he was born to make me right. Basically, he has god complex.

My school life wasn't any better either. At age 4, I had to kneel in front of a stool to erase my homework while being belittled in front of other students for finishing more pages in my homework than assigned. No friends, outcasted and bullied in middle school and romantically betrayed in high school. The teachers used me to vent their anger and I was always looked down upon and my efforts disregarded. College life was hit by the pandemic, lost my relationship to distance and accumulated brokenness. It was one thing after another, I was pushed to my limits.

Anyways, the new age practices taught me how tarot cards were "good" and it can assist people in need, it was bad. Then, one day I channeled and prayed to some evil deities without knowing, which is basically all demons (fallen angels are demons), again without knowing it. Jesus came to my rescue when I didn't even knew Him. He asked me, "Do you want to be saved?" And I said "Yes Lord, please save me!" And thus I was saved. Jesus Christ saved me from all the abusive, dark, evil demons. Never in my life had I thought about demons being real but it's really real, the fallen angels were real and evil. Absolute evil.

Nowadays, Jesus saved me from being haunted and rid me of the new age practices. I no longer am a victim of their lies.

I'm still a sinner, a work in progress, but by grace and mercy God, without me even knowing Him, saved me. He loved us before we love Him, thank you Heavenly Father for coming to meet me where I am at, I'm thankful. That's why I'm still alive today, to praise and serve the Lord, He blessed me immensely, I'm nothing but thankful, a faithful follower and a child of God.

For anyone reading, God loves you too and is using my testimony to reach out to you. Seek Him today, let God love you, help you, and change you. Jesus is the king of kings and lord of lords, trust Him. God bless you, may we meet someday, as fellow brothers and sisters destined for Heaven.

Thank you! ✝️

In Jesus' name, Amen!

[staytiny-dreams]

beneath the christmas lights (c.sb x reader)

pairing: choi soobin x gn! reader

genre: non!idol au, freshly established relationship, seasonal fluff

warnings: zero, reader has a broken home, but it's not detailed, choi soobin being cute, angst if you squint (barely), sooo fluffy

wc: 1.8k

note: i don't like christmas fics, but we visited christmas lights at sunset while i was in my soobin feels so this was born. sorry if the formatting is weird this is the first time i've done this on my laptop. stay safe these holidays everyone

christmas time is confusing. for some, it is a joyous time of year filled with love and presents, decorations, family and friends. for others it is just a reminder of what they’re missing, whether it be family, friends or even money.

for you, christmas serves as a reminder of what you once had, and of what you’ve lost. 

yelling echoes through the bottom story of your house, your step mother’s shrieks piercing any peace you might’ve had as your father picks another fight.

sighing, you grip your headphones tight around your ears, knuckles tense with the force of your grip and with a flick of your thumb, the volume of the music surrounding you is bumped up.

you almost don’t hear it, but the vibrations of your phone against your thigh drags your attention down to your lap.

bin: (y/n)

before you can even type out a response another message comes through.

bin: i’m outside

you frown down at your screen, brows scrunching together. rather than sending through the question marks you’re tempted to, you pull your headphones off and place them gently on the keyboard of your laptop.

with your headphones gone you feel an immediate wave of cold wash over you. standing alone in your bedroom, you can once again hear the persisting argument occurring one floor down. despite the blue light from your laptop, the warm light from the fairy lights strung up around the room and the barely setting sun, you feel shrouded in darkness.

with familiar ease, you round your bed and approach the window, sheer curtains already having been pulled back.

sitting on your verge, two wheels on the curb and lights shining, is soobin’s car. through the tint on his windows you can faintly make out soobin, smiling up at you, giving you a shy wave.

y/n: ???

you replay your last few conversations with him in your head, trying to remember if you’d made any plans with him you may have forgotten about, but nothing comes to mind.

it’s christmas eve, shouldn’t he be with his family?

another vibration and a small chime sounds, effectively bringing your focus back to your messages with the boy in your front yard.

bin: just come down

with a huff loud enough to hide your smile, you slide on your sneakers, slip out of your bedroom and down the stairs.

while your parents are wrapped up in picking each other apart, it’s easy to pass by them, no questions asked, grabbing your house keys from the hook in the kitchen and quietly exiting through the front door.

“what are you doing here?” you ask as soon as the car door has been closed behind you.

“do you trust me?” is all he says and you let out a snort, something somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

“absolutely not.” 

he mumbles an offended ‘okay’ that you can only just catch while he is turned away from you, rummaging around in the backseat. you roll your eyes affectionately at his response and simply face forward.

the sun has properly begun its descent now, yellow and pink clouds are scattered across the darkening sky. you find your chest tightening at the pretty sight and with a start you realise the feeling bubbling inside you at the view is akin to the feeling that bubbles up when you look at soobin.

a long groan startles you back to reality as soobin sits back in his seat, a small white and green bag with oil stains spreading across the bottom edge is clutched in his right hand. he stretches his arm out to you, the bag dangling between the two of you as you stare sceptically at it.

“what is this?” you ask yet reach out for the bag without waiting for his answer.

unfolding the bag, you peek inside and gasp at what lay in there.

“soobin what…” you begin to ask again, but you are silenced when you meet his eyes. his gaze rests on you with an emotion swimming through his irises that you can’t quite understand.

instead of once again questioning his actions, you reach for the donut, from your favourite local bakery he had brought and pull on it with both hands.

the soft dough comes apart easily and you smile at soobin, holding one half of the donut out to him. he beams back at you, his dimples igniting a warmth in your heart that soobin seems to carry with him.

“no (y/n) i bought it for you, it’s your favourite dessert.” you shrug at him and push the half donut even closer, the cinnamon brushing against his lips.

“and you’re my favourite person, you’ll go well together.” you state as if it is a well known fact. at this, soobin blushes a bright red and turns away, finally turning the engine back on.

the soft guitar that had been playing since you entered the car pauses as his radio restarts with the engine, then promptly continues its soothing tune. 

“hmph.” you let a small, huffy laugh slip past your lips. while soobin focuses his attention on driving off the curb of your front yard, he still finds it in him to question your laughter.

“nothing. i was just listening to this song inside is all.” you admit, your cheeks warm. it feels silly to be flustered by such a small thing, but everything about soobin causes your body to run hot and your heart to pound.

soobin doesn’t respond, instead opting to focus on the road as he exits the cul-de-sac your house sits at the back of as a means to ignore the warmth in his own cheeks.

“soobin! what are you- where are you taking me?” you yelp at him as your own house shrinks away in the mirror. when you look down from the mirror, back at soobin, you find him already staring at you. his eyes are dark, bar the same unknown emotion swirling through them, mouth set in a straight line and you know to take his next words seriously.

“do you trust me?” he asks and you swallow, your throat tight under the intensity of his gaze.

“absolutely.” at this, you are rewarded with his dimples as he smiles to himself, eyes back on the road as he finally turns off of your street and onto the main road.

settling into your seat, your arm rests on the centre console, palm facing upwards. your head lolls to the side, watching through the window that soobin must have wound down before your entrance.

the breeze sweeps over you and within minutes, as you had hoped, soobin’s arm joins yours on the centre console, his large hand tentatively reaching for your own. you open your hand more, allowing him to intertwine his fingers with your own, matching smiles spreading across both of your lips at the gesture.

“the beach?” you turn your head away from the window to look back at soobin upon recognising the route he was driving. his sweet smile morphs into something cheekier and he squeezes your hand with his own.

“i thought you trusted me, hm?” you huff for the nth time tonight at his cryptic response yet your smile doesn’t waver.

then, a split second before the lights come into view, it clicks. a childlike excitement you thought you had left behind awakens in you, your heart sitting in your throat and you aren’t sure if it’s because of the christmas light displays, or the boy who drove you to see them.

soobin slows the car right down as he drives up the strip of beach houses whose owners had gone all out. 

the two of you are lit up by reds, greens and blues as you crawl down the beautifully lit street. you feel as if your eyes couldn’t get any wider, taking in every possible detail you can from each and every display. 

a santa here, a merry christmas there, a snowflake or two, glowing snowmen, lines of candy canes and for a second you felt twelve years old again. your mum on one side of you, your dad on the other looking up at your own christmas display just a few short years before everything fell apart.

tears well in your eyes as you think of your home now, cold and dark despite the sun only just setting and the warmth that christmas was supposed to bring.

as soobin reaches the end of the street, he simply pulls over. a hand on your cheek brings you back to the present, your head whipping over to face soobin as a few tears spill over.

“baby…” soobin pouts at your tearful expression and your heart clenches in return, not before skipping a beat at the term of endearment.

with one of his hands wrapped around your own, the other covering your cheek and his eyes boring into your own, you find yourself drowning in that nostalgic warmth you used to associate with christmas. you squeezed his hand lightly and his pout shifted into a smile as quickly as your tears had fallen.

soobin’s smile felt like the sun itself was shining down on you, half of his face was lit by the christmas lights behind you and the other half by the setting sun. 

“thankyou, bin.” you manage to get out and his smile widens.

“don’t thank me, sweetheart.” he strokes your cheek as he speaks, brushing away any residual moisture from your tears.

“don’t tell me what to do.” you try to snap, but it comes out weak as a couple more tears slip down your cheeks, only to be caught by soobin’s waiting hand.

“there you are!” he teases, landing a poke to your cheek as he chuckles at your attempt at your usual stern tone.

“i’m serious, dumbass. i…” soobin’s breath catches as your heart rises up your throat at the words that have been fighting to get out.

“i love you,” soobin rushes out before you can work up the nerve.

“what?” you ask, thrown off by his abrupt interruption. 

“sorry, i didn’t take you out here to tell you this. i just wanted to help you… i know, christmas can be hard for you sometimes and i- but i do. i love you (y/n).” you watch with a fond smile as he rambles, seemingly letting his nerves get the best of him.

“i love you too, dummy.” a pout takes over his face and he leans in close, breath fanning over your face. you lean in to press your lips to his, but in a flash, the hand the was on your cheek is now covering your lips. your eyes cross ever so slightly as you stare his hand down indignantly.

“uh uh, try that again, dummy.” he says, unable to keep the smile off his face despite his firm tone. 

with a roll of your eyes, you grab his hand and move it back to your cheek for him.

“i love you too, bin.” you offer and with an excited nod of confirmation, soobin leans back in, obtrusions long gone and finally presses his lips to your own.

