#this design has been in my head for a while

[solbaby7]

I love the idea of the drink menu for the requests! It's brilliant ✨️

Could I please get an Old Fashioned, salt rim, neat? Take your time 💋

[ “no, no, leave your clothes on for me.” + smut + az ]

thank you so much for the request and being patient with me 💕💕the vibe of this one is giving situationship that yearns to be more, been watching too much scandal🫣

-> BLURB BAR <-

—

You’d learned pretty early on in life that asking for forgiveness was better than begging for permission.

It was just easier, usually made things less complicated which is why you significantly downplay the importance of the dress purchase that had half a dozen seamstresses prattling about your bedchambers. One of them promptly shoos Azriel away once they notice him eyeing the divider you strip behind, ushering him up and out of the doorway. He’s adjusting his pants when the door shuts behind him, vividly recalling the glimpse all that tight fabric and the way it cinches at your waist, accentuating the full curves concealed beneath. It leaves him hungry; wanting—salivating like starved wolves that scavenge through the Middle for mere scraps.

“Hot date?”

Azriel’s brows furrow, still a little dizzy from the sight of you and your lingering scent; his body annoyingly attuned to your own. “No, why?”

Rhys lazily points in the direction of your room, eyes trained on the array of chilled whiskeys at the bar cart before him. “The dress she’s wearing is designer—exclusive; one of a kind. Need to book an appointment a year in advance as well as having a good word with the owner type exclusive.”

“So?”

“So,” Polished crystal clacks heavily against metal, one, two, three ice cubes fall inside before a hefty pour of some smoky whiskey that’s been sitting around longer than you’d been alive. “They don’t sell a single dress without taking specific measurements for alterations, making multiple appointments for fittings.” The lack of response makes Rhys turn, fingers brushing at the crease in his dress shirt as he takes his brother in. Hazel eyes are clouded with curiosity, a million possibilities being pinned up on a board as the hunter within him collects pieces of a puzzle. “My point is, no male in his right mind lets the woman he wants go out in a dress like that without having some sort of claim on her first.”

Suddenly, it makes sense why people of power are urged to be of sound mind; to have a level head so that advice like that didn’t send one into a spiral.

Azriel quickly learns that he is not of sound mind. A harsh truth that he realizes seconds after Rhys leaves him alone to settle with those words. They echo in his brain, repeating in his mind like some curse that’s dead set on haunting him.

Sure, the two of you hadn’t exactly put a title on all the secret moments spent scuffling off to some dark corner for a few frenzied kisses. The times where group nights at Rita’s leaves two bodies disappearing out back for his hands to hike up some skimpy dress enough to get a good grip of your ass. But that alone had to count for something at least, didn’t it?

No way some other male would get the chance to see you how Azriel did, right? His hands twitch at the uncertainty—jealousy lighting a fire in his ass that has him bee-lining it to your room like he fucking owns the place.

It’s almost comical, the way your door bounces off the wall under the pressure of his palm once he’s finally reached it. Too bad he’s too honed in on his target to take in the true humor of six attentive ladies shooting daggers at the towering interruption that keeps making your arms fidget or hips shift while they try to work. “Az?”

“We need to talk.”

“Oh, can it wait? They’re nearly finished with the—“

“No, I’m sorry. It needs to be now, it’s urgent.” Shadows are already following their masters will, urging the ladies out of the room and into the hall, the door shutting before their disgruntled words could breech the barrier. He turns, a speech brewing at the tip of his tongue but it all goes blank when he looks at you—really looks at you. “Wow, you look….wow.”

You preen under the attention, one arm holding up the bodice as you give him a spin. “I just knew when I saw it, it had to be mine.” There’s a few loose threads, buttons waiting in a little dish to the side to be sewn on properly but he gets the gist. Fully understands the intent of such fabrics when he sees it holding onto the shape of your curves. “Fits like a glove.”

“I can see that.” Grace is granted when you fully return to face the mirror, too entranced in the little details to even notice the way Azriel eats up the picture you paint. All soft lines and pretty shadows casted by the flickery golden light emitting from the candles you favor. Warm notes of vanilla and honeysuckle fill his nose and he commits every bit to memory; latching on to whatever he can of you. “A little skimpy for Starfall, don’t you think? Or is there a matching coat I’m not seeing?”

The cutting look you throw his way is felt through the reflective glass. “I’d never waste a dress like this on a familial event.” A neat brow raises as you carry on with your hair, hands holding it in a pony. Twisting it into a neat bun. Letting it all free and tousling it messily, lips pouting at the sexy bed head texture it creates.

“Then, what’s it for?”

“To get laid.”

Raw jealousy is injected into Azriel’s veins faster than he can even comprehend the attack. It shoots through his bloodstream, gobbling up all sensiblities while simultaneously planting seeds of doubt. Every inch of him goes rigid, lids narrowing and pupils dilating. Acid pools on his tongue, singeing through the words he speaks, “What gave you the impression that anyone else could touch you while you’re fucking me?”

“Oh, I don’t know—maybe, it’s the lack of exclusivity?” Mascara is brushed through your lashes. Lipgloss smeared across supple lips. “Or maybe it’s because I’m just too fucking pretty to be always second guessing why you won’t make a move already.”

A muscle ticks along his jaw, “I thought it was obvious enough that you and I—you belong to be.”

“Says who?” He abhors the way you laugh around your words. “Because, that conversation doesn’t ring a bell.”

Azriel’s shoulders shift, frustration lingering in his stance and you find yourself annoyingly attracted to the entitled way he begins to fill up the space of your room. Outside shoes sink into the soft plush of your rugs until he’s standing behind you, one finger flicking at your dress as if it were personally offending him. “Says me.”

A scoff passes glossy lips, a hand waving absently in his direction as if shooing off an insect. “Save the brutish male bullshit for a female who favors it. This dancing around your feelings thing is growing tiresome and borderline pathetic.”

You’ve gone too far.

The absence of his reply makes you sure of that. Too many seconds pass in silence, long enough for the mood to grow awkward. Lips part and close, the heat in Azriel’s stare too ambiguous to go off of.

Fingers fiddle with dainty gold rings held snug against your knuckle. “Az, I’m—“

“—In need of some clarification, it seems.” Every syllable comes out alarmingly even, forcing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand at attention. “Go to the bed and bend over.”

“…is this a joke?” You question over a tense laugh.

Not a single thing about him indicates so. “Does it feel like one?” He leaves no room for a response, jaw jutting out towards the bed. “Bend over.”

You swallow thickly, moving to comply while shimmying the dress down your torso.

“No.” Azriel’s voice cuts through like an arrow through the night, shadows curling around the curve of your shoulder, teasing through your hair. Goosebumps kiss your flesh, neck craning as your body melts to mush under his attention. “Leave your clothes on for me. You spent so much money,” Every step he takes is as silent as a whisper; the only way you can tell he’s directly behind you is because of the foot that nudges between your ankles, widening your stance. “Let me appreciate it how it deserves, yeah?”

He’s not really asking for a response but you nod along either way.

Anticipation burns beneath your skin, warms your belly, makes toes curl in expensive shoes when you hear the shift of his clothes as he crouches down to his knees. Shadows hold up the hem of your dress, preventing you from seeing exactly what Az is doing, but your imagination fills in the blanks when you feel his breath against the back of your thighs. "Pretty," The muscles in your legs jump at his touch, cool fingertips trailing up your calves, squeezing at the thickness of upper thighs while running his thumb under the fat of your ass.

You get the feeling he isn't referring to the intricate lace detailing or near invisible line along the side that concealed the zipper running from hip to rib. Not when he spreads you open, a deep hum rumbling in his chest at the wet sound of your cunt separating beneath thin cotton.

“Now there’s a warm welcome,” A hooked finger peels it away, revealing bare sex and dripping arousal. Calloused skin dragging against a sensitive clit has your hips jumping at the sudden attention.

Teeth bite at supple lips, a moan crooning free as pleasure licks up your spine—it’s not enough. You shift from foot to foot, heels forcing a strain in your hamstrings while bent over in this position but Azriel doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. “Beating around the bush, as usual.” He’s perfectly content exploring around with your sex, circling around your clit and teasing his fingers into a warm hole that all but weeps in rejoice at the attention.

“Don’t rush me.” Your throat rolls with a thick swallow at the authority in his tone, brows pinched with pleasure as he works you open. “A male can spend all day tinkering away with his toys if that’s what he pleases. Don’t you agree?”

It should bother you more that Azriel plays fucking dirty.

He’s just daring you to deny him while he’s got you so exposed—so vulnerable. Fingers abusing at a sensitive spot that has your legs shaking and pelvis bulging a little at the intrusion. Arousal pools in his palm, fingers coaxing your mind to mush; pulverizing all the fight you have as he works you to your high.

“Yes!” You all but shout, back arching into the orgasm that washes over you. Incoherent little babbles follow, choppy encouragements and whispered pleas for reprieve but all Azriel can hear is ‘yesyesyes’ ‘yoursyoursyours’.

Someone of his own to covet. To kiss and love and fuck and ruin.

Something like satisfaction coats his cadence. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

[lol a lil bonus part i couldn’t make fit but refused to delete]

“Pathetic, hm?”

A satisfied grin spreads along flushed cheeks, hair messy and lipgloss smudged. “You do your best work when provoked.” Something like realization bleeds back into your eyes and in seconds you’re flailing from his arms, slipping off the mattress and using the discarded dress as coverage when you rush to the door.

There’s a few seams loose, string hanging out haphazardly and wrinkles all over but your smile is bright—damn near dopey when you drop a thick velvet bag in their palm. “Final payment plus tip—the dress is perfect.”

“It’s ruined!”

“Trust me,” Fabric whispers as it moves, legs shuffling to tuck your frame better behind the door. “It served its purpose.”

[doyoulikethis-vocaloid-song]

Song 202 is: BUTCHER'S VANITY by FLAVOR FOLEY

Everyone has a lot to say about this song! I'll be compiling all the blurbs into one below the spoiler line. It's so nice to see so much love for an English original! Warms my heart :)

BUTCHER VANITY was the song that introduced the very popular FLAVOR FOLEY, apparently because rice fell head over heels for Yi Xi and JamieP ate a really good steak one time. A surprisingly catchy tune with compelling lyrics for the speed at which it was written, the song launched Yi Xi, who was only available on Taobao at the time and stayed that way for a long while, into unprecedented popularity. (... And yet as of writing this we're still waiting for her on the Dreamtonics International Store.) Though rice has a hand in many a Dreamtonics fandesign, Yi Xi in particular is largely associated to the design and characterisation introduced by that song. - @aseriesofunfortunatejan BUTCHER VANITY was the debut track of FLAVOR FOLEY, a Vocaloid artist group comprised of producers JamieP, Vane Lily, and ricedeity (the latter of whom is also known for being the artist/author of NEXT!!! Sound of the Future, an original webcomic about Vocaloids). Each of FLAVOR FOLEY's members are well-established and talented producers in their own right, and their experience shows in their collaborative works. BUTCHER VANITY was a spectacular hit, now boasting over 11 million views on YouTube; it's become so popular that the MV's original design for Yi Xi has become widely used as the most popular design for the vocal synth, who has no official design. This song wasn't just popular in the English-speaking Vocaloid sphere, either; it's been covered by the popular Japanese utaite Chogakusei, and the song is even available on karaoke machines in Japan. - @tieria-erde

While the song itself is relatively straightforward, being about a someone lovingly describing their cannibalistic desires to a future victim, it became massively popular. Clever lyric writing, fun structure, and sheer catchiness—Butcher Vanity has it all. It’s also one of (if not the most) well known songs featuring Yi Xi, or arguably any of SynthV’s Chinese-language voicebanks. Fun fact: the red and yellow used in the song’s PV are widely believed to make viewers more hungry. That’s why they’re in so many restaurant logos!

