#my hands kinda throw a wrench in everything but what can you do

[falmerbrook]

Re: your post about younger you being disappointed in your art now. I’m a bit older than you, and I used to let thoughts like that bring me to tears.

I didn’t start seriously working on my art until I was 19. Seeing people my age put out what I considered to be masterpieces was soul crushing. I felt like I started too late, with art and everything else in life.

But the thing is, I still did art. It’s been a decade or more now and I still make art. I have a degree in Art History. I can competently make gifts, drawings of my OCs. I can go to galleries and take inspiration from what I see. But I’m still not producing pieces on the level of the teenagers I compared myself to in the beginning. Maybe I never will.

Younger me might be disappointed in my art now, or my life in general. But I think about it very differently. When we’re young, we don’t understand how hard things are. Time is very abstract - the idea of hundreds of hours of practice, life throwing curveballs (illness, work, lack of motivation), the fact that there will always be someone younger and better than you. Kids and teenagers can’t really understand it. Because they haven’t lived enough yet.

Younger you might be disappointed, but younger you is naive and arrogant. They have the toxic and immature mindset of “You should be good at something right away, and if you’re not, you’re a failure!”

Instead of feeling upset, feel compassion towards your younger self - your inner child. They are putting so much pressure on themselves, and on you. They don’t understand how long it takes to learn skills, they can’t accept the unfairness that some people are prodigies whose parents have had them tutored since birth to draw like Da Vinci.

The older you get, the more you’ll be at peace with your practice and you won’t compare yourself to others so harshly. Younger you is stuck at a set point in development - they can’t come to peace with it. Don’t let it upset you, use it as a chance to reflect on how much you’ve matured since then.

When it comes to art, all you can do is embrace the practice. Your art is yours, it should feed your soul. Best of luck ♥️

It means a lot to me that you took the time to leave such a thoughtful ask about that little post I made. And you honestly hit the nail on the head. No matter how bad I feel about it, I'll probably never stop making art (in some form) just because it's like a stabilizing force in my life. I cycle between being happy with where I am at with it (even if it isn't to my expectations) and hating it, but I think that's just a normal part of improving, so it least it means I am, even if nonlinearly.

[bearw-me]

This is kinda dark so if you don't wanna do it it's cool. Can I request Carmilla running into a son reader? [Years before she had her daughters she had a son but she was too strict/serious on her boy which led to him...taking his own life. The experience made Carmilla realize she mightve been too hard on him so when hid sisters come around she showers them with love] The reader thinks carmilla is going to scold him, scream at him or anything but she just hugs him hard and tells him she's sorry and that she loves him

i'd like to put my author's note up here before you guys read what i wrote/make a little disclaimer!

TW: mentions of harm

I wouldn't write the act, per-se, but i had absolutely no problem with your request because it doesn't really involve those details (fic wise) this one is mostly about comfort and a nice reunion!

just before you go, know your best-friend mal is always here for you <3 this and every other fic i write is my silent love-letter to you

𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐆𝐨 — 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

𐐒 includes : carmilla carmine x son!reader, odette, clara 𐐒 cw : angst, hugs, kisses, comfort 𐐒 summary : after a few decades in hell, you decide it's time to stop putting it aside and visit your mother for the first time since you've appeared in hell. as anxious as you are, she receives your visit with open arms. 𐐒 word count : 1.1 k

The metal body of the cab rattled against the broken highway, the sights of Pentagon city flashing past you in a pink florescent blur. You sighed, slumping into the leather seats.

Were you really doing this?

The thought made your stomach bubble with new found nerves. Rolling and wrenching the muscles in your stomach so hard you suddenly had to lean forward in your seat. Forced to stare at all the dust and garbage littered about the floor.

"Oh god I'm gonna be sick," you mumbled to yourself.

"Don't throw up in my car kid," the driver growled at you, suddenly adjusting his rearview mirror so that he could keep an eye on you.

You tried not to roll your eyes, taking a quick glance out of the window just in time to witness the change in districts.

"Might wanna keep your head down kid! We're in Carmine's district now," he laughed, a hoarse sound filled with cigarette smoke.

You had never actually been in this part of hell. After all these years you've been here, watching as the districts had shifted between hands in the great soul exchange. . .

All those years until you realized she had fallen here just like you.

And you didn't really know how to process that thought just yet.

The once chaotic district was now more silent.

Shadows skulking between buildings and alleyways, making deals to sell weapons and bartering for money.

You grimaced, opting to let those images blur in your mind and let your head fall against the rattling window.

What possessed you to see your mother after all these year? Who knows. . .

It just felt like it had to be done.

Soon, the tall white building had come into view, a place you heard the overlords of hell met up.

And today, Carmilla would be here, same with your-. . .

Odette and Clara.

You stepped out of the cab, soles hitting the pavement with a tap. You paid what you owed to the driver and waved a quick thanks as he sped off, the devil on his heels.

That left you alone, standing like David against Goliath with the empire she had built.

She's. . . kept herself busy.

It's all you could think about. Staring at the gleaming tiles of the building with hesitance.

What would she say to you? Should you have told her you were coming? That you were here?

The sickness that seemed to be plaguing you had come back in waves.

The last time you had remembered seeing her, you were both alive on Earth, screaming at each others faces.

"One day, mi hijo, you will have to do everything for yourself! You will have to take over the business! YOU have to carry all that burdens us and I NEED you to be ready for that! Why can't you just see that! I won't always be here for you! YOU NEED TO STEP UP TO THIS!"

But. . .

You just couldn't do everything she had wanted of you. The standards, the rules, the burden. . . it was all too heavy for one person to carry.

And now here you were, on the white-waiting room couch unannounced.

To sayy. . . what exactly?

You bit at your nails in thought, leg bouncing up and down as you waited for your name to be called.

It was pretty empty today.

No one was really sitting in here with you.

That was a great thought.

A deep, strung-out exhale shook its way out of your lungs.

Nerves, you figured.

You didn't even know what to do with your hands, running them through your hair and rocking back and forth in your seat, wondering if it was too late to just stand up and leave-

"Um. . ." You stopped completely, turning your head towards the sound of your voice.

Just before the office doors, two small sinners stood side by side, holding a clipboard up to their faces as they eyed you with surprise.

Odette and Clara.

There was no mistaking them.

"That's. . . me?" You rose from your seat like a ghost, not really feeling anything but utter surprise.

It was the first time you've ever seen them. The same cream colored hair, the same eyes, they even stood en pointe like her.

Odette and Clara.

"Come with us," Clara beckoned, her curly hair and grey skin. . . did she look like that too? Now that she was a sinner?

Thank goodness the girls turned away from you quickly, giving you just enough time to wipe a stray tear from your eye. Estranged siblings that you've never even met. . . and you were so full of emotion at just the sight of them.

Did they know who you were?

You watched them wearily, the two exchanging quick glances at each other and occasionally, at you.

"She's right in here," Clara trailed off.

Odette glanced at you through her round glasses, a hint of worry lifting her eyebrows up "She wasn't expecting you today."

"Alright," you shrugged. I mean, it was a fact you already knew, but to hear the two of them say it to you was the final slap of reality you weren't sure you entirely needed.

The two of them opened the doors for you, watching intently as you shuffled into the room, and back at each other incredulously.

"Ay dios mio, I said I didn't have time for meetings. . ." you heard her mumble, face covered by a laptop screen, hunched over and lost in her work.

It was how you remembered her.

"Mamá," you called out, finally taking a seat in front of her desk, unsure of who or what you'd find on the other side of that screen.

With that one word, she froze still, a pair of demonic red eyes peering over the top of that silver screen.

"Mamá," you said again, a choked sound now that you realized it was her.

It was actually her.

A sinner, your mother, an overlord, who was finally before you.

It was like all the things you had planned on telling her had thrown themselves together and crumbled beneath the sight of her.

"Mi hijo."

"Mamá, I know you're mad at me," the tears came without warning, and you shuffled uncomfortably in your seat, unable to keep looking at her as the sobs wracked through your body, pleading for her forgiveness "I tried my best! I tried! I-"

"Mi hijo, I'm so sorry," your mother flew into your arms, the familiarity of her love so striking that you became undone in her arms.

She cried into your neck, a sound you've never heard before "Oh mi hijo, no heavens could ever keep me away from you, never, and I and never letting you go again,"

"I love you mi hijo."

[gyuswhore]

Remembrance of Ice

"Fear does anything but land with precision."

PAIRING: ice king!xu minghao x fem spy!reader

SYNOPSIS: Xu Minghao rules over a land where the sun never rises and crops never grow, shunned by the world for their nature so ruthless it has them caged within their borders.

That is, until you land straight into the dragon's den to find the story untold.

CONTAINS: angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, kinda lore heavy, reader and minghao are in a perpetual spat, talks of military and political power, manipulation (not by minghao), ft. chan

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

masterlist

[AN]: MIKA DAY MIKA DAY MIKA DAY except im a day late bc I don't know how to time manage ANYWAY mika my love I hope you enjoy this you mentioned villain hao that one time and I stuck to it praying this is good ksjgnvrkjgn @toruro

id love to turn this into a longer, more detailed fic in the future, I really like this concept and theres loads more I could do with it. lmk if you'd like to see it hehe

edit: had to repost a couple times cuz it wasn't showing in the tags. it still isn't but idc anymore if this only reaches mika then so be it sgnkrtjg

The cold was the worst. 

Your iced pride had been swallowed down to accept the flimsy cloth the guards that pushed you into this stone dungeon had given you. Not that it was doing much to help you, the thin fabric acting as more of a permeable layer than your gear.

Huddling into yourself, you breathe out warm exhales in the hopes that it’d do something about the face you couldn’t feel anymore. With the sight of your discolouring fingernails, you hope the people in this wretched place would decide what they wanted to do with you before you succumbed to the cold. There’s a bad taste in your mouth at the thought of dying a death like this – that the cold would become your ultimate demise. 

The croning of the metal doors of your prison wrench open in what feels like a deafening sound, the screech having you throw the flimsy blanket off your body in haste. You would not be seen taking advantage of their supposed kindness. 

The two guards that trudge in are quick to tell you to stand. You nearly laugh at the prospect of doing anything they ask. 

“What do you want?” your voice has eroded to a brassy sound. 

“Stand up,” the guard repeats, his face covered in the black balaclava that wraps around everything but spares his eyes. Cold, dark, soulless. 

Your pride screamed to refute. But you were at a dead end, and perhaps it was time to accept it. Eyeing the weapons strapped to both their waists, moreso the lack thereof of your own, you make the first attempt to pull yourself up. It’s difficult, you find, needing a moment to regain your senses before pushing up completely. You tried not to show it, not wanting to look weak in front of the very people you need to show strength. 

“Hands,” the other guard gruffs out. 

You hesitate before bringing your shivering wrists forward, cursing yourself for not being able to control your own body. The cuffs they bind to your wrists are somehow even colder, and you have to consciously bite back a cursed wince. 

Your resolve begins to truly thin when you struggle to simply take a few steps forward, the muscles in your legs frozen like everything else in the room. You manage to not fall. A commendable feat when your goals went from overtaking a couple of (very armed) guards to simply not falling over like a newborn fawn. 

You feel them lightly shove you out the gates, something you should not have struggled to recover from from, but alas, you can only grit your already ground teeth as you try to not tip over entirely. The halls of the dungeons are made of the same gray concrete as your cell, the tight corridor leading you out into an only slightly larger hall with a single door at the seemingly dead end. 

The large brass handle with the distinct reptile circling its expanse stares at you. You are forced to consider the idea that these may be your final breaths. 

One of the guards squeezes out into the hall and approaches the door, three sharp knocks to the wood before you hear a muffled “come in.”

Your feet remain planted to the floor as you feel another push of the guard that remains behind you, urging you forward as the other one stands at the door, expecting you to walk inside. Perhaps some would classify this as a moment of weakness, especially when all you’ve been taught is to face death with anything but fear. But it seeps into your bones regardless. 

You wonder if all those stories you were told of fearless soldiers and sheilds of humans were as lionhearted in their final moments as the storytellers claimed, as brave as the legends that followed. 

You considered yourself one of the best in your field, most of your peers agreed. And yet, that moment of hesitancy in the face of potential death caged you in an unimaginable retaliance. What on Earth was wrong with you? 

And so you moved forward, one foot in front of the other with resilience fueled by pure outrage at your own feeble mind. You would do as you were taught, you would march into the mouth of the dragon because you were not allowed to fear death. You refused to meet your end as a coward. 

The cuffs that encase your wrists burn at the skin as you walk into the room. It’s small, small enough to force you and the two guards to shift closer to keep from the man that stands across the room. 

You almost don’t notice him, which alarms you immensely. Regardless of the stark black attire that matches the dark, gloomy atmosphere of the tiny room, the man seems to blend into the shadows, becoming part of the walls. His back faces you as he looks out the window, like he’s invigorated with the snow that drifts to the earth. 

It’s nighttime. It’s always night time here. 

“The prisoner, sire,” the one in your left gruffs out. 

The man at the window turns to face you, the sight of his face causing you to bite back a gasp. 

His skin is the same colour as the snowflakes that fall behind him, near glistening white. It seems to make every other feature of his face stand out in earnest; the black of his eyes, the crimson of his lips, the dark of his hair. 

He’s gorgeous, you decide, but you also decide that you may be about to die at his hands. 

There’s also the matter of how he was addressed by the goons that flank you. Unless sire means something else in this godforsaken land, you should have realized who this is by now. 

Xu Minghao’s expression remains unchanged, the mild disinterest evident as he barely glances at you before taking a seat at the makeshift office area in the middle of the room. He leans back against the plush, finally regarding the other people in the room with words. 

“You can leave.” 

You hear the guards begin to file out the room. 

