#then this critique just holds no water to me

[ilynpilled]

it frankly pisses me off that what is essentially “rapists and abusers should be depicted as monstrous caricatures because humanizing them is inappropriate” is considered a very moral and enlightened position to have on art by so many people. a rapist can feel pain, have moments of vulnerability, be amiable and charming, express remorse and compassion at times, be a victim themselves, and so on in real life. they are even capable of doing good things. they can have different sides to them and have individuals in their lives that they are kind to or have a decent relationship with. they will be a human being, and that fact encompasses a lot. conflating that with the claim that they are entitled to and deserve forgiveness or absolution is an issue. nurturing a mindset that believes they need to be one note and uncomplicated to be a correct and tasteful depiction of a rapist inadvertently falls in line with the logic of “how could they have possibly raped you? they are so normal and kind to me. they did all these good things here and there.” ok that doesn’t change that they are a rapist.

[inkskinned]

most writing advice is good as long as you know why it is good, at which point it is also bad. the hardest thing (and most precious thing) about being an artist is that you gotta learn how to take critique. i don't mean "just shut up and accept that people hate your work," i mean you need to learn what the critique is saying and then figure out if it actually helps.

i usually tell people reading my work: "i'm collecting data, so everything is useful." i ask them where they put the book down, even though it's too long for most people to read in 1 sitting. i ask them what they thought of certain characters. i let them tell me it was really good but i like it more when they look a little stunned and say i forgot i was reading your book, which means they forgot i exist, which is very good news.

sometimes people i didn't ask will read my work and tell me i don't like it. and that is okay, you don't have to like it. but i look at the thing that they don't like and try to figure out if i care. i don't like that you don't capitalize. this one is common, and i have already thought about it. i do not care, it's because of chronic pain and frankly i like the little shape of small letters. you use teeth and ribs in all your work. actually that is very true. i don't know what's up with that. next time i will work to figure out a different word, thank you. you're whiny, go outside. someone said that to me recently and it made me laugh. i am on the whine-about-it website as an internet poet. you are in my native habitat, watching me perform a natural enrichment behavior. but i like the dip of whiny, how the word itself does "whine" (up/down, the sound out your nose on the y), but i don't know if i want to feel whiny. maybe next time i will work on it being melancholy, like what you would call a male writer's poetry.

repeated "good" advice clangs in a bell and doesn't hold a real shape, dilutes in the water. like sometimes you will hear "don't use said." you turn that around in your head and it bounces off the edges of your brain like it is a dvd screensaver. it isn't bad advice, but it feels wrong somehow, like saying easy choices are illegal! sometimes i will only use "said." sometimes i will just kick dialogue tags out to the trash. sometimes i make little love poems where the fact that i do not say "said" is very bad, and makes you feel bad in your body, because someone didn't say something. i am a contrary little shitbird, i guess.

but it is also good advice, actually. it is trying to say that "said" sometimes is clutter. it makes new writers think about the very-small words and very-small choices, because actually your work matters and wordchoice matters. "i know," you said. "i know," you sighed. "i know." we both know but neither of us use a dialogue tag, because we are in a contemporary lit piece.

it is too-small to say don't use said. but it is a big command, so it gets your attention. what are you relying on? what easy choices do you make? when you edit, do you choose the same thing? can you make a different choice? sometimes we need the blankness of said, how it slides into the background. sometimes we don't.

i usually say best advice is to read, but i also mean read books you don't like, because that will make you angry enough to write your own book. i also mean read good books, which will break your heart and remind you that you are a very small person and your voice is a seashell. i also mean you need to eat books because reading a book is a writer's version of studying.

my creative writing teacher in the 7th grade had a big red list of no! words and on it was SUNSET. RAZORS. LOVE. GALAXY. DEATH. BLOOD. PAIN. I liked that razor and love were tucked next to each other like birds, and found it funny that he believed we were too young to know the weight of razor in the context of pain. i hated him and his Grateful Dead belt, where the colored teddy bears held up his appraisal of us. i hated his no list. it is very good/bad advice. i wasn't old enough yet to know that when you are writing about death you are also writing about sunsets and when you write about love you are tucking yourself into a napkin that never stops folding.

back then my poetry was all bloody, dripped with agony when you picked it up. i didn't know there is nothing beautiful about a razor, nothing exciting about pain. i just understood sharpness, which he took to mean i understood nothing. i wrote the razor down and it wasn't easy, but it was necessary. that's what i'm saying - sometimes it's good advice, because it's not always necessary. and sometimes it is very bad advice, because writing about it is lifesaving.

hang on my dog was just having a nightmare. i heard that it is a rule not to write about dogs - in my creative writing mfa, my teacher rolled her eyes and said everyone writes a dead dog. the literature streets are littered in canine bodies. i watched the rise and fall of his ribs (there is that word again) and had to reach out and stop the bad dream. when he woke up he didn't recognize me, and he was afraid.

it is good/bad advice to say that poems and writing have to mean something. it is bad/good advice to say they're big feelings in small packages. it is better advice to say that when my dog saw where he was, he relaxed immediately, rubbed his face against me. someone on instagram would make fun of that moment by writing their "internet poetry" as a sentence that tumbles across a white page: outside it is sunset and my dog is still in a gutter, bleeding a galaxy out of his left paw. or maybe it would be: i woke the dog up/the dog forgot i loved him/and i saw the shape of a senseless/and impossible pain.

the dog is alive in this one, and he is happy. when i tell you i love you, i know what i said. write what you need to write, be gentle to yourself about it. the advice is only as good as far as it helps. the rest is just fencing. take stock of the boundaries, and then break them. there's always somewhere else you could be growing.

i love you, keep going.

[saltoru]

cw: talks of body image

whenever you critique and complain of your body, gojo always quips back with a lighthearted “then just give it to me”

the first time you had this conversation, you were both standing in your kitchen after breakfast. you were wiping down the countertops when you opened up to him about thoughts regarding your body image, adding in a few lighthearted jokes and comments along the way.

he took a swig of his sweetened coffee and eyed you up and down from the corner of his eye. "then just give it to me," he exhales, setting the cup down and giving you a small shrug. you stopped wiping and looked at him confused.

"if you're not going to appreciate all this," he dramatically waves his hands in front of you, "then give it to someone who will. i certainly will, so just hand it over anytime."

amused, yet still confused, you frown and say, "how is that even supposed to work-"

he cuts you off and says, "your body will still be with you, but starting now, i'll be in charge of taking care of it." he looks behind him and adds, "you know what, my body's feeling kinda thirsty."

you watch him fill up a glass of water, mouth slightly ajar from puzzlement.

he brings the glass up to your lips and lightly taps your chin. "here, drink up."

you glare at him with furrowed brows as you somewhat reluctantly take a sip of water. "wait, so-" you begin.

"from now on, i'll be in charge of caring for your body," satoru firmly says, bringing his hands to your shoulders to make you look at him. "so you can't make those mean comments anymore. it's not right to talk about other people's bodies, right? this one ain't yours anymore until you start appreciating it."

and with that, he places his hand on your back and ushers you to the bathroom because "my body's feeling a little dirty, needs a bath."

for the next couple days, you decide to entertain his little gimmick to see how far he takes it. within these days, he diligently scrubbed you clean, fed you good, frequently made you drink water, take you on walks, and decide your outfits. you heard a lot of "how's my body doing, feeling kinda sore?" and then he'd spend the next 15 minutes massaging an area you never said was sore. "my body's craving ice cream," he'd say, and get up to get you your favorite ice cream.

"why is your body's favorite ice cream also my favorite ice cream?" you ask him as he hands you the carton and a spoon.

"coincidence," he shrugs.

"i'm feeling blue today," he'd say as he would hold up your light blue pants next to you. "hmm maybe dark blue...no, definitely light blue, even though both looks so good"

one afternoon, he suddenly said, "my body would look so good in this," and brought out his favorite baby blue lingerie set that he got you on one of his business trips. (it wasn't on sale and there was no special occasion, he just felt like getting one for you) satoru quickly ushered you to room to put it on.

"why would you randomly put your body in lingerie at 2:35 in the afternoon," you ask, trying to sound annoyed but really, you can't help your heart from fluttering at his dedication to this

"because i look good and i can," he widely grins as he looks you up and down. "c'mere, i'm suddenly feeling cold and need to be warmed up." he pats his lap and opens his arms. you bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling too hard.

since the beginning of your relationship, he had always been touchy, but this level was touchiness from these couple of days is unprecedented. his hands always had a place on your body. it used to just be one hand on your thigh or just his chin resting of your shoulder, but lately, it's been both hands on your thighs and his chin resting of your shoulder while his hands ran up your shirt. "gotta show my body extra love," he'd say when you question him. "since the previous owner wasn't so good at doing so"

the first time this happened, it lasted around a week. you found his whole gimmick amusing until after a while, you wanted to choose your own outfits, when you wanted to exercise ("not if," he insisted before giving your body back to you. "when" ), and what to eat, and after a quick promise to appreciate your body, he gave you a quick kiss and "handed it back."

this gimmick hasn't happened in a while, but every once in a while when he hears you complain, he just shakes his head and motions for you to hand it to him.

[theereina]

Bad News Pt. 1

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC "Bella"

Wordcount: +3K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, no smut, heavily dialogue-centered, mental health mentioned (anxiety), vomit, *emotional distress*, angst, heartbreak, chronic illnesses mentioned

A/N¹: Remember, I just got back into writing. I'm open to critiques, but I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

Since coming home, I had been sitting on the bedroom floor for what seemed like hours. I had done nothing since I had returned home. I had disassociated as soon as I hit the door. Today was only adding to the mess that my life had become. I received the dreaded phone call from my doctor's office early this morning. He said I would need to return immediately for surgery, a surgery that would possibly change my life forever.

My mind was all over the place, and all I wanted was Terry. My Terry. He would know how to help me get through this. I just had to explain everything to him and lay it all on the table. He deserved upfront honesty since this news would affect him, too. It would affect the life we wanted and planned to have.

I had come to the South to spend time with him because I needed to rest. Too much has happened over the last month. I had lost my job because my health was deteriorating rapidly. I was still fighting in court with my mother over the money my aunt left me. After the last storm, my apartment had a severe water leak, so I had to move in with my godmother and godsister on the West Coast. Luckily, we stayed in the same city.

When the doctor called today, I had tried my best to prepare for the news I already knew. The doctor said he found something during the original exam, leading to a biopsy, ultrasound, and MRI. The results from those were even worse.

As I was anxiously waiting, my heart was beating out of my chest again, and I could feel the growing lump in my throat. My body was getting hot, and I wasn't even remembering to breathe. I loathed this feeling. The feeling of anxiety overtaking my body without my permission. Not again. Not now. Not at the one moment where I needed to talk without panicking and rushing through my words. Of course, anxiety had to make an appearance.

I lay on my back in the middle of our bedroom floor and crossed my arms around my body as if I were hugging myself. “Breathe, Bella. Breathe,” I said inhaling and exhaling sharply. Every inhale felt like there were razor blades in my lungs. Oh, no.

I leaned on my elbows and quickly scanned the room for my purse. I needed my phone so that I could at least text Terry. I couldn't breathe right now so talking wasn't an option. The tears in my eyes were begging to be released. I held them in as best as I could. “Don't cry, Bella. Don't. Please, don't,” I said to myself holding my head back forcing the tears to retreat slightly.

My purse was behind me thrown against the master bathroom door. I turned over and crawled towards my handbag. I grabbed the strap of my crossbody and pulled it towards me. Sitting on my knees with the purse in my hands, I flipped it upside down and dumped out all of its contents. My wallet, lip gloss, compact mirror, lip liner, coins, crumpled cash, receipts from today, and phone all thudded onto the floor ahead of me.

I grabbed my phone but instantly dropped it as a sharp pain shot through my chest like lightning. The pain lasted mere seconds but was enough to break me. The tears that I was holding in were now streaming down my face. I was bawling my eyes out through ragged breaths. Fuck. I grabbed the phone from the floor and searched for Terry's number through blurred vision. I used the back of my hand to wipe my eyes. My eyes took painfully long to come back into focus enough for me to make out the letter T at the beginning of a contact. Luckily, I recently messaged him, so I clicked on the thread. I could see the heart I sent Terry earlier as the last message. I quickly tried to calm my breathing a little more and sent Terry a text. It only told him to come home ASAP.

My eyes were beginning to sting, and my sight was blurring again. I waited for at least a few minutes before looking down at the phone again. No response. I was panicking, so I sent a copy of the same text multiple times hoping to alert him to my current state of distress.

“Please, Terry. Save me. I need you,” I thought to myself. I looked up at the ceiling. I needed him to at least call me. Just a call. He would hear my voice and know. That's all I need right now. I waited and still nothing. I decided to call Terry myself. Two rings, then I was sent to voicemail. No way. He didn't just decline and ignore my call. He never does that.

I clutch my hand to my chest and breathe out through my mouth. I call him once again. Same result — voicemail. I sent another text. This one told him I was having an anxiety attack. I put the phone beside me. I repositioned myself in a hunched-over position with my forehead touching the carpet. I was praying that Terry would call.