It's also the first ever English synthv song to get 10 million views! I'm also pretty sure it's the first ever Yi Xi original song outside of the demo song as well. -Anons

💚 Artists and titles will be revealed after the poll closes, so check back for results! Until then, please don't mention the song title in reblogs! (Guesses about everything else are fine and encouraged though; have fun!) 💚

[eroselless]

─────────the shores we left behind // down to the riptide

summary: you helped the daring champion through the labyrinth but will you get your happy ending? [3.6k]

[carlos sainz x reader]

Greek!AU, theseus and ariadne

dttr masterlist

warnings: smut, loss of virginity, potential historical inaccuracies, angst, themes abandonment and betrayal, religious/theological references (its a greek mythology story ehmm)

note: holyyyy, my writer's block has been insane lately, especially in relation to the fics and series  I’ve been wanting to put out for you guys. In addition, I’ve started the last stretch of my degree (ahh I graduate in June wtf) so my mind hasn’t been able to properly focus. In hopes of fighting all of the chaos and wanting to still feed y’all, I've gone back to my roots and melded together my favourites.  I hope y’all like these in the meantime while I get back to my series, love y’all <3

The kingdom of Athens is hectic, streams of champions pouring in to pay tribute to the glory of Crete—your father’s obsession. The labyrinth looms large—a twisting maze of stones and shadows. Nestled within its endless walls is the Minotaur, cunning and brutal. Death waits for the champions, claiming lives as quickly as one takes a step inside. Your fingers tighten around the spool of golden thread you’ve stolen from your father’s workshop, the delicate filament glowing faintly in the moonlight. You shouldn’t have it. Your father would call it treason, your people madness. You’ve always hated the labyrinth, hated what it represents, but until tonight, you’ve never dared to defy it.

But you can’t stop yourself. You saw him today, standing among the tributes, his eyes dark and unwavering as your father outlined their gruesome fate. There’s something about him that seems to lodge itself deep in your chest, like a stray arrow. He met your eyes once—a split second, and you would have missed it. In that glance, you saw your undoing.

When you slip into his chambers, your heart races with the thrill of rebellion. Carlos is sitting by the small window, sharpening his blades. He looks startled when you enter, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. You press yourself against the door, your breath stuck in your chest, as if letting out any air would betray you. His hair is wild, as if he’s spent the better half of the day threading his hand through it. He looks breathtaking, painted in despair, as if he knows his fate will lie with the gods the moment the sun rises.

His eyes lock on yours, searching for an answer in your silence. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says, his voice low and steady.

You step forward, holding out the golden spool of thread and a rolled parchment with trembling hands. “This will guide you,” you whisper. “The labyrinth is a maze designed to confuse even the gods, but with this, you can find your way out.”

He knows the tales of the labyrinth—of its ever-changing walls and how even the fiercest warriors emerge with fear dripping from their tarnished armor. And how so many never emerge at all. His eyes flicker from you to the spool and back again. Rising slowly, he towers over you, his brow furrowing as he looks at your offerings. “Why would you help me?”

Because there’s something in me that can’t bear the thought of you dying, you want to say. Instead, you lift your chin high, summoning a strength you don’t feel. “Because it must end. The bloodshed, the sacrifice. The gods can’t possibly want this.”

He takes the spool, his fingers brushing yours. The contact sends a spark through you, almost reverent. “And what do you want in return?” he asks knowingly.

You hesitate. You’ve rehearsed this part in your head, but now, as you go to speak, the words feel heavy in your mouth. “Take me with you when you leave,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Promise me.”

His gaze softens as he looks at you, the weight of your request sinking in. “I promise.”

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

You can’t sleep that night. Hypnos seems to evade you, taunting you with the presence of his sisters, the Keres. Every breeze, every creak of the palace feels as if the labyrinth itself is breathing, reminding you of the danger awaiting Carlos. When the sun rises, casting a shadow over Crete, you stand among the crowd gathered in the arena around the mouth of the labyrinth. One by one, you watch, your hood drawn low, as each champion disappears into the dark opening in the earth.

Hours pass. The crowd grows restless. Whispers of failure ripple through them like waves. The Keres linger, waiting patiently as vultures do, ready to lay claim to the dead. You shift in your spot, nails digging into the flesh of your palms as you fight to keep your composure. Your way out of here will vanish if he doesn’t return.

But then, as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, a figure emerges, leading the tributes out from the darkness. His armor is smeared with blood, his stride steady despite his exhaustion. The Minotaur’s severed head dangles from his hand as he displays it to the crowd triumphantly.

The crowd erupts into cheers, but you can’t move. Relief and awe wash over you like a tide. It worked. He did it and survived. Athens is free.

The champion’s eyes find yours, and the chaos of the crowd falls away.

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

You leave under the cover of night, the ship cutting through the waves with ease. The crew works quietly, none questioning your presence on the ship, none asking why the princess has taken refuge with the demi-god. You sit beside Carlos at the helm, your pulse quickening every time your shoulders brush. There is a weight lifted from your shoulders—the weight of Crete, of your father’s legacy. It fades on the horizon, disappearing with every mile you put between yourselves and the labyrinth.

As the days pass, you and Carlos seem to tangle more and more with each other. He isn’t like most of the men of Crete, brash and cruel in their power. He is gentle, kind. He teaches you the names of the stars and the constellations that guide you. He shows you the maps of Athens, sketching the streets with a steady hand. You find yourself watching him when he isn’t looking, tracing the curve of his jaw, the slope of his brows, the way his lips curve in a faint smile when he catches you staring.

“We should be there in a few days’ time,” he says one evening as he charts the final stretch. You don’t know where “there” is. Naxos is a mystery to you, a paradise kept from your eyes.

His hands move in delicate arches over the map, deep in thought. He is quiet today, as if he isn’t quite ready for the journey to end. To have to return to the noise of the land, away from whatever this is—the two of you alone on the seas. Poseidon seems to favor your journey, the waters granting you safe passage and comfort.

“They say Naxos is beautiful,” he says finally, his voice breaking the rhythmic hum of the sea.

You turn to him, leaning forward in your spot on the deck. “Have you been?”

“Once, as a boy,” he says, stepping closer. The disappearing sun softens his features, making him look less like the warrior who conquered the labyrinth and more like the man who held you as you fled Crete. “The beaches are white as ivory, the water as clear as glass. There’s fruit of every taste you can imagine. It’s peaceful.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Peace sounds… strange,” you muse, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

Carlos tilts his head, curious. “Strange?”

“All I’ve ever known is duty,” you say, glancing at him. “Being the daughter of King Minos seems like it could have been grandiose and luxurious. It’s always only meant having to play a part. The perfect princess. The obedient, silent subject.” Your eyes stare into the horizon, as if you can still see your spot at the foot of your father’s throne. Seen and not heard.

Carlos studies you, the corners of his mouth twitching into the beginnings of a smile. “You? Silent? I find that hard to believe.”

You let out a laugh, the sound light and genuine, your hand stretching out to swat at his shoulder. It’s a new feeling you’ve learned to get used to, replaying it over and over throughout your journey. “I’m trying to have a moment here,” you cry, a smile gracing your lips.

He raises his hands in surrender, chuckling as he steps away from the barrel you’re standing next to. “I meant no harm. I can’t say I mind your chatter.”

There’s something in the way he says it, his voice low and teasing. It makes your heart skip, sending you turning to the water, leaning on the railing in an attempt to hide the warmth spreading across your cheeks. “You flatter me, Carlos.”

“Maybe,” he smirks, his voice closer now. You glance in his direction, finding him leaning on the rail beside you, his hands dangling over the edge. “You were brave to defy your father, to help me. Most wouldn’t have risked it.”

You hesitate, unsure if you should say the thought clawing its way to your tongue. “I didn’t just do it for Athens,” you confess, your voice a mere whisper.

Carlos turns to you, his expression unreadable. “I know.”

Your breath catches in your chest, just as it did when you stormed into his quarters a mere week ago. The space between you feels charged, as if Aeolus has turned the winds electric. You search his face for a sign, something to tell you this is all in your head. That the look in his eyes isn’t one that sends a current down your spine.

“Do you regret it?” he inquires, his voice soft and smooth, his eyes flickering with something unknown.

“No.”

The word is a confirmation that pulls you closer to him by the ties of your gown. Carlos’s hand cradles the back of your head while the other claims your waist, pulling you impossibly close. He presses his lips to yours, soft at first. It is tentative and cautious, as if he isn’t quite ready to release the feelings that have been brewing in him from the very beginning.

He pulls away, as if to catch your reaction. Your breath is stolen from your lungs, and you gasp, your fingers gripping his tanned biceps. Now it is his turn to search for an answer in your face, and for a second, he fears he has made a mistake. Your eyes are wide as you process what you had hoped for but hadn’t dared to expect.

You meet his gaze once before throwing your arms around his shoulders and pressing your lips back to his. This time, it is heavier, fierce, and consuming. Your hands tangle in his dark locks as his find their way to the curve of your hips, squeezing them and pulling your body closer to his.

Together, you stumble below deck, away from prying eyes and into the cabin Carlos has claimed for himself. Your movements are hurried and clumsy in the dimming light of the oil lamp. Your back hits the door as he kisses you again, his hands roaming over your sides, your back, your chest. His lips trace a path down your neck, the heat of his breath against your skin sending shivers racing down your spine.

He mouths at your breasts through the fabric of your gown, dragging his teeth over your pebbled nipples as they rise at his touch. The sensations send your heart pounding in your chest, and when his voice breaks through the haze, it is hoarse and filled with need.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, his forehead pressed against yours, his hands steadying your trembling frame.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice resolute. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That is all the reassurance he needs. Slowly, he begins untying the laces of your gown, his hands steady despite the storm of emotions roiling in his chest. You watch him carefully, your breath hitching as his fingers move with practiced precision, his lips parting in concentration.

When the gown falls to the floor, you feel exposed, vulnerable. You’ve only been this bare in front of your amphipoloi, your attendants, when bathing. Your arms gently cross over your chest, suddenly shy under the gaze of the man before you.

Carlos doesn’t rush you. He traces his fingers along your bare arms and the sides of your breasts, his touch reverent, as if you are something precious.

“You’re so beautiful,” he marvels, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your cheeks flush as your hands move to the ties of his tunic, fumbling slightly in your nerves. He chuckles softly, his hands enveloping yours as he helps you, the fabric soon joining yours on the floor. Without another word, he lays you down on the bed. The sheets and pillows smell like him—a mixture of salt and bourbon. It’s familiar and uniquely him.

His mouth drops to your lower abdomen, his lips leaving a hot trail in their wake. He goes slowly, dragging his tongue through your folds before suctioning his lips over your clit. It's a sensation you’ve never known and it pulls a sharp gasp from your lips as your fingers tangle in his dark hair. You back arches off the bed, giving Carlos the opportunity to pull you in closer. His arms wrap around your thighs, keeping you still as his tongue prods at you. Soon enough, two fingers pushed into you, your cries filling the air. 

He can feel you shaking with every stroke, voice at high pitch as you beg him not to stop. You were seeing stars, eyes squeezed shut and face contorting in passion. Please, please, please you implored, your voice breaking. You didn’t quite know what you were begging for. He could lie here and taste your forever, Carlos thought, he’d never get tired of your taste. 

Carlos hums as he feels you clench around his tongue, coming up to look at your properly. His fingers continue pumping in and out, reaching for a button he knew would send you off the edge. Your jaw drops, a whine escaping. You meet his eyes, fingers loosening their grip on his tresses before trailing lightly down his face. There’s a glint in his eye as he uses his free hand to pull your fingers into his mouth, matching the pressure to your hole to the swirling of his tongue around your digits. He can feel the tension in your body grow, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

You let out a broken sob as you fall apart and Carlos lets go of your fingers with a pop. His fingers press slowly in and out of you in soothing strokes, bringing you down from your high. Your thighs tremble as he presses his lips once more to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re heaving, your cheeks flushed and skin prickled with goosebumps. 

His fingers brush gently along the inside of your thighs, kissing the soft skin as he takes in the sight of you. 

“You okay, princesa?” he asks. He realizes how deeply this must have affected you; as a princess, you weren’t exactly expected to partake in acts like this.

You nod slowly, lips curling into a breathless smile. “Mhmm, yeah,” you whisper, propping yourself up onto your elbows. 

He raises to his full height, propping one knee up on the bed before crawling over you. You get a good look at him, there's a few gashes that have scarred on his chest, and one that cuts diagonally across his hip. There are some lingering ones on his arms, not fresh but not quite healed yet, most likely from the maze. 

