#unfortunately and in a manner typical to that kind of games we only get the most basic info about the plot

[flash-from-the-past]

Alkirian 1 - The Nine Pages

[adelaidedrubman]

“How about we put that pretty mouth of yours into good use, hm?” for JohnJess, please? Hopefully whatever sin occurs isn't used to terrorize Mary May for once lmao - fourlittleseedlings

HI MOLLY thank you for sending this in, apologies for what i decided to do with it. everyone give it up for the bad head valentine’s day event! at least mary may is spared. 

summary: jessie agrees to finally hookup at john’s place for valentine’s day, he thanks her by bringing his a-game. (“how about we put that pretty mouth of yours into good use, hm?” + john x jestiny | set in the pre/no reaping au (although frankly it doesn’t match the timeline of the “get off my lawn” verse proper) | bad head valentine’s day event )

wordcount: 4.6k 

warnings: explicit nsfw. alcohol. verbal berating. johnjess typical power struggles and creepy behavior (including brief references to stalking type activities), general toxicity. bad head. terrible, horrible, no good, very bad head. john says a praise kink and degradation kink can coexist peacefully, actually. love wins 

Stepping into Seed Ranch had felt quite uncannily like stepping into the lion’s den. 

Or some kind of animal’s den, she had thought with a shudder upon entering and casting her gaze about to pick out each piece of imposing taxidermy placed around the expanse of the main room, the towering bears and hunkered down wolves successfully creating the illusion of being closed in by a viciously tacky pack of wild animals. 

Although perhaps the predatory air of the place radiated strongest from the homeowner himself — and the annoyingly victorious grin that had fixed onto his face the moment the doors safely closed behind her, bearing distinct resemblance to an understimulated housecat convincing itself it had caught an impressive prey in the form of a cheap toy mouse thrown across the room.

Because it had been a truly trivial prize; an astoundingly empty victory she’d chosen to hand the man — finally agreeing, after months of stubborn standoff regarding the particulars of where they carried out their ill-defined and ill-advised affair, to for once go to his place. 

A concession she’d only granted due to, well, the timing. 

And by that she did not — absolutely not, by any stretch — mean because it was Valentine’s Day. 

In fact, she hadn’t even realized it did happen to be February 14th until well into the evening, upon strolling into a strangely packed Spread Eagle — and noticing a moment later (as it were too late), after fighting her way to the bar through a crowd of singles flirtatiously offering to buy her a drink, that the back wall was covered in carelessly hung crepe paper hearts, and the man already proudly perched upon a stool at the counter had switched the usual blue tones of his wardrobe (which she knew were a vain attempt to bring out the color of his eyes, by the way) for a dark pink cashmere sweater. 

And once she had already found herself situated there and caught directly in the sticky center of the spider’s web of unfortunate timing, its gossamer threads only wound tighter around her to spell her doom. Primarily in the form of Mary May being so backed up running drinks to the holiday crowd that she didn’t even respond to Jessie’s repeated calls for a craft beer, and without drinking there was precious little else left to entertain or serve as a distraction from the man undergoing his usual work in pestering her. And no distractions meant it was difficult not to engage with him, and if she was going to engage with him she was at least going to engage in a manner that proved pleasurable. 

And from there the factors compounded, all holiday neutral. There was the relative distance of her house near the edge of the county compared to his just outside of town (five minutes, she thought — perhaps she’d found the address and driven by it on occasion just to see how gaudy the place must really be, only to find equally condemnable evidence of poor taste in the fact it couldn’t even be seen from the main road, although a cheap billboard ad with his face plastered on it could). And the distance was a not so insubstantial consideration given the mounds of powdery white Montana winter that coated every mile of the drive, making the meandering trek to her place all the more treacherous, particularly in her 2003 Ford Taurus with last year’s snow tires. 

And the holiday had left the Spread Eagle too full of prying eyes and ears for slinking away still on the property to be a feasible option. And the only other proposed alternative — John’s suggestion they could simply rent a room at King’s Hot Springs Hotel, or perhaps those little chalets along the river — seemed more likely to result in hokey holiday bullshit, foreboding visions of rose petals floating along the frothing surface of hot tubs and room service strawberries dropped into champagne flutes flashing through her mind in dire warning. 

And so after a last failed shout for Mary May to bring her a double of McHelen’s and a whisper in her ear that he had a very nice vintage whiskey back at his place, that was how Jestiny found herself nursing a drink at the very place she’d spent upwards of six months stubbornly avoiding. 

“Can’t believe this is the only fucking whiskey you have,” Jestiny complained with a disparaging glare towards the tumbler filled nearly to the brim with expensive amber liquid. She brought it to her lips as she ascended the stairs, the rich smokiness lavishing itself along her tongue. “Scotch fucking sucks,” she said decidedly, savoring the lingering flavor as its smooth burn faded. “Get some fuckin’ bourbon, a whiskey fucking worth a damn.” 

“I’m happy to start keeping whatever you’d like in stock,” he hummed, curling the fingers threaded in her hair from his place clinging to her back, guiding her through the unfamiliar house while obligingly upholding the illusion she was in lead, herding her through the door to the balcony — she knew he must just want to show off the vista, there was no way he built this stupid place so that he had to go outside every time he wanted to get to the bedroom. “Now that you’re finally visiting.” 

“I’m not gonna be making a fucking habit of it,” she spat back, kicking open the door after he’d tugged her skirt to signal to pause at it, without waiting for the additional permission to enter. “This is a one time only thing, a —” 

“A special occasion,” John offered in agreement, a laugh falling into the cascades of hair he buried his face in. “For the —” 

“It’s not for the fucking holiday,” she spat, shimmying her feet free of her boots and purposefully kicking them into the dead center of the bedroom floor. “It’s ’cause Mary May was ignoring my drink order for some reason.” She punctuated the assertion with a swirling of the scotch in her hand, ice cubes clinking against the glass. “And this place is closer than the next bar.” 

“Of course,” he said, reaching to gently pull the glass from her hand and set it atop the nightstand, then flashing her a smile softened in artifice. “But how would you have known that?” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, cocked his head to the side in equally feigned confusion. “You’ve never been to the place.” 

She shaped the surprised cough catching in her chest into a dismissive grunt, snatching the whiskey back from where he’d placed it. She brought it to her lips, holding her glare at him as she drank in place of an answer. 

“Well, regardless of what I have to thank for the privilege…” He paused, the hand that had been hovering in wait now pulling the glass from her again the moment she lowered it, taking a sip from it himself before placing it back on the table — this time pausing to put a coaster beneath it, now that any suave nonchalance of the gesture was ruined anyways. “I look forward to being able to fuck you on a proper bed for once.” 

She scrunched her nose. “The fuck you talking about?” she asked. “We’ve fucked on a bed plenty of times.” 

The smarmy smile on his face fell with sudden somberness. “We have not.” He shook his head back and forth slowly. “We have not fucked on a bed, not once. We’ve fucked on a mattress —” 

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ…” 

“— on the floor. With no frame and no box spring,” he continued harping, a complaint she thought she would for once be spared by not going back to her place. “We have never fucked on an actual, proper bed, let alone a —” 

“How about,” she interrupted sharply, gripping his jaw and pulling him towards her, satisfied to see his eyelashes flutter with sudden pleased deference at the action, “you stop doing worthless shit with your mouth like talking?” she suggested, briefly receiving a look of offense from the statement, before she shifted her hand so that his chin rested in her palm, her thumb sliding along his lower lip. “Instead, how about we put that pretty mouth of yours into good use, hm?” 

Before he could answer she shoved the thumb into his mouth, pressing it against his tongue — and any remaining trace of a glare vanished with the ticking of his eyes back up towards his skull as he wilted forward, reaching hands towards her waist and bunching up the fabric of her skirt as he melded his tongue against her finger and bobbed his head forward to purse his lips around the base of her knuckle. 

Her breath hitched, the tingle at the back of her neck sharpening itself into a spark of desire sliding down her spine at the feeling of the plush of his tongue caressing against her thumb as he sucked. She caught herself, pulling it away just as his eyes flicked to her, breaking the seal of his lips with a wet pop. 

“Gladly,” he answered breathily, placing a soft kiss to the pad of her thumb as he stiffened the hands at her hips to push her back onto the mattress. “And since we are for once on a proper bed,” he added, shifting the work of glaring back to her yet again as he lowered himself to his knees, looking up at her once he was settled, “I can finally bring my A-game to it.” 

He ignored her dismissive scoff, reaching for the waistband of her fleece tights and briefs to slip them down her legs at a snail’s pace. He brushed equally slow creeping and feather light touches along her thighs to push her skirt up past their tops, walking the fingers back down with equal teasing delay. She made a point of having her heel make contact with his collarbone as she kicked off the underwear and tights hanging around her ankle, then gave another kick against his back to push him forward as she dropped the leg atop his shoulder. 

“Just fucking bring some game to it already,” she complained, dried gel crunching between her fingers as she pulled at his hair. 

“But I was looking forward to finally savoring it,” he replied, hooking an arm around the leg atop his shoulder to stroke up and down her thigh as he paused to make sure the hungry glint in his eyes was sufficiently visible before he place a single teasing kiss at the crest of her lips. He pinched his brow, slanting upward as he widened his eyes to gaze up at her in some half-baked parody of reverence. “But I suppose if you’re so very needy and impatient…” 

He batted his eyelashes; dropped his jaw for his tongue to flop out, then stretch down along his chin until its tip reached to tangle in his beard. But instead of craning his neck forward to make any contact with her, he shifted back onto his calves and reached a hand towards his belt, unfastening it and guiding his already fully stiffened cock past the fabric. And he stayed there with tongue out, posed as if waiting to receive a communion wafer as he began to give himself a few slow strokes while she remained untouched. 