*3 hours later

I had managed to get on the bed. I didn't even remember moving or falling asleep. I was just so out of touch with reality currently, disassociated and detached. I awoke to my entire body aching. I leaned up on the bed and slid to the bottom edge. My head was pounding, and the feeling was making me nauseous. The room seemed to be spinning. Trying to calm myself again, I sat there for a moment.

I knew I looked like shit. My phone was still on the floor. “Shit!” I yelled. I went into an instant panic. What if Terry called, and I missed it? What if he texted while I was in such a deep sleep? I slid down the edge of the bed letting my butt thud to the floor. I reached for the phone bringing it to my chest. I hoped that I hadn't missed him.

I unlocked my phone to see no missed calls and no new messages. What the fuck? That couldn't be right. I checked that I had service and hadn't accidentally turned on DND or airplane mode. Nope, I hadn't done either. This wasn't right. Terry would have at least texted me back.

I rushed to get up from the floor with the phone still in my hand. I headed out into the hall to see if Terry was inside. “Baby? Terry? Are you here?” I yelled walking into the living room. It was empty and so was the kitchen. I walked towards the large bay window in the living room and peered out. His truck wasn't there either. Where was he?

I tried to call Terry again. Now, it was going straight to voicemail. I left a brief message asking for him to come home and let him know about the panic attack. I hung up, and I sent a message again.

Now, I was starting to worry. This wasn't like him. Was he hurt? Was he in jail? Admittedly, Terry does sometimes have a bit of a temper.

Immediately, I tried calling his father. It rang and rang. He picked up and answered in his usual manner. “Jed speaking,” he said. “Hi, have you seen Terry? I've been trying to reach him for hours,” I said rushing out every word. “Whoa, slow down. I haven't talked to him since this morning, baby girl. Let me ask Linda. Linda! Linda!” he yelled away from the phone. I could hear her answer from the other room. “Ya’ talked to Terry since mornin’?!” he yelled back. I could overhear her respond “No”. “I'm sorry, baby. Neither of us have heard from him. I do know that he went downtown to see if he could get some more help for Mike,” he said. “Mike?” I asked confused. “Yeah,” he started, “Them folks decided to keep him, and Terry is supposed to be going to get him out.”

“I knew about Mike gettin’ locked up, but that's ‘bout it. Terry hasn't said much,” I said putting the pieces together. “Well, that's ‘bout all I know. If we hear from him we'll tell him to call you. M’kay?” he said. “Yes, sir,” I said before ending the call.

I was too afraid to leave the house because I wanted to be there if Terry returned. I sat down on the couch and waited in silence. I was checking my phone every minute for any new calls or messages. Nothing.

I had been waiting for at least an hour in complete silence on the couch when my phone rang. I saw Terry's name on the screen and immediately answered it. “Baby—!” I started to speak. “Bella, can you chill?” Terry barked through the other end. I paused for a second. “Terry, I was worr—,” I tried to speak again. “The hell did you call my parents for? I'm trying to figure out all this shit with Mike. Give me a fucking break. Will you?” he yelled. “I understand that now, but Terry—,” I said before hearing him hang up.

I couldn't believe it. He had yelled at me and hung up on me. What the hell? I wasn't aware of the severity or urgency of Mike's situation. It wasn't like Terry was telling me anything. This was one of the biggest issues in our relationship. Communication between us wasn't always the best or healthiest. In stressful moments, I found it hard to express myself in any capacity, and Terry barely talked at all. I just really needed to talk to him about the call I received from the doctor.

Then again, maybe I was being too overbearing. He needed to focus on Mike, right? You know what? I just needed to relax. Breathe and fucking relax. Terry just needed space. He would come home, we would talk, and everything would be fine. There was no need to make this situation worse than it was.

I waited for another hour. I was lying on the couch and cuddled under my blanket. I had started dozing off when I heard the door open. I jumped up to see Terry walking through the door. His face was filled with anger, and his nostrils were flared. He was pissed.

I sat back down. The worst thing to do was bother Terry when he was this angry. He rushed through the house and stormed to the bedroom. He didn't even acknowledge my presence or notice me sitting there. As much as I wanted to console him, I knew better. If I bothered him right now, he would retreat and leave. That was the worst possible outcome for me.

I went into the kitchen to at least try to find something to cook. I searched the fridge and found thawed steaks. I placed them on the counter beside the stove along with a bell pepper and onion. I searched the cabinets for an appropriate side and settled for boxed mac-and-cheese. I wanted to cook something soon, so we would have a reason to sit and talk.

*1 hour later

The food was done, but Terry was nowhere to be found. I sulked towards the bedroom. I knew this was going to go one of two ways. Either Terry was calmed down, or he was still a raging bull. I stood at the bedroom door. I reluctantly opened it and peered inside. “Terry,” I called out from the doorway. My voice was barely more than a whisper. “Terry,” I said a little louder. “What?!” he barked from the closet.

I jumped at the sound of his voice. He was still pissed. I lightly closed the door trying my hardest not to aggravate him any further. “Food’s ready. I made steak and—,” I said before he rushed out from the closet. “I'm not eating. I got shit to do, Bell!” he yelled walking towards his side of the bed. He leaned over and picked up his backpack and duffel bag from the floor. Panic took over my face.

“Terry, are you leaving to go somewhere?” I asked moving closer to him. “The hell does it look like? I'm leaving tonight,” he said placing clothes into the duffel. “Wait! I need to talk to you,” I said reaching for his arm. “Not now. I got to be there by Thursday afternoon to get Mike,” he said snatching his arm away from me. “Can you leave tomorrow afternoon? Anytime aft—,” I whimpered. Terry's eyes shot upward at me. “Don't fucking start. I already told you Mike was in some shit!” he snapped coming towards me. “But you never said—,” I said backing away.

This wasn't Terry. This wasn't my Terry. This wasn't the Terry who had never yelled at me, who never cursed at me, who even in my fits of anger calmed me down. Who was this?

“I get that you're upset, but I got a call from the doctor's office today. Remember, the tests they ran?” I asked trying my hardest not to cry. Tears were forming, but I refused to let them fall. I needed to stay strong. “Just stop for a second,” I said walking up to Terry and placing my hand on his chest. “What now, huh? What is it that can't possibly wait?” he asked. His face had turned into a scowl and his eyes had narrowed in annoyance. If I didn't think this man still loved me, I would label this a look of pure disgust and hate.

I was trying my hardest to just say it, but I knew it was too delicate of a matter. Terry was too far gone. This wasn't something you blurt out in a fit of rage or frustration. A panicked and rushed speech wouldn't suffice here. This was something so delicate that even the smallest detail needed to be discussed carefully. So, I decided to hold my tongue.

“Nevermind. I'm sorry. I'll talk to you la—” I said removing my hand from his chest. I could feel his heart racing. Maybe, at this moment, he needed me more than I needed him. “So, what's your plan? Are you just going to bail him out and bring him back with you?” I asked earnestly trying to find some sense of familiarity in his eyes, but I couldn't. With that, I buried every emotion I was carrying so that I could give Terry my full attention. “No, I plan on staying for a while. I got other shit to sort out besides just the shit with Mike,” he said turning away from me. “Wait, what? When will you be back?” I asked. “I don't fucking know!” he snapped again. “Terry, I'm only asking,” I said lowering my head. This conversation was quickly going downhill. “How am I supposed to tell you what I don't know, Bell? It may be a few weeks. Hell, it may be a month,” he said continuing to pack his duffel.

“Terry, I need you before then. I need you here tomorrow. The doctor's going to be calling me back. And I—,” I said twiddling my fingers. I hadn't even noticed that I was pacing on my side of the room. I stopped to look at Terry and tried to just say it. “There's something wrong, and he wants me back by—,” I said sniffling. Terry ceased his movements and looked up at me. The look on his face shook me to my core. Hate was inscribed as the only visible emotion. His eyes had darkened, his nostrils were flared, and his jaw was clenched tight enough to accentuate the veins from his temples.

“There's always something wrong with you. All the fuckin' time! It's always about you!” he yelled. His voice thundered through the room. Every word pierced my heart like a bullet. I stood frozen in shock. The man who promised to never hold my health against me had done exactly that.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through my body. There was now a sour taste in my mouth as my saliva grew thick. My hands were now shaking, and my legs felt like they would give out at any moment. I rushed to the bathroom and slammed the door behind me. I instantly felt the vomit rising from my belly. I hovered over the toilet. I spewed up nothing but bile due to having an empty stomach. The acid scorched my throat and flooded out of my nostrils. Every breath I took burned my nose and throat. This felt minuscule compared to the words Terry just said to me.

I dropped to my knees and kneeled before the toilet. The vomit wouldn't stop coming. I held myself up by placing my hands on the edge of the toilet. I was bawling silently. My chest was heaving up and down rapidly. The tears began to pour freely and landed on the toilet seat. I snatched a wad of tissue paper from the roll and wiped my face.

I tossed the tissue into the toilet and closed the lid. I flushed it and slumped back onto the side of the tub. The cold porcelain was hard and uncomfortable against my bare skin. My adrenaline was all over the place, so I pulled my knees up to my chest and dropped my head. Hanging low and uneasy, my head felt heavy against my legs.

Calm down, Bella. Calm down.

I was lost. I was hurt. I was angry. I was overwhelmed. I was exhausted. Worst of all, I felt alone. He was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Now, I felt like my life was ending here. He had crushed me without even knowing it. His face and actions showed no sliver of empathy or remorse. How would we ever come back from this? Better yet, could we?

Taglist: @avoidthings @brattyfics @slutsareteacherstoo @pocketsizedpanther @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @blowmymbackout @5headsupremacist @creartivefairy @insidefeelingofanadult @revealingco @keyaho @jimmybutlrr @gg-trini @nayaxwrites @miyuhpapayuh

A/N²: You will learn what the illness is in part 2. Stay tuned!

[erwinsvow]

“I want them to like you,” you say, tugging on Rafe’s arm to drag him away from his truck and towards the beach. “I want them to love you.” He’s standing still, feet planted firmly on the pavement. 

You’ve wanted Rafe to meet your friends for the longest time, so much so that it’s the only thing you’ve been thinking about recently. It’s not exactly accurate—he has met them before, many times, actually, but they’ve never been good encounters. You recall a bruise on Pope’s back and JJ’s busted lip, back before they knew Rafe was your boyfriend and he was just public enemy number one.

But things are better now—really, they are. You try to convince yourself all of those incidents are in the past, that everyone’s over it now. You want your friends to like your boyfriend. You want your boyfriend to like your friends. You want it so bad you’re willing to drag Rafe to the beach yourself, if that’s what it takes.

“They can’t stand me,” Rafe replies, scanning the surroundings. He doesn’t like them, but he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings either, if they overhear the two of you right now. “Can’t stand them, either, y’know.”

“But you like me, don’t you?” you ask, smiling wide, all cheery and bright. Like he has to tell you again. He rolls his eyes, making you laugh.

“Not at all. What gave y’that stupid idea?” You roll your own pretty eyes in a matching response.

“C’mon, Rafe, look, they’re already here-” you whine, pointing at the giant, junky thing your Pogue friends call a car. He doesn’t let you anywhere near the thing anymore if he can help it—drops you off and picks you up because that thing is a death trap, even more so with one of the stoned idiots driving it. “I don’t wanna be late, so move-” you start pushing at his chest, but he doesn’t give you an inch. 

You huff, hot sun beating down on you, muscles tired from trying to move your entirely too strong boyfriend. 

“Fine,” you finally let out, giving up. “I’ll just go by myself.”

“Good girl. I’ll swing by to get you in a couple hours and then we can go for dinner-”

“Sounds good,” you interrupt, causing Rafe to look at you with an eyebrow raised—you never interrupt him. “I’ll just have Pope put the sunscreen on my back for me. Since you won’t be there.”

“Wait a minute-”

“And JJ’s been dying to teach me how to surf. Y’know, last time I tried though, my top fell off. But I guess it’s no big deal. I bet John B can put it back on for me.”

Rafe thinks he’s mastered the look of not caring sometimes, face blank, eyes showing nothing but mild disturbance. This is not one of those times. You smile, because you can’t help it, watching your boyfriend’s ears turn bright pink, the muscles in his jaw clench, his fist tighten around your pink beach bag.

You put your hand over his, gently, trying to take the bag so you can walk away with it. You’re not sure if your plan worked until he snatches the bag back, hand holding your wrist tightly. 

“Come on, kid,” he mutters, heading in the direction of the beach. “Pain in my ass,” you hear him say quietly, but you feel giddy that he agreed to join you after all. 

Your friends are set up by the water, towels haphazardly thrown on the sand, a case of beer resting in the shade under the umbrella. JJ is waxing his board, Pope is standing next to him, critiquing his method. John has just crushed a beer can down, and chucks it at Kie, who ducks and starts yelling about how inhumane littering is. 

“Hey!” you hear Pope beam, a smile lighting up your face. “Look who’s here-” and Kie joins in with an excited yell, tossing the empty can back at John B and hitting the back of his head. 

“Thought you’d never come back to us now that you’re a fancy Kook girl. Where’s that-” JJ goes silent, watching Rafe walking behind you, staring blankly, looking pissed. “-asshole boyfriend. Nevermind, I found him.”