He slots himself between your legs as they part for him. He lifts his hips, pushing the tip of his cock against your sensitive clit. He loves the sound that falls from your lips as he does so. He pushes himself in slowly, careful not to move too fast against you. It’s different from his fingers, different from his tongue. It was a slow ache, a stretch you can’t quite place. You feel as your face contorts, the ache slowly dissipating and turning into something else. 

He rocks gently against you, the air ripping right out of your lungs as you feel him bottom out. He searches your face for a sign, waiting for you to give him the green light. “Need you to move.” you moan out. 

His strokes are languid, gentle at the beginning. His fingers snake between you, rubbing circles against your clit. His head lays between the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his tongue licking stripes onto the sensitive skin and teeth nipping gently at your jaw. Soon enough, his lips press against yours as he continued at a slow pace. Your breaths mix together as his hips snap against yours just a little faster.  Both of you are a mess, the sounds of skin on skin echoing through the cabin. 

Collecting both your hands in one of his, he pulls them up over your head. There's a sparkle in your eyes as you feel yourself teetering closer to the edge once more. “Carlos, I—” your voice breaks, body arching into his. 

“Cum... cum for me,"  he beckons, pressing fleeting kisses to your chest. Your walls held onto him like a vice, clamping down on him as you fell apart once again. 

He groans as he feels you break, chasing his own climax. Curses fall from his lips as his hips piston in and out of you. Yes, yes, yes. There’s a groan that falls from the both of you as you feel the hot ropes of his spend coat your walls. He falters momentarily before pressing his lips to yours as a moan fell from his lips. He stills, letting his body drop on yours gently.

Your arms wrap around his toned back, fingers dipping into the valleys of his muscles. Slowly, he pulls himself away from your aching core. You both watch as his cum mixed with yours drips out from you. Reaching for a discarded rag, he clears off as much as he can before tangling with you in the narrow bed. 

Your head rests on his chest as he cradles you. The lull of the waves place the two of you into a peaceful silence. You can hear his steady heartbeat thumbing through the expanse of his chest. His fingers drag gently over your shoulder and back.

“I don’t want this moment to end,” you murmur as Hypnos begins to pull you away, your own fingers languidly tracing the scars on his otherwise smooth chest. 

“These moments never do,” he replies as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. There’s a blanket of melancholy that falls over him. An ache settling in his chest as he feels you fall asleep against him. He dreads what’s coming next, the one step the gods demanded of him, but who was he to defy their will?

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

It's the next evening that Naxos appears on the horizon. You stand at the bow of the ship once more, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Carlos stood at your side, silent but present. 

“Is this it?” you asked, turning to look at him. 

“Yes,” he answers, his tone betraying nothing. 

There was a shift in him the morning. His once cheerful demeanor exchanged for a colder, sharper one. You look for the face that had kissed you tenderly. The one that had shown you the stars and the word beyond Athens. You couldn’t find it and it churned your stomach with dread. 

“What happens next then?” you ask, feeling your chest tighten in anticipation.

He doesn’t answer right away, eye trained on the island as it comes closer. He spoke in a low voice, laced in pain. “This is where I leave you.”

Your heart stopped in your chest. “What?” you question.

“Carlos,” you say, trying to get him to meet your gaze. “What do you mean?” your voice trembles as you turn him towards you. His jaw is tight as he finally looks into your eyes. The whites of his eyes are red, turning the brown in his irises green. There was a pain in his eyes, shadowed by something she couldn’t name. 

“It is the will of the gods,” he insisted."They command me to leave you here.” 

“And you’ll obey them?” you demand, a flare of anger and pain blooming in your chest. “Even if it breaks you?”

“Carlos,” you call for him. His jaw remains clenched as he looks away from you once again. “I stood against everything I’ve ever known. I risked my own life. I defied my father, my role, my future. I chose you. Not the gods, not duty, not the life I was supposed to lead. You.”

He grips your biceps as if trying to shake the words out of himself. “You don’t think I know that?” he snaps, voice cracking. His eyes fill with tears as he looks at you, eyes just as hazy. “Do you think I wanted this? To leave you here, alone? If I defy them, they’ll punish you as much as they punish me. Their wrath will destroy us both.”

Your eyebrows furrow, a sob threatening to pop in your chest. “Then let them. Let them destroy us together—” You reach a hand up to caress his cheek but before it can make contact he pulls it away, turning from you to face towards the island again. 

“It is the will of the gods.”

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

He watches you get smaller on the dock of the island, slowly fading into it. He thinks of your laughter, the way you would banter with him. The way your voice sounded when it called out for him. The warmth of your body as it had fit so perfectly against his.  

He thought of how scared you must’ve been to take the golden spool he twisted in his hands. How you left everything behind, to help him. 

Your story was meant for the gods, destined to dwell among them rather than at his side. Yet, while part of you belonged to them—part of you would always belong to him.

Index:

Hypnos - Greek god of sleep and the personification of sleep itself. The Keres - Greek goddesses/spirits that represented violent death. Poseidon - Greek god of the sea, storms, earthquakes, and horses Aeolus - Greek god of the wind

a/n: a little fun fact, I almost got a minor in greek and roman studies before COVID hit and I had to withdraw from a whole bunch of classes, boo

[loafysainz]

the parent trap (remake) | CS 55

cast: carlos sainz x fem!reader

warn: 100% fiction & remake

chap 1, chap 2, chap 3, chap 4, chap 5, chap 6, chap 7, chap 8

PART 7 A DAY WITH MOM

The phone rang sharply, breaking the calm. Y/N sighed dramatically, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, who could it be now? I told everyone not to bother me today,” she muttered, heading toward the ringing phone.

Matheo, perched on the edge of the sofa, watched her walk away before letting his curiosity take over. He wandered around the living room, his eyes lighting up at every detail. The walls were lined with photographs of dazzling events, one from the Paris Fashion Week, another from a glamorous runway show. Next to those were sketches pinned carefully, showcasing elegant dresses, bold hats, and intricate designs.

On a small side table, Matheo found a delicate glass figurine. He picked it up gingerly, tilting it in the sunlight and grinning as the light broke into tiny rainbows.

“Mattia, sweetheart,” his mom called from across the room, holding the phone in one hand. She looked amused. “Would you mind coming with me to the workshop? Apparently, there’s a little fashion emergency.” Mattia couldn't have been happier.

****

Y/N, his mother, was so funny and sweet. How could he not have had the chance to be with her? They passed by a very beautiful shop and the first thing Matheo saw in the window was a beautiful white dress full of shiny rhinestones and white gold details. When he looked up from the window he was surprised by the illuminated sign that adorned the wall “Y/N Y/LN”

Matheo tugged on his Mom’s sleeve, unable to contain his excitement. “Did you design that, Mom?”

Y/N turned, her usual amused smile spreading across his face. “Well, I had to do something while you were away at camp, baby.” she winked, making it sound like crafting the gown was as casual as making toast.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Matheo said, Y/N laughed softly “Thanks, little man. But tell me, did you try designing anything while you were at camp?”

“I wanted to,” Matheo admitted, “but there was just so much going on. I barely had time to think!”

Y/N nodded, understanding as always. “Ah, at your age, I was the same. Always running around.”

Matheo smiled at his mother's understanding. His mother pulled him to go inside the boutique, but Matheo resisted her hand, smiling mischievously at his reflection in the mirror. His mother, who stood close by with her arms crossed and eyebrows raised, couldn't help but giggle at his act. “You know who would look really beautiful in this dress?” he said, tilting her head dramatically.

“Who?” Y/N asked, playing along, even though she already knew where this was going.

“You,” Matheo said with a victorious smile, turning to face her. “Me?” Y/N asked, pretending to be surprised.

“Yup! Really, really beautiful,” he said, his big brown eyes twinkling with sincerity.

Y/N shook her head, laughing softly. “I guess the time change has left you a little loopy.”

Matheo just shrugged, still clutching the dress. “Maybe. But I'm still right.”

****

The workshop was alive with movement, fabric swatches, and the hum of sewing machines. Models strutted back and forth in stunning outfits, while designers fussed over last-minute details.

Y/N immediately took charge, shrugging off his jacket with flair. “Alright, what’s going on here? Interrupting my time with my baby better be worth it!”

A woman with sleek brown hair appeared, flanked by two models. Her eyes sparkled when she spotted me. “Mattia! Look at you so grown up and handsome. Where did you get all this charm?”

Y/N rolled his eyes. “You can look at me, Kimi.”

Matheo couldn’t help but smile sheepishly. The energy in the room was infectious. Matheo watched his Mom gave directions, adjusting veils, critiquing hems, and encouraging her team. “Remember,” she said, her voice commanding yet warm, “every piece is a work of art. Tonight isn’t just about my designs, it’s about ours.”

As Matheo stood there, taking it all in, he realized something. Y/N wasn’t just a fashion designer, she was a storyteller, crafting magic with every thread.

“Mom, you’re amazing,” Matheo blurted out, his cheeks heating up when he realized he said it out loud.

Y/N turned to her son, her eyes softening. “It’s in your blood, baby.”

*****

As they walked through the shopping center, Mom ordered some tea for the road. Matheo knew this was his moment. “Hey, Mom, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Mattia. What’s on your mind?”

Matheo took a deep breath. “Did you ever want to get married again?”

Y/N nearly choked on her tea, her eyes wide with surprise. “What kind of question is that, Mattia?”

“I’m just curious,” Matheo said, trying to sound casual. “You never really talk about it or about the D word.”

Y/N smile faltered slightly as she set her tea down. “The D-word?” she echoed. “Baby, what on earth do you mean?”

“You know,” Matheo said, his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “Dad.”

For a brief second, Y/N was caught off guard and nearly laughed. “Oh,” she said, composing herself. “That D-word.”

“Yes!” Matheo straightened, crossing his arms like a pint-sized detective. “Why don’t we ever talk about him? Was he a bad person or something”

She exhaled softly, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. “No, not a bad person. Let’s just say… he was complicated.”

Matheo tilted his head, his curiosity growing. “Complicated? Like a crossword puzzle? Did you like him at least?”

A faint smile tugged at Y/N lips as she looked back at her son. “Oh, I liked him very much. When I first met him, he was the most charming man I’d ever seen.”

His eyes widened with excitement. “Really? Where did you meet him?”

Y/N chuckled. “As a matter of fact, yes. It was on a cruise, years ago. Your grandpa had just surprised me with tickets to celebrate my graduation. The route was from London to Spain. And there he was… a handsome Spaniard with a smile that could light up the ocean.”

“Wow,” Matheo whispered, enchanted by the story. “Was it love at first sight?”

Y/N laughed, ruffling Matheo hair. “You’re as nosy as I was at your age. Come on, let’s head home. I think Grandpa’s waiting for us.”

As they walked back, Matheo heart swelled with excitement. Matheo think he was probably working on his plan. And if everything went right, he’d finally bring their family back together.

[harbourslighthouse]

let me fix your window? (jason todd x f!reader)

summary → on grey days, you and jason find a calmness on the living room floor.

autor's note → it's just something small that i wrote several weeks ago while i was struggling to come up with my follow up fic of 'asphalt in my lungs'. i hope you enjoy :)

Pale light filters into your apartment, bathing the living room in a cool glow. The clouds are dark and slither across the sky, leaving behind a spittle of rain as they move across the city. You haven’t bothered switching on any of the lights. And neither you, or Jason, wish to move from the living room floor. 

The carpet you bought three years ago is soft, with simple designs embroidered into the thread. Your hands are clasped along your stomach, your gaze flickering across the gritty texture of the ceiling. 

Jason’s breaths are a quiet pattern next to you, his body pressed against your side. Firm, but warm and soft at the same time. You wonder if he realises that his own physical make-up gives him away—the inner part of himself that remains gentle despite the cruelty he’s been dealt. 

“You’re quiet,” Jason murmurs.

“Tired,” you answer in an equally soft voice. 

Something intimate wraps around the two of you, grey light spilling across the walls, the crack in the window inviting a wisp of wind that’s cold. Jason’s hand ghosts up and down your arm, fingertips dancing across the velvet of your skin. 

“Sleep, then.” 

“Maybe.”

Silence settles, and the rain taps against the window. It reminds you of thousands of pebbles thudding onto soft soil. How long has it been since you’ve felt damp earth beneath your feet? Or pebbles digging into the thin heels of your shoes? 