“Ah—take off the restraints before you go. And shut the door.” 

You want to describe what his voice sounds like, and while indifferent to another, it’s like a million icicles plunging into your eardrums. It isn’t until the guard blocks your view to unlock you that you realize how strained your eyes were, like it was draining to simply look at him. 

When both guards have left the vicinity, doors closed with a deep thud, you set yourself in steel. Just because he was about to kill you didn't mean you were about to make it easy for him. 

You wonder why a king was meddling to discard a mere enemy officer, but if you knew anything of their bloodthirst, this was a form of amusement. 

“Well?” you say, your voice still bare-there. 

“Take a seat.” He means the lone chair that stands on your side of the table. 

“No,” 

His eyebrows shoot up, “No?”

You stare at him, and it's the first time he’s looked at you for more than three seconds. 

“No,” you reiterate. “If you’d like to eliminate me, I’d suggest we cut to the chase. I don’t want your bleak hospitality.”

“Are you offering your head?”

“I’m asking you to quit the niceties. We know what you are.”

He studies you for a moment before continuing quietly, “Who is we?”

Your jaw is set as you calm yourself down, “The people who keep coming into your barren lands, only to never return. My people.”

“Your people that keep invading this barren land, only to find out that actions have consequences?”

“The mere thought of us is a consequence for you vermin,” you spit.

“Your people, you had said?” There’s a strange hint of jest in his voice, and it only infuriates you even more. 

“Yes,” you breathe out. 

“Your people who have not once attempted to negotiate your release from us vermin, I thought your people were known for your camaraderie. Especially for such an important soldier, do they truly consider you that disposable? ”

The low fester of embers had now ignited into a full flame, the rage becoming near indescribable. Aside from how heinous, you had underestimated how infuriating his kind could be. 

“You know nothing of me!” your voice is loud, your own shade of venom that laces your tongue. 

And then he says your name. 

You falter. 

He shouldn’t know that. You don’t have a nametag, nothing to identify you on any record, anywhere. And yet, you know what you’ve heard is your name that fell from his lips, undeniably so. 

He continues with the faintest sneer, “Captain of the SUN team, first in line from your peers for a promotion, and of course, right hand of your idiotic General of the Army.” 

You can't be sure if you’re shivering from the cold or the rage that courses through every vein in your body. Perhaps it was the latter as you feel your mind shortcircuit at the sight of his smug face. 

And, of course, with the way you lunge. 

It takes barely a second for your numb fingers to reach his pristine throat, curling with the need to rupture his airways beyond measure. It also takes him barely a second to step out of the way, causing you to thud into the table, fingers faltering as they grasp onto nothing. 

The air is knocked out of your chest, and you don’t realize what’s happened. He’s quick, and you’re out of shape. He’s on the other side of the table, hands in his pockets as he stares at your weak attempts at regaining your bearings. 

“This is the problem with your people. Why must your first response to any confrontation be to fight to the death?”

Leaping over the table, you attempt to corner him against the wall, only to find him leap over to the other side of the table when you advance, switching your initial spots. It might have even been laughable if you weren’t so heated, like children running around in circles in a lethal game of tag. 

He takes advantage of yet another moment of weakness you’ve shown, pushing the separating table directly into you, forcing you back as you stumble to hit the window. The opening is just enough to fit your waist, with no room for your legs to leap back over, locked in at the sides of the table that effectively cages your body between wood and glass. 

Your first instinct is to push the wretched thing back, but you realize very quickly that you can’t. It shouldn’t explain how he was able to cage you in a place like this, especially with his scrawny build. Unless he’s locked it in place somehow, you wouldn’t put it past him.

“What the fuck?” you gasp out to mostly yourself. 

“You’ve weakened, little soldier. I heard you were better than this.” 

“Let me go so I can prove it to you then,” you spit, still fruitlessly struggling against your prison. 

“Had your chance,” he states, hands in his pockets, an eyebrow cocked. “Of course, fear does anything but land with precision. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“What makes you think I’m scared of you?” 

“Oh, you are such a simpleton,” he narrows his eyes. 

“You haven’t been talking about anything of substance for someone who doesn’t claim to be scared. What’s holding you?” you gruff. 

He stares for a moment like he’s studying you. For some reason, your struggling falters, his piercing gaze leaving you wondering what he had up his sleeve. 

“You know you are weak. Your strength isn’t nearly where it had been when you arrived. I’ve also been told you’ve been starving yourself.”

“I said I don’t want your hospitality!”

“You were supposedly indifferent to everyone in the room, including the guards, but you kept your eyes on me like a hawk. The first mention out your mouth was of death.”

“Was I supposed to expect compassion?” you mock, but the desperation lingers in your voice. 

“Can’t be helping knowing nobody is looking for you,” he finishes. 

“Because you would’ve sent me on my way home if they were? Don’t make me laugh.” 

“Quite right, yes.”

“Like you did with the other soldiers that seemingly disappear in your lands?”

“Nobody asked, so we did not deliver.” 

“Lies!” It comes out as a near scream.

You think of all the stretched months that turned into inevitable years trying to retrieve your lost manpower. Of course, your higher-ups asked for hostage negotiations, did everything in their power to bring them home. 

Fitting for the man in front of you to deny it, but infuriating nonetheless. 

“And you’re wildly defensive,” he sighs. “You’re scared. Of being in enemy territory, of dying, of being alone. One or the other, that’s for you to decide.”

You want to scream again. 

“They lied to you, soldier. And I may be a villain in your self-written history books, but you will come to know of the harsh truth, from me or anybody else. You should know what exactly it is that you’re fighting for.” 

“What are you yapping about?”

He turns back around, moving to the door before rapping a knock. The guards re-enter the room.

“Take her to base.”

“Chan?” 

He stands at the entrance of the tent, speaking to somebody in armor with a solemn expression. He turns around at the sound of his name, catching sight of you walking up. 

He breaks out into a smile at the sight of you, eyes going wide as he excuses himself to sprint over. You’re not quite sure if the fatigue is causing you to hallucinate, but with the way his face becomes clearer with every step he takes, you have to convince yourself that you’re not. 

As appropriate as it is to slam into him in a hug, considering you thought he was dead mere seconds ago, you can’t see yourself caring. 

“They told me it was you that arrived,” he says. 

“Oh my god, I thought you were dead. Everybody thought you were dead. How are you here?” you breathe into his ear. 

He pulls away slowly, and you note how he doesn’t meet your eyes. 

“Chan?” 

“There’s a lot to unpack here. Let’s get you cleaned up first.” 

A lot to unpack there was, you realize, as the guards leave you with Chan when said to. The questions doubled when you entered the significantly warmer tent to find it swarming with familiar faces, busy working on tables littered with charts and papers, military symbols drifting overhead. 

Chan is quick to let you know that none of the ‘fallen’ soldiers were missing at all. In fact, were stationed here at this military base. 

Your gaping mouth renders no response as he fishes you both through the hustle and bustle of the industrial canopies, destination unknown. As much as you’d kick yourself for your lack of vigilance, you find yourself trusting him to take you wherever, your mind preoccupied with trying to absorb every detail of your environment.

If this was what sensory overload was, you’re not sure you like it blocking your thinking capabilities this much.

He lets you into another tent, littered with trunks and equipment, lit with a couple hardworking oil lamps. He goes to rummaging in random trunks as you watch. 

“What is this place?”

“Inventory. Clothes and a bunch of other stuff,” he says as he throws you a pile of fabric. “Here, change into this, it’s warmer.”

He leaves you alone in the tent to change, which you do quickly to meet him again outside. Moving the flap of the tent away, you find him out in the snow waiting.

It isn’t until you’ve adequately cornered him that you can ask. “Chan, are being held here against your will? Is everybody here—”

“Wait, hold,” he holds a hand up to silence you. “Just—let me explain.”

You’re rendered silent in a corner of this base camp, albeit a little warmer than when you came in with the effective coat you’re now shrouded in. Other than being lost in a mine of confusion, you notice the calculated expression on Chan’s face when you bring it up. Like he didn’t know how you’d react.

“There’s been a lot of lies our entire life. One’s that we didn’t realize till we landed here,” he starts, facing the endless plane of snow to the East.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” you ask, keeping your eyes steady on him.

“These people aren’t cruel, nor are they the animals we’ve been told they are,”

“Chan, what is wrong with you?” you take a step back in mild exasperation. 

“Listen, this sounds insane, but it’s only because we’ve been brought up to believe anything the government told us, anything our superiors drilled into our heads. I’d started having doubts while we were still home—”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Nobody wanted to tell you anything. You were more loyal to the General than you were to yourself!”

“I—because…” you falter. He was right. 

“They’ve taken advantage of the way this land refuses to retaliate. We’ve been in the wrong this whole time.”

“I don’t know what it is that they’ve been feeding you for so long, but this isn’t the Chan that left home all those months ago.”

“You’re right,” you hear, but it’s not Chan. 

Whipping your head around, you find the overlord himself walking to where you were. 

“Apologies for interrupting, but I think you’re needed back there, Chan,” Minghao informs him as he regards him.

You whip back around to Chan, “Wait, you can’t just—”

“Listen, it’s going to take you a little bit, but I promise you’ll see what I mean,” he reiterates. 

“This is absurd—” you start again but are cut off by him again. He lurches forward, grasping both your wrists in his, forcing you to pay attention to him. 

“Do you trust me?”

“W-what?” 

“Answer the question. Do you trust me?”

You stare at him, stumped for a moment. Did you trust him? Five months ago, before he left, you would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. Yet, now you find yourself hesitating. 

“Yes. I trust you,” you decide out loud. 

“Then give it time. You’re shaken, you’re exhausted, you’re confused. You’ll make your decision yourself when you see for yourself.”

He watches your shoulders droop ever so slightly, a clear sign of your surrender. “Fine.”

“Good.”

You turn back to find the other man long gone, the vast expanse of snow and darkness engulfing the plane that leads to the congregation of tents. Chan begins to lead you back, mumbling about how he needs to get back inside. 

It’s during your trudge that you realize there’s something that still bugs you, supposing you’d get your answer if you asked him. 

“What’s the king doing meddling in military bases and war prisoners?” you begrudgingly ask.

“He’s very… hands-on, I guess. He cares about what happens around here, his land, his people.” 

“Like a normal ruler?” you mumble in annoyance.

“When was the last time you saw the General leave his office?” 

You haven’t. 

A month. That’s how long you’ve been at this base camp. 

Enlightenment may be an understatement to what this place is giving you, absurdities that they call the truth. Absurdities, as you may have called them a moon ago. 

This barren country did not have a military, you were told. These makeshift headquarters were made to keep up with the endless external aggressions from the other side. 

“They’re all people given the choice to stay. We needed the manpower. Military precision was never our forte,” Minghao explains. 

You hate how he has an answer to every critical question of yours, how you’ve gone past thinking this was some elaborate, well-thought-out story to put your guard down, to put everyone’s guard down. 

Sitting at this wooden table with maps and charts littering the surface, he looks you down from the other end. Chan remains silent next to you, knowing that if you asked, he would’ve given you the same response. 

“So you’re trying to build an army? To what, retaliate?” Your arms remain crossed over your middle.

“We cannot retaliate,” Chan says. 

“The difference in military power is too much, anyway. We can’t fight something that fights us in different ways,” Minghao finishes. He looks stressed, pinching the bridge of his nose. You watch him drag a chair to sit down. 

The majority of camp was resting for the day, leaving the base relatively empty save for the three of you. 

“Different ways?” you question.

You watch him close his eyes, running a hand over his face. “Chan, you told me she was smart.” 

“She’s having a harder time adjusting than I thought she would,” he chuckles humourlessly in response. 

“Are you gonna tell me, or do I have to take another month to figure it out on my own?” you snap. 

“What have you been told about our borders? Why is this land the way that it is,” Minghao starts. 

You don’t have an answer because you’ve never been told. The general was forever adamant that a land and its people were interconnected, that Minghao’s nation was as ruthless as the land itself was. 

“What about what you thought?” he tries again. 

“Nature’s weird, I don’t know,” you huff. 

“You were so loyal to a man that had no rhyme to his reason. How blind did you have to be—”

“Keep to the question,” you monotone.

He exhales before continuing. “This land is the incarnation of balance. It might not look like it, but we play the most important role in making sure your nations remain stable.” 

“Regular communities cannot survive in this weather, the livestock perishes, and crops cannot grow. Everything that makes humanity thrive remains absent here.” Minghao places his elbows on the table, hands clasped together. “But it remains like this here so the rest of the world can foster humanity; that’s the purpose of this land.” 

“A sacrifice of sorts,” Chan adds quietly. 

“My land remains lifeless so others may thrive,” Minghao finishes. 

“Why…why this land?” you question after a few beats. 

He leans back against his chair, “I don’t know. Perhaps my ancestors were cursed. Perhaps this is just what this land was made to do. All I know is that my mother and father left me the job of ensuring this place is protected, as their mother and father taught them. All for the sake of keeping balance.” 

It was wildly ironic that a place that was the definition of extreme was seemingly also harboring the balance to this world, but you found no jest in his words. You had also learned that it was the more unbelievable things here that would turn out to be most true, so you let yourself believe in whatever lore you had just unlocked. 

“So you can’t retaliate,” you echo. 

“Not if we wish to keep the peace, no.”

Chan chimes in this time, “This is all really just a misunderstanding that’s fallen into the wrong hands. The General’s a bloodthirsty fuck; this is just an excuse for him to retain power and satisfy all his sick fantasies.”

“How do we fix this then?” you dare to ask.

“We can’t,” Minghao says. “Not right now, at least. If we want to make a move, we have to grow as an entity. What your General doesn’t understand is how he’s feeding his own enemy whenever he sends some poor soldier our way.” 