[finniestoncrane]

hello my dearest most darlingest finnie!! 💕💕

first, HUGE congratulations on 2k! you absolutely deserve it and I am so happy to be counted amongst your followers 🥰🥰

second, the concept and visuals for your 2k celebration are soooooo fun and well-thought out!! like yes please I would love to go to the movies! u.u

third, I do have a request to make for your celebration, if I may ☺️ could I snag a couple front row tickets for my date with farrell!penguin? we'll be seeing the romantic comedy! oh and could we also grab a hotdog 🌭, some frozen yogurt 🍧, and a rainbow cookie 🌈?

of course feel free to make any changes/adjustments that you'd like! 💕💕 I trust your genius completely u.u

but anyway, huge congrats again on the milestone! I hope you get a lot of fun requests! 🥰💕☺️💖

also I know I'm usually here as peng-anon, but I decided to show up to the movie theatre sans disguise today lmao

eeeeeee thank you charlotte!! you are such a sweet friend ;-; also i am pretty pleased with the little cinema theme, even if those lights on the marquee are wonky and took what felt like a year of my life to do lmao 💚🩷 cw: fluff fluff fluff, clumsy kisses 🔞minors dni🔞 send a request • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie2k (to follow or to block)

Oswald took the time to give the staff at his club personal employee evaluations. Part of his ethics, remaining in touch with the people, keeping the business running smoothly. Anything to not be like Falcone.

Most of your colleagues were nervous, and that was understandable. Oswald Cobblepot was a formidable man, and to have him sitting in front of you in his office as he critiqued your work was enough to have inspired three panic attacks in various staff members already.

You were nervous too, but for slightly different reasons. You actually hoped he would critique you, offer you room for improvement. Because if he was nice to you, it would only serve to make the little crush you'd developed on him even stronger.

Unluckily, sort of, your entire hour had been filled with praise and kindness. Oswald had nothing bad to say about you, and was instead lavishing you with kindness and flattery.

"Trust me, sweetheart. You're doing a great job, I wouldn't keep you on staff if you weren't."

It couldn't hold out any longer. Your body had to give in, and the first thing to go was your face. Your lips curled into a goofy smile, cheeks flushing warm and red. When you felt the heat, you tried to cover them, noticing that Oswald was chuckling.

"I'm so sorry, Mr Cobblepot!"

"What are you sorry for?"

"For blushing like a school girl, just because you were nice to me!"

"Oh, don't apologise, I think it's adorable."

It would have sounded patronising from anyone but him, but you could tell it was genuine, and the way he followed the words with a soft smile made you melt even further.

"It's just... it's so silly to get this flustered over you, like I have a chance. Like you'd ever feel any kind of way about me, it's just so..."

Oswald reached over the table, placing a hand on your cheek and silencing you completely as you gazed at him, wide-eyed. Unsure of what to do, you stood up and thanked him for his time, still blushing, now worried that you were overstepping some boundaries by letting slip how you felt.

He followed you to the door, holding the handle to open it for you, but before that, he leaned in, making an attempt to kiss your cheek. But you shrunk away, unsure of whether he meant to kiss you, and his lips slipped and met your chin instead.

"Mr Cobblepot, I'm... so sorry."

"No, no, I got the wrong idea. Shouldn't have done that... Sorry, sweetheart."

Bravery sparked up. You couldn't miss this opportunity.

"Oh no! It's ok, it was my fault... uh... you could try the other cheek. Second chance?"

He smiled, a grateful grin as he leaned in once more.

"Very classy... A bit European... and I'm not about to turn down the offer."

You turned your face, presenting your cheek to him, feeling the rest of your body fill with warmth as he placed a kiss on your skin.

[sherl-grey]

dangerous words I fear but I’m craving some OFMD critical but civil discourse… s2 finale spoilers included below the cut. this is incredibly long FYI bc I’m truly desperate to get all my thoughts out

I want to preface by saying I loved S2. I think I loved it more than s1, I think there were some absolute GENIUS moments this season (the entire Calypso episode was *chef’s kiss* my favorite), and I think the cast, crew, and DJ deserve a lot of love and, of course, a renewal for another season.

I know there’s been a lot of anti-finale-critiquing posts out there (and yeah, I also don’t want to see baseless hate or, god forbid, people trying to interact with the cast/crew with anything less than love and respect) but personally, I think the biggest sign that I love a show is me wanting to pick it apart. I think digging into the writing and decision-making and characters of a show means you really appreciate the choices that were made even if you don’t agree with them, because you’re working to understand the story on a level most people only dive to if they’re forced to in an English class. No story is going to be perfect. No story is going to be written specifically for me unless it’s literally by me. But sometimes I still want to study it like a bug under a microscope, you know?

So here we go: I didn’t like the finale, and I didn’t think it fit very well with the rest of the season/show. Weirdly enough I didn’t feel a need to discuss online until I started reading the interviews DJ has been giving about the finale (specifically the choice to kill Izzy and Ed/Stede’s ending) and I’m so curious as to whether others interpreted things the same way. (Yes, they’re DJ’s characters. No, I don’t think all viewers are obligated to interpret things the same way as writers did—that’s half the beauty of storytelling and media consumption.)

Izzy’s Death

Let’s unpack the big one first. I think a lot of what DJ/finale defenders (if I may respectfully call fans who enjoyed s2e8 that) have mentioned is that Izzy’s arc was over and he’d served his narrative purpose. I’ve got a few different issues with this:

1. Part of what I love(d?) about this show is that I did not think this was a show that kills characters once they’ve served their narrative purpose, or a show that kills characters as punishment/retribution for mistakes/earlier actions. To me, OFMD symbolizes the idea that everyone is deserving of love, forgiveness, and second chances. I truly trusted that no one on the Revenge crew would die in this show, and to be proven wrong was a bit disheartening, to say the least. Will talk more on the suicide notion in the next bit because I think it was symbolic, but Izzy also now represents a suicidal character who finds the will to live again. I’d argue that a “full arc” for a character like that should be ending in happiness, not death (and especially not with a line like “I want to go” or whatever the specific words were).

2. DJ seems to describe Izzy’s role as being a mentor to Blackbeard, which I personally struggle to see at all. Despite the Captain/First Mate status difference, I think most signs have pointed towards them being roughly equals—the unrequited love Izzy feels for Ed, the way the two of them stand right up to each other when everyone else would be afraid to, the clear shared history and longevity of their friendship/companionship. (If anything, I’d argue Izzy takes on the mentor mantle for Stede in s2, though it’s a bit glossed over because of how crunched for time everything was.) I certainly have trouble seeing the “father figure” relationship that DJ mentions in interviews, because I think Izzy is the one crew member that puts himself on even ground with his captains.

But even humoring that, Ed’s story has been about shedding Blackbeard. And DJ has a great quote in the Entertainment Weekly interview where he says that Izzy and Ed are both Blackbeard, that the two of them together are what makes Blackbeard “happen.” So in theory, if we’re killing Izzy off to further Ed’s storyline, it’s to ultimately kill Blackbeard, right? Especially since his line at the end is to “just be Ed.”

Except we already have metaphorically killed Blackbeard, several times. I think S2E3 is a really interesting episode because in season 1, it can be argued (and is, by Chauncey Badminton) that Stede kills Blackbeard in his own pirate-y way—with kindness. The crew is also somewhat a part of this, as they all accept and love Ed for who he is and not only because he’s Blackbeard; the crew follows the example of their captain and it changes who Ed is as a person. S2E3 is a crew under Blackbeard, and they also kill Blackbeard following the method of their current captain—violence. And this “death” is, in my mind, the death of Blackbeard while Stede symbolically saves the part of him that is just Ed. (Bonus: we also get Ed trying to sink his leathers, and while it might just be because he’s on a damn boat, it’s interesting that Blackbeard’s clothes are drowned/sunk while Ed’s metaphorical comeback was being saved from drowning by Mer!Stede.)

So Ed’s half of Blackbeard is dead. If we stand by DJ’s idea that Blackbeard is half Izzy, we’ve still got half of Blackbeard left, right? Well, that would’ve been right immediately post-S1, but then they gave Izzy a beautiful arc that seems to be a shadow of Ed’s S1 track. Ed and Izzy are very similar characters, but in S1 Ed is on the receiving end of love, acceptance, and admiration—namely from Stede, but also from the crew. Meanwhile, Izzy is subject to contempt and hostility… once again, namely from Stede, and also from the crew. Ed blossoms under the love during S1 until that’s taken away; Izzy simply moves in the reverse direction. He continues to be an antagonist while being treated like one, but once others start treating him with kindness (Fang hugging him, Jim and Archie amputating his leg while Frenchie lies for him, the whole crew making him the unicorn leg), he too becomes a part of the family. And wouldn’t you know it—Izzy has a near death scene as well, a suicide no less. Izzy is the one who is responsible in S1 for “bringing back Blackbeard,” so the symbolism of him pulling the trigger on himself is huge. This is Izzy killing his half of Blackbeard! Because Izzy Hands continues to live, even if it takes him some time to remember how to live without Blackbeard at first, and his relationship with Ed effectively dies here.

(As a side note, this growth arc and the way Izzy fully transforms into a member of the Revenge crew afterwards—whittling Lucius a shark and talking to him about forgiveness, dressing up in drag and singing to the crew, cracking silly jokes about Ed and Stede’s relationship—are also why I find the “Izzy Hands is the symbol of traditional piracy and his death is symbolic of traditional piracy dying” argument to be weak. In season 1, he was that definition, but we’ve literally watched him grow out of it. He’s no longer symbolic of something stagnant that will remain the same or be destroyed—he’s symbolic of something that grows and adapts to the new situations, that survives when all of the rules change on him.)

And then we have the return of Blackbeard: Pop-Pop pushing Ed to go back to doing “what he’s good at,” Ed fishing his leathers out of the ocean, Ed killing a ton of people because he thinks Stede is likely dead or at minimum in captivity/grave danger. This bit seems to go against everything the season was building towards; Blackbeard was almost entirely gone, but Ed is now the one who brings him back because he thinks Blackbeard is the one who can save Stede. And that’s fair, but what does that have to do with Izzy at this point? Why does he need to die for Ed to put that part of him away again? While we’re not owed a main character having a death that serves a narrative purpose, I’d hope for that to be the case, and I struggle to interpret what happens to Izzy as beneficial to either plot or character.

3. I think the actual core arcs of the show are character arcs and not plots. I get that they might’ve been trying to wrap plots with Zheng and the British in case they aren’t renewed, but I don’t think it was necessary—the pirating has always been secondary to the rom com and the found family, IMO. In S1, we had two main characters, but I’d argue Izzy got enough focus and attention to be a third this season. Which left us with a great character-driven story: we’re watching all 3 of them come into their own and discover who they are individually, while also discovering that the changes in themselves are causing friction between them now that they’re growing into new people. Which is an amazing story to tell, if you ask me, but the fulfillment of that story requires all three characters to be there. The conflict to be resolved is how these characters can become the people they want to be and still coexist together, because on some level they’re family now. Notably each pair combination of these characters grows together or apart (or in Stede/Ed’s case, both) during this season. Ed and Izzy are growing apart because they hold each other back from becoming the person they want/need to be; to complete this narratively, I would’ve expected the next challenge to be finding a way to become friends again as their new selves while letting go of the fact that they used to have a toxic relationship when they used to be different people.