“I brought Rafe,” you say, a big smile taking over again. You look expectantly at everyone, and then stare until they give you the reaction you want. They mumble hi and hey, Kook, and you turn back to Rafe, taking your bag and figuring out where to put your towels—pink, like the bag, like your bikini. Rafe’s shorts are white, with little pink stripes to match you. 

You both sit down on the sand before you finally offer him the bottle of sunscreen and lay flat on your stomach so he can put it on. He squirts some onto his hands, rubbing them together to spread it out and then first slaps your ass, leaving a sandy, white handprint on the skin. Your body jerks, whining against the towel.

“Had to. Practically asking for it. M’not apologizing,” he says, quiet enough that only the two of you can hear. His hands rub the sunscreen onto your back and arms, but then you decide everything he does is too erotic for public, so you turn back, insisting that’s enough sun protection. You just got here and you don’t want to leave because you can’t resist your boyfriend just yet.

You turn your head, noticing Kie walking towards you with a can of hard seltzer, the fruity kind she knows you prefer. The boys are by the other umbrella, tossing beers at each other. You tug on Rafe’s arm again.

“Why don’t you go get a beer with them. You can talk. It’ll be nice!” 

There’s nothing he’d rather do less. 

“Came here to hang with you, not them,” he says curtly, head resting back on the towel.

“Rafe!” The things he does for you. “Please?” He shouldn’t have looked at you—that was his mistake. Five seconds of your pout and your sincere eyes is enough to make him do whatever you want.

“Five minutes, then I’m coming back. That’s it.”

“Thank you,” you sing sweetly. Kiara comes and settles down next to you. “Is it strawberry? My favorite!” he hears you say, followed by the hiss of you opening the can, as he gets up and stalks towards your friends.

Their conversation dies when Rafe steps up—something he doesn’t like. He could care less about these idiots, but he really doesn’t want you to get caught in the middle of this shit. He can see it already—your pretty face covered in tears, crying because you care too much about him, care too much about your friends.

Rafe knows you’d pick him over them, he just doesn’t want to force you to make that choice.

“What’re you drinking?” he questions. Three pairs of eyes stare at him blankly. A retort bubbles inside him angrily—Stupid and deaf? You losers can’t catch a break, huh? He turns to look at you, hoping you’re in conversation with Kie and sipping your sugary drink. You’re not. You’re staring at the four of them with a hopeful smile.

He swallows the comment and turns with a forced, hard smile. “Beer? That’s great. Toss me one.” Pope does as he says, and then goes back to drinking his own. 

“S’like weird, to see you smile. Didn’t know you could do that,” JJ comments, crushing his own beer can up now that it was empty. Rafe wishes you were here, listening, because-

“What the hell am I supposed to say to that?” John B lets out a laugh at that, Pope joins in. Rafe cracks another smile, they’re pretty goofy, just like you had said. “Nah, I’m just saying, like, didn’t think you could be nice. Must be, if she likes you.”

Rafe turns to look back at you again, quickly. You’re talking to Kie now, head thrown back, laughing. You look prettiest like this, when you’re happy. 

“Yeah, for her.” Then he takes another long chug of the beer, looking back at them. “You idiots don’t make it easy.”

“It’s not easy for us, either,” Pope interjects. “I mean, you did hit me with a golf club.” Rafe runs a hand through his hair, unsure what to say, because he did do that. 

“Yeah, I, uh-” he trails off. “Sorry, sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” JJ says.

“All in the past,” John B tacks on. 

It must be several beers later, because you hear the boys laughing and… getting along? You decide to walk over, just to make sure your eyes and ears aren’t deceiving you. The box they had just bought earlier today was filled with the empties, the unmistakable sound of your boyfriend’s laugh filling your ears, your friends all engaged in conversations. You decide to turn back rather than interrupt, giddiness filling your heart that everything worked out. You don’t catch the end of their conversation, already back to your towel and opening another drink with Kie.

“And then I went there,” JJ starts, “-and I was like should I leave, because then her parents might wake up, because I forgot the condom-”

JJ stops to take another sip of the beer, and Rafe cuts him off.

“Wait, you guys use condoms?” 

Three pairs of eyes turn on him.

When you two walk back to his truck a little later, he swings his arm around you and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“What was that for?” you ask, happy and tired.

“Yeah, I don’t think they like me much.”

[shadowdaddies]

Love your writing! Could I request a fic where Cassian and reader are mates and Cassian notices Azriel acting a little strange and flat out asks him if he’s attracted to his mate and instead of getting all possessive when he says he is, he’s slightly interested and he tells reader and she’s like 👀 anyway, it leads to smut.

thank you!💜 um wow this got really filthy but can you blame me. I need holy water

This is a follow-up to Listening In, which can be read here: Part 1 | Part 2

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Cassian x Azriel x Reader smut

Warnings: smut filthy smut below the cut, mmf threesome, DP, oral f!receiving, p in v sex, anal sex, light bondage, shadow play, gagging-ish?, overstimulation, minors dni or istg, not proofread

Your practice sword clashed with Emerie’s, and you dug your heels into the ground as you struggled to maintain your focus. She smirked, knowing exactly why you were distracted during training. You could sense the two Illyrian males watching you - your mate and the shadowsinger monitoring your every move - presumably to provide critique later. Still, having their eyes on you sent a thrill down your spine, distracting you long enough for Emerie to sweep your leg, landing you flat on your back with her wooden sword at your throat. 

With a smirk, you held your hands in a gesture of surrender. “I yield.” Emerie smiled down at you, grabbing your hand to help you stand up - holding you close as she whispered in your ear, “those males are not watching you as your trainers right now. You might need to help out with the release they clearly need.” She snickered at your shocked expression. “You mean Cassian. My mate is watching me-“ She cut you off before you could continue, waving a dismissive hand as she turned to go get water, looking over her shoulder with a wink. “Sure, just Cassian.”

Befuddled, you looked over to where Cassian stood with Azriel, but your mate’s focus wasn’t on you. His eyes were on the shadowsinger, who was watching you with a heat in his gaze that made you blush before you both quickly looked away. 

You gave Cassian a quick kiss after training ended, and headed up to your room to clean up and change - missing the conversation that happened between the brothers who stayed behind at the training ring. Wiping the sweat from his brow with a rag, Cassian turned to Azriel with a smug look on his face. “You know, Az, for as long as you’ve been a spymaster, I’d think you would be more subtle with how you stare at my wife.” 

Azriel’s face flushed profusely, the Illyrian sputtering unintelligible excuses, “Cass, I was just watching her form-“ Cassian cut him off with a hand to his shoulder. With a dark chuckle, he eyed the shadowsinger up and down, a satisfied smile taking over his features. “You do find her attractive, don’t you? Have you thought about my mate, Azriel? What you would like to do to her?” Az could barely breathe, refusing to believe what he was hearing. “She’s beautiful, Cass, of course - but I would never...” Cassian’s eyes flared with a heat that stopped Azriel from saying what he planned next. “...And if I told you she might be interested in that as well?”

That was how you found yourself anxiously waiting in your room, nothing but your silk robe covering your body as your mate entered the room, Azriel following closely behind. You’d fantasized about this more than you could admit - being between the two Illyrians, feeling the caress of Azriel’s shadows in tandem with Cassian’s rough hands. 

Azriel closed the door behind them, the two males towering over your form as they neared you. The heady scent of arousal had already permeated throughout the room when Cassian spoke. “Sweetheart, what’s the word if you want us to stop, at any time?” You let out a shaky breath. “Red.” A whimper left your lips as Cassian’s hand made contact with your ass. “Red, sir.” With a content hum, Cassian’s hand smoothed where he had just made contact. “Good girl,” he murmured with a kiss to your temple before turning to make his way towards the bed. 

Cassian stripped down, laying naked against the headboard of the bed as he watched you and Azriel with a predatory gaze, enjoying his private show of his wife and his best friend. Noting the hesitancy between you, Cassian drawled, “don’t keep her waiting, Az. Show my girl what you can do.” His words set off a fresh wave of your arousal, which was enough encouragement for Azriel to finally move.

Tugging on the tie of your robe, Azriel pulled you in close to him, angling your head how he wanted you as he kissed you fiercely, prying your mouth open as he slipped his tongue inside, thrusting the muscle in tandem with his hips as they rolled against you. You moaned into his mouth, instinctively arching into his body as you ground against him. Cool wisps of shadow untied your robe, the garment falling open to expose your body to Azriel. 

He pulled away, eyes darkening as a low groan sounded in his throat. “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Cassian spoke from the bed, where you turned to see him shamelessly stroking himself as he locked eyes with you. You whimpered at the sight, desperate for touch as you shed your robe entirely. Cassian let out a low laugh. “Come up here, angel. Az, put her out of her misery.” 

You slowly crawled up the mattress towards Cassian, about to ask him what position he wanted you in when you felt hands wrap around your ankles, effortlessly flipping you onto your back. You gasped as Cassian looped his hands under your arms and pulled you against his chest, leaning back against the pillows. Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized they must have planned what to do with you - jaw going slack as Azriel removed his shirt, leaving him in only grey sweatpants as he settled between your legs on the bed. 

Shadows twined around your ankles once more, pulling them apart to expose you to their master. You writhed against their hold, but Cassian quickly put a stop to that as one of his arms draped across your hips, easily pinning you in place. Azriel’s shadows slithered up and down your body, teasing your nipples, lightly pulling on your hair, you were quickly being worked into a frenzy. 

Cassian brought up his free hand to your mouth, two fingers prodding at your lips as he commanded, “open.” You obeyed, closing your mouth around his fingers just as Azriel licked a broad stripe up your center. You squealed around Cassian’s hand, Azriel letting out a dark laugh against your clit. You locked eyes with him - absentmindedly sucking and licking on Cassian’s fingers - as Azriel wrapped his lips around your clit. 

Your head fell back against Cassian’s shoulder as you continued to struggle against his grip, jerking harder as you neared your orgasm. Your mate pulled his fingers from your mouth, allowing your wanton moans to echo throughout the room. Azriel groaned at the sound, rutting his own hips into the mattress as he brought a finger your center, easing in as he pumped at a leisurely pace. He looked over your shoulder at Cassian, giving him a signal that you didn’t have time to work out before Cassian’s hand slipped behind you, one of his wet fingers circling your asshole. “FUCK, Az, Cass,” you panted head turning violently from side to side as they overstimulated you. 

Azriel sucked harshly on your clit, pulsing his lips around the bud as his tongue flicked against it - the distraction easing the feeling of Cassian’s finger slipping inside your rear entrance. You came without warning, vision going spotty as you crashed into your orgasm harder than ever before. Neither of them gave you a break, instead doubling down on their movements as both of them added a second finger to each of your holes.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Cassian murmured against your neck as he kissed the skin beneath your ear. “We’re just getting you warmed up.” The lewd moan that escaped you at his words made you blush, Azriel smirking up at you before glancing to Cassian. “You were right, Cass, she does taste divine.” He leaned back his heels, looking down at you with feral amusement. “But how does she feel?” 

You gasped, eagerly nodding in your best attempt to communicate. Azriel backed off the bed, slipping off his pants until he was fully naked before you. Your mouth went dry as you took in the sight of him in all of his glory. “I need words, angel. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you. That you want me to fill your pussy in front of your mate.” You expected Cassian to get angry at Azriel’s remark, but instead the male focused on spreading his fingers in your hole, humming in agreement. “You heard Azriel, sweetheart. Use your words.”

“Az, please fuck me. I... need you inside of me,” you managed out through your humiliation. With a wicked grin, Azriel cooed, “good girl,” moving back onto the bed. But instead of lining up at your entrance, the two males maneuvered you, Cassian’s hard cock at your rear entrance. You moaned at the feeling, looking over your shoulder to nod at Cassian in encouragement. He slowly entered you from behind, using your dripping slick as lubricant until you were full of him. With a gasp, you fell until you were propped on your elbows, your ass pressed firmly against Cassian’s hips. 

Azriel watched you with a barely restrained hunger that made you clench, eliciting a loud groan from Cassian behind you. “Please, Az,” you whispered, desperately gesturing for him to come closer. The Illyrian didn’t need to be asked twice, quickly settling between your thighs as you pulled him in for a heated kiss. You were tugged back from the kiss by your hair, Cassian growling out, “enough. I’m not waiting any longer, Az. Fuck her before I take her myself.” 

Azriel pushed into you slowly, stretching you like nothing you had ever felt before. He was longer than Cassian, and just as thick. You were panting as he settled inside of you - all three of you needing to catch your breath. You nodded, signaling them to start moving. Cassian propped his feet up on the bed, thrusting up into your ass as Azriel pounded your cunt. Between the feeling of their cocks rubbing against each other through your walls and Azriel’s shadows continuing to toy with your nipples and clit, you reached your high again quickly, shattering as you went limp between the two Illyrians. 

