#steel covered entry

[ibs-gateway]

Mudroom Front Door Entryway - large modern concrete floor entryway idea with green walls and a light wood front door

[front-facing-pokemon]

[transzodiacdogmom]

it bugs the hell out of me when people call Parts of JoJo "arcs" when they're clearly not arcs, they're several different, for the most part, isolated stories put in a different part of an overarching story like an anthology series. The Parts have arcs in them but the parts are not the arcs themselves.

which is why we call it "Bites The Dust Arc" or "Bohemian Rhapsody Arc" or even "Lets go eat Italian food! Arc"

tl;dr JoJo parts are their own full stories with arcs within said stories but not the arc themselves. but that's just my two cents of nitpicking-ness. call them whatever you like.

[paulmunkotv]

Metal in Boise Mid-sized industrial gray one-story metal exterior home idea with a shed roof

[esteponajabonesecologicos]

Roofing in Dallas Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary white one-story mixed siding house exterior remodel with a hip roof and a metal roof

[halcaeyon]

Roofing in Dallas

[natalievoncatte]

There was blood on the door. Lena swept back her jacket in a smooth motion and unholstered her Glock carry piece, holding it low ready as she stepped into the penthouse. The door slid shut behind her and locked itself smoothly. There was no sign of forced entry, meaning whoever came in walked right through her defenses.

She’d armored and fortified this place to the point that the entire building could collapse and she’d probably survive. Some of the materials that went into Lena’s security were not from Earth. Some of them were not from this dimension.

In times past, in good times, she’d have called Alex Danvers, to get the DEO up here for help or hopefully summon Supergirl to her aid. Now those options were off the table.

From its place of dishonor by her sofa, the broken glass in the frame gleamed at her, the time-frozen gazes from her and Kara in the photo staring into her soul.

More blood on the frame, smeared on the edge.

Lena rested her back to the wall and scanned the apartment. There was a clear trail of blood from the door through the living room. Whoever had been here, or was still here, had pressed a bloodied palm to the reader outside the door, leaned on the kitchen island, and picked up the photo, then returned it to its place and left a trail of blood drops to the other side of the penthouse.

To the bedroom.

Steeling herself, Lena press-checked her pistol and ignored the cold ball in the pit of her stomach, along with the screaming instincts telling her to call for her bodyguards and security and the police. She followed the trail of drops, that cold ball climbing its way to her throat. The bleeding got worse as the intruder approached the bedroom, where they’d pushed the door open, leaving a streak of rust on the white.

Lena knew in her heart what she was going to see before she swung the door open.

The gun fell from her hands and clattered on the floor.

Her sheets were streaked with dried blood, but Kara’s cape was as livid a crimson as ever. Fighting the rising gorge in her throat, Lena rushed to the bed, and let out a soft, strained sigh of relief when she saw Kara’s chest moving.

“Mother of God,” Lena breathed, her hands making a vestigial effort to cross herself, the gesture half remember from her earliest youth.

Kara was… a wreck. Her eye was swollen shut and claw marks raked her cheek, the wounds still open and oozing. She’d balled up the sheets and jammed them against a wound in her side, a deep gash that stained the torn material of her suit a dark bruised black.

The Kryptonian in her bed was unconscious, eyes lidded but not fully closed, and deathly pale. Lena reached out a tentative hand and pressed it to Kara’s shoulder and let out a shocked gasp.

She was cold to the touch.

Worst of all was her hands. Her knuckles were busted and split and bloody, palms covered in defensive gashes, crusted with crystals of dark blood.

Lena felt like she was going to burst, like her skin was suddenly three sizes too small. Images flashed in her mind- a defeated, broken Kara, begging her not to turn her back as she lay green-veined and poisoned in a cage at the Fortress of Solitude. Sanctimonius bitch Kara hovering just five feet off her balcony wall, glaring judgment and proclaiming her a villain.

Soft Kara, tending her hurts, holding her cheek in the palm of her hand, her touch always so soft and gentle and tentative, like Lena was some skittish bird.

That wasn’t all. Oh God, that wasn’t all. Kara clutched something to her chest, something she’d grabbed before collapsing in the bed and curled into herself.

Lena’s hooded sweatshirt, the one she used to wear to game nights and movie nights when she wasn’t feeling up to primping and preening, the one she stared wearing when being vulnerable around Kara started feeling like home.

Oh God oh Jesus what am I going to do?

She reached for her phone, then stopped. Kara had fled here from whatever did this to her for a reason. Lena set the phone aside, and assessed.

Kara was out cold. She didn’t seem to be actively bleeding but Lena didn’t dare move her. Instead, she settled for rolling Kara on her back, with great difficulty. She flopped over, boneless.

Lena found her first aid kid and began tending to the wounds.

Fuck, Lena thought. What if she had internal injuries? What if she wasn’t going to wake up?

She focused on what was in front of her. She began by cleaning the wounds, carefully and gingerly applying bandages where she could.

Her hands, oh God her poor hands. Lena wrapped the knuckles gently and pressed ice against them, leaving them testing on Kara’s chest. She dabbed at the wounds on her cheek and carefully taped gauze pads in place after applying antibiotic ointment.

Kara lay on the bed like some badly beaten Sleeping Beauty and she was cold. Her skin felt almost icy, the I only sign that she still lived being the steady but shallow rise and fall of her chest.

Lena grimace. She had to get her out of the suit. First she reclaimed her now ruined and blood-stained sweatshirt and then the ruined top sheet.

Kara’s boots came off, then Lena unclamped her cape and tossed it back from her shoulders.

It took almost half an hour to wriggle her out of the suit, and that was after she had to hunt for the hidden catches and zipper.

Kara lay on Lena’s bed like some wounded goddess out of a forgotten myth, or maybe one never learned.

God she was beautiful, and the sight of her in such distress was more painful than she’d ever admit. Lena felt sympathetic pains in her jaw, her sides, her hands as she imagined the blows that could have wounded her so, wondered what sharpness of blade or claw it took to mark her like this.

Lena spread the curtains, so as to give her as much light as she could. Nurturing light, healing light, but still Lena did not wake.

Finally she learned what did this. Some alien outside Metropolis. They’d stopped it, the creature, but it had taken Kara and her cousin and the other so-called heroes that the news were calling the League.

Lena’s lip was trembling.

She has her grievances. She had her hurts. She had her reasons, her self-righteous justifications and none of them fucking mattered right now because a beaten, broken Kara must have flown from one side of the country to the other to clutch Lena’s fucking hoodie.

“God,” she whispered, sitting in her side chair by the bed. “God what have I done.”

Kara had held them off, she knew. Kept her from being arrested, protected her even after she’d done something awful. New visions flooded her mind, every barb she’d slung and every insult she’d hurled, every word of her explosive raging rant at the Fortress.

She’d killed her brother for this woman. Killed not the man who’d hurt her but the boy, too, the one who treated her like a human being and a sibling, at least for a time. The only family she had.