Ed and Stede’s S2 Ending

So Izzy’s death is the big talking point, but I also think DJ’s take on Ed and Stede was interesting. He said that they deserved a happy ending for the work they put in this season. I agree with him in theory, but I’m curious as to whether others agree that they put in a lot of work. I think Stede followed through with his goal to come back and tell Ed how he feels, and to stay instead of running away from his problems. I think Ed followed through with trying to understand who he is and what his needs are while also trying to find the courage to open himself up to love again. But critically, they never talk. E7 makes a point to highlight the miscommunication/lack of communication between them, and then in E8 they still aren’t shown talking.

(I realize part of the issue is the limited amount of time and the amount of plot shoved into episode 8. I get it; personally, I think the plot should’ve been sacrificed for the characters. At this point, we were 7 episodes into a very character/relationship-heavy season. Plot could’ve waited for a potential S3.)

What’s more—there’s a huge, glaring gap between where they left off and where they end up. Ed left in S2E7 after he begins panicking and realizing Stede is becoming deeper entrenched in pirate life just as he’s finally finding his way out of it. Not once do they talk about this, but suddenly they’re retiring together? And right after Ed says Izzy was his only family and Izzy calls the crew his family (which… is also an unearned line, as Ed and the crew have almost no bonding or forgiveness this season, since we focused mainly on Izzy with the crew and Ed with Stede), they leave the crew to do their own thing? They’re all relatively minor things that could be fairly easily addressed by dialogue, but they fact that they’re not only serves to underscore the way that Ed and Stede really aren’t on the same page.

I want them to get their happy ending. They deserve it. I’m just not sure that I agree that they earned it to the degree that it was received, with retirement alone together without their crew, if that makes sense.

Positivity Tax: Calypso Love 😊

I’ve probably got more to say but those were the big ones on my mind after reading the Vanity Fair and Entertainment Weekly interviews. Just to counterbalance some of the more critical things I’ve said, I wanted to share some loving analysis of the Calypso episode:

1. It’s a minor thing, but the way this episode shows that Ed’s actions as Blackbeard had consequences is amazing. Despite him arguably committing the more grievous wrongs in S1, he’s the one we get the least redemption for in this season (his apology to the crew wasn’t great, and most of his screen time is spent repairing his relationship with Stede), so for him to have to face something that happened because of his past actions is cool, especially because it was done in a way that doesn’t further damage his standing with the crew.

2. The way Stede saves the day is incredible. Competent Stede this season has been an absolute joy to watch, and his success in this episode is twofold: first he wins his way, with signature Gentleman Pirate flair. He listens to Ned’s crew, helps facilitate communication between them, and encourages them to stand up for themselves and demand better treatment. That’s a very classic Stede win. But then he wins in the traditional pirate way, and it’s absolutely glorious; he’s been working towards becoming a better pirate, both in terms of stomaching violence and building up the necessary skills. Ned’s crew can be taken down with kindness, but Ned himself is a pirate and will only be matched by another. I genuinely cannot think of a more perfect way to show that Stede is still himself while also showcasing the newer side of him that he’s been working towards this whole time.

3. Speaking of that newer side of him, the way this episode starts to open up Ed’s insecurities? The combination of seeing his least favorite parts of himself reflected in Stede as well as watching Stede grow into the career that he’s trying to leave? Amazing conflict development.

4. I’ve already talked so much about Izzy but the way this truly caps off the crew’s acceptance of him as part of the family is gorgeous. He’s an entirely new man at this point and there’s no jokes made, no friendly ribbing… just love and acceptance. It highlights both his newfound comfort and familiarity with the others as well as the extent to which they care about him.

5. Less analytical, but it’s also just a really pretty episode.

Considering the fact that I have zero OFMD mutuals and this was a whole essay (I’m on mobile and can’t see how long this is but I’m honestly scared), I would be shocked if someone made it down this far, but if somehow people are here and open to civil discussion… I’d love to know how you felt about this, if you thought DJ was right, if you were a little more on my wavelength and thinking things weren’t adding up, etc. Realistically I’m not sure if anything could change my mind as I’ve done a lot of stewing, particularly about Izzy arc, but new perspectives are always refreshing. Much love to the fandom and of course the creators, who hopefully never see this and get their s3 renewal 🤞🏼

[wtfsheikura]

Chapter 3

I CAN’T BELIEVE THE AUDACITY of this man. We’ve only spent five minutes together, and he’s already trying to get me to have sex with him—unbelievable. I’ve heard the rumors about him, but I didn’t think he’d be this brazen, and with me no less.

“That line may have worked on the roster of women you’ve been with in the past, but it will absolutely not work on me.” I scowl, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. “If Suguru heard that you just tried to proposition me in a hotel bar, he would be appalled.”

Satour presses his lips together, attempting to hold back from laughing. “N/n, if I were asking you to sleep with me, I’d come right out and say it.”

I sigh in relief, but a part of me feels dejected at his apparent indifference.

“You’re not?” I ask, giving him side-eye.

“Don’t think for a second that it means I’m not interested,” he says, his Blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “A friend of mine owns a nightclub next to Premiere, and I always stop by when I’m in town. They serve top-shelf alcohol, which is loads better than the watered-down shit they serve here.” He gestures toward the liquor display behind the bar. “What do you say? Get a real drink with me?”

He thinks that’s more convincing.

“No thank you,” I say without hesitation.

Men spell trouble, and I can’t forget it. Although Sukuna's notion of embracing one night of making bad decisions plays in my mind. Getting a drink with Satour would undeniably qualify as a bad decision.

“Why not? It’s just one drink,” he urges.

I rub my temples, trying to keep calm despite his persistence. “Because I have a hunch one drink would turn into two with you,” I say bluntly.

The adult version of Satour exudes sex appeal and confidence and cannot be trusted. He’s the type of man I avoid like the plague. They lure you in with pretty words, lavish gifts, and empty promises—leaving you to pick up the broken pieces once they’re gone.

“N/n, it’s only a drink with a friend,” he assures me like he can read my mind. “It sounds like you’ve had a long week and could use a night out.”

“I have no interest in watching you get plastered and gyrate against every woman in the club. Now, why don’t you take a hint and disappear like Larry?” I regret my comment when a brief flash of hurt flashes across his face.

“Whoever caused you to become so distrusting deserves to suffer for what they did.” Satour places his hand on mine. “Word of advice. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Just because I haven’t had a serious girlfriend since high school and like to have a good time doesn’t mean I’m a bad guy.”

He leans in so his mouth brushes against my ear. “For the record, I was going to take you to a piano bar on the club’s second floor. You’re the only woman I have any interest in spending time with tonight,” he murmurs as he lifts his hand off mine.

I feel a pang of loss when he moves back, takes out his wallet, and places a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the counter. He didn’t order anything, so I assume it’s to cover my martini and leave a generous tip.

A sense of unease washes over me when he slides off his barstool without a word.

I’d let him walk out the door if I knew what was good for me. However, despite my pretense of indifference, the thought of not seeing him again for an undetermined amount of time doesn’t sit well with me.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

Sukuna’s advice from our earlier conversation pops into my head.

One drink with Satour Gojo can’t hurt, right? Like he said, it’s just a harmless night catching up between two childhood friends.

I must be a masochist because I have a habit of putting myself in situations with men who I think I can trust, only to end up hurt and alone. I shake my head in disgust. That line of thinking is exactly what Satour called me out for. I’m so cynical and quick to make assumptions. He has done nothing to deserve that.

When I look up, he’s halfway across the lobby. I toss my phone into my purse and chase after him.

“Gojo, wait,” I shout, disregarding the questioning looks from the other guests.

He spins around, searching my face for a moment, a grin lighting up his features when it seems he’s found whatever it was he was looking for.

His reaction sends another uncontrollable flutter through my stomach.

“Yes, N/n?” he asks, tapping his foot while he waits.

“I want to go to the piano bar with you if the invitation still stands.” I hold my hand up when he opens his mouth. “But I’m holding you to your promise about it only being one drink. We’ll catch up, and then I’ll be on my way.”

Sukuna would be so proud.

“If that’s what you want.” He opens the door before I can question him further, placing his hand on my lower back as we step out onto the street.

That was too easy.

So much for just one drink. I’m buzzed enough to feel more like the Y/n that Satour used to know than I have in years.

When we arrived at the piano bar, the line to get in was wrapped around the block, but we were ushered inside and taken to the best seats in the place, offering the perfect view of the stage.

We’ve been here for over an hour and I’m still awestruck by the charm of the place.

Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the plush velvet couches and polished marble flows. The massive space is filled with the notes of a grand piano playing a lively jazz piece as servers hurry from table to table.

Our waitress appears and shoots Satour a flirtatious smile while checking him out. She set her sights on him as soon as we were seated at our table. The noticeable gap between us speaks volumes, indicating we’re not a couple. “Can I get you anything else, sir?”

“Yeah. Can we get another shot of tequila and another whiskey on the rocks?” he says as he taps his empty glass.

“Certainly,” the waitress coos, her voice dripping with honey.

I roll my eyes at her obvious display of interest. She couldn’t be more transparent if she tried.

“Thank you.” Satour gives her a grin before she walks away.

Our waitress isn’t the only one who has noticed him. Every woman in the piano bar steals glances in our direction, blatantly eye-fucking Satour every chance they get.

His wavy hair falls around his face, concealing most of his scar, except for a small section near his chin, adding a touch of mystery to his appeal. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, and his muscular forearms are visible with his rolled-up sleeves, making him irresistible eye candy. 

I appear to be the only one immune to his charm.

At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

“You were glaring at the waitress again,” Gojo observes. “Did you want something other than tequila?”

“I was guessing how long it’ll take you to invite her back to your room tonight. Just say the word, and I’m happy to make my exit so you two can have your privacy.”

“Somebody’s jealous.” He scoots closer and throws his arm over my shoulders.

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

I attempt to move away, but he gently pulls me back into his embrace. “I’m making sure there’s no question that I’m here with you,” he says softly.

His words cause me to melt into his arms, reminiscent of our high school days when he would comfort me in the same way… I forgot how much I missed it.

The waitress reappears at our table with our drinks in hand. “Here you are—” She stops short when she notices Satour’s arm around me.

“Is there a problem?” Satour raises a brow.

“No, not at all,” she says as she collects our empty glasses.

“That’ll be all, thanks,” he says, effectively dismissing her.

I don’t miss her crestfallen expression at being rejected.

Satour has a way with women that draws them in. He has always been kind, genuine, and straightforward, qualities women appreciate. In contrast, my frosty demeanor turns most men off, but it hasn’t fazed Satour. Even when I told him off, he brushed it off like it never happened.