They continued pounding into you as you lay there like a toy for their pleasure, until Cassian came inside of you with a roar. He stayed seated inside of you for a moment, pulling out to hold you close to his chest, pressing kisses and whispering affirmations against your skin as Azriel continued fucking you senseless. You felt his cock twitch inside of you, and Azriel pulled out to spill all over your stomach. He blushed at the sight, but you smirked as you swiped a finger across the cum, reveling in his shocked expression as you sucked it into your mouth. 

Once Az snapped from his daze, he murmured something about being right back and left to the bathroom. Returning with a warm, wet washcloth, Azriel cleaned you up as Cassian continued to praise you. Az grabbed his clothes to leave, but you shook your head and patted the mattress next to you. Something felt wrong about him leaving after this. 

Azriel joined you on the other side of the covers from Cassian, the three of you settling in for bed when Cassian murmured quietly, “I hope you both know, that will not be the last time we do that.” Mother, you hoped not.

Next Part

[chukys-mouthguard]

Oasis

Word count: 2.4k

Pairing: nico hischier x female reader

Genre: heavy fluff, smut

Warning: sexual content, 18+ readers only

Note: not me becoming a nico girl after writing this 👀🙈

The front door to Nico’s house opening slowly as he’d taken what seemed like forever to unlock it. A nervous smile on his face as he led you inside. Soon the room coming into view as he stepped aside.

Flower petals scattered across the floor, tea lights all around, illuminating and setting the scene for what was continuing an already romantic evening for the two of you.

Nico had surprised you with a date night to your favorite restaurant on the water. Plenty of wine while he advised you to order anything and everything you’d wanted. When asking what the special occasion was, he responded “a man doesn’t need a special occasion to spoil his girl”. Which earned quite the blush from you, and certainly made your heart skip a beat.

The two of you had been together for a little over a year now and things seemed to only get better and better. Nico quite the romantic, always trying his best to make up for his schedule that can often prove difficult when it came to making time for you.

You told him that elaborate dates and gifts weren’t necessary, because you knew what you were signing up for when you started dating, but this was Nico. He loved to spoil you, treat you to the finest things in life. It was what made him happy; never asking for a thing in return, because that wasn’t why he did it.

So now here you were, in the entryway of his house, rose petals and tea lights setting the mood. Your face luckily already permanently blushed from the multiple glasses of wine you’d had at dinner. A smile stuck on Nico’s face as he tried to gauge your feelings, not sure if you were excited or nervous, or both.

“Do you, do you like it?”

The nervousness in his voice making you slightly giggle, a hand caressing his cheek as you kissed his lips. “Of course! I love it baby! But you know you don’t have to do all this for me!”

He took your hand as he pulled you further inside, letting you see that the roses continued up the winding staircase, surely creating a path all the way to his room. “I know, I just, it’s been hard lately with the season getting so crazy. I just want to be sure I take time when I can to do little things like this to show you how much I love and appreciate you.”

His thumb brushing over your cheek as he traced your smile. “Well, this doesn’t seem like a little thing. This is a lot of work!” He giggled as he looked around the room. “Yeah, and I’m sure you’d never believe me when I say Jack helped.”

“Jack Hughes did all of this? I am thoroughly impressed!”

Nico pulled you into his chest as he placed a kiss on your lips, his hands holding tight to your cheeks as he deepened the kiss. “Well, hold your critiques, cause there’s more!”

His voice practically a whisper as his lips brushed over yours with each of his words. His fingers tangling with yours as he led you up the stairs. Giving you a reassuring squeeze of your hand as the two of you reached the top, then unexpectedly pulling you towards the bathroom.

No surprise the bathroom was fully lit with tealights, rose petals everywhere, and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket accompanied with 2 glasses.

“Okay, now I’m definitely impressed by the work of Jack.”

Nico was thankful his teammate could pull through and make his vision come to life. The nerves and stress now worth it to see your reaction and the smile on your face.

“So then, what’s on the agenda?”

Playfully running your fingers over the buttons of his dress shirt you smirked, knowing Nico probably had been thinking about this all night long. Explaining his nervous shaky hand when holding his wine glass at dinner. Or the way he’d been subconsciously bouncing his knee in the car while driving home.

Though now he seemed more relaxed, things clearly going according to his plan.

“I thought we could cap off the night with a nice bubble bath, enjoy some champagne. As if we didn’t drink enough at dinner. And then just relax, talk, I feel like we hadn’t had a night to do that in awhile.

Just relaxing and talking seemed hard to believe with the elaborate set up Nico had curated. But, you weren’t going to spoil what he had in mind.

While you left to discard of your dress you’d worn to dinner, Nico drew the bath. Making sure to put extra emphasis on the bubbles for you. He then lost his own clothes before climbing in to get comfortable as he waited for you.

As you re-entered the bathroom, your hair now up in a messy bun and all that covered you a robe. A smile immediately on Nico’s face as his eyes met yours. He’d seen you naked plenty of times, but this moment felt different. Almost like he should look away to give you privacy as you joined him among the bubbles.

“What’s the matter Nico, boobs make you nervous?”

Your feet playfully rubbing his leg as you got comfortable in the water. “All boobs? No. Your boobs? Yes ma’am.”

Nico opened the champagne, handing you a glass before toasting to the two of you.

“This is nice. I feel we really needed a night like this. The season has just been, tough to put it plainly.”

Nodding your head as you sipped from your glass you couldn’t agree more. This season compared to last year, just seemed different. Tougher, more taxing, on both you and Nico. But you’d been there by his side through all the ups and downs.

“I know, I feel like it’s been tougher on you than me of course. But, we’ve definitely been through the ringer this year.” An expression of you can say that again plastered across his face as you could see him reflecting on it all.

“I mean, yeah I’m the one out on the ice. But you’re the one I come home to at the end of the day. The one who massages me or gets me ice baths when I can barely walk. The one who cheers me up after a tough loss. Or unfortunately the one who gets the brunt of my anger sometimes when I’m unhappy with a result. Which, you know I’m sorry for every time that’s happened. I hate that I’ve ever taken something out on you.”

Brushing your leg against his as if to reassure him, you shrugged it off. “It’s okay, I don’t take it personal. Sometimes you just have to blow off steam. I get it. Plus, it doesn’t happen often. So every now and then I can manage.”

“Well still, I am going to be better about that. I feel like you’re so good at always taking care of me, and sometimes I don’t always return the same things.”

Nico motioned for your hand to pull you to his side of the bath, positioning you in front of him. Your back against his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. Peppering your neck with kisses as his legs entangled with yours.

“I love you so much baby.”

A soft moan escaping your lips as his words nothing above a whisper against your ear. Sending tingles down your spine as you smiled. “I love you more Nico.”

One of his hands abandoning your waist as it trailed up your body to tilt your chin towards him, his lips devouring yours in a kiss. The taste of desire and champagne on his lips as his other hand explored your body under the water. First making a point to give attention to your breasts, Nico wanting to get his hands on them since you got into the water. Loving how the bubbles tastefully hid them from his gaze.

Your tongues fought for dominance as his hand now moved south, his fingers tracing the curves of your skin before his legs helped to spread yours. Giving him access to your core.

“Nico.”

A breath moan of his name leaving your lips as your head fell back against his shoulder.

“It’s my turn to take care of you baby.”

His tone was dominant, but reassuring. The idea of Nico in control turning you on even more. You couldn’t remember the last time he’d be the one to take charge, usually it was you in control as you took care of him after a tough game. Which you very much enjoyed. But you weren’t going to turn down the opportunity to see Nico in his element.

Nico’s favorite thing was taking control, making sure he pleasured you to your maximum. Never wanting to leave you wanting more.

You could feel him growing hard behind you as his fingers dipped into you, feeling how wet you were for him. A smirk plastered on his lips as he loved knowing that he did that to you. Trying to grind yourself against him, his other arm dropping to grab hold of your waist.

“No no, I’m taking care of you, remember? Don’t worry about me.”

A slight whine coming from you, Nico knew that was always a challenge for you to not reciprocate and try to please him. But he enjoyed being able to tease you and make you squirm by taking away that option for you.

Relaxing in his grip, as you’d surrendered to him having complete control, your eyes slowly shut as his two fingers were working wonders. Nico knowing exactly where to touch you, how to move, what speed you liked. And you were already well on your way to your peak.

“Talk to me baby girl, does that feel good?”

Nodding your head as you bit your lip, nervous to speak as you could feel your breath catching in your throat.

“So fucking good Nico, fuck-“

His fingers quickly pulling out of you as you gasped. Instantly needing his touch back, but he clearly had other plans. A smirk on his lips as he pulled you back in for a kiss.

“Come on baby, I need more of you. But this bath really isn't big enough.”

He climbed out, wrapping a towel around his waist before grabbing another one and helping you from the water. Doing a quick attempt at drying you off, knowing that he wasn’t trying to waste much time on the act. Needing to get you into his bed immediately.

As he finished getting the water from your skin, he picked you up and carried you to his bed, earning a surprised giggle from you in the process.

Gently laying you down he pulled the towel from your body. Beginning to kiss the exposed skin as he moved from your neck down to your core. His eyes flashing up to meet yours, “you’re so fucking beautiful baby.” A shy smile on your lips as your hands tangled in his damp hair. Chills traveling across your body as you felt his breath against your clit.

His fingers dipping back into you, now accompanied by his tongue as it traced your folds between giving sole attention to your clit.

Your legs subconsciously squeezing against Nico, feeling yourself already so close. Back arching off the bed as expletives poured from your lips, fingers pulling at Nico’s hair, earning a low groan from him. He took your reaction as a sign to keep going, not slowing down as your body now slightly shaking beneath him.

“That’s it baby girl, show me how good I make you feel. Cum for me.”

The pace of your breathing rapid as your legs shaked, Nico feeling you tighten around his fingers as you came. His tongue not ceasing as he licked every inch of you clean.

Pulling him up to face you, your lips crashed onto his, tasting yourself on his lips immediately soaking your core once again.

“Mmm, you taste so good baby.”

His hand dropped between you to stroke his cock before he traced your slit, feeling how wet and ready you were. “Can’t get enough of me huh?”

A cocky smirk now on his lips as he saw the need and desperation on your face.

“Please Nico, I need you.”

Your words like magic as that was all he needed, thrusting into you without warning. Both of your moans filling the room as he waited, adjusting to the feeling of you as your fingers gripped at his biceps. Legs wrapping around his waist, needing him deeper, wanting as much of him as you could have.

“Fuck baby, you’re so wet for me.”

“Always am.”

Winking at him you pulled his lips to yours by his hair. If he was the one taking control and fucking you tonight, you could at least try and maintain dominance when kissing him.

His pace picking up as his thrusts were strong and hard. Nico needed this, to have his way and fuck you however he needed. But you happily obliged. Lips breaking from the kiss as your head fell back, moans the only thing you can manage as you felt yourself nearing another climax.

“Nico, fuck. Yes, please don’t stop. You feel so fucking good.”

Nico’s thrusts now sloppy, not able to fully keep up his pace as his low grunts let you knew he was close. His hands gripping your hips, surely leaving bruises but you’d worry about that tomorrow. Fingers pulling at the sheets as your back arched from the mattress while he worked you through your high. The quickly pulling his cock from you as he stroked himself through his own. Your chest rapidly rising and falling with sharp breaths, watching as he finished on your stomach with needy moans. Soon collapsing next to you as he tried to catch his breath.

“Fuck, baby….I love you so much.”

Brushing his hair from his face you smiled, “I love you more.”

After a few seconds he stood up, grabbing your towel from earlier to clean you up, before lifting you from the bed.

“Baby! What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you also means aftercare baby, gotta clean you up.”

He kissed your lips as he carried you back into the bathroom, his eyes falling on the tub still filled with bubbles and a champagne bottle that must’ve gotten knocked in during your fun earlier.

“Maybe we opt for a shower?”

[thegnomelord]

I REALLY LOVE THE STRAIGHTFOWARD WEREWOLVES SOAP. OMG. Its just really funny in my head, imagine the way soap would act so shameless around the reader, uncaring about the stare he got because thats just how they are! The werewolves race with their no-shit and unfiltered attitude, and oh if they take interest in you, prepare your heart especially if you has a weak one; because surely they'll cling their every waking moment with you, sniffing every spots of you that they can reach. Absurd yet endearing flirtiratios compliments would hurled at you, catching you off guard cause they just come out of nowhere. Baring their fangs at potential rivals, worst case scenario if its their own race, because they can and will get violent, best calmed the werewolves down before anything awful happened. Just a thing between werewolves to prove which one is the stronger and more qualified, whose more worthy of your love, in their point of view.

If you have the time can you make a short fic, it would be the highlight of my life for weeks!!

Okay yes but also because I love needy clingy pathetic Soap too much lol

CW: NSFW, gn reader, grinding, somnophillia, quick and rough.

You've noticed that Soap has started to act. . . strange.

He's started trying to feed you all types of stuff, mostly meat, seeking you out at all times of the day. You'll see him go out to the woods and come back with some large animal, and an hour later he'll be coming to you with a plate of food and a 'Kiss the cook' apron on (every time you have to bite back from drawing attention to the fact the arrows point down to his dick). "Hey, need that wonderful mouth of yer's to try this out." He says, watching with rapt attention as you try his food, taking every critique with a wagging tail.