(The only family you have is lying on that bed and you have to help her)

She was helpless. Kara would either pull through or she wouldn’t. If she didn’t, sooner or later Alex would walk in here and put a bullet through her head and Lena didn’t think she’d mind all that much.

“Why couldn’t you have just told me?” Lena asked. “We could have been great together, you know? We could have been what my brother and your cousin should have been. We could have built a better world.”

Kara said nothing, just breathed.

“I could have told you my secret, then,” said Lena. “I could have held you and touched you and had you. I could have loved you, God damn it. Do you have any idea what you fucking did to me? You gave me the sunrise back and you were too much of a Goddamn coward to let me have it.”

Kara’s hand moved, fingers curling around nothing. She let out a soft sigh but didn’t move.

Lena fought it as hard as she could, fought it for hours. Eventually she had to do it. Gravity, quantum entanglement, call it what you will. She laid down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling beside her battered sleeping beauty.

“I’m sorry,” said Lena. “I’m sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry for what I did, I’m sorry for what we lost. It wasn’t worth it, Kara. Nothing was ever going to be worth it.”

She was still pale, cold, even when she rolled onto her side and threw her limp arm over Lena’s body.

Whatever made her move had not shaken her loose from her slumber. Kara curled on her side, chill hand resting on Lena’s flank. Another soft sound escaped her slack lips and she twitched.

The sun was going down.

Lena had to call for help. She knew what would happen. Alex would storm in with her self-righteous fury and judgment and fling accusations and then leave, taking her sister with her.

Worse, she would give Lena that look. The one that filled her with such rage and regret, that look not of judgement or even anger but sorrow, because Alex knew. She didn’t have to say it, it had been dripping from every word and deed directed towards Lena since the falling out began.

Alex knew that Lena was in love with Kara. That was the truth of it, the secret she held so hard to her heart that it had slipped her fingers and everyone had seen it but the two of them.

She loved Kara with every piece of her, every cell, every muscle fiber, every neuron, every bone. It lived in her and coiled in her and it had subsumed her soul until it couldn’t be carved out without making her hollow. She’d tried. When she’d hurt Kara she had only wounded herself even deeper. It had been like swallowing a draught of acid and expecting it to burn another.

She didn’t know what to do. She was helpless. Kara might be dying and Lena had never told her.

“Kara,” she said, shaking her. “Kara God damn you wake up, wake the fuck up! WAKE UP!”

Kara didn’t respond.

With a shriek of rage and pain Lena sat up.

“Please!”

Nothing.

Lena finally did it. She snatched the phone from where she’d dropped it and called.

It all happened as she predicted, save one thing. When Alex stormed in with a sub machinegun in her hands, she stopped and raised a fist, ordering her team to stop outside the door.

Lena was kneeing by the bed by then, half mumbling a prayer and stroking Kara’s cold hand.

Alex did not address her. She began barking orders. Stasis pod, medivac.

Bring the Luthor.

Lena sat in the back of an armored van in a daze. She let herself be led around like a trained pet and somehow ended up sitting in a chair outside a medbay room, while a now cleaned up and properly bandaged Kara lay on a bed beneath sunlamps.

“She’s in a Kryptonian healing trance,” said Alex. “If a Kryptonian gets hurt badly enough their body shuts down and goes into a kind of hibernation. She must have used almost all of her reserves to get back to your apartment.”

Alex glared directly into her eyes.

“To see you one last time.”

Lena swore her defiance in silence, but it lasted no longer than it took her to think the oath before the tears started.

“I have to go. The DEO is working with Superman’s little Boy Scout club to keep the thing that did this to her contained.”

When Alex left, Lena stood up and walked into the room.

Kara did not look regal. She didn’t look angelic. She looked vulnerable and small, like a woman a year or two older than Lena with a black eye and stitches in her cheek.

Lena knew the sun lamps would burn her, but she relished it, looked forward to feeling her skin sting and redden. She deserved it.

“Kara,” Lena whispered. “Please wake up.”

Nothing.

“Wake up.”

Nothing.

“Darling, wake up for me, please. Just give me a smile, a wink, squeeze my hand. Anything. Please. Please.”

Kara stirred.

“You can’t go yet,” Lena murmured. “I need you to stay. I need you to wake up so I can say—”

Kara’s eyes were open.

“I love you,” Kara whispered. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

Lena half coughed, half sobbed and lunged across the bed, ignoring the lamps, the bright lights, everything but Kara. Everything but the kiss.

“Don’t you ever scare me like this again,” Lena choked out.

“Turn the lights off,” Kara whispered. “Get on the bed. I don’t need lamps. I need you.”

“Kara, the things I did,” Lena began.

With a weak, shaking hand, Kara pressed her finger to Lena’s lips.

“There’s nothing we can’t fix if we’re together. Nothing.”

Lena reached over, doused the lamps, and climbed in with her. Kara was finally warm again, though she grimaced when she moved, tucking herself into the crook of Lena’s shoulder.

“I will always come back to you,” said Kara.

Lena held her close and closed her eyes, and for the first time in months she slept without tears.

[wwaheoh]

“Oops! You killed someone!” Victoria Housekeeping x gnReader, Angst + Comfort (Platonic)

Corin Wickes, Von Lycaon (+ Ellen Joe, + Alexandrina Sebastiane)

c/w: contains written depictions of graphic injury, blood, death, and shock (mental).

a/n: with a game with people using chainsaws, guns, guns that shoot black holes, and swords, i dont think hollow raiders are 100% safe. put ellen and alexandrina seperate since they’re not really major players in this

As part of Victoria Housekeeping, your duty was to fulfill the orders of the Master, usually cleaning, guest service, and attending to the needs of the house. However Victoria Housekeeping also had a sort of open secret, with each member having high Ether Aptitude as well as being trained in combat, they also acted as guards to the Master and their estate. Usually it was general defense, to make sure no one breaks in or any guests get any unruly ideas and stash valuables into their coat or bag. Other times it was against Ethereals, enemies born from the Hollows whenever they were stationed within.

However this was the first time Hollow Raiders had been an issue, usually keeping away- either with much bigger scores that an abandoned building in the Hollow, but this specific building was home to a millionaire, having been evacuated due to the spontaneous expansion of a new Hollow Zone. Leading to an eager group of Raiders to break in.

It had been something you were prepared for, weapon in hand and your team close by. Miss Rina had notified everyone about the incoming Raiders, with the others rounding close to your location- being the main entry point that the Hollow Raiders were predicted to enter through.

Clashing against the large group, steel hit steel, yelling and screams as bodies were thrown several feet away and knocked out. It was feeling like a cakewalk, having been taught by some of the best in the business, it was all just following through what you had been trained for.

At least it was until one of the remaining Hollow Raiders attacked you from behind as you were catching your breath- a mistake, Mister Lycaon always tried to drill into everyone’s heads that the danger should not be deemed as passed until there were no enemies around and the rest of the team had arrived to back you up.