“Cheers.” He holds up his glass of whiskey, bringing it close to the shot of tequila I have in my hand.

“Cheers,” I echo as our glasses clink together, downing the shot in one swallow.

This is my fourth shot since we arrived. I’m not sure how I’ve allowed myself to get so tipsy. After my watered-down martini at the hotel bar, the tequila was a welcome improvement.

This has to be my last drink, or I’ll end up doing something I’ll regret, like kissing my brother’s insanely attractive best friend.

As Satour lifts his drink to his lips, I notice a flash of color on his wrist.

That can’t be what I think it is.

I grab his wrist to examine it closely, a splash of whiskey spilling onto my arm from jostling his glass. He’s wearing a blue and white corded bracelet on his right wrist that looks identical to the one I gave him when he was in the hospital recovering from his accident.

“Is this—”

“The bracelet you made?” He pauses, looking me in the eye. “Yeah, it is.”

In high school, I went through a phase where I learned to make macrame friendship bracelets. I made one for Suguru and our friends. I had planned to give Satour the one I made for him at school, but he was hit by a car the night before.

When Suguru and I went to visit him in the hospital after his accident, I brought the bracelet with me.

“Why do you still have it?” I ask breathlessly.

“It’s… special,” he states matter-of-factly. “When I was in the hospital, everyone who came to see me looked at me with pity. Even Suguru treated me differently. But not you. When you stepped into the room, you cracked jokes about how pale I was and how you were convinced I had been turned into a vampire.” He stares into the distance as if he’s being drawn back into the memory. “I told you I was worried about what everyone would think of me when they removed the bandages on my face, and that’s when you gave me this.” He rubs the faded string between his fingers. “You told me whenever I felt discouraged, the bracelet would serve as a physical reminder to have courage and to remember that I’m stronger than I think. And you were right; it’s been my lucky charm ever since.”

I gaze at the visible part of his scar. It’s clear he views it in a negative light—a physical reminder that he’s different. I wish he could see it the way I do.

When I lock eyes with him, I confirm his sincerity.

The bracelet’s colors have faded, and the edges have frayed, and yet he’s continued to wear it all these years.

My breath hitches when he reaches out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear. If I were sober, I would swat his hand away and remind him that this is just drinks between friends. Tipsy me seems to have forgotten about boundaries, leaning into his hand like a kitten being stroked on the head.

Maybe I’m not so immune to his charms after all.

“I have a confession,” he murmurs so softly I have to strain to hear him. “There’s something else I kept.”

“What is it?” I don’t bother hiding my curiosity.

“The napkin that we used to sign our marriage pact on. Do you remember?”

I stare at him wide eyed. “I do.”

How could I forget the worst day of my life up to that point being turned around because of Satour’s thoughtfulness?

My boyfriend dumped me just hours before our senior prom. I was humiliated that I was naïve enough to think that we were going to be together forever.

When Satour found me reading behind the old Yaga house, he listened to me ramble on about soulmates and how worried I was that I’d never find mine. The joke is on me because I learned the hard way that there isn’t such a thing. Relationships never last, no matter how much you want them to.

Most friends would have laughed off my silly notions, but not Satour. He came up with the idea for us to sign a marriage pact as a backup plan, and despite my new perspective on love being a myth, I never forgot the sweet gesture.

“I figured you threw it away.”

“Never.” He gazes at me, and up close I can see the golden flecks in his blue eyes. “I liked the idea that in an alternate reality you’d be mine.” I feel lightheaded when he caresses my cheek with the back of his hand, his knuckles rubbing against my jaw.

The sober me would tell him he’s full of shit and remind him that a woman can’t be owned. Too bad the tipsy me is relishing the fact that Satour Gojo just confessed in a roundabout way that he kept the marriage pact we made in high school because he likes me… or at least he did.

“I have an important question to ask you,” he says.

“Which is?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

He leans in closer, like he has a secret to share, and trails his fingers along my arm, sending a course of electricity through me at the touch. “Please tell me you’re single,” he murmurs.

“That’s not a question,” I quip playfully.

“I can’t ask you to marry me if you’re with someone else,” he says with a mischievous, boyish grin.

An uncharacteristic giggle escapes my lips. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It makes perfect sense.” He removes his arm from around my shoulder and clasps my hands in his. “We’re both single, in our thirties, and there’s a chapel right down the street. Marry me, N/n.”

I stare at him, trying to process his words. “We haven’t seen each other in fourteen years,” I remind him.

Thanks to the alcohol, it’s like my brain is on a coffee break, leaving me unable to come up with a better retort.

“So?” Satour murmurs. “They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, don’t they? Some connections can’t be ignored, no matter how long you’ve been apart.”

I knit my eyebrows in confusion. “What are you saying?”

“Marry me,” he repeats, sidestepping my question. “Our pact still means something to me, just like this bracelet does,” he says, nodding to his wrist. “You mean something to me.” Satour cradles my face, sending a shiver down my spine. “Haven’t you heard the best things in life are worth waiting for? Now that you’re finally here with me, I don’t ever want to let you go.”

I briefly close my eyes, wishing he’d stop saying all the right things.

After being engaged to a cheater with average looks, tying the knot with Satour would be a major upgrade. He’s devastatingly handsome and charismatic. Not to mention I’ve known him since we were kids.

“You’re serious about this?”

He nods his head. “I promise I’ll make you happy. You just have to give me a chance to prove it, N/n.” My heart skips a beat when he presses a kiss to my forehead. “Make me the luckiest man alive, and agree to be my wife.”

Nibbling on my lower lip, I feel the weight of his gaze.

Maybe this isn’t such a terrible idea after all. He has worn my bracelet for all these years and admitted that our silly marriage pact meant something to him. Plus, he punched Toji Zenin in the face when he stood me up at our senior prom. That’s true loyalty.

Wait. Am I really considering this?

Warning bells ring loudly in the back of my mind, reminding me those aren’t valid reasons to marry someone, but one too many shots of tequila have drowned out my logical thinking.

“When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to? Be brave, N/n, and take this leap with me,” Satour urges.

“Gojo, are you daring me to marry you?”

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “Is it working?”

“Yes,” I say, a grin spreading across my face, reflecting his contagious excitement. “I think it is.”

[geminiwritten]

untouched ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: billy hasn’t touched you for months, and you’re frustrated, so you decide to invest in some skimpy lingerie in the hopes that he won’t be able to resist

notes: YES, this is (very loosely) based on the song ‘untouched’ by the veronicas and if you haven’t heard it, it’s a bop. also, i’m so sorry for the terrible british accent writing, and i’m sorry for the fade-to-black but i was too chicken to actually write all the smut. please let me know what you think!

side note: i would die for this man (billy butcher and karl urban)

warnings: a lot of swearing, beer, very light smut, and some google translated french

word count: 5848

You hadn’t originally planned for Frenchie to come along on your little shopping trip, it was supposed to be MM, but when he got a call from Janine, you couldn’t possibly have asked him to prioritise you over his own daughter. Hughie had offered to drive you, of course, but you decided that Frenchie was the lesser of two evils in this situation, and you refused to go alone. Lately, you weren’t the biggest fan of going anywhere alone.

“Ooh,” Frenchie coos, pulling a lacy baby doll from one of the racks and holding it up to his own body. “I think this would suit me, no?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I think it would, why don’t you try it on?”

He giggles and throws the garment over his arm. “I think you, mon amour, would look ravishing in it.”

So here you were, in the middle of the lingerie section in one of New York City’s largest department stores, shopping for scandalous undergarments with Frenchie. You have to admit, he is a huge boost for your self-esteem, but you trusted him much less than MM to keep this little shopping trip a secret.

“What about this one?” he asks, holding up a bodysuit styled after Starlight’s costume that left even less to the imagination than her suit already did.

You scoff, “Absolutely not.”

He giggles again as he returns the bodysuit to its rack. You were doing your best to avoid anything that resembled the costume of a Supe, even if some of Queen Maeve’s designs did catch your eye. The purpose for which you were buying would definitely be negated by anything that looked like it had been produced by Vought.

“May I ask,” Frenchie says as he catches up to you at the next rack, “what exactly are you looking for, and why?”

“I just need some new underwear,” you lie. “The washing machine at that dingy apartment only works half of the time and I figured that buying more underwear was a more economical option than buying a whole new machine.”

The second part wasn’t a lie, but you still had to turn away to hide your pink cheeks.

“Ah,” he sighs, moving around the rack to follow you. “So silly of me to assume that this had something to do with Monsieur Charcutier, but I suppose you would not lie to me, hm?”

Your pulses races, pumping even more blood into your cheeks and making the huge store feel suddenly stifling. You ignore his inference and turn toward a shelf full of wrapped latex garments, ranging from underwear to bras, to suspenders and gloves. The items draped over your arm are mostly lace and straps, so you choose a pair of latex hot pants and hand them to Frenchie.

“Like this,” you say, “practical underwear, perfect for fighting. I won’t have to worry about them falling down.”

He smirks. “Of course, and perhaps you will need this to?”

He takes a riding crop off one of the hooks beside the latex display and offers it to you.

“Better than a gun, in my opinion,” you state, taking the crop and holding it under your arm that is already full of lingerie.

“What is it for if not to spank a naughty, naughty Supe,” he chuckles.

After an hour of browsing and dodging Frenchie’s attempts to get you to reveal your true agenda, you approach the check-out counter. A surly old woman serves you, grumbling between disapproving glares as she scans each item that is more scandalous than the last. You’re so busy trying not to burst out laughing that you don’t even notice the inclusion of the riding crop until she hands you the bag.

“Have a great day,” she mumbles insincerely.

“And you too, mon chéri,” Frenchie says with a wink.

You grab his wrist and drag him behind you as you b-line for the store’s main doors. By the time you reach the curb, you’re both giggling like idiots and wiping tears from the corners of your eyes while strangers watch you with wary expressions. It’s only a short walk to the car, but you manage to compose yourself by the time you’re both climbing into your respective seats. The engine sputters to life, and Frenchie swerves into the busy traffic in the direction of your current residence.

“Be honest with me, mon amour,” he says, and you look up from your phone, “what is all this about?”

The paper bag is nestled between your feet, and you can see a buckled strap peeking out of it. None of your purchases were at all for practical use.

You sigh, “I honestly don’t know, Frenchie.”

“Butcher has been distant lately, no?”

You nod, and he glances at you from the corner of his.

“It has been rough,” he says, “and I know he is not good with his emotions, even in the best of times, but I know he does care about you.”

“I know.”

He moves a hand from the wheel to hold one of yours. “You do not need all of this to make him lo-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, your pulse spiking with panic, “please, don’t say that word.”

“Mon amour,” he sighs, and somehow in French the word sounds a lot less intimidating. “You are beautiful, do not ever forget it.”