And if you like his food, oh, there's a giant grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, ye like that?" He comes closer, the plate in your hands forcing distance between you two. "Reckon this cook should get a reward." He's already stepping around to press his chest flush with your back before he can finish his sentence, and you don't have the heart to stop him because the food is mouth watering and he's just scenting you, even if the occasional flick of his tongue against your nape makes you shiver. (You, again, try not to draw attention to a hard bulge grinding into your ass)

That's the other thing. He's gotten really clingy.

He's always been clingy with all the team members, nuzzling his cheek against Gaz, whining like a kicked puppy when pushes him away with a hand on his face, tail wagging as he scents Price. Usually he's satisfied after he's done scenting the lads in your team, happy to continue with his business.

But with you. . .

You can't even sit on the couch for five seconds before his burly body is snuggling up to you, taking his seat in your lap like he owns it, like he's a lap dog. Doesn't even excuse himself before his hands are groping your biceps as he nuzzles your neck. "Aye, yer so hoht," He purrs, full body rubbing against you. "Could use ye fer a blanket on cold nights." You don't know how to feel about that, his words causing your mind to stutter long enough for him to replace the scents lingering on you with his own.

And when someone enters to find you like this, he doesn't even throw them a glance, gripping onto you like a koala and all you can do is mouth a 'help me'. Doesn't work though, as the second he senses someone is getting near he's growling like a monster truck's engine, glaring at the poor sod with his face still stuck in your neck.

Or, if you're busy with something, he'll saddle up to you, ears perked up. "Oi, bonnie, hold som'ting fer me." He'll whine, tugging on your arm until you sigh.

"Fine, just give it here." You growl, holding out your arm, still concentrated on what you're doing.

Next thing you know you're cupping his jaw, his head resting on your hand. "Anyone ever tell ye, yer got perfect hands te grope with?" Johnny grins at you, that one snaggletooth fang pinching his lip, using your confusion to rub the scent glands in his cheeks against your palm, making sure you smell like him.

You shake out of your stupor and pull your hand back, resisting giving in when he gives you such a heartbroken whine. "No, Johnny." You growl and shoo him away, but he still manages to brush his tail against your leg.

You make the mistake to fall asleep on the communal couch after a grueling day of training recruits. When Johnny finds you, his nose immediately trying to get a whiff of your scent, he growls when he can barely get traces of it beneath the smell of dirt and sweat and way too many people when the only scent you should have on you is his. His inner wolf growls along with him, his ears pricking up straight, staring at your sleeping form.

He's more than happy to rectify your mistake.

He lays on top of you, purring happily to himself when you don't even shift. "Good mate," He hums to himself, wrapping around you like a blanket, face buried in your neck once again. His hands slide beneath your shirt, making him pant into your skin from the sensation of your muscles beneath his hands. He moves his body slowly, seeking to have as much skin contact as he can, mouth watering and angel bells ringing in his skull at how he can taste his scent replacing everyone else's on your skin.

He doesn't notice when he starts to nibble on your neck, but it's the sensible next move, what better way to keep competition away than let everyone know you're taken? Johnny's marks bloom across your throat as he sucks hickeys into your skin, his wolf and himself standing on common ground to make sure you're covered in his marks.

He pulls back his head to look at his work and groans, cock immediately hardening in his pants from you covered in his marks. His hips gain a life of their own, thighs gripping your own as he grinds down, already half drunk on your scent.

You wake up to find his hot breath fanning over your face, the sensation of something hard grinding against your leg dissipating any residual drowsiness. "Johnny, what the fuck?" You ask, voice rough from sleep, only now registering his weight on top of you.

"'m sorry bonnie," Johnny whines, burying his face into your neck to muffle his whining. "Just- hah- needed ye."

You grumble, but you can't hide the way heat burns through your veins at the sight of him, his face flushed, claws gripping you like you'll disappear, desperately humping against your leg.

"I can see that." You say, tensing your thigh to give aid him in his grinding, your eyes growing wide at the loud moan that escapes him, like he's a whore on camera.

"Oh, shite, thank ye, thank ye, thank ye-" He whines, his humping growing faster, butterflies fluttering in his stomach at the way you hadn't pushed him away, that you're accepting his advances, muttering 'mate' under his breath as he chases after his orgasm.

He cums before either one of you knows it, a dark stain forming in his pants as he bites down and groans into your neck. You grunt, but Soap's quick to release your skin and lap at the aching spots with his tongue, soothing the pain.

"'m sorry bonnie." He mumbles, cock still hard in his pants, his wolfish eyes settling on you. Shame nibbles on his stomach for cumming so fast when he can't smell a lot of arousal on you, his wolf growling at him to show you how good he can be.

You jump when his hand slides down to grip your crotch roughly, his pupils dilating at the way a small moan slips past your lips. "Lemme make it up fer ye yeah?"

[xcziel]

Are You Sure thoughts (i'm certain there will be more)

JIMIN'S THIGHS

jk ultra competent "let's get it. let's go" vibes

jimin rolls his shorts over at the waist when he wants them shorter just like the sorority girls in college

the BICKERING

jk hostess twinkie sponsorship when???

also boy do they like avocado

jimin water baby confirmed

they drove about equally? not on the bike but otherwise they shared

yoongi sleepy voice "what?" 😂

jk hanging up after 30 seconds what even

chef jk!!!

MMA joke explained!

also very possible reason for them being given lots of room for subsequent sleeping

hiking in slides???? i was afraid he was gonna fall off that log and hurt himself

jm needs mosquito repellant sponsorship actually

every time i wanted their lonely leftover fries so bad

jk coughing 🥺🥺 poor baby

both of them*very* conscious of the audience and addressing the camera

jk is so organized! but impulsive in the moment - SUPER relatable

the film quality!!! every place looked amazing! even the store parking lots lol. connecticut about to have the best tourist season ever

jk looked SO HAPPY on the bike

both of them thrilled to be out in the open air/nature

when they play fight jk serious about boxing form and jm resorting to wrestling and leg holds (which- with his leg strength...)

i am envying jk's suitcase packing like .. damn that is perfect folding

we really did get a bit of a mukbang - SO. MUCH. EATING.

DOMESTICITY OFF THE CHARTS

jm just constantly doing bits and making up little songs and weird sounds

BOTH of them just "yes and"-ing each other until they crack up

i am american and just the familiarity of the places and people with jikook dropped in the middle was mind-blowing. when they get out if they start this up again (which sounds like the intention) i have to beg for them to come to texas

impromptu forest seven mv! jm parking lot dance moves! (with the wet asphalt stripes even!)

saying he's gonna starve himself after 🥺 like i sincerely think these trips are the only reason he didn't waste away he was so busy tired and then sick too

jm so much like my mom, like turning on the seat heater in the 86F car?

but then jk kept getting wet and then going in air-conditioned places? y'all. i'm glad they ate outside so much in that case hah

jimin's fluffy *hair* 😍 (the bed hair! lol)

jk music critique and advice hour! and he is RIGHT jm *should* growl more

feeding the staff! they are the sweetest 🥰

also i appreciated the explanation about what each is trying to do with their music

jk: i want to showcase my voice and singing talent in a variety of styles

jm: i like writing songs but it takes longer for me

[causenessus]

new grounds

part 0.15. EPILOGUE

PLAYING IN THE CAFE . . . roi by videoclub

she splits away from keiji as soon as their within the doors. he navigates through the crowds to find their seats while she makes her way towards yachi. despite the crowds of people she’s pushing through, she knows where she’s going–or more like she’ll know it when she sees it.

all she’s looking for is a tall stand with the sign “NEW GROUNDS” above it. if they were lucky, there should be a stand next to them with the sign “ONIGIRI MIYA.” whenever possible, the two franchises tried their best to place their stands next to each other. it was a cute little thing they did; both were stands that were in close relations with many of Japan’s volleyball teams. after yachi and her had taken over new grounds, they had even organized a few crossovers with onirigi miya to advertise upcoming volleyball matches. it sounded like a weird combination–coffee and onigiri–but people fell for it left and right nonetheless, and who was she to critique the tastes of others?

she catches sight of both signs at once and quietly squeals to herself, happy with how perfectly everything has gone so far. she squeezes through a few more groups of people to the side of the coffee stand, waving to osamu at the oinigiri stand whose noticed her arrival. he smiles and waves back, looking as nonchalant as usual.

she laughs at the difference between the two stands; both have long lines but while osamu is working by himself at a calm, manageable pace, yachi is running around everywhere, panicked, slamming down orders and yelling names. she gives the blonde a pat on the shoulder, letting her know that she’s arrived to help before she ties up her hair.

yachi begins to take another order while she prepares herself for the task at hand. she notes where everything is; the coffee, the hot water next to it, the fridge beneath the machines, the coffee cup lids that are for some reason in the farthest corner away from the actual coffee cups–she memorizes it all as best as she can.

her back is towards the register and line, keeping herself focused on whatever order will be next.

“can i just get a cup of cold milk, please?” she hears a customer ask and is already kicking open the fridge door.

“got it, y/n?” yachi asks as she cashes out the customer.

“yep,” she replies quickly, smiling to herself. the universe couldn’t have given her any more signs that today is the perfect day to it. how ironic was it that the first order she prepared today was a cup of milk?

she snaps the lid onto the cold clear cup before handing it to the awaiting customer. “here’s your order, sir,” she says with a smile, looking up at him for the first time just as he grabs it from her, brushing his hand over her own.

at first her pulse quickens, worried he’s a creepy stranger but then she recognizes him. he’s tried his best to disguise himself with a baseball cap, sunglasses, and face mask but he’s never been great at disguises. she could still recognize him even if his back was turned to her.

“tobio!” her face lights up with a smile as he removes his glasses and pulls down his mask, revealing a smile of his own.

“hi,” he greets, as simple as always. 

she can’t help herself and grabs his shirt, pulling him close to place a kiss on his cheek, “good luck today, love.” then she gives him a grin, “if you win, i have a surprise for you.” the small box in her pocket seems to get heavier at its mention.

“oh?” he raises his brows with a sly smile, “just like old times?”

“just like old times,” she agrees.

he reaches a hand up to caress the side of her face, “well good, ‘cause i have a surprise for you too if we win.”

her eyes widen with excitement at his words, “what? what is it? you have to tell me!”

he presses a kiss to her lips with a small laugh, “you’ll just have to wait and find out, love.”

“i love you guys and i’m sorry to interrupt but you are holding up the entire line,” yachi says, no remorse in her voice. they pull away immediately, the moment immediately cut short and a blush dusting both of their faces.

yachi’s been at this for too long, and y/n can’t blame her for being fed up with them.

“i have to pick up some onigiri for hinata, i’ll see you afterwards,” he gives her one last smile, “make sure you cheer for us.”

“of course,” she waves him off before looking at the long list of orders yachi has for her to complete. she’s dreading it, but it’s what she signed up for, and she knows it’ll all be worth it in the end. she has the entire day to look forward to, including a proposal.

prev. | m.list

extras <3

y/n and yachi now co-own new grounds, tobio had to quit but keiji still works there as a manager (who actually shows up <3)

y/n and keiji still stick together, applying to work on shows together and were just coming from doing a matinee to tobio's game

guys i tried really hard to understand how tournaments work but i could not for the life of me comprehend it </3

tobio ended up buying onigiri for everyone bc he texted the gc asking if anyone else wanted anything and got a chorus of "yes pls"s

osamu always gives yn a free onigiri box to give to keiji <3

onirigi miya and new grounds started to get close because they both were franchises invited to set up stands at stadiums and the owners found they had a lot in common <3

after the game y/n burst out of her seat and started running to get onto the court (she'd gotten permission thanks to bokuto talking to the higher ups)

which was also a funny moment because the vball team was talking and bokuto was suddenly shot up saying "oh i need to go talk to the stadium managers" and kageyama was like, "i do too...🤨"

once the game had ended and the teams had congratulated each other, tobio was looking for y/n which he's become a pro at and literally panicked when he couldn't find her

then she was right in front of him and she got down on one knee and the entire crowd cheered while tobio froze

hinata came running out with tobio's ring box and he got down on one knee and they both started laughing-crying

thank you all for reading!!! i had so much fun with this smau i hope u guys did too <3

taglist: @ncitygreen @lvrlamp @cherrypieyourface @mimi3lover @lees-chaotic-brain @frootloopscos @0moonii @cr4yolaas @eggyrocks @pinkiscool @httpakkeiji @localgaytrainwreck @lunaviee @kitty-m30w @lixie-phoria @aliruuiz @corvid007 @iluv-ace @yvjitadori @k8nicole @ryeyeyer @thechaosoflonging @kettlepop @r0seandth0rns @rinheartshyunlix @lucky-chars @par4disee @vixx-11 @luvkvni @does-directions @whykirbo @reminiscentyearn @mylahrins

[dilfdemolisher]

PERSEPHONE - CHAPTER ONE

“Persephone, queen of the underworld. Hades runs Hell, but she’s in charge of punishment.”

Series Summary: A serial killer who works with the police herself has a tumultuous past with Jack Crawford and his new profiler Will Graham. While trying to rebuild what she once broke Hannibal Lecter sticks himself in the middle of the few things she cares about. Comments and critiques are encouraged.