You fell to the ground, hitting the marble underneath with a thump- dazed as you attempted to gain your bearings. Strong hands wrapped themselves around your throat, the pressure putting your brain back into alert mode. Your vision refocused onto a cracked helmet, the image of a Hollow Raider logo shining down on you- unable to move with their weight holding you down. Attempting to pry their hands off- several desperate attempts before realizing it was in vain. Darkness crawled from the edge of your vision as you breathing quickened but became more shallow with the pressure on your airway.

As you desperately looked for the others or something to give you even a few more seconds, you felt an object at the edge of your fingertips. Tapping it closer, you grabbed onto it- something sturdy, the weapon they dropped on the ground before going in to choke you. Harsh grip, you turned as much as you can, swinging your arm and hitting them with the object you grabbed as hard as you could.

Crushing through the glass of the helmet, Hollow Raiders often worse, the weapon hit your target. It was a lot softer than you imagined, as if it was dug deep into something.

Liquid spurted out, splashing blots onto the ground. Their grip on your neck loosened nearly immediately.

Warmth trickled onto your face. The weight of the Hollow Raider that had previously been crushing you fell to the side, limp- and now unmoving.

The world was quiet. Only faintly could you hear a familiar voice yelling before quickly taking out and chasing away the remaining Raiders.

The weapon handle was still in your grip, a worn plastic grip attached to a long steel blade. It was covered in red. Underneath you and the Hollow Raider was a puddle of the same red. The pristine whites of your uniform dyed red, black a shade darker.

Then the world became loud.

Corin had been the first to find you, being stationed closest, she charged in after quickly locking in on the enemies. Chainsaw revving to life, she spun forward, slashing at the Hollow Raiders with the battle cry of, “Ahh! Ge~et awa~ay!!” Blood spewed out- injuries that would definitely hurt but nothing fatal- or atleast with medical attention. It was one of the only good things she could recognize, having been taught how to expertly take out enemies without outright killing them, despite the very real threat her- and every one of their weapons brought.

Finally chasing out the rest of the enemies, she turned to look back at you, “Are you-” she stopped, seeing you with a lost look in your eyes. A look she recognized- having seen it on herself and Ellen before. “O-oh no, uhm,” She quickly stopped her weapon and approached, trying not to just wait for someone else to arrive out of fear of messing up helping you- but still apprehensive due to those very same thoughts.

Gently she came closer, remembering what Lycaon and Rina had done for her when she had undergone the same situation. Remembering what she had nearly done wrong with Ellen before Lycaon stepped in.

“Are you hurt?” “...” She looked you over, not seeing any blood coming out of you. “Can you hear me?” You nod. “It’s not your fault- you did what you had to do.” You stare at her, flashes of the corpse beside you flashing before you. “O-okay, uhm, Mister Lycaon and everyone should be here soon.” You perked up at the mention of the others- with everyone else here and no alive active enemies, you’ll be safe. “What happened was something bad. It makes sense for you to be scared.”

You sat there, heartbeat ringing in your ears as you struggled not to think about the corpse beside you. The corpse beside you. There was a corpse next to you. Their blood was on you. The scent of iron-

“You sit here and we’ll wait for the others. What do you want to do?” “I… want to wait for Mister Lycaon…” “He'll be here soon, it'll all be okay."

And true to her word, the others rounded the corner, prepared to fight. However, quickly Mister Lycaon and Miss Alexandrina assessed what was going on and rushed forward. Nodding to Corin, Mister Lycaon took charge, kneeling in front of you. Corin went to Ellen to inform her of your situation. Alexandrina watched over you, sending Anastella and Drusilla to do a perimeter check. At the sight of them all, you finally broke. It felt as if your whole body crashed and you fully awoke again, tears welling up as you jumped to embrace Mister Lycaon. You were safe. He softly embraced you back, warm muscular body like a shield against anyone outside of Victoria Housekeeping to approach.

“You’re okay, we’re here now.”

[darksilvania]

The 5 Underground Lake pokemon

HAGABABA [Hag + Baba Yaga + Baba (Slime in spanish)] Poison/Dark The Slimey Pokemon Abilities: Gooey/Liquid Ooze - Corrosion (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water has become acidic. Its body is naturally covered by a layer of slime that protects it from the corrosivness. It can alter the properties of the slime all over its body, making it slipery or sticky at will. It can even make it acidic and use it to attack its foes.” Moveset: -Slimeball: >Poison type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user spits a large glob of acidic slime to its opponent” >This move its also considered dark type >This move leaves the field covered in slime that causes entry hazard, if the move is used a second time, any entering pokemon will become poisoned -Sludge Wave -Nasty Plot -Acid Armor

THINKERFISK [Thinker + Inketfisk (Octopus in french)] Psychic The Starry-Eyed Pokemon Abilities: Clear Body - Misty Surge (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water has become psychoactive due to the presence of special fungi. This has altered and greatly expanded this pokemons mind.” Its brain is said to be in a constant altered state, thanks to this it has achieved the ability to see through time and space, past and future, and even achieve enlightment.” Moveset: -Psychedelia: >Psychic type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user bombards its foe with a terrifying mental blast of changing colors and sounds.” >This move confuses the target. >This move reduces the target speed -Expanding Force -Power Gem -Cosmic Power

SPOOKIMERA [Spooky + Chimaera] Ghost/Flying The Long Nose Pokemon Abilities: Cursed Body - Perish Body (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water has lost all oxygen, making it impossible for anything to live in it. This pokemon are the spirits of the fishes that used to live inside the lake before it became inhospitable, now they remain trapped in it, wearing their old skins as cloaks” Moveset: -Breathtaker: >Ghost type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user sucks the air from the field, making breathing harder” >This move its also considered flying type >fire type moves can’t be used after this move. >fog, mist, haze or gas are removed -Hurricane -Ominous Wind -Mean Look

TERRORICE [Terrorize + Ice] Ice/Steel The Terrible Claw Pokemon Abilities: Ice Body - Bulletproof (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water reaches subzero temperatures without freezing. To withstand the cold, it covers itself with a thick ice armor, stronger than steel. Its giant claw works just like a chainsaw, using it to cut through ice and rock when looking for food.” Moveset: -Chilling Chainsaw: >Steel Type/Pwr 110/Acc 85/PP 5 “The user slashes at its opponent using its ice cold chainsaw-like claw” >This move its also considered ice type >If the opponent is frozen, this move deals double damage and removes the frozen condition. -Ice Hammer -Metal Claw -Sword Dance

SCALDORM [Scald + Ormr (Dragon in old norse) Fire/Dragon The Intense Heat Pokemon Abilities: Water Absorb - Storm Drain (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water reaches temperatures above the boiling point without evaporating. It withstands the immense heat thanks to its unique oily skin. It produces an oily substance that protects its skin from the water’s heat, this same oil can be used as fuel, and will keep fire burning even underwater.” Moveset: -Liquid Fire* >Fire type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user attacks with a stream of burning oil that remains on the field afterwards” >This move may cause burning >This move leaves a fire entry hazard on the field >This move is super effective against water type pokemon -Scald -Dragon Breath -Fire Spin

[maniculum]

Perlesvaus (Evans translation)

So I'm taking another stab at reading the Sebastian Evans translation of Perlesvaus, for... reasons. Or the High History of the Holy Graal, as he titles it -- funnily enough, the people who put out this reprint apparently looked at the title, said "we're not doing that", and spelt it Grail on the cover.

