#tamers for once! yay!

[themareverine]

Closer to Hell | shortking!DP&WLogan x fem!OC

SYNOPSIS: He may be five inches closer to hell than she is, but he takes up more space than God, sets fire to anything he’d dare to touch. 

warnings: flirtation, short king!Logan (don't come for me), ogling, eye candy, absolutely nothing else but filthy thoughts, maybe some eye fucking.

a/n: it's my 100 celebration fic, yay me! i recently rolled over to 110 i think during the holiday, and i wanted to do something super fun for my 100 celly. i decided to play with comics-accurate, short king Logan, because i feel like we really don't appreciate him all that much. a small part of my brain hasn't stopped thinking about him. thanks to all my followers, you guys make me possible on this website, and without your interaction and all your fun stuff, life really would be so much more boring.

“Monkey Shoulder, neat—if you got it.” 

Fingers pause, hovered over a tablet that looks as if it’s been to hell and back, only to survive the purgatory that is staring into the bartender’s face. Maybe forties, gray has overtaken the once-striking ruddiness of his beard, crows feet all but eating the templepieces of too-thick glasses perched on the end of his nose. 

Once gawking at her has clocked enough time, he bats aside the tablet, the screen swiveling away, maybe in relief. 

Curious if he’ll actually serve the scotch—it’s about the fourth bottle from the left of the very back row of liquors lined against the mirrored wall, not a cheap bottle by any means. Hardly top-shelf, either. An unusual request, sure, but, she’s always made a habit of trying out the screwy names when she’s traveling—and in this dress, in this bar, well. Exceptions certainly can’t be made. Cool vinyl of the barstool’s plush nips at the back of her legs as she plunks down, docking her heels on the bottom rung of the stool. 

“Whatever you say, swee’heart,” gaps in his teeth make pronunciation difficult, but he nods at her respectfully. Lithe, practiced grace turns him aboutface on his heel, short fingers plucking the bottle from that very back shelf. Mirrored reflection reveals a popped brow of we’ll see how this goes. Giving the bottle a little swirl, the copper liquid spins a tornado, wild and dangerous in its glass prison. Unstops the bottle with a jerk of his wrist, the little pop tipping up the corner of her lips. 

Seconds, maybe, and the short glass plunks down in front of her, untouched scotch all but begging to be acknowledged. Her finger lazily traces the rim, even from here she can taste the bark of the liquor, how it hums. Warm and biting, her chest flutters with anticipation—of all the drinks she’s sampled over the years, scotch is a favorite. Next to whiskey, but, whiskey she’s had plenty of the last few days. Scotch will be a nice tamer, something to shake up the night—shake up the thoughts burrowing trenches through the arteries and cavities in her chest. 

Sliding him her credit card, it’s plastic bites against the bartop. Watching him log the number, he hands it back. She buries it against the band of her bra, against her sternum. Eyes rolling, the bartender trudges away as if he’s witnessed some great atrocity, down the other end of the bar—takes an order with hushed whispers, leaving her to eyeball her scotch in solidarity. Silence. 

Friday and however much this dress would all but stand up and demand attention, she’s alone. But that’s no great sorrow—to be alone and actually let it eat away at the marrow in her bones would mean it is unwelcome, unfamiliar. Solo is all too familiar, rent free on her person–the devil and angel parked on either shoulder, guiding her through moments. It’s been this way her entire life, sparkling personality and sunshine attitude aside. Loudest wallflower to ever exist, perfectly forgettable—she’s great company when she’s seen, otherwise all too invisible. It’s learned behavior, expected of society’s less fortunate. 

A quick flick of her foot has the barstool swiveling, her elbow parked on the bar behind her. Eyeballing the room quickly reveals that, wallflower that she is—she’s an overdressed one, at that. And she could, probably, forgive herself. Hadn’t exactly expected Mulligan’s to be an axe-throwing venue, complete with Toby Keith on repeat and flannel-clad lumberjack wannabees and their buckle bunnies—axe bunnies? 

A sip of the scotch has her nose scrunching a little, the splash in the back of her throat almost hot,  even at room temp. Two lines to her right, a cute blonde does one hell of a job playing dumb as her date comes up behind her, helping her take stance. All but popping her ass back into his pelvis, there is not a stitch of air between them that could be breathed—he’s a little unbalanced. Probably that last Coors, she’s giggly and her face is red as a beet. Probably one too many Mich Ultra’s. Together they crack up into laughter, before she actually makes an attempt to throw an axe, dressed in cutoffs and a flannel shirt a size too large, knotted off at the midriff. 

Maybe should’ve Googled that one pre-game, but, as her grandmother had always chided, Better to be overdressed than under, baby. Besides, a little black sundress was acceptable just about anywhere—the heels could be overdoing it, though. Down goes another bite of scotch, and she’s perfectly content to watch blondie and her backwards-ballcap date tiptoe around the goings-on of pre-sex, until movement to her left catches her attention. 

Pool tables racked with activity, there couldn’t be one more girlie in tight jeans or shorts leaning over green felt if the men had decided to make room. Each man at the table sports arm candy, some even two, full peacock with open chests and lifted chins. Stetsons, ballcaps, even a few beanies make a fine cocktail of male specimens, all bullshitting around ripped up pool tables and scuffed wooden floors. Beer bottles, pint glasses, liquor mottles here and there, hanging out on tables and pool table edges like trophies. Evidence of presence, of time spent. Side-eying the exchange of money isn’t difficult—they make a show of it, as if this is theatre. Shifts on her barstool as their jibes and shoulder-claps get a little more elevated, a little more colorful. 

Too absorbed in watching the flock of men around the pool table, she misses the slight creak of a barstool accepting weight to her right. Jumps a little when the air bristles beside her, signaling a new body—someone else at the bar, too close for comfort. Too close to be ignorant. Especially when there’s nobody at the bar, taking up air. Just her and her simple Monkey Shoulder, just her and the defeat that sinks her shoulders a little as realization hits. 

She doesn’t have to check if it’s a man—his presence is overwhelming, almost dizzying. Masculine and purposeful, but not in a way that sends shivers down her spine. A quiet kind of energy, like the air before a storm. Unmoving but oh so deliberate, ripe with power. As if any moment something may collapse in on itself, rip open the air—but chooses, instead, to prowl. Like a tower, overlooking, but not imposing. Temperature, too, has spiked—whoever has just parked beside her ripples with heat like an inferno, it’s nearly tangible against her skin. Thick cologne swirls, a delicious idea beneath her nose that smells like musk, pine. Sweat and smoke–exhaust. Bike, maybe. 

Unsure whether the flush lifting from her breastbone to her cheeks is the scotch or the newcomer, she uses her foot to swivel back around, leaning forward to rest her arms over the bar. Thin glass between her fingers rings a little as her nail tick, tick, ticks against it, and staring into the coppery swirl of booze allows her a little bit of a casual side-eye to the man who has parked himself at her now eleven o’clock. 

Hair the color of midnight is full and thick, almost tinges a bit of sapphire under the fluorescents that dare to flicker a little above them. Even beneath full mutton chops, she can see the sharp line of a jaw—strong nose, purposeful brow. A striking profile, as he stares at his hands—thick hands, strong. Massive, more paw than actual hands, if she were poetic about it. Calloused, even from here. A troop of ebony hair forests his arms, thick and wiry—does little to hide the absolutely godlike muscle that all but stands up and demands recognition.

Arms no less than small trees, her eyes zero in on his veins, veins that may as well have their own ZIP—if careful, she could watch his blood actually current. Count the flutter of his pulse—intrusive thoughts win. She would give limb, soul to just hook up him to an IV and drink of whatever raw sexuality God had poured into his form.  

It’s easy to take in the rest of him—thick chest, well muscled would be an insulting adjective. She wouldn’t believe, for a moment, there was a percentage of fat on his person, not the way his jeans clung to his thighs. Unaware they made belts so small for adults, she’d never seen a narrower waistline. And abdominals—God Himself had only crafted those, broke the mold. Even from beneath whatever sad excuse of a threadbare black v-neck he’d thrown on this morning, they were washboard. She’d bet her life. 

Oh my god, of all the men— 

And just as quickly as she’d ventured off into whatever pornography such a man conjures up into brainspace, he shifts a little. Situates himself on his barstool—sits back, hand on his thigh, other draped along the bar easily in that only-a-guy way. And her gut all but plummets into hell between her feet—the floor could be stained with her own blood and she wouldn’t have flinched. What’s-his-name commands every molecule between them, could split atoms with his raw sexuality, probably. Every movement is like living color, and she swears to God she can feel her ovaries kicking into overdrive. 

Eyes snapping back to her own feet, she rocks her heels back on the barstool’s rung, bottom lip rolling inward to consider just how flushed she felt. Heart hammering the marrow in her bones, she can all but taste the sweat that’s racing down the river of spine, dampening the delicate lace of her panties. Blinking, she manages a steady breath between her lips, trying not to think about the bite of scotch lingering on her breath. Aware that her hands are shaking, she knocks back the rest of the scotch. Cracks the glass back to the bar’s wood all too aggressively. 

Somehow the bartender materializes in front of her, like Houdini. Or maybe Satan—she hasn’t decided. 

“What’re you having again?” 

If it's even possible to forget, she isn't sure, but her eyes connect with his. Thankful for the distraction. Movement to her eleven o’clock signal fires in her brain—her partner at the bar has, without saying anything, entered this conversation. Or, at the very least, made himself aware. 

“Monkey Shoulder,” she brushes some curl behind her ear, “neat. Double it, please.” 

It’s too fast, too nervous to be genuine. But it is, and of its own volition, her spine straightens a little. As if such a thing is a sin—shoulders fall back, her gaze drops to her hands. Bartender all but plucking the glass from between her hands, he travels back down the bar—retrieves the bottle, which he has somehow managed to forget. She watches him go like a desperate child, all too aware that the man beside her’s eyes have raked down her form, considering. Up and down—her heart flies, almost out of her chest. 

A barstool creaks, and it isn’t hers. Oh god.  

There’s always that little something that strikes the air—he’s going to say something. Her eyes flutter closed, imaging his lips parting and closing off syllables and consonants, forming words. It’s a delicious little thought that quickly ventures into ratings not suitable for children, and she has to bite the inside pocket of her cheek to anchor her back into the reality of the bar—because she’s, very suddenly, not here. Not as present and accounted for as an unescorted woman drinking should be, God help her. 

Scotch appears before her almost fantastically. Reaching for it, the glass suddenly is heavier than the earth between her fingers as she knocks it back, entirely. In one sharp, flaming go. It spins her senses in a tilt, and the world all but flips—managing the glass back to the wood somehow, she anchors herself. Two hands on the edge of the bar, white knuckling for purchase. Eyes pinched so tight she can feel her mascara brushing against the sensitive skin beneath her eyes, she releases a low growl that’s more of a moan than anything. 

“Now there’s someth’n you don’t see everyday,” a dark, wolfish chuckle. “Don’t think I’ve seen a lady down two scotch’s back to back without breathin’ before.” 

Mother of God, it’s low. And dangerous. She wouldn’t have heard a nuclear explosion if it had detonated directly to her left, the immaculate conception had only ever been so beautiful. And if he’s tagged anything on to his statement she’s missed it, blood galloping through her ears at such a rate it should alert the Kentucky Derby to put her at the starting gate. 

A steel beam would’ve been preferable to the heat dropping into her spinal column, his chuckle rattling low in a way that, obviously, is deliberate. And she’s more bolt upright than she has ever recalled in her lifetime, soldiers would patent whatever form this was for their ranks—he shifts on his barstool to face her, and she’s suddenly Icy Hot all over. Simultaneously hot and cold, shivering and flaming—Antarctic air and Vesuvius smoke. Words lap her brain like a pace car, but none form in the back of her Sahara-cracked throat. 

Blanking, first she stares at the empty glass between her fingers. Then to the stranger, who’s arm rests along the bar like it was designed for him. Spider to the fly, the little smirk tugging up the corner of his lips gets lost in the dark hairs of his beard and chops, the swirl of shadow that chases light in his eyes like nightmares. All kinds of predator, she doesn’t miss his eyes flicking over her—it’s quick, practiced. You’d miss it if one wasn't looking, but nothing about this man could be ignored. He demanded to be seen, though she suspected by the cool smile and the dark clothes, he would’ve preferred to be anything but noticed. But such beauty demanded attention, otherwise heaven lied. 

Realizing the conversation is open, he’s waiting, she tracks his words. Again.

And again, and again. 

Swallowing the slight shake to her confidence, her eyes track back to the glass. Hone in on tracing her finger along the rim. And she ignores the souring, burning liquor in the chasm of her gut where the scotch has hit nothing but open air, maybe stones in the base of her that maybe only God could see. 

“Oh.” Oh? OH? Coma patients showed more promising signs of life. “Guess you’ve seen it all?”

Oh my god, ohmygod, OHMYGODDD—

She couldn’t have been any more pathetic if she’d melted into the floor at his feet. Channeling the tremble of thinking into her hands, she nudges the glass away. Pulls it back. Plays with it like an amused cat with a toy, trying to decide if it’s friend or foe—if it's worth the distraction. A flick of her eyes back to the stranger and she suddenly realizes this glass is the only tether she has to the present world beyond this conversation—her only confidence. The only thing giving her an edge. 

And should it be ripped from her, she’d be nothing but a fish out of water—a fat trout gasping for air. 

“Not quite,” whatever he’s drinking, he tosses it back without hesitation. Line of his jaw twitches as the liquor registers, but not in an unwelcome way. “Haven’t seen you before.” Vanishing down the long line of his throat without so much of a flinch, he savors it—his tongue chases whatever lingers in his facial hair. The sight of his tongue, flat and wide, sends her gut twisting into thick knots she can’t even fully describe—his hand moves to smooth over his mouth, as if he’s combing his goatee back into place. 

Without thinking, “Well, here I am,” slips past her lips, matching her arms that open at either of her sides, as if putting herself on display. It’s bolder and far more brash than she could ever credit herself with—Monkey Shoulder. It's booze.

He chuckles, pleasantly she thinks. “Here you are—lucky sonuva bitch, aren’ I?” 

And without warning, he gets up. 