You smile at him and raise his hand to your lips to kiss his knuckles. “You’re beautiful too, Frenchie.”

He chuckles, “I know.”

It isn’t just that you’re afraid of that word when it came to Butcher, because there were so many more things to fear in this world, it was more to do with the fact that he hasn’t touched you in months. You knew, when it all started, that this situation wasn’t going to be easy and it definitely wasn’t going to be something that meant a whole lot to Butcher, but you went ahead and fell anyway. With the chaos of the cause you were all fighting for, and the uncertainty of whether or not any of you would live, you thought you’d be able to put your own desires on the back burner. You couldn’t have been more wrong.

It was good for a while, but then things got bad again and more skeletons crept out of the closet, and Butcher has all but forgotten about you. It isn’t that he no longer cares about you, because you know he does, but he’s been all work and no play for months now, and your heart is beginning to ache. And so is the place between your thighs that he is exceptionally good at satiating.

You might be stupid enough to fall for the man but you’re not stupid enough to assume that he might ever return those feelings, so you’ve decided to focus on the one element of intimacy you know he craves too.

“Looks like le Charcutier himself has returned,” Frenchie says, and only then do you realise the car has stopped.

Butcher’s car is parked at the curb in front of the decrepit apartment building that you currently call home, and you can swear there are new scrapes scratched along the passenger’s side doors. You tuck your purchases as deep into the paper bag as they’ll go before getting out of the car and following Frenchie into the building. You climb two sets of stairs and stop at the third door on the left, nervously chewing the inside of your lip while Frenchie fumbles with his keys.

“You know,” he whispers, pausing as he turns to you, “he might not-”

“Frenchie,” you hiss, “I don’t want to talk about the consequences, okay?”

He sighs, “I just don’t want you to be upset if he does not appreciate this the way you want him to.”

“I don’t give a damn.”

You snatch his keys and jam the big rusted one into the doorknob, twisting it angrily and pushing the door open before he can say another word. You knew your plan had holes, but you didn’t have the patience to try and talk any sense into yourself because Butcher was the only thing on your mind. He has been from the moment you met him.

The first person you see is MM, sitting on the couch watching old cartoon reruns with a content smile on his lips. Hughie is in the kitchen, on the phone to his dad and by the sound of it, attempting to talk him through the process of rebooting his Wi-Fi router. Your frustration dissipates at the sight of normalcy, or as normal as it got for people who live the way that you all do. It’s been quiet lately, more reconnaissance than murder, and more time to plan and recover for when things inevitably go wrong.

“Hey,” MM calls, “how did you go?”

He immediately glances at the bag and grin splits across his face.

Hughie bids his father goodbye before tucking his phone in his pocket and looking to you, his frown turning quizzical. “What is that?”

“It is a- uh,” Frenchie puts a finger to his lips, “how do you say flagellateur?”

“You bought a cane?” Hugh gasps, “What the hell for?”

MM chuckles, “I believe Frenchie called it a flogger.”

“For the naughty Supes,” Frenchie says, pulling it out of the bag before you can react.

Hughie bursts out laughing as Frenchie moves like lightning and smacks MM across the bottom with the crop, a sharp cracking sound echoing through the room. MM yelps, turning to Frenchie with a murderous glare.

“Touch me with that again and I’ll shove it so far up your ass, you’ll feel it in your throat,” he threatens.

Frenchie smirks, “Do not make promises you cannot keep, vilain garçon.”

MM moves to grab the crop, but Frenchie is faster. He steps back and holds it behind his back, giving himself a light tap on the thigh and moaning wickedly. Hughie’s laughter bubbles up again, and even MM can’t help from chuckling.

You roll your eyes despite your amusement, “Come on, Frenchie, that’s enough.”

“Au contraire, mon petit chat,” he coos, “we are just getting started.”

“Who’s gettin’ what started?”

All four of you turn toward the familiar voice – gruff and always a little sarcastic – to find Butcher standing in the door to the main bedroom. His hair is damp and tousled, and his signature trench coat absent.

“Nothing, Monsieur Charcutier,” Frenchie says, still holding the crop behind his back.

“What the bloody hell are you hidin’?”

Hughie is struggling to hold back his laughter, his eyes watering with the effort. The boy is definitely sleep deprived, though this time you blame Annie more than the vigilante lifestyle.

Butcher takes two heavy steps forward and his brows furrow. “Is that a fuckin’ riding crop?”

“Oh, this?” Frenchie shows him the flogger. “This is Mademoiselle Y/N’s.”

He steps toward you and slides the crop back into your bag.

“We went shopping,” you say, forcing yourself to meet Butcher’s eyes despite the overwhelming urge to run back out the door.

He cocks his head, “You went shoppin’ with Frenchie, ‘n’ bought a fuckin’ sex toy?”

You nod slowly, feeling the blood burn in your cheeks. The air is suddenly thick, and you struggle to draw anything more than a shallow breath as you wait in silence for someone to say something. You know it’s bad when even Frenchie shuts up.

“Right,” Butcher glances at the bag in your hand before turning to MM. “Well, since everyone’s ‘ere, we might as well go over what we know ‘bout the rally this weekend.”

Hughie rushes over to the small dining room table to retrieve his laptop, and MM turns the television’s volume down to zero. Butcher looks back at you, and then to Frenchie.

“Unless,” he says, “you two had somethin’ better to do?”

Frustration bubbles up in your chest, and your embarrassment turns into irritation.

“Just let me get changed.”

You don’t wait for a response before turning on your heel and marching into your room, slamming the door for effect. You tip the contents of your shopping bag on the bed and begin stripping out of your jeans. It is hot in this dingy little apartment, since no one had yet been successful in getting the thermostat to work, so your decision to change into shorts and a loose button-up wasn’t totally uncalled for. It just so happens that you decided to swap your bra and panties for a sheer black bodysuit with a built-in harness that wrapped around your chest and waist, and down around your bum into thigh garters. You button your shirt enough to only just show the straps over the curve of your breasts, and make sure the garters are tucked under your shorts before remerging into the living room.

The boys are gathered around the kitchen bench, Frenchie and Hughie looking at the laptop while Butcher and MM point at what you can guess is a map on the countertop. You assume Kimiko is still sleeping, and no one was game enough to try and wake her.

“We’re not sure if anyone from corporate is scheduled to attend,” Hughie says, “but it looks like every member of the seven have been ordered to appear.”

You step between Frenchie and MM, right across from Butcher. Frenchie glances at you, his eyes dropping for less than a second to your cleavage before he gives you a cheeky smirk. You press your lips together to keep from laughing, and when you look toward Butcher you find his eyes already on you, or rather, on Frenchie. If looks could kill, the poor French man would be a pile of dust on the floor.

“It would be suicide to try anything at this thing,” MM states, “with all of them there, the security is going to be tight.”

“I agree,” Hughie says, “so if we go, it has to be lowkey, and we can’t be recognised.”

“So that rules out you and Butcher,” you point out, leaning past Frenchie to see the laptop screen.

“You and I can go, then,” MM points at a spot on the map, “we recon from the outskirts, and Frenchie waits off side in case we need an emergency extraction.”

“No,” Butcher says, his eyes trained on you with an intensity that made your spine feel like a gummy worm, “she’s not goin’ anywhere near this shit show. Her and Hughie watch from this buildin’,” he points at a building two blocks from the main event, “me ‘n’ you go in for recon, ‘n’ Frenchie ‘n’ Kimiko will be waitin’ nearby.”

You frown, “Hughie can do the surveillance on his own, and you can’t go anywhere near Homelander. I’ll go in with MM.”

“No,” he says again, “you’re not gettin’ that close.”

“This isn’t close,” you point at the map where MM had, “and if you’re worried then you can wait with Frenchie but Butcher, you can’t be seen. It’s too risky.”

“You wan’a know what’s risky?” he snaps, his gaze dropping to your chest.

You cross your arms, fully aware that it accentuates your breasts.

“Fuckin’ arguin’ with me.”

You roll your eyes and take a step back. “Fine, get yourself killed for no fucking reason Butcher, see what I care.”

Tension rolls through the room like a dark storm cloud, rumbling with impending thunder as it settles right between you and the man you’re glaring at.

“No one is going to die,” Hughie speaks cautiously, “we’re not going there for a fight.”

“I know that.” you snap, though your eyes don’t dare leave Butcher’s. “Tell him that.”

“Butcher,” MM says, “I know you want to lead, but she has a point.”

Butcher scoffs, “I don’t give a damn about whether I’m on the front line or not, but she’s not goin’ anywhere near those fuckers. ‘Specially if I’m not at her fuckin’ side.”

Your heart stutters and your resolve cracks. Your shoulders slacken as every measure of intimidation you had built up dissolves and the stupid but familiar feeling of warmth and longing spreads through your body.

“We’re not getting close, Butcher,” Hughie says, “all we need is-”

“That,” Butcher spits, pointing at the same spot on the map, “is too fuckin’ close.”

MM looks at you, waiting for you to argue some more. Butcher rarely listens to anyone, but on the occasion that he does, it’s often you. But right now, you’re tired and you’re sick of arguing with this man when all you really want is for him to throw you up against a wall and tear your clothes off.

“Whatever,” you sigh, “you’ve got to live your life the way you want, right, Butcher?”

You circle around Hughie, around the kitchen bench, and behind Butcher where the barely functional fridge is. Silence hangs heavy in the air as you open it, bottles rattling in the door. You take a bottle of beer from the shelf and shut it again, turning to the drawer where you last saw the bottle opener, but it isn’t there. Sighing, you turn on your heel to stand beside Butcher and lift the hem of your shirt to wrap it around the bottle top, using it to buffer your hand as you struggle to get the cap off. With a soft pop, the cap comes free and so does another button on your shirt, revealing the little gold buckle connecting the straps between your boobs.

A small, triumphant smile quirks your lips as you look up, meeting Butcher’s gaze much closer than before. His eyes are dark, his pupils devouring almost all of his hazel irises.

Frenchie clears his throat, keeping his own gaze locked on the map. “Hughie says that most of the roads will be closed, but if we park the van here,” he points to a side alley, “we should be able to leave quickly, if we need.”

“What about the perimeter guard?” MM asks, “They’ll have more than usual, and I don’t doubt half of them will be Vought’s B-listers.”

Hughie nods, “Annie said they’ve been flying in all week, from almost every state.”

You can’t focus standing this close to Butcher, feeling the warmth rolling off his body and from the corner of your eye, seeing him turn to you every couple of seconds. He isn’t subtle about it at all, and with his height advantage, you know he can see right down your loose shirt. When you try to focus on the map, you can see his hands in fists at his side, knuckles white with strain.

“What do you think?” Hughie asks, at which you only respond with a slow blink. He frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, just tired.”