Despite the bizarre choices in diction, it's still pretty fun, and I want to share some particularly entertaining bits of this text with y'all. (For those of you who aren't up on the two different translations of Perlesvaus and don't know what I mean by "bizarre choices", the Evans translation is from 1898 but pretending to be from, like, 1498.)

N.B.: Marginal notes in red are from the last time I tried this -- they stop showing up roughly a quarter of the way through the book, because that's when I decided to buy the Bryant translation instead.

I just find this funny because "who cares?" strikes me as such a modern thing to say. To me it is a phrase that seems most natural coming from a teenage character in late-20th-century media. But nope. "Who careth?"

This is here just for the bizarre scene. We have three women coming into the throne room (riding mules directly into the building, by the way). One is carrying a severed head decorated with silver and gold. Another has "a pack trussed behind her with a brachet thereupon" -- you can see from the notes that I had to look up "brachet", found out it was an old word meaning roughly "female scent-hound", and then had the mental image of this woman carrying around a beagle in a baby-bjorn.

Again something I find funny. Gawain just leaping through the air to interpose himself between the horses and this hermit, like he's trying to take a bullet for them. This is entirely because he is 100% certain the hermit will handle the saddles incorrectly, and when the hermit assures him he actually does know how this stuff works, Gawain calms down & lets him do it.

This is, for my money, one of the funniest things in all of Perlesvaus, which is saying something because it is a bonkers text. This lady rolls up and provides that description, and the hermit recognizes who she's talking about. Like, "oh yes I did see a knight with a heart of steel and the navel of a virgin". I want to give this description to a sketch artist. (I kind of want to throw it at an AI just to see what it comes up with, but you know. I don't want to encourage the machines.)

This time I'm nit-picking the translation, because that strikes me as a misplaced modifier. Obviously it's meant that Gawain is unaware of events, but the sentence is constructed to make it sound like it's referring to the building itself, which is of course unaware because it's a building and isn't aware of anything. (Also, side note, I like the phrase "as methinketh!")

One more, and I'm leaving this for now...

Here is a case where I was going to complain, but on further examination, I must hand it to Evans. I assumed that he was just randomly archaizing, but I looked it up after uploading this photo, and according to the OED, this was a valid alternate spelling of sovereign from the 17th to the 19th century. (Interestingly, the latest attested example on the OED is from 11 years before this translation was published, meaning this is evidence it was in use slightly longer than the OED entry would suggest -- does anyone know if there's still a way to submit instances of a word to the OED?)

[silverskye13]

Lyrics are to Peter Hollin's cover of God Help the Outcasts, which I recommend giving a listen if you haven't heard it, or would just like to hear the swelling music with some of the more dramatic poses.

I also highly recommend opening the images in a new window, if you're having trouble reading the text or seeing details.

I think this is the closest I've ever gotten to making an animatic XD

Tanguish doing musical theater in the Saint of Blood and Steel's cathedral, heavily, heavily based [as in straight up ripped from] Notre Dame de Paris, as well as the Chartes choir reliefs, and also I think the entry area is from Notre Dame Basilica in Montreal? I'm not sure I've lost the reference image. But I'll throw that name in the bucket in case y'all would like to look that one up as well! The altar piece is beautiful.

[windser]

PLEASE write out that sylus work. The fandom beeds more spicy MCs and i can tell she would give him a run for his money

pairing: mc x sylus (soulmate!au) wc: 1.2k+

a/n: loooool here is just a bit of a teaser for how i imagined it all playing out. i highly doubt this is how mc and sylus will meet BUT its so fitting for how i image their dynamic playing out. but i really do want to wait for the official drop so I can confirm his characterization. [based on this post]

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ ⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

"he’s asking for me ?"

"he identified you by your mark."

your palm immediately goes to cover your wrist, blocking the neat scrawl from view. but it was little too late at this point.

you had never really taken care to hide your soulmate mark from the world. to bear it publicly was often a act of seeking from the individual, showing it proudly as if it might attract their pair sooner.

but for you, it was just as obscure seen or hidden, the mundaneness lining the words that felt like it would never truly have meaning.

‘you’re beautiful’

in your youth days, you thought it was the most romantic gesture to know that your fated person had such a high option of you at first glance. but the years tarnished that same phrase, after hearing it from too many loose lips with hollower intentions.

now it was just a first tattoo, fated second.

the slouch of your shoulder is nonchalant in gesture, though equally weighed down by the situation. “he probably just has intel on it. i’m too careless in the field if i can be identified so easily."

it was a crude bluff, a mere diversion from the pending truth. because yes, it was an indefinite, but only one individual in the world would ever need to find someone based on it.

besides this was the presumed leader of onichynus.

even considering the idea was a headache.

tara shuffles to the right at the sound of your name and you both look up to see jenna waiting, ready by the door.

her quiet nod feels like a direct pang to your temple.

right, a headache indeed.

࿓࿓༄༄࿓

though captured, albeit suspiciously easy, the operation did not come without effort. reportedly there were no casualties but it had been a battle enough in the end.

jenna warns you of as much as the two of you descend further into lower levels of the security facility. there weren’t many criminals who fit the eligibility to be locked behind maximum security. the hiss of the heavy steel doors partying to grant entry spoke volumes about the threshold needed to hold such a threat.

the leader of onichynus was an old tale but not the first. it never occurred to you until now what other individuals might be stored away here for the safety of linkon city.

“ma’am”

the hunter standing before the last sealed door saluted jenna with a stiff salute, the action drawing your attention to the smear of red against his palm.

a battle indeed.

jenna answers with a more tempered gesture, less precise with exhaustion.

“any changes?”

you’d been sent home early into the conclusion of the operation, leaving the higher ups to decide how to deal with the sour victory. it had been less than twelve hours since then and you doubted jenna spent a second of it resting.

the same could he said of the officer standing guard who looked like if he leaned against the wall for even a moment he would slump over.

“none.”

his gaze flicked briefly to you, then down. “is this...?”

it seemed that the leader of onichynus was very vocal with his demands. even without tara's penchant for information, it was now no wonder how everyone knew of your predicament.

you had taken care to clasp your arms behind your back but it seemed the damage was already done.

“the deal was confirmation enough, though at this point it’s all formality.” jenna is addressing you now. her lips turn as she observes the door as if she could see through it. perhaps feeling the aura was enough.

“this is late to mention but you don’t have to do this.”

tardy indeed given that she had already led you to the lion’s den. your face seems to display enough of that sentiment given her sigh.