Uncertain what surprises her first, she blinks at him a few times, fluttery lashes drinking in his presence on two feet—he’s short. Like, short short. Not-your-typical-guy-levels of short. Built like a god, maybe closer to a brick house, but he’s at least five inches closer to hell than she is—and she’s five foot eight. Makes up for it in presence, though—if he’d been any taller, people would jump under tables.

Alarmed by the sheer weight of him taking up space, the corner of her mouth lifts a little in a smile. If it’s a confidence killer she wouldn't know, he shifts his shoulders like any man does. Chin leveled with the floor, his eyes catch with the same fierce confidence of any man she’s ever witnessed. Unable to tear her eyes away, the muscle in his forearms twitch alive as he smoothly goes for his jacket, drapes it over an arm. 

Christ alive, he is—wow. 

God’s perfect design, she thinks—he knuckles his glass a little closer. Glass rakes across the bar in a little song, he swings a thick leg over the barstool directly next to hers. Nothing but air between them, now, he sinks low, and she enjoys watching him do so—how his jeans pull just so along thick thighs. How how chest flexes as he angles to drape his jacket along the bar, how thick fingers card through hair she could covet the rest of her living daylights. Closer, she can feel his heat, his masculinity ebbing like an alive river, trailblazing new paths. Looking for her, reading the moment. 

More like a predator than she realized first blush. Biting the corner of her lip, his gaze flicks over her a third time. She matches his effort. Much goes unsaid for a lot of moments, until he introduces himself—Logan. No other name would suit such a man, she thinks—within heartbeats her own name slips between them, between the lines of his popped brow and the question he asks next. 

“You drinkin’ alone, darlin’?” 

Nudging her empty away, Logan offers her a quicksilver look, hooded eyes and a cocked back expression that’s easy, collective. Nonplussed, like this is easy—like it isn’t rattling every bone in her body, taking inventory of every organ and cell raging like wildfire in her veins. Expectation brims, and she lifts a flirtatious shoulder, looking from his hand that lingers on the bar back to his eyes—and they are dark eyes, eyes that belong to only one kind of man. The type of man her daddy had warned her about, that daddy’s all over God’s creation sat up with shotguns over. 

Lovely, focused eyes. Logan knew exactly what he was doing. Few others were such masters. 

“Should I be?” 

Wrinkles that form along his eyes when he smiles are criminal. They belong, she thinks—he wouldn’t be right without them. “Would be worried if you were,” flashing two fingers at the bartender, his eyes move back to her, taking in the full scope of her features, “‘n my experience, pretty girls need someone t’stave off the wolves.” Chin lifted in the direction of the pool table trips her gaze to follow. 

He thinks I’m pretty—and that’s newsworthy, stop the presses. 

Nodding slowly, she fights back a smile. “Ah. I see,” angling to tuck a foot behind the other, her elbow props on the bar, chin in the heel of her palm, “and who’s to say you aren’t a wolf, Logan?”

A tease, of course, but the way his gaze snaps back to her so quickly, one would’ve assumed she’d reached out and slapped him. Darkness through his eyes briefly rustles alarm down her spine, and her hand gently moves to retrace the rim of a refreshed glass as silence crescendos between them. Her anchor, again. A tether to reality, to anywhere beyond the depth of the window's to his soul.  

Knocking back another sharp drink, he rolls a shoulder. “Not really a wolf,” his nose wrinkles a little as he shakes off the idea, eyes moving back to hold hers, “pack animals. Too much competition,” shrugging a shoulder, he chuckles, “besides—too short t’be a wolf, too close to hell. More like a—well, more like’a wolverine, I s’pose.” 

And that makes her giggle, like a child.

“Wait—a wolverine? Aren’t they weasels?” Her head cocks to the side, genuine curiosity wrinkling her nose—he smiles, quicksilver that’s cool, cuts down to parts of her she wouldn’t share elsewhere. Heat rises to her cheeks, deepening the makeup she’d been so deliberate to place earlier in the evening. “How is that better?”

Dissolving into giggles isn’t her style, not usually—but it’s too comedic a mental image to set aside. 

“Brought out that smile, didn’t it?”

Oh. 

She hums, nodding. Tries to hide the fluster of color sneaking up her breastbone to her cheeks. Fails.

“Charming, aren’t you?”

“It’s the scotch.” 

She laughs again, shaking her head. Turns back to the bar, too flushed and girlish to take him seriously—or the weight of his eyes. They bore into her side profile like drills, lapping up the heat on her face. Any second now he’ll come to his senses, she thinks. Conversation would fall flat, too embarrassed to speak and too innocent to flirt—he’d tire of the doe eyes.

They always did. 

Thunk thunk thunking axes hit home on targets far behind them, almost a world away.

She tracks, too sharply, like a desperate animal Logan getting up from his barstool—here it comes. Fishes his wallet from his back pocket. Withdraws more than enough money, actually more money than would be necessary for the entire night. Tosses it on the bar like it’s easy, like it means nothing.

Watching him, chin still in hand, he works into his jacket like guys always manage—in a sexier way than necessary. Pops the collar. He may be five inches closer to hell, but he takes up more space than God, sets fire to anything he’d dare to touch. 

Tossing back the rest of her scotch, she inhales a deep breath through her nose. Enough to swell her chest, pull her guts in tighter than she thought possible. Disappointment bleeds like a gunshot wound into her chest, mingling with her ribs, and she wills up cold courage. Hands on the bar spin her around on the barstool, lips parted for goodbyes—-

—only to be met with his hand, extended to her. 

“Wanna get outta here?” 

His brow lifts, investigative. Hers are nearly in her hairline, surprise shellshocked her face like broken plaster. Blinking at his hand, her stomach all but explodes when his finger crooks for her to come, to follow.

It’s a wanton gesture, the way his brow bobs teasingly. Corner of his mouth lifting in a way that’s devilish, almost sinful. Asking where to go is hardly necessary—she’d probably follow him into hell, if so persuaded.

Asks anyway. 

“Not sure yet, pretty—but, tell me. How d’ya feel about ridin' double?”

[soupy-george]

im here to have a cheeky fangirl moment bc i LOVE saturday nights and sunday mornings and seeing you enjoy shoulder to shoulder has made me v happy <3

Yay!! I hope you enjoyed the rugby representation in mine 🤣 My James was a bit tamer than yours. The phrase "spillage is lickage" is still haunting me. It's brought back so many once blurry uni memories. I wish they were still blurry. 🍻🥂🍻🥂🤮🤮

[lutawolf]

Hi Luta, 🐈‍⬛️ Ary here!

It was my birthday this past weekend and I had a blast! I got to be the lowkey BIGGEST SAM 😉

Your advice from last time was helpful in reframing my thoughts, and I'm headed to work. However now I'm curious; how to explain SAM behavior to "Doms" who think I'm being an ass? I'm not really....and I'm not actually looking for a beating.....

Hi ary!!!

Happy belated birthday!!! Yay for having such a fun time!!!

I've never, not once, had to have a SAM explain to me that they are a SAM. Even for those that might categorize it under a different label. Once knowing you are a brat, a Brat Tamer would then be looking for where you are on the brat scale. They would know this through asking your likes and dislikes. Within a day of talking to a brat even online, I can generally know just how bratty they will be. If not, then I know what to ask to guide me.

That said, if a sub told me. "I enjoy being submissive, but sometimes I really enjoy pushing the limits because I have attention seeking needs. I will need your guidance in how far I can push before getting to physical discipline, but this is an aspect that I'll need in the relationship." I would know without a doubt exactly what they are needing and wanting. And what type of submissive they are. 🤞

@theonlydayiknow I'm going to yank you into this conversation. As a SAM you might have different advice.

Hope this helps. 💜💜💜

[cornertheculprit]

Maya: Can you believe that she's an animal tamer? That's sooo cool! I'd like to try animal taming someday. Nick! Nick! Lie down! Roll over!!

Phoenix: Once this case is solved, I'll roll over for you as many times as you want!

Maya: YAY!!! Remember, you promised, Nick!

phoenix wants this case to be over so badly i don't even think he knows what he just agreed to. anyway they're the funniest people on earth

[dvandom]

Pokemon evolution: happens once, maybe twice in the entire lifetime of a Pokemon, so even if they find it unpleasant it's over.

Digimon evolution: happens almost every episode, they drop back down to a "ground state" after each fight, so however nasty the process is, they get to do it a LOT.

(It's worth noting that the ones shown are from Digimon Tamers, and while pretty much every season of Digimon goes from "yay adventure with my monster pal" to "all is darkness and my journey through puberty just got turned into an external metaphor," Tamers was directed by the same person who did Serial Experiment Lain...and BOY does it show.)

They were insane to animate digivolving like this

[imaginedigimon]

HI THERE!!! I saw your Daikeru headcanon post recently and I have to ask if you have any tooth rotting fluffy HCs for Takato x Jenrya??? :3

Hello! I’m glad you stopped by!

Finally some more Tamers stuff I need to think about Tamers more beyond Terriermon

I hope you don’t mind my use of the English names, haha xD

A’ight, Takato and Henry... oh boy this is new territory LET’S GO

Takato x Henry Headcanons

Takato? Completely oblivious

Henry so obviously has a crush on him

Like seriously bruh

Terriermon even went “haha Henry you’re blushing again” and Takato’s like “oh you should probably go drink some water”

Like????? HOW HARD IS IT?

Rika’s had enough of this shit tbh

She literally walks away when she senses the bullshit coming

Finally one day Takato says to Rika, “Henry’s kinda cute”

And Rika’s like “you are fucking kidding me right now”

Henry’s literally 6 feet away and Terriermon repeats what Takato just said and Henry internally loses his shit

Like “FUCK WHAT DO I DOOOO”

Alright are you here for the flirting friend I think you are

Everyone’s here for my flirting takes

Henry: opens his mouth to say something, decides against it and turns away

Takato: hey Henry

Henry: what?

Takato: Terriermon’s cute

Henry: Yeah he is...?

Takato: But so are you

Henry: *implodes*

I don’t know what it is with Digimon and bad flirting leading to dating but here we are

Rika sends Renamon to spy on their dates

Their dates are hella awkward and kinda painful to watch but then they smile at the end and it’s so wholesome?? Like????

Ngl Henry’s my man but I kinda support this ship now

Why do I support literally every ship

So anyway-

---------

A’ight so when will the Frontier asks start coming in I’m kinda thriving

[digimonloving]

Yay requests are open! Could I please get some headcanons for how Devimon, Beelzebumon, and Piedmon would react to their tamer/crush trying to protect them for once? Maybe tamer/crush jumps in front of an attack for them while they're wounded and then proceeds to try and beat down the digimon that's attacking

Devimon

It never even crossed his mind that his Tamer would have the strength to defend him in their own way while he was fighting with another Digimon. So, when it happens, he's a bit lost on how to react.

At least for the first few moments. For he takes the advantage of the situation of his Tamer trying to help him by attempting to beat down the other Digimon. With them being distracted, Devimon can deliver a killing blow.

Devimon doesn't quite like the thought of his Tamer and crush trying to help him in battle, even being close to it at all he hates... however, he can admire their fire and the want to try to help him. He teases them gently about it, asking if that's how they want to run things from now on if they want to defend him so badly.

Beelzebumon

Beelzebumon will defend his Tamer no matter what. No matter how weak he falls, he plans to keep them safe in the end. He may never actually say it, but it's always clear with how he acts any time a Digimon gets too close to his Tamer when he was fighting it.

So, to see his Tamer try to defend him, like perhaps using a stick to try and beat the Digimon that was staring him down as he laid on the ground, wind knocked out of them for a moment, he yells at them to not even THINK about it, mostly because he doesn't want to see them hurt.

As a matter of fact, it basically gives him enough strength the moment the Digimon turns away from him to get up and finish them off with one attack. He yells and scolds his Tamer that it was a dumbass thing to do... but then he wraps his arms around them because at least they're still safe.

Piedmon

Piedmon can usually handle a fight, it's easy enough for him with his Trump Swords and being able to turn Digimon into little keychains just for the fun of it. So, to meet a Digimon that would beat him down or manage to wound him, he worries for his Tamer.

ESPECIALLY when they decide to throw themself in-front of him in an attempt to be of help. Piedmon is immediately alert and loudly wonders exactly what they plan to do with whatever they had found to use for a weapon. Even if it's one of his swords, he still grows concerned as they rush the other Digimon to try and beat them down.

Piedmon has never gotten up so quickly before as he was fast to help them before they got themself killed. Piedmon slightly scolds his Tamer, even as he holds them close and peppers their forehead with kisses that it was a horrid idea. He appreciates the gesture, and that they even thought to try to help with grabbing one of his swords since it was an actual weapon. Though, it was still... Highly concerning for him.

[birdwatching-goesbothways]

Like autumn fog

My entry for Gobblepot Halloween 2022! Yay!

Summary: Jim attends Oswald's Halloween party, but Oswald's costume results in something that neither of them had expected.

I‘ll say which prompt o used at the end, since I don’t wanna spoil anything.

“Do something smart for once” Harvey had said.

“It’s not like back when Penguin was some inexperienced newbie with big dreams. He’s got power now. If he’s invited you, you better show up.”

That would indeed be a smart decision.

That’s why he’d initially agreed to do it.

No need to risk insulting the current king of the mob over something silly like a Halloween party, not even if said king of the mob is annoying as hell.

But now, standing in the club, surrounded by people, many of which he would probably love to put behind bars if he knew about their numerous crimes... now he isn’t so sure that it was the right decision.

Maybe he shouldn’t have come after all.

The music, the lights, it all just adds onto the headache that sleep deprivation has given him.

How much better it would be to be at home right now, with a stiff drink, maybe a snack.

Just… relaxing.

Getting more than two hours of sleep for a change.

Maybe that plan can still work out, if he manages to find Cobblepot sooner rather than later.

Why did the man even invite him?

Some kind of tamer, less messed up version of forcing Jim to kiss his ring?

About the lines of “I know you don’t want to come to my party, but you have to do as I say now”?

Ugh.

At least there’s the free food and booze.

He decides to concentrate on that for now.

Perhaps he’s lucky, and Oswald finds him quickly, so he can make up an excuse and leave.

After having showed his willingness to cooperate. as Harvey had demanded.

In terms of his continued safety, as well as possible favours in the future, he supposes it would indeed be best not to piss Oswald off by refusing his personal invitation yet again.

God, why did he have to come to him in person, inorder to hand over the invitation to his Halloween Party.

At least in private, this time.