You raise a hand to your neck and tilt your head to the side, rubbing at your hot skin and subtly letting the collar of your shirt slip off your shoulder. When you glance at Butcher, you know you’ve almost got him. His neck is red and jaw set as he watches you like you’re prey.

You bite your lip to hide your smile, surveying the map with a wicked idea when Frenchie, bless him, asks the perfect question. “Do we know where Homelander will be arriving?”

“There,” you reply, stretching onto your toes and reaching across the bench. “From there, he will walk through this audience before flying to the stage.” You arch your back as you trace your finger along with the directions, feeling your shorts ride up and the garters on your thighs dig into your flesh.

Another beat of silence pulses through the room before Butcher clears his throat. You look to him quickly, only to find him glaring at Hughie, and when you turn to the boy in question you realise that he too had noticed the black straps on the backs of your thighs.

“Sorry, uh, yeah,” he mutters, cheeks pink, “Homelander is the only one who won’t be escorted directly to the stage. They want to create hype, so he’ll be moving around to greet fans.”

“Well, we better make sure we’re not anywhere near wherever he’ll be,” MM says.

Hughie nods, “If he follows orders, he’ll stay within the barriers. Vought is wary and with all their assets in one place, they’ll be making sure even Homelander is on his best behaviour.”

Frenchie chuckles, “They do not want golden boy starting a civil war in the middle of the city, eh?”

“They know that there’s a huge chance of anti-Supe protest,” you say, “which raises another issue, access. No one in a two-mile radius will be allowed in without verification.”

Hughie turns his laptop to face the group, “I’ve been working on that, but I need to know who is going in so I can print ID badges.”

The four of you look at Butcher.

“It’s your call,” MM says.

He blinks as if suddenly returning to reality, and shifts awkwardly on his feet so his hips are pressed against the kitchen bench. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice thick, “I don’t wan’a think abou’ it right now, alrigh’?”

Hughie nods and closes his laptop, and MM sighs though his small smirk is betraying as his eyes meet yours.

“Well,” Frenchie says, “if we are done here, I am going to go get us something for dinner.”

MM tucks his phone into his pocket, “I’ll come with you.”

“Really?” Frenchie frowns.

MM glances at Butcher before turning back to Frenchie. “Really.”

“I’ll come too,” Hughie says quickly, “I-I mean, I was going to see Annie, anyway.”

Frenchie’s smirk is so wide you’re worried his cheeks are going to split. The three of them hurry out the door, muttering goodbyes and arguing over who is going to drive before leaving you and Butcher alone with the storm cloud of tension still rumbling in the air.

You down half your bottle of beer in one swig before sighing, “Well, as much as I would love to keep arguing, I’m going to-”

“Oh, you’re not goin’ anywhere, sweethear’.”

You only just have enough time to turn around before Butcher traps you with a hand on either side, gripping the bench with white knuckles.

“What the fuck are you playin’ at?”

You feign an innocent frown, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

His breath comes and goes with a shudder, and you can feel it fan across your bare neck.

“I’m talkin’ ‘bout this,” he hooks a finger under the garter around your thigh and lets it go with a snap. “I’m talkin’ ‘bout you goin’ shoppin’ with Frenchie for fuckin’ sex toys.”

“Okay,” you smirk, “and what exactly is there to talk about?”

His head cocks, and you feel like prey staring down a predator.

“What is there-” his eyes narrow. “What is there to fuckin’ talk about? I don’t know, maybe when the fuck you started fuckin’ around!”

His rage, though intimidating, only turns you on. It shouldn’t, but it does.

“Am I not allowed to fuck around, Butcher?” you ask, watching the pulse in his neck race.

An emotion flickers behind his eyes, too fast for you to discern, but it’s strong enough to relieve his frown and he almost looks hurt.

“Do you want to fuck around?” he asks, his voice low.

You can’t figure out if he’s baiting you or not, or if it’s just the aching in your chest that’s trying to convince you that he might actually be feeling something.

You decide to guard yourself, keeping a smirk on your lips. “Are you offering?”

He releases his grip on the bench and rubs both hands through his hair, making it stand in jagged spikes.

“Look,” he sighs, “I know it ain’t any of my business, but if you and Frenchie are-”

“I’m not fucking Frenchie!” you exclaim, the past few months of frustration finally breaking out of the bottle.

“Oh,” he straightens, “good.”

“Good?” you echo, “For fuck’s sake Butcher, you are thick.”

His frown returns and before you can move, he traps you again. “What was that?”

“I said, you are thick,” you press your bum into the bench in a lame attempt to create distance. “If you think I’m sleeping with Frenchie- with anyone, you’re an idiot, but you know what? I already fucking knew that.”

“Yeah? And when did you figure that one out?” he asks, once again a predator who has cornered his prey.

“About three months ago, when I woke up and you weren’t there,” you say, fighting the lump in your throat. “You fucked off for three days, Butcher. No one knew where you were, you didn’t answer your fucking phone, and when you got back, you acted like nothing had fucking happened.”

You can hear your heart thumping in your ears as you wait for him to bite back, but he doesn’t.

You squeeze your eyes shut and sigh, “And now you won’t even fucking touch me.”

“Is that what you want?” he whispers.

You can only nod, too afraid that another word from your lips will turn into a cry. He breaks your stare and lets his eyes fall to your chest, slowly moving his body closer until it’s completely pressed against yours. You can feel him against your lower belly, not fully hard but definitely there and probably the reason he was hiding himself against the bench before.

Unlike the last time he touched you, this one is gentle. His fingers start at your jaw, just below your ear, tracing the sensitive skin right down to your collarbone and stopping at the swell of your breast. He groans, the deep sound rumbling from his chest and reverberating through your body. Your breath is shallow as you wait impatiently for him to kiss you, watching his lips like an addict yearning for a taste of the drug that only he can provide.

He denies you, though, instead dipping down to press his mouth against your bare shoulder and sending waves of electricity dancing across your skin. It isn’t exactly what you wanted, but its enough to make you sigh, and you roll your head back to allow him better access. His lips leave gentle kisses along your collarbone, the scratch of his beard raising goosebumps in its wake.

You feel like you can breathe for the first time in months, and your heart is beating so violently within your chest that you know he can feel it on his lips. A small voice at the back of your head is screaming, telling you to stop and push him away, because the further this went, the less control your head would have over your heart. Your heart that is threatening to crack a rib as it tries to surrender itself to the man in front of you.

When his lips leave your skin, you whine, but he doesn’t smirk like he usually does. He doesn’t make a sarcastic comment about how needy you are, or even look up to meet your eyes. His gaze is on your chest as his hands come up to the collar of your shirt, fingers curling into the soft material before yanking it apart. The buttons break, popping off the shirt entirely and scattering across the kitchen floor. He gasps, almost inaudibly, but you know you heard it.

This isn’t like before, he’s too quiet and too gentle, aside from the whole ruining your shirt thing. You feel exposed and vulnerable under his gaze, longing for approval as his dark eyes devour your scantily clad torso. His hands follow the curve of your body down to the waistband of your shorts, finding the button and popping it with much less force than they did the shirt. His fingers hook inside the denim and guide them down over your hips and past your thighs before letting them drop to the floor. Then he steps back.

You feel empty without his warmth, and you aren’t quite sure what to do with your arms while he observes you from the other side of the kitchen. Given, it is a small kitchen and he’s barely two steps away, but you suddenly feel like an exhibit on display.

You swallow thickly, “If it’s- uh, if you don’t like it I can-”

“I fuckin’ love it,” he says, his voice low and raspy as he closes the distance again.

Pressed against you, you can feel him hard behind his jeans, and you can’t help feeling a little proud.

He cups your jaw with both hands, his face only inches from yours. “I fuckin’ love you,” he mutters, before crushing his lips to yours.

The taste of his mouth sets your tongue ablaze, but instead of melting into a puddle like you know you should have, your spine goes rigid. The voice in the back of your head grows louder, clearer, as it rushes to the front and crashes against your skull, screaming.

He notices you tense up, and pulls back immediately, not offended but afraid. His frown is deep and his mouth slightly agape, realising what he’d said and knowing that it’s the reason for your reaction.

You stare at him, “What did you say?”

He takes a generous step back and runs a hand over his face, “Fuck.”

“Butcher,” you press, wrapping your arms around yourself to try and compensate for the loss of warmth.

“I’m sorry, love,” he sighs, “I didn’t-”

The lump in your throat rises, “You didn’t mean it?”

“No, no,” he says quickly, “I meant it, jus’ didn’t mean to say it.”

“You meant it?”

He nods slowly.

You blink quickly to try and repress the moisture filling your eyes. “You meant it as in… you love me?”

He nods again and you can feel your whole body beginning to shake.

“D-Do you love me like-like a vice?” you ask, your voice unsteady. “Like you love drinking and smoking or-”

“I love you like I fuckin’ love you, okay?” he snaps.

The irritation in his voice makes you flinch, and he regrets it immediately but refuses to move toward you again.

“Fuckin’ hell, Y/N,” he sighs, “isn’t it fuckin’ obvious? I haven’t fucked you in months.”

You frown, “Yeah, and why would that make me think you love me?”

“‘Cause I’m a fuckin’ twat who doesn’t know what’s good for him,” he says, “and sweethear’, you are too fuckin’ good for me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You!” he exclaims, “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous and young, and you shouldn’t be in any of this shit, let alone in it with someone like me.”

It feels like your heart is swollen, pressing against your ribcage and squeezing all the air from your lungs. Your pulse races, blood rushing to your head and making you dizzy as you try to make sense of his words.

“Butcher,” you close the distance between your bodies, pressing him against the opposite bench, “I want you, and everything that you want.”

He keeps his arms rigid by his sides as he stares down at you, his pupils still blown with lust.

“If you want me to leave you alone, then I’ll stop,” you say. “If you want me to fuck off, then I’ll go, but no matter fucking what, I’m yours because I love you. I don’t have a choice about that, because I fucking need you."

He breaks your stare to look up at the ceiling, letting go of a long sigh before looking back down with the smallest quirk in his lips. “You’re gon’a fuckin’ kill me, aren’t you?”

You smirk, “I’ll certainly try.”

His hands find your bum, pressing you impossibly close as his lips crash into yours and it feels like your heart bursts, sending shockwaves through your body and turning your limbs into jelly. With a soft grunt, he lifts you up and pushes away from the bench, allowing you to wrap your legs around his hips. You can feel him completely now, rock hard and rubbing against you in the most delicious way as he carries you across the room toward your bedroom.

Your hands are tangled in his hair as you kiss him sloppily, pouring every bit of frustration and longing into his mouth until he pulls away and drops you onto the bed. He begins unbuttoning his shirt and your fingers find his belt, eye level with you as you clumsily unravel it.

“An’ what’s all this?” he asks, calling your attention to the pile of lingerie dumped on the bed.

You would have blushed if your face wasn’t already burning red. “Just some things I bought.”