She furrowed her brow in confusion at the odd display — was this something that had actually done something for someone before? or was it just that no one had ever bothered to tell him he looked ridiculous? 

Regardless, she gave two quick snaps of her fingers, a call of hey to draw his attention before pointing her index between her legs in gesture with a few flicks of her wrist, as if reminding him where the tongue he held out was supposed to go. 

His eyes narrowed, his jaw twitching in impulse to fire back a retort — seeming to realize a second later that it would require retraction of his tongue, shaking off the urge as he finally bent forward to press against her. 

She sighed in some semblance of relief that he had at least gotten started, that she could feel his tongue flush against her. She ran fingers through her hair, closing her eyes as she tried to make sense of his positioning — waiting for the (teasing?) up and down drag of his tongue to come to a stop to be replaced with the familiar sensation of it flexing rigid to dip inside her as a thumb pressed against her clit. 

And waiting. And waiting. And — 

She coughed, opened her eyes to confirm the only progress that had been made was the length of the arc of his head bobbing each time he glided his tongue along her folds, still never managing to make meaningful contact — rubbing shallowly at her entrance at shortest pulses, the bridge of his nose managing to painfully clip the underside of her clit at longest. 

It was one of the latter moves that finally caused her to yelp and shove the heel of her hand against his forehead to push him back. 

“Do you plan on actually reaching anything that matters down there?” she hissed. “Or just bashing your nose against it?”

He shot an offended look between her legs. “I’m working up to it.”

“You’re at least two inches under it!”

“Well, I’m getting to it!” he snapped, wiping the saliva from his mouth onto his sleeve. 

“Then fucking get to it!” she barked, shoving him back between her legs. 

He scoffed, a heavy breath that at least had the mercy of falling against her clit, making her tingle with something close enough to arousal to remember that she had at some point wanted him enough to come home with him. 

Enough that she did feel some small jolt of pleasure as the tip of the tongue he slid past lips made contact with her clit — not moving, once it did, merely tensing against her. 

She scrunched her mouth to the side, trying to make sense of the way he increased pressure without movement, poking against her. His eyes found her, the rest of him remaining completely still save for the slow steady jerks of his arm — he apparently felt as if he should be rewarded for a job well done at least, while his tongue stayed glued in place. 

“What —” as soon as she began to ask the question he answered it in the form of his tongue wagging back and forth — seeming to make a grand spectacle of showing off its range, barely grazing her clit on its path to opposite creases of her thighs. 

She briefly considered just trying to rock along to the ministrations rather than give him more direction — until he shifted his lashing path downward, so that even the minimal contact made where she needed it was lost, replaced with a useless swiping along her inner lips. 

“You fuckin’— ” she cursed, burying fingers in his hair and tugging — the little moan he gave indicating he apparently thought it was in reward. “You know better than this,” she growled at him, yanking his head back so that he was forced to look up at her disappointed and confused face. “I — I know that you know better than this,” she offered, genuinely taken aback. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I told you,” he purred, seemingly undeterred as he sat back, returning to that same back on his heels and stroking himself pose in which he’d begun. (And with the tongue sticking out like a cartoon wolf yelling an enthusiastic ‘awooga!’ removed, she had to admit he did look pretty like that.) “I’m taking the time to bring my A-Game,” he said, brushing a thumb to dip just barely inside her to collect the slick built there — primarily his own saliva, she assumed, which was returned from whence it came with the slipping of the finger into his mouth. “Or at least I would be,” he bit out more sharp with irritation as he removed the thumb. “If I could stop being interrupted.”

“I never —” she huffed, clenching her hands around the hair her fingers had been threaded through, separating it into two fistfuls, “thought I would have to tell you of all people not to think too much,” she said bitterly, jerking the fistfuls of hair to pull him as if leading a horse by its reigns, until his mouth was once again hovering just shy of where she wanted. “But don’t overthink it.” She kept one fist bunched in his hair to hold him in place as she untwined the other, bringing fingers to rest in a V shape on either side of her clit, using them to spread the plump of her lips and better expose herself. “Suck it.”

Pink smoldered bright along his cheeks at the command, a whimper following it in fluttering past his lips. So when he dropped his jaw, licking his lips before leaning forward to cover her with his mouth, she was briefly hopeful that she’d finally broken him down to the version of himself that kept her coming back to their unwise tryst in the first place — the John who was eager, ready to jump to please, obedient and pliant.

But those hopes were soon dashed when the lips pursed around her failed to narrow to suckle, but rather expanded — as if he’d decided to strive for breadth over precision, make sure that the better mass of her mound was joined in on the action as his tongue made the briefest gentle brush-bys of her clit at most. 

She looked down, giving a confused little ‘huh’ sound he must have mistaken for a pleased moan, because the dropping and rising rhythm of his jaw increased as he french kissed the general vicinity of her clit. 

She rubbed her chin with her hand, considered. He was at least in the right area and doing something halfway useful now — the occasional slide of his tongue along her clit produced something akin to pleasure when it happened, and he had to give up the misguided effort at teasing and just get the job done eventually, right?

Yes, she decided, better to just let him tire himself out. At this point, it was a sunk cost. 

She sighed, untangled her fingers from his hair, keeping one hand there to pat the top of his head encouragingly while the other reached for the glass of scotch on the nightstand. She brought it to her lips, taking a sip.

Monday was supposed to be the warmest temperatures they’d had all month, good to finally get some fly fishing done, she thought with a pleased hum taken as more encouragement. 

She was still finding the best spots around here, winter fishing was always tricky. She took another sizable drink of her scotch, realizing she was nearing the bottom. She had good luck with trout over near Silver Lake during the summer, maybe she should give it another try. 

She threw back the remainder of her whiskey, the burn settling pleasantly in her stomach, heat flushing along her cheeks. Of course, it could get crowded even in winter, so maybe she should see just how frozen the more distant tributaries forking off from it were. 

She lowered the glass once she was sure she’d drained the last drop of scotch, ice cubes settling back along its bottom with a resounding clink. 

The noise caused John to shoot his head up, eyes wide and searching in confusion for a moment — before they narrowed in offense as they settled on the glass in her hand. 

“Were you drinking while I was doing that?!” 

“I fuckin’ got bored!” she barked back, throwing her hand up defensively. “I said to fucking suck it, not make out with it!” 

“I was getting there!” 

“Well I fucking wasn’t!” 

“Very fucking well, then!” he cursed, reaching his free hand to grip her thigh almost too hard and scooting her further towards the edge of the mattress. “Since you’re so opposed to my adding any amount of artistry to the endeavor,” he hissed, allowing it to slowly fade into a sigh as he resumed furiously stroking himself and settled between her legs. “I guess it’s straight to my A-Game.” 

With that he slipped his tongue past his lips again, finding its place without delay this time — hugging her contours with a tight pressed caress that made her suddenly realize with a dizzying flicker of heat just how much she’d missed being paid proper attention. 

She groaned low and heavy as she tossed her head back, feeling the mere reality of his tongue finally massaging against her with some fucking force was almost release enough on its own. 

It was. It really was. For the almost twenty seconds it lasted. 

But that was the extent of its duration, before his tongue curled and flipped over so that its slick underside rested against her before rising, breaking the contact to hover in limbo — then slap down, then repeat the motion rapid-fire. 

She opened her eyes. She set them on the cedar molding; pausing a beat to study its grain, ground herself. A moment to try to talk herself into believing that what she thought she felt certainly couldn’t be real — but the sensation of the tensed tip of his tongue sweeping back and forth over her at a machine gun pace didn’t vanish, the wet slap slap slap it produced announcing its reality and leaving her without the luxury of doubt. 

She could feel it, she could hear it, and upon finally daring to look down she could see his tongue flicking against her clit at the speed of light, as if trying to hammer any last remaining prospect of arousal out of it, the quick flex of his arm showing he continued pumping himself in the same racing rhythm. All while he looked up at her with those wide, pleading eyes and flushed cheeks; that desperate expression he wore that silently begged for praise, screamed ‘please tell me I’m good’ — an expression she normally would have to admit being something of an undeniable sucker for, but paired with the useless exaggerated flicking of his tongue it only inspired annoyance. 

She bent her neck, so that she could be directly eye to eye with him as she spoke. 

“John,” she cooed, dripping with an artificial sweetener of sarcasm, “you look very fucking pretty doing that.” His pupils blew wide, face deepening its pink with excitement — apparently still unaware the praise she gave was in mocking. “But it’s as fucking worthless as you are!” 

His tongue froze in its place for him to draw in a sharp gasp that was quickly pushed back out as a broken, bleating cry that dragged out long and quavering; as black-blue lust clouded eyes switched to glistening white as they rolled towards the back of his head, then shuttered just as quickly as he squeezed them shut tight. From there his head dropped to collapse in her lap, so that she briefly worried she’d caused him to break down and cry — before she felt sudden heat sling along her shins, trickling down to her ankles as he trembled against her. 

Her thigh grew nearly as damp as the lower half of her leg as he pressed his face flush against it to bury his next fading moans into it, until they crumpled into a last whimper and he went limp. 

He took a few more shaky breaths in her lap before he pulled back to sit upright on the floor again, chest still heaving with breathlessness. 

She unbent her leg, stretching it out to glance at the release dripping down her shin, then darting her eyes back to him. “So your A-Game, huh?” 

His slackened features took turns furrowing and tensing at different places on his face, trying to fix for itself which expression it wished to solidify into, seeming to shift between half-formed renditions of angry, embarrassed, and apologetic. 