The postal service would have been totally sufficient for anyone else, but no. Of course, the grand Oswald Cobblepot had to make a point by requesting his presence in person, well aware that this time he would have to oblige.

The smug bastard had enjoyed it too.

Fuck.

Jim does not want to be here.

Not on this party, and especially not because Oswald has called on him like some dog.

Eager to misbehave a little, he stops a passing waiter, taking the entire tray of hors d‘oeuvres out of their perplexed hands.

Might as well take advantage of the free food part, right?

He quickly steps aside to prevent a passing werewolf from basically running through him on his way to the bar.

A close call, but he manages to not let the plate of little pastries clatter to the floor.

The werewolf doesn’t look back, seemingly too focused on his goal of free alcohol to care much about anyone standing in his way.

He supposes that is the case for a lot of people present here.

Be it the criminal elements of Gotham’s underworld, or the rich that have come to this party in hopes of building connections, or simply to alleviate their boredom.

By how convincing and thereby expensive the werewolf costume had looked, he guesses the guy under it to either fit the second or both of the two categories.

All he had managed was a cheap cop costume from target, with a questionable hat and a pair of plastic handcuffs.

Not everyone has the kind of money or time for an elaborate costume.

To be honest though, he just hadn’t felt like putting in the effort, had perhaps even chosen the cheapest and most boring costume he could find out of spite.

Not that Oswald would have to know that part of his decision making process.

If he guessed it though, well, he could barely be blamed.

Speaking of which, he does wonder which ridiculous over the top expensive and intricate costume the man might have chosen this year, to hold court and show off his wealth and power.

Possibly a vampire, he muses.

Another overpriced fine suit that he would insist was a subtle and clever detail and not simply the same suit with a slightly darker shade.

The unruly black hair, freakishly pale skin and blood red lips he already possessed naturally.

All he needed to top the costume off would be a cape, doubtlessly not from target but instead intricately sewn from heavy fabric and fitted especially for him.

Perhaps he would even add some fangs, if he was in a playful mood.

No matter what he’d chosen, Oswald has doubtlessly gone all out with it.

Curious now, and entirely unable to deny the appeal of such a costume, he lets his eyes wander over the crowd, scanning for that familiar face.

When he finds it, he almost chokes on the pastry he’d been chewing on.

Oswald is surrounded by well wishers and acolytes, falling over each other to try and get his attention.

That part isn’t the surprising one.

It’s not a vampire costume, or anything close to it.

No.

He’s wearing a robe.

Well… not really a robe.

A dress.

It looks vaguely Victorian, although he’s not an expert by far.

There’s certainly a modern touch to it too.

The entire thing, quite like a ball gown actually, is off-white, as if faded and dirtied with time. Slightly torn in some places, yet of a whimsical beauty.

Oswald is holding a bouquet of dried-up, greyish flowers, conjuring up images of a tragic bride, who has come back from death to haunt the world of the living.

His already pale skin looks paler still, like porcelain, highlighting his red lips, and making his green eyes look darker, almost black in comparison.

A ghost.

An undeniably beautiful ghost bride.

God.

God.

Why would Oswald wear a dress? In front of all of these people? Isn’t he afraid of repercussions?

The dress certainly <em>seems</em> to be tailored to a man’s shape.

His hair is in meticulously styled disarray, looking awfully soft.

There’s no awkward leftover fabric over his flat chest, instead it hugs closely, leaving no illusions about his frame.

It’s…. unusual. It’s…. Jim isn’t entirely sure what it is. It certainly makes him feel something, although he hasn’t the slightest clue what exactly.

On some level, he can’t help but imagine how it would be to bury his hands in the layers of fabric and pull the man closer to do god knows what.

On the other side, the view makes him angry, which is a shock in itself.

The question as to why it does… well, that’s quite the enigma.

It’s not really <em>anger</em> though, he corrects himself. It’s something else that twists his guts, and not in the pleasant way.

Something he can’t quite identify, too overwhelmed by the view.

When Oswald looks up, almost as if he had felt Jim staring, their eyes meet through the crowd.

Recognition flits across Oswald’s face, along with a mischievous smile, and Jim just knows he’ll come over any second now.

Sees the resolution on his face clear as day, in the way he immediately seems to stop listening to the person currently vying for his attention.

That’s when the blinding panic hits full force.

He can’t do this right now.

Something has thrown him off course, heavily so, and he absolutely isn’t ready to face it yet.

Almost on autopilot, he just turns around and heads for the exit, doing his best not to let Cobblepot’s confused expression get to him.

Or the way the dress flows gracefully around his frame, reminding him vaguely of fog wafting around in the moor, beautiful yet dangerous.

******

The acute knowledge of how exactly his sudden, unprompted disappearance must have seemed only serves to make the following days much more uncomfortable, adding to his personal crisis.

Technically, he had fulfilled his strategic plan of sticking around just long enough for Oswald to register his presence.

In reality, he probably left a worse impression as if he hadn’t bothered to show up at all.

So, as anyone would, he does the only thing that could possibly make the situation worse.

He keeps ignoring it, instead of confronting it head on.

It’s silly. It’s counterproductive. He should just explain the situation to Oswald, who hasn’t even done anything wrong after all.

But what is he supposed to say?

”I’m not an asshole, but seeing a guy in a dress made me feel weird somehow, and now I can’t stop thinking about it” ?

As if that would make things better.

Even if it would, which it wouldn’t, admitting such a thing to Oswald is a level of vulnerability that is simply too much.

It only gets worse from there, as he dutifully keeps avoiding Oswald’s more and more obvious attempts at seeking a private conversation.

When Oswald shows up at work the next day, he asks Harvey not to snitch on him as he hides in the evidence room until the man has left again.

Some part of him wants to spy on their interaction, but another is quite content not to see Oswald’s no doubt polite smile turn into a frown as Harvey tells him the obvious lie.

Despite the growing dread in the pit of his stomach, he does his best to not think too hard about it.

No, that’s technically a lie.

He does think about it, can’t stop doing so, actually.

Especially about the question why exactly the view had bothered him so damn much.

Internalised homophobia perhaps?

He wouldn’t have thought it likely, being bi himself, but it’s the only possible explanation he can think of.

Attraction? Undeniably a part of his reaction, but not the part that’s bothering him.

He’s a grown man, and he can deal with his attraction to Cobblepot in a healthy way. It definitely was something else that had made him storm out.

The answer comes from an unexpected place, when a few days later he witnesses one of his more respected colleagues solve her current case, earning the congratulations and respect of her co-workers.

They never congratulate him when he manages to catch a perp, they just go about their day ignoring him.

Even though he knows exactly why that is the case, even though it’s incredibly petty, he can’t help but feel bothered by it.

That’s when it hits him.

The bitter feeling that flows through his veins, he knows it from elsewhere.

From that night at the party, when he had seen Oswald look so pretty and carefree in a dress.

Envy.

That realisation only makes him panic more.

How could that be? How could he want something like that?

He’s not like Oswald. He’s not small, not thin and hairless and elegant.

Not pretty.

Not meant to be wearing dresses.

So why. Why is it that he suddenly can’t stop thinking about the idea?

Cant stop thinking about how it would look, how it would feel to be wearing one?

The idea grips him and refuses to let go.

Haunts him, fascinates him, terrifies him.

It’s technically such an innocent desire too, so why does he feel so ashamed of it?

He’s not eight anymore, getting laughed at for wanting to dress up as a princess for Halloween.

But no matter how often he tells himself that it’s technically normal to be curious, the fear stays, insistently coiling in his stomach and refusing to leave.

It’s too terrifying of an idea, that people might find out. The look of shock, ridicule or disgust on their faces.

Would his colleagues see him differently if they found out?

Not that they like him all that much anyway.

If it comes down to it, there’s only one person who does.

The only one whose opinion he truly cares about.

But Harvey has forgiven so much of his shit that the sheer idea of a little cross-dressing finally driving him away is laughable in itself.

He’d make a few stupid jokes perhaps, but he’d probably happily deck anyone in the face who made the rookie mistake of actually laughing at them.

So what’s stopping him?

He’s a grown man, dammit.

And if Oswald can be brave enough to wear a dress in public, on a social event no less, surely he’ll at least manage to buy one.

After all, no one ever has to find out.

Nonetheless it takes him three days until he is finally standing in a clothing shop, heart racing and skin sweaty under the way too warm hoodie he is wearing in the hopes of not being recognised.

“I’m looking for a dress.”

The assistant only nods, bored.

“..for my girlfriend,” he unnecessarily adds, receiving nothing but indifference by the assistant.

“Sure. What does she like?”

“Uh..”

He hadn’t really thought about that.

Seeing his clueless reaction and apparently taking pity on him, the assistant gives him a reassuring smile.

“Not to worry. I’ll just recommend some, and you can pick from these.”

The various dresses she shows him are a sight to behold.

He didn’t even know there was <em>that</em> many shapes, colors, fabrics and variations.

The immense variety to pick from only worsen his panic, to a point where he honestly considers bailing.

But he’s come to far for that. So he grits his teeth instead.

An elegant blue one catches his sight first, but the sizes available aren’t even close to what he would need.

A green one, silky fabric and glitter, reminds him way too much of Barbara to even consider.

Another one he likes, red and playful, isn’t an option either, as the padding would only serve to make him feel awkward and uncomfortable.

“Didn’t know picking dresses was such a hassle.”

The assistant politely laughs at his more than awkward attempt at a joke, before gently pulling him to another rack.

When he finally settles on something, the assistant sighs in relief, obviously sick of his anxious indecisiveness.

She hands him the bag with a tired but genuine smile.

“That’s a nice one! I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“Uh, thanks. We’ll see.”

He hastily leaves the shop, wondering if the woman saw his hands tremble, and praying he won’t cross paths with anyone he knows.

Apparently, luck is on his side just this once.

As soon as he is safely home, he removes the dress from the bag, admiring its beauty.

It’s a relatively simple design with a normal top and medium length skirt. “A-line”, the woman at the shop had said, and “v-neck”. As if he’d know what the hell she was talking about.

It doesn’t matter much to him anyway. It’s pretty.

The color is a creamy pink, with playful strawberry pattern.

It has short sleeves, a flaring skirt, and it’s absolutely perfect.

The prospect of trying it on is equally exciting and terrifying.

But there’s this odd giddiness that has him running his hand over the fabric, trying to imagine how it would feel to put it on. To feel the delicate fabric against his skin.

Initially, he hadn’t meant to actually wear it. He’d just bought it to prove to himself that he was brave enough to do so.

Just as brave as Cobblepot.

But now he’s so curious that can’t imagine not to try it on.

That’s why he double locks his door, closing the blinds before he strips out of his current clothes to put on the dress instead.

As soon as he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his breath hitches.

He’d vaguely been expecting to look ridiculous, so he could proceed to laugh it off like a bad joke.

But he likes it.

Likes the way it hugs his frame, the way the creamy color looks against his skin.

It makes him look softer, somehow.

He does an experimental little spin, and fuck does he feel pretty.

He hastily takes the dress off again, hiding it in the darkest corner of his closet.

That’s where it stays for two days, while he does his best to ignore it calling to him.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

It would be so much easier to just forget about it, or better yet: throw it in the trash.

But he just can’t bring himself to do it.

After all, with all the hardships in his life, doesn‘t he deserve a little softness? A little joy?

So he tunes out the insistent voice in the back of his mind that keeps yelling ”It’s wrong, it’s dangerous, it’s not worth it,”and puts the dress back on, at least for now that he is home alone.

As long as he is isn’t wearing it to work, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?

It feels great. It feels freeing. To just wear what he wants, and not what he thinks he should be wanting instead.

Throughout the entire afternoon, there are constant little reminders that he made the right decision.

Little glimpses he catches in the reflection of the oven, or catching himself absentmindedly running his fingers over the soft fabric.

For the first time ever it feels easy and natural to smile at who sees in the bathroom mirror.

It’s not that he feels like a woman. It’s more like a weight he didn’t even know about has been lifted from his chest, and he can finally breathe freely.

Can ask himself what he actually likes and dislikes, instead of just assuming like he did before.

Apparently he has been a little too lost in the happiness this new discovery brings him, even though he should have been more careful.

Because when the door rings, the realisation that there’s simply no way he can get out of the dress and into normal clothes in time hits him full force, knocking all the air out of his lungs in the process.

His thoughts are a jumbled, frenzied mess.

Who could it be? He isn’t expecting anyone today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that.

He isn’t expecting anyone, period.

If he ignores them, maybe the visitor will just assume he isn’t home and leave again?

The silence stretches as he hopefully holds his breath.

“Don’t be ridiculous Jim, I know you’re in there, and I’m equally aware that you have been avoiding me.”

There’s a pause, in which Cobblepot seems to be waiting for an answer. When none comes, he continues.

“Whether you want to or not, the two of us will now talk about what happened at the Halloween party.”

Oh no.

It just had to be Oswald, didn’t it? Couldn’t have been Harvey, or better yet, a pizza delivery guy with the wrong address?

“I’m coming in.”

“No, wait, I-“

But it’s already too late. Screw Oswald for being able to pick a damn lock like it’s nothing.

Now he’s just standing there in the door, lockpick still in hand, frozen in shock.

“Jim, I…uh.”

In what is best described as a blind panic, he grabs Oswald and throws him against the wall roughly, before slamming the door shut with an unnecessary amount of violence.

“If you talk about this with anyone, and I mean anyone, I swear I’ll make you regret ever being born.”

He can already see the life he has so painstakingly built tumble down around him.

It’s not like there’s shame about what he’s doing, that’s not it. But to have such intimate knowledge laid open to the world against his will?

That idea absolutely terrifies him. Shakes him to the core and paralyses him.

So if he shakes Oswald a little bit harder than he should, he did break into his fucking house just now.

“Understood?”

Oswald nods frantically, so Jim forces his fingers to unclench, releasing the smaller man from his grip, who immediately fixes his tie.

He holds no illusion. That piece of information in Oswald’s hands is pure dynamite. He’s got him now, can pressure him into almost anything lest he expose him, thereby hitting right where it hurts.

Almost through a fog, he notices his hands are shaking again, although this time not from excitement.

The creeping realisation of just how much he is at the other man’s metaphorical mercy now is accompanied by exponentially growing dread.

Realising that his knees feel dangerously wobbly, he drops down into the nearest couch, defeated, before burying his head in his hands.