“Jus’ some things, huh?”

He picks up one of the lacy red garments and holds it up, a devilish smirk stretched across his lips. “Who’re plannin’ on wearin’ all this for, love?”

“Well,” you giggle, “Frenchie was very approving of it all when I was trying them on, so…”

He throws the lacy thing aside and pushes you back on the bed with a hand around your throat. His legs straddle your hips, pressing against your throbbing core and sending jolts of excitement up your spine.

“If any other fucker ever sees you in this, I’ll cut his fuckin’ throat,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear as his beard tickles your cheek. “You’re gon’a wear all of this for me, and I’m gon’a ruin all of it.”

You move your hips for some sort of friction as a soft whine escapes your lips, but his other hand grabs your side with bruising strength and holds you still.

“Do you understand me, sweethear’?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “yes, I understand, Butcher. Just fuck me already.”

His hand tightens around your throat and another wave of heat washes over you.

He tuts, “What have I said ‘bout manners?”

“Butcher,” you groan, clawing at the fastening of his jeans.

His hands leave their places on your body to grab your wrists, easily transferring both of them into one hand, restraining you as he sits up. He reaches behind himself on the bed, and you wriggle impatiently beneath his weight.

“Think I need to teach you a lesson,” he says with a grin, holding the riding crop in his other hand.

Thrill bursts in your stomach and you feel yourself clench, wetness pooling in the crotch of your bodysuit.

“You ready for me to show you how to use this thing, doll?” he asks, touching it to the valley between your breasts.

The leather loop is cool against your hot skin, even through the sheer material as he traces it down your sternum and all the way to your belly button. All you can do is nod, holding your bottom lip between your teeth to suppress the whimpers wanting to escape.

He pulls the crop back before softly smacking it against your right breast. The gossamer fabric leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and his eyes light up at the sight of your taut nipple.

“You, my love,” he murmurs, caressing your left breast with the crop, “are fuckin’ diabolical.”

END.

[ikamigami]

Atlas red flags let’s go:

Was capable of connecting with Sun’s mind from hundreds of light years away, that’s pretty powerful but we’ve seen Castor and most importantly Rez do the same thing

Has some visual similarities to Rez, like wearing blue robes and not having a face, and he says himself this is not his true appearance, also we don’t know of Rez can shapeshift and Atlas describes himself as amorphous  

He says he’s the last of his kind, could this be a Silver Surfer-Galactus situation? If I recall Silver Surfer was an alien who’s world was ravaged by Galactus and he was taken and forced to serve as Galactus’s herald, and we know Rez is Cetus’s herald, seems like a lot of coincidences lining up, he also mentions his kind were killed due to “higher matters”, which could mean the Astrals fighting negative beings, or his planet was corrupted and he joined Cetus after the Astrals destroyed it

Knows about certain events already like Nexus and Dark Sun, and alludes to the planet being in direct danger, which while many of the villains are heavy-hitters none of them have every stated or alluding to destroying the planet, even the Creator…Except Rez

Magic is antithetical to star power but who is to say then that negative star power is affected the same? Supposedly Sun began connecting to wither shards after getting magic, so it could be that negative star power and magic have beneficial effects on one another, hence why Atlas might be so familiar if he’s secretly Rez

He mentions going into people’s heads and Moon going into his, and he points out how it was Sun’s fault for Moon dying(it wasn’t his fault entirely) and he emphasizes that, Rez can also go into people’s heads and just the act of that in general is dangerous and manipulative

Bad-mouths Golden, and while Golden is certainly…A bit out there, one could interpret this as him making himself more credible and make Golden less by putting down the only other powerful magic caster Sun and Moon know 

He may not be Rez, I would think that if he was Sun might sense the negative energy but who knows, maybe Atlas is nice, all of this just feels…Too good to be true

Sorry for really really late reply but I absolutely agree with everything you said, dear anon 👏

I also add the new stuff

Conviently when Atlas was somewhere else both times someone dangerous appeared - first Dark Sun and in today's episode Nexus..

And later also conviently Atlas could tell some helpful words to Sun..

It makes him super suspicious.. he tries to win Sun's trust for some reason..

Maybe because he knows that Sun is powerful.. so he wants to have Sun on his side..

I think that he tries to manipulate Sun but in more effective way than every other villain so far.. cause he tries to show himself as an ally.. as someone who is here to help Sun and in extention his family..

I'm not sure if he's Rez but he's definitely related to negative energy beings in one way or another..

Sorry once again for such late reply, dear anon.. I just wasn't in the best mood for anything back then when I received this ask.. so it was just sitting in my inbox for so long 😅

I'm sorry and I hope that you'll forgive me QwQ 👉👈

[gabichanwrites]

As someone who has no strong feelings toward Izzy, I still didn't want him to die and was certain Izzy wasn't going to die because despite all the things I disliked about what they did to certain characters and plots in the second season, I thought it didn't fit the show to have a central character (or basically anyone who isn't a minor character) die. It didn't fit anything it had set for itself in the previous season to kill off one of their main characters even if it WAS for a meaningful reason (which it wasn't). And yet they did it anyway, and like I thought, it was an awful decision.

Yeah, man, exactly that!

I may be quite biased because I literally loved Izzy since I first saw and heard him, all the quips, all the potential of redemption... And, you know, I've got a spot for "pathetic, wet cat" characters. As in I want to give him a towel, feed him something nice and treasure each moment he stops hissing at me.

And even with all the love I hold for Izzy, I don't think I'm not objective when I say it's a shit narrative choice and it's a death that doesn't do anything. It wouldn't serve well any of the characters in the show in fact.

Especially with the way the show handled 1 season, with the softness and historical inaccuracies in how open everyone is to the new stuff - man, people loved it. I loved it. I trusted the writers so fully that not for a moment did I think they would actually kill off anyone, not even for a moment did I believe that Lucius would die. And this was this kind of show about pirates, this was why people liked it so much, at least partially.

And now this finale... Even if we ignore how much Izzy doesn't deserve it, it's just a bad way to go. It's a generic shot in a generic setting, with the character doing absolutely nothing special, not protecting anyone, not running away, just standing there. It's like killing Pete so Lucius will realize that pirating is dangerous and bad and he should stay on land. It's like killing Jim to make Oluwande realize that this isn't safe and... I don't know, go to Zheng. Honestly, I have a hard time coming up with similar nonsense because it just... Doesn't make sense. The writer in me recoils at the sound of so much unnecessary death and cut potential for the sake of... What exactly?

. This kind of death breaks the theme we got used to seeing and it takes away our belief that we can freely enjoy the shenanigans without worrying. A feeling I just got familiar with when the curse and Calypso's birthday happened. This kind of death takes away character in a cruel, pointless way and reduces them back to side characters, there to make way for the main couple. And I like Ed and Stede well enough but COME ON.

So yeah, in short, I fully agree anon. But you probably knew that if you took a look at my Tumblr in the last few hours. I'm gonna stop here though because it's very late for me and I am several hours behind on getting some sleep. Thank you for the ask though, I feel like this finale deeply affected even those who aren't that obssesed with Izzy and, to be honest, it's our first warning sign - writers don't mind pointless killing anymore.

Or maybe it's the saving grace - the bad reception will make them unlikely to do anything equally rush and stupid in the future.

[siremasterlawrence]

Another One Bites The Dust

Barry Simone is a slave in a foreign country who is now ever so dedicated to me for the last two months because I am his one and only new Master he is bound to serve me for a lifetime. We meet online on a Skype call he looks so good to me with this bright smile as I wave to him in a state of mind and then remember a past slave who really messed with me and wasted my time. I crack up snapping my fingers as his eyes are rolling back into his head socket closing his eye lids shut, his body falls back into the chair falling deep under my spell as he sway in the back. His head slumping all the way down to his chest as he is breathing so hard shaking his body a bit out of control because nothing else matters to him as my voice leads him and he fully falls completely onto his legs. I clapping my hands as he wakes up staring straight ahead he looks directly at me like a puppet he froze in time waiting for me to take control as I command him to be my happy boy and he smiles with such a sexy and powerful bright smile. I snap my fingers as his eyes light up showcasing his teeth for me, his body lifts upward into the air till they straight up awaiting for my orders to move again as he must do whatever whim and wish for a lifetime. “Listen to me Barry my dear slave I am all you can see and all you know. Nod your head for me as you understand. He shook his head slowly in accepting and understood everything that I say no questions asked of me and he proudly with love and adoration of me. “Excellent now puppet stand up rise to his feet for me, that is correct Slave Barry your king is agreed. Continue on Slave Barry please begin to remove your clothes with your shirt, then your pants.” I demand of him as I sit in enjoyment.

“Oh Master! When can I be with you?”

“You really want to relocate?”

“Yes my king”

“How can I do with it?”

“We agreed! When I am ready”

“I know! I can’t wait “

“Not enjoying your life “

“Not without me”

“I love you “

“I love you too”

“You don’t understand “

“What are you attempting to stay?”

“I didn’t think you can comprehend this “

“Please go on”

“Oh Master! You are amazing “

“You repeat that”

“I need you “

“Don’t stop “

“I crave you “

“How much?”

“With my life “

“I want to worship “

“Desire to serve you “

“I desire to make you money”

“Master thank you for letting me be with you finally.”

“It is my utmost pleasure to”

“May I kiss you ?”

“I suppose! Are you a good kisser?”

“Teach me”

“I am your King”

“Come over here “

“Mmmmm…”

“You taste so sweet”

“Thank you Sire”

“Oh God!”

“On your knees”

“As you wish”

“Succumb to my will”

“My suck your cock “

“Unzip me”

“Gorgeous My Master”

“Go for it, that’s it and take it all in”

Barry staring in the middle no longer seeing himself because he is absolutely lost in a odd sea of beautiful colors and his body is floating away from his own self. His sole conscious is now null and void as I yank him around as I command him to continue to look in to the mirror and seeing how he truly is deep down inside. I snuck into the bath room right behind him playing both of his cheeks as he breaks out in a bright giggle into a full on gigantic smile spread over his lips. He is in ecstasy falling back into my arms, his body laying on my chest as my scent floats in to the air, and he inhales it deeply falling more in love. I kiss him as he fell to his knees, rolling over to the side as he stuck his tongue on a bit with so much love and then starts to bark like a giant puppy in need. I knelt down next to him patting his head prior to rubbing it as his hair slowly drops to his face, I kiss his cheek and slide off my socks forming a ball with them and throw it into the air as he runs ti catch it.

“It is a hour later! Perfect”

“Wake up!l”

“Uh…what?”

“Trust me and stretch”

“Yes?”

“Can you speak now?”

“Yes Master!”

“You can speak freely”

“I love you Master”

“I love you too”

“Kneel at my feet”

“You are my God!”

“Naturally so!”