“That’s what everyone’s been working on. The SUN team is nearly complete with you here. We need to equip everyone here with skills more than anything,” Chan says. 

“And then?” 

“And then we let the General know who’s side we’re really on.”

Xu Minghao had a very peculiar way as King. 

Other than remaining in the same bunkers as the rest of the population, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone besides the guards address him as sovereign. He sat with everyone during mealtimes, spoke to everyone like a friend, yet remained the one in charge. 

Over the months, you remained the last newcomer of the bunch, learning slowly but surely of your new truth. That was, until your sixth month. 

It happened during breakfast, walking out into the dark sky to greet the person Minghao had told you was the newest aggravated prisoner. You knew her from headquarters, having seen her multiple times as she trained, but never learned her name. Her brows unfurrow slightly at the sight of you, recognizing you immediately. 

You try to stay as others who remain familiar to the newcomer speak to her, adding where your credibility was due. You underestimated how difficult it would be, not because she was being frustrating, but because she was frustrated. 

With every surge of exasperation she showed, every snarky remark to words of reason, you saw yourself. A strange, heavy feeling sets itself in your chest, making it difficult to speak, difficult to simply stand there as you watch her ideologies rendered as lies. 

So you excuse yourself, moving out of the way into the snow you’d learned to make a confidant instead of an irritation. It wasn’t strange to find somebody contemplating alone in the snow, the constant darkness ready to keep everyone company. 

You aren’t sure what it is that you want to contemplate, but simply sitting in the snow helps, allowing you to remain unstimulated. The weird feeling remained, but what also remained was your brain's inability to distinguish one from the other. 

You don’t know how long you had been sitting there, but are aware of the lighter sheen of blue that the sky has turned into when you hear trudging behind you. You turn to find Minghao approaching, halting a foot away. 

“Did you see the newcomer?” he asks.

“Yeah. They’re handling it, she’ll be fine.”

It falls silent once more. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t warmed up to the man in the past months, perhaps even enough to call yourself friends. Chan had quite the role to play in that. 

He invites himself to sit next to you in the snow, letting out a deep exhale that fogs the air. “I wanted to ask if you were okay.” 

You’re stumped. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well…” he chortles. “You’ve been sitting here for a good three hours, so I only thought it was natural to assume.”

“It’s not good to assume.”

“And that you can’t be doing too well seeing the newcomer.”

“...Got me,” you whisper, still gazing into the far-off mountains. 

“You can talk about it if you want,” he offers. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you sigh.

“Or is there too much to talk about?” he raises a brow. 

You’ve turned to look at him at this point, making out his facial features with the low light of the lamps that burn in the distance. 

“How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Know what I’m thinking about.”

“You’re easier to read than you think,” he chuckles. “Why? D’you think I’m reading your mind?”

“Seems like it sometimes.”

“Do you miss home?” he asks, albeit a little cautiously. 

“I do. I miss what it meant to me. I don’t think I could go back and feel the same way, though,” you answer. If he was trying to get you to open up, he was succeeding. 

“Why’s that?” 

You snort, “Obvious, isn’t it? Can’t call a place full of lies home. I can’t believe I let them manipulate me to that extent.” 

You think of the mental turmoil on the girl's face. 

“It wasn’t your fault. You were doing what you taught.”

“Other people found holes in the story, though. They saw the beginnings of what was really happening. I was so blind, they couldn’t even try to talk me out of it.”

“You can’t keep blaming yourself. It was the General’s job to be conniving. What use if his right hand could see through it. With how long it took you to come around, it only shows how dangerous he is.”

You remain silent as you absorb his words. There was truth to them, but you find it hard to dissolve it into your mindset. 

“What matters is you're here now, that you chose the truth despite what you’d grown to learn.” He’s staring right at you when he says it, something you find as you look up to do the same. 

There’s a lurch in your stomach, one that has your cheeks burning despite the temperature. 

“How do you not hate any of these people? How do you not hate me? We’re the reason your people are so detested,” your voice comes out shaky, yet thick with a weird mix of emotions. 

“I hate the ones that choose to be like this despite knowing what the truth is.”

“Like the General?”

“Like the General.” 

It’s silent as you watch him gaze into your soul, an uncomfortable feeling yet one that stops you from looking away. 

You want to kiss him. 

The thought alone has you jumping in place, shaking off the way your body seems to have seized up. You move your knees away in blatant ignorance, looking at anything but his face. 

“What?” he asks at your sudden change in behavior.

“Nothing!” you say, a little too loud to be considered casual. 

“Why’d you move away?” 

“I didn’t!” Of course, you realize how stupid you sound. You huff as you continue, “Just—I don’t know!”

“You don’t know what?” 

“Goodness, you need to learn to drop things.”

“Not when it involves me,” he says.

“Who says it involves you?”

“Do we need to go over this again?” 

You look at him in question, only to realize he could read you just as well as he could at any other instance. 

“You’re not gonna like it,” you finally say. 

“Try me.”

“Would you hate me if I said I wanted to kiss you?”

He pauses for an agonizing few moments, ones that make you feel like erupting into a ball of fire that could melt all the snow in the land. Your numb fingers fidget with each other, hating yourself as soon as the words come out of your mouth. 

Minghao uses his mouth in ways other than words when you feel it against your lips. It takes you a moment to realize what’s happening and another to let your body take control.

He’s kissing you so painfully slow it has you wondering if you’re imagining it, the feeling of his surprisingly warm lips on your frozen ones. You pull away for a moment, a question ringing in your mind. 

“I’m not making a mistake, am I?” you breathe into his mouth. 

“Absolutely not,” he says, diving back in with a force not present before. 

You throw your arms around him in instinct to keep yourself from falling back onto the snow in his newfound enthusiasm. Not that you can find yourself complaining, especially not when his tongue prods against your bottom lip, urging you to open up for him. 

You let him pull you closer, let him explore your mouth, let him hold you as you give yourself up to the feelings that now, after so long, have finally boiled over.

You’re both breathless when you pull away, remaining in each other’s arms as you gain your bearings. 

“Figured it out, did you?” he asks with the slightest smirk. 

Of course, with every passing instance that he’s reminded you of the mental walls you don’t seem to have with him, this was perhaps his end goal. You want to ask when he figured out you liked him before, wondering if he had known before you had in the first place. 

He doesn’t let you, though, as his smiling lips meet yours again, chasing the feeling that's come forth after months of waiting. 

You’ll find out the run down soon enough. For now, you give into him, believing in your ice-cold heart that Xu Minghao would never lie to you. 

Taglist: @weird-bookworm @rubyreduji @vampirexlotita @simqly-yunjin @tomodachiii

[imthepunchlord]

Just a random question, but do you like adrien and marinette being the main duo, or do you think two other people would've been better?

Yes and no.

It's kinda complicated.

So, with my long break from Miraculous, clearing out my salt mines, and doing a gradual rewatch of the show with fresh eyes and enjoying the nostalgia of what used to be, I can say I am reminded on why, we as a fandom, enjoyed them as leads and as a pair.

There was some yin-yang potential in their dynamic, specifically playing off Lady Wifi introducing the Head vs Heart idea.

Marinette's an Empathetic Head. She's observant and perceptive, the planner and quick thinker, typically, she responds logically to what's presented to her. But she does feel deeply for others, and that empathy and kindness drives her to step up and help others.

Adrien in turn is a Reasonable Heart, at least, meant to be. He works off his feelings, goes with his gut, his wants; but he's also meant to be the emotional reason, knowing what to say to ground those that are getting caught up in themselves, offer support and direction, one they didn't consider or see before.

It nicely places off that theme that there's a little bit of the other in the counterparts, which is why the two halves have those dots, a little bit of yang resides in yin and vice versa.

And between the fluff and the snark and the support/loyalty they do offer each other, that potential for them as partners and users for the Cat and Ladybug is there.

Unfortunately, the writers' bias and stubbornness ruined that dynamic. What's meant to be a partnership of equals never becomes equals. Adrien never steps up as a leader and shares the weight of responsibility, and Marinette never feels like she can ease back and trust others to handle things, making her feel like she has to solve everything and be THE solution.

There's also the factor that they decided to prioritize the romance over the friendship, which did not really help Adrien as a hero as he focused more on his romantic pursuits than being a hero, flirting at the wrong time, not taking anything seriously... it was a bad look. And then Adrien and Marinette as civilians, despite being stated to be friends, I kinda question if they truly are. Adrien never actively goes to hang out with Marinette on his own, most of the time, there's a social expectation for them to hang out as civilians, or a favor is involved.

One of the aspects that has a romance work is having a good friendship to be that foundation. But the writers don't value friendship, not between actual friends and not between the love interests.

And the third issue is their means of growth.

Thomas, unfortunately, echoed the idea that girls grow through suffering. So Marinette's growth is just having the narrative against and giving her a hard time and she just can't win no matter what she does. Damned if she do, and damned if she don't. And I got to see that she developed anxiety and has an Atlas Complex and is very stress and just...

And with Adrien, he's just stagnant. He doesn't get involved in his own plot. He doesn't step up to the responsibility of being a hero, nor does he seek to share the weight of leadership. He's handed things on a silver platter, is allowed to be upset and petty and recklessly use his power.

And all of these factors just throws a big wrench into the potential of their partnership and them as leads and as the Cat and Ladybug heroes.

Better writers can make them work. And I bet there are a lot of good fanfics out there that have made them work.

I can see that potential and promise there. It's just really poor execution that ruined it.

I also will say, personally, I do think narrative wise things would flow better if they had a kwami swap at the start. Though, this is largely working the direction canon did go and I can see how a kwami swap could've combated that.

Plagg is set up to be the ideal foil to Marinette and have her grow, as she's too much of a giver, overthinks, piles too much on her plate, and struggles to put herself first. Extra bonus that they could've been a hilarious duo to see.

Tikki's big appeal with Adrien is that she would've gotten him involved in his own plot. Would've pushed for him to figure out who he is, what he wants to do, to be more involved if not be the leader, and to think more before he acts. And there could've been some good fluff as Tikki fills the void his mom left, as she can be very affectionate and supportive.

There's also the factor that Adrien needs someone to straight up tell him when he did something wrong or uncool. Anything that's a vague hint that Plagg occasionally gives just goes over Adrien's head or is ignored.

And there is that big appeal of shifting up the dynamics. Canon's issue is that Marinette and Tikki are initiators, while Adrien and Plagg are reactors. Mixing up these dynamics would've done wonders for their characters and interactions.

So, yeah over all, they can and could've worked as leads and holders of the Ladybug and Cat. The writing just really screwed them over. Though, I will say, doing different leads for Ladybug and Cat isn't an impossibility either.

[prismaticpichu]

POTENTIAL (spoiler free) HOT TAKES; DO NOT TOUCH STOVE 🔥

~

As I continue to scarf down Rebirth food like a rabid chimpanzee, I’m starting to come to an interesting realization:

I think I discovered a new reason as to why I love CC so much among the compilation. And that is bc it is debatably the easiest content in all of the 7 series to follow/digest. Don’t get me wrong- the writing is still messy and holey and did throw a bit of a wrench into pre-established canon. But chopping all of that off and looking at the game for what it is…? Idk! It’s not too rough to swallow. We have our steady main character who we see develop/grow tragically jaded, we have a villain we relatively follow till the end, we have our side character who we also see progress/regress/however you wanna put Seph’s cheese falling off the cracker. The only really boggler in the plot imo is admittedly Angeal, with his wishy-washy good guy-bad-guy conscience, but his sole presence is still not enough to completely muddy the story if you ask me. CC’s still a fun and memorable and enjoyable ride, and the plot beats are easy to process and hit just as hard as any other game in the compilation.

Now, OBV, Crisis Core has some canonical reasons for being more linear and objective: this is technically the “real” story, with Zack’s memories and all, and so it’s freed from all that ambiguity and haziness of Cloud’s journey in OG. But at the same time……. that’s kinda my point, lol? Like, again, don’t get me wrong- on one hand, og does a phenomenal job in creating tension and uncertainty and capturing Cloud’s identity crisis by making scrambled eggs out of his memories. But on the other hand, it’s also… a taaaadd much? Like to the point where it’s nearly impossible to actually understand the story on the first go. And there’s nothing wrong with it taking a few playthroughs to fully grasp things! It adds a sense of replayability. But if you don’t have that kinda patience, the whole thing can be a tad frustrating and confusing. And, idk, Ig my point is that Remake/Rebirth kinda falls into this same trap. The games are such, such, SUCH a fun ride (really! <33), but boy do I feel like I’m untangling tangled earbud wires trying to understand some of the game- especially in the homestretch. It’s just a real big meaty sandwich to swallow, and it can be a bit overwhelming lmao. Not to the point where it ruins its enjoyability- cause again, the story’s mainly a blast- but it’s admittedly hard to get 110% immersed in the world when I’m left trying to actively break down what’s going on. I won’t go into any specific details for spoiler reasons, tho I’m sure y’all understand from Remake alone where most of the confusion lies/in which elements.

The last thing I wanna do is be too negative tho. Needless to say these games and franchise is incredibly special to me, and I adore so much about Rebirth so far. The character interactions are near perfection, the stakes have never ever been higher, and there is soooooooooooo much to explore!! <33 And it’s also prolly worth mentioning that I’ma person who gets confused VERY easily lol. So it’s very possible that I’m struggling more than usual to grasp everything, and it’s creating some skewed judgment. But I thought it was worth sharing my thoughts regardless.

Thx for listening to my ramblings! Hope y’all are having a wonderful day <3333 Keep up the hype!!!