He shouldn’t have yelled at Oswald. Shouldn’t have grabbed him. What if that makes him want to expose him out of spite?

Either way, this isn’t exactly going well.

Time to change his approach.

“Oswald please. I know how valuable this information is to you, and I’m more than happy to compensate you for your silence…” the words are burning his mouth as they tumble out, leaving a bitter taste in their wake.

His voice sounds raw and emotional, which isn’t good either.

He should be playing it cool instead, hoping that the Penguin doesn’t realise just how desperate he is to keep this information a secret.

But alas, he can’t. It hits too close to home, leaves him feeling too vulnerable to haggle over the price for Oswald’s silence.

“…But I’m begging you, please don’t-“

“Hush,” Oswald interrupts, hobbling over to sit down beside him on the couch.

“I am seriously quite offended that you think that I would use something like this against you. I may be a criminal, but I’m not a monster.”

Against his will, that evokes a bitter laugh from Jim. Because that’s Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin, dammit. The man kills and maims for no other reason than annoyance, at least from what he’s heard.

Not that there had ever been useful evidence.

“Hard to believe that you wouldn’t. Sorry, but I’d rather know the price for your silence now, instead of having you pull out the “do what I say or I’ll ruin your life” card the next time we cross paths.”

The bitterness of his request is met with an indignant huff.

“James Worthington Gordon, what have I ever done to you to justify that bad of an opinion?”

“…But since you keep asking for it, here’s my price:”

This is it then.

Jim isn’t naïve enough to believe it could be a onetime thing, but they’ll sort of have an agreement then, to give him back the pretence of safety. At least a tiny fraction of it.

That’ll have to be enough.

“What I want you to do, is actually learn something about fashion. There’s no world where you would pair a dress like this with socks like that.”

Perplexed silence follows, until he can manage to croak out a very confused “…what?”

“And you call me a criminal? Seriously Jim, who even owns neon orange socks! I’m glad you’re finally beginning to have an interest in fashion, but you have a lot to learn.”

The next part seems almost shy.

 “I could teach you the basics, should you be interested.”

 It’s not a guarantee that he won’t break his promise.

 But it’s a beginning.

“.. I think I’d like that.”

Authors note:

Yeah, I used the ghost prompt, it inspired Oswald’s costume :)

[sleepysheepytea]

I saw your day 19 and day 31 posts for tktober, you said that day 19 was a part of Zetsubo’s lore, do you mind telling me more about them (they’re so cute I wanna hug them)

OO YAY AN EXCUSE TO YELL ABOUT OCS OKIE

gonna put a warning for potentially disturbing topics? things like captivity/physical torment/and manipulation ig (also some talks of the afterlife idk if some are weirded out by that)

OKIE so to properly describe his story i'd have to bring up two other characters: those being the two other demons in both of those drawings. (also i showed them in day 4's drawing)

soo Tirana and Akuma were inseparable friends when they were alive. Akuma didn't have any other friends so she wasn't sure what normal friendships were like so she didn't catch any red flags

over time, Tirana grew very attracted to Akuma, and not in a good way. she discovered herself to be a raging sadist and she really wanted to hurt Akuma and keep her to herself - obv she didn't want to hurt her too bad cuz she still loved her but she rly couldn't hold off her desires for too long

once they both died and unfortunately ended up in hell, Tirana figured she might as well unleash all of her desires and chased Akuma down for quite a while. eventually, Akuma ran right into Zetsubo, who was pretty much just minding his business. She ran right past him and managed to escape Tirana's sight. Tirana then caught sight of Zetsubo, who was about the same size and overall look of Akuma. because he's not very strong, he couldn't really fight Tirana off, who's immensely strong. Tirana took him instead as a sort of placeholder for the time being until she could find Akuma

sooo to put things mildy, Tirana pretty much kept Zetsubo in a cave chained up for years on end. every day, Tirana would leave in search of Akuma (sometimes she'd leave for longer or shorter, it was pretty sporadic), then she would return and expel her frustration onto Zetsubo, pretty much doing everything she wanted to do to Akuma to him (this included a bunch of stuff tho she does desperately want to wreck Akuma with tickles so she does that to Zetsubo a ton) (its also one of the tamer things she does fhhf) ANYWAY

later on, once the main story like actually begins, Tirana does eventually find Akuma and takes her back to the cave thing. This is how Akuma and Zetsubo become friends and they try to make plans to escape

believe it or not, they're in the same universe that my ice cream bois are in, i just mainly draw those guys when Tenshi’s alive cuz it's less confusing

this isn't even the main storyline of this universe but like oofers

ok this is so honking long i gotta shut up i could talk about them forever, sorry if i overshared fhhfhg

[raya-rhaenyra-ahsoka]

Why Daenerys Should've Stayed Longer in the North Than Attack Cersei Too Soon (Which is a dick move, really) PART 2

This is a continuation from my other post, as promised. Here’s the link to Part 1 here.

ALLIES FROM THE SOUTH

The Stormlands. With Dany recently legitimizing Robert Baratheon’s last living bastard, Gendry (Yay!), and appointed him as the new Lord of Storm’s End, I think he had pledged his loyalty and full support to her.

Now since the Baratheons are the overlords of the Stormlands, it ultimately makes the Stormlands part of Dany’s new rule in Westeros. And if the Stormmen questioned Gendry’s legitimacy, there are two people who can back him up: Ser Davos Seaworth, a landed knight, and Ser Brienne of Tarth, literally the heiress to Evenfall in Tarth Island. Both of whom are from the Stormlands and have served the late Baratheon lords, Stannis,

and Renly, respectively.

TV show-wise, Gendry had taken over Edric Storm’s plotline. Edric Storm was another one of Robert’s many bastards and it was him who Ser Davos saved from being killed by Mellisandre in the books, not Gendry. Gendry himself was grateful to Davos for saving his life and he sort of stepped up as his own parental figure. I also think Gendry reminded Davos of the son he lost during the Battle of Blackwater Bay.

As for Brienne, she and Gendry never shared a conversation in the show, but in the books, he even saved her life. Brienne came from Tarth, an island in the Stormlands, where her father Selwyn Tarth is lord and one of the many bannermen of the Baratheons of Storm’s End. Brienne came across Gendry in the Inn at the Crossroads while she was searching for the Stark girls. When she saw him, she literally thought he was Renly because of his striking resemblance to his uncle. Their exchange went something like this:

Brienne: Oh my god, Lord Renly?!

Gendry: Uh, what? Lord? Lol no, I’m just a smith.

I wished it happened in the show, it would’ve been funny.

Dorne. There isn’t much plot regarding Dorne in the show. (Again, f*ck D&D for ruining a great sub-plot of the story!) But in the books, the Martell heiress, Arianne was the ultimate feminist icon. She supported and fought for Myrcella Baratheon’s claim to the Iron throne over her younger brother, Tommen, and she hoped that the rest of Westeros would follow after Dorne’s right of inheritance regardless of gender and order of birth. But no! They disregarded that seemingly important plot that even George R.R. Martin was disappointed about the changes. (We hear you, George!) Nevertheless, Arianne would’ve supported a queen, yes. But between Daenerys and Cersei, she’d probably go with Dany mainly because of their family ties. In case you forgot, Rhaegar’s late first wife, Elia Martell, was Arianne’s aunt. Also, because of what happened to Elia and Oberyn Martell in King’s Landing, the Martells practically loathed the Lannisters. In the show, Oberyn Martell’s paramour Ellaria Sand, and his bastard daughters, the Sand Snakes, hated the Lannisters, that’s why they sided with Dany. But with all of them dead and House Martell now extinct, I think the new prince of Dorne would’ve allied himself with a tamer ruler, not one who plays with wildfire. (Note: this is when Dany stayed in the North and did not march south yet.)

Spies. In the Art of War, the use of spies implies gaining knowledge of the enemy, knowing their motive and their next move. With Lord Varys the Spider in Winterfell, who’s still serving under Daenerys, has its advantages. Vary’s networks of spies or as what he called them, his “little birds” are literally scattered across the seven kingdoms.

His little birds are actually children, and appearance-wise, cannot be easily identified as spies. With his intel, they could easily formulate a plan to defeat Cersei.

DEFENSE AT SEA

 If Cersei couldn’t do it by land, she’ll go by sea. Which, Daenerys of course, have the appropriate fleets to defend, covering both the Narrow and Sunset Seas. Here's a map:

(Source: pinterest.com)

Enemies to the East. If Cersei will be stupid enough to attack through the Narrow Sea by sea, Daenerys has the fleets to defend. The Northern fleet, a.k.a the Manderly Fleet of White Harbor and the Arryn Fleet in Gulltown in the Vale will join forces.

Enemies to the West. And if they invade through the Sunset Sea, they’d have to pass the Iron Islands, where Yara Greyjoy’s Fleet will intercept them, with the help of the Mallister Fleet in Seagard.

Who would win depends. The only other person that’s probably as good as Euron at sea is his niece, Yara. The rest of Dany’s fleet would have to get lucky or outnumber the number of ships in a fleet.

At this point, you’ll probably be like, oh, what if they steer clear from the fleets and enter the North’s weakly defended areas? Okay, that job falls to the castles nearest to their borders. The northernmost castle is the Last Hearth, the seat of House Umber, which is practically already deserted. On the south is Greywater Watch, which has the strongest defense out of all four cardinal directions. On both east and west hold the seat of two branches of House Flint, with Widow’s Watch on the east, and Flint’s Finger on the west (Again, refer to the map above). Once they see Cersei’s fleet, they’ll inform the people in Winterfell.

People tend to forget that Daenerys has the only air support with her dragons. So when she hears about this, she’ll easily burn the enemy fleet with one dracarys away.

That is, if Qyburn hadn’t installed that big-ass crossbow in one of the ships, then she’ll have to be better at dodging them. It gets better if Jon’s willing to help her with Rhaegal, but we’ll never know.

OUTNUMBERED AND SURROUNDED

The map shows the Crownlands and its neighboring kingdoms of the Vale, the Riverlands, the Reach, and the Stormlands. (Source: pinterest.com)

Territories. With Cersei sacrificing Casterly Rock to tighten her grip on the Iron Throne, she technically had also sacrificed the Westerlands, which meant everything north of King’s Landing is Dany’s territory now. With Dany’s army and territories secured, the Crownlands, where King’s Landing is, is technically surrounded by the Vale, the Riverlands, the Reach, and Stormlands. I included the Reach because, well, she roasted the Tarlys and took the remaining men to her cause with a choice, bend the knee or die in a blaze of glory.

Armies. Dany has the combined armies of North, Vale, Riverlands, Westerlands, Reach, Stormlands, and maybe Dorne, plus, the Unsullied; fleets of the North, Vale, Riverlands, and Yara’s fleet from the Iron Islands; and the only air support, her two remaining dragons. Cersei on the other hand, just had the army of the Crownlands, King’s Landing’s City Watch, the queensguard, plus, the Golden Company without elephants; and Euron Greyjoy’s fleet.

I think it’s obvious that Dany outnumbers Cersei’s army, by a lot. And at this point, Dany has enough allies to lay a siege on King’s Landing.

DAENERYS VS. CERSEI

Let’s discuss the difference in the personalities and motives of Daenerys Targaryen and Cersei Lannister.

They both have blond hair, are the only girl among three siblings, and are queens in their own right. But that’s where their similarities end.

Cersei currently sits on the iron throne, and she is loving the perks that came with it. Endless Power, which meant she can do whatever she wants and not care about what people think, like sleeping with her brother. With the news of Dany coming back to Westeros, she sees her as a threat and wanted nothing more than for Dany to disappear so she could stay in power.

Daenerys, however, claims that being the queen of the seven kingdoms is her birthright, as it was the Targaryens that reunited the whole continent of Westeros. Of course, it’s still power, but at the same time, she sees it as a responsibility as well. (With great power, comes great responsibility. Wow, I’m quoting Spiderman now.) She believes that as a queen, it’s her job to take care and provide for the needs of her subjects and even makes an effort to hold court as she listened to their demands. She also thinks that slavery is a big no-no, so she freed them.

The key to becoming a great leader is finding the balance between being loved and feared by your subjects. Cersei is more likely feared than loved. She also doesn’t care about her people, a fact that she admitted to her brother, Tyrion once. Daenerys most likely had the scale tips on balance, with her being equally loved and feared by her subjects. She’s loved because she actually takes time to listen to the people’s needs, and feared because she could take you out using her dragons with one word.

If Dany did lay siege on King’s Landing (again, we aren’t counting her major mad queen moment), the only thing Cersei can use against Dany is the people living within the city walls. Cersei might have heard that Dany’s been freeing slaves in the cities surrounding Slaver’s Bay, and figured out that she has a soft spot for the common folk.

In conclusion, if Daenerys had simply waited out and took her time planning and gathering allies and supplies against Cersei, she would’ve been successful in her campaign to retake Westeros. But then again, we aren’t the writers for this show. In the end, they had Jon battling through himself while he chooses to reply with either of his two favorite lines, She’s my queen or I don’t want it. Or that Sansa and Arya doesn’t like Dany at all and think that she’s a power-hungry, dragon-riding bitch. Or that Bran doesn’t give a f*ck about anything. So, yeah. What do you guys think?

[helnjk]

Snowed In - C.W.

Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

Requested: yes! by my love @lupinsclassroom

Ah HA I finally came up with a Charlie request. Okay, of course it’s professor reader because I’m obsessed with them but like....Charlie visits hogwarts, and then (I know logistically this isn’t possible bc ✨magic✨) but he gets snowed in and has to stay in the castle for the weekend and it’s just cozy and soft 🥺

Word count: 2.6k

Summary: sometimes, it takes just the right circumstances to get what you want. 

Warnings: meal mention, reference to/implied sex (blink and you’ll miss it), winter fluff! 

A/N: this took me so long to get done aaaaaaaa 😩 but yay ! more COMC professor & charlie 🥰

– 

Christmas at Hogwarts was always a spectacular sight. The professors always loved to go above and beyond with the decorations, but even without them, the grounds and the castle looked, well, magical. 

“Professor L/N?” a voice from across the room mumbled. 

Y/N looked up from the stack of papers she was grading to see Eloise Abbott, wrapped in her cloak and her Hufflepuff scarf, standing at the entrance to her office. A neatly wrapped present was clutched in her gloved hands as she waited for her professor to invite her inside. 