“You shall submit to me”

“Succumb deeply “

“Forgetting your past”

“Embracing the future “

“How much do you love me?”

The end

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 12: Oliver's Grade

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Mind control, captivity, vampiric blood drinking, hypnotic language

Oliver slept well and woke up refreshed, and that worried him.

First, he wouldn't have expected it to be so easy for him to fall asleep after the long nap he'd had in Lily's "care." Yet the second the vampires turned the lights out and his head hit the pillow, he found that he felt incredibly drowsy, impossible to stay awake.

Secondly, his half-remembered dreams had been filled with servitude, with Lily's words echoing through his mind. Some residual effect that Lily had left in his head had been hypnotizing his vulnerable brain while he slept. He could tell that his mind was still fuzzy from it, that he wasn't all himself. Would he ever truly be himself again, or would this wear off?

He suspected it would never wear off if his vampire captors had their say.

"You were talking in your sleep," said Emily, as they ate breakfast.

He'd been served a heaping helping of eggs, toast, and bacon, in contrast to everyone else's oatmeal. "I suppose I can guess what about."

"You're still hypnotized."

No sense pretending otherwise. "I'm afraid so. I don't know how to undo it."

Emily didn't seem very much up for talking after that, and he couldn't blame her. He'd been compromised. Even he knew he couldn't fully be trusted.

How long did they have before the auction? He wasn't sure. Would they completely break him before it happened?

He watched in silence as others were taken from their cells and dragged away. Lily smiled at him as she passed, followed by a young woman screaming for help as vampires dragged her. He shook his head and tried to clear the fog. 

The young woman came back holding Lily's hand and trailing behind her, smiling, mumbling something incoherent in her daze.

He could hear cells opening up down the hallway, a few shouts. He didn't pay much attention to it until they were at Emily's cell.

"I haven't conditioned her yet, so take caution," Lily was saying. "I'm hoping to get to her later tonight."

"Understood," said a man's voice. "May I?"

He saw them unlock Emily's cell and go in.

"Stay away! Stay back!" Emily was shouting.

"Just calm down," said Lily. "We're grading your blood for the auction."

"You're going to drink my blood? Right here?"

"Just a small sample from the fingertip," said the man. "Drinking from the neck will be reserved for your owner. Now relax and hold still."

"You're sick," said Emily. "Ow, shit! That hurts!"

"If you would've relaxed... I would give it a low B."

"Not bad, better than I expected," said Lily.

"So that's all I'm worth now?" said Emily. "Barely passing blood?"

"That's about the size of it. But really, it's my fault for not getting to you sooner. You'll feel better about all of this I've helped you."

"I don't care what kind of mind control magic you have. You are not going to turn me into some mindless drone."

"Of course I won't, dear. See you soon."

The cell door creaked shut with Emily cursing up a storm at Lily's back. Next, Lily was in front of Oliver's cell, and when she turned her gaze on him, he could feel his mind starting to cloud. "This one has been an absolute dream to work with. Naturally submissive," she said. "His word is 'quiet.'"

Oliver felt so strange, like his mind was disconnecting from his body. "What do you --"

"Quiet now, Oliver."

A deep sense of calm and relaxation washed over him. "...Yes, sir," he said, softly and respectfully. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened, but he was oh so quiet -- better not to ask questions.

"Sit down on the cot so this man can sample and grade your blood."

He sat down, staring at his knees. He couldn't help the twinge of fear at having his blood sampled. He couldn't help but think of one of the things he'd been dreading most: a vampire sinking their fangs into his tender neck, warm blood dripping down his shoulder, trying to keep himself awake and alive as a monster consumed his very life --

"Oliver, focus." 

There were fingers fluttering in front of his eyes, traveling back and forth, catching his gaze.

"There we are, dear, this will quiet your mind down. Just watch and listen."

It shouldn't be that simple, but he couldn't look away, slipping back into Miss Lily's mesmerism like a marble rolling into a groove. His doubt and fear evaporated.

"Are you frightened of a vampire drinking from you?"

Of course he was, he wanted to say, anyone in their right mind would be. But he was too far under her spell now. Docile. Quiet. "Yes, sir. I know I'm meant to be obedient, but --"

"Hush, you don't need to explain now. There's nothing for you to worry about. I'll take that fear from you before you're sold," she said. "Now keep watching. Eyes on me."

Her fingers fluttered back and forth, moving in smooth patterns, impossible to ignore. Oliver could feel his eyes lidding, succumbing. Someone with rough fingers took his hand.

"Relax. It'll only be a pinprick of pain."

"Pain, sir?" he said, a second before he felt it, a sharp pinprick on his middle finger. He dimly remembered that a vampire was sampling his blood for sale. And he was helpless to stop it from happening.

That realization only made his mind slip further.

"Unquestionably triple-A. Finest I've had in some time," said the man.

"High praise, coming from you!" said Miss Lily.

"And he takes to the conditioning so well. A top-notch thrall all around. He could sell for a fortune to the right buyer."

They were talking about selling him, and there was nothing Oliver could do to respond, too captivated by Miss Lily.

"I think I might have just the buyer." Miss Lily sounded so pleased with herself. "A certain lord who has recently lost a thrall."

"Oh, of course." The man chuckled. "Just his type, too. Good luck trying to get him to accept a new one so soon, though."

"That's why I'm molding Oliver here into a thrall impossible to refuse," she said. "And if not him, there would be plenty of prospective buyers, I'm sure. It's been so long since we've been in the city that the upper crust is chomping at the bit for fresh blood."

"I hope that's the case. I could use a new car. Anyway, we better move on to the next lot."

"Right." Miss Lily stopped the hypnotic movement of her fingers and snapped in front of Oliver's face, startling him out of his daze. "You were very good. I'll see you soon, Oliver."

Oliver blinked, trying to get his thoughts back. "Hey, wait -- !" he said as Lily shut the cell door, already moving on. He sat back onto the cot, trying to process what he'd heard. She was molding him to sell to some vampire lord. His first thought was that it was a relief, that he might have a better life with someone rich and powerful than with any old vampire -- and he hated himself for thinking that, for having accepted his fate so much that he was pondering who would be a better master for him.

As if any vampire master could be "better," when every one of them was a monster who purchased kidnapped humans at auction!

But that thought was perhaps too idealistic for his situation. Even among these monsters, there would surely be some that were worse prospects than others. If he had to choose between being a hypnotized servant or being chained up like cattle...

Not that he even got a choice in that.

"Now, then!" Lily was standing near his cell, clapping her hands. "Now that the blood grading is done, I have time to take someone for a session! Should I take Oliver or Emily? What do you two think?"

"Take me," said Oliver immediately. After all, he'd already been through this and knew what to expect. Emily hadn't been conditioned yet, still had her full faculties, and was scared. Better him than her.

"Ooh, how noble! Do you agree, Emily?"

"...Yes," she said, after some hesitation. "I'm sorry, Oliver, but you're already under their spell..."

"Then it's settled!" Lily opened his cell. "Come with me, then. I trust there's no need for restraints."

"No."

He could try to flee. He could, perhaps, get away from Lily fast enough that she couldn't stop him. There were guards at the ends of the hallway, but maybe he could slip past them. It was only the most fleeting of fancies before he followed Lily down the hall. He glanced into Emily's cell. She didn't look at him.

"Does it upset you, that you were trying to protect Emily when she wouldn't do the same for you?" she said. "Or maybe this was never about that. Maybe you secretly long to spend some time with me and this was just a convenient excuse. Hm?"

Oliver didn't answer, not trusting his own reasons.

Part Eleven >> Masterlist >> Part Thirteen

Thank you for reading this story of a man with excellent blood.

Tag list - please note if you'd like to be added

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears

[iniziare]

I'm stealing this from Min before I tackle a thread (cause I don't do enough silly little things [update: it wasn't... really short]), but here's random sleep thoughts for the ladies that come to mind with something to say about it:

— Yelan: Sleeps naked, because it's healthy, come on, and there's two phases in terms of positions that she sleeps in. Phase one is where she sleeps incredibly relaxed on her side, and the covers usually end up predominantly wrapped around her (like this, or the idea of this) so perfectly, it's as if it was intentional, but it's not, she just... ends up this way. Feet and legs are rarely covered as she gets warm as she sleeps, and she often stretches like a cat during moments of waking. It doesn't matter if someone's in the bed with her, this is just how it goes— the only way to stop it is if you lay on said covers. She's also a quiet sleeper physically, despite the covers thing. She doesn't move much, which is why her hair usually still looks 'peachy keen, jelly bean', in the morning. Phase two only happens when she can catch up on sleep and she lazes in bed in a half-slumber state until, as she states, well into and past noon. At this point, it's evident that she's been warm, and so she rolls onto her stomach, and pulls the covers down a bit, exposing a fair bit of her back. Ideally her pillow is still there, but if not, no issue, the mattress works just fine.

— Kafka: No, she's not about the 'luxury' for the sake of it, please get fanon out of here, there are no silk pillows or sheets needed whatsoever. But she appreciates comfort in the sense of good quality pillows (though not too thick as she regularly sleeps on her stomach, or in some magical 'in-between' position of stomach/side), but she'd like two of them. And then the duvet usually... serves as an extra pillow mid-slumber for her body. She likes to lay on something that has a shape to it, I don't like the word 'snuggle' nor does she do it out of 'security', but it's about something that is molded against and into the shape of her. See it as... the duvet almost works like a body pillow to a certain extent, except she'll remain covered, she's a woman of modesty, of course. And in shipping scenarios, the partner would likely come to replace the 'body pillow' concept— imagine her to cozy up at your side, head on your shoulder, leg over yours, or snaked through yours. But she'd not a 'facing each other' kind of cuddler in sleep. Man's gotta be on his back. She's difficult, I know. Oh and please don't think that Kafka wakes up looking flawless, she does not. Trust me when I say that her hair is disheveled, have you seen the length of it? But she's endearing, she's drowsy, has a bit of a drawl to her voice— almost kind of cute (but a mess).

Honorable mentions:

— Guizhong: A bed, you say? Hardly, you'll rarely find her in one due to, well, the fact she's not human (there's a higher chance in modern). She'll be passed out at a table, or desk in her workshop, usually with parchment stuck to her cheek, covered by her own sleeves. Of course, this has her slightly grumpy in the morning. Morax sure chose a nice one. Oh, on the note of him— if he's around in the same bed, there's a chance she's asleep atop him. — Seele: Absolute mess. Don't even go into that bedroom, you'll wonder where the sheets or pillows are, there may even be one on the other side of the room, because it wasn't comfortable and so she argued with it physically, throwing it across the room in her sleep. She's likely still mostly dressed because she was too lazy or exhausted to get changed. Seele is the kind who, like her mun, will say 'I'm just laying down for 5 mins' and wakes up 5 hours later. Horrendous.