“if this is true-“ if this man if truly your soulmate, goes unsaid. “then council will reassess the situation.”

the words taste asinine even when they don’t come from your mouth. it wasn’t as if your fate could twist their judgement. the man behind those doors has earned his sentence, it was too late to draw you into the equation.

besides, what would you even do with a criminal as a soulmate? this early in the game, you could cut your loses and actually prepare for a non-fated pairing.

what you did know was that nothing was going to change with one-half meeter of steel between you.

“well let’s see what’s behind door number three.”

jenna doesn’t comment on the joke, likely attributing it to nerves. but in truth, you were just as ready as everyone else to get this over with.

given you had not been present at the exact capture, the face of onichynus still a mystery to you. though this close, you couldn’t help but recall that feeling of the ominous gaze hanging over you. it was one of the few times you had placed the feeling out of your nightmares. the knowledge that it came from the individual fate had decided to pair you with may as well have been the jest of the century.

so yeah you want this over with so you could get the last laugh.

with Jenna’s assent, the officer clears the few steps needed to join his peers where after a short order, the final steel doors began to part.

jenna doesn’t move forward, so neither do you. though you can’t help the slight tense in your limbs as you prepare for ... what a fight or flight?

there was research, anecdotes and stories about the first gaze but you never really summed up what you thought your experience would be.

‘you’re beautiful’

you’d heard it so many times before. would it really be so different this time?

what you notice first is the bareness of the room, appearing as just that, an empty space. well not completely empty; for at its center was a man. one who someone took up every parameter while only being rooted in a single square.

UNICORNS holding measures were … questionable, leaving him in a simple chair with only what you imagined were handcuffs to keep him rooted. this man who nearly cleared an entire squadron. though you supposed an escape wouldn’t come easy for him.

him, who was not just a man, but the dangerous leader to an illegal organization chasing the aether core. a figure with ashen hair and vermillion eyes. a figure with ashen hair and vermillion eyes, likely deprived of rest since his capture, though he didn't give off the impression of losing any sleep over it. he also sported more than a few smudges of dark crimson, making him appear every bit as dangerous as his lore suggested.

you think you hear a sound of protest from jenna as you take a challenging step forward, but it falls on deaf ears as inquisitiveness wins out.

he certainly fit the bill of a criminal figure. yet as he sat there, chained to a simple chair, chest rising with each breath with that slight tilt of his lips. there was just something else that made it hard to believe that this could possibly be your soulmate, questionable choices aside.

the man seemed to take your silence as an invitation as he spoke first.

“you’re beautiful.”

and in that instance, all of the violence and ominousness bled away, leaving just a man tied to a chair with dark eyes looking up at you with expectation.

you don’t realize your lips are curling downward as your eyes flicker back to his hands which were pinned behind his back.

and with your next words you sealed your fate forever.

“sorry, I’m not into subs.”

[bloodyknucklesforme]

No name (taking suggestions) for this yet but yeah @syoddeye got me into Nikolai so... here's this. It's way longer than I originally planned but here we are. There will be more at some point but my fingers were just itching to write this out rn so unedited as well...

cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, cockwarming, body inspection, piv, Nikolai is evil but also kind i guess,

"Clothes off... all of them," A thick Russian accent said from the intercom. You looked up at the camera in the corner. He must of seen you hesitate, "I already paid. Don't waste my money."

It never got easier. It'd been almost a year now. As you dropped your coat to the floor your anger and shame hit the ceiling. You'd trusted your ex, he promised to help you when you lost your job, when you couldn't pay rent, when you needed to borrow money. You moved to London for better opportunities now you were in some stranger's house waiting to be used. You'd lost track of how deep in debt you were to him and his 'friends'. 10k? 20k? It made your stomach clench.

"Don't cry. You'll fuck up your makeup." is what those cunts back at the club would always say before you got in a car to a client's.

Marcus hammered it in that this was a very important client. Probably another criminal. A rich one at that. His house was more of a warehouse with an automatic front door.

"Turn around," he ordered when the last of your clothes hit the floor. Checking for a wire or weapons you guessed. Knowing you were being watched like this made your skin crawl but it was better than being groped immediately on entry.

The front room was more of a safe room with steel walls and thick doors. No windows, just the camera, an intercom panel and a white gift box.

"New clothes in the box. Put them on."

It was a too small lacy bra and matching too small panties. A washed baby blue, all mesh so you were fully exposed. The door inside clicked. You went inside.

It was nice. Expensive but not tacky like other homes you've been too. The kind of furniture you'd seen in interior design magazines and auctions, solid wood things made by designers with names you could never properly pronounce. There were soviet era antiques scattered about as decor. The first floor was open with a kitchen and dining area to the side and the rest of the room being a living area. There were stairs to the side leading up to where you guessed was the bedroom.

"You're prettier than the photo." You jumped at the voice. He was so quiet you didn't notice him on the couch. He was big, obviously tall but muscular with wide shoulders. Dark hair slicked back with a widow's peak. Stubble covered the bottom part of an aged face. He wasn't old, older yes but whatever business he was in had aged him around the eyes.

He snapped his fingers and motioned for you to walk over. He had a cigar in the other hand.

"Good. You follow instructions. More than I can say for the last one Arno sent me." He motioned for you to spin around again, giving your ass a light spank and laughing when you yelped. "You fuck anyone else today?"

"No," you shook your head. He blew cigar smoke at you, watching the silver bisect around your middle.

"Good. I'd hate to waste more time cleaning you out. They never do a good job at that." He put his cigar in the ash tray beside him. "On your knees."

"What's your name?" He asked, making space between his legs for you. You answered softly, a lie. Never give them anything was what another girl told you. He held your chin between two fingers, moving your head around like a doll. "Open your mouth."

He leaned forward, looking inside you. A thumb hooked over your bottom row of teeth. It tasted like tobacco and sweat. You'd learned to hold back gags long ago.

"I don't like girls with rotten teeth." He ran a finger over your teeth, top and bottom, occasionally pressing on one. He frowned, "Stop shaking. I'm not going to hurt you."

A lie, most likely. Men always said that before fucking you, like they could believe you were there willingly, like they didn't pick you out of a catalogue of girls. You clenched your fists in your lap and willed the fear out of your bones.

"I like girls who like you." He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed your jaw shut. "I paid to have you all night. Make it worth it."

He leaned back, grabbing a remote and turning on the tv. A hockey game roared on the tv.

"Is there...uh...anything you want me to call you?"

He looked down at you, like he already forgot you were there.

"Sir, when you answer my questions. Kolya, when I fuck you." He undid his belt and spread his legs wider. You knew your job. He picked up his cigar again as you undid the zipper on his pants.

He laid a hand on the back of your head, pressing down your hair.

"Just keep me warm for now. Don't want to miss anything."

You took a deep breath before taking him into your mouth. He was thick and uncut. Intimidating even half hard. He didn't push as you worked your throat open, slowly bobbing your head. Sometimes men would ply you with liquor, help you to relax a bit more. You wish he had. The mix of salts from precum and skin filled your senses. A hesitant hand moved to rest on his thigh for leverage. He didn't shake you off.