[evalineplayz19]

Melted with a kiss

CW: pregnancy , yelling, swearing, unprofessional relationships, spoilers for hawks backstory if you aren’t caught up, this is a hawks x oc

A/N: Nightfall is my OC’s hero name, and Evaline is her first name

It was a normal day at Hawks’ agency, all of the sidekicks out working and hawks in his office doing some well overdue paperwork, everyone was doing their part all except for one . The only thing that was out of the normal thing was that he hadn’t seen or even heard from you in the last few days, while it’s normal for him to not see you for a couple days since you’re more of an independent and fast paced worker who didn’t really like to work with other people , you’d usually send him reports and other stuff but he had received nothing he was getting worried but he trusted you and knew that you could take care of yourself. So he continued with his paperwork until he heard a knock on his door

“Come in” he shouted

He was expected literally anyone but you, but he was happy to see that you were ok, kinda honestly to him you looked so tired the bags under your eyes are more visible than ever, your eyes were puffy like you had been crying and you were shaking like a leaf.

This was not the confident, head strong, ready to cuss him out at second, take on an army of villains sidekick that he knew, not at all.

“Um hey nightfall, I’ve been a little worried about- you cut him off with words he never wanted to hear come out of your mouth

“I quit and I want to break up”

you said these heart breaking and gut wrenching words with little emotion on display.

His heart sank, he was dumbfounded and in disbelief, he had never seen you like this, this was not the Evaline he knew

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, I wish you the best have a nice life.”

You turned to walk out the door when all of a sudden it slammed shut, you see hawks’ feathers move pass your eyes as they return to their owner

“Hold on just a gods damn minute, you don’t just get to walk in here and say that you quit and want to end our relationship and just leave! what the hell?!”

he didn’t mean to raise his voice at you but after everything you two have been through he at least deserves an explanation

You subconsciously flinch at his volume and tone, but quickly collect yourself “I want to quit and break up that’s the end of it.” you just wanted to get this over with

"What do you mean by 'that's the end of it'?" he asked angrily, clearly upset and hurt by your decision "Do you think I'm some kind of idiot who will accept something like this without question? This isn't how things work!"

“I just don’t want to work here anymore and I don’t want to be in a relationship with you either so what more is there?”

“A fucking reasoning, you can’t just drop a bomb like this and expect me to just say “oh ok bye bye” like you know damn well I don’t work like that!” He takes a deep breath before he continues "we've worked together for five years now, we built this agency from scratch together, We're partners! How can you throw all of that away?!" he shouted, tears starting to well up in his eyes. He couldn't believe that you would just abandon everything they'd worked towards together.

You were his first sidekick and the first person to work at his agency when it opened, you two worked endlessly together to build a foundation for this agency and look where you are now, you’re his right hand and he’s the fucking number two pro hero, and he set records with how fast he made up the charts but the world would never know that he didn’t do it alone that he probably wouldn’t be the hero he is today without you. Even with the commission’s training, it was you who showed him the best ways to use his skills, it was you who taught him the best techniques to take down villains, it was you who showed him the best parts of himself that he didn’t even know he had.

It was all you

“I- “

you look away and only then does Hawks see something in your eyes

Unease, uncertainty, regret

He slowly reads you like a book, Hawk looks down into your eyes, seeing the pain and anguish within them, he slowly walks forward until he is standing directly in front of you. “Look I’m sorry for raising my voice and yelling at you but baby I deserve an explanation right? I mean after all this time don’t you think it’s just a hella unfair for you to just leave me like this?”

“P-please don't call me baby anymore” you lower your head even more to hide your tears

Hawk takes a deep breath before speaking again, trying to calm himself down before he speaks.

“Clearly I can tell that you don't want to do this and there's something you're not telling me, l'm a trained pro hero Evaline you can't really hide a lot of things from me. Baby I mean Evaline please just talk to me”

you take a deep breath and look him in the eyes your blue ones meeting his gold one, he always said your eyes reminded him of the ocean and space due to your heterochromia

I'm pregnant

Well…shit

He definitely was not expecting to hear that YOU were expecting, there’s no doubt that the little fetus inside you is his, keeping in mind that you are very antisocial he’ll you’re so antisocial that some of the people in the agency don’t even know who you are and you guys are co-workers for Celestia sakes.

Hawks freezes and for once in his life he has nothing to say, hell he doesn’t know what to say or what to do, for a brief moment he genuinely thought about just letting you go, just letting you walk out and never see you again, Sure it would take him months if not that years to find a suitable replacement for you but it’s not impossible, that agency wouldn’t collapse if you were to leave, that’s how the world works, someone starts something and when they can’t finish it someone else will, you helped raise this agency from the ground, he continue your work but…

He loves you, he loves you so much that the mere thought of never seeing you again makes him feel like his world is ending you are his world, the love of his life, you made him happy when to other his happiness wasn’t important, you made him feel normal in his not normal life. He has no family, no siblings, his parents aren’t suitable for a parental role in his life, the commission may have “raised” him after his mother sold him to them and they may have trained him but they weren’t like family to him. No one holds a spot in his heart like you do, the way he wishes to just take your hand and run away from this life and start a new chapter but that’s not possible so he’ll have to settle for this right now.

He is snapped out of his thoughts upon seeing your tears.

And that’s when it hits him

It hits him like a fucking brick

You’ve been suffering

You’d been suffering for so long, worrying about how this very interaction would go and everything that would follow afterwards. It’s clear that you didn’t want to do this, he could tell that you wanted to stay here and continue to be by his side so why were you doing this?

“Evaline, look at me please”

“I-I can’t”

“Yes you can I understand now you’re scared, you’ve been dealing with this all on your own and I can see why you would want to leave the agency but why would you leave me?”

“Because what about you!?”

“What”

“What about your reputation and your career, everything you’ve worked for will down the drain if it gets out that you impregnated your sidekick?!”

“Evaline, it wasn’t just my work that built this agency it was you too”

“But still-“

“No, I love you and I will never stop loving especially after 5 years of knowing you, caring for you and so much more don’t ever forget how much you’ve done for me, and I would love to raise a child with you knowing how much of a amazing person you are, I’m so sorry for making you think you had to deal with all of this on your own, but just know I’m here baby and I always will be”

By the end of his speech, his warm hands are cupped around your face as tears fall freely, you feel all your worries and doubts fade away. Sweet relief floods your mind and heart as Keigo’s words engraved themselves into your brain

“I love you so much Evaline”

“I love you too keigo”

And with that all the pain and sorrow of yesterday was melted away by a kiss

[no-shxme]

did a talsett req (YAYAYYAYAYY thanks for requesting talsett omg) as a warmup but it turned out pretty long afdkldsfj

prompt was talon introducing sett to katarina but i did kinda twist it into it's own thing, also set in a modern au. thank you for the insp!

In hindsight it’ll be funny, but for Talon that might take a couple years. Sett will laugh about it by next week, because he’s unbothered, but stuff that’s easy for him is hard for Talon. Like being the center of attention or reaching the top shelf where all the biggest bowls are. Talon’s sleeping when Katarina comes, or he’s trying to. He’s laying in bed when she shows up, half-awake and thinking about nothing but the sound of the frying pan from the kitchen. Talon had barely slept last night, and even now he’s close but not close enough. The room is too bright and everything is fuzzy, so he doesn’t pay much attention to anything except when Sett calls, “Hey—Tal—”

His tone is funny, Talon can’t tell exactly what it is. He sits up and scrubs the crust from his eyes.

Sett will describe, later, how he’d been cooking when she’d let herself into the apartment. She hadn’t knocked or rung the bell, since she has her own key. Sett’s ears barely had time to swivel before she was standing in the entryway, staring at him in his boxers.

“Who the fuck are you?” 

Talon’s thought about how he’d introduce Sett, but not seriously. Maybe Sett could just be his little secret that no one else has to know about. He’s not ashamed of him, Talon’s just bad at sharing. But none of his scenarios had involved Katarina suddenly finding out on her own, so when they’re all standing in the kitchen he has no idea what to say or what to do. Sett turns off the stove and waits there awkwardly with his pan.

“Talon—” Katarina says, and points at Sett. “Who’s this?”

Talon swallows thickly. His mouth is dry. “That’s Sett,” he says.

“Hey,” Sett offers carefully, waving the spatula. “Heard about you.”

“Talon—I’m—” Katarina seems genuinely flustered. She stomps over and grabs his wrist. “Let’s have a chat.”

She drags him back to the bedroom and shuts the door and Talon watches her survey the room in dismay, noticing how there’s two phones on the nightstand, and a few extra pairs of shoes scattered on the floor. Katarina’s smart, she turns around.

“Talon. What?” 

The question isn’t specific enough so Talon says nothing.

“Are you dating him?” Katarina asks.

Talon nods. Kind of.

Kat makes an unidentifiable noise. “How long have you been dating? You never told me?”

“Almost a year,” says Talon.

“I’m gonna strangle you,” Kat says. “Talon he’s—” she raises her hand far up above Talon’s head, as if measuring his height. “How?”

Talon frowns. “What.”

“Tal.” She spins in a circle. “Garen and I, we’re like, a match.”

He stares at her.

“Like visually,” she says. “It’s—I’m not calling you ugly, Tal, but—he’s—”

Talon looks down at his feet. He wishes she’d never shown up. He’s too tired for this. “But he wants me.”

“Is he rich? Are you sure he doesn’t want your money?” Kat hisses, exasperatedly.

He pushes her away. “Stop.”

“Talon, I’m worried about you.” She sighs, exasperated. 

“You don’t even know him,” Talon snaps.

“Oh I wonder why!” Kat throws her hands up. “I decide to visit my little brother and find a complete stranger in his underwear.” 

“He’s my boyfriend,” Talon snaps, out of spite. “Why are you here?”

“It’s your adoption day tomorrow, remember?” 

Talon blinks at her. He’d completely forgotten. “Oh,” he mutters.

“Everythin’ okay?” Sett asks, on the other side of the door. 

No, Talon thinks. My sister doesn’t trust my judgment. She doesn’t understand all the care Sett’s taught him, or the ringer that Talon put him through just to let Sett keep him.

“I wanna put on a shirt,” Sett adds, and Talon can picture the way his ears must be folded back.

He wrenches open the door and steps past Sett into the hall. Katarina stares at him, and Talon knows she must be comparing them, trying to fit them together like a puzzle, even though they never matched up to begin with. Sett and him are not typical. They don’t fit the same way others do.

“Listen bucko.” Katarina pokes Sett in the middle of his chest. “I don’t know what your deal is, but if you mess with him—” 

Sett is flat against the wall, looking down at her. “Uh-huh,” he says, and his gaze flickers to Talon’s and back.

“I’ll fucking gut you,” she threatens. “You’ll wish you were never born.”

“Uh—” Sett starts. “You sure you’re not related by blood?”

She pokes him one more time for emphasis and stalks past Talon down the hall. “Be ready tomorrow, Tal. You’ve got so much explaining to do.”

Sett’s ears twitch back when the front door slams.

After another minute Talon shuffles over to lean his forehead against Sett’s chest, and Sett pats his shoulder reassuringly.

“You slept yet?” he asks.

“No,” Talon mumbles. Sett cups his cheek and kind warmth bleeds from his palm. 

“Go lay down,” he reassures. “I’ll be there after I clean up.”

Talon gladly obeys. He curls back up under the blankets, letting his brain go fuzzy again. Maybe Kat’s just mad that Sett is taller than Garen. He’ll ask tomorrow. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t have to.

[karahalloway]

Sleepless in New York: Chapter 10 - Darkfall

Series: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Synopsis: What if Drake met Harper on the first night of Prince Christian’s New York bachelor party? A stand-alone AU written from Drake's POV.

Masterlist: Sleepless in New York

Chapter Summary: Drake tries to navigate a rough night...

Word Count: 5,300

Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, angst, obsessive-compulsive exercise, sexual fantasy, masturbation)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Sorry this took soooo long to get out! As per usual, real life has been exceptionally busy, so I haven't had as much time to write as I'd like to.

A/N2: This is also my slightly belated submission for World Whiskey Day, hosted by @drake-walker-appreciation, and the prompt that this fits with (more or less) is 'The whiskey burns my throat like her absence burns my soul.'

A/N3: I just realised that this kinda (maybe?) qualifies for the @springfeverpitch event that was on this week (Apologies! There are a lot of events on at the moment!) In any case, this would count as domestic x home run I guess 😅

Chapter 10 - Darkfall

I kick the covers off with an irate growl.

Un-fuckin'-believable...

After the shitshow of a day I've had, I should be running on fumes.

And I am.

Yet for some reason, I’m not able to nod off. Despite the fact that I've been on the go since 6am and have barely gotten any shut-eye the night before.

Because my body’s apparently a sucker for punishment and doesn’t seem to know when to quit. And even though I know I desperately need the recharge, I also know that staying in bed’s gonna achieve nothing 'cept hypertension.

So, swinging my legs out onto the carpet with a tight-set jaw, I reach for my phone.

02:18

I run a heavy hand through my hair.

The hell am I gonna do for the next six hours?

My eyes land almost unwittingly on the ragged shirt-tail peeking over the edge of the trash can.

I rip my gaze away with gritted teeth.

No. Absolutely fucking not.

It’a bad enough that I walked out on Gale without so much as a half-assed explanation. I ain’t gonna compound my dick-like behaviour by showing up at her door in the middle of the night, demanding to pick up where we left off.

Especially not after everything I've already subjected her to today — getting her fired, burning her in front of her friends, pulling her into a fight, dragging her on a forced route march 'cross town, and then literally ripping the shirt off her back. And, if that isn’t bad enough, I topped off her night by dumping the proverbial clutch on her when I should've been taking her for the ride of her life.

I swallow painfully. No. That ship had definitely sailed...

Which means it’s high time to take my own fuckin' advice and get her — and this entire mess of a day — out of my head.

No excuses.