“Do you struggle to sleep?” Jason asks beside you, and you feel his head shift to the side, nose brushing against your temple. 

“Sometimes,” you admit, your voice low. There’s something between you that is fragile, and to speak any louder would mean to break it. 

“Nightmares?” 

“No,” you whisper, “but sometimes I think too much.” 

His lashes flutter, eyes carefully roving across what little of your face he can see in this position. His chest rises and falls slowly, his heart beating against muscle and bone. Life pours out from him, pulsing in his veins that run under his skin like hair-line rivers. 

“About?” 

“You.”

thank you for reading! God bless <3

[hazbinshusk]

I need more information on the overlords of hell, if only because I have this whole thing in my head about how they each stand in for the seven deadly sins, and I don't have one for sloth and I need it so my brain will brrr.

I know it's probably not a new idea, but here's my reasoning:

wrath - camilla carmine. she's a weapons dealer, powerful and running things (much in the same way that satan is running things - at least while lucifer is mia). she and satan also both have this whole restrained anger thing about them which I think is a great parallel (although she's got more control than he does).

lust - obviously valentino and his porn empire. now, he's a darker side of the idea of lust than our good boy ozzie. he leans more into the concept that lust without consent is greed (which ties into one of my other overlords later, you'll see), but his power absolutely lies in controlling what's 'sexy' - like how angel's work seems to be dependent more on val's kinks than what's popular with the pride ring.

envy - hear me out, but it's vox. he's constantly amassing this empire, this power, which, yeah, could be read as greed, but he's doing it because he wants what others have. he wants to be a one of the big dicks of hell, to beat camilla and zestial and especially alastor. vox creating the vees is a way to push himself above the others because he wants them to want what he has. his shows, his apps, his beef with alastor in stayed gone, everything is designed to make people like him more than the other overlords, especially alastor. hence the big smiles and posturing for audiences - he doesn't need to do that for power - he already has that. he does that because he wants to be respected/liked more than the others are. and alastor has that with the other overlords - zestial and rosie like him, camilla respects him (at least enough to speak to him like an equal). vox is looked down upon by the other overlords, and he envies that power alastor has.

pride - I feel like it's obvious it's alastor. he's so self-assured to the point that he's dismissive of everyone around him, especially those who could be seen as a threat. he goes up against adam, the most powerful of the exterminators, seemingly without any concern that he might not be strong enough to stop him (to the point where alastor isn't even armed with any angelic steel.He has some in the shield, but not even his little summoned creatures carry angelic weapons against adam). and to that point, pride is alastor's downfall there - if he'd been better prepared, he could have taken adam out. but he refused to use weapons provided by another overlord. he's threatened by lucifer (the actual sin of pride) because he can provide charlie with things alastor can't, and alastor being charlie's go-to for advice and protection and her hotel's needs are what gives him power in their relationship. it's what he needs for his ulterior motives to succeed. also, pride going head to head with pride is the most on point thing possible for the seven deadly sins.

gluttony - this feels a little lazy honestly, but rosie. but she's a cannibal, and what is cannibalism if not people throwing away all their reasoning for the joy of the feast?

greed - velvette. she's got a whole material wealth thing about her. fashion/social media overlord, the latter of which is always tied to overconsumption (hello, watch any of those grwm tiktoks where they have like, outfits for their stanley cups and twenty-three step hand care regimes where most of it is completely unnecessary). she and val are the only ones of the overlords we see consistently changing their outfits, and as I mentioned above, I see val tied into this sin, too. not just because of the outfits, but because of the love potions. ozzie calls them artificial bullshit, and we see ads in Hazbin that show that val and vel make and sell them. I also think husk would have been the overlord 'of greed' back before he lost his soul to alastor, which also fits into my headcanon that with velvette being the youngest of the overlords and having died around the 2000s/2010s (I think?), husk probably lost power before she acheived overlord status with the vees, maybe even before she died, seeing as the other residents of the hotel don't seem to know who he was in his past, so maybe it's been a while since he fell off the map.

sloth - ??? we don't really have one for sloth? I don't think the gambling overlord would have fit here, so I don't think it was husk. and we don't know enough about zestial or the others for them to fit but it doesn't feel like zestial's vibe? like, the closest we have is him not wanting to fight the angels, but that was for lack of information, rather than laziness.

so please, season two, solidify this idea for me because I love the symmetry of it and it's killing me that sloth is unfulfilled.

[strangerthingsfanworkrecs]

Artist Highlight: Jo-Harrington

This week, we're highlighting @jo-harrington! All recs this week will be for her work. @jo-harrington writes for the Stranger Things Fandom, with a special focus on xOC, and xReader fics. She's also a great beta-editor and design all the graphics for her fics! We're highlighting Jo for her incredible world building and strong OCs.

You should check out her Store Manager Verse fics for some great fluff and top-tier retail angst Jo answered some questions about her creative process and her work under the cut

Why Stranger Things?

I’ve been an avid ST Fan since the beginning. My old Store Manager and I watched the first episode in the backroom of our store while folding t-shirts and rest was history. Fic-wise, a certain Metalhead Dungeon Master brought me out of a fanfiction posting hiatus and I haven’t looked back since.

What's your favorite ship (platonic or romantic) to create for?

Platonic is always going to be the Hellfire Club boys. I love writing their adventures. Their friendship is epic and deserves to be explored and celebrated. Romantic…EddiexOC or EddiexReader. I mean, I’ve been an xOC girl since my first fandom. xReader is new for me but it’s almost an extension of xOC. I always joke that I’m allowed ONE epic borbo obsession love of my life per decade and I’ll give them one canon pairing but the rest are OCs.

What's your typical writing process like?

I have an idea, I write it down, I get sick of working on a chapter, I don’t edit, I post. (Which is funny because when I beta, I am a lot more detailed. But for my own work I just need it out of my head.) It might not be the best. It could probably read better or have less typos or mistakes. But it’s always from the heart.

How do you come up with your OCs?

I sit there for a long time and figure out how I can put a part of myself into a story. Oops was I not supposed to say that? Sometimes you think of a character that you just can’t help but want to write. But even if they aren’t a manifestation of your physical self or your personality, they almost always end up being an extension of you in some ways, or something you aspire to be. You also need to add some attributes you hate into them, so that they’re not too perfect and you can throttle them around and make them suffer and not feel too bad/let it become a self hatred thing.

What has been your favorite project so far? Why?

Store Manager Verse. (EMxReader) Retail is who I am and who I’ve always been. I had a mall romance irl that went south. So it was a way to rewrite my past with my comfort character…and also give said comfort character a happy ending as well.

What has been your hardest project so far? Why?

As Above, So Below. (EMxOC) It is a passion project, it is a beast, every chapter takes an emotional toll on me and it takes a month—if not more—to recover. But it has been the single most fulfilling project that I’ve worked on in the 20 years I’ve been writing fanfiction. I've been working on it for about 2 years now. 3 more chapters til the end…I’m gonna be very sad when it’s over.

Have you ever had a creative block? How did you get over it?

My brain is just a beehive that I shake every now and again to get the bees angry. Honestly, the bigger block I get into is self-doubt. I have no problem finding the words, it’s the courage to put them to paper I struggle with at times.

Is there a big source of inspiration for you? Books? Art? Games?

Yes all of the above. But in all seriousness, life experience is the best inspiration. There’s only so much research you can do. Truly for me, the canon characters are the source of inspiration. Then I take from things I’ve done, things I’ve read, places I’ve been in order to take an idea to a fully formed plot.

Is there an upcoming project you're particularly excited about?

Eddie Munson Big Bang. I know you’re gonna hear that a lot. I love creating really ambitious AUs and I think this one is really testing my abilities as a writer. It's a crossover fic, in a way, but with a lot of original plot folded in. I hope I do both fandoms/universes justice.

Is there anything we didn't ask that you'd like to add?

I’m from the Midwest, so thank you for listening to all of my long-winded answers. Haha.

[broooooo]

Revenge

What is it that makes a human will? Why is it that we try so hard to be something unique when the world is against us.

The world of drones has ... Expanded to say the least. I watch the willing and unwilling get stripped of all identity , to then be braced in a latex to act as a new skin, all the while their previous life is erased and a new programing is set, so they are obedient and horny, a perfect drone, the final stage is a perpetually hard cock, leaking black cum..

It's almost unreal to watch it happen. It's scary, yet intriguing.

I am no one special, I'm hunter, a skinny guy trying to make ends meet in a dingy small apartment, my so called family, who are rich and have power, kicked me out long ago, I have nothing to my name, while they relax in a big house. It angers me.. I'd do anything to watch them suffer..

I laugh at the thought.. but realize it's not so I realistic .. if I could send a drone to them.. I could watch them fall

I day dream over the idea, to watch them fall into a robotic obedient drones... Would be so funny.. but then a nock at the door wakes me from my say dream.

"Oh.... Ik thosr nocks, I thought I'd never get them"

I walk over to my door and peek though the spyhole , a black figure, shiny, muscular.. a drone..

I open the door, witnessing the mighty of this being, it's throbbing dick, it's muscles, I look at it's featureless black face.

"A drone... Hello"

*Greetings. Human, It is drone 6978 it has come to evaluate you*

"Oh i see.. well I before that.. I have a request for you and your hive"

*What might that be human?*

"My stuck up snobby rich family.. left me to rot , they wanted nothing to do with me. They live comfortably in a large house while I suffer here with a dead end job and worn rags as clothes,

I would do anything to see them fall, I want revenge" a fire in my eyes

The drone processes the Information I have given it

*Human.. your order has been processed. It will be done. But one has to repay the hive for this request*

I grin wickedly at the drones words

"Well.. I look forward to watching their overdue transformation, but please.. I want them to suffer.. I want them the lowest of the low...

Are there ranks to this hive?"

The drone processes my question

*Affirmative human. There are ranks., combatant is the lowest, what you ask is for your family to be combatants?*

"Perfect..." Grins evily

"Now.. as for my payment... " I look around my small apartment for a breaf moment.. taking in the mess, the clothes, remembering the struggle.. yeah I was done with it all"

"I take it the payment is my own transformation into. Drone? Well as long as I'm a higher rank than a combatant. I'll go with you"

The drone processes the information

*It understands, your order has been processed and complete, we must proceed with your payment*

The next few moments? It's felt like a eternity of pleasure. I let the drone fuck my ass with it's leaking latex hard cock., the pleasure was intense.. my cock was hard and leaking

"Assimilation begun, it will become a drone.."

Like a chant , a echo.. it's words ring in my head, the pleasure taking over, my body beging to expand. Mucles growing.. black latex spreading all over .. drone... Drone... Must .. obey... Obedient... , I can hear the mantra.. I repeat it.. it must repeat it...

Black boots form on my feet, my cock getting bigger and starting to leak black cum.. my face and head beeping covered in latex. Becoming smooth and shiny.

The reprogramming coming to an end. One was a drone. It was a drone. It must obey

*Assimilation almost done. Stand up drone*

I stand up gettingy bareings

*It's designation is drone 4576. , repeat repeat*

My cock throbbing and mind reshaping as the pleasure builds

"It is drone 4576, it is a drone. It must obey. It must serve. It must assimilate. It must cum.."

My mind reshapes and my cock explodes with black cum , and with perpetual leak of pre cum

*Assimilation complete , it is a hunter drone , one of us. We hunt for new humans to assimilate, we are a high rank ,repeat repeat*

"It is a hunter drone, it understands"

Both our cocks throb as my programming sets in as I get it's first order

**Assimilate a rich family into combatants**

Since it doesn't remember ones past life, it doesn't realize this is it's doing, but it must do the order.. it must obey

*Let's depart. Drone*

We walk away, two drones ready to hunt

"

I hope this is an alright story 😅 long time no see !

[sweetiesicheng]

mingi - stare

word count : 510

-

you're sitting on the couch playing a video game for your husband. it's a game that yunho had recommended to mingi, but he has been struggling with one of the stages. when you had gotten home, you bet with mingi to see who would beat the stage first.

you're moving the character on screen through a section of the stage, heading towards a building that is marked by a triangle hovering over it. you encounter different enemies and fight them. it takes a minute to get through all of them before another wave of enemies appear. you clear them out after another few minutes.

as you continue playing, you sense someone looking at you.

and that someone is right next to you.