Before they finally all fell, drooped with his head hanging in tired shame. 

And she studied him in silence: still gasping for breath, face sheened with sweat and rosy flush, the drops of release that hadn’t made it to her skin settling on his thighs. The ache at her base pulsed fresh despite herself, and she had to admit he did, in fact, look very, very pretty like that. 

She gave an exasperated sigh as she bent forward, reaching for his forearm. 

“Come here,” she grumbled, tugging at the arm to pull him upward, then forward for her other hand to find the back of his thigh and guide him to settle into her lap. 

He gave a soft whine, allowing his arms to rest atop her shoulders as she brought her hand upward to hold him at the hip. She then slid it to cradle the small of his back, trailing up and down as her other hand lifted to brush a thumb against his cheek, then cup his jaw — lavishing him with all those tender caresses she always was so bad at denying him when he was finally all broken down and fucked out and drained and softened by the comedown, although usually he’d done a little bit more to earn the reward of her spoiling him with stray affections. 

“Well,” she began, leaning forward to press a kiss against his heartbeat. “Have we learned our lesson, then?” 

He nuzzled against her hand, pressing a matching kiss to the pulse of her wrist, sighing a defeated, “Yes.” 

“You gonna just do what the fuck I say without going off script to try to show off next time?” 

“Yes,” he nodded, batting his eyelashes at her. “A-Anything,” he rasped against her palm. “Anything you say, Jessie, really — I want to make you feel good, make it up to you.” He wove his fingers through her hair, tangling them. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered against her lips. “Anything. Tell me what to do.” 

“Anything?” she questioned. “And you’ll be good and do it?” 

“Anything,” he agreed. “I’ll be so good for you.” 

She hummed, pleased. “I want you to slide off my lap right now, stand up…” She purred, pulling her head back to gaze at him, expectant look in his eyes. “Put on your pants, get in your car, drive to the liquor store, and fucking buy a bottle of bourbon.” She heard the beginnings of an offended scoff, pressing her index finger against his lips to shush it. “Without saying a fucking word, because you’ve officially lost ‘using your mouth’ privileges for the next hour.” 

He swatted her hand away, remaining obediently silent nonetheless, settling for flashing her a bitter sneer as he shot up to stand, shoved his legs into his pants and threw open the door. 

She trailed just behind him, stopping in the doorway to lean crooked in it with forearm propped against the frame. “Oh, and John?” she called after him, grinning at the sight of him wordlessly but dutifully turning around, jaw tensed tight but eyes softened as he stared at her. 

She gave an upward jerk of her head in a half-nod. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” she chimed, flashing her index and middle finger parted into a V for him — holding it and bringing the hand to her mouth, poking her tongue out to flick at the space between the fingers. 

She continued the act the entire time he swung around and stomped along the length of the balcony and down its steps with silent indignation, barking laughter after him as she did. 

Happy for one of them, at least.

[akaviri-dovah]

god I keep telling myself that I should start playing with custom voiced followers. I have heard so many great things about them by way of my friends who do have them downloaded - here is a list of the ones I have got my eyes on and plan to feature in some of my stories.

Inigo is my best friend's favourite - she once told me that having him in the game "is like playing with another person." He is the OG, or at least one of the first to pave the way of the custom follower scene. And him being a Khajiit is an automatic win in my book.

Xelzaz is among the favourites of another one of my friends, who picks him up in almost every playthrough of theirs. He's got an interesting backstory, stellar voice acting, and many useful in-game functionalities to aid you on your quests.

of course being the Altmer simp that I am, like you said, Rumarin is definitely going to show up in my game. I've heard that while Interesting NPC's "super-followers" like him tend to be praised, the less-prominent characters have a much more mixed reception... but like many other I am probably going to get this mod just for him... I have already designated him as the love interest of my non-canon/alternate universe LDB. from the videos of him I have watched, his dialogue is funny and his voice acting is not out of place compared to a vanilla Altmer's.

speaking of Altmer, there's also Nebarra, Caryalind, and Taliesin. I put these three together, despite them being from separate creators and not having any cross-mod interactions as far as I know, since unfortunately I do not know as much about them as the previous, aside them all being ex-Thalmor in some manner, which makes for an interesting dynamic that's already popping up in quite a handful of fanarts (a recent phenomenon, as Tally was only just recently released to the public). sometimes Rumarin joins them as the obligatory funny guy.

currently though, in my main/"canon" playthroughs that I am basing my longfic on, none of them appear - why this is I am not sure, considering the ones I listed are canon compliant as far as I know, but maybe it is because these kind of followers are typically tailored for Dragonborn characters (which I understand perfectly)... but out of the three protagonists of my fic, two of them are non-Dragonborn.

what I do have over there, however, is a small scattering of vanilla-styled modded followers, limited lines and all. and even then, I just leave most of them wandering around the taverns and towns just to breathe some extra life into Skyrim - but the ones my protagonists end up recruiting become deuteragonists in their own right.

this includes my own Feathers-Like-Smoke, a simplistic attempt to fill the void of female Argonian followers on Nexus (or at least, ones that aren't ridiculously sexualised) that I hope one day I can develop into a custom-voiced follower.

there is also a certain Altmer, perhaps the only vanilla-voiced follower of his race. a dollar store Rumarin, if you will: bisexual and more than a little snarky, but otherwise with none of the intricacies of a custom voiced follower. I am not allowed to have opinions on him, and we do not talk about how I yoinked him and fleshed him out to the point of practically making him an oc.

Whose's your favourite modded follower?

My fav is Rumarin from the mod Interesting NPCs because he's hilarious and a Bisexual hot Altmer too??? What more could you need really need

[shushiyuii]

Naga tommy pranking his family (who didn’t know he was a nags) with safe noms because he was hungry and completely forgot they didn’t know about him or safe noms, they think some random snake just came and ate them.

I FRIGGING DID IT, I MAY NOT HAVE WIFI BUT I DID IT. Well i may may not have gotten a bit angsty with this one buttt here it is!

Warnings: Vore, Unwilling prey, Angst ( ;3 just read it trust me)

Words: 1.9K+

He slithered throughout the forest, climbing through the trees and branches. Trying to find whatever prey he could as he was starving, it wasn’t an easy task to satisfy a naga’s stomach. Nor was it a simple task.

That was the thing he hated about being a naga, so many struggles such as hiding the fact you were a naga from your family! Which may not have been a smart task, but then again many people were scared of nagas so he’d prefer to keep his secret hidden.

But the thing is, he was absolutely starving and did not want to take whatever food his family had as they were struggling to get food from the recent shortage of food out in the wild, hence why he was struggling himself.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t eaten, he had breakfast with his family but with Naga’s they require a lot more maintenance than other creatures, requiring a lot more food than humans.

He had no idea how he had gotten away with it for so long, he kept up this secret for so long now, years. And not once had he slipped up, his family always thought he was out adventuring out in the forest and by the end of the day would hide his naga features to be found by either Phil, Techno or usually Wilbur.

When he was younger, his mom had raised him for a period, but one day got found by humans. So his mother, took him away to safety and told him this, “Hide from any humans, if you see any. Run.”. That was the last thing she had ever said to him, and he never forgot it.

After that he learnt to be independent and wild with instinct, since it was really the only way he knew to survive. And grew to hate humans.

That was all until he was found by Wilbur. One day who was singing by the roots of a tree, singing a tune when Tommy had spotted him.

He didn’t like the sight of a human but was entranced by the music the human was playing. So, he approached the human and hid his naga like features.

Wilbur looked over when he heard the shuffling of the bushes and saw a little runt boy, “Oh god. What’s a little guy like you doing in the forest?”. Wilbur came closer to help Tommy but he hissed and bit Wilbur, who surprisingly didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re a little odd ball, aren’t you? Don’t worry I’m not gonna hurt you! What’s your name?”.

“T-Tommy.”, “Nice to meet you Tommy, I’m Wilbur!”. Wilbur then took him home, gave him food and was accepted into the family, where he learnt human customs and went out to the forest to let out his wild instincts and couldn’t have it any better than that.

But now, he was starving, and he had no idea how he was going to keep charge of his instincts in check, because who knew what could happen when he lost control.

He remembered when he was younger, he kept conscious through the entire thing but, he didn’t know what would happen now, especially since it’s been years since that time.

But he could barely stop himself from snapping his head towards a slightly moving bush and pouncing on it. That was until he heard voices from a distance, yelling his name. What? What was his family doing here at this time?

He slithered through more trees, quickly seeing his family wondering the forest. “Tommy! Where are you?”, “Where is he?”, “No idea, hope we find him soon”.

Unfortunately for him, he felt his body begin to slowly slither down the tree and couldn’t stop it, Fuck. No. No. No. No.

This couldn’t be happening, he couldn’t, not now, not to his family. Please.

Soon he got to the ground, slithering on the floor just like a snake would, when he turned into a naga he was fairly a lot taller than his family. Which meant a scenario he did not wish to think of.

The family strolled throughout the forest for a while, looking for any sign of their missing relative, “Do you think he head home already?”, “Nah, way too early. He’s always out at this time.”. Techno turned his head as he heard rustle of a bush.

Wilbur turned along side Techno, “Tommy? Is that you?”. He asked, and he question was answered when Tommy pounced out of the bush and onto Wilbur, he wrapped his coils around Wilbur and tightened. Wilbur screamed in fear, which Tommy did not like as it hurt his sensitive ears.

“T-Tommy?!”, he yelped out as Tommy tightened his coils further, he answered with a hiss as he loomed more over Wilbur, “Tommy, mate?” He heard from behind him, Phil, his dad. Who he wanted so badly to hug in his coils and cry but he was way too focused on the prey in his coils, he doubt he could caught the looks of fear from either his and Techno’s faces.