And since the overpriced mini bar had let me down, I’m down to my only alternative — running myself into the ground.

Pushing myself up with a resigned exhale, I trudge over to my duffle. Reaching in, I extract the exercise shorts and t-shirt that always forms part of my go-bag, no matter where I went. Because you never know when you’re gonna need to blow off some steam. And going for a run’s a damn sight healthier than disappearing down the neck of a bottle. Even if the latter’s a helluva lot more convenient.

Throwing the clothes on, along with some socks and my well-worn trainers, I turn back to the bedside table to grab my phone and gun...

...and catch sight of the shirt again.

Motherfucker.

Jamming the phone and the Sig into my pockets — it always pays be prepared then be left holding your dick when shit inevitably hits the fan — I march over to the bin and yank the accursed thing out.

Scrunching it up, I turn on my heel, and stomp out of the room, snatching the keycard up on the way. Wrenching the door open, I let it bang shut behind me as I head down the corridor.

I cannot catch one goddamn break tonight...

Reaching the lifts, I briefly contemplate calling one. But given that I’m already wound tighter than a two-dollar watch, I know I won’t be able to stand the wait, no matter how brief.

So, I divert instead to the fire exit. Pulling the heavy door open, I throw myself into a jog and take the stairs upwards two at a time.

I guess I could've just as easily gone downstairs. But I don’t trust myself not to wind up at Gale's brownstone again if I hit the streets. Which means that the only place I can conceivably go is to the top-floor gym.

Which — all things considered — is probably the better bet anyway. Because going for a jog in the dead of night around the City That Never Sleeps is a risk not worth taking. And even though Central Park’s less than a block away, it’s not actually an option, given that (a) it’s shut overnight, and (b) it isn’t the best lit, and I don’t particularly feel like getting jumped by a knife wielding yahoo, or twisting an ankle on an uneven path.

Plus, I'd have to be a monumental idiot to even think about leaving Chris unattended again. Not that I expect to him go anywhere at this hour — except maybe all the way with Hayley. But I’m not about to make the same mistake twice in one day.

Christ knows I paid for it hard the first time 'round...

I feel my legs start to burn as I continue to climb relentlessly. But knowing that this is exactly what I need if I’m to have any hope of catching some zzz's tonight, I ignore the discomfort and push myself on.

Arriving on the 25th floor, I pause on the landing to catch my breath. But the short burst of exercise has merely thrown me a second wind. I still have a long way to go if I want to waste myself completely.

So, moving over to the stairwell door, I pull it open and step into the gym. Given the lateness of the hour, there's not a soul in sight, and it's just me and the view.

But there’s one thing I need to take care of first.

Locating the changing rooms, I head inside. And before I can think too much on it, or change my mind, I stride over to the dirty towel hamper and chuck the ruined shirt in...

...and dump a few towels on top of it for good measure.

Dead and buried.

Spinning quickly around, I exit the way I'd come, focusing my attention on the row of TechnoGym treadmills that face out onto the distantly twinkling lights of Harlem in the north, and not on how twisted my guts feel all of a sudden.

Picking a machine, I pull my phone and sidearm out of my pockets and place them onto the console so they won’t bang against my thighs as I ran, but still remained within reach in case I need them.

Taking a deep breath, I step resolutely onto the belt and hit go on a program at random.

The pace starts off sedately, barely faster than a speed walk. Reaching up to the console, I tap the speed up impatiently, not wanting to waste time on a warm-up I don’t need and most definitely don’t want.

I’n here to burn rubber.

The motor kicks into a higher gear, but it's not enough. Even though I’m now at a steady jog, my heart rate's barely above resting and I've yet to break a sweat. Not to mention the fact that my mind’s still fixating on the very thing I need to flush out of my system.

Gale, legs spread and head thrown back, moaning my name...

Raising my hand with a growl, I slap the panel again... and again... and again... until the belt is a blur beneath my feet and I'm pelting it like a demented bat outta hell.

The sudden speed forces my body into overdrive. My chest expands, my focus narrows, and my blood begins to pump in earnest, trying to supply my body with oxygen faster than it was being consumed.

I fall into a breakneck rhythm, limbs pumping to the rapid beat of my breath in a desperate effort to stay on the treadmill.

In... In... In... In... Out... Out... Out... Out...

The minutes and the miles tick past on the screen in front of me, but I barely register the stats. I'm too busy chasing oblivion...

...which remains stubbornly out of reach.

Because even as I push myself to the limit and my lungs start to burn and my muscles start to cramp, I can't escape her. She's still there, hazel-green eyes dancing on the edge of my awareness, the honey scent of her hair tickling my senses like smoke on the breeze.

And even as my vision begins to swim and the relentless pace pushes me to the verge of puking, I don't let myself ease up. Because that would be an admission of defeat and I’m not the type to quite that easy.

Not when there’s so much on the line.

Because beyond the fact that I let myself become consumed by a girl I barely know — an unhealthy and unsustainable hang-up that I need to nip in the bud, pronto — my continued preoccupation also ended up endangering Chris' life tonight.

And that’s inexcusable.

Not only is the guy the heir to a fuckin' throne, but he is my best — and arguably only — friend. And I let him down, both personally and professionally, by allowing myself to get distracted, just because a pretty set of legs had walked by.

And while I somehow managed to salvaged my colossal fuck-up, and we all walked away tonight without any casualties, I probably won’t m be able to pull a miracle like that out of my ass every time.

Nor should I expect to.

Especially not during the social season, when Chris is going to be constantly in the spotlight, shaking hands, being interviewed, always in an exposed setting. All it would take is one moment of distraction, one second of lost focus, for someone to pull a gun, to slip through the crowd, for our worlds to come crashing down.

And I’m not gonna let Chris — my brother — down like that.

I can’t.

So, doubling down, I dig deep and continue to pound the vestiges of my frustrations, my failings, and my regret relentlessly into the treadmill, the hard and fast staccato of my feet against the machine echoing around the otherwise empty space.

I have no clue how long I run for. Minutes? Hours? It makes no difference. Every wheeze feels like my last, every exertion a desperate attempt to break free of the purgatory of mistakes I trapped myself in.

And still I push on. Until I hit the proverbial wall and collapse against it, my vision blurry, my limbs shaking, my clothes drenched.

I stand there for what feels like eternity, feet straddling either side of the machine, the belt still whizzing at breakneck speed beneath me while I cling to the console like a life-line, trying to catch my breath.

And eventually my heart-rate slows, the buzzing in my ears clears, and I regain enough coherence to lift a hand and slap the treadmill off.

Pushing myself up to a standing position as the machine whirls to a stop, I wipe the sweat from my eyes and glance at the screen in front of me.

10 miles. 56 minutes.

I scoff wryly. Well, fuck me if that ain’t a new personal best... Who knew that self-pity could be such a potent motivator...?

Exiting the menus, I grab my stuff and move to step off the machine... only to very narrowly avoid face planting into the floor.

Oh, shit...!

Grabbing the console, I shake my head to try and clear the sudden nausea.

Christ, I feel awful...

My eyes land on the water fountain and I lurch towards it like a drunk out of a bar. Because that’s exactly how I feel like — sluggish, light-headed and stumbling around like a newborn calf. Which is no surprise considering I've just run the best part of half a marathon as if the Devil himself had been after me, having consuming nothing but two bottles of beer beforehand.

Apparently I do hate myself.

Managing to make it to the far wall without any incident — just — I lean over the dispenser to inhale the cool stream of water, nearly making myself choke in the process.

But I know I need to rehydrate myself, otherwise I’m gonna be in a world of pain in a few hours' time. So, after overcoming the initial shock to my system, I force myself to loosen up on the pace and start taking longer and slower gulps.

Having finally satisfied my body's cravings, I let go of the dispenser button to run the back of a trembling hand over my water-soaked mouth.

Sweet Jesus, I’m a mess...

I can’t remember the last time I pushed myself this hard on a workout.

But then I've never felt this way before... Like I’m an idiot, like I missed the pass, like I’m stuck in a maze with no way out.

And even though the hard run had managed to clear my mind, that latent feeling of... something is still there, writhing just beneath the surface, like an unscratchable itch under my skin.

And maybe it'll never go fully away. But I’m not about to give up without putting in a damn good fight.

Pushing myself up, I turn towards the pool. And even though I haven’t brought any swim trunks with me, my feet are already pulling me towards the siren call of the water.

Because if there’s one thing that’a guaranteed to set me right, it’s a full-body dunk.

Arriving at the side of the pool, I peel my sweat-soaked clothes off, leaving only my boxers on for the sake of modesty in case someone happens to walk in.

Taking a breath, I step out over the edge and plunge straight in.

The sting of salt hits my nose — not the same flavour as the Med, but then no pool’s ever gonna compete with that — as the water envelopes me and I let myself sink below the surface.

I hit the bottom and the echoey silence settles like a blanket around me, soothing my senses, taming my pulse.

I've always loved the water. Even before I could walk, I'd make a butt-shuffling beeline towards the end of the beach where the waves crashed onto the shore, unveiling a treasure trove of crabs, seashells and shiny rocks.

Of course, Mom'd been terrified that I'd get swept out to sea, or drown. So, to appease her fear, Dad had started taking me to swim lessons — first at the local therapy pool, but graduating quickly to the higher classes in the lap pool as I learnt to float, hold my breath, and leap off the diving board, all by the age of three.

From there my obsession only grew. I joined the school swim team, the water polo team, and even got certified as a lifeguard over the course of one summer. In short, I spent almost as much time in the water as out of it.

And then Chris introduced me to sailing.

At first I couldn't see the appeal of drifting around the Med on a sofa-sized boat when you could be swimming in it. But I've never been able to say 'no' to my best friend, so when he insisted I join him for a spin around the marina in his new Wayfarer one evening, I'd begrudgingly said yes. And had become instantly hooked. The speed, the technical precision, the feeling of flying over the water — it was all addictive.

Jack Sparrow'd had it right when he'd said that a ship is not just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails. Because even though those things are integral to the make-up of any craft, what a ship — or yacht, or catamaran, or any other vessel — really is, is freedom.

And for a restless 14 year-old, there was nothing more attractive than ditching the world to hang out with your buddy in the middle of the ocean, free of worries or adult supervision, just enjoying the endless view while you fished and talked about nothing in particular.

Of course, being teenagers, we were bound to get ourselves into deep water — quite literally. Which is how we ended up deciding that it'd be a great idea to take out a much larger sloop one evening... only to end up paying for that mistake when a storm decided to roll in out of the blue, catching us off guard and capsizing our craft.

And while that particular misadventure had ended up turning Chris off sailing once and for all, it had made me even more determined to get back out onto the water and obtain my ICC license. Which I did, the following summer.

And even though I no longer have Chris to share my maritime adventures with, my love of sailing — and of being out on the water — never diminished.

Because the sea is — and always has been — my personal haven.

Feeling my lungs start to itch from the lack of oxygen, I reluctantly open my eyes and kick back up to the surface.

But I don't feel like returning to dry land just yet.

So, drawing a quick breath, I stretch myself out and dip into an easy freestyle. Half-a-dozen strokes and I reach the edge of the pool. Diving down, I flip myself around to kick off the wall, resurfacing into a backstroke.

I repeat the pattern for about ten laps, enjoying the rare sense of peace that comes with gliding weightlessly through the water, strokes moving effortlessly in time with my breath.

Eventually, though, I’m forced to call it quits as my body finally runs out of steam and my rhythm starts to falter.

Grabbing onto the edge of the pool, I pause to catch my breath, arms and shoulders tingling from the exertion...

...and I suddenly realise that I'm starving.

Which, all things considered, is hardly surprising. The last time I had anything to eat was at that Midtown stake-house at dinner-time, which was over eight hours ago. And since then I've probably burnt through 800 calories' worth of pure stress, not to mention all the physical exertion I've put myself through. So, my blood sugar levels are shot.

Pulling myself out of the water, I pad over to the other side of the pool to collect my gear.

I briefly contemplate having a shower, but quickly ditch the idea on the basis that (a) I hadn't brought a change of clothes with me, and (b) I can’t trust myself not to go rooting for the ruined shirt that I ditched in the changing rooms earlier.

So, brushing off the worst of the water, I head straight for the lifts.

I’m not expecting to cross paths with anyone at whatever time in the morning it is. And if I do... well, they can suck it up. It's not like I’m walkin' around buck-ass naked.

Arriving back on our booked-out floor, I make my way to my room. Fishing the keycard out of the pocket of my shorts, I let myself in and flick the door closed behind me.

Dropping my exercise kit by my duffle, I locate the 24-hour room service menu and do a quick scan of the options.

A couple of items jump out at me, but knowing that I'll probably have breakfast with the guys in a few hours' time, I don’t want to have anything too heavy.

But then my eyes land on the cheeseburger, and before I can think twice about it, I've reached for the hotel phone and I'm putting the order through.

And even though I tell myself that it's because I never got to finish the one back at the dive bar two nights ago, I know that I'm lying to myself...

...so, I add a bottle of whiskey to the order for good measure.

Because I don’t want to blow up all my hard work by falling back into the same emotional sink hole that I only very narrowly managed to drag myself out of just now. So, I need something to distract myself.

Hanging up, I quickly sort my sweaty clothes out and stow them in the duffle before making my way into the bathroom to have another shower.

Once done, I throw on my jeans and a t-shirt (not bothering with socks or underwear) and flick the wall-mounted TV on to find something to pass the time with while I wait for the food to show up.

Not seeing any movies or series that particularly interest me, I eventually settle on a rerun of an old Pats game...

...but I find my mind wandering.

And it doesn't take long for my treacherous sub-conscious to dig up the very images that have been stalking me all night.

Gale, up in my face out on the club balcony, testing my limits and my sanity with that sassy smile of hers...