"please stop staring at me."

"i can't help it."

you pause the game and look at mingi. you put the controller on your lap.

"is there something on my face?" you ask, immediately reaching up to touch your face, thinking that food might have been stuck to your skin from dinner.

"no, there isn't. well, actually, there is," he replies.

you raise an eyebrow at him, trying to understand what he just said. "song mingi, what's on my face?" you ask and pick his phone up to open the camera app. you look at yourself but find nothing unusual. "i don't see anything, babe," you say to him.

he chuckles and points to a mole beneath one of your eyebrows.

"you've been staring at my mole that's been on my face since the day i was born?" you question him and turn his phone off, putting it on the couch in between both of you.

"am i not allowed to stare?" he asks you. "it's cute." he leans in and kisses you where the mole is.

"it's not that cute," you reply and pick up the controller. you resume playing the game. "i wish i had freckles or something. i think those are cuter."

"if you think about it, it's like you have a single freckle," mingi points out. "i'm telling you, it's cute."

"quit trying to win me over, we're already married," you say to him.

he chuckles, "i can't help it. i'm married to a hottie. i have to point out everything i love about her and show her off."

you playfully roll your eyes and smile while playing the game. you fight more enemies along the way and reach the designated building. inside of the building, you have to do a few puzzles and fight some more characters that are a part of the series. it doesn't take you too long before you turn a machine off within the building, beating the stage and leveling up two of the characters. you go to the stage selection screen and move the character to the next stage.

"i gotta admit, you're hell of a catch too," you say to him as you pass him the controller and kiss his cheek, "told ya i'd beat it before you would." you add while mingi starts up the next level.

[apocalypse-boogie]

CASTLEVANIA: NOCTURNE SHIT THAT I LIKED WHILE WATCHING THROUGH S2 (SPOILERS)

- this is technically my live commentary as I was watching each episode, though there are some edits that I made after my first watch and some general commentary sprinkled throughout.

- there’s also some things I didn’t like in here, but there’s less of those opinions overall

- also featuring my heavy Drolta bias.

No vampire on this show seems to be able to handle the loss of a loved one normally (except for maybe Olrox, but that’s debatable considering his relationship with Mizrak; and I mean this from a Mizrak lashes out at Olrox a lot and an Olrox fell for him very hard in a short amount of time perspective, not from the viewpoint of me personally disliking Mizrak). They’re either carrying around their spouse’s rotted dismembered head or carrying their entire corpse around; none of these people can let go. Erzsebet had every right not to though, don’t get me wrong; I too would’ve been too devastated to go on without Drolta.

Love the horror strings taking over the background music when Drolta is finished being brought back to “life” but hasn’t yet come out of the forgemaster machine.

Yes I absolutely did rewatch her walking out of the machine and her scene right after multiple times.

Drolta’s got inches, just the curls on her corpse were long as hell. I need my hair like that in the next five years🤞🏾.

I love Drolta’s new design about as much as her old one, except for the wings. They're fine enough, their roundness just mildly vexes me. And I do mean mildly.

Drolta backstory!

Human Drolta! Her being dedicated enough to go to war for Sekhmet. I liked being able to see the circumstances that broke Drolta, that led her away from the path of a healer and corrupted her compassion and ceaseless dedication into bloodthirsty hate and misled obsession.

The first six minutes alone of “Angel of Death” S2E2, period.

The sequence where Drolta takes flight over the water and tests out her new body in front of Erzsebet. Erzsebet clapping for her, feeding off her elation because that’s her WIFE (EDIT: little does Erzsebet know she as a person is barely a passing fad to Drolta though).

Drolta saying “it is delightful” in response to feeling the sun for the first time without pain in centuries. The little smile on her face. That was cute, I love her.

I actually like Richter more this season. Not that I disliked him in season one though.

Him and Annette buzzing uncertainly around each other is cute too.

Whatever weird ass beef Drolta and Olrox have going on now (it was there in season one too, but now the tension feels heightened).

EDIT: And the fact that it’s Drolta who continues to question Olrox and poke holes in his stories instead of Erzsebet (who calls him “my dragon” and who acts like he’s more loyal than he is) really makes me think that Erzsebet would’ve ended up back confined if Drolta wasn’t such a good backbone for her. How much she predominantly only cares about killing and bringing about suffering for little reason other than she can and thinks she has a right to blinds her — and made her pretty un-intimidating to me as a result. She’s a big physical threat but it’s like she’s got nothing beyond that desire to hurt ruling her and it makes her sloppy and unimpressive whenever she tries to be intimidating (especially whenever Drolta’s not there).

The shot of Drolta rising up before Olrox to proclaim that hunting the French military during the day would be more fun than waiting to do it at night.

The entirety of Drolta tearing apart the soldiers and clearly basking in it. She is serving absolute looks while going on a bloodthirsty demenated binge and I love her all the more for it. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to tear off the top of a man’s skull if she wants to, yk?

Olrox stopping Mizrak from trying to fight Drolta essentially one on one was sweet (even if I don’t necessarily like Mizrak).

The continued stressing of the fact that Drolta is more of an abomination, even more unnatural than before, since being resurrected and going through the machine.

THEORY (I’m currently on “Angel of Death” S2Ep2 as I write this bit): I think Drolta knows more than she’s letting on about resurrecting Sekhmet and that she’s planning to bring her back to life in the only way she can, with Erzsebet’s body. I think possession and full bodily transformation is the endgame, and I don’t think Erzsebet’s figured that out yet. It’s highly possible that she loves Drolta more than Drolta even cares for her as a person; Drolta only cares for her body insofar as it’s capabilities to successfully contain a goddess’s soul. Though this may be my general distaste for Erzsebet (and need for Drolta to be better than giving the soul of an Egyptian goddess to the palest white woman she could find) poking its head out so idk.

OH MY GOD DROLTA'S SWORD PROOF?!?!?!??!!!!!

I mean she was proven to be bullet proof, yeah, but that has less oomph than her brushing off a sword attack.

Ahhhhh, and she’s fucking huge compared to humans!!! How delightful!! *giggles uncontrollably for a few seconds*

Olrox liking Mizrak enough to hold him while he cries for the people Drolta is slaughtering en mass is good shit. Him holding on to Olrox for dear life as he breaks down whilst he’s soothed as much as he can be is also good shit.

Drolta literally squeezing the life out of the revolutionary army’s captain and popping her like a stress toy. Go off Queen.

“For every suffering, a wisdom is gained.” *end of episode; cut to black* OMG?!!!

Drolta’s voice lines being performed so well every time? Glorious, end of discussion.

Why is Olrox so invested in Mizrak? Every interaction he’s had with that man has ended with Olrox upset. Like, he’s literally not fucking worth it.

Drolta just letting Alucard lead her to Sekhmet’s mummy. Why work hard, you know? Especially when she’s clearly been carrying Erzsebet’s entire plan.

Drolta saying “I was born three times. The second time a vampire, and the third…a new and glorious thing,” and then pressing a kiss to the forehead of the newest female night creature. Like, bitch, I want that to be me.

Oh yeah, Edouard is going to start an uprising. Erzsebet and Drolta Them are fucked. When that army turns on them that’s gonna be the end.

I know Olrox is mad about that brand, and shit, I’m mad for him. That would’ve drove me insane. I wouldn’t want to cede that much of myself to Erzsebet either (especially since she’s not even actually Sekhmet yet). But just in general it sucks that he was branded both against his will by Drolta and for a cause that he doesn’t believe in or want to follow.

Alright Maria, embrace your darkness! And then mellow out a bit, that step is crucial here. She’s got the spirit though, and that wolf is beautiful.

Maria going “who are you” completely baffled when Juste shows up and attacks Tera is killing me. I’m laughing too hard, I had to pause it for a minute.

Tera’s control is immaculate for such a new vampire.

This is probably bad, but good for Maria. A coming of rage might be good for her. Sometimes you just want to kill your shitty harmfully delusional father; no, that wasn’t kind of cathartic for me at all /s.

Drolta being the one to turn Erzsebet. Truly all the power that woman ever gained after being confined was because of Drolta. That’s…something.

You know what? As Drolta started to fight Alucard I immediately realized that I really do not want to see Drolta die again. I know she probably will, all things considered, but still.

I understand that Tera left because she personally sees that she’s a bad influence on Maria, and she wants to protect her daughter from that side of herself until she has her own darker impulses under control. But how tf was she so sure that abandoning her child wouldn’t’ve pushed Maria right over the edge? Honestly I’ve never liked when parents do shit like run away from their kids “for their own good” unless they’re literally turning into uncontrollable monsters; like, you know what’ll really go great with this trauma sandwich? A nice tall glass of trauma lemonade with a special shot of abandonment issues mixed in! 🙄

Not Olrox offering to take that man with him. Omg. I bet you Olrox will come back and risk his life for Mizrak, and maybe even be killed doing it. At least let him be the one to kill Drolta (I have to accept her inevitable death atp, and at least let it be at the hands of the man she branded so that he can go out with a win and so that they can have a good ass fight beforehand).

EDIT: Okay, so I lost that bet but I’m super okay with that. And like, I get the Mizrox relationship I guess, but it’s just not for me.

I think the nicest thing Mizrak ever said to Olrox without immediately following his words up by calling Olrox a disgusting soulless monster was after Olrox said he was leaving for good. Don’t switch up now bitch, I just hope by the time someone else comes around you're done with this ‘lashing out, existential crisis’ shit.

The spirits overwhelming Annette was a nice touch, but I can tell the spirit world stuff will make me uncomfortable so I’m going to stop watching as it is now night.

Richter being so attuned to Annette whenever she’s in distress (even when it’s silent) and rushing to make sure she’s okay every time. He’s not always correct when he makes an assumption about why she might be disturbed when he’s reassuring her, but that’s mostly just because he doesn’t have all the information.

Annette being attuned to Richter enough to pinpoint when he’s feeling insecure and then assuage his feelings. Annette constantly using reason to defuse any possible tension between Alucard and Richter, and being just as fully prepared to call Richter out when he screws up as she is to come to his defense.

Them coming to mutually understand and respect both of their circumstances and the trauma they experienced growing up.

“Mephisto” is unsettling imo, but Olrox’s interaction with him was interesting. Olrox just has such a calm demeanor even when he’s technically outmatched or upset, and it’s very engaging.

Drolta kicking Alucard into the river. Just her kicking with her hoofs in general, she does it a lot throughout the season and I love it every time. The move is just such a finisher that I can’t help but find it appealing. It’s a competence thing, I really can’t help myself.

ABOVE THIS TEXT IS MY COMMENTARY FOR EPISODES 1-5 & BELOW IT IS EPISODES 6-8

Annette, girl, every bit of your story is riveting! Like, there’s legitimately so much here and that feels crazy. I love it! I shall cherish this fictional black woman being allowed to have negative traits (s1) without being demonized for it and then being given actual time and dedication in her personal story and the show’s overall story.

Just— ALL OF EPISODE SIX. The whole thing’s going on the list.

Alucard teasing Richter about his affections for Annette.

Richter moving the cushioning into place for Annette to sit on when she stopped hovering.

Fuck, is Sekhmet going to be the one to kill Drolta? I hope it brings her peace before she dies at least (even if she is a villian, yes).

Fuck, Olrox hasn’t left yet. Sorry, that’s more commentary than anything but I am legitimately scared for what he’s going to do.

Alright, magical girl transformation! Not, Sekhmet being ready to come for Erzsebet. I’m not going to argue.

Hold on is episode seven the first time Edouard's face hands lift? It’s not right? Am I tripping?

Edouard's singing in episode seven. It’s probably the most effective his spontaneous singing has been, and adds to the scene and themes with a lot of purpose.

Drolta looking like a spider at 05:30 in episode seven when she decides to fight Alucard.

Maria falling right into Richter as she lands and her and him hugging.

Omg, Maria tamed the dragon thing. Beautiful. I knew all she needed after the fall was to mellow back out and the power up speaks for itself.

Drolta’s nails turning into a fucking SWORD! EDIT: SWORDS!!???!!!

The insanity of Drolta’s laughing after Alucard cuts her “living” hair. I’m in pain for her, and she’s laughing that shit off?