Wilbur looked to Tommy with tears forming in his eyes, who looked to be so tight in his coils, he hated the sight. He never wanted to hurt them. He wanted to comfort Wilbur, let him know it would be okay, but the fact was that he was scared himself.

Techno seemed to snap back into reality as he ran towards Tommy and began to try and pry him off of Wilbur, but much to their dismay. Tommy striked at Techno, who luckily dodged but it didn’t help the face that he almost just bit his brother.

Unfortunately, that’s when he made his move and unhinged his jaw. That was when he placed Wilbur into his mouth, he licked at Wilbur, he hated to admit it, but he loved the taste, it was of a nice cinnamon.

He was terrified when he tilted his head upwards and swallowed. He didn’t want this; he didn’t want to swallow. He tried to take control of himself, but his hunger drove him mad, he could only rely on his animal instincts, not his humanity.

Soon, Wilbur went down his throat and into his secondary stomach. He hated the feeling, usually he’d enjoy it, but it felt so horrible when it was his brother. When he felt Wilbur tucked away his head turned to Phil, who looked horrified with tears in his eyes.

“Tommy, mate. Please. I know you don’t want to do this”. He slowly slithered closer to Phil, Techno following behind. He knew Techno was familiar with snake like behaviour and if he were to make a sudden movement, he’d strike.

He pounced again, coiling tightly around his father, he could feel Wilbur squirm and cry as he did, they were all scared. And just like Wilbur, Phil was swallowed down to join him. Phil was strong and gave a small fight, but it wouldn’t be like the next person.

His head snapped to Techno, his eyes dilated even more. He was going to get a hunt and he was excited about it, but on the inside; he feared what was to come.

Techno ran to get distance, and Tommy followed. He felt his body move slower than it usually would when actually hunting, he was playing with Techno, and he hated it.

Soon enough, he got bored of this game and scared the fuck out of Techno by pouncing on him and coiling tightly. He had never seen Techno so scared. He squirmed in the coils, Tommy struggling to get a good grip, having to tighten his coils so much. He hated how Techno looked as if he could barely breathe.

He loomed over Techno, he wanted so badly to say “I’m sorry” but his mouth wouldn’t move. He couldn’t say goodbye, the last thing he would see of his family was their terrified faces as he swallowed them whole. And then he’d be lonely again.

He felt Techno give a fight as he landed in the first stomach. Afterwards, he slithered under the shade of a tree, feeling his family cry and squirmed. He hated it. But he couldn’t control as he fell asleep, both physically and mentally tired…

…

He woke up, he didn’t feel anymore movements, he didn’t even want to move. He knew what had happened. He had no motivation to eat nor to live, he hated what he had done.

He coiled in on himself slightly, letting out soft sobs which soon turned into full on crying.

…

But his cries stopped as he felt soft movements, rubbing from his second stomach. He shot up, putting a hand to where his secondary stomach was on his tail, “Wilbur?! Dad?!”. There was hope in his voice, and he heard a voice, Wilbur’s. “Toms?”. The voice sounded tired, but no weak.

He hadn’t digested then, he felt the weight from the three of them, it hadn’t changed, they were fine, they were safe, tucked in.

“Oh shit, oh fuck. Are you guys, okay?!”. “Me and dad are fine, just tired.”, he poked at Techno, who groaned. He seemed to be sleeping. “Techno’s sleeping”. He snorted, finally able to have laughed after what had happened. “Typical Techno”, Phil laughed.

Soon there was silence, but not really a bad one as Tommy rubbed his stomach soothingly, hoping to comfort his family, “Toms?” Phil asked. “Yeah Dad?”, he answered. “How come you never told us you were a naga?...”, “I didn’t want to scare any of you”, he huffed, “But look what that lead us to”.

“What happened exactly?”, Wilbur asked , wondering what had happened throughout this whole thing, “Basically as a naga, I need to eat a lot more than you do. I need more food, hence why I go to the forest”.

“And because of the lack of food, you were struggling right?” Added Phil, “Yeah, I lost control. I didn’t mean to scare you guys like that I swear”, he rubbed more at his stomach in an anxious manner. “It’s okay Toms, we kinda just held on. Because we knew it was you and well, in reality you wouldn’t hurt us”.

They were probably right on that part, even with nagas, they were still a family kind of species. Even if they swallowed family, they’d be safe. He saw those three as his family, they were safe.

Tommy felt rubs come from the inside of his stomach, so he stopped himself and leaned, finally getting the comfort he wanted from his family. After a while he asked, “Do you guys wanna come out?”.

Wilbur snorted, “As much as it is warm and comfy in here, it’s tight so, yes please.”. And then he proceeded to let the family out of his stomach, even Techno who was now awake. They all stared at Tommy as he was now in his naga form, they couldn’t really get a good look at it for a while.

He was scared for a minute when he saw Phil’s smile and reached his hands out to his son, his face barely fitting in Phil’s arms, but he managed to give Tommy a kiss on the forehead, which his hair was then ruffled by Wilbur, and got a playful punch from Techno.

The four of them laid there then, Tommy’s head on Phil’s lap as he played with his hair and Techno and Wilbur using him as a jungle gym, he found it offensively funny. He loved his family.

[revengeisourlullaby]

If I Never Knew You Pt.2

Pt. 1   Pt. 2    Pt.3   Pt.4   Pt.5   Pt.6

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, arranged marriage plot, kinda royal au, some fighting, secret relationship, angst.

a/n: Here is part 2! I might upload part three tonight. I’m so excited to see where this goes. It seems that the first part is doing pretty good so I might upload them faster. As always requests/asks are open! Just give me little time to get to them. Enjoy! 

Word count: 1.8K

Walking through the town, you felt an inordinate wave of liberation flow through not only you but also through Loki. It felt as if the weight of the world released itself from your shoulders. Confidence and strength soaring through the air. Loki lost his stiffness, his typical carefree nature restored once you became more grounded. 

“See, not so bad, right?”

Shaking your head, a cynical chuckle escaped your throat

“For you maybe. All these eyes on us is kinda gross.”

“It’s only because the most attractive prince has finally decided to show his face.”

You looked at Loki, amusement absent from your face. He laughed, a belly laugh almost. It was a free sound you had yet to hear from him and when you did your face painted your emotions before you had the chance to process them yourself. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yes, but you, my dear, tolerate it. So who's really at a loss in this situation?”  

“Well, it’s not me.”

“It couldn’t be me Y/N.”

“Looks like we’re both losers then Loki.”

You were approaching the main entrance of the palace and began to wonder if Loki was considering bringing you inside.

“We lost when we fell in love with each other Y/N. Listening to the heart is the most foolish thing one can do and yet here we are. Charging full speed with our eyes closed hoping we don’t trip over anything.”

Guiding you up the steps of the massive golden structure Loki called ‘home’ your nerves struck up again. 

“Seems to make sense that if we’re going full speed, might as well exploit our courtship in the place where you will eventually be spending all your time in. And with all things considered, sneaking you in is...counterproductive, to say the least.”

Exhaling, you brought yourself together and walked in front of Loki. His hand rested on your lower back escorting you inside. Grabbing fabric in your fists, you hiked your dress up a bit making sure you didn’t step on it. Walking through the main threshold, you realized you were worrying for nothing. The halls were massive, the ceiling stretching higher than you ever imagined.

 It would be a miracle if you were to run across someone you knew in a place so vast.

 You looked around in shock at everything you were being hidden from. The thought of it hopefully being yours to share with Loki in freedom and not in constraint was illuminating. One day to not only be openly in love with him but to call him your husband. Your partner for life was the solace you needed. Everything looked new to you because you had only ever seen the hallways in the dead of night to share evening visits with Loki, being as slick as one could, and it always working in your favor.

“Wow, it looks so different here with the sun shining through. Always felt like a runaway sneaking through the backways and balconies to get to your quarters.”

“And now you get to walk there like every other person in this place. Quite fancy isn’t it.”

“Okay, I didn’t ask for the smart mouth, you ass.” 

“Comfortable, are we?” 

“With you? Always.”

Finally, you two had walked up to Loki’s quarters. Opening the doors he welcomed you in and you welcomed yourself to his bed. Flopping down on the edge of it, the edge of your dress flying up and you went down. Hearing the door shut, you lifted your head up to face Loki at the door, only thing was he wasn’t there. Furrowing your brow you sat up on your elbows and by the time you looked behind you, it was too late. 

“Boo.”

Your body reacted before you could control your response. Your stomach fell to your ass, eyes widening and a sharp inhale all followed one another before you finally shook off the anxiety and realized that Loki had popped up behind you. 

“You asshole! What if I screamed, huh?”

Loki laughed falling over on the bed, your reaction to him obviously something of hilarity to him. You rolled your eyes and pushed his shoulder in and began to pout. He caught his breath and calmed down enough so he could respond back to you. 

“You’re only screaming for one thing and unfortunately, darling, the sun’s still out. So, someone will have to wait, considering they’re so concerned about being caught.”

Loki raised his eyebrow and your mouth was agape. You squinted your eyes and an idea popped in your head. Rolling over on your knee you placed yourself on top of Loki's lap, resting your hands on his chest stealing his smirk for this moment in time.

“I can control myself...you on the other hand, once you start you can't stop.”

To emphasize your point, you rolled your hips into his and brought your body down to level his. Reaching his ear you whispered

“If you can find containment within yourself, a prize will await you this evening.”