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, tiny reference to reader being a murderer lol, brief mention of child death, body horror, murder, descriptions of torture, Jack and reader arguing and not shutting tf up.

Word Count: 3.7k

A series of loud knocks on your office door interrupt your typing. “Come in.”

Your face stays looking at your screen, continuing your rhythmic clicking of the keyboard. You know who it is; you can see his burly stature in your peripheral vision, not to mention the way you can feel the energy sucked out of your body the moment he walks into the room. A trait that he has unknowingly tortured you with, a trait that is distinctly-  “Jack.” You state, breaking the tension. 

“It's good to see you.” What the fuck does he need. 

“I’m writing up the blood report for the Anderson case. Give me… 25 minutes, it’ll be yours.” You say, briefly glancing at him. You see that look in his eyes; he needs something, and his gaze is too sympathetic for a request for a blood report, let alone a blood report for a case he has nothing to do with. 

“Could you take a moment?” He’s frustrated, or maybe embarrassed; your lack of interest is not leaning in his favour. A part of you blissfully believes that if you stay apathetic towards him, he’ll walk out of your office. Maybe he’ll stomp, leave the door open just to peeve you, but nonetheless, you’ll be left alone to continue to describe the direction of the arterial spatter left on the blue living room curtains that clashed against the yellow cigarette stained walls.

In the corner of your eye, you can see him move closer, taking four deliberate steps closer. But that's all it takes for his black suit to transform into navy blue and for his sour look on his face to become clear as he firmly places his calloused hand on your shoulder. 

“I-I need you.” He sighs. He’s letting me know that he’s putting himself in a vulnerable position and that he doesn't want to be here either. “Eight girls are missing with no bodies.”

Your fingers freeze over your keyboard and cease typing. “That's not my problem, Jack. No body, no blood, no me.” As much as you try to swallow your annoyed tone, it slips out of your mouth before you can sand it down to a polite, soft refusal.

He pulls his hand away. “Elise Nichols, 19. She was supposed to house sit for her parents and take care of their cat-” 

“I’m trying to finish something Jack-” 

He interrupts your interruption. “Same height, weight, age, eye colour, hair colour as all these missing INNOCENT girls, and you don't care?!” He’s trying to make you feel guilty, obligated. But why must he disrupt your workplace? 

With a deep inhale, you answer, glaring at the blue light emanating from your monitor. “I’m back to doing blood work, Jack. I left the business of profiling, and I already have things here I am obligated to do.” Like more paperwork and plans for the plastic wrap in your trunk.

“I talked to your lieutenant, and she's more than willing to alleviate you of any duties; there's people on the forensics team to tie everything over without you.” He tries to reason, and if anything frustrates you more that he talked to your boss first. He may have had the assumption that you would jump at the opportunity, that everything would be water under the bridge, and that you two would walk out of the building holding hands and skipping gleefully. Or maybe he would need to convince you, but the second he put his hand on your shoulder, you’d understand. That you two would look at each other and have a silent understanding of what must be done, that you’d forgive him, and that you would remove the burden off his shoulders and cradle against your heart.

“But they can’t do what I do, like I do.” You quip.

“Which is exactly why I need you, not even for the full run just…” He breaks off his sentence and drags a hand over his eyes. He inhales through his nose and out of his mouth in an attempt to ground himself. “We’re going to Minnesota tomorrow, and I’m asking you to join.”

Unfortunately, Jack hasn't changed much; he’s such a stubborn Taurus man. “And I’m declining. I’m not going to argue with you Jack. I’m sure this wasn't an easy thing to do or ask from me, and I’m sorry for disappointing you but I can’t do this. I’m not the same person anymore, and I’m not going to be helpful.” 

His expression softens with a margin of sympathy. You didn't think he was expecting you to acknowledge the elephant in the room; in all honesty, you weren't either. 

There's an uncomfortable silence laid across you both. It's his turn to speak, yet, he’s having trouble finding his words. “I doubt much has changed about you in what? 22 months?” He counters, It's a weak reply; he’s nearing his end of this discussion. He'll leave with his head hung low with the files still gripping his left hand, and you will continue typing up yours. 

“I don’t want to keep disagreeing with you Jack, but you keep making me and it's hurting my feelings. I don't want to do this.” It's your turn to be vulnerable, candour? No, but making it seem like he just tore the stitches off an open wound is the way to fast-track his guilt and exit. It’s time for you to sustain eye contact for the first time during this conversation. 

“I’m tired, Jack. I’m still trying to gather the missing pieces of who I was that broke off.” You plead with him. 

“So you break off all personal relationships you have, Will Graham.” I’m sorry, what about Will?

He said it to pique your interest, and he did. What an asshole. You can’t not ask how he’s doing. The itch to know how he’s been spending his days is an impossible thing not to scratch, plus, this is your best-no, least creepy way. You could find one of his students, email them, and ask how their professor seems to be doing. Ask if he’s gotten a new haircut. Glasses? A dog? That’s a completely normal thing to do. Or you could ask Alana. Fuck no. 

“You’ve been talking to Will?” You say before looking back towards your computer screen, you can’t help but be a bit ashamed of how easily he hooked you in. 

He spins the arm of your chair and spins it 90° to face him. “He’s assisting with this case.” 

You can feel the intensity of his gaze as he waits for your reaction. “I hate to sound narcissistic, but did he join you with the understanding that I would also be assisting?” You have to know if he’s still thinking of you. You know he’s not fond of Jack, so you can’t help but wonder why he agreed. 

He pops his chest out like a fucking bird, trying to assert dominance. “He’s not. We were meant to fly out tonight but I wanted to ask you first.” 

“You halted the investigation of a case to request my help?” He feels a sense of responsibility to help you; he still cares about you; or he is still guilty enough that he wants to right his wrongs. Maybe if you help him and save another girl's life per his request, all will be forgiven. But he’s still so career-driven that the only way your pain could be absolved would be work-related. You would have settled for a heartfelt apology; hell, you would have settled for a fruit basket if it meant his emotional harassment would cease.  

“That is immensely stupid. For someone who seems to be so invested in this case I find it ridiculous that you would halt an investigation for a one-ended conversation.”

Jack grunts out something unintelligible before grabbing his phone. 

“What?” You say, if he’s going to make a remark you’d rather it be audible instead of under his breath. 

“Would you like me to call Graham?” He says with pursed lips, tapping his finger on the side of his phone. He’s taunting you; you stay silent until he flips it open. 

You stand up and attempt to snatch the device out of his hand before he quickly pulls it out of your reach. “What the fuck is wrong with you Jack?!”

“What is wrong with YOU! You can prevent this girl's death and you’re not doing it because of what? Pride? I’m sure if you just read the files you would give valuable input!” He shouts. 

Now this is becoming a serious problem. “You do not get to come to my workplace and disrupt me and my coworkers.” You say sternly, and you jab a finger into his chest before continuing. “If you’d like me to read the files for your peace of mind, and for you to know that there's nothing I can add that you can't I will.”

“Then do it.” He growls. 

“Under one condition.” You add, “You take Will Graham off this case. Actually, you just leave him alone.”

He pauses for a moment, actually considering it. You can feel the tension in the room deflate as he contemplates the idea. “I-” He starts, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, but I can't do that. If you're not going to be involved in this case I need Graham.” He answers. 

You feel your heart fall to your stomach. Will shouldn't be working under Jack; he’s selfish and greedy when it comes to his agents. He’ll push Will, won’t listen to him when he asks to stop, and won’t force him to stop when he gets too immersed. 

“I’ll look at the case file and talk to you when I get off.” You say with an exhale, you can feel the tension in your neck. You turn your back to him and sit in your chair. “Leave it on my desk.”

He doesn't reply, but you can feel his stare. It's been silent for so long that you're about to say something, but he beats you to it. “Thank you.” He says so quickly that you're not even sure if it happened; before you can even look back at him, he walks out of your office. 

2 YEARS EARLIER

You hop out of your car onto the pavement, a street filled with police cars, no parking; you had to park down the street. The more steps you take, the more clearly you can see the spectacle in front of you. Press arguing with the police, concerned neighbours chatting to each other in between bites of their nails. You make your way in front of the house; it's no more than a one-bed, one-bathroom place. 

“This is a crime scene. I need you to leave; you can’t be on the property mam.” You hear from your right, and when you turn your head, you see an officer. 

“I’m forensics.” You say, walking past him and flashing your laminate, Does he just think you carry around this heavy ass bag and camera for fun?

The front door to the home opens slightly. Jack exits and immediately closes it behind him. As he turns around to scan the front yard, his eyes fall on you. “I need you in here now.” He shouts while pointing at you. If the audience outside of this house wasn't enough to convince you this is a bad one, Jack's tone does. 

The closer you get to him, the urgency in his body language becomes more apparent, his foot tapping on the wood below him. Once you make it to the steps on the porch, Jack begins to speak. 

“I’m going to need you to prepare yourself for this one; it's bad.” Well, there goes holding onto any hope.

“I’ve seen my fair share of 'bad'; I think I can handle it.” You say as you reach for the door knob, his hand on your wrist stops you. 

“I know you have, but I’m serious. I’ll open the door; you go first.”

“Okay?” You say, Jack's not one for dramatizing a crime scene. Two parts of your brain are arguing, half telling you to go turn tail before you see something you can't unsee. But the other part of yourself, the morbid, dirty part, wants nothing more than to see whatever gruesome scene is inside. 

Jack barely opens the door, just enough for you to squeeze through without any of the plethora of onlookers on the street to see. But before you can even take a step in, your senses are swarmed with a putrid smell. You’ve smelled a lot of dead bodies—badly decomposed ones with bugs living in bodily cavities. Or worse, children. Or worse then that, badly decomposed children with bugs living in bodily cavities. Before you can fully step into the house, the sight you see stops you in your tracks. 

You’re greeted with the living room upon entry and the kitchen to your left. There's no sofa, no coffee table, no TV, nothing; the room is free of furniture, though not empty. Taking centre stage is a large naked man, caked in what you presume to be mud, kneeled completely naked face down in the feeding trough in front of him. 

“What the fuck?” You look back at Jack, waiting for some sort of explanation. 

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. “No one had seen him for a while; one of the kids in the neighbourhood got curious and crawled through the doggy door and found him.” 

“Holy shit.” You even get anything intelligent to come out. Your brain just stopped working correctly. It's awful and horrible. You should be thinking about how much this man suffered and how traumatized that poor child must be, but all you can think about is how disgusting he looks.

Jack walks towards the body and holds it’s head up with his latex-covered hands; once it's held vertically, you see something attached to the corpse's head. You almost don’t believe it at first. You grab a pair of gloves for yourself out of your bag and slip them on as you walk forward; all of it gets worse as you get closer.

His fat grey face is covered in what you’re assuming to be pig feed; his bloated face isn't the issue; it's the two real pig ears attached to the top of his head. Upon closer inspection, you see that his head seems to be freshly shaved and the ears sutured to him. It’s not the worst attachment, though most sorts of medical professionals could be ruled out as perpetrators, the stitching is far too messy for that. Unless he was fully conscious.

The skin is severely discoloured around the animal's ears. Not only was he alive during it, but from what appears to be a severe infection around them, he was likely living with it for multiple days.

Before you can even collect your thoughts, Jack's voice interrupts you. “There's a tail too.” He says while nodding towards the man’s behind. Your mouth tries to make a noise of acknowledgement, but you fail to as you can't stop staring at the rings of dried blood and pus around the base of each ear. 

“If you want to take a moment, he had a backyard. It's fenced in, but I'd still watch out for anyone with cameras; I’m pretty sure Zeller’s out there.” You hear him say, It sounds so fuzzy, everything feels so fuzzy, actually. 

“I’m fine, just dissociating, I think.” You say, still not looking at Jack. “I’m blood, Jack. There's no blood, why am I here?”

He stands up, his knees cracking from no longer crouching. “Bedroom.” He simply states before walking to the left side of the house. As you follow him down the short hallway and take a glance into the bathroom, you stop as you see Beverly’s back blocking the view and entry.

“What's-” Before you finish, Bev moves to the side, giving you a full vision of the washroom. The floor was coated in a thick layer of dried mud. As you creep forward, you see the bathtub filled with what looks to be about two whole feet of mud.

She turns around to look at you, she looks so overwhelmed. You're not sure what to say to her or how you’re meant to console someone in this situation. Beverly rarely shows her her stress, but right now, she's wearing it visibly like it's one of her cheap fough leather jackets. You give up on trying to find anything to say, but she doesn't seem to mind; in fact, she seems just as silent as you. 

Your brain finally kicks into work mode. You walk away from Bev and towards Jack, he says nothing as he opens the bedroom door for you. The bed is covered with layers of blood, and the bedside table has a bloody needle and black thread looped through it. 

“I don't understand why he left it all here—he cleaned up everything, removed all the furniture. Why?” You hear Bev say behind you. You didn't even hear her walk in, but you suppose you were a bit preoccupied. Jack's silence is unnerving as you try to piece together the gruesome scene in front of you. The realization sinks in that this killer wants to leave a lasting impression on his victims. 