Richter making an ice claw to keep from blowing away during his fight with Erzsebet (who’s got the two souls of Sekhmet by now).

Drolta headbutting Alucard.

OLROX!!!! Holy shit! He came back, and he’s helping Alucard!

Awwww, Richter using his ice magic to cool Annette (and thus Sekhmet’s third soul) down after realizing that she was literally burning up after collapsing. King.

I’ll never undermine the merits of getting to see Erzsebet essentially curb stomped by the majority of the gang.

Shit, Mizrak just got hit badly and I think he’s dying. Now are they gonna let him die or is Olrox going to turn him? I don’t like his ass, but if him dying will upset Olrox too much then I suppose I’ll deal without being too pissy.

Annette’s fight directly correlating to Sekhmet’s third soul’s ability to retrieve the rest of her souls.

Maria, Juste, and Richter team up. That’s all.

Richter rushing to take the brunt of Erzsebet’s attack on Annette.

Oh shit, Mizrak isn’t dead! Good for him.

Erzsebet getting tore the fuck up!

Sekhmet full scale telling Erzsebet she wasn’t ever shit. And then Drolta telling her the same thing before killing Erzsebet is crazy. No hate fr, but no love lost either (not even a little).

Drolta’s little monologue before she kills Erzsebet. A beautiful performance with beautiful animation.

Oh boy, not Drolta losing her shit too. Goddamnit. This isn’t going to end well at all. Fuck!

Third Drolta form though! That’s exciting, now she’s larger and a cross between her vampire form and her night creature form (with obvious feline features). And this time she’s been called an obscenity! And by Sekhmet’s third soul no less. She’s like a Pokémon kind of.

How is she still so pretty!!!!???!!!!!!😍😍😍 *squeals*

Drolta kicking Erzsebet. Hehehe.

Anyway, she only just got any amount of Sekhmet in her and can already pause Richter and Alucard mid strike and grow back the hand Richter so smartly cut off (it was a smart move, I’m not being sarcastic). All I’m saying is that she might be unhinged, and she might need to get her ass beat, but she’s still more powerful than Erzsebet despite having had far less time with any power that wasn’t mortal in some manner. Once again: Queen.

“Unclean thing”. Yet another insult lobbed onto Drolta. I’m just collecting them atp.

I like Sekhmet and Drolta having a conversation. Drolta crying does pain me though.

Richter letting Annette go 😭🙃. Him respecting what Annette agreed to (or did she agree?).

Drolta’s scream of anguish and rage and who knows what else. Fucking amazing. Elarica Johnson did not miss once this whole season (EDIT: and she didn’t last season either, don’t fret). Also it’s crazy that I actually recognize Drolta’s VA from the one episode of P-Valley I ever watched.

Drolta being able to stab Alucard with his sword was nice. I don’t know why she didn’t just cut and run though, I guess she’d been unmoored enough to not care anymore and just be lashing out but idk. Don’t know if I like that character beat for her, but yeah.

Jesus, they split my woman in half. Fucking hell.

Olrox came back for that last hit on Drolta. I don’t know why, but he did. He deserved that one though, I can’t be mad.

Alucard and Juste’s conversation. Uncle Alucard!

Annette’s fight in the “spirit world” was good, but I didn’t really comment about it because it didn’t really have any different beats to highlight.

I’m going to be honest, as much as I like these characters I know for a fact my interest in the show going forward will wane without Drolta, but the journeys of the other characters are still nice to see.

OKAY so I didn’t call exactly how Drolta would turn against Erzsebet, but that’s alright.

Well Mizrak is a vampire now. So long as Olrox is happy I guess. *big sigh* More angst to come though, so that’s (maybe) fun.

EDIT: And no hate to the Mizrox shippers, all of this shit is my opinion, I haven’t seriously cared about policing what other people ship in a decade.

Apparently “Mephisto” and Tera are in cahoots. I don’t know what’s going on there. Also, “Mephisto’s” shadow form occasionally having teeth is wild imagery.

Overall as a Drolta fan I’m pretty satisfied.

[amara555555]

I’m starting to get inspo from sad yet satisfying stories:

Goo x little sister reader (platonic):

The tears that pricked your eyes stung far worse now that they had been repressed for so long.

The uneven length of your hair only started to look worse the longer you looked at it, your hands trembled as the mothers outside the bathroom door all talked and shook their heads disappointedly. None of them could get answers out the girls who supposed played hairstyles with all the girls.

A soft sob left you as you scrolled through the four contacts on your phone. Your older brother insisted on a phone at 8 years old. You’re in his custody after all.

Your finger trembled before it clicked over his name and the dreaded but desperate dial rang.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ri-

“HEY SWEETIE!”

Your heart only hurt more once you could hear how excited he was.

“How’s the party?? You don’t understand how me and Gun are missing out, I swear to god business has been SO SLOW-“

A sob left you and his cheery tone left along with it.

“…..Y/N. What happened?”

His tone now sincere and concerned once your tears rolled and sobs left more freely.

“Goo, I need you to- look I’m ok alright, I just- I need you to pick me up please-“

A deeper voice in the background of his call spoke and Goo shushed him.

“Hey hey hey, I’m on my way. Yeah? I’ll be there in 5 minutes. I promise.”

—————————————

Your stare out the window was lifeless. Goo argued with the moms who were supposedly incharge of this shit show in the first place. The big man in front glanced at you through the rear view mirror through his shades. His scary eyes were uncharacteristically softer once his gaze landed on the unevenly cut hair and your tear face, your tiny form swallowed by Goo’s expensive coat.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN SUPERVISED?!”

You flinch at Goo’s shriek, he stormed back to the car with a tight jaw and eyes narrowed. You watch him stand by your door and take a deep breath. His hand latched onto the door handle and he pulled it open before his hands reached out to wipe your face.

“Everything’s gonna be ok. I love you.”

He stoked over your locks.

“I love you.”

You didn’t respond from your upset state and Goo nodded to himself, seemingly growing more pissed at the situation before he ruffled your hair and put your baby blue, cat eared, multicoloured LED lights beats over your ears before closing the door.

————————————

Goo’s POV:

The leather wheel clenched under this hands as he squeezed the wheel, letting out a groan of protest.

“Calm down.”

“Fuck off Gun.”

Gun’s glare shot to Goo’s clenched jaw as he drove, pissed off.

“Breaking your fucking car won’t fix shit.”

Goo let out a low growl.

“Fucking kids. Kids, Gun. Fucking kids cut off half her head!”

Gun spoke low.

“Calm down, don’t let her hear you. She already had to go through it.”

Goo ran a hand over his face while seething, his glasses pushed up to his head.

“I need to kill someone.”

They were both at a loss.

Goo’s eyes flicked up to see you asleep. The beats he brought you gleaming a rainbow light, but the uneven hair length once again pissed him off. Part of your scalp visible.

He spent ages, ages growing out your hair. He loved how you’d look like a tiny fairy. Long hair he’d design into styles that you’d pick from Pinterest and he’d search and practice for hours on tutorials.

Happiness.

Fucking wasted.

The helplessness stumped them both. Gun itched for a cigarette but the child in the car left him chewing strawberry gum instead. Meanwhile your big brother resisted the urge to traumatise you by smashing his head on the wheel and waking you up in the process.

“What do I do?”

Gun glared out the window.

“You could try suing.”

Goo’s jaw clenched.

“Be fucking for real.”

Being criminals only stumped them both.

“I could hire kids to kick their asses.”

Goo almost agreed before realising it could link back to his little sister and chose not to answer.

Gun sighed and swallowed his gum.

They were stumped.

————————————

Goo’s hold on the longer side of your hair left you anxious, upset, all the negative feelings your mind could muster. He evened it with his fingers as he measured out the new length, needed for it to look even.

“Here we go princess.”

A snip sounded and Gun sat in the corner, his elbows rested on his knees, seeing you now sporting a slightly long pixie cut.

“…..looks nice.”

Your gaze drifted from Gun’s scarred but grinning face. The grin he did once he found something interesting.

A slight ‘Hmpf’ sounded from the corner before your eyes darted to the pink haired idol sitting on the couch in the corner. Watching the whole ordeal as support.

“You’re making me jealous now.”

You blink before looking at your brother who was smiling.

“I gotta say, if I wasn’t in…..’business’ I’d be doing this.”

He shakes out your short hair with a grin.

“Let’s make it blonde and we both can look like flash Gordon-“

“For god sake Goo- she doesn’t need your Jeffery Dahmer hair colour.”

———————————

Goo walked you to class, his big hand engulfed yours as the man had heavily insisted on walking you in, regardless of the bumbling principle denying it.

Your class room was full to the brim before Goo walked you to your desk. Some of the kids watched in curiosity as the man sat you down. His blue, expensively branded suit and golden tie, stood him out like a sore thumb.

He took out your books for you and pushed your bangs out your face before speaking to you in a soft tone.

“You gonna be ok?”

You nod.

“I love your hair.”

A whiney and shrilly voice spoke out and Goo’s head snapped to the little girl with blondey hair and a very mean word of a smile he wanted to scream at the girl.

“It’s so pretty.”

She continued with a taunty voice. You swallowed and instinctively looked down in shame. The teacher’s voice barely made a difference from the lack of her care of the bullying…….

Goo’s jaw clenched as a visible vein popped out. No wonder this shit happened.

He stands and walks around a few desks before aggressively spinning the girl’s desk and throwing a fire extinguisher so close to her head that her blonde hair was scathed. The wall behind her was broken through once the fire extinguisher broke through.

The girl’s scream silenced once Goo’s glare stayed on her. And the teacher stood in fearful shock.

Goo only walked to the desk and roughly spun in back into place. Leaving her traumatised and frozen. Good. Goo thought to himself.

His steps echoed along the stairs of the school as he sent a grand into your bank account with a small message of: ‘buy yourself something nice.’

He proudly put his hands in his pockets before heading off with a happy whistle and little jump in his step.

Meanwhile you sat there. A sudden and loving realisation that maybe……you were loved.

(Yes I copied that one movie scene I forgot the name of the movie too-)

[blueberri-chee]

「 ✦Siren✦ 」 (pt.2)

"You enjoy making me squirm, don’t you?" The thought seared through my mind as I peeled off the wet shirt clinging to my body like a second skin. Her gaze was scorching, drilling into my back even though I refused to meet it. Every move felt deliberate under the weight of her eyes, as if she were savoring the moment, letting it stretch unbearably thin.

“You are staring a lot,” I muttered. The suite's glass bathroom—so chic, so luxurious—suddenly felt like the cruelest design choice, offering no real privacy. Every outline of me was visible, every motion exaggerated by the soft light spilling in from the room. My skin prickled, equal parts exposed and defiant.

“I’m not the type to waste a good show.” Her voice was a low purr, curling through the air with the same sly confidence as her smirk. I didn’t need to turn around to know she was leaning back lazily, a predator with no intention of hiding the satisfaction etched into her features. Her tone teased and provoked, but there was a precision to her words that made my pulse quicken.

“Why do you even have a honeymoon suite?” I asked, turning over my shoulder, clutching the wet shirt to my chest. I walked to the tap to fill the tub, hoping the steam would fog the glass.

“Curious, and it has a jacuzzi,” she said, leaning back on the bed with a grin that screamed she wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“Got curious?” I chuckled, shaking my head. “Should’ve guessed.” I turned to the sink, undoing my hair and removing my makeup. “What other ‘perks’ does it come with?” I tried to keep my voice casual.

“Free wine, chocolate-covered strawberries—usual honeymoon stuff.”

I rolled my eyes, catching her smirk in the reflection as I leaned closer to the mirror. The cool water against my skin contrasted sharply with the heat of her presence, a mix of physical warmth and something intangible—an emotional pull that I couldn’t quite name. It was the kind of heat that seemed to radiate from her every movement, her gaze heavy with intent, setting my nerves alight. I tried to focus on the water, its soothing chill a lifeline, but the magnetic tension in the air made it impossible to ignore her presence entirely. I could hear the bed creak as she shifted, her movements deliberate, amplifying the tension in the room.

“And do you bring people here often to enjoy these perks?” I asked, feigning nonchalance.

“No,” she said, her voice deliberate. “Only when the company is worth it.”