You moved from his ear and hovered in front of his face, your lips ghosting one another. You pulled back a little bit to stare into his eyes. They were hypnotic no matter how many times you saw them. Loki’s hand trailed up your backside squeezing the mound of your ass before continuing up your back. His hand finding refuge at the nape of your neck. He pulled you back to his face, a gentleness about the entire interaction, and kissed you. 

There was a different kind of spark in this kiss, it felt electric, coursing through your veins and settling in your brain as a memory you’d never forget. Losing yourself in the thrill of it all, your hips began moving against his. Your building arousal creating a fog between you. The more you ground into the god below you, the more apparent his bulge was. Flipping you on your back Loki now held the reins of the situation. 

“Now, don’t tempt me Y/N. You have a habit of teasing and where does it always leave you?”

“At your mercy.”

“Clever girl. So if you like to save this accolade you mentioned for later, mind your manners, my love.”

He leaned down to kiss you as to punctuate his words, ending the discussion with the pull of your lips between his teeth. Hissing through the pleasure you couldn’t help but roll your hips up towards him, now being the one desperately craving friction. Testing the waters, you wanted to see how far you could push Loki to his limits. Your hand found the scruff of his neck and scrunched his hair. Sucking a breath in between his teeth, he pulled back a light laugh following. 

“I’m aware of what you’re attempting to do Y/N, and I think it would be fair for you to know that it’s a feeble attempt. Reason being, now you’re the one left in ardor.”

Loki pulled off of you but made sure to drive his point home by sliding down your body and resting between your thighs before fully standing up. You lied on the bed in slight agony of your current predicament. You sighed and brought yourself up on your elbows. Looking ahead of you, you saw Loki sitting in the massive throne chair that was in his room. It was gothic in nature yet still regal with the back of the chair rising well up behind him and the arms of it embellished with Asgardian design. 

His position in the chair was more than purposeful. His legs were spread wide, his arm resting on the arm of the throne and his hand propping up his head to look not only at you but out on the balcony. The late evening sun illuminating his eyes, bringing a whole new meaning to golden hour. He looked breathtaking and it was as if you were falling in love with him all over again.

The lust you were previously feeling was now amplified but also accompanied with adoration for your lover. You raised yourself from up off the bed and waltzed over to him. A fire behind your eyes and in your presence but you had yet to act on it. Coming in front of him, you kneeled in front of him and looked up. Two could play at this game. Your hands slid up his legs, paying special attention to his thighs and feather lightly rubbed on this. His eyes were boring through yours and you felt small under his gaze. 

The silence between you was telling, that if you were to continue with your actions there would be no waiting until later. You wanted to enjoy the silence between the two of you, so you turned your back to him now sitting on your behind, and crossed your legs. You leaned your head back so it fell in between his legs, but before fully getting settled you reached for the two books resting on the side table in front of the chair and placed them in your lap. You wiggled your hips and settled into a comfortable position. 

Resting your head back, you craned it further attempting to look at Loki. He rolled his eyes knowing exactly what you were asking for. 

“You know, if I knew how often you’d beg for these I would have never indulged in your initial request.”

“You and I both know this is enjoyable for both parties.”

Loki huffed, a silent agreement without saying explicitly that you were right. Loki began to rub your temples. You closed your eyes enjoying the sensation and the loving intent of his actions. You finally felt calm and safe compared to the rest of the day which was riddled with anxiety and panic and the nagging fear of all the ‘what ifs’ you came up with. You had exhausted yourself and this simple action put you at ease. You opened your eyes for a moment and glanced down at the books in your lap trying to decipher which one was Loki’s. 

Catching a glimpse on the side you realized the one on the bottom was Loki’s current project at hand. Grabbing it, you twisted your arm behind you and slid the book into Loki’s lap knowing that sooner or later you would end up dozing off and you figured that getting this out the way would make it easier for both of you. 

“You are truly something else.”

“And you love me for it Loki.” 

“Can’t argue that one.”

A small smile painted your face before it fell back into its relaxed state and you began to drift off. Every little thing that had happened today made you feel that you were a few steps closer to getting what you so desired with Loki.

[closer-stars]

Dance With Me

Member: Wooyoung Genre: Fluff Word Count: ~3000 Requested: No Content: just dancing with wooyoung. also both of you have feelings for each other but neither of you want to say ANYTHING about it. Also ended up making a playlist for this. Might link it if anyone wants it lol. Note: got inspired when i found out he likes dancing to slow songs. this is also just a bit of a break for me from all the requests I’ve been writing. Go easy on me on this ig, it’s been quite a while since I wrote anything that wasn’t a request and just practically winged this.  Tag list: @prodbyteez @barsformars @yeotlny @frankenstein852 @miniyeo @shinyddeonghwa @wlbrzst Net: @ateezlovenet

It’s night time. Ten o’ clock to be exact. Today is supposed to be your rest day, just at home, maybe playing video games, drinking some wine, just being able to take it easy. Alas, here you are in the studio with Wooyoung. His reason? None of the members wanted to stay in the studio; even the ever hardworking San wanted to stay at home and play League or melt into the massage chair. You can’t even get yourself to agree with Wooyoung when it came to staying at home. A good quality massage chair does wonders. You also can’t turn down an offer to dance with Wooyoung. It’s been far too long since you’ve danced with him after all. 

So here you are, just vibing along to the music he’s been playing at one side of the room, while he’s trying to get into the vibe but never quite being able to. You have fun with the music changes. Truthfully his music taste has matured over the years, some of the songs were unfamiliar to you. It’s a challenge for you to explore your own abilities and body. On the other hand, his own challenge was getting into the music. He vibes for a few counts but never quite gets into it like you. He watches you for a few moments through the mirror, a little envious of how you’re able to ease yourself into it. Yet, here he is, someone who works constantly through singing and dancing but can’t get himself to dance wholeheartedly. Freely. 

Maybe that’s why he dragged you here. 

“Hey, can I change the music?” You ask. You have a bit of an idea but it depends if he was willing for a bit of a change. 

“Go for it.” He says, a little thankful that he can turn off his thoughts to songs he’s not familiar with. Truthfully, he’s been a little nervous since it’s been so long since he’s spent time with you like this. He wants to show how much he has improved over the years he couldn’t meet up with you. Unfortunately, his own feelings got him feeling like he has two left feet or at the very least, forgetting how to dance. This time, he lets you take the lead. 

The music changes. Somehow, this genre was so you that it makes his lips curve upwards. You’ve matured and changed over the years, but hearing this kind of vibe was something he would have expected from you. It’s a small reassurance for him. Once you’re satisfied, you walk over to him and there’s something in your eyes that he catches. There’s a plan brewing in your head. He doesn’t quite remember how successful your impromptu plans are. 

“Do you remember when we were trainees, when we would dance around each other? Just freestyling and improv?” You ask. The two of you were trainees under the same company at one point. Eventually, you decided to venture into a path different from his. When you had left, he only had Yeosang left. He couldn’t lose the people he held so dear to his heart. 

At the mention of those memories, he laughs, “Of course.”. How young were the two of you then, so much hope and ambition. The two of you loved dancing with each other and he hopes that the love is still there. “Why?” He asks. 

He shouldn’t have asked because by the time the question came out of his mouth, you were dancing. Your feet gliding across the floor and around him. You’ve always been graceful, even when you’re just bouncing to the beat, it just looked so effortless on you. He remembers how the two of you look so awkward dancing in these styles. Now, it seems that you’ve grown into your genre. You never lost your love for dancing even after life had led you down a different path. Just like his feelings for his dream and you. He watches you dance around him, either with his own eyes or through the mirror. He catches a few moves influenced by other dance styles and he wonders just what have you been up to all this time. Some of the moves you do, he knows where you got those: trainee years. He even catches a move that he had personally taught you. These references don’t go past him unnoticed, in fact he giggles and laughs wholeheartedly at each reference.  

The fleeting touches you give him aren’t going unnoticed either. There’s still a hint of shyness in them, only balanced by how confident you move and how the song eggs you on. You’ve always been the type to like upbeat music. The confidence boost the steady instrumental gives you was refreshing to see. You always preferred to keep your feelings and thoughts to yourself, ever so private you are. But when music plays, you come out of that shell, doing things he didn’t think you could do. This includes making his heart race. Since he doesn’t have to dance for now, he takes the time to fully appreciate you. To have your undivided attention while you dance, it felt too good to be true. 

Once the song reaches the end, you slowly stop as well, letting your energy fade into the next song. Your chest rising and falling quickly as you catch your breath. There’s a thin sheet of sweat on your forehead: it’s been a while since you’ve danced like that. The music still plays and Wooyoung stands there. It’s when you stop dancing that he spots how your bashful mannerisms return; the shy smile where your eyes scrunch close as you catch your breath. You look cute, he thinks. A little prideful of himself too, to see a side of you that not a lot of people see. 

He’s not sure of what to say, how to properly praise you after what you’ve done. The hesitance is thrown out the window and he lets the words fly out instead. “You’ve improved.” He starts. It’s hard to hide the prideful grin on his features. He praises you for your skills and patience to improve in these styles despite your already hectic schedule. After such words, you bow in thanks to his words. Truthfully, you haven’t seen how you’ve improved but if Wooyoung says you have then you’ll take his words for it. Now, you gesture for him to take over the dance floor. 

“Your turn, pretty boy.” You say simply. The praise momentarily causes his brain to buffer. This doesn’t slip by you that you smirk, proceeding to call him that name again. “I said what I said, pretty boy.” You taunt him playfully. 