"He desires for us to feel repulsed." You think out loud. “He wants us to see every bit of torture the victim incurred, even if it risks leaving evidence; or maybe he’s confident he didn't leave any.” The victim—who is the victim?

“Do we have an ID?” You inquire, looking at Jack.

Jack clears his throat before speaking. “Cristopher Myers, 43, unemployed, living on disability.” He approaches the bed from the right side. “We don't have any DNA, only bootprints.”

At that, Beverly smiles. “You haven't let us work our magic yet.” She says before walking out of the room, boots clicking behind her. 

You sigh, realizing you have a lot of work ahead of you. You will have to survey every single thing. “Where do you want me to start?” You ask. 

Jack starts to say something, then stops, not even sure where to start. “Well how do you think this began?” 

“Not sure, but there were ligature marks on the victim's wrists, which I'm assuming he used while…operating on him, but I don't see any restraints. Unless they are around here somewhere else, he may have disposed of them elsewhere. I’ll ask Bev to see if there's fibres left in the wounds, they’re shallow but he still tugged on them enough to dig in; they look like rope marks, I think.”

He hums back, his eyes still fixed on the bloody bed. “I’ll ask her, you do your work.”

"All right." You say. “I’m gonna start taking some pics. Can you back up?” Jack doesn't respond, just walks out of the room. His footsteps halt, and his voice resounds through the walls. His voice is quiet but you can assume he’s giving Beverly directions. 

As you remove your camera from its case, you reason that it does not concern you and that you should focus on your work. Time to take some seriously macabre photography. 

You gaze into your microscope, blood sample 24; every piece of DNA discovered at the site belongs to the victim. "I can’t concentrate with your moaning, it's distracting." You grunt.

Jimmy lets up on his pacing behind you. "I feel like I’m at a dead end; I am not complaining, I am frustrated." He mutters, frustrated. 

“And I feel like you need an Ativan, Jimmy.” You can't focus with someone whining in your ear. 

"You’re not helping at all." He states.

"I still need to go through eight more samples and write a blood report, so go bug your work husband." Jimmy rolls his eyes and walks away, muttering a response under his breath. You take a deep breath and refocus on analyzing the slide in front of you.

This one was a droplet from the floor, likely from the nasal cavity, with the nasal mucus you can see. Yum.

The victim didn’t seem to have any nasal bleeding. He didn’t seem to have any blood around any visible orifices, actually. You grab the phone and call Jack. 

“Hello.” You hear his static voice. 

You clear your voice before speaking; you want to sound clear. "Hey, how much longer till we get the coroner's report? I think I might have found something.”

Before you can even get out the second syllable of your final word, he interrupts. “What.”

“Um, I’m going to test the blood to be sure if it’s a match to the victim anyway, but I found blood from a nasal cavity, and I don’t think it’s from the victim.”

It’s silent on his end for a moment. “I’ll fax a copy over to you when I get it, you do the same when the results come back. And I want to be the first person you tell the results too.”

“Yes sir.” You say before he hangs up. 

A part of you knows the results already, you know that the sample isn’t the victim’s.

PRESENT DAY

You pick up the file that Jack threw on your desk. You're done for the day, you should get in your car and go home. But it’s like you feel a physical string wrapped around your wrist that's tugging you towards the yellow file.

Fuck it, you think as you snatch it off your desk. As you read through the file, you understand more and more why Jack wants you to be a part of this case. And you understand why he was desperate enough to ask Will for help despite the contempt they hold against each other. 

You sigh as you grab your phone—your mobile, not the one sitting on your desk. You can’t call Jack; you're too bullheaded to call and verbally admit defeat. You type your message and hope that he still has the name number, you don’t think you could handle the heightened level of awkwardness that showing up unannounced would cause. 

You take a deep breath before hitting send. You still feel unsure about your rash decision to join the case as you stare at the two words you sent to Jack. 

“I’ll come.”

chapter 2

[stargirlofthecentury]

in light of the rwrb movie releasing and everyone sharing their opinions, i just thought i'd share mine real quick.

i loved this movie with my whole heart.

i totally get the readers who are upset at certain scenes being cut, along with some things being changed. i get being attached to something that you hold very dearly to you and seeing it be altered which might be a bit disappointing at first. but honestly. this movie was the cheesy queer romcom that we needed.

don't get me wrong, i live for in-depth internal monologs and borderline poetry, but i also think it's more than ok for movies to just be sweet and simple. and with saying that, this movie wasn't that sweet and simple. it talked about quite a few very important issues, which i so so appreciate, all while keeping that lovesick romcom feeling to it.

i feel like nowadays many romance shows and films have a sort of aggressiveness to them. like they don't fully show the depth of gentle, loving relationships and that's a main reason why so many people seem to have forgotten what love really is. so they see movies like this and call them cringe or just hate on them in general. and i think this film will show young queer people everywhere that it's ok to want a soft relationship and that they're seen. if the prince and first son can do it, so can you.

although things were changed a bit, i believe this movie will be a comfort for many. plus, you can't fit every line from a 400-something page book in a 2 hour film, even if some things were cut out. and it's ok to spice things up a bit by adding different lines.

(like the rawness of the "i won't trade one prison for another" line? wow)

and sure it was sort of fast paced, but that's to be expected. no adaption is going to be page-to-page perfect. that's why we have our imaginations. (and nick and taylor blew the no chemistry allegations out of the water, so we didn't even have to worry about that.)

i know some people watch things specifically to critique them, but i focus more on how the movies and series make me feel. and this movie. this movie was pure happiness for me.

all in all, this is my new comfort movie, and i hope the same for many others. like i said, every opinion on this is completely valid, but i just wanted to share my viewpoint.

(and who knows, maybe amazon will be kind enough to put out the directors cut.)

[iovebarca]

Hello! I saw you were looking for requests so I figured I'd drop by. How about one with Fermín where his girlfriend is also a professional footballer, and they both mess up/lack confidence after different bad performances so they each comfort each other when they're down?! Hope this makes sense, and I hope you have a great day! 💖

End of the Day - Fermín Lopez

Authors note: I loved writing this! got a bit carried away but oh well 🥹

WC: 1900

warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff.

Earlier in the day, you both had gone through your usual pre-game rituals. You had exchanged messages of encouragement, little notes reminding each other to play your hearts out. Fermin had sent you a photo of the two of you from a past victory, both of you beaming with joy, trophies in hand. It was a reminder of what you were capable of, a small beacon of hope to carry into the match.

The game itself had been a blur of frustration and missed opportunities. You had felt the sting of each mistake, the weight of each goal conceded. There were moments when it seemed like everything was slipping through your fingers, the roar of the crowd only adding to the pressure. Fermin had his own struggles on the pitch, each missed pass and blocked shot a reminder of his own recent slump.

The locker room after the game had been a somber place. Teammates exchanged quiet words of support, coaches offered measured critiques, but the atmosphere was heavy. The first loss of the season was because of you.

he journey home was a quiet one. You sat in the back of the taxi, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. Your mind replayed the game over and over, analyzing every moment, every decision. A fan had approached you as you left the stadium, offering a few words of encouragement. It was a small comfort, but it reminded you that there were people who believed in you, who saw your potential even when you struggled to see it yourself.

You walk through the front door of your shared apartment, the weight of another tough game hanging heavy on your shoulders. The familiar scent of home greets you, but it does little to lift your spirits. You can hear Fermin in the kitchen, probably preparing something simple for dinner. He hasn’t performed well lately either, and you both know it. The recent string of poor games has taken its toll on both of you, each loss and mistake chipping away at your confidence.

“Hey,” you call out softly as you drop your bag by the door.

Fermin turns to you, his face lighting up with a tired but genuine smile. “Hey, love. Tough game?”

You nod, crossing the room to where he stands. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. “Yeah, it wasn’t great. You?”

“Same here,” he admits, resting his chin on top of your head.

After a while, he pulls back, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of concern and affection.

“How about we take a shower and wash off this day?” he suggests.

You nod, feeling a bit of the tension melt away at the thought. Together, you make your way to the bathroom, peeling off your training gear and leaving a trail of clothes behind. The bathroom is warm and inviting, the steam from the shower already filling the space. Fermin turns on the water, adjusting it to just the right temperature before stepping in and holding out his hand to you.

You take his hand and step under the spray, sighing as the hot water cascades over you, washing away the sweat and grime of the day. He reaches for the shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into his palm before working it into your hair. His fingers move with practiced ease, massaging your scalp in gentle, circular motions. You close your eyes, leaning into his touch, the tension in your shoulders gradually melting away.

He doesn’t speak, and neither do you. The silence is comfortable, a shared understanding that words aren’t necessary right now. You lean back slightly, letting him rinse the shampoo from your hair, his touch gentle and reassuring. As the water runs clear, you turn to face him, your eyes meeting his in a moment of quiet connection.

You take the conditioner and apply it to your hair, your fingers working through the strands as you focus on the sensation. Fermin reaches for the body wash, lathering it between his hands before gently scrubbing your back. His touch is methodical, almost meditative, and you find yourself relaxing into the routine, the familiarity of his hands on your skin grounding you.

As he continues to wash you, you think back to the game. You can still feel the sting of every missed pass, every blocked shot. The frustration bubbles up, but you push it down, focusing instead on the feeling of Fermin’s touch, the warmth of the water, the simple act of being together.

He finishes washing your back and moves to your arms, his hands sliding over your skin with care. You do the same for him, taking the body wash and gently lathering it over his chest, his shoulders, his arms. Your movements are slow, deliberate, each touch a reassurance that you’re in this together, that you understand each other’s struggles.

When the water finally turns off, you both step out, toweling off in comfortable silence. The steam dissipates, leaving the bathroom warm and inviting. You change into comfortable clothes— he's wearing a jersey with your name on the back and you're wearing his - that always makes you smile.

Fermin sits on the edge of the bed, his posture slumped, shoulders heavy with the weight of the day. You can see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clench and unclench, and you know he’s berating himself, replaying every mistake, every missed opportunity.

You approach quietly, sitting beside him and placing a gentle hand on his back. "Hey," you say softly, your voice a soothing balm in the quiet room. "Talk to me."

He doesn't look at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point on the floor. "I was terrible out there," he mutters, frustration evident in his tone. "I let the team down. I let the fans down."

You scoot closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Fermin, you’re too hard on yourself. Everyone has off days. It doesn’t define you or your career."

He finally turns to meet your eyes, his expression a mixture of self-doubt and vulnerability. "But it feels like it's been happening too often. I just... I don’t know what’s wrong with me."

You take his hand in yours, squeezing gently. "We all go through slumps. It’s part of being an athlete. The important thing is how you come back from it. You’re one of the best players I know, and you’re going to find your rhythm again."

He sighs, his grip on your hand tightening. "What if I don’t? What if this is it?"

You shake your head, determination in your voice. "This isn’t it, Fermin. You’re too talented and too driven to let this stop you. Remember why you started playing in the first place? The love for the game, the thrill of every match? That’s still inside you. We just need to find it again."

A small, hesitant smile tugs at his lips. "You always know what to say."

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "That’s because I believe in you. And I know you’ll get through this. We both will."

He shifts, pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"You don’t have to," you reply, your own voice soft but steady.

You both lie down, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light over the room. Fermin pulls you close, his arms a protective cocoon around you. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a comforting reminder of his presence.

"Do you remember why you fell in love with football?" you ask, breaking the comfortable silence.

Fermin's eyes light up with a nostalgic glow. "Yeah, I was about five. My dad took me to my first match. The roar of the crowd, the energy in the stadium... It was electrifying. From that moment, I knew I wanted to be out there, on the field, making those same crowds cheer."

You smile, imagining a young Fermin, wide-eyed and filled with wonder. "I had a similar experience. My older brother was playing in a local league, and I used to watch his games every weekend. One day, his coach let me join in on a practice. I was hooked. I loved the challenge, the teamwork, the pure joy of the game."

He nods, his expression thoughtful. "Football has given us so much. But sometimes, it feels like it takes so much too. The pressure, the expectations... It's hard."

"It is," you agree. "But it's also what drives us, right? The desire to be better, to achieve more. It's a double-edged sword."

He takes your hand in his, his thumb gently tracing circles on your skin. "I sometimes worry that I'm not good enough," he admits quietly. "That I'll never reach the level I want to be at."

"You are good enough," you say firmly, squeezing his hand. "We both are. We just have to remember why we started playing in the first place. The love for the game, the passion. It's easy to forget that when we're caught up in all the noise."

He looks at you, gratitude and love evident in his eyes. "You always know what to say," he murmurs. "You keep me grounded."

"And you keep me hopeful," you reply, your voice soft but sincere. "Together, we'll get through this. We'll keep pushing each other, supporting each other."

Fermin's gaze grows distant for a moment, as if he's looking into the future. "I dream of us both winning our leagues," he says, a smile tugging at his lips. "Lifting those trophies, side by side. And then maybe, one day, coaching our own little team together."

You laugh softly at the thought. "That sounds perfect. And maybe, if we're lucky, we'll inspire the next generation of footballers, just like our heroes inspired us."