Her words made me pause, my hands stilling mid-motion as a sudden warmth spread across my cheeks. I bit the inside of my lip, willing the heat to subside, but the flutter in my chest betrayed me. My fingers hovered over the sink, desperate to keep moving, to distract myself from the way her words clung to the air like an unspoken challenge. I fought the urge to glance at her, afraid of what her gaze might reveal—and worse, what mine might betray. My chest tightened, a strange mix of irritation and something warmer bubbling to the surface. Her tone felt too precise, as if she could see through the careful façade I had been holding onto all night. Part of me bristled at her audacity, but another part—a quieter, more dangerous part—wanted to hear more.

Clearing my throat, I busied myself with undoing my hair, letting the damp strands fall over my shoulders. “Enjoying the perks?” she teased, her tone playful but laced with something deeper.

I glanced at her reflection. She lounged on the bed, her frame stretched out, eyes fixed on me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. I hated how much I liked it.

I ignored her, turning back to the tub. The steam curled up in languid, sinuous tendrils, clinging to the glass like whispers of tension, blurring the world beyond into soft, unrecognizable shapes. It mirrored the dynamic between us—veiled, charged, and impossible to fully grasp—offering me a fragile, fleeting sense of privacy while also amplifying the unspoken electricity that hummed just outside its reach. It felt like a fragile barrier between us, a fleeting sense of privacy. I folded my stockings neatly, trying to focus on the simple task instead of the way my heart raced.

“You know,” she said, her voice cutting through the quiet, “you don’t have to work so hard to avoid me. I’m not going to bite.”

“Unless I ask nicely, right?” I shot back, surprising myself with my boldness. Her soft, rich laugh filled the room, and I bit my cheek to keep from smiling.

The tub was nearly full, so I stepped into the fancy looking bathtub. The warmth of the water melted the night’s tension, the jets gently massaging my back as soft ripples caressed my skin. The subtle scent of lavender from the bath oils mingled with the steam, creating an intoxicating cocoon that dulled the chaos of the evening. The sound of the water cascading from the ornate faucet echoed softly against the marble walls, a symphony of luxury that felt almost surreal. The gold accents on the tub’s edges glinted in the dim light, reminding me of just how out of place I should have felt—but somehow didn’t. Every detail of the bathroom, from the heated tiles underfoot to the faint glow of candles lining the shelves, worked to draw me further into a state of reluctant comfort, even as I knew she was outside, her gaze capable of piercing even this mist-filled sanctuary. The steam cocooned me, shielding me momentarily from the charged air waiting outside.

"I hope you’re enjoying yourself in there," her voice floated into the bathroom, smooth and teasing, breaking through the tranquility of the steam-filled air. My eyes blinked open, the serenity of the bath momentarily shattered.

"What are you doing?! Get out!" I sank deeper into the foamy water, the bubbles rising around me like a shield. Snatching up the nearest loofah, I hurled it in her direction, though it barely grazed the edge of the doorway. "At least knock, you idiot!"

She laughed, the sound rich and unapologetic, and casually placed a folded T-shirt and something else on the dry sink. "No need to get violent, bubbles," she drawled, her grin maddeningly smug. "I’m just being thoughtful and bringing you some clothes... though I won’t mind if you decide you don’t need them."

I glared at her, my cheeks burning, but she only winked at me before tossing the loofah back into the water with practiced nonchalance. "Relax, bubbles," she added with a smirk, backing out of the room and leaving me alone once more—baffled, flustered, and very much aware of the mischievous energy she’d left behind, lingering like the steam in the air. 

Bubbles?!

[beesmygod]

how much have lily and vera changed between conception and debut?

sorry anon, i asked for people to send qs and then my period started so i went into a temporary coma/sat on the couch like a slug. terrible stuff.

i talked last time about how characters start as plot devices/are designed to fulfill a specific narrative purpose; vera's purpose, outside of her direct plot relevance as a mysteriously powered human, is to be maxine's enabler. vera is the most well adjusted of the group and can plainly see everyone's neuroses as an impartial observer and chooses to leverage this social aptitude to make things as funny as possible for her. however, she has an empathetic heart and never want to take her teasing and fucking around too far. these are some of her basic personality traits.

this makes her alarmingly, comparatively normal despite her troubles lol. i have not had a chance to deeply examine her personal motivations and history until recently for the pages im working on now (outside of very basic plot beats: foster care with alice, rough young adulthood with no stability, drug induced crashing and burning). in these pages im working on, i wanted to think about:

1. how did she develop these traits? how much of it is innate vs developed vs by choice?

2. what motivates her on a primal level? i decided it was libidinal in nature in the pages im working on now lol if youre caught up on patreon that might sound Deep but

3. is her past tragic or funny? unlike alice, who is a self-induced unhappiness factory, vera can shrug most things off and would probably find the humor in her lot in life. so what's the humor? i think i have some good stuff for this lol.

i guess the answer is: vera is becoming more of a foil of her sister, rather than becoming alice's polar opposite. this includes the fact that while alice is very resolute in and certain about her role in life, vera is uncertain. she wants conflicting things and knows it. if alice is the physical avatar of vera's desire for stability in her life, then maxine is a tantalizing call to return to the wild life.

as for lily....she was wholly undeveloped until the millisecond i had to put her in the comic lol. it was a nightmare. i knew these things about her: she was the key that unlocked the plot of the comic, her family was fabulously, freakishly wealthy (multi-billionaire wealthy), she's beautiful/turns heads, and she was maxine and valdos friend. which opened up a ton of problems like "how" and "why" that ive been brainstorming and figuring out over the past uhh. year. but thankfully i think its shaking out great and things are falling into place cleanly.

really, the thing for figuring out her personality was being a hater: theres a similar character in another work i cant stand with the depth of a puddle. lily gave me a chance to make my own super wealthy, pretty socialite with special powers in a form that i recognized as being authentic and "real". a sugary, syrupy, cultivated exterior masking a terrifying interior. someone raised in wealth who had to learn to recognize others as people solely because its a social faux pas to treat them otherwise. someone who, out of a combination of natural wiring/childhood boredom/unfortunate formative moments, conflates sex and self-determination with galling violence. someone who does not recognize the autonomy of other people to such a degree that she puppets their bodies for entertainment/comfort. she is an untethered sadist who is desperately trying to be good. she will try to obfuscate this aspect of herself but it will seep out in spite of her efforts.

[deathbecomesthem]

Tommy

A Young!Eddie Munson story - 1.7K

CW: Violence against a child (source material typical)

Summary: Eddie and Reader are kids, and Uncle Wayne is telling them a story from his past.

A/N: I believe in Appalachian Munson and story telling designed to teach a lesson.

---

It’s not the words that the old man says, it’s the way he says them. It’s the way he pauses, sits back against the slats of the folding chair, and lets out a heavy sigh. He looks up to the stars and contemplates. Thinks about whether he should tell you both these stories before resigning himself. 

It’s a show, of course. Because he always tells the stories. Sometimes, it’s a story he’s told dozens of times before, just tweaked a little. But he tells you both, and you know your roles. You’re meant to be shocked, sit closer to each other, scoot closer to the old man while your butts are in the dirt. You’re there to poke him, tell him, “Please Uncle Wayne! We promise not to get too scared this time.”

And he relents. Long suffering Uncle Wayne starts his stories the same way every time. He pats the front pocket of his flannel shirt, and pulls out a bent Camel from the soft pack within. He flicks his Zippo to life and holds the flame to the end of his cigarette. He takes a deep drag, and releases it. Then he starts.

“Now, you gotta promise me you’re not gonna go and tell your mama I told you this one.” You scoot yourself closer to Uncle Wayne’s booted feet while the campfire heats up one side of your face. The other side is facing towards the woods that sit on the other side of Eddie’s trailer. This is where the stories are told, out in the open air, mere yards from the place where they supposedly took place.

“And you, Ed,” Wayne points the fingers holding the smoldering cigarette at his nephew at his feet, “you gotta stay in your bed tonight if I tell you this one, ok?” 

An outsider might take this to mean that Eddie would be so scared, he’d climb out of his bed to find his uncle, but you know better. Eddie’s been sneaking out. He’s been climbing through the window at the back of his trailer where the only bedroom is located. And Wayne knows, it’s confirmed by this warning. Eddie has enough sense to avert his eyes and nod his head back at his uncle. He’s thanking his lucky stars that he’s not receiving some kind of a punishment. Wayne takes Eddie’s safety very seriously, and he trusts the boy. You can see the flush creeping up his neck and spreading over his cheeks at being caught - being scolded in front of his friend.

“I know I tell you a lot of tall tales, but this one is different, and I need to know you’re listenin’.” This time, both you and Eddie nod your heads together, and Wayne seems satisfied enough to continue spinning his yarn. “It was a night just like this when it happened. This is when me ‘n your daddy ‘n gran lived over on Maple. Long time ago, when I was about your age. My buddy Tommy lived in the park here.”

Your interest was piqued, even more than it would normally be for a Wayne story. You’re not sure, but you don’t think you’ve heard this one before. At least, you don’t ever remember Eddie’s uncle mentioning a friend named Tommy before. Maybe this one really is important. So, you scoot even closer, resting your knee on the steel toe of Wayne’s boot to show him that you really are paying attention. Eddie’s boney shoulder pushes up against yours. If he got any closer, he’d be in your lap. 

“I spent a lot of time out here when I was a boy. The park always had a lot of families. Lots of kids to play with. There used to be a jungle gym over by the woods.” Instead of his fingers, Wayne uses a long stick with a charred end to point at the end of the lane beyond the last of the trailers. “The monkey bars were Tommy’s favorite. He used to climb up on top of ‘em and walk across them like an acrobat. He only fell once that I remember, ended up climbing up there with a cast on his left arm for the last of that summer. Nothin’ stopped Tommy.”

Wayne’s sad smile looked almost sinister under the light of the fire. Flames danced in his eyes, and he was lost in his story. In his memory, you think. 

“I spent most nights with Tommy in this park, your gran wasn’t doin’ the best the summer of ‘55. She’d started gettin’ sick by then, and your gramps spent that year at the bottom of a bottle. That was also the summer me ‘n your daddy got the chicken pox. For one whole week, I wasn’t allowed to go to Tommy’s. And that’s when it happened.”

Wayne looked up at the sky for a minute. He’s searching the stars, you think, he’s looking to them for something. A reminder of a time long passed. He stays like that for several moments, and it seems like maybe he’s forgotten that he has an audience. That he’s forgotten that he was in the middle of a very important story. Eddie breaks the silence.

“What happened, Uncle Wayne? Did ya give Tommy the pox? Did he get real sick or somethin’?” Eddie’s voice is excited. His mind is trying to fill in the gap, get to the heart of whatever it is that Wayne was trying to teach him. These stories have a lesson, Eddie's learned over the years. He’ll get to hear them, but he needs to remember that there’s a reason Wayne’s telling it. You sit patiently, knee still resting on that hard boot, while you watch Wayne’s face for any hint of annoyance at Eddie’s intrusion on the quiet moment. There is none, only a sad smile that spreads across his lips.

“Tommy didn’t get sick, boy. No.” Wayne hesitates for a moment and looks at the small faces of both you and Eddie before continuing, “It was a night like this. Real warm even though the frost has started in the early mornings. Summer was still holding on tight in the late afternoons. The fireflies were out every night that summer,” 

You and Eddie loved chasing lightning bugs. You each had your own mason jar with holes poked into the top by Eddie’s pocket knife. Earlier that same evening just after the sun set behind the trees of the lot and sunlight had not been completely taken over by the night, you’d been running along the tree line with your mason jars. Seeing it is what triggered the memory in Wayne’s mind, made him know it was time to tell the story. Real horror, not something made up. 

“When I was stuck at home and sick during that warm week, Tommy went out by himself to chase lightning bugs. Brave Tommy must have heard somethin’ or maybe he was chasin’ a firefly that moved between the trees. He went into the woods. Old Mr. Johnson saw him go in there, but no one ever saw him come out.” Wayne’s eyes are fixed on the flames in front of the three of you. He’s lost in the story again. You and Eddie know enough to be quiet as mice while he works out how he wants to finish this one. How much he can say, what the lesson is. A small shift of your knee draws the old man’s attention to you, and he remembers what he’s doing.