Athena was perched on her stand behind Y/N, resting after a long afternoon of delivering various Christmas gifts. Her sleeping figure seemed to appease the student’s apprehension slightly as she called out, “Come on in, Eloise!” 

“Isn’t the train supposed to be leaving soon? What’re you still doing in the castle?” Y/N questioned, stashing away the stack of parchments on her desk, that way her attention would be fully on the Hufflepuff. 

“Yep!” Eloise replied quickly, “I just wanted to drop off a present for you before I go! I know that you’re staying here for the holidays, right?” 

“You’re right.” Y/N smiled. “Thank you for thinking of me, Eloise, that was very sweet of you.”

A swift nod was her reply, and as quick as she had come, Ms. Abbott turned on her heel and darted out of the room. Thankfully, she remembered to yell a hasty, “Happy Christmas!” over her shoulder before she was fully out of hearing range. 

Y/N shook her head with a soft smile on her lips. Even after being her professor for nearly six years now, Eloise was still a shy little thing when it came to communicating with professors or any sort of authority figure. Still, the gesture warmed her heart greatly. 

The thought of gifts and spending Christmas alone, well, not exactly alone, but not with the Weasleys this year put a slight damper on her mood, though. Minerva had asked her if she could spend the holidays at Hogwarts this year since they were running short of staff who could chaperone the students. Of course, Y/N could never say no to her favorite teacher turned cool boss. It was the least she could do. 

With a sigh, she stroked Athena’s soft feathers and came to the conclusion that she was too distracted to continue her grading. 

Despite her attempt for some alone time, Minerva managed to stop her in the hallway. 

“Ah Y/N, just the person I wanted to see,” the older professor smiled.

“Anything I can do for you, Min?” Y/N replied.

She nodded, “I need your help with a particularly odd creature in my office. It doesn’t seem to want to leave.” 

The two professors briskly walked towards the Headmistress’ office side by side, their winter robes swishing around their legs. Professor L/N’s brows furrowed at the lack of concern Minerva had shown at the fact that there was a creature in her office. Of course, the older witch was highly skilled and educated, so maybe it wasn’t that big of a problem. What did she need Y/N’s help for then? 

“Er, Minerva,” Y/N began as they turned a corner, “What creature exactly is in your office? Do you think we need backup?” 

“I didn’t exactly get a good look at it, I just saw that it had orange-colored fur.” 

“Minerva.” 

The sly grin that she was met with did nothing to help the situation. Y/N simply rolled her eyes and went along with the all too obvious scheme the Headmistress had hatched up this time. 

The pair said nothing else as they continued their journey to the Minerva’s office, save for the password–’panthera leo’–once they reached the gargoyle statue. Y/N’s curiosity got the better of her as they ascended the spiral staircase, especially since the older witch hadn’t stopped grinning. 

“So, you’re not going to tell me what’s going on despite the fact that you’re grinning at me like a cheshire cat?” Y/N probed, raising an eyebrow. 

“You’ll see, dear.” 

The younger professor had to push down the urge to roll her eyes. Thankfully, they had reached the top of the staircase, and the words she was about to say got stuck in her throat as she saw what, or rather who, was in the office. 

“Charlie?” she gasped, after pushing the door open. 

Leaning against the large oak desk with his legs crossed in front of him was Charlie Weasley with a shit-eating grin. Y/N paused at the entrance to the Headmistress’ office, her eyes darting between the redhead and her boss. 

“He’s the orange-furred creature that you can’t seem to get out of your office?” 

Even as she spoke the words, her head couldn’t wrap around the absurdity of the situation. Charlie let out a loud laugh at her question, his eyes moving his former professor and head of house, who had just slipped past Y/N and into her office. 

“I asked Minnie here to help me out some with surprising you,” he grinned cheekily. 

He pushed off the desk and took a few short strides. Faster than she could comprehend, he was standing in front of her, soft eyes staring down at hers and rough hands grasping at her arms. 

“Hi,” he spoke softly. 

In an instant, she practically melted in his arms, “Hi Charlie.” 

The sound of someone clearing their throat brought them out of their little bubble and their heads turned in Minerva’s direction.

“Alright Mr. Weasley, I helped you surprise Y/N,” she smiled knowingly, “Now off with you two! I’ve got a school to run.” 

With a shout of thanks, Charlie took Y/N’s hand and practically dragged her out of the office. Biting her lip to contain her grin, she felt like she was a student again, laughing through the deserted hallways as she and her boyfriend ran towards her quarters. 

There was a lot of tripping over their own feet and a lot of giggling, but she hadn’t felt this elated in a long time. Whenever Charlie would turn to look back at her, the edges of her lips would turn upwards automatically, as if he was the source of her happiness and her laughter.

Which, in a lot of ways, he was. 

Y/N had never been so glad to see the castle empty. It meant that she could let her professional professor facade down and let loose without having to think too hard about the repercussions. 

“So,” she started as they reached the hallway containing her room, “Care to tell me when you planned all of this?” 

The sparkle of mischief and delight in Charlie’s eyes nearly made her swoon, “I can’t stay long, unfortunately. Mum’s expecting me at the Burrow tonight, but I got an early portkey so that I could see you before Christmas.” 

Pushing up on her tiptoes, Y/N kissed him softly, “You’re wonderful, do you know that?” 

“Careful there, love, we don’t want to boost my ego too much.” 

–

“You all set?” Y/N asked, smoothing out the creases in Charlie’s scarf and trying to busy herself in an attempt to distract her mind from the thought of not spending Christmas in his arms. 

With a deep sigh, he answered, “Yep, just about.” 

Majority of their afternoon together was spent in bed, much to their joint amusement. In Charlie’s defense, he had come to do whatever it was that Y/N wanted, and well, that was what she ended up choosing. In hindsight, it was probably their best option anyway, since the weather outside the castle had slowly begun to worsen. 

By the time they had stumbled out of the warmth of Y/N’s bed and had gotten dressed once again, it was practically dark outside due to the snowstorm that rolled in. 

“It’s looking pretty rough out there,” she noted, as the pair of them walked hand in hand down the deserted hallways. 

Now and then, a student staying at Hogwarts for the holidays would pass by them and try their hardest not to stare at their hot Care of Magical Creatures professor and her equally hot dragon tamer boyfriend. 

Each time a student rushed past, Charlie would wait until they were out of sight before making eye contact with Y/N and smiling so big it shouldn’t have been humanly possible. 

“You’re insufferable,” she grumbled after the third student they encountered disappeared around the corner. 

“You love me,” he shrugged. 

The bickering pair paused mid step when they heard a new set of footsteps approaching them. For the second time that day, Y/N watched as Minerva approached. 

“I’m afraid your journey to the Burrow has to be put on hold, Mr. Weasley,” she spoke as she reached the pair. 

“What?” Y/N and Charlie said together. 

“The storm outside is much too harsh for anyone to walk past the apparition wards, even with impervious charms,” she explained.

“What about your floo, can’t he use that to get to the Burrow?” 

As Y/N spoke, she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty at the pang of excitement she felt at the thought of being able to spend more time with Charlie. 

“Ministry’s just gotten back with word that the Floo Network is under maintenance until further notice.” 

Charlie’s eyes flickered from Minerva’s solemn eyes to Y/N’s slightly confused ones, before he nodded, “Alright. Seems like I’m spending the night at Hogwarts then.” 

–

Dinner that night was amusing to say the least. As most students were at home with their families, those who stayed behind all fit in the long table that was usually the Head Table. Minerva, Charlie, and Y/N tried their hardest to contain their smiles at the incredulous looks that some of the students had. 

For some, it was their first time being in such close and intimate proximity to their professors. Others were wary of the attendance of the non-Hogwarts staff member, partly because he was a dragon tamer and mostly because he was Professor L/N’s boyfriend. 

Y/N’s heart had melted, however, at the sight of Charlie having a chat with the younger students. She had a flashback of summers at the Burrow when his younger siblings still weren’t old enough to attend Hogwarts, and how they looked at him with wide eyes and thought everything he said was gospel. 

“And then he opened his mouth so big I thought I was done for,” he spoke with such a tone that even Y/N was drawn in, “But turns out the old bugger was just going in for a yawn.” 

The end of his story elicited a giggle from the youngest student at the table and Y/N was sure that her heart was positively a pile of goo.

As discreetly as she possibly could, she placed her hand on top of Charlie’s thigh and grinned cheerfully as he took the signal and placed his larger one on hers. 

“Is it bad if I said that I’m glad you’re going to be here tonight?” she whispered when most of the attention wasn’t on them anymore.

“Absolutely not.” Charlie grinned and squeezed her hand. “Don’t you think the Floo being down sounds a little odd, though?” 

The pair glanced at each other and then their eyes drifted towards the Headmistress. As if she could read their minds–which was entirely possible–Minerva caught their eyes and smirked from behind her goblet as she took a sip from it. 

“Honestly, who knows what Minerva can come up with,” Y/N murmured, “She could tell us that there was a rogue Ministry gryffin creating potions in the dungeons and we would believe her.” 

The nonchalance of her statement choked out a loud laugh from Charlie. The stilted noise coming from him as he tried to contain his amusement ended up making her giggle as well. As the group finished up with their meal, the pair of them would catch each other’s eyes once in a while and another round of trying to repress their laughs would begin. 

They waited as everyone shuffled out of the Great Hall, stomachs full and eyes slightly droopy from the big meal. Their hands found each other as they walked down the chilly halls, providing a source of heat and comfort in the midst of so much cold. 

Once they reached Y/N’s quarters, Charlie flopped down on the bed with a sigh, stretching out on the comforter with a groan. 

Y/N couldn’t resist the urge to crawl onto the bed, tucking herself at his side. The familiar warmth of Charlie’s strong arm wrapping around her was enough for her to sigh contentedly, closing her eyes and succumbing to the gentle pull of sleep. 

“Wait, wait…” she heard him mumble, feeling the words vibrate through his chest. 

A groan escaped her lips as she felt him shift, pulling the both of them into a seated position. 

“Can’t, ‘m comfy here,” she grumbled, refusing to open her eyes. 

Instead of replying, Charlie carefully maneuvered them so that she lay back on the cold sheets and he slipped off the bed. It was silent for a few moments, save for the sound of his footsteps echoing through the room. Y/N was tempted to crack open her eyes just to see what he was up to, but the comfort posed by the bed was too strong. 

She knew he would eventually come back, and he did, the bed dipping as he kneeled on the space next to her. 

“Love,” he whispered, his hand brushing her cheek softly. 

“What’s it?” she mumbled, finally easing her eyes open. 

Beside her, sitting on the backs of his heels, Charlie held out a wrapped gift. The sight of him with a sheepish smile on his face, hands fidgeting nervously with the ribbon wrapped around the package, was enough for Y/N to sit up quickly. 

“Charlie?” she asked, tentatively taking the gift from him, “What’s this?” 

Her boyfriend cleared his throat before speaking, “I, erm, I was going to wait to have this delivered to you on Christmas morning but, I figured I’d rather see you open it in person.” 

Y/N didn’t need any more explanation as she tore open the wrapping. An intricately designed box opened to reveal the most beautiful necklace she had ever laid her eyes on. It was fairly simple, the design, a single pearl-like object in the center of a silver chain. If it weren’t shifting through iridescent hues of pink then blue then green then purple, she would have thought it were a pearl.

Tentatively, her fingers glided over the small round thing and it was warm to the touch.

“Oh it’s gorgeous,” she breathed, her eyes flitting upwards to meet Charlie’s.

“You like it?” he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I love it!” she grinned, “Will you put it on me?” 

For having such large and calloused hands, Charlie was nimble and quick with the clasp of the necklace, his fingers sending shivers down her spine as he placed the necklace on her. 

“It’s made out of the shell of an Antipodean Opaleye’s egg,” he explained when she turned to face him once more, “I asked a friend of mine back in Romania if he could fashion it onto a necklace. I saw the shell and thought it would look stunning on you, I was right.” 

With a soft smile, Y/N’s arms snaked around his neck and she pressed a soft kiss on his lips, “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” 

“Love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

The couple stayed in each other’s arms for a long time, relishing in the warmth and comfort of the other. When they finally managed to get dressed for bed and Y/N was tucked under Charlie’s arm for the night, their hearts were full. 

“Happy Christmas, my love,” he whispered as they were lulled to sleep. 

–

add yourself to my taglist!

General taglist: @expectoevans​ @george-fabian-weasley​ @gxthsanrio​ @slytherinscribbles​ @harpyloon​ @nuttytani​ @mesmerisedangel​ @amourtentiaa​ @sarcasticallywitty15​ @lumos-barnes​ @cruciostyles​ @writingsomewrongs​

Charlie taglist: @pinkypurplemagic​ @lifeofkaze​ @oldschoolkiddo​ @turtletaylor98​ @id-kill-to-be-an-assassin​

[lutawolf]

Between Us Episode 1 Commentary and Review.

The intro is so them!

I also adore the contrast colors of red and blue. These colors are often used to represent water and fire. Both Greek and Chinese cultures recognize these colors as Ying and Yang.

Oh! These character relationships are gonna be fun! There are so many coconuts. Names are gonna be a Bitch! Ahh. We just gonna call nerd dude, nerd dude.

Oh, look at Win coming out with that strong Daddy energy. I like it, I love it! I want more of it!

The trio is back! I love these cuties 😍 Damn Win. Just shut the elevator door. I love how sweet he is with his brother. Omg. He better be watching porn and didn't just leave someone hanging. That shits rude.

Poor Team is stressing. You got this Boo! Such coconuts. Oh, look at the feels from nerd boy. Dean and Pharm moment. Everybody losing their shit up in here! Up in here!

Oh damn. That minor flashback hit the feels. Trio giving love and support. Now, the supermarket moment. They added additional moments. I adore this friendship, so I'm good with it. Look at Team being tough and supportive. He is such a big brother even though he is the youngest.

Win followed. Why you follow Win? Hmm. You just made yourself fall more. Got nobody to blame but yourself.

I hated working out on the beach. You guys, it hurts like a bitch. Resistance. It trains like nothing else but sucks and not in a good way. Let me once again point out the red and blue to you guys.

Oops, Team got hurt. Again, I really enjoy how they portray friendships in this series. Oh, Win dropped into Daddy voice. Me likes. Look at that set face. Why are you so mad, Win? 🤪

"Have you ever lost something really important to you, and then suddenly you found it." Dude, that is the best description of meeting someone from a past life! Yes! "I've never lost anything, and if I did, I didn't care that much." That's about to change, buddy boy. Their friendship is special.