The song playing now is a different one. It’s up Wooyoung’s alley this time. He decides to impress you with his skills this time. You didn’t expect anything different from him. As far as you could remember, he loved showing off his lines at the start. It didn’t matter if he does them sharp and quickly or careful and slowly, if it makes the audience breathless then he’s doing well. He takes his time dancing with the music this time. Compared to earlier, he looks a lot more relaxed. There’s just something about dancing with friends for no reason that his job as an idol can’t quite beat. The need to impress you eventually ebs away, making room for him to just be. Of course even if he just lets be, he can’t help but be a little flirty with you. Mouthing the lyrics while shooting you a wink here and there, all of which are rebuffed by you rolling your eyes. 

Both of you know better. The refusal of such flirtings really meant nothing. Neither of you speak about it though, instead just having fun to see who would cave first.

Though he loosens up now, he doesn’t miss on the chance to throw a few moves that he knows are your thing. And was it really Wooyoung, if there wasn’t any attitude in his movement? Of course he’d go as far as do the same moves you did in reference to him, all while correcting you on how to do it. Just typical Wooyoung things. Besides his dance lines, now more prominent, you can’t help but be impressed with how controlled his core is. Maybe you’ll ask for his training regime after tonight. His performance lights up a small competitive flame in you. You keep it under wraps though, you want to see what other tricks he has up his sleeve. 

It’s not tricks but you do see that he’s been able to explore just how much his body can do. He’s often on the floor, sometimes on his knees as he dances, rising up for a few counts before being on the floor once more. A small part of you wonders how he’d do when it comes to other styles of hip hop with how grounded he’s become. Just then, you catch him losing his focus, struggling a little to execute certain moves.

He can’t help it, hell, he doesn’t know why it made him lose focus. For some reason, his head decided to emphasize the mere fact, he’s dancing for you. Just the two of you. He was so used to dancing with you and other trainees that then turned into dancing with his members. Now, it’s the two of you only. Flustered feelings overpower his focus, and it shows in a small misstep, a small miss in timing. Even if he’s in the zone, he wants to be worthy of your pride. 

“Let’s go, Wooyoung.” You say, trying to put him back into the groove. You didn’t really think about holding back. You were sure that his members have seen how frustrated he can get when he loses his groove in something he’s been working on. “Let’s go.” You say, bouncing a little in the same spot. 

Without another thought, you decide to dance with him. The imagery of a puppeteer with his little puppet as you maneuver around him. There’s something that looks like surprise in Wooyoung’s eyes when he realizes you’re dancing with him now.The visuals the two of you make was refreshing. It felt right, seems like two puzzle pieces fitting right in after looking for their match for so long. Though, for you, you don’t put too much effort into dancing, doing this just to make sure Wooyoung doesn’t lose his focus. He notices what you’re doing and he feels a little strengthened to continue dancing even for a few more counts. For now, he’ll follow your lead until he’s able to drop into the music. 

The two of you drop to the floor once the song ends. Both of you heaving from the physical exertion. Just a few feet away, the sound system continues to play music that neither of you plan to stop. You look over at the male who’s spread eagle on the floor, strands of hair clinging to his skin as he catches his breath. Maybe it would’ve been nice to stand on the same stage as him but would you have been able to handle the pressure? You shake the thoughts of your head as you pull yourself up. 

“Hey, do you remember the choreo to this?” His voice cuts through the thoughts that still cling to your consciousness. The question registers into your mind and you take a moment to focus on the song. Oh. This is rather old. A song the two of you danced to for a monthly evaluation if you remember correctly. One of the rare times you danced with him at such close proximity. 

You reason with yourself that the hot feeling on your cheeks is your body’s heat from dancing for longer than you were used to. “Yeah a bit, why?” You return the question to him while you stretch your legs from the exhaustion. 

“Wanna do it?”

Your eyes look at him with disbelief. “I thought you forget choreos easily.” It’s not that you doubt him-- okay maybe just a bit, but the amount of times he has said that he forgets choreographies to you and to the camera was quite high. 

Your question clearly goes through one ear and out the other. Typical. “Let’s just give it a shot.” He says, pushing himself up with what you can only assume was something he picked up from breaking. Always the flashy guy he was, wanting to flex whenever possible. He walks over to you, offering his hand to pull you up to your feet. 

Who are you to say no? 

When you hold onto his hand, he pulls you up and against his chest. The prideful smirk already on his lips. The voice in your head berates you for falling for such a classic trick from him. As if you’d complain though. But you don’t show how affected you are by such actions, and instead, you lightly whack his chest, thus giving you the chance to get away. 

Did that matter? Not quite because eventually, the two of you would have to dance together.

With that, the dancing begins again. The two of you twist against each other, switching positions that showcases each other’s skills. At certain segments, one of you would forget what comes next-- the things that says this would be either a panicked yelp from you, or an awkward questioning sound from Wooyoung. When one forgets what’s next, the other manages to remember and lead them. It’s all smooth sailing until the two of you forget what comes next. 

The two of you are just looking at your reflections, frozen in the same pose. Either of you hoping the other remembers and puts the two of you back on track. “Freestyle?” He proposes.

“Call. Face me.” 

The two of you are now looking at each other, dancing with each other in your own respective colors. It’s interesting to see how the two of you are dancing to the same song yet catching different beats. This goes on for a few counts, until Wooyoung snaps back into focus. Looks like he remembers the next step. 

“Let’s dance like this.” 

You follow his lead but it came with a bit of a price; to put it simply, it was a little flustering. It felt like you were looking at a mirror but not quite. It’s not surprising that you’d stumble at the confusing visuals that didn’t quite match with the vague memories in your head. Your flustered state isn’t missed by Wooyoung who eyes you with soft glee. Fortunately for you, you catch your pace again and dance confidently to him. 

He dances with just as much confidence to you. A privy smile creeping upon his features as he approaches you through the music. He knows you won’t move away so he takes his time. Any step back the two of you do were part of the choreography. From here onwards, the two of you know the choreography by heart. How can you not? 

The choreography ends with the two of you looking at each other. Wooyoung bending a little lower always, as you always look downwards at the end. He won’t miss out on an opportunity to see that cute shy look on your face when you realize how close he is to you. 

You can’t berate yourself either for liking how close he is. That cheeky smile he has that only you get to see does things to your stomach. The last four counts have the two of you just doing simple two steps grooving out the rest of the song out. 

After that session, your playlist ends right on time. But when the songs end, that’s when Wooyoung’s noise starts. The male lets out a relieved groan as he drops to his butt onto the floor, catching his breath. You let out the breath you’ve been holding since he got so close to you as you get your phone. After unplugging your phone from the system, you return your attention to the man who has evidently stripped his pullover off to cool his body down. 

“Walk around. Lying down after dancing isn’t going to help.” You chide him. Old habits really die hard with that guy. 

For once, he listens immediately. He pulls himself up and picks up his things. “Let’s go grab something to eat?” The look of incredulity on your face makes him raise his shoulders, unfazed by how sharp you look right now. “What? You said walk around, so let’s get out of here and grab something to eat, I’m hungry.” In other words: I don’t want this night with you to end just yet. 

Moments of silence pass over you. You were going to regret the less than usual hours of sleep you’ll get tonight but you’d regret not spending time with him more. “Let me grab my stuff, you switch off the stuff here cause I don’t want any property damage on my hands.”  He grins widely, victorious at his persuasion. “Besides, you owe me a lot of stories.” You add as you grab all your belongings. 

He does as he’s told and then hooks his arm right over your shoulders. “For starters, give me your new number. That way, you don’t miss me too much.” The two of you leave the studio all while Wooyoung recounts his stories to you. 

“Excuse me! You’re the one who dragged me here. You’re the one who misses me.” 

He wonders if you can feel how fast his heart races to have you in his arms like this. He can always excuse with from all the dancing no matter how stupid it can sound. 

He likes what he has with you right now, no rush. It’s obvious how you got feelings for each other but there’s no pressure in confessing. The night will forever be young as long as he’s with you.

[saikagerights]

Lay Me Down to Rest - Entry for Day of MirSan 2021

Hello there! And welcome to my first Inuyasha fanfiction, as apart of the @dayofmirsan event. 

I initially was planning to be an observer of the event, but sudden inspiration struck at 1am during my nightly routine of falling asleep to Inuyasha. Rewatching the Monkey Sprite episode is interesting for many reasons. For one, there was an unhealthy amount of filler added into the anime adaptation of this story-line, which gave hit-or-miss comedy. But the most important thing is that Miroku and Sango are mostly unaccounted for in this story-line, which gives shippers like me an opportunity to write some “off-screen development” for them. And though the anime does give us an idea, I’m afraid that Miroku’s indifference and frustrated edge in the scene feels a bit off, so I decided to add a bit of a bit of context. Consider this a bit of a fusion between the anime in manga, though the scene is based off of the anime. Also I was very liberal with my use of English/Japanese dub terminology. I watched the anime in English, but switched over to the manga to replace the Final Act, so it’s a bit inconsistent. 

I’ve been observing this fandom from afar ever since I started getting into Inuyasha back in December, and though I wanted to try and engage with it, it seemed very daunting given this fandom’s age and organization. But I’m very grateful that I was given the chance to participate in this event, and lucky that inspiration struck me at the right time. I’ve really been looking forward to seeing the works that come out of this event, and I hope you enjoy my contribution. 

And thanks for the mods for allowing me to share my work with you fellow fans

InuYasha and it’s properties are owned by creator Rumiko Takahashi and Sunrise 

Read on AO3

Sango tailed the monk as he led their investigation. The villagers they had asked so far had no knowledge of the wicked demon, only of the pestering monkeys that were ravaging their fields. Her companion simply nodded, thanking them for their time and promising that the Inugami would save their village. They soon found themselves at the outskirts of the village on an empty patch of land outside the forest, save for one tall tree. Sango found his behavior during their search to be strange, especially as he now paused at the tree, leaving his Shakujo leaning against its trunk.