Gale, head thrown back and ass pressed up against me as we move to the techno-beat on the crowded dance-floor...

Gale, legs wrapped around me as her nails rake over my skin, fighting to get my shirt off as my tongue invades her mouth...

I groan despite myself, shifting uncontrollably on top of the covers...

...and realise that I've already lost the battle.

Shit.

My eyes land ruefully on the tell-tale tent pole straining the front of my pants.

I huff out a tight exhale.

If there'd been one thing I wanted to avoid tonight, it’s this...

Because I know that as soon as I dip a toe in that particular Rubicon, I’m screwed. And not in a good way.

Because when you've been continuously pushed to the edge, only to be yanked back each and every time from the precipice of release, a plain ol' wank just isn’t gonna do it.

Sure, jacking one out relieved the immediacy of the pent up need. But it’s never gonna hold a candle to the real thing. In part because it’s over in minutes and in part because cumming into your own hand feels about as satisfying as throwing yourself a one-man pity party.

Because sex is a team sport. And trying to run a solo play — when you know what the real thing feels like — is always gonna fall short of expectations. Because when you’re on your own, there’s no one to share the thrill with. To kiss, to tease, to fuck to the limit before letting go so you can finally implode into each other.

Which is why I'd tried my damnedest to exhaust myself so I wouldn't find myself in this situation. At least not until we were back in Cordonia, and I could avail myself of some options...

...'cept now I don’t have a choice.

Not unless I want to greet the bell hop with a raging hard-on...

Because unfortunately for me, my dick has apparently decided that it'd had enough of being baited, and is now gonna bend me over the barrel to get what it wants.

Regardless of the fact that it’s gonna be a massive let-down for both of us.

So, even as I try to shift my focus back to the Pats game — and sideline my ever-growing erection — all I manage to achieve is an even more persistent itch in my pants.

Because despite my resistance, we both know that thanks to the missed opportunity with Gale, chances are good that I’m not gonna find anything resembling decent satisfaction until after the Masquerade Ball.

As even though we'll be arriving back to a Palace teeming with all manner of women — from maids to staff to nobles — that doesn’t mean I’m gonna be casting a net. In fact, just the opposite. I’m not the type to shit where I eat (it causes too much unnecessary mess) and I learnt my lesson about fucking aristos the hard way.

Which means that unless I’m planning to shell out for a call girl — hell'd have to freeze over first — a self-administered hand-job is gonna have to tide me over until there’s a big enough gap in my schedule that I can get away from the Palace for a couple of hours and find some stress relief.

I heave a low breath. Fuck my fuckin' life...

But knowing that I've backed myself into a corner, I reach resignedly for my belt. Unhooking the buckle, I fling it to the side to expose the top button of my jeans. Snapping the fastening open with one hand, I yank the zip down with the other.

The denim falls away and my dick springs free of its confines, its rigid length snapping to attention like an overeager hound that has just caught a scent.

And even though this particular outing isn’t gonna end in the long, hard run we both know we need, that doesn't stop the damn thing from drooling like a mutt in anticipation.

Setting my jaw, I shove my jeans down over my hips, half-heartedly wishing I had some lube or something to try and improve this runaway train-wreck as I reach south...

...and groan out loud as my hand wraps around the warm shaft.

Goddamn...

I’m apparently more deprived than I realised. Though, I guess that shouldn't come as a massive surprise. Especially after the near constant edging that Gale subjected me to tonight, combined with the fact that it's been a good two weeks since the last time I managed to eke out time for a fuck. And that had been mediocre at best.

As if to emphasise the point, my dick bucks against palm, and it's clear that I have a lot of mitigating to do.

Sliding my fist firmly down, then back up again, I set about stoking up a rhythm. And even though it's nothing different to what I've done hundreds of times before, something about the familiar friction sparks an instant fire in my veins.

Maybe it's 'cause I’m exhausted... Maybe it's 'cause my mind’s a mess... Maybe it's 'cause I've gone cold turkey for too long...

But whatever it is, it’s sending me into a tailspin.

I feel my head tip back against the headboard with a low moan as I'm pulled rapidly under by the throes of my self-gratification.

And as my eyes shudder closed in the face of the rising tension, I give myself up to the darkest depths of my desire...

...and in a blink of an eye, I’m back in that cramped apartment, gazing up at Gale from between her legs, the imminence of her climax written on her face, the slickness of her arousal coating my mouth and tongue.

I groan into her as she grips my hair, urging me on with her increasingly desperate pleas, her body quivering above me as she careers towards the edge...

...and I’m suddenly possessed by an all-consuming urge to have her.

Shooting to my feet, with her legs still wrapped around my shoulders, I send her sprawling back over the top of the kitchen counter.

Because I know that we don’t have much time, and if I’m gonna make this happen, we need to do it hard and fast.

And I’m not gonna let myself disappoint her again.

Grabbing her by the waist, I yank her towards me. Her hazel-green eyes widen in shock as her ass dips over the edge of the counter. But my grip on her is unshakeable and she's not going anywhere.

Not yet anyway.

Not until I've fucked her six ways 'til Sunday, and even then I probably won’t let her leave.

Because this girl sets me on fire like nobody else, and I need her to burn with me.

Bending down to give her decadent folds one more self-indulgent lick, I steady her with one hand while I rip my belt and jeans open with the other, not able to take my eyes off her as she writhed before me.

"Drake...!"

The sound of my name slipping off her lips like a fervent prayer unleashes something feral inside of me. Something I didn't even know existed in the dark recesses of my soul. Something that instantly swallows whatever vestiges of rational thought I have left, leaving only one, single-minded purpose:

To make her mine.

And in some corner of my brain I know I should be terrified. Of this rabid hunger that she's unwittingly awakened within me. Of the fact that I can’t control it... and don’t want to.

But I'm already past the point of no return. And I can’t give a rat's ass.

Because the only thing I care about is fulfilling that unspoken obsecration of hers until she’s ruined for all other men.

Shoving my jeans and boxers down with a growl, I grab her hips and ram myself into her in one, brutal motion.

Her wet heat engulfs me, taking me fully, causing my eyes to roll back into my head as I revel in the sheer euphoria of her, her deep-throated cry of agreement rising up around me.

Christ, she feels amazing!

And if the mere act of being inside her doesn’t already feel like pure rapture, she then decides to up the ante even further.

"Fuck me, Drake," she demands, arching her lower back forward.

A guttural sound rattles my throat as she rolls her hips against me, cranking up the torsion as she pulls me in even deeper.

And I could've lost it then and there.

But somehow — whether through sheer force of will, or by the grace of God — I manage to tamp down the rapidly rising swell in order to heed her command.

Because this isn’t about me. This is about her. And I’m gonna make damn sure that she gets what she wants before I let myself cum inside her.

Even if it kills me.

Opening my eyes, I meet her hazel-green gaze with an affirmative smirk. "Yes, ma'am."

She wraps her legs around me expectantly...

...and I slam us together roughly, loudly, unapologetically.

She gasps beneath me, hands flying to the edge of the counter to grip it like an anchor in a storm, her entire body reverberating with the impact of our collisions.

But I don't stop. I can't. I pound into her like a man possessed... because I am. All semblance of logic, of reason, of God-given sense has evaporated and I devolve into the basest version of myself, one that is driven purely by lust and instinct.

And even though I know I won't be able to hold out, that I'll cave in the face of her rhapsodic screams and the almost painful pressure she’s putting on my dick, I'm powerless to pull the e-brake. If anything, it makes me rev the throttle even harder.

Because she just feels too damn good, and I've been at her mercy from the start.

Lifting my head, I lock eyes with her. And in those lust-blown, hazel-green depths, I see more than just need... more than just passion.

I see complete faith.

And it undoes me.

I explode into her with a ragged, animalistic cry, my body jerking with the force of my deliverance.

"Holy... fuck!"

The long-coveted wave of release crashes over me, wiping away my thoughts and my vision, and I'd be convinced that I passed out were it not for the high-pitched ringing in my ears and the thundering of my heart.

A few more pumps, a shuddered breath as the last swell rises, and I’m left drained, floating.

I stay there, motionless, revelling in that all-too brief moment of calm before the chaos of the world spins back up around me.

Sweet Jesus, that w—

Her warm lips brush against my sweat-streaked forehead, her honey-camomile scent drifting over me like a drunken haze...

I move to lean into her. "Harp—"

...but she's already gone.

The story continues in Chapter 11 - Cold Light of Day

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Sleepless in New York only

@bebepac

Picture Credits

Insomnia - Dawn - New York - Run - Swim - Drake - Pool

[cantsomeoneelsedoit]

Ch 53: Have Any Black Tea?

Latla is trying to keep Bunny from dropping the core while Fuuko helps Andy get up. Everyone else is doing post-battle things, but Rip is just staring sadly...

Andy's making a point that the six of them didn't just win the battle-- all six of them survived, even Akira.

Rip tells Latla to take the Soul Caliber that remained after Anno Un disappeared, and Fuuko surprises Rip by thanking him and suggesting that he should join the Union.

Fuuko's a very motivated recruiter! She's like a corporate headhunter or a college recruiter. Rip, we offer competitive performance bonuses!

But that's just how Fuuko is! She always wants to work things out and resolve differences. She has a real unconditional love for others.

Rip had tried to recruit them when he visited them at Chikara's school, but his motivations were probably not based in his love for humanity--just look at how he treated Sean after recruiting him! Rip only wants allies to help him achieve a certain goal:

"From Under her" lol

He's not wrong. Juiz has kept a lot of information from people while expecting them to risk their lives for her cause. She's tried to shoulder it all herself, and in a way she's treated her team as if they couldn't handle the truth or might throw a wrench in her plan if they knew the truth.

And speaking of honesty, Rip and Fuuko are having a really sincere conversation right now! Neither she or Rip hold grudges, it seems.

Latla's "..." is interesting. She's basically devoted herself to Rip and yet he considers someone else to be his everything. Rip and Latla seem like a couple sometimes, but she knows that his heart belongs to her sister and that Leila is his true goal. Poor Latla!

Bunny returns Fuuko's gun and Autumn's core, which have been put into white spheres that Bunny labels with a squeaky marker, which is a cute detail.

Fuuko makes amends with Bunny and uses her catchphrase back to her. She's always so good with kids!

Latla hands Fuuko the broken pieces of the G Liner pen. Rip had only told her to get Soul Caliber, but she made a point to get the pen also and to present it to Fuuko. That's really thoughtful of her--she knows how painful loss can be and how keeping a memento can help. After all, Rip wears the earrings that Leila wore.

Rip asks Andy who Anno was and Andy answers that he was a Negator with the power Unknown. Once again, Andy is great at figuring out other people's abilities. He analyzes everything to try to discover what rules govern their power.

Rip says he hopes they meet again, and then Fuuko collapses in exhaustion onto Andy's chest. Oh yes, she does.

YES! Cuddling outside of battle! It's finally happening!

"Only ten years'' is still a crazy long time to be inside the hyperbolic time chamber book. Now they know each other even better than before and can work together seamlessly. Also, Fuuko's not as embarrassed to be close to him anymore and it's just so sweet how much they trust each other.

Juiz and her team are still in Taipei hunting UMA Summer. She's also still looking damn cool in her regular Union uniform.

The team is fighting some sort of little round creatures (Juniors?) that are causing chaos. She explains her theory about Akira.

UMA Information sounds kinda cheap tbh. How are you gonna put all that information inside "something" and then not reveal what or where that "something" is?! Juiz is right--God is actively working against humanity.

And then God takes it one step further-- even if you DO manage to find the artifact, you'll be stricken with a Negator ability that prevents you from sharing it. God is such a whiny baby. A goalpost-mover. A cheat!

That fits in with my theory that UU is about writing. Authors often nerf situations or characters because they've written themselves into a corner or have poorly set up a plotline. I'm not saying Tozuka is a bad author, btw (I think he's a genius) but this does reflect the way audiences react when things like that happen in manga.

But Akira found a way to work around the obstacles God had given him and used a loophole to get his message to the Negators. I like to think that God had no clue what Akira/Anno were up to because they thought they'd been successfully fridged.

We get another adorable page and a gag that gives our stoic Juiz a sweat drop of concern.

Say what?!

Andy didn't offer any clarification.

She tells them to head to Taiwan to help fight UMA Summer. The little round creatures are definitely up to something!

A friend??? And also, she looks great in that coat.

The story cuts to a snowstorm in the mountains. Someone has been watching the battle with Autumn.

Someone who uses a speaker to communicate is talking to another person. It seems they want to come down harsh on Rip's team, but the other person defends them.

Oh snap, it's Billy! He's the "friend" Juiz went to meet. Billy says he already sensed that she'd arrived. Interestingly, they both realize the importance of Fuuko's power.

We're also reminded that Billy can see now since there's two panels of him side-eyeing Juiz.

Billy and his accomplice are sitting around UMA Burn's core to warm themselves. They must be searching for UMA Winter, but they certainly don't look to be in any hurry. Is there anything she could say to change his mind at this point?

Masterpost

🍀☠️🍀☠️🍀☠️🍀☠️

PS: I couldn't help but notice all the pretty pretty bishounen Rip panels in this chapter. Tozuka is definitely doing this on purpose! He revealed that Rip is only a villain in order to save a person who's everything to him, then drew him looking all dreamy for half the chapter lmao. The perfect formula.

Anyway, I made a gif for the Rip lovers out there. To You, From Me!

[ctrsara]

Things I've Been Reading

Some of these are newer, some are older and I just barely read them. This is not EVERYTHING I've been reading and liking, obviously, but just a quick share!