"I never had anything important.""I think more likely you never let anything be important." "There is nothing truly mine in the first place. There is nothing that will say with me forever." "Win, you can't live your life like this forever. One day. When you find the one. You'll do everything in your power to not lose them."

Win showered and changed, looking for Team. The Coconuts strike again. Bless them. Poor Team 🤣🤣🤣 Yay for us though!

Ha! Yes! Daddy and shy boy! Hell to the yeah. Oh, damn that kiss. Follow!! Follow!! There's the Brat Tamer. Ugh. Yesssss. Oh, be still my heart. He is checking in to make sure he isn't drunk. Look at him double-checking. 😍 More consent check-in! Ahhhhhhh!!!!!! 🎉😍💑 Command right out of the box. Verbally consent to this. We also setting the tone.

Fuck me! The chemistry ✨️The right out the box tone. That's all, Dom. "Where are you?" "Win's room." "Who is this person? In front of you?" This is so hot. "Win." 😍

Suddenly, it's hot in here. "Call me Hai Win." "Hai Win." Dude, look at the beautiful submission.

This was so good. I can't wait for next week. Hope you guys enjoyed as well! 💜💜💜

[becca-e-barnes]

Happy 2 year anniversary to you both 💜😍 Hope you enjoy today and YAY for booking a holiday on September! Do you know what you will do? 😌

As for brat tamer Bucky, you are absolutely right. I think he would do anything to make the reader squirt and cum again and again. 💦💦

Like.. maybe the reader's dad got a promotion or maybe there is a company BBQ and the dad is having a small celebration with friends outside on a summer's day and the reader is extremely bratty towards Bucky like she sends pics of her wearing a butt plug from the bathroom... oor maybe they decide to use that remote vibrator... or both 😌

Lol so sorry for spamming and for bringing up that remote vibrator again. I will make myself out ugh. that video destroyed me 😭

Thank you babe!! 💗💕 I’ll be totally honest, it’s probably gonna just be a few days of shopping, and sex and I found a Michelin star restaurant I want to book as a surprise 🤫 we both live at home so getting time out of the house is rare af and we make the most of it lmao

Jesus, dbf Bucky making you squirt for the first time is making me DIE because once he realises that’s something he can do, he’ll never want to stop 🥵

Oh. Oh my god. Both. Imagine how full he would make you feel with both. I’m definitely writing this holy shit!! You’d end up fucking shaking, imagine cumming at an event like that and Bucky having to hold you up ohhhhhh no please

I LOVE the sound of this vibrator I’m so tempted to buy one you have no idea, never stop talking about it because you’re talking me into it 😩

[forcefully-awoken]

Hey em! Congrats on 1k once again 💚💚 if you have an available spot for your event, may I put in a request for a brat taming sugawara drabble? With maybe some daddy and degradation kink added in please ? 👉🏾👈🏾

YAY!! thank you bb! i hope you like it!

cw daddy kink, slight degradation, brat tamer suga

suga hates it when you cry.

he knows you can’t help them, the tears that slip unbidden down your cheeks as he circles you. he knows you’re just so sensitive, and so stubborn that you won’t give into him, not even when the tears start to fall. he doesn’t want to punish you but he doesn’t play with brats, especially not when you’re usually such a good girl for him.

“are you going to be good for daddy?” he asks, cupping your cheek in his hand. you press into it, and he thinks for a moment that he’s won and you’re giving in until-

“i’m always good for daddy,” you smile up at him, the picture of innocence, right when your hand comes up to palm at his cock through his pants. he hisses at the stimulation and your blatant defiance. you know the rules- you can look but not touch during punishments.

“no, you’re being a little brat,” he spits out at you, his hand swatting your cheek just enough to sting. “you’re being disrespectful and you know it.” his hand slips back to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back. he looms over you, the center of your universe. his free hand yanks his cock free, loosely jerking it until he’s fully hard. he watches you eye his length, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

“ah, ah, none for you,” he laces his voice with disappointment, knowing it will get to you more than anything physical. suga knows you want this, want him, even when you act up. “my cock is only for good girls, you know that.”

“daddy, please!” you whine out, trying to lean forward to lick at his cock but his hand tightens in your hair. “i’ll be good!”

“you will, because i’m going to make you,” he jerks him off slowly, making a show of how good he’s making himself feel. he delights in the way you shift, your thighs rubbing together trying to find some sort of friction. “poor little brat, so desperate and needy for me.”

he leans forward just enough to smear the pre cum dripping from his cock on your lips, holding your head tightly so you can’t take any of his length into your mouth. he gets your mouth messy, your lips glossy. the sight of you gets him closer to his own orgasm than his movements, you look so debauched, so pathetic in front of him.

“open wide,” you do as you’re told, mouth dropping open just as his orgasm hits. you don’t swallow, his cum pooling on your tongue. some of it drips down out of your mouth, down onto your tits. “swallow for daddy, now.”

you swallow down everything he gave you, and he finally releases your hair. he leans forward, capturing your lips in a lewd kiss, tasting his own release on your mouth. when he pulls away you’re gasping down air, eyes wild when yours meet again.

“are you ready for your punishment?” suga doesn’t think there’s anything better than the way your eyes widen, realizing your night has barely begun.

suga hates it when you cry, but he won’t stop making you do it anytime soon.

[imjeralee]

Wallflower: Chapter 18 - “ba-woon”

Raihan x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary: You’re an unassuming Pokemon breeder who works at the nursery in the Wild Area and he’s Raihan, the fearsome gym leader of Hammerlocke who has more than a million followers. You don’t want anything to do with him but he’s…persistent.

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warnings: Lemon, smut, violence, language.

Extra note: this chapter is messed up tbh.

ba-woon ... ...

Some time ago, Galar.

What a fucking mess.

Rose's party was a complete disaster. She honestly thinks everything in Galar is so messed up and backwards, compared to Unova anyway. She can't wait to leave and return to Nimbasa City - she doesn't remember enjoying Galar, and don't think she ever will.

And now she's visiting someone in prison. Never in a million years would Raihan's ex-girlfriend imagine that she would step one foot here.

It's Raihan's stalker, whom she knew about when she was still dating Raihan but never really bothered to do anything about nor take any action, because she believed the stalker was just a harmless fangirl. The stalker had now reached out to her online, regarding something to do with Raihan and his current girlfriend. Something that would ruin them both.

Naturally, being his ex-girlfriend, she was very intrigued but not entirely believing. To conceal her identity, she comes in wearing sunglasses and a large sunhat and baggy clothes, terrified that someone would recognise her. As if she would risk wanting to be seen here; the number of followers would rapidly go down the drain.

She goes to the counter and gives the name, informing the attendant that she's here to see an inmate. Then she's shown to the visitor's room and she sits down in the empty booth, waiting.

Soon, a girl in a jumpsuit arrives; she's very young and average. One would wonder what she did to land herself in a place like this but one can't judge a book by its cover. Once the girl in the jumpsuits seats herself down, she picks up the phone receiver and instructs the ex to do the same.

"How did you even get my contact details?" She barks. Truthfully, she would've ignored the message.

"I used to work in Macro Cosmos."

"And what's the thing you wanted to tell me about?" Raihan's ex adds, crossing her arms. This better be good, it better be worth her time.

The stalker says, "I still have a copy. It's the last one. Banette helped me hide it before they came. It's the video I took of Raihan and that girl he's with, when they were in the hotel room. I'll tell you where it is."

Raihan's ex raises a brow in response. "....Excuse me?" She says, clearly not impressed. "Are you serious? That's the reason why you called me here? So....what? What exactly am I supposed to do with it? Why are you even telling me this?"

"Because you could do anything." The girl says, "You could do anything with it. As long as it's in your hands."

...

Present, Johto.

You go through the rest of the form: it says you have the right to cancel at any time and there is fine print which Looker encourages you to read, with one paragraph in particular that dictates something called a 'Faller'. What that means exactly, you're not sure but Looker explains.

"Fallers are individuals who have passed through Ultra Wormholes." He says, "This is probably a bit too much information for you at the moment so I won’t indulge too much right now. The existence of Wormholes isn't exactly top secret information. There was an incident in Alola not too long ago where a couple of Wormholes opened up and several Ultra Beasts slipped through and it became headline news. Myself and my superior - who is also a Faller - were handling this case. However, let's not jump to conclusions right now. We could just proceed with the Hypnosis session first, see how it goes and then take it from there."

"Um...okay."

"Have you had any out-of-body experiences before?" He says. It's so blunt and to the point, you can only nod.

"Yeah, during Rose's party." You reply, "We were trying to stop Team Rocket and Eli in the energy plant, Leon and I closed the generator and then something happened and I was in this weird place where I saw Giratina."

Looker soaks it all in. "I see. That would be the Distortion World."

"Yeah."

He doesn't ask you anything else nor does he want to take up more of your time any longer so he leaves you and Raihan with more documents to read over once you're home and also to give you some time to discuss with mom and Glenn. Should you want to go ahead, you must sign and return the form to him. He gives you his number so you can contact him when ready. Then he thanks you for your time and departs; you will see him soon, probably when you return to Galar. You put away the remaining documents Looker enclosed with the folder into your backpack.

For a few seconds or so, you and Raihan merely stare at each other as you sit in your booth until you bite down on your lip, brows furrowing. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"You can't seem to catch a break?" Raihan suggests.

"Exactly!" You exclaim, "Where is all this coming from? Fallers, Ultra Wormholes? What's next? I've just about had it."

Getting up from your seats, you promptly leave the cafe and head towards the direction of the Dragon's Den, following the tourist signs once you pass Blackthorn Gym. It's pretty easy to get to regardless and there are plenty of gift shops around which you will tour with Raihan later.

"I trust Looker; you'll be in good hands." Raihan reassures you with a smile as you hold hands along the way. "You've nothing to worry about. Do you want to go back and talk to your family about it?"

You shake your head, "No, no, it's okay, we're already here; let's just head to the Dragon's Den."

It's best not to think about it any longer...plus the caffeine is kicking in so you feel renewed with energy.

Raihan gives your hand a tight squeeze and together, you arrive at the giant lake which must be crossed in order to reach the den - you take Lapras' pokeball and release the ferry Pokemon into the water. You scramble onto Lapras' back and Raihan climbs on after you, glancing right and left. "Ready?"

"Yep."

You pat Lapras gently and she begins gliding over the water and towards the large cave up ahead. Along the way, you see Magikarps swimming in the tranquil lake below and a few Woopers slinking around. The weather is perfect - it’s not cold but not too hot either - and the breeze is gentle and cool.

"We really should do this more often." Raihan mutters, and you agree with a smile.

Once you arrive, Raihan hops off Lapras and helps you down; you recall mom's pokemon and begin the trek over the harsh and rocky path with the dragon tamer into the cave. The den used to be off-limits - they would only let people who earned the Rising badge to enter but now they allow tourists and visitors. It looks different too, mainly due to the inclusion of two newly built paths leading inside, spiralling left and right - the lake outside narrows into a deep stream but you're aware it leads to a further, massive lake inside the den itself where all the Dratini and Dragonairs are. It's dark and damp and you and Raihan pass a shrine that stands in the middle of the water where an elderly man dressed in traditional garb is praying.

You excitedly point to a small Dratini that is draped around the old man's neck, snoozing. It's so adorable! You can't wait - you want to catch a Dratini badly. Raihan grins and you both up your speed without further ado, heading into the den and occasionally being challenged by trainers and defeating them along the way until you reach the opening. It's a massive cave with rocky walls that stretch up high and wide and the only source of light are the scattered torches which the dragon elders have lit up for trainers and visitors alike.

It's a lot busier inside, with a few Ace Trainers and Dragon Tamers inside with their dragon pokemon. A tamer flies around on his Dragonite, ducking and diving over sharp rocks, controlling it's speed and momentum, whilst an Ace Trainer trains her Dragonair in the water with a whistle and some strange device. Meanwhile, a pool to the left reveals a small group of wild Dratini snoozing over the rocks whilst another shakes itself under the waterfall, enjoying the rush of water.

Raihan abruptly clamps a hand over his chest in reaction to the most beautiful sight that is taking place before his very eyes.

"Are you okay?" You ask, though you don't think he is. You feel he has died and gone to heaven.  

Raihan turns to you, a wide grin appearing on his face. "I'm fine," He exclaims happily, "Let's go."

Fumbling for your pokemon, you both release your dragon pokemon by tossing your capsules into the air and an extravagant display of lights subsequently follows; the pokemon appear before you, emitting loud growls and waving their tails, wings and claws. Raihan takes a headcount whilst you do the same - he's brought Duraludon, Flygon, Goodra, Turtonator, Axew and Bagon. You count Chompy, Salamence, Haxorus, Dreepy and Deino, whom you have taken along on Raihan's behalf. Goomy and Applin are the only pokemon not present but never mind; you have quite a lot on your plate already.

"Alright! Everyone's here!" You cheer. It's a Dragon Pokemon Field Trip!

"Let's take a group photo first." Raihan says eagerly, and Rotom comes flying out just in time.

"Bzzz, I got ya covered, champ! On the count of three?"

"Thanks, Rotom!"

Everyone proceeds to move into position a short distance away from Rotom, though much allocation is needed. All the large pokemon move to stand behind yourself and Raihan; though Raihan's height forces him to kneel on one leg beside you, clutching Axew and Deino in his arms whilst you sit with Bagon and Dreepy nestles on your shoulder.

"One...two...three...Everyone zzay 'GROOOOOOOOWL'!!!" Rotom yells, and all the pokemon unleashes the fiercest growls they can muster that the walls tremble and shake and Rotom snaps away. “Yay! Good job everyone!”

Rotom returns to you both so you can check out the photos and you both peer at the screen, swiping through at least five. There's one where Rotom caught all the pokemon growling and their jaws are open. There's one with Garchomp, Goodra and Duraludon waving their arms in the air. Wow, these photos look amazing! Except from the one where you blinked. Damn.

The itinerary for today is simple - Raihan will carry out the training and you will follow up with an examination. Raihan's provided you with his Pokemon's previous assessments, so you can use them to compare.