Was he just as stumped as she was? Would this reprieve be a chance for them to rethink their approach? 

“Why have we stopped here, Miroku?” She questioned. “Aren’t we supposed to search for Naraku’s whereabouts?”

Her befuddlement heightened as he laid his body to rest in the grass underneath the shade of the tree with a sigh, both hands pillowing his head. His intentions then became clear at the sight of his eyelids slipping shut.

“How might we do that when we have neither Inuyasha’s nose or Kagome’s detection?” His tone reflected his relaxed poise. “I merely said that so that Inuyasha would be more inclined to help those villagers.”

Her head tilted downward towards the monk’s resting face. “I understand wanting to help, but do you honestly think that Inuyasha dealing with those monkeys will get us any closer to finding him?

“Not particularly.” He punctuated the off-handed remark with a yawn, overstating his disinterest. “But enough of that... Why don’t you join me here?”

She stood awestruck at his bold request. He lays there while their friends were helping this poor village and now he asks her to do the same? If Inuyahsa were to find out, he’d surely have more pressing things to worry about than the food security of the village. 

“I don’t think it would be wise, considering your flippant lies.”

The man remained still, no sign of concern disrupting his posture. 

“If you changed back into your battle attire before our return, they’d never suspect a thing.” He ignored her statement, a peaceful smile casually appearing on his face. She instantly recognized this move. He was fully convinced he would get his way, the sleazy crook. “Besides, I’m sure sleep has been as kind to you as it has been to me as of late.”

Although it was usually hard to detect amongst his manner of speaking, the monk’s sarcasm was not missed by the slayer. She knew very well that Naraku’s sudden disappearance had their whole group on edge, including herself. And while sleep had become its own battle, the desperate investigations of their enemy have left her distracted from everything else. Sleep meant the rest needed to fight again, but it also meant time alone with one’s most intimate thoughts. What always plagued her mind nowadays were things she’d rather not willingly engage. Finding Naraku should be her biggest concern now, but she indulged her companion despite what she would consider was her better judgement.

The monk had a particular talent for steering her away from rationality.

“Knowing your pervy ways, I’m sure you’d try and sneak a peek at me”

The monk could’ve never noticed the sneer on her face behind his still-closed eyes. The same smile was plastered on his face as well, despite her accusation. He really did enjoy giving her grief, didn’t he...

“Trust me, my dear. I have no intention of moving from this spot for a while. Or at least until Inuyasha comes for my head.”

 “Then I guess you wouldn’t mind if I left Kilala here to guard this spot until I returned.”

He chuckled at that. “I don’t mind at all. I’m sure she’d love to watch me lie here, right Kilala?”  

Sango looked to the nekomata, who merely chuffed in response. She was wary of Kilala’s strange trust in the monk at times, but she was sure that the demon would keep an eye on him in case he tried something funny. 

Miroku took this as the perfect time to reveal his indigo eyes to her. 

 “Please, my intentions are more honorable than what they seem, believe me.”

There it was, that gentle voice of his used to convince her of his authenticity. The same breathy tones that sent her heart racing and her stomach in somersaults. She knew Miroku was confident in his charms, but she also liked to think that he was fully aware of this game they played. She only came to grips with it recently, but there was something going on. 

They’d fight, they’d talk it through, and just when she thought he would try to make a move, that damn hand of his would find the wrong place to caress. Or it would be when she found herself grieving once more, and he could comfort her with his words alone. How did he always know what to say that made everything clear and could heal every fiber of her being, but also had a hand that never failed to do the exact opposite? He was a truly frustrating man, but he was the only one she ever considered more than just that. 

But did he really know? That was a puzzle Sango couldn’t solve. It wasn’t as if anything meaningful resulted from these escapades. Afterwards, they would act as if nothing happened, and he would return to his typical flirtatious ways with any woman that entered his line of sight. So Sango liked to think that Miroku fully knew that he was toying with her feelings. That way it made it easier to lower her expectations and resent them despite Kagome’s not-so-subtle prodding. 

When she became abruptly aware that her eyes had been locked on him for too long, she made her hasty retreat, hoping he didn’t catch her bright red flush in the shade of the tree. 

“This man will be the death of me,” she softly cursed herself as soon as she knew she left his earshot. 

_______________________________________________________________

Upon her return to their little “spot,” she was greeted by an alert Miroku. His body was now fully upright and turned towards her approaching form. 

“You’ve accepted my invitation, I see”

“I thought you were trying to sleep”

“I still am, but I’d figured it would help if I got a quick glimpse of your beauty before-hand.”

She rolled her eyes at his shameless attempt. “You really are troublesome, you know that?”

“You wound me, dear Sango!” He unceremoniously flopped back into his previous position, his left hand patting the spot next to him. “You are free to lie beside me if you wish.” 

Without the need for consideration, she silently opted to sit against Kilala’s curled form, stretching her legs in front of her. He managed to convince her to relax alongside him, but she had no intention of allowing herself to get too comfortable around him in the likely case the monk’s wandering hands wandered once more. He sighed audibly at her decision, but allowed his eyes to close again without any further word. He could act like a child all he wanted, but she would not budge. 

She watched the man for a while, observing his state of rest. She could tell as much that he hadn’t fallen asleep just yet by all of his idle noises and the way he kept trying to steal a glance in her direction. 

“Can’t sleep?”

She hadn’t even tried to close her eyes just yet, as she was still trying to grasp their current situation. Why was he so insistent on sleeping if he was just going to try and stare at her the entire afternoon? Why did he lie to Inuyasha in the first place if this was how they would spend their time? With all these questions moving around in her head, she might as well ask for the most basic of them.

“Miroku? Why do you lie and steal as casually as you do? I always thought that monks were pure-hearted.”

“What a wonderful question!” He exclaimed. With such enthusiasm, she was almost afraid of the answer she would soon receive from him. “I’ve been traveling on my own for so long, and it’s quite difficult to acquire wealth in such unfortunate times. I wish to give aid to those in need, but I also believe that it never hurts to help yourself as well.” He settled for an even tone and let his eyes slip open once more. 

 “And you are right, It is true that holy-people such as myself are meant to be free of sin. But,  I was born tainted by the hole that resides in my hand.” His voice tapered off at his pause, the newfound silence growing thick with each passing moment. His sound returned to him, soft and low, as if it were only meant for his ears alone. 

“It doesn’t matter how much I devote myself to my faith to any idol or deity. My curse is hell-bent on deciding my fate....”

But we are trying to stop Naraku! To free you from the Kazaana. You can always change your path after that! She immediately contested, perhaps a little too loudly, but she didn’t care. How dare he speak so little of himself and avoid her gaze as he did it?! She refused to accept his belittling statements. 

“It is very hard for me to see a future for myself at this time, I’m afraid…” He brought his head up to look at her. A flash of fear ran through his eyes before he looked down once more. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t speak like that.”

He’s afraid…

And he had every right to be. 

“Please don’t apologize.”

He never showed it in front of their group, but behind that calm and smooth exterior remained a man trembling under the weight of his own mortality. He was a man after all, and men were never to show what made them most vulnerable. But with how much he gives to help others, it feels unfair for him to just allow himself to suffer inside as he did.

 If they understood each other as well as he liked to claim, then she knew he hated the restless feeling they had knowing nothing of where their wicked nemesis resided, surely plotting something to exploit the fears he caused within their hearts. Knowing that her poor brother remained in that demon’s grasp sickened her to her core, and sitting around with no leads made it hard to lay dormant as they did now. 

“I get it. I am just as frustrated as you… About Kohaku-”

“-You don’t need to go any further” He  interrupted her thoughts, I didn’t mean to remind you of your pain like that.”

 “Miroku-” 

 “-Please,” he sharply cut in once more, hoarseness settling into his throat. He must’ve noticed it as well, as he cleared his throat soon after. “let’s just try to find rest while we still can.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, clearly trying to force unconsciousness upon himself. Sango relented, trying to relax her body, idly stroking Kilala as she watched the man slowly succumb to rest. It was surreal to see him struggle like this when it seemed like meditation was second nature to him. She decided on trying for sleep once his breathing evened out and all the remaining tension left his face. 

________________________________________________________________

Miroku wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, but he could tell from the shadows before him had grown considerably when his eyes peered open. He turned his head to see Sango now curled up against Kilala, her face all but buried in her demon companion’s fur. He slowly rose to his feet, slightly stretching as he made an intake of his surroundings. It looked as if the sun would soon begin it’s retreat from the sky. The monk knew the rest was necessary, but he definitely didn’t look forward to another predictively sleepless night. 

One more glance at Sango’s sleeping form was enough to convince him to approach her, neglecting his Shakujo to silence his movements. He knew, probably better than anybody, of the threat imposed by the slayer’s attuned senses. He also knew the danger of being caught if she awoke to his gawking. Unfortunately it was a risk he was willing for one small fleeting moment to stare at her.

What an idiot he had been for making her sympathize with his life. Even worse that it reminded her of her own grief. He was happy to indulge her curiosity, but when he looked up at her, he turned cowardly at what he saw. It wasn’t fear, or sadness over his grim fate. It was the very same fire that lit behind her eyes in battle. 

She was prepared to fight for him, it seemed…

He dare not think that she would go any farther for that. He was not worth her death. In fact, nothing was worth her death. The honor of her clan was at stake, and her life was essential in carrying on their legacy. One measly itinerant monk with a fated death should be worthless in her eyes, even if he wanted nothing more than to keep her alive.

Even if he wanted more than anything to see a future with her.