"Good job, Kotenok." He rubbed his knuckles across your cheek. He let you rest against his thigh, nose tickled by his dark pubes. Cigar smoke, the drone of the tv and the blood rushing around your head started to calm your nerves. Maybe tonight wouldn't be as awful as you thought.

He thrusted lazily during every commercial break. Everything was in Russian so you couldn't follow the game beyond his angry or excited, more so angry, ad libs.

He finally sighed and turned off the tv. He tapped your cheek softly.

"Kotenok, I need you to make me feel better about my team losing."

He made you walk ahead of him, directing you towards his bedroom. His dark eyes dug into your spine.

His bedroom was dark. Wine colored walls with thick, velvet blackout curtains covering the windows. The bed was large with silk sheets and a down comforter.

You crawled onto the bed, swaying your hips as enticingly as you could manage. A hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled you to the edge of the bed. You yelped as his hips hit your ass, cock bouncing against your cheeks.

"Remember what I told you, Kotenok?" He pulled your panties down, calloused hands scrapping against your thighs. "What to call me?"

"Kolya."

"Good girl." Two fingers felt around your entrance. A shiver ran down your spine. You weren't wet enough, you knew that. You clung to the comforter, waiting for pain.

"I told you to stop shaking. I said I wouldn't hurt you." He rubbed a hand across your ass. He sounded annoyed. You closed your eyes and pressed your face against the silk. It smelled clean and floral.

The snap of plastic and cold fingers prodding at your cunt.

"Shhh...I don't break the things I buy." He didn't admonish you for hiding your face as he scissored you open. "There we go, Kotenok."

He pushed in slowly, groaning loudly as you whimpered and fidgeted. Despite the preparation it was a stretch and burn. He held you down by your hips.

"Good girl," he purred with one last push. The head of his cock bumped against your crevix , causing you to clench in pain. It only spurred him to start thrusting roughly. Your face dragged against the sheets.

"Close your eyes and let it happen. Most of them don't last long anyways," a girl said to you early on. You didn't remember her name.

You forced out moans every time his hips smacked against your ass. Arching your back so he could think he was pleasuring you. There was a modicum of pleasure, chasing it was too much effort, especially with unreceptive partners.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, hand dipping between your thighs. He pinched your clit till you cried out.

"I don't like liars, Kotenok." He rubbed harsh circles till you moaned, shuddering hard. "Cum on my cock or shut up."

His other hand grabbed your shoulder and pulled you up. Your back rested against his chest. Still rubbing your clit, he hooked an arm under yours and rested it between your breasts while holding your chin and forcing you to look upwards. There was a mirror on the ceiling.

"Say my name," He barked.

"Kolya...please...Kolya. I..."

"Want to come on my cock? Beg me for it."

"Kolya please...please Kolya. I want to come. Please. Kolyaaaaa!"

You watched yourself as he forced you up to your peak, clenching around his cock. He laughed harshly and smacked your pussy. He held you up as your legs failed to hold you up any longer. You came hard, grabbing at his arms, manicured nails digging into his muscles.

He growled something in Russian before biting down on your shoulder. He filled you to the hilt, his cock twitching inside your still clenching pussy. His cum was a familiar warm. He let go and you fell face forward against the bed.

"Catch your breath. I still want my money's worth."

You lost count of how many times he fucked you. You were pliant and submissive, following his lead as he bent you into whatever position he wanted. He was more virile than you expected.

You woke up sore, dried cum and bite marks covering your body.

"You shower before you leave. Scrub well." He slapped your ass before shutting the door and locking it from the outside.

It was a large shower but more importantly the water was hot. Not warm but hot. You could have cum just from feeling the jets against your skin. The body wash was luxurious - sweet and woody. You scrubbed well. These kind of men didn't want their DNA wandering all over the place.

There was towel left for you but no clothes and your lingerie from last night was missing as well. He did leave a cup of tea for you on the bedside table.

You kept the towel wrapped around yourself as you walked back downstairs. He was sitting at the dining table, typing on a laptop, cup of tea still steaming and full.

"Come here, Kotenok." He tugged your towel till it fell to the floor. He tapped the inside of your thigh till you spread them. "Don't start shaking again."

You bit your lip. He spread you open with two fingers, tilting his head as he inspected you. You yelped when he forced a dry finger inside you, moving it around and dragging it against your walls.

"Good girl." He pulled his hand and away and got a money clip from his pocket. "I like you. I'll ask for you again."

He handed you five hundred pounds. You stared at Charles in disbelief. You'd been tipped before but never this much.

"Thank you, sir."

"Did I ask you a question?" He didn't look away from his computer.

"No...umm...Thank you, Kolya."

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.

"If Arno takes that from you, tell me. That's your money. I paid him enough as is. Now go get dressed. Your car is here." He pointed back towards the front door.

You hurried off. For the first time more scared to leave than to stay.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Lost in the Eyes

Bearblr Promptober Day 7: Orgasm Control

Summary: Carmy's girlfriend finally figured out how to get his mind to shut up, and he cannot get enough of it.

Warnings: swearing, Carmy x Reader/generic lass (leave me alone), sub!Carmy, orgasm denial, light smut

Notes: Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

This is NOT a journal entry. All journal entries are titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

07 Oct 2024

She finally figured out how to get his mind to stop doing acrobatics, and it only took her about a week of seriously trying. He doesn’t know if he should be frightened or grateful; all he knows is it feels heavenly.

He lets her hold his wrists down when she does it. It’s a show of forfeiture that makes him actively choose to disengage the part of his mind that needs to be at the helm of the ship all the time. It’s a task—a near-insurmountable one when she first tried it because it takes him so much effort to yield to her strength. He’s fucking powerful, alright? Looks cute, cuddly, a little lost in the eyes, but his muscles feel like bundles of braided steel cable when tense, can move her like she’s not there when they want to.

He used to get frustrated, almost to the point of being angry when she denied him an orgasm, almost enough for her to abandon the idea, but when he was back to being his sweet, gentle self, the perfectionist genius who had to master a thing he set his mind to, he’d want to try again.

Now? Now he can’t get enough of it.

“Shh, easy, baby. Easy,” she whispers, slowing her hips to a halt.

His dick throbs deep within her, he chokes out something of a pathetic sound, and his arms easily slide along the bed so he can bury his face in the crook of his elbow as if her hands are not shoving them into the covers. He thrusts up his hips to chase down the second orgasm denied to him, but she squeezes her legs around his hips as hard as she can. He feels it—her thighs dig into his hipbones—but it’s more of a nonverbal signal to him to stop, which he obeys.

“Shh. Good boy. You’re being so good for me Carm.”

“Fuck!—Baby, please, I can’t!” He digs his heels into the mattress, twists his wrists in her grasp, but with no real strength behind the movement. “Fuckfuckfuck…”

“Breathe, my love. Breathe. I’ve got you.”