Therefore, the next thing you do is take all the pokemon to the dragon shrine first so they can soak up all the powerful dragon energy in the den. Your group bumbles behind you, the dragon pokemon looking up and around in awe. No doubt, they are experiencing some special feels for this place. Chompy, Salamence and Haxorus are the only pokemon familiar with this place since you've brought them here before. Once you reach the shrine, you tell Raihan this is where trainers and their pokemon pray for strength and courage in battle and also to pay their respects.

There's a way to do it, so you prompt Raihan to follow your lead - you take some loose cash from your pockets and drop it into the offering box and Raihan does the same. Then you bow deeply twice, clap your hands twice, bow deeply once more and take a few steps backwards.

You clasp your hands together and close your eyes in prayer and everyone follows you. Your group grows silent as you pray; you're pretty sure Chompy and Haxorus are praying for a nice meal at the end of this whilst Salamence is probably praying for more opportunities to fly.

"That'll do. Let's go." You say, when they are finished.

The training promptly begins; you're hoping to spend half a day here and hopefully catch a Dratini at the same time if possible. You find a good spot where there's enough space for all the pokemon to move and run around - and Raihan begins with a warm up and here is where you see a different side to your dragon tamer boyfriend - this must be what he is like when he is at Hammerlocke stadium.

You see him instructing the pokemon fluidly and with the sophistication of a seasoned professional drill sergeant (but he doesn't bark orders no, he's the opposite; he's highly encouraging and gentle) and you watch as your pokemon immerse themselves fully into the experience, though the smaller pokemon are struggling slightly.

You watch as the pokemon begin doing some laps around the den whilst some do sits up and push ups. Raihan observes with Rotom hovering beside him and taking photos and videos, whilst you go to help the smaller pokemon with lighter workouts. To finish up, Raihan pairs the pokemon and let them battle each other but not to the brink where they are knocked out. There's no winner or loser. Your EV trained pokemon fight each other, with Haxorus, Salamence and Garchomp engaging in a three-way battle. Raihan passes each team, making assessments.

When it's your turn to take over, you become nervous because no-one's really watched you on the job before so with Raihan grinning in one corner actually makes you anxious. Nevertheless, you pull yourself together and begin the check up, pulling out your tools which include a stethoscope, ophthalmoscope and otoscope. They look highly technical but these are the three main tools you utilise and they’re easy to use. You get the pokemon to line up and begin the examination one by one which only takes two to three minutes per Pokemon. You hastily scribble down some notes in your pad which you will look at in more detail when you get home.

When it's getting late and the pokemon have gone through a tough day of training, you return them all after feeding them and giving them treats for all their hard work and finally, Raihan turns to you. "We still got a Dratini to catch."

You're kind of beat but you nod, hopping off the rock you were sitting on. "Let's do this."

Since you spotted wild Dratini lounging in the pond near the entrance, you head over to see two of the shed skin pokemon basking over the rocks. Raihan is quick to approach, releasing Goodra. One of the Dratini rears its head up, ready to fight, whilst the other begins to squirm away. Oh no, it's trying to run away! Without thinking twice, you throw Lapras' capsule because she's roughly the same level as these Dratini and would fare a better chance compared to your EV trained pokemon who would destroy it in one move. Raihan commands Goodra to use Dragon Breath and then throws an Ultra Ball at the severely weakened pokemon.

"Lapras, use Ice Beam!" You yell, and the wild Dratini is smacked with a blast of ice which hits it's belly. Aha, now's your chance! You pull out a spare Ultra Ball, tossing it at the pokemon.

Raihan's ultra ball wiggles three times and clicks shut with the green light, indicating Dratini has been successfully captured - however, yours wiggles twice and then abruptly explodes in a burst of bright light. Dratini reappears, blinks for a brief second then promptly dives underwater, having successfully run away.

"Motherfurret!" You shout with frustration before you can help yourself, "Not again!"

Raihan picks up his caught pokemon and returns to your side.

You look up at him with a sigh. "....Guess it isn't meant to be." You mumble dejectedly.

"Take mine." He says, attempting to press the capsule into your hand for your taking.

You shake your head at once. "No, it's fine, Rai. You caught it."

"But I want you to keep it."

"Nooooo."

"I'll catch another one."

You cross your arms, unwilling to accept. "It's fine, I can get one from the Gamecorner in Goldenrod."

He gives you a testing look but you nod firmly. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Alright...." Raihan slips the capsule into his bag but you feel he isn't convinced.

...

You leave the den to grab dinner, opting to have a nice meal at a restaurant in Goldenrod which Raihan chose because he looked it up and it's received raving reviews online and five stars. Then you and Raihan do some shopping at the Department Store although Raihan is more into this than you are. Generally, Goldenrod is quite pricey and it has designers you have not heard of and can't really afford but to Raihan, you swear he has died and gone to heaven again. 

You trail after him, watching him as he goes through racks and shelves and aisles filled to the brim with clothes, shoes and accessories. Occasionally, he'll pull something out and ask you for your opinion. Sometimes you split up so you can buy some gear and treats for your pokemon before you regroup with him.

It's interesting shopping with a guy; Raihan has good fashion sense because he picks out staple items and then he also pulls out items which are in season and are sure to last for a long time. He also picks out some interesting items which are a variety of colours and it makes you think who on earth could pull it off but you're sure Raihan can since he's so tall and skinny and can make anything look good. 

His total bill comes to a six figure number, which has your eyes bulging to the size of plates but apparently, that's nothing to him. Then he nonchalantly asks you if you want anything but you politely decline.

When you wait for Raihan to finish paying, you're looking through photos on Rotom which you took when you were training at the den and you're wondering what's taking him so long until a pair of hands suddenly clamp over your eyes and you squeak in fright until the hands lower from your eyes and you see Raihan who presses a deep kiss on your cheek. Phew, you breathe a sigh of relief.

He has a wide smile playing on his lips. "Hold your arms out."

"What is it?" You lift your arms as requested and he brings out a pink plushie from behind his back and plops it into your hands. Your eyes grow wide - it's a Skitty doll. You look at him, then at the doll with your mouth agape. "...For me?"

"It reminded me of you."

You gush, clutching it firmly to your chest. "It's so cute!! Thanks!"

His grin widens. "I knew you'd like it."

You go on tiptoe and Raihan takes this as a cue to lean forwards and your lips meet.

With the Skitty doll and many bags hanging off your arms, you head to the Gamecorner next, playing a few games such as UFO catcher and Whack-a-Drilbur and you take a quick look at the prize station but seeing various pokemon up for sale as prizes turns you off and you're not sure whether to get the Dratini; instead, you decide to call it a day and go back to Ecruteak. You had wanted to pay Glenn a visit but maybe tomorrow when you have more free time. Besides, you want to discuss with mom about the meeting with Looker. It's actually been on your mind all day. You managed to push it to the depths of your mind somehow, unwilling for it to ruin your day.

When you arrive home, mom is already preparing dinner and when you open the door to the lounge, you see Glenn sitting on one of the plushy cushions whilst the TV blares on in the background.

"Glenn, you're here!"

"Yeah," He greets you casually; there's a pink goo slithering over his head and shoulders - it's a Ditto. "How was the Dragon's Den?"

"It was really good."

"Awesome. Did you guys catch a Dratini?"

"Raihan did but I didn't...and er...I'm glad you're here, I need to talk to you and mom."

"Hm? About what?"

Firstly, you need to put your shopping away so you head to your room to get changed into comfier clothes and return to the lounge with Raihan; Glenn recalls Ditto and you pull out the folder Looker had given you and you ask him to take a look.

"A detective has asked me if I can help him with a case."

Glenn blinks blankly. "That's so random."

"We know him. He helped us before." You mutter, and Glenn takes the folder off you and sticks his hand inside, pulling out a few files. He chooses one to read and has a quick skim through until his brows furrow slightly; you and Raihan glance at each other from the corner of your eyes and you don't think this bodes too well.

However, the lounge door slides opens and mom enters with Blissey. "Phew! Almost done. Dinner's nearly ready."

"Hey mom, take a look at this." Glenn says, handing her the paper.

"What is it?" Mom plops herself beside Glenn and dons her reading glasses, scanning the paper. She's smiling but you watch as the smile slowly disappears. It grows silent as they both read the contents. Raihan reaches for your hand and holds you tightly, threading your fingers together and after a short while, mom settles the file down and turns to you. "So this detective named Looker is working on a case regarding a missing child....and he thinks you're the missing child?"

"Yeah."

"And he wants you to undergo Hypnosis in order to confirm the theory, to extract memories..." Glenn mutters, rubbing his chin. He continues reading the file out loud: "A Hypnosis session is used to extract missing memories and concise testimony from the subject. Usually the subject is an individual who suffers from retrograde or psychogenic amnesia. Subjects will undergo a session in an effort to recall their missing memories under the guidance of a trained professional and a Hypno allocated by the Bureau. The session can last up to three to five hours maximum, depending on the severity of the amnesia."

Mom looks at the photograph of the couple and the little girl next. "This is the missing child, right? You don't look anything like her at all." She says.

Glenn pulls out another file except there's a few photos that were lodged within and they drop out and over the table. "Whoa, that's a Buzzwole." He points out, as he picks up the photo of the beefy red bug. He moves to a second photo and raises a brow, "Huh, don't think I've seen this one before..."

"I think that's a Xurkitree, dear."

"I've never seen anything like it." Glenn puts down the photos and begins reading the next file: "Operation f....um, faller, spelled with blanks in between...interesting, Operation Faller is the top secret - haha, not so top secret now - Operation Faller is the top secret operation conducted by the Bureau in an effort to identify, track down and locate fallers, individuals who have passed through Ultra Wormholes; the operation came into existence after the Alola incident where Ultra Wormholes opened and several entities known as Ultra Beasts entered Alola."

Glenn abruptly stops.

"Um...what exactly am I reading or looking for here?" He says, confused.

"It's the Alola incident, dear, it made headlines a while ago - the existence of parallel worlds." Mom says. "Remember?"

"Oh, yeah! People went mental! Er...this is getting weird...they even said they found a world where pokemon don't even exist! Can you believe that?" Glenn mutters before he moves onto the next file. It's a file that's got your name on it. "Subject was discovered in Ilex Forest with blunt force head trauma. Subject could not recall her identity, where she came from or how old she was at that time.... That sounds like retrograde or psychogenic amnesia to me."

You bite down on your bottom lip; this is making you uncomfortable...

He flips to the next page. "Drifloon. Subject was found with a Drifloon - Drifloon are not native to Johto, or Ilex Forest so it was theoreticized to have been responsible for subject's accident but no proof has been found. Drifloon is known to have spirited people away, in particular, children. The expression 'spirit away' is used to refer to the mysterious disappearance or death of a person, or humans who have been abducted to the spirit world. The term is loosely utilised in Drifloon's pokedex entry - for this case, the balloon Pokemon may have transported subject either to a new region... or a parallel dimension, or Ultra Space."

Glenn stops again and looks at you like a Stantler caught in headlights.

Gulping, he continues. "...The pokemon was allowed to stay with subject after displaying no malicious intent towards subject. Instead, pokemon demonstrated protective behaviour over subject and listened to subject's commands."

You force out a weak laugh. "It wasn't Driffie. It can't be, it's not. He wouldn't...he wouldn't do that to me. This is ridiculous and if I was...whatever, I'd remember for sure."

The lounge goes silent as all eyes fall on you.

Mom nods and says, "There was no proof, dear. Driffie is harmless. And you love Driffie."

"Yeah." You mutter weakly as you absent-mindedly squeeze Raihan's hand under the table.

Glenn puts down the documents and lets out a quiet groan, rubbing his temples. ".....Basically, there's three things going on here: number one, Looker wants you to remember your missing memories to find out if you're the missing child of the case he's working on. Two, he wants to find out if there's the possibility of you being a Faller and three, the file says that Driffie could've been the one responsible for your accident."

You don't like the direction where this is going to at all. "I don't care; I have you and mom and Raihan and it won't change anything; I'm perfectly happy where I am."

"What are you gonna do, sis?"

"....I dunno."

"It's okay, dear, I think you should go ahead and sign it. There's no harm in wanting to help someone out and finding out more about yourself." Mom replies; she moves to stand, bringing you into a tight hug and pecking you on the cheek. "You'll still be my daughter and we'll still be your family."

...

After dinner, Glenn and mom ask if you're okay again but you lie and tell them you're fine. They reassure you that you're doing the right thing for yourself and whatever happens, they'll still be there for you. Whilst Raihan remains in the lounge to chat with mom and Glenn, you decided to take a bath but when you see the full moon hanging in the night sky, you end up sitting outside in the back porch with the folder; you didn't want to look at it any longer but since you still had some documents to go through for yourself, curiosity killed the Delcatty so you grab it and take out the contents again. Indeed, the folder contains a myriad of documents about Fallers and photos of Ultra Beasts and Ultra Wormholes. But it's then you come across Driffie's file and you hesitate.

Nausea overwhelms you. Driffie....no way. It can't be. You put the folder down, then pull out Driffie's capsule and release him; he emerges in a brief burst of red light in the garden.

"Flooo...." He blinks, letting out a gentle wheeze.

You can't bring yourself to ask. Hell, how are you supposed to ask? Did you spirit me away? Did you take me away from my family? Did you try to kill me? Did you try to hurt me...did you want to hurt me?

Didn't Allister once say to you...

”It wants to say... ‘I’m sorry’.”

Oh shit. Oh fuck. It can't be...

"Hey, um....Driffie?"

He looks at you, tilting his head curiously. "Floo...?"

"Was it....was it you?"

Again, he merely tilts his head to the side.

You sigh loudly. Oh Arceus, how could you think Driffie would do this to you? He is your sweet Drifloon who you've had since....ever. He's never hurt you. "Never mind. Forget it. I'm sorry, Driffie."

"Floo..." He floats over and nestles on top of your head, wrapping his arms around you just as the rest of your capsules suddenly burst open at once and all your Pokemon appear - Espie, Poliwag, Metagross, Salamence, Chompy, Haxorus, Dreepy and Tyranitar. The smaller pokemon jump into your lap whilst Dreepy slinks over your shoulders.

Your stare, blinking blankly as your pokemon begin to idly gather round and sit around you with what little space there is. Tyranitar and Haxorus sit beside you on the porch and Chompy and Metagross move to sit in front of you - Metagross has to tuck his legs in - whilst Salamence curls behind you, propping you up. You glance at each and every one of them before you smile at them warmly. You know the reason why they've appeared - they can sense your sorrow and fear.