“The next day, Mr. Johnson told Tommy’s ma that he saw him go into the woods. She went to every trailer in the park to see if anyone might know where he was. He wandered a lot, but he always went home at night. He’d never not been in his bed in the morning.” Wayne’s hand absentmindedly reaches back into the front pocket of his flannel shirt and takes out one final cigarette. The end was close, but he needed this little distraction to get to the heart of this one. It’s a story he had forgotten until he had his own little boy to care for. His own version of Tommy - the kid that wanders with open curiosity and no fear. It scares the shit out of Wayne.

“They went looking. What they found was one of Tommy’s sneakers covered in blood and his broken Mason jar. Right off the main path that goes all the way to the high school. I know you both know the one,” Wayne looks down at them in a knowing way. “And that’s fine. It’s good to have your spots in the trees, but never after dark. I know you’ve heard about the Hawkins Demon Dog, I’m tellin’ you right now it’s real. I have no doubt. I’ve heard it at night, and I know - I know - it’s what got Tommy.”

Wayne sees the open mouthed expressions on both of the children sitting in front of him and considers. Maybe it’s enough, maybe not. He’s got one more thing to say before he lets you and Eddie pull out the marshmallows to roast. He tosses his cigarette butt in the slowly dying flames in front of him before he leans down so this face is between yours and his nephew’s.

“I’m tellin’ you the truth right now. This ain’t no story. Tommy was a real boy that lived just 2 trailers down the way. And his Ma had to bury a casket with one single bloody shoe. I ain’t doin’ that for either of you. You stay away from those woods at night, especially if you see somethin’ that looks like a man crawlin’ on his arms and legs.” Wayne’s satisfied when he hears the way Eddie’s breath has picked up a little. He’s had a fright, and that’s good. “Go get the marshmallows. The skeeters are startin’ to bite.”

[iolypse]

hi hi is anyone interested in potentially beta-ing for a drv3 chapter 5 fic? it's a hanahaki au in which kokichi kidnaps shuichi instead of kaito, and it makes all the difference

snippet of the first chapter below

"Hey," Ouma calls, dragging Shuichi from the memory. "I won't ask a third time. Strawberry or lemon?"

Shuichi's thoughts snag on the idea of open cuts and lemon juice. "... Strawberry?"

Ouma clicks his silver tongue. "That's too bad! I actually only have lemon."

The door swings open with such a force that it hits the wall and bounces closed behind Ouma, who skips inside clutching a colorful bag. He unceremoniously drops onto the ground, sitting criss-cross, and spills the bag's contents all over the floor. Wrapped pieces of candy scatter across the tiles— one with a cute pink design bumps Shuichi's foot. A lie. Of course it was a lie, but why lie about that?

Ouma promptly begins to sort the candy into piles; grape, strawberry, and lemon, judging by the colors. Shuichi takes him in while he works.

He's sectioning them in groups of five like pills, though his hands shake almost imperceptibly— he only notices because Ouma misses one and only gathers four, and the brief furrowing of his brow makes Shuichi certain it's a mistake. The sides of his pinkies— both pinkies, Shuichi notes, what has he been writing so much of that he has to switch hands when one begins to cramp?— are stained with ink, and his nails are practically bitten down to their beds. The bags weighing at his eyes are dark and heavy. Ouma is pale, paler than he normally is, and it's not the poor lighting of the bathroom diluting him, either. Shuichi can't help but think he looks sickly.

"Poisoning these was so annoying, you know," Ouma drawls, not looking up from his task. His voice holds a harsher rasp than usual, like he's hiding blades in his throat. "I had to unwrap and then rewrap every single piece! Do you know how time-consuming that was? It took forever. You better be grateful. I'd make you get down on your knees and lick my shoes if I weren't feeling so generous right now."

Shuichi takes the piece at his foot. The packaging crinkles as he rolls it between his fingers. As far as he can tell, it was never opened— there's no signs that the wrapper was resealed, and he can't find any holes Ouma might've poked with a syringe, either. Satisfied, he peels open the taffy and pops it into his mouth. Strawberry, as promised. Artificial.

"So, Saihara-chan!" Before Ouma are three piles, and Shuichi can't help but notice that the grape pile has half of either of the other piles. He sweeps the grape pile towards himself with an arm, then rolls the strawberry and lemon piles to Shuichi. "What's it like being my prisoner? Five stars? Eleven out of ten? Tell me! I wanna know!"

Shuichi blinks. "Uh. Two stars, I guess?" He tugs at his bangs. Conversing with Ouma is always a challenge— he's volatile, and when his eyes begin to fill with tears, Shuichi is quick to add, "I mean— I'm not exactly here willingly, Ouma-kun. You, ah, you did kidnap me. But you haven't hurt me, so it's not too bad? Maybe three stars?" He winces. Nice save.

"Oh?" Ouma tilts his head, tears gone in a blink. The action casts a shadow across his face, and the narrowing of his eyes, the constricting of his pupils, tells Shuichi he means business. "Does Saihara-chan want me to hurt him? Would that make the experience better?"

"No! Ah, no, that's— not what I meant. I'd really prefer if you didn't, actually." He swallows, heart jackrabbiting in his chest, and it's almost painful. "Thank you for the candy." Shuichi tries his chances with one of the lemon pieces and immediately regrets it. Ouma giggles at the puckered expression he makes, happily chewing his own grape taffy. There's a growing pile of empty purple wrappers in his lap.

The following silence is neither comfortable nor suffocating. There's no conversation, just the crinkling of candy packaging and Ouma obnoxiously smacking his lips every time he eats a new piece. Shuichi should be acting right now. Although Ouma's sitting right in front of the door, his back pressed against it, Shuichi's fairly certain he could get up fast enough to dive past him, but what then? He doesn't know what Ouma has done to the rest of the hangar, and he definitely couldn't reach an exit before Ouma sicced the exisals on him— even Momota's training couldn't prepare him for that. Maybe he could fight him for the remote, but Ouma's slippery, and between the assortment of items he holds on his person, Shuichi isn't sure which pocket he's keeping it in.

It's an ultimately useless endeavor. Shuichi resolves to choke down more strawberry taffy in lieu of hatching an escape plan. He'll have to bide his time, wait for more information, an opportunity. He wonders, casting a sideways glance towards the small window casting light into the bathroom, when Momota will visit him again.

[weministertomonsters]

The Alien Emissary - 2

➤ Wordcount - 1.2k

You wake up startled because you fall out your bed. Well, not your bed. This isn't The Collective's mothership. You're in a cramped space, lying on a cramped cot. You recognize the interior to be the inside of the Vathri shuttle.

Right, I passed out.

You sit up slowly, rubbing your temple in an attempt to get the room to stop spinning. Your hand brushes against electric cuffs hanging loose on the wall. That must have been the restraints used on the Vathri you saved. You lift one and grimace at the thin metal prong on the cuff. For electricity to be effective on a Vathri it has to get to their skin, which is under a protective layer of armor-like scales. The prongs are designed to be forced underneath. You've always wondered if it feels like getting needles shoved under your nails, in which case it would hurt badly. When you stand up, you bump your head on the ceiling. Frowning you rub your sore head.

"This room is practically pocket-sized," you mutter. "How'd they even stuff him down here?"

"You are awake." The Vathri's voice floats into the room through the open hatch. "Come up, we are reaching our destination."

You climb up into the cockpit. The Vathri is seated at the controls, looking far more familiar with it than you did.

"How long was I out?" You ask, folding your arms and watching him work.

"A quarter of an hour. Not long." His voice still has that mysterious buzz in it. Rather than being eerie, you find it sort of soothing.

"Is that normal? It was like I was on a bad trip."

"I have never seen a human use the cloaking, but I am not surprised. Even Vathri young find it difficult on their first try."

You step closer and surreptitiously look him over. Thanks to their biological armor, the Vathri appear fully covered and often go around wearing loose pants and some jewelry, and not much else. He doesn't have either. When your gaze dips between his thick, muscular thighs, he snorts.

"Looking for the princess destroyer, I assume?"

The startled sound you make is hardly elegant before you burst out laughing.

"The what now?" You snicker. "I had no idea your kind could be funny."

"This is all a bid to lure you in," he replies, busy fiddling with the controls.

"I was just curious. Sorry." You clear your throat. "Have you… Heard about me?"

"You are certainly a blip on the gossip radar."

"Shit. Attracting attention is a surefire way to get killed," you grumble.

"Perhaps you should not have slept with the Emissary of Luscen then?"

You scoff. "The rumors are exaggerated. We didn't get that far. We got caught, as apparently, all of the galaxy knows. It was my first time in space and I was excited and optimistic and horny about everything."

The shuttle's engine grumbles and the Vathri croons to it. While his native tongue sounds harsh to your ears, you can pick out the intention behind it.

Come on, just a little further. You can do it, you little hunk of metal, you think.

"Csami? What does that mean?" You ask, picking out one distinctive word.

"Lady."

"Cute." You grab a hold of the armrest of the pilot's seat as the engine begins to stall.

Not a big issue. You can see the planet you're heading for up ahead and you're pretty sure you're going to make it, even if the landing is rough.

"That is the shuttle's name. Csami-kïy."

"Lady-8," you muse.

"You are taking Vathri lessons?"

"Yes, I love learning languages. Luscen was pretty easy and I'd say I'm conversational with it now. Vathri has some sounds I don't think I can produce, though, so my speaking probably won't ever be good."

"Tell me, are you not even a little afraid of me?" He suddenly asks, turning eyes that burn like small orange suns in your direction.

"Of what you are? No. That's what made me a good fit as an Emissary. I'm more curious than anything. As for your jailbreak, I feel like we're in this together. For now, anyway. Besides, I tend to trust my gut."

"And what is it telling you?"

"That we're cool. You might be trouble, but not for me."

The Vathri makes a noncommittal sound. "I see."

You look down at his wrists, searching for the abrasion from the handcuffs. It's right there. The smaller delicate scales on his wrist aren't sitting quite right, having been rudely shoved aside by the prongs on the cuffs. He doesn't turn away from what he's doing but he can tell you're looking because he angles the injury away from you.

"Does it hurt?"

"It's unpleasant. You might want to sit down," the Vathri says.

But there's only one seat, and in the sleek design of the interior, there's nothing much to hold on to. As he starts to nose the shuttle down, you grab a hold of his shoulder to anchor yourself and the warmth of his scales seeps into your fingertips. Brazen, maybe, but you like being in one piece. When you nearly fly off balance, he takes one hand off the controls for a second to perch you on the arm of the chair.

"Lean into me," he says. "The landing might be rough."

You do. The shuttle shakes so violently that you're surprised nothing falls off as you land in a puff of dust. Once the shuttle comes to a screeching halt you lift your head and unclench your jaw. There's an arm looped around your side and holding you in place, except both his arms are in front, so that's not possible. You look down to see that it's his tail. The tip of it ends in a stinger that looks like a cross between a blade and a barbed arrow. It looks deadly and your little animal brain immediately wants to touch it.

"Can that kill me?"

He pulls his tails away and it flicks lightly against his calf. "Not unless I intend so. Poison is manually generated, much like spitting on someone."

You file that information away for later. He unclips the seatbelt and stands. When he reaches for something over your head, you flinch a little. He looks down at you, his hand still raised over your head.

"I'm not afraid," you say quickly.

His mandibles twitch. Vathri faces don't really make expressions, but you can practically feel his amusement.

"Humans are easy to read," He replies.

And what's that supposed to mean? You think, but he's already ducking out of the exit hatch.

You realize he's bigger than the Vathri who first exited the shuttle. None of them had to duck. You're busy wondering if they were all small and he's just big when you walk right into his back.

"Oh, sorry-"

He's frozen, his tail flicking in an uneasy way that immediately affects you too. If something larger than you is scared, you're dead meat.

"What's wrong?" You peer around him to see a huge angry-looking alien storming down the landing towards you.

"Another of your enemies? You killed his family or something?" You squeak.

"I fucked his boyfriend."

"What!"

"Get back inside," the Vathri says without turning to you. "I am about to take a beating."

You don't need to be told twice.

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If you're wondering why I'm posting much slower right now it's because I've been busy on Patreon. You can read free stories on there that I haven't posted anywhere else, like Contents Under Pressure, Soft Heart, Bad Things and Vile And Vulgar (my favorite).