With that, he inhales a sharp breath, blows a trembling one out. Does it twice more. Then the haze sets in, and his body turns to lead, sinks into the bed; mind slows, slows, slows, stops in a small sphere—just their breathing, his heart pounding, the soft, tight, wet heat of her cunt, her weight on his hips, soothing the remains of that sharp ache in his back from working all day. No restaurant. No Cicero loan. No review. No streetlights, neighbor’s dog, traffic, creaking building—his mind becomes a shimmering field of snow and all that exists at the center is them.

She relinquishes the grip on his wrists and traces her mid-length fingernails up the insides of his forearms just hard enough to form little shadowed divots that follow her fingers.

“There you go… that’s it… relax. Let go.”

Carmen lets out a long, soft sigh. His eyes stay closed. His larynx jumps when he swallows, and she can’t help but plant a kiss on it. She trails her fingernails to his chest, traces similar lines down his torso. His back arches as she passes over his abdomen, but he relaxes again the moment her touch feathers away to nothing. He’s pliable in the few minutes it takes him to recalibrate. Opens his mouth eagerly to deep, exploratory kisses, doesn’t make an effort to hold her. Allows her to tension his hair in her closed fists. He’s also needy. Whines again when she straightens back up, only hushing when she slips two fingers in his mouth for him to suck and trace the pads of with his tongue. She’s entranced by what that mouth can do. Never ceases to stir the heat in the pit of her stomach.

When he returns to the world of the living, he sweeps her hand away, hooks his behind her head, and drags her down for a kiss. She placates him for a minute, lets him get some of his pent-up energy out, lets him grab her hips with near-bruising force and rock her on his dick for a few blissful thrusts. All she does is encircle his wrists and brush her thumbs along his radial pulses, and he grumbles, sure, but allows her to pin them next to his head again. His eyes flutter open, bottomless pits of obsidian inlaid in bezels of aquamarine, fixated on her, absorbing every detail of her face. Now her eyes drift closed at how full she feels, and he watches her move with saccharine adoration, listens with reverence to breathless whispers of his name tumbling from her swollen lips. Safe, content, whole, belonging.

Yes. He can’t get enough of her.  

[eretzyisrael]

Dear American Jews,

I don't pretend to know what's going to happen in the US, but I can tell you stories from France.

In hindsight, it was after the 1970s PLO and FPLP great terror waves, but when more Arabs began living and feeling at home in France. 

Between them and the "GUD", some extreme-right militia/student group which somehow also got more active . the harassment in synagogues and Jewish cultural centers began rising.

The wide, ornate XIXth century wooden door of our quiet synagogue closed except for a few hours a year, when MANY policemen were around. Its internal panel was reinforced in steel. The beautiful stained glass windows were covered from the outside, and small electric lights installed behind them.

We got used to come in via the small service entrance, where 2-3 volunteers opened only on demand, and came out to "chat" with any unknown person requesting entry before giving the OK.

The lackadaisy, grey-haired cop in front, who used to chat up the kids and whistle cartoons tunes for us, disappeared. In his place came either a small van with 5 "CRS" (the "assault" cops) in it, or only 2 CRS, twice as big as our old friend it seemed, with ceramic vest and actual rifles.  

They never ruffled our hair , but looked severe and intent. Barely accepted the plates of food us kids would bring out for them from the synagogue buffet (that one did get to thaw them, though. They liked the food).

The crowd in front of the entrance disappeared, too. Either our security or the cops would order us to "disperse" quickly after the service.

Then came "incidents" in a few other places, and after them the parking interdiction before the door was extended almost all over the block. Didn't make us many friends with the neighbors, I can tell you.

Then a few kids were accosted when they crossed the street, and after many discussions with the municipality a cop appeared there, too. 

Then, as we got a little older, many kids were recruited for the security duty. We had krav-maga and "calling in the MORE serious police" procedures lessons,  and such.  I think if you're not a religious Jew, it's difficult to understand the feeling of a religious teenager actually switching a walkie-talkie on, on a Saturday morning before prayer, under the eyes of the rabbi , IN THE SYNAGOGUE.

 Something akin to spitting on a crucifix but knowing it's ok? Dunno. You feel both important and wrong. Mainly wrong. 

Then, somewhere, a car came on to a synagogue and the guys inside opened fire on the entrance, which was left open (there. There. In our place it wouldn't have happened). The cops before the door just went splat on the pavement and waited for it to be over, and it was the civil volunteer, a middle-aged dad with a belly, who closed the door.

Mucho honor to the security volunteers, mucho stress. That was around the year we almost called the SWATs on the  cousin of a friend, who looked Middle Eastern, rode in the quiet street too fast on his big bike, and pretended to come in with his helmet on (the stupid, stupid macho stupidness of 19yo boys).

On and on. Year after year it's become worse. Now you need a special password to read the synagogue's website, and there's a digicode at the entrance, ON TOP of the security volunteers and the cops.

Now nobody needs to tell the crowd to disperse, everybody says their goodbyes inside and leaves quickly.

I haven't been back since October 7, but my friends tell me of graffiti and threatening flyers, of parents who've taken the kids out of the Sunday school.

They're resigned, but I've become too much an Israeli already. I'm angry.

Now I know we should have hired frightening rent-a-cops back then already, the kind the hoodlums don't approach if they know what's good for them.

We shouldn't have burrowed inside and kindly asked the police for perhaps another cop on  the other side of the street, but stormed the accosters and given them hell.

In the 90es, protecting a Jewish outdoor fair, I became  familiarized with the "wonderful" uses of a soda can full of rocks and kitchen knives, courtesy of the Paris suburbs "shabab" (didn't know the word back then). 

We should have seen it coming. Now it's your turn.

[adrunkskeletonsduck]

hi! i loved songcord so much, i thought you could really do this idea justice. i was thinking, and what if reader finds lip gloss or something similar in one of the old buildings and decides to try it on. either of the sully boys (your choice!) just cannot stop looking at it and wanting to kiss them! maybe a little spice please? thank you!

Lɪᴘ-Gʟᴏss

➜ Pairing: Lo'ak x gender!neutral!reader

➜ Summary: You find a little treasure while exploring an abandoned building in 'Hell's Gates' with Lo'ak that leads to a tender moment between the two of you.

➜ Warnings: kissing

➜ Word Count: 1.7k

➜ Notes: hi guys ^_^

“Lo’ak we can't be here!” You hissed, tugging at his hand in an attempt to get him to turn around. He refused, continuing to move through the thinning underbrush of the forest. 

“It’s been abandoned for years, we’ll be fine!” he replied insistently, pulling you along with him. You grumbled in protest, but he ignored you, looking through the last layer of leaves to make sure it was, in fact, as clear as he insisted. His eyes swept the area back and forth, catching at every small movement before he deemed it clear and marched right through onto the turf of Hell’s Gate.  

You bit your bottom lip, cursing his stubbornness and scurrying out of the greenery behind him. You follow behind him as he runs to the nearest concrete structure. It takes the two of you, and a good amount of pulling, to pry the airtight door open. Finally, it swings open, its hinges squeaking from years of neglect and making you stagger back. It begins to close again by the time you both regain your footing, and you both slip through the narrowing entry. Just barely avoiding the heavy thing closing on your tail. You squeak in surprise.  