"Did you guys hear what happened?"

Metagross turns to you and nods. Chompy growls and so does Haxorus and Salamence. Espie purrs loudly. Exhaling shakily, you watch as she puts her paw over your hand and Poliwag puts his tail over her paw. Your Pokemon look up at you and you smile at them.

"You got my back, right?"

Everyone nods.

You feel the corner of your eyes prickling with tears and you quickly dab at your eyes, hoping they hadn't seen. You've had them since they were babies - or at least since they were very young - and you took them under your wing, fed them, trained them. They're strong all because of you. You need to remind yourself about that more often and also give yourself more credit. As much as you were there for your pokemon, they are here for you, too. With those thoughts in mind, you watch your pokemon settle themselves around you protectively and you reach over, patting them fondly.

"Thanks, everyone." You utter under your breath. "Thank you for being there for me."

Metagross emits a low screech whilst Salamence, Tyranitar, Chompy and Haxorus growl loudly in response. Your smile grows wider as you pat them again. Espie purrs and Dreepy and Poliwag rub their cheeks against yours.

"If anything happens to me....I....oh, I don't know, I never thought about it."

Your pokemon look at you in bewilderment but you don't follow up. They sit with you, staring up at the moon until a while later, you hear the door to the lounge opening and Raihan passes you on the porch; you and your pokemon all turn to him and he freezes.

"Hm?" He exchanges glances between you and your pokemon and grins, "What's up? What are you doing? I thought you were sleeping."

You shake your head as you pat the space beside you, "Wanna join us?"

"Sure." He says, and he manages to squeeze himself beside you and Haxorus. Your pokemon don't mind, and Raihan reaches for you automatically with his arms out and you put down the documents. Espie and Poliwag hop off your lap and jump on top of Metagross' head so you can climb into Raihan's awaiting lap where he wraps his arms around you firmly and you rest your chin on his shoulder, closing your eyes. He envelopes you all over with his warmth, his arms holding you securely. "...You'll be okay, princess." Raihan mutters, pressing his lips against the curve of your cheek.

"Looker has really bad timing." You reply, as he peppers you with kisses. It's true, you feel the entire vacation is ruined because of this. You don't blame him but you kind of wish you hadn't met up. "I don't mind helping out but I don't know what I'll find out."

Raihan tightens his grip on you, stroking your hair affectionately and tucking some loose strands behind your ear with his long fingers. "I'll still be here. And if you are a 'faller', that's kinda cool." He says, and you chuckle under your breath. "Don't worry. I'll protect you. The Great Raihan will protect his princess, always."

You chuckle louder until you gradually dissolve into silence where you are just holding onto him and sitting in his lap.

"Have you decided what to do?"

"...Yeah. I'm gonna sign it."

"You sure?"

You nod. "I'll just...give it a shot. There's no harm, I guess. But I wish I could catch a break though...I'm really tired."

"I know you are, princess."

Leaning against him, you close your eyes and give him an affectionate squeeze.

"...You're the best thing to happen to me." You mutter quietly and he emits a gentle sigh, wrapping his arms even firmly around you.

"I know."

You can't help but smile and as you pull away from him, he grins and leans forwards, your lips pressing briefly before you throw your arms around him again. Raihan hugs you close, rubbing small, soothing circles on your back whilst you rest your cheek against his shoulder until you glance over and pick up a photo, inspecting it. It's a white jellyfish creature and the longer you stare at it, the more it looks familiar to you.

You feel like you've seen it before.

...

Days later.

Life returns to normal, or what is defined as normal in your books.

You leave Johto, return to work and so does Raihan. Your new boss is difficult to get along with; she's far more strict and doesn't seem to get your sarcasm or humour. You don't seem to be able to build up the same rapport you had with your previous boss. Your days are often spent in silence but you reckon work is just work and it cannot be helped. Not everyone likes their jobs - such as your friend, for example. You're left wondering when your next holiday is because your trip to Johto has now come to an end; the days had flown by just like that and it was over way too soon, way too quick.

And when you returned to your cottage in Ballonlea, you realised you've become way more accustomed to Galar than you had thought but after the meeting with Looker, things seem....different now.

You've told Raihan that you've already set up a time and date for the hypnosis session with Looker and although he says he wants to come with you, it will clash with his work so you tell him you can do this on your own.

Emitting a gentle sigh under your breath, you get ready, heading to Hammerlocke police station where you ask for Looker at the counter and a few minutes later, he emerges from a room and into the waiting area to retrieve you.

"Thanks for coming." Looker says, as you hand him the signed form.

"No problem."

"Are you ready?"

"Yep."

And you follow him into a small room with a sign that says 'Interrogation Room 2'....as if that wasn't intimidating enough. He closes the door behind you and it grows quiet as he sits at the desk, scribbling something down on the notepad in front of him. There's a hypnotherapy chair in the corner and a Hypno sits on its haunches on a stool, looking at you with its beady eyes. You stare at it in return, feeling slightly nauseous.

"Have a seat." Looker mutters, gesturing to the chair. "And grab a drink if you want."

You head over to the chair before you glance at the water machine nearby so you help yourself to a drink by reaching over and filling up a plastic cup, downing a few sips. It's silent in the room except from Looker's pen squeaking over the paper, the clock ticking on the wall and Hypno's shallow breathing as it stares at you relentlessly.

Looker finally finishes writing his notes and averts his attention to a case he's kept propped up against the desk, lifting it up. Unclipping it, he pulls out several strange devices which he lays carefully on the desk, then he pulls out a tape recorder from a cupboard underneath the desk which he also neatly sets on the table.

"Put this on." He hands you one of the weird contraptions, which is a bracelet that resembles a Dynamax band.

"What is this?" You ask, as you strap it on, pulling the fabric and tugging it around the width of your wrist and pushing the snap fasten into place.

"It's to read your energy levels during the hypnosis session." Looker mutters, "It works similar to a polygraph."

You didn't quite understand and Looker continues setting up some random machinery around you.

"Are you ready?" He says, when he's finished.

"Yeah." You put down the cup on the table provided beside you and take a deep breath.

Looker nods stiffly and pulls his seat over to you, dragging it on its wheels. "Let's begin. Lie down, please. Come on, Hypno. We're starting now."

As you lie over the chair properly, Looker presses on the tape recorder and he says out loud that he's recording 'Subject Sixteen, Initial Hypnotherapy Session'. Hypno moves in front of you with a shiny white pendant that dangles from his claws. Looker instructs you to tell him your name, age, where you come from and your occupation, which you do.

"When you're under," Looker adds, "Focus on the sound of my voice: I'll be guiding you along the way. I'll ask you to describe what you see and I'll tell you what to do next. I want you to remember that there is nothing there that will hurt you so you do not have to be scared. However, should you feel threatened, you can stop the session and we'll bring you back. Just tell us to stop."

You nod weakly. "Understood."

"Good. Let's begin then."

Glancing at Hypno, Looker nods and it begins swinging the pendant in front of your eyes in a smooth fashion.

“I want you to think about your childhood,” Looker says, “We’ll start from there.”

”S-sure.”

You honestly wonder how this will work.

Hypnosis?

You've seen hypnosis work on a pokemon but not on a human...

You keep your eyes trained on the pendulum.

Nothing so far.

It goes right.

Then goes left.

And back again.

Your eyes follow the motion, back and forth...

Back...

...and forth...

You're still in the room with Looker.

You're still...conscious.

Is this supposed to work?

How does it work?

The pendulum keeps swinging, Hypno keeps its eyes on you. It's mouth moves, whispering.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Opening your eyes, you sit up.

Wait.

When did you even close your eyes?

Where the hell are you?

"What do you see?"

It's Looker's voice.

You glance around.

You're...in a field.

A field full of beautiful flowers of red, blue and yellow...

The Wild Area?

No, it's...it's not. It's not the Wild Area. It's not even... Galar. Your gut just tells you it's not Galar.

"What do you hear?"

You hear giggling. Laughter. Voices.

They sound happy.

"Where's it coming from?"

You spot a small group up ahead and you wade through the field of flowers towards the source. A short distance away, you can see the woods. They're dark and foreboding.

"Who is it?"

Heading over, you see a couple sitting together on a red and white checkered picnic blanket surrounded by an abundance of food and a hamper whilst a little girl stares at a Butterfree fluttering around her. You realise you cannot see their faces; a messy, gaping black scribble erases any distinguishable feature.

Confused, you begin to step backwards.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't...I can't see their faces." You reply, swallowing down.

"Can you go closer?"

"I think so."

The couple are too busy getting the food ready to notice that the child gets up, having spotted something in the woods.

"Ba-woon." She says.

"What?"

"Ba-woon." The little girl says again.

Their voices are an echo.

Suddenly, a small swarm of Beedrill comes, attracted by the food - noticeably, the sticky jam sandwiches. The couple stand up to fend them off. They don't notice the child leaving the picnic mat, wandering further and further towards the woods.

There's something there.

"Ba-woon." The little girl says, giggling.

She stops in front of a small and cute, purple pokemon. Having lured her to the woods, it begins to float further inside.

"Ba-woon, come back! Where are you going?"

It reaches for her and takes her hand and in a split second, just like that, they both disappear into nothingness.

Gone.

[december-rains]

Sweeter Than Sugar

Patton asks Virgil to make taffy with him.

Pairing(s): Platonic Moxiety

Warnings: Food/baking, the lingering aftershocks of a panic attack I guess, not really much. Terrible cooking, misuse of food and cooking supplies XD

Genre: Family fluff

Word Count: 960

AO3 LINK

Virgil was not having a good day.

He slumped against his bedframe, rubbing his eyes. Panic still fluttered just under his skin, spiders spreading from where the others had touched him in an attempt to help. It had only made things worse though.

Everything was loud, too loud, too bright- he wanted to sing, he wanted to scream, he wanted to pull at his hair and his skin just to let it all out but he knew he couldn't.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned the music up.

As a result, he almost missed the hesitant knock at his door. "Virgil?" called a voice from outside, soft, kind. Patton. "You okay in there, kiddo?"

"I'm fine!" he called back, not moving.

There was nothing for a moment. Then, "Could you come out for a sec? I want to ask you something. But if now isn't a good time, that's okay!"

Virgil hesitated for a moment, dread coiling in his gut. But he stood and made his way to the door, tugging at his sleeves nervously. "Yeah?" he asked, once they were face to face.

Patton seemed nervous, but he smiled upon seeing the other Side. "I was just wondering if you'd like to make taffy with me!"

"...what?"

"You know, the soft chewy candy of-"

"No, I know what taffy is, why are you asking me to help you make it?"

"Oh! Well, normally Logan helps, since it's rather precise, but I figured I'd ask you, cuz I can't do it alone."

Something about that statement made Virgil flinch. "So I'm just a replacement for Logan, then?"

Patton realized his mistake. "No! I just wanted to do something with you, and I figured you'd be good at this!"

The look of hurt on Virgil's face changed to confusion. "Me? Good at... making something?"

"Yeah! I'm not really good at it, it's got a lot of precise things and recipes, and I get burned a lot." Patton raised his hands apologetically. "I just thought you'd be fun to make it with."

"...Oh."

"If you don't want to, that's fine!" Patton hurried to add.

"No, I... I want to. If that's okay."

"Really?? Yay!" Patton brightened at the agreement. Literally. His blue aura flared with happiness as he grabbed Virgil by the hand and dragged him to the kitchen.

"Okay, so when that hits 159 you turn the stove off, okay?"

Virgil nodded, looking apprehensively at the candy thermometer and the boiling sugar. He was starting to regret acquiescing, until Patton smiled at him. "I'll get set up, okay kiddo? So you can pick a flavour and some food colouring! Oh, and we'll probably want some music- this will take a while. You can choose!"

Virgil was mildly surprised. "O-okay..."

The music he chose was a lot tamer than his usual favourites, but it was still incredibly sad and rather broken. He was less surprised than he should have been when Patton started humming along, flitting around with a soft smile on his lips.

Virgil turned to his next task. Choose a flavour.

Patton had already gotten them all out for him- there was watermelon, mint, key lime, even bubblegum. He wasn't quite sure what the last one would taste like. Nor did he particularly want to.

Black food colouring and chocolate-mint flavours, he decided. When Virgil announced his picks, Patton's grin only widened. "Great choices, kiddo!" he reassured the other.

When the thermometer flicked up to 159 degrees, Virgil quickly moved to flip the burner off. Patton guided him through adding the flavour and colour as the bubbles receeded, then mixed it and poured it all onto a well-oiled tray. "Okay, we just need to move it around with these scrapers until it's cool enough to use our hands, okay kiddo?"

Virgil hesitated, remembering what Patton had said earlier about burns. "Give me a second," he said, and rushed to grab a bag and fill it with ice. "There. For when it's too hot, since you said you can't get your hands wet at all."

"Oh! Thanks kiddo, I didn't even think of that! That's a great idea." Virgil smiled at the praise, ducking his head to hide it.

Manipulating the taffy in his hands was incredibly soothing. It was soft and smooth and oily, but just tough enough to be a tiny bit of a strain to pull. The two had to work together in some places, in order to get it right. Air bubbles made the candy slightly whiter as they worked it. Once, Patton dropped a small piece on the floor.

The Moral side reached down to pick it up. "Oops! Well, you drop it you eat it!" he said, and moved to eat it. "Don't, you could get sick!" Reminded Virgil. He may not be very good at his job, but he did do his best to keep everyone safe. Including from themselves.

"Aww, fine!" Patton tossed the candy fragment away, his tone whiny, but he was smiling.

"...Well, that doesn't look right."

"Hmm, you're right. It's way too runny. But I don't think it's gonna get any better..."

Virgil didn't know what to do. He'd screwed it up, hadn't he? He'd ruined everything, again!

Patton pulled a piece off and ate it. "Still tastes great though!" His voice was slightly muffled from the sticky candy. He turned to Virgil, whole body faintly glowing soft blue. "Thanks for helping me kiddo, taffy's really hard but you did great!"

"I did?"

"Yeah! C'mon, try some!"

Virgil did. It was sweet, and held his teeth together in a way he probably would have hated had it not tasted so good. Virgil's eyes met Patton's, and they both smiled.

Maybe today hadn't been so bad after all.