(Also, if you know these authors are on Tumblr, but they're not tagged, please let me know, or let them know or something, so I can be friends with them and tag them!) (RECS below cut)

Iron Dad: Coming Home by JAWorley:

This is one I didn't try a few times because I didn't think I was interested in Peter hanging out with Toomes. However, I'm so glad I finally tried it, because it was fantastic, and a really different take on the whole Homecoming era. Published:2023-01-02Completed:2023-02-26Words:114889

Shake My Hand (And I'll Forgive You): by Frogdottir: @frogdottirwrites

Post NWH, Peter has been doing work for the Bugle, trying to stay afloat, and suddenly discovers Tony is alive. However, it seems like even before everyone had forgotten him, everyone close to Tony had been aware of it except him. He is hurt and angry and freaks out just a little bit. Incomplete, but 13 chapters so far, and so good! Published:2022-12-20Updated:2023-03-03Words:40572

Atlas Held by Grumperella: @grumperella

After an explosion brings down a building on top of them, Peter is the only thing between Tony, Natasha and certain death. Trapped under rubble together, well... nothing builds bonds like shared trauma. This one was super angsty, but so, so, good! Published:2023-01-07Completed:2023-01-08Words:8401

Distracted By a Dime by happyaspie: @yes-i-am-happyaspie

This is an older story, but I just barely read it, and she's been adding to the series lately. :) Peter Parker thinks he has everything figured out. Where he can eat, sleep and make a little bit of money. What he needs to do in order to continue attending Midtown and being Spider-Man. The Stark-Rogers family throws a wrench in his plans.

Tis the Damn Season (for a Christmas Miracle) by peacockgirl

Yes, peacockgirl really did write an AU of her own story (Long Story Short (It Was a Bad Time) Or AIs Don't Forget,) which is one of my favorites, and it's amazing, too. Highly recommend! Morgan just wants her big brother to come home for Christmas. Tony just wants to figure out why being around his daughter is sending him into a tailspin. And Peter just wants to survive his first Christmas alone without freezing to death in a graveyard. Luckily Morgan Stark is very, very stubborn. And immune to Strange's spell. Published:2023-01-31Completed:2023-02-27Words:23468

Oxygen and Gravity by for_the_night: @imyoursavinggrace (also, btw, people who have different tumblr names and ao3 names make me think I'm going senile. I have the hardest time remembering who is who sometimes!😂 )

A really cool Irondad soulmates AU (Sentinels and Guides) that I just re-read and loved again. It's not complete, but close. n a world where Senintels and Guides are dying out, Guide Tony Stark was very happy just living life without the responsibility of some Sentinel, but when one touch awakens a soul bond with a scrawny vigilante from Queens, Tony’s life changes forever. Published:2021-11-15Updated:2022-06-24Words:28459

A Big Security Issue by FotiBrit: @fotibrit

Short, cute, and amazing! When Peter lost his Stark Industries Staff ID, Tony handed the kid his own. That was never an issue, until Peter had to check in at the front desk. Published:2023-02-01Words:1828

Make it a Good One! by zippe

This one was kind of a unique fix-it/time travel that I found looking through the @irondad-creator-awards categories, so here's another plug for those! Tony and his mess of a fairy god spider who can’t seem to keep himself moving correctly along the timeline. Published:2022-05-08Completed:2022-07-08Words:31435

Where the Love Is by SpaceCowboysFromMars: @spacecowboysfrommars

This one was super different and interesting, and I kinda wish it could have continued. I've never seen the movie, so it was a new story for me. The Way Way Back AU where Peter is reluctantly dragged by May and her new asshole boyfriend, Quentin, to spend the summer in Cape Cod. Summer gets a whole lot more interesting when Peter makes friends with the eccentric manager of Water Wizz, who seems to take a liking to Peter in all his teenage-awkwardness glory. Published:2023-01-12Words:12948

In a Different Light by kingdomfaraway: @asyouleft

An amazing short one! Peter is taken, and Tony finally uses the phone Steve sent him. He needs help, even if it means making night with his former friends and teammates.

And a bonus:

home (is where my heart found exactly where I'm supposed to be) by ironfidus @ironfidus

Another one I found looking through the Irondad Creator Awards categories. So, so sweet and hit all the irondad feels I wanted on that particular day! Six thousand miles away from the city that never sleeps, across continents and on the other side of the North Pacific Ocean, Tony relearns the meaning of home—as redefined in his eyes by a stubborn teenager with a penchant for recklessness.

[unohanabbygirl]

Forever by your side x FMN crossover. Like how does everyone process Luke being able to remember again but still only having the memories of them locked at 14. Or would it be more painful that he doesn’t remember them at all but can make long term memories??

After stormsend every day they shared is gone same as before but to their own minds no chance of him remembering. Luke is independent doesn’t need them in the same way if he does remember his fourteen years of life from before. I feel like it would retraumatise everyone again after they had made peace with it the first time around.

How do they deal with their relationship to him then without him needing constant and specific care. He’s a champion SURFER for crying out loud (Aemond has heart attacks watching his husband now back reedy and tall before he filled out throwing himself into waves that once stole everything from him). Honestly story low-key ruined my life for the night. Such a horrible fate but so interesting to see in dynamics!!

Also history reading Luke’s journals?? They’d be Romeo and Juliet with the tragic end without the end. Sobbing just thinking about it.

Let me just say I love that whenever I post a new story we all think about doing a forget me not crossover. FMN is really that girl.

Anyway, this is the crossover that was promised because the idea of Luke remembering his past BUT still having no memory of his life post Storms End is just as painful as him having no memory at all. I imagine that this version of Luke and Aemond lived very well into old age so that’s sixty years of a long beautiful life together just gone.

It’s enough to drive Aemond into a depression. Imagine your spouse that you spent your entire life with not being able to remember a single moment of it. Their last memory of you being how you nearly killed them.

Yea, Aemond is always gonna suffer big time.

And as we all know, FMN Luke is very independent and hates anyone telling him what he can and can’t do. Not to mention that he’s never been in a dangerous accident such as a car crash for example, so he doesn’t have any trauma making him hyper aware of such things. Aemond having a panic attack every time Luke does something lowkey dangerous is sad yet kinda interesting because you just wanna see how he reacts. Imagine Luke doing something as simple as sticking his head out the car window while they’re on the highway and Aemond freaks out big time.

Luke no longer needing constant around the clock care and guidance is such a foreign concept that no one knows how to give Luke his space anymore. It’s odd that he seems to have an aversion to touch when in the past all he did was hold their hands and stay as close to them as possible as he tried adjusting for the day.

On one hand they’re excited that Luke has been able to live life without such a debilitating disability. On the other it gives them a sense that they’ve lost their purpose in a way. Of course as a family they don’t need to have an exact purpose other than to love and appreciate him, but to no longer have that role of being a caretaker is strange.

Luke’s journals fill that missing hole in history since the war never happened. There’s a while genre of film and media dedicated to Luke and Aemond’s heart wrenching love. They blow Rhaenyra/Harwin out of the water and thats just that.

Just imagine that in Luke’s final days he was no longer able to hold his pen as well and his hands were incredibly stiff and swollen due to arthritis. So every night before they go to bed Aemond sits Luke down as he rambles on about his day and what he wishes he could remember as Aemond writes it all down for him, signing both their names before tucking them in.

Hollywood spins these last days into a movie sometime in the early 90’s and its still the highest grossing film in Westeros history till this day.

[unethicalmorals]

It's kinda insane the way Bishop is running on a fuckin hamster wheel in my mind I think about this guy 24/7 it's crazy like wow. Bishop. Wow, that's my favorite guy right there

I keep re-reading chapters where he's prominent in or sometimes I'll go to chapters where he isn't even that relevant and just read his lines specifically cuz like RAAAHHHH,,,,, THAT'S MY FAVORITE GUY LOOK AT HIM🫵🏼🫵🏼🫵🏼🫵🏼🫵🏼

I re-read chapter 7 a lot because the crew interactions are so fun in that chapter and yet so bittersweet. I re-read Bishop's lines and like God he was so happy and chipper in the beginning!!!!!!! HE WAS A NERDY GUY WHO LIKED TO FUCK AROUND A LIL‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ FUCK‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ and now he's on edge and bitter and it makes me so AUUUUUGHHHH. BISHOP ILY IT'LL BE OKAY I PROMISE GAAAAAAAHAHHH

I need to put Bishop in a jar and shake him around and then chew on him like GRRRRRRRRRR BISHOP🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥 MY WEIRD LITTLE NERD GUY WHO I LOVE SO MUCH

I also just think it's cute how quickly Bishop got attached to Lucky. He's known him for less than a week and he's like wow I need to put this guy in my pocket and make sure nothing bad happens to him. Wow I kinda like this guy a lil- I mean what huh what who said that what-

I also love Lucky so much but like in a different way from Bishop okay, Bishop is very catboy to me and Lucky is dogboy but like a dog who Hides from loud noises. I hold Lucky in the palm of my hand and I tuck him gently into the softest bed in the whole entire world surrounded by stuffed animals and I kiss him on the top of his head. Rest well king you deserve it

I need to attack Bishop violently (affectionate) and I need to pamper Lucky spoiled and hold his face gently in the palms of my hands..... maybe bite his face a lil🤏🏽🤏🏽🤏🏽🤏🏽 shake him by the shoulders a bit and body slam him, I need to be aggressive in my affection how else will he understand that I love him

Anyways I hope Bishop and Lucky kiss on the mouth muah peace and love on the planet Earth I'm going to put Bishop and Lucky in a meat grinder. Together,,,,💚🧡

Sorry for being insane in your ask box..... they have a grip on my psyche....... I put them in my mouth and shake them like a dog...... and then I pass out,,,

-Watcher

HELLO?? 🥺👉👈 WATCHER-- WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?? HI HELLOW HEYY !!!! :D

Bishop is a great guy to think about honestly, I would have more thoughts for him right now but I'm hyper-focused on Pink and Rabbit rn,,, grrr (Wrench and Lucky are both staring at me with puppy eyes) I've had lots of fun thoughts while making Bishop and plotting some scenes with him. ((I HAVE PLANS FOR THIS LANKY GUY THAT ARE GONNA BE SO, SO FUN))

I'm going to be so normal about you re-reading chapters,,, so normal. HE WAS SO HAPPY. He was so excited to have a new crewmate!! He wanted to talk about his tech!! 🥺 It's so cool, I promise!! He loved his crew so much at the time and now everything is so so bad oh nooo.... Will it be okay? Will it really all be okay in the end?? Will it be okay??

🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥SHAKE HIM AROUND YESYESY SHAKE HIM !! PUT THAT GUY IN A MIXER🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥💚🔥

Lucky is just so soft and ohmy g-,, how can he not get attached to this little guy?~♥

CATBOY AND DOGBOY AHHHH GRRR Yesss, you're so right-- YESS

Hold him in your hand, he is so small,, just a little guy,,, I promise he gets to rest (a little bit, but--) he gets to rest, I promise ♥

Only the best for those two 💚🧡💚🧡💚🧡💚🧡

I love it--

Be feral, go insane, they are just chew toys to throw around-- ♥♥♥♥♥

[saintnightshade]

Show Me Who You Are

(TicciVoid -> OcxToby)       

"C-come on! You've s-seen my face, ngh, you know what I look like! Woo! S-show me yours!" God, Void couldn't believe this shite, he got stuck doing the nightly perimeter check with hatchet man… got stuck working with someone who wasn't one of his brothers. "No." was the only thing he managed to get out before hatchet man threw his arms around Void's neck, hanging off him like a twitchy monkey and going into another long tirade about how 'that's not fair' and 'you've been here for months' blah blah blah… Void could feel his face heat up beneath his mask as he pried the other man's arms off from around his neck and shoved him away. Void jammed his balled fists into the pockets of his leather jacket and carried on with the check, walking ahead of hatchet man.

This place, this mansion, was the definition of a goddamn nut house, fuck the loony bin, this place had nothing on Saint Rhodes. And Mother really wanted them to play NICE with these people?! Void might be slipping into 'calling the kettle black' territory here but he did not care, not anymore. He couldn't handle this; everything here was so chaotic, people coming and going at all hours, it all seemed so… disorganized. He and his brothers prided themselves in their roles and organization back at their home. Especially Soldat and Hush, they both had their hang-ups about that kinda stuff. Were they not just as fed up as he was? Weren't they overwhelmed? Then again... this wasn't their home. It wasn't his home.

So...Maybe he's being… a LITTLE disagreeable. Maybe. Like a child being forced to move into his new stepfather's home… Eugh, Void vigorously shook his head at that unwanted thought. This is all so new, so strange and nobody seems to want to give him the time to take it all in. Not even a little. Void stepped around a divot in the ground while clenching and unclenching his fists a few times, his breathing began picking up. They'd stare at him, talk about him, question him. Untrusting, suspicious, everywhere all at once, watching and watching. Waiting for him to screw up probably or turn his back so they'd have a new place to stick their knives. It's not like he came here willingly, it's not like he threw a wrench into their perfect little routines on purpose.

Void hadn't noticed that hatchet man had stopped babbling, in fact, he had forgotten that he was even there. He was too in his head, too preoccupied with the onslaught of so many feelings all at once... A panic attack?! Now?! The crunching of dirt and gravel beneath his feet was becoming unbearably loud. His chest seemed to tighten with every rapid pulse of his heart and every shallow breath he took; sucking the life out of his limbs, leaving them feeling numb and shakey. His legs suddenly buckled from under him forcing him to kneel in the dirt, no not now, no one can see this! He was screaming on the inside, thoughts racing faster than he could grasp them and he just couldn't stop it. He can't be weak, Void is not weak! He terrorizes and maims and murders, people like him do not do this! His face was getting so hot, but everywhere else felt so cold. Sweat was beginning to roll down his face and back. His hands felt clammy and stiff and they hurt from all the flexing.