The inside of Hell’s Gate is just as empty and – if not more – dead as the outside. It lacks the lively greens that have grown over the grey structures. Everything is white, gray and an “ugly medical blue" as you'd heard Jake describe it once. The machines and tables are covered in a heavy layer of dust.

You swipe the pad of your finger over one as you pass it, frowning as the blue of your skin turns grey.  

“This is gross,” you state, whipping your finger against yourself with a frown. Lo’ak nods in agreement.  

“Definitely not as cool as what we have back in the mountains,” he adds, although technically speaking it's all the same, just less dusty.  

“But look at the size of it…no way all those tiny sky people needed this much space,” you joke, and Lo’ak laughs. Pushing the door to the next room open, he notes that this door is much lighter than the last.

The two of you walk in, your eyes glazing over everything in the room as you drift off from him to explore it. The room reminds you of where Norman and some of the other scientists sleep, so you gather it must be some type of sleeping corridor, although it is quite bare. There are no sheets or pillows, no bags full of belongings or clothes on hooks or racks. Just steel and metal structures that stack on top of one another and hold thin white mattresses on them. Although the mattresses can hardly be described as white now.  

“It's empty!” Lo’ak exclaims from his side of the room, beginning to make his way towards you. You open your mouth about to agree with his statement before a small bag catches your eye. It’s tucked under one of the bunks, just barely visible from where you stand. It must have been forgotten. You have to bend down to see the whole thing, and get down on your hands and knees to reach it. 

Lo’aks heavy footsteps halt as he reaches you. “What are you doing?” he questions with furrowed brows and an amused smile.  

“I found…” you reach under the bunk, pausing as you grasp onto the bag and pull it out, “this.” You pull yourself back up, grasping the tiny bag between your pointer and thumb. There's a floral pattern imprinted on the fabric. Unsurprisingly you don’t recognize any of the plants depicted in the design.  

“Is there anything inside it?” he asks with a grin, giddy eyes eager for an adventure. You shake the bag to answer his question, a small grin of your own forming when you feel something rattle around inside it.  

“Yes!” you giggle, fumbling around with the piece of fabric, trying to find a way to open it. After a moment your large fingers get a grip on the tiny zipper head. With a gentle tug you pull the zipper open, and flip the bag upside down, letting the small treasure inside fall into your palm.  

This time you're both confused as you stare at the small clear tube in your hand. Inside you can see a long stick that goes through the middle and looks to be connected to the silver head of the tube and a thick looking liquid. The tube looks to only be half full, with a light pink tint to the liquid inside. 

Your eyebrows furrow and you shake the bag again to check if there's anything else inside, maybe something that could explain or at least give you a clue to what the odd-looking liquid is for, but nothing comes out.

Lo’ak takes it from your small hand into his larger one, spinning it between his fingers. He squints looking closely at it.  

“I think something is written on it…” he says uncertainly. He brings it closer to his face, in an attempt to read the tiny English text. A language he could just barely read, thanks to his lessons with Jake as a child.  

“Can you read it?” you ask, watching as he sounds out the letters to himself. His mouth opens and closes, whispers of sounds coming from them for a minute before he strings them together. 

“Lip-gloss.” He says uncertainly, and then he repeats it, more confident this time, “It’s lip gloss.” Lo’ak frowns at the tube uncertainly, letting you take it from his hands. You roll it over your fingers, inspecting it.  

"I'm going to try it.” You decide.  

“You don't even know how to use it.” Lo’ak argues.  

You look at him like he’s stupid. “It’s gloss for your lips, you put it on your lips, Lo’ak. It’s in the name.” He rolls his eyes, his face contouring into an almost pout like expression. You giggle, which only upsets him further and he looks away from you.  

Turning your attention back to the tiny tube, you decide to ignore him for a moment. You grasp the tube by the bottom with one hand, fumbling at the top of it with the other, attempting to unscrew it. You grunt in frustration as your fingers slip and fumble around the tiny thing, but after a few moments of struggle and much effort it gives a little pop, and the top unscrews.  

You can feel Lo'aks eyes on you from where he stands, watching as you bring the product-soaked wand to your lips, gliding it along the surface of the soft skin. You can't see it, but Lo’ak is blushing as he sees the soft tint of pink showing through the gloss. The way he’s so eagerly staring at your lips doesn't go unnoticed, and your cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment when you notice it.  

You bring the tube down, hesitantly asking, “does it look bad?” His eyes snap to yours, and he clears his throat. 

“No it-” he stutters, and you cringe at the hesitation. “It looks good.” He looks away, taking a deep breath in an attempt to collect himself, before moving in front of you to continue into the next room. “We should explore more before we have to head back.”  

He swings the metal door open, holding it open for you with an outstretched hand, and letting it shut behind you. You can't bring yourself to make eye contact with him, still slightly embarrassed, but you can feel his eyes on you, or more so your lips. The next couple of rooms are the same as the last, and you guys walk through sleeping area after sleeping area in silence until Lo’ak speaks up.  

“Are you alright?” he asks suddenly. You turn your head slightly, your eyes fluttering up to meet his and then going back down.  

“Yes why?”  

“You’re red," he says.  

You offer a half-assed explanation, “It’s just a little bit hot in here.” Suddenly he stops walking, and you come to a halt beside him. Your eyebrows furrow and you look at him in confusion. “What’re you doing?” you ask.   

He doesn't answer for a long moment, and you can practically see the gears in his head turning as he thinks. If this had been in a different context, you would’ve made a joke about how it's probably taking him so long to think of whatever it was because he doesn't do much thinking, but you hold your tongue.  

“I think the lip gloss looks really nice on you!” He blurts suddenly, and your cheeks flush a deep red.  

“Thank you Lo’ak.” You say shyly. He takes a step closer to you as you speak, his eyes trained on your lips as they move before flicking up to your eyes. He takes another step towards you and your breath hitches at the lack of distance now. You can faintly feel the heat radiating off him, and your eyes flutter up to meet his. 

“What’re you doing?” The question comes out in a whisper. The distance between you and him, or lack thereof, makes you breathless. Lo’ak doesn't respond, instead your answer comes as the feeling of a rough hand cupping your waist and another on your cheek, pulling your face forward. You don't have time to think about what happens next, and as if by instinct your eyes flutter shut, and you feel his warm lips pressing against yours.  

The kiss is slow, and sensual, and you melt into it. You’ve known the Sully boy most of your life, but never had you thought that you would end up in a situation like this with him. After a moment Lo’ak pulls back, and breaks the kiss.  

As his eyes open and meet yours there’s an oddly raw and venerable look in his eyes that you’re not used to. You’ve only seen it a couple times, and you were honestly not sure you were supposed to have seen it, but this time your gaze feels welcome.  

“Was that okay?” he asks quietly, and you can hear an underlying worry and nervousness in his tone.  

You assured him gently, "That was perfect.”