He pulls you closer, his forehead resting against yours. "No matter what happens, we'll always have each other. That's what matters most."

You nod, feeling the truth of his words settle deep within you. "Always."

In the quiet of the night, you talk about your plans for the future. You discuss training schedules, strategies to improve your game, and ways to balance the demands of your careers with your relationship. Each word is a promise, a commitment to face whatever challenges come your way, together.

As the conversation winds down, you find yourself drifting towards sleep, comforted by the steady rhythm of Fermin's breathing and the warmth of his embrace. Just before you slip into dreams, you hear his voice, soft and filled with love.

"We'll be okay," he whispers. "We'll make it through. I believe in us."

"I believe in us too," you murmur back, your heart swelling with love and determination.

And with that, you drift off, wrapped in each other's warmth, ready to face whatever comes next.

[oneatlatime]

Lake Laogai

This Lake had better have Appa in it. With little water wings on.

Skipping the commentary as usual.

The Previously On section suggests that a whole lot of plot threads are about to crash into each other. Strap in folks.

Lefty Sokka!

Beat up Sokka quota fulfilled by his sister's critique of his art skills. It's not like he had paper to practice with at the South Pole.

Sometimes I forget that Aang is 12, then he does something like attempt to rescue his pet from a nefarious city-wide conspiracy of silence with lost cat posters.

"Good tea is its own reward." That means no, he isn't paid enough.

Remember what I said in my last post about Iroh bringing too much attention to himself?

"senior executive assistant manager" someone on the writing team has worked retail I see. Nothing like meaningless promotions with no raise attached! It's right up there with employee pizza party.

I have to pause here and point something out. This whole scene with Iroh? This is an adult fantasy. I don't mean dirty, I mean this whole scene was put in specifically to appeal to the adults who got roped in to watching this kids' show by their children. A rich man walks through the door of your shitty retail job, immediately spots your natural greatness, and offers you a much better paying job with unlimited creative freedom and a better house to go with it? Find me a burnt out retail worker who hasn't conjured up this fantasy five times a shift.

And so the plots come crashing back together. This won't end badly.

"patience really pays off" I checked. He waited literally three seconds.

Shout out to Toph in the background playing catch with a ball she can't see. Casual flex of epic proportions.

Remind me never to go to Lake Laogai. Sounds like it's lousy with Ju Dees.

So the Ju Dees don't know about each other? Because she seems honestly confused. Does Ju Dee think she's the only Ju Dee? What happens if two Ju Dees run into each other in the street?

Posters are illegal but I haven't heard a peep about recarving a bunch of fields into a zoo.

This is maybe the second time Aang's blown up over Appa. Frankly he deserves more blow ups about the whole situation.

I don't think knocking down walls will help find Appa, but I applaud Toph's spirit.

They took out a whole wall and then exit by the door anyways. That's funny.

I really hate this guy, but I have to admit that he may be the first truly competent villain of the series.

'The Jasmine Dragon' also lets anyone with half a brain know that you're Fire Nation. Try the Jasmine Badgermole instead.

Zuko really can't catch a break, huh? He wasn't happy being a tea server, but at least he was resting. But every time he gets five minutes to himself, the main plot reappears to drag him back into the action, whether he wants to or not. Although he hasn't figured out that he doesn't want to be dragged back yet.

Every line of dialogue in this scene is a good point. Zuko's right, Iroh's right. The Zuko's right again, then Iroh's right again.

YES YES YES GET HIS ASS

That was satisfying!

I'm not understanding why Sokka is the voice of reason here. Is he incapable of holding a grudge? He's the one that had all the animosity with Jet to begin with. Shouldn't it be Aang who wants to hear him out?

Toph is a living lie detector now? I can't think of an example off the top of my head, but I'm sure that could have come in handy previously. Any other incredibly useful skills we should know about?

Jet is oddly defensive for someone who claims to know he did wrong.

Ever get so excited that your spine malfunctions?

Sokka just has a metre long map in his pocket. Good friend to have in a pinch.

Avatar first! Katara is rude to an old person!

I'm going to have fun with Toph's new ability.

Toph, you have never been more right. It is the worst city ever. You are really shining this episode.

I know this is a serious scene, but I need to point out that Jet's guyliner is on point.

This shot is jarringly out of place. I think it's because it both black and white, and live action. Those have to be real clouds.

So the Blue Spirit can talk after all. Careful, your Zuko is showing.

Wow Zuko is good at sewing. And fast too.

Sokka is having far too much fun with this whole 'prompt Jet's memory' thing. Maybe he does have a bit of a grudge after all.

Katara can reverse brainwashing now too? Everyone's levelling up this episode.

This scene with the planks is a very cool and disorienting visual.

Didn't have 'the gaang breaks into a brainwashing facility' on my ATLA bingo card.

Pretty.

OMIGOD IT'S AP- did Zuko just break the fourth wall?

Everyone always forgets to look up.

So this fight is going to be Toph v. all of the Dai Li while everyone else tries not to get in Toph's way.

That's a boat.

Toph could probably take all these guys out faster if she wasn't having to constantly break off to save everyone else from them.

The Dai Li prancing up walls is a really cool visual. It's very Ty Lee of them.

I love watching her work.

Why don't you let Long Feng escape? He's no longer threatening you, and you're down there to rescue Appa. Just let him go.

The security on Lake Laogai is a joke.

Big words from someone who also had no plan whatsoever at the North Pole.

Zuko knows that Iroh's right. He knows, and that's important. I don't think Iroh is saying anything that Zuko hasn't thought and then hurriedly pretended to have never thought about before. It's why he says 'stop it' rather than being completely confused as to what Iroh is referring to.

Poor Appa's like 'can you have a crisis of self after you free me please?'

'You've chosen your own demise." No. You chose it for him. That's some top tier deflection/victim blaming right there.

Longshot can talk!

That's one hell of a set up and pay off re: Toph's lie detecting abilities.

Poor Jet. A double tragedy: to be likeable only when you're brainwashed, and to dedicate your life to wiping out the Fire Nation yet being killed by the Earth Kingdom.

Hi Appa. It's about time buddy.

Shockingly in character for Appa's first actions to be to single handedly save the Gaang from a threat.

You skip that bastard like a stone.

Everyone go and listen to the sound Appa makes when he spits out Long Feng's shoe. It's delightful.

I am framing this.

And this too.

I can tell there's some shmymbolism here, but it's gone right over my head.

Final Thoughts

Appa is back. The Gaang has Appa back. I have Appa back. Ok. I can relax now. With any luck, this means we can leave Ba Sing Se.

This episode felt like City of Walls and Secrets, Part 2. I think it was a good decision to have a couple of episodes between the two, but I think there would be some tonal whiplash if you binged this section of season 2. Which wouldn't have been a problem for a show designed to air once a week, so it's a moot point.

So Zuko freed Appa from his chains, and presumably pointed him in the direction of a door or something. Or maybe not; Appa has a ridiculously hard head, he could have busted his way out. Either way, Zuko broke the chains. Thanks Zuko!

In season 1, Zuko finds the Avatar the world had lost. In season 2, Zuko finds the Sky Bison the Avatar had lost. So in season 3, Zuko will find something Appa has lost. I wonder what that will be?

Jet being killed by the Earth Kingdom is so deliciously ironic, and tragic, yet very in character for the Earth Kingdom's approach to this war. It's also literally this:

Smellerbee and Longshot have really gotten the short end of the stick over and over this season. They were the only ones to decide to stick with Jet. Presumably they were the only ones who believed that he had had a legitimate change of heart. And they were kind of wrong. They get to Ba Sing Se only for Jet to immediately backslide way past even where he was at his worst in Season 1. He completely discounts and dismisses their legitimate concerns for his methods and his overall health. Then Jet gets arrested and disappears for two (?) weeks. So what do they do now? Get jobs? Steal so they don't starve? Then suddenly Jet's back but he doesn't even remember them. Then suddenly Jet's dead. The whole point of coming to Ba Sing Se just died, in a way that shows very clearly that their desire to help with the war is not welcome at all in the city. So what now? Do they leave and try to fight in the war from outside the walls? Do they settle down and try to forget about the war? Things did spiral completely out of Jet's control once the Dai Li got involved, but you have to admit that he's left his only remaining friends up a creek.

Sokka had some good jokes but was oddly ok with this episode's events. Toph had some great lines and got to shine with a new skill that any writer with half a brain will bring back in future episodes. She felt like the audience substitute this episode, which is usually Sokka's role. Toph was episode MVP for sure. Poor Aang took a bit of a back seat this episode. Zuko finally hit the crisis point, and may well have made his first indisputably correct decision of the series. But, as previous episodes have gone out of their way to show me that Zuko being good always goes badly for Zuko, I'm sure freeing Appa will somehow come back to bite him.

Iroh's question of "who are you? And what do you want?" was Zuko's entire character arc this season. He took a shot at answering the "who are you?" portion in Zuko Alone, and sort of halfway got there before messing up at the end of the episode. As for the "what do you want?" Zuko will tell you (often and repeatedly) that he wants his honour back. But I think he just wants to go home. The thing is, I strongly suspect that the home Zuko wants to return to hasn't existed since his mother left, if it ever existed at all. Which means that while "who are you?" has an answer Zuko can work towards, "what do you want?" has an answer that is kind of impossible. So Zuko is going to have to learn to want something new.

RIP Jet. Your life was fucked to Hell long before you were old enough to try and salvage it. You'll probably be missed by more people than you strictly deserve. War sucks, amirite?

[atlaculture]

Live-Action Promo Pics - Katara

I’ve been hesitant to comment much on the the live-action series, as most of the discourse has revolved around the casting. I’ve already made my ideal ATLA fancast pretty well-known and I don’t feel comfortable harshly critiquing children/teens for not looking like my favorite cartoon characters. At the end of the day, it’s the casting directors that we should hold responsible, not working actors trying to make a living.

However, I have no problem reviewing the costumes--- which I presume were made by industry professionals of adult age. In fact, I’d say the goals of this blog obligate me to give my two cents. So, enjoy my completely subjective take on the promotional costumes:

Katara

What I Liked

Braided hair loopies! This has been fanon for years now, so it’s nice to finally see it done in an official adaption.

They did a good job of translating the wave pattern on Katara’s coat into something more elaborate.

The fur trim is good, although I wish the fluff around her hood was a bit fuller and thicker.

I like her hair beads.

What I Didn’t Care For

It feels like cosplay. Mind you, I love cosplay, but it’s a very different beast from movie costuming. Cosplay is about imitating the 2D designs as closely as possible; movie costuming is about taking the 2D designs and making them functional.

The blue color-coding in the show works for a cartoon, but less so in real life. A coat for a live-action Katara should look like it was made from real animal furs, and synthetic blue fur is just never going to give that effect.

The coat looks too new. It should look more worn, considering this is everyday wear for her.

In general, the coat looks nice but cheaply made. Like it could be a costume you’d buy for Halloween called “Arctic Water Girl”.

Overall, I give it 5 water whips out of 10.

Like what I’m doing? Tips always appreciated, never expected. ^_^

https://ko-fi.com/atlaculture

Click below for links to how I wish her coat looked.

I had a feeling this would be the direction they would take with the Water Tribe, but I still can’t help but feel disappointed. I’ve been spoiled by the better realized interpretations I’ve seen in fanart, with more realistic fur parkas and blue detailing. This is all personal preference, of course, but just take a look at all of the beautiful interpretations of Water Tribe clothing out there:

https://www.tumblr.com/ash-and-starlight/704817804388548608?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/ash-and-starlight/693847558563430400?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/chiptrillino/717611956655325184?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/chiptrillino/698450671239921664?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/chiptrillino/692656226353463296?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/chiptrillino/642057819823243264?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/atlaculture/719418204708061184?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/bernard-the-rabbit/705601232213049344?source=share

[weavingstarlight]

Happy Mermay! Have some Ravioli art! (I actually drew this a month ago, but I'm slow about posting.) Anyway, I might revisit this one later but for now it is DONE ~~

Critiques welcome on this one. I don't think I've ever drawn a kiss before! Progress photos below the cut.

I use a set of colored pencils belonging to my grandmother. They're Venus Spectracolor, which were made in the 70s and 80s. They're pretty creamy, but some of the smoothness in this drawing comes from using a colorless blender marker (or cheap rubbing alcohol, for some of it) to dissolve the pencil after laying it down! The rest of the smoothness just comes from using multiple layers of light pressure to build up color.

6 x 8.5 inches. Colored pencil, pen, and metallic gold gel pen.

[IMG: a colored pencil drawing of Ravio and Mer!Legend. They are SMOOCHING. Ravio is kneeling on a rocky outcropping with his silly rabbit hood off, while Legend is half submerged in water, clinging to Ravio's purple robe to hold himself up. Legend's tail and hair are completely pink and he's not wearing any clothes. There are metallic gold highlights on Ravio's robes.]

And just for fun, here’s the line art prior to coloring. I just like it so much! Maybe someone else would like to try coloring it? (If you do, please give proper credit and tag me so I can see it!)

Here’s a bonus image: a teaser of sorts, from partway through the coloring process!

And another bonus: comparison photos of colored pencil before and after blending with isopropyl alcohol.