A pair of hands suddenly rested on his shoulders jolting him every so slightly from his daze, he couldn't think straight, couldn't see who the hands belonged to. His eyes were blurry from the tears he was trying to hold back and his mind was a jumbled mess. He couldn't breathe, the mask was making it worse… it was so hot, so suffocating, off off off, please. Please. With clammy hands he shakily brings them up and onto his mask and tears it off, throwing it to the side and onto the ground. Fresh cool air rushes over his face. cooling his burning skin. The only thing he can hear is his loud gasping pants, desperately trying to gulp in as much air as he can. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears and the occasional vague noise from somewhere in front of him.

Void rubs his hands over his bare face and begins counting in his head, going through the steps to correct himself. He focuses on the weight on his shoulders; hands. They're not his or Soldats or Hushs… It's hatch… Rodgers. Toby. He's kneeling in front of him gripping hard and pressing down on Void's shoulders, anchoring him, whether he knows it or not. Void takes the opportunity to clamp his hands around Toby's wrists, he pulls down with his weight forcing Toby to push down harder and he does. Void methodically breaths in, out, in and out. His head bowed the whole time, avoiding any possible eye contact, trying not to think about the humiliation he feels. A panic attack in front of anyone makes him want to vault off a bridge out of pure humiliation but he can't even do that if he can't fucking stand up on his own. He needs…

"I-I won't l-look. Just, ngh, st-top f-freaking out and breathe normally, woo, or else you'll p-pass out."

Toby's voice interrupted his jumbled train of thought, his words were surprisingly calm, and his voice was a soothing melody amidst the chaos in Void's mind. The grip on his wrists never wavered, it was steady and sure. Toby was a mystery to him, he seemed to switch from being overly talkative and chaotic to being surprisingly perceptive and calm. Void's panic attack must have damaged his brain... His breathing began to slow as the panic subsided but he did not pick up his head, still too raw from the episode.

"You okay?" Toby asked softly, his jerking to the side as did, his grip on Void's shoulders slowly loosening. Void nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He felt embarrassed and exposed like all his fears and weaknesses were laid bare for the world to see. He quickly retrieved his mask, not even bothering to wipe it off and put it back on, the familiar weight of it embracing him and giving him a sense of security. Only now did he dare to slowly lift his head to face Toby and when he met his gaze he was surprised to see, what he thought was, a genuine look of concern on his face. "...Thanks." Void said gruffly, his voice cracking a little from stress, he got to his feet with Toby's help. "I'll be okay."

"No p-problem," Toby said, giving him a crooked smile and lightly clapping him on the back. "We've all gotta, woo, have a m-mental breakdown every, ngh, n-now and then." Toby snorted out a laugh. Beneath his mask Void allowed a small smile to leak through, he knew this was an attempt at brushing off the whole debacle and he appreciated it. Void wiped his hands on his jeans and nodded. He still didn't trust Toby fully but it was as good of a start as any. "We better finish up here before Masky gets sent out after us." Void said, "Plus I'm getting hungry, nothing works up an appetite faster than having a mental breakdown at night in the middle of the woods." Void nodded his head towards the path in front of them and began walking with Toby matching his pace. "Oooo, w-was that a, ngh, joke?" Toby snorted "I didn't, woo, know you c-could do that… or, uh, is it s-sarcasm?"

They continued the rest of their perimeter check in this manner; Toby filled the silence by talking about everything and nothing while Void occasionally chimed in with his own short comments. They seemed more at ease around each other, maybe it wouldn't last but Void was pleased they at least had something positive come out of tonight's meltdown.

[fiixer]

Just a couple of things I'd like to talk about with Jordi, a little bit here but more in depth one of these days:

With Aiden, the lighthearted eccentricity definitely showed much more prominently, but when Jordi meets Marcus, the latter is just some guy and it shows. There's a sense of just how ruthless, cutthroat, and intimidating this guy actually can be, and while we knew he was all that when he was dealing with Aiden in WD1, in WD2 we get to see it. And it's beautiful.

Jordi plays D&D - or, the game world's version of it. In case anyone hasn't seen it: Excuse me while I yell into the abyss about this

This. Just...all of this, please and thank. I would also like to point out that having glass anything broken over your arm, even if that arm is covered, hurts, but here we have Jordi not only taking the hit(s) but doing so without even a flinch. All he does is guard his face. This dude is a beast. Also, I think we should give a small shout-out to Aiden, who went hand-to-hand with Jordi at the end of WD1 and came out on top. Granted, he overloaded the lighthouse and shocked the shit out of everybody first before shoving Jordi over a railing, but still.

The above kinda ties into the intimidation thing I talked about first. Imagine being face-to-face with Jordi when his sights are locked on you. Imagine having him kick away whatever weapon you got your hands on like it was nothing and thwart every single effort you make to defend yourself without so much as the slightest flinch. Nothing is working. You're growing desperate, and yet still he's there, undeterred. Unrelenting. He knows you're not getting away, just as you slowly begin to realize, and there's absolutely nothing you can do to change that. Tell me that's not terrifying.

Jordi's fighting style. It isn't like that of just some thug, where power is everything and the main goal is to muscle the other guy around. Every move he makes is calculated in a split second and controlled, with deadly precision (kicking away Anton's gun the second before it fires, for example). I'm not saying he doesn't just throw people around, he absolutely does, but overall, there's a method to his every action. I think everyone assumed it, but we can pretty much say without a shadow of a doubt that he's a martial artist.

Wrench and Jordi. That is all.

I will never be over Aiden trusting Jordi with Jackson's location. My personal headcanon is that Aiden asked Jordi to track Jacks down, just to see what he was up to and how he was doing. It definitely doesn't seem like any grudges were held between the two after Jordi took the contract on Aiden's head, but still, that is a HUGE thing to trust Jordi with in general, but especially after everything went down between them. And I am just going to scream eternally over it.

There are a lot of things I want/plan to talk about when it comes to Jordi but good lord, these are definitely some of the highlights.

[risingshards]

I beat Final Fantasy XVI yesterday and am still processing it. My thoughts on the ending if you're curious are past the break! (ENDING SPOILERS FR FR)

That ending was such a fucking gut punch. But also was kinda weirdly Mass Effect 3-y (though I'm sure there are lots of endings where you go to an otherworldly place to defeat the evil and fire beams and leave your protag in an ambiguous space) and I was confused at how I felt as the credits rolled and the because of that. That starlight song HUUURRRTSSS OH MY GOD. I can't remember the last anything that like churned me inside like this with its ending.

Then I was reading interpretations and like I do with a lot of ambiguous endings I tend to lean to the happier interpretations. There are too many clues for me pointing to Clive's survival, and with him casting Raise on Joshua I'm ready to headcanon the full sappy "they all made it" ending including Dion cuz if we didn't see a body fully turn to stone or get super murderized, something they had no issue showing prior, then they can all make it (copium yes I know but it's a headcanon!). I'm a sucker for soft endings in stories and softness in general and I feel like after all the suffering and healing they went through, ending with more suffering doesn't sit right with me.

But at the very least I think Clive made it. The side quest with Harpocrates hoping Clive writes the story of this all one day, Clive narrating the intro and outro (the intro narration makes little sense otherwise to me), the book in the epilogue point to him having written the thing. Though Joshua as the author throws a wrench into things, maybe Clive dictated it to him so Joshua could lend his brother a hand eh?

Also everything with Jill's last quest and the symbolism of the ending.

ALSO IT'D BE DUMB AS FUCK FOR EVERYONE TO TELL CLIVE HE HAS TO LIVE AND SAVE HIMSELF AND STOP SELF SACRIFICING ONLY TO IMMEDIATELY DIE. The Clive dies interpretations feel just dull to me, not just from me favoring happy and bittersweet endings, it just feels at odds with everything if it's all just "and then they die." I know there's more to it than that but that's the vibe I get thinking about the ending that way.

"Before we broke camp, the morning after the storm, do you know what I did? I slipped away from my governess to climb the tor. And from there I saw a sea of petals, all reaching for the sun. And I realized that no matter how terrible the night…dawn would always come. That you…that you would always come for me. And you have. Again and again."

Dawn comes at the end of the game after a terrible night, symbolic of Clive coming home and fulfilling his promise. Jill praying to Metia the whole game and her prayer is finally answered at the end is a lot more beautiful to me than just. "The star Jill was praying to the whole game was really pointless oops star go out." Her relief feels less like "The big struggles are over and the sky is clear again" but tying back to the side quest from an hour or so earlier.

The idea that not engaging with the side quests prevents you from building the community as well is really interesting, almost doing two endings that way, a bitter one and a bittersweet but maybe hopeful one. I can't imagine how beat down I'd feel if I skipped all the big side quests before getting to that ending. It's also interesting how ambiguous they left it, I don't know if it makes the ending better but it hits me harder in a different way if that makes sense. The things the other way are the state Clive's in at the end, Gav crying (I'm so glad characters like Gav and Byron didn't die but oh my god it hurt so bad seeing Gav cry there), Jill feeling it and crying, Torgal howling...

I really like this interpretation of the ending:

https://filmcolossus.com/final-fantasy-16-clive-alive

BUT! I read wolves whimper and cry when they lose someone, like Torgal did when Cid died, but they howl when they're trying to bring members of their pack home. I just feel like there's more to hopeful if you look into the text around the ambiguity than not, like a reverse Sopranos ending.

Maybe TMI too but this was my like "dive deep into this during a depressive episode" game and I was kinda going iwth the interpretation like. All the characters telling Clive to stop sacrificing himself and save himself. That hit really hard with the depression for me. So for it to end like "well then he dies immediately after" feels so against that in a way that hurts. But fighting on and defying fate could be a really beautiful thing about facing ones own struggles, at least that's how I'm feeling. I pictured my depression/anxiety cycle as Kupka and me going against it like Clive in that scene like "I will show you no pity. No pity and no mercy. Now DIE!" like that was motivational for me for my current struggles. and the ending kinda muddies that and I don't know how to feel really.

All in all its up there with my favorite FF's, with the highlights being the huge battles like Titan and Bahamut, along with the smaller character moments like Clive and Uncle Byron's reunion. Also oh my god Ben Starr was amazing, one of my favorite performances in a game ever. My big downsides were I really would've been fine with a simpler happy ending after how much everyone suffered in this game, and that the women really got shafted in this one, it felt like a Shonen Jump manga in that regard lol. Jill getting benched to wife waiting for husband to come home as one of the big offenders. She didn't get shafted as bad as Luna did in FFXV at least, yeesh. I hope the next FF has lots more ladies!

[dirtroadtooutofhere]

Chapter 2 - "Preparations" Max

ROAD! TRIP! ROAD! TRIP! ROAD! TRIP!

Alright, I’m gonna be real with you. I’m not actually that confident Canada is safe.

Is it possible? Definitely. Do I think it could even be likely? Hell yes!

But there’s no guarantees in life, especially not after the apocalypse.

It’ll still be good to escape this dump, though. Even if it’s only for a couple days before figuring out we have to go back.

Raymond takes the map and crumples it up, throwing it in the trash.

“Hey! What the fuck? I thought you were on board with this?!?”

“I am, Max, but it’s no use to us. Every last major roadway in the country is going to be blocked by abandoned vehicles and swarmed with roaming hordes. Driving through is physically impossible, and walking is suicidal.” He talks while pulling a drawer out and rifling through it, finally finding a compass and a zoomed-in state map of Florida. “This is all we get to work with, plus more regional maps, if we’re lucky.”

The next morning, I find his legs sticking out from under the car, working on the engine. “How’s it going?”

He remains absolutely stoic.

“Raymond. Hellooo. Earth to moron.” I lightly kick his shin, and he stirs.

“I’m up! I’m up.” He slides out, sits up, and lets out an audible yawn. “I wanted to. Check everything before we go.”

Sleeping beauty finishes his tests as I do some final packing, and we load everything in the trunk together. He sighs nervously. No clue as to why he’s worried, we have more than enough:

A metric fuckton of food. It’s mostly chips, cookies, cereal, that kinda shit. Shelf stable. Ready to eat. Not the most nutritious, I admit. There’s also a little over a dozen meals, between canned foods and boxed pastas. It looks like a lot, but I admit it might not last as long as I was hoping.

Some medical supplies. Some bandages and tourniquets, various pain medications. God, there’s a lot of pain medications. When did we even get all of these?

My trusty fire axe, that I used to smash windows and bust doors with back when the department was still a thing. Still good for breaking shit, but sees a lot more zombie blood these days. I kinda miss when destruction was for a cause.

Two boxes of low-caliber ammunition. If we’re lucky, we’ll find a working gun to use it with. We do have a revolver, but it’s ancient, and only fits the 4 bullets that were in it when we found it in the back of an antique store.

Raymond’s box of tools. He managed to keep most of his original set after all this time, but there’s a few odd screwdrivers and wrenches he’s had to replace with whatever was left in the hardware stores. Includes his thick iron monkey wrench, which has doubled as his go to back-up weapon when whatever sports gear he’s holding breaks.

A pair of fire extinguishers, an ordinary red one you’d find in any house, and a bulky yellow that resembled a diving tank. You’re not supposed to hold the hose by the horn, it can freeze your fingers.

Three ratty blankets and an old nylon camping tent. There was about a week last winter where a bad frost-snap caked these islands in ice. We set the tent up in the basement and laid the blankets over it, and rode it out. He was really clingy then. “For body heat.”

He turned the ignition after we got in the front seats. He pinched his nose and blinked a few times. “I should probably drive first, dude. You look like death.”

“...yeah.”

I wasn’t even out of the neighborhood before he passed out, passenger’s seat leaned all the way back. Only a handful of undead passed by as we rode towards the main peninsula. They look so fun to run over, but I guess I value his sleep. Bastard.