He turned away from her, returning to his spot in a now seated position. The monk had half a mind to wake the woman, but decided against it. Every waking moment for her was its own battle, after all. She needed all the rest she could get. And he’d gladly wait for her until that battle resumed, and fight with her at every step.

And if dying for her now meant he could spend the next life by her side, then he would welcome death with open arms. 

“I hope this woman is the death of me,” he softly wished before all else melted away to his own meditation.

______________________________________________________________

Yeah I realized I took some liberties here with how Miroku and Sango’s relationship was at this point. This episode takes place after the Temptress of the Mist and Demon-Head castle, but far behind Mt. Hakurei, so what was going on with them hadn’t really become a “pattern” just yet. And Miroku had just comforted her in her grieving state for the first time right before that. Sango wasn’t deep enough to say he was her reason for living, so that’s why I kept her on the fence and didn’t have her feel too disappointed, because that’s what came after Mt Hakurei. 

I’m a sucker for long winded perspective changes, especially here with all the parallels I draw between them. Some of my best lines were written here, especially the ending line. My GOD. I swear, I wrote that and everything made sense. I said “yes” over and over again, it was so good.

Also can you tell whose voice I’m talking about when describing Miroku’s? The answer is Koji Tsujitani. I always knew about Tsujitani’s delivery that makes Miroku sound truly “fake” but I noticed rather recently how he would add so much breath, especially in serious scenes. On the other hand, Kirby Morrow played the character down and deep in his throat, which isn’t bad when talking about his overall performance, but I decided to favor Tsujitani’s performance in this instance. 

(I’m a classically trained singer and a music education major, so I’m a nut for analyzing voice acting. I have respect for both of these men may they rest in peace.)

Thanks again for the opportunity, and I hope to write more for this series. 

-Saikage

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 47 - Seven Devils

Title: Irreverent Pt. 47 - Seven Devils

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~11K

Irreverent Series Masterlist

You'd just arrived at the airport when you got the call from Clyde informing you that there was a terror alert across the EU and flights were being grounded. He'd coordinate agents on the ground but there wasn't much you could do from the States, so you were off the hook until things got figured out.

Great, now what? *------------* Aaron walked towards the plane with the rest of the team, with Reid already spouting facts around unsubs who preferred to shoot their victims from a distance rather than up close. He climbs up the steps and turning, is greeted by you, seated in your usual chair. "Hey, what're you doing here?" He walks up towards you, the rest of the team following close behind, equally surprised to see you. "EU terror alert," you explain while he stashes his luggage away, nodding hello to everyone else. "Clyde said I'm free for the time being and I was already at the airport. Garcia read me in." "Well, it'll be good to have you, kid." Rossi takes a seat in the aisle across from you guys. "Seems like an all hands on deck sort of situation." Everyone settles in and you can't help but notice the small smile that seems to linger on Aaron ever since he saw you. The two of you had only had the past three days together and throughout that, you'd had a soccer match for Jack, a birthday party for one of his friends, and you'd spent Saturday night with the girls; needless to say, it had been tough to get time together for just the two of you. "Was Jack okay?" you ask, turning to Aaron after everyone had finished talking through some of the case details and started to build a preliminary profile on the Unsub. Aaron nods, but your question catches JJ's attention, who looks to you with her eyebrows raised, the puzzled expression on her face imploring you to explain. You're unable to help the smirk that plays at your lips as you do. "We had a - um - staff meeting this morning that Jack wasn't invited to. He wasn't too happy that the door was locked," you explain, biting your lip and barely stifling your giggles. "A staff meeting?" Emily raises her eyebrows at you and you can just imagine the dirty thoughts running through her mind along with the Wow Y/N only soccer moms call getting railed a staff meeting. You meet Aaron's eye and you can see the soft blush to his cheeks that only you would notice. "I simultaneously regret and appreciate my choice of words there," you murmur to him as he shakes his head in amused disapproval. Derek barks out a laugh in reaction to Emily. "Uh huh. Was it a successful meeting?" he asks, wagging his eyebrows at you, toeing the line at ribbing Aaron as well. "I think both parties were pleased with the outcome. At least according to my notes." You turned to look at Aaron, mirth flitting into your gaze. "Would you concur?" He has a small smirk on his face mirroring yours, no doubt thinking back to the fifteen minutes the two of you had caught together before you had to get ready to leave for the airport - once against the aforementioned locked bedroom door and a second in the shower, before you begged him to relent, otherwise you'd be late. He'd been intent on a third. "Some good points were made. However, we might have to do a follow up to ensure we're still aligned," he drawls, getting far too much enjoyment out of the effect his words and low voice would have on you. You lose it at that, unable to keep a straight face. Follow up indeed. "Gross. I feel like I just watched my parents flirting." JJ groans, pushing up from her seat to go rummage around for snacks in the back. She was due anytime now and would be gone on maternity leave starting the following week. She was already mostly out of the field, staying in the precinct and managing the team from there. You knew, that as a result of that, Aaron was actually out in the field a lot more because he trusted JJ to handle the emotions and politics of local officials far better than anyone else. "Morgan, could you check if we're stocked on the M4 ammunition?" Aaron switches gears towards preparing for the landing, a quick brush of his hand to your thigh in promise that there would indeed be a follow up to this morning's activities. Derek nods and gets up, checking on the rifles stock that was brought along. With an Unsub like this, the team would need to be equally equipped to handle any situations that might arise, especially in a sprawling Texas city where guns were aplenty. "Guys," Spencer pipes up, "I don't think I'm actually allowed to use those." He glances around at the rest of the team apprehensively, as Derek and Aaron share a calculated look at his admission. "You're not," they both tell him almost simultaneously, drawing a snort from both you and Emily while Rossi merely smiles and shakes his head, turning his head back to his notes. Reid looks offended and turns on you at that. "Are you certified to shoot those?" His tone implied that he highly doubted you. "I've been shooting since I was six years old," you inform him, a superior look on your face. "I actually set the Academy record for most weapons certifications earned by a trainee." Aaron presses his lips together to keep from smiling while Emily shakes her head with a laugh at you goading Reid. "I didn't know six year olds were allowed to handle guns." "If you're rich in Connecticut, you can do pretty much anything. Just look at the Kennedys." "Touché."

Spencer grumbles to himself a bit more, slouching into his chair. It was his one weak point and he was getting better at it, really. On pretty much everything else, you're sure he'd have you beat.

You turn towards the research you'd been conducting on your own case with Clyde, in your downtime. Things were starting to fit together in an unexpected manner, and you'd had to bend a few rules to start putting all the different pieces in, but you were finally making some headway. It would definitely be faster and easier if you could enlist Garcia's help or bounce ideas off of Aaron, but your hands were unfortunately tied due to the high level of clearance you'd had to obtain to work this case in the first place.

Aaron watches as your head is bent in concentration, his own focus flickering away from the case ahead. You'd only been home for three days but you'd mentioned that your assignment at last had an end in sight. He's hopeful that that means things will be calming down - the two of you would be around one another more again. While Jack had so far done a good job of keeping the secret, he also gave his father a very telling, excited look anytime he saw you, and Aaron could often see Jack's eyes going to your hand where he hoped a ring would soon sit.

*------------*

All of the bodies thus far had been found at the grounds of various places of worship around the city - a few Churches, a Temple, and a Mosque. It would appear most of the actual killings had happened at a different location and the bodies were then moved and left to be found the next morning by unsuspecting worshippers, children, and groundskeepers. The Unsub was an equal opportunity killer - no discrimination in the religious leanings of his victims.

So far the victimology was all over the board - a college student, a local politician, a priest, a housewife, and a video game developer were the five victims so far. It read like the beginnings of a bad joke. A rabbi, a priest, and a horse walk into a bar…

The Unsub had left the bodies of each victim at their chosen place of worship. That, in itself, felt highly personal so there was a chance that the Unsub personally knew each of their victims. This was supported by the methodology - killing the victims from afar was easier on this particular Unsub's constitution.

The team had been spitballing; attempting to establish a connection between the victims. Reid and JJ were working on the geographic profile. Well, Spencer was at least. JJ kept having to leave to go to the restroom every five minutes. In that moment, you definitely did not envy pregnant women. Bearing children wrecked one's body.

The obvious religious themes were all in scope. The theory at the forefront was that each of the victims was being punished for a perceived sin, and Garcia was doing a deeper dive into their finances and online history while the rest of you got to know the families and the victims personally to wrangle out the truth. This was the most difficult part usually - even if someone was an awful person whilst alive, most people became reluctant to speak ill of the dead.

Trusting JJ to handle the centralized headquarters that the team had set up, Aaron left with you to do one set of the interviews. He wanted to speak to the parishioners of the church where the priest had been found, his body jutting out of the confessional booth. You both noted that it was on the opposite side from where the priests would typically sit, symbolically speaking to the fact that the Unsub considered the priest to be a sinner.

"I mean, he's a priest in a Catholic church," you said as the two of you walked up the pathway to the entrance. "The obvious definitely comes to mind."

Aaron agrees with a grimace. Father Patrick had led a youth group and had been doing so for the past decade. There was a high chance the Unsub could be a current or prior victim of sexual assault at his hands. He could also be someone whom a potential victim had confided in, so your suspect list was pretty wide open for the time being.

As suspected, every conversation you had - with church docents and members alike - was highly complimentary to Father Patrick. He was good with the children, kind to the female staff, had a fairly middle ground interpretation of the Bible; an all-around pillar of the community.

"Hopefully Morgan and Prentiss have better luck."

You nod, buckling in your seatbelt and commandeering the music, electing to actually play the White Album for once, drawing a smile from Aaron. He pulls out of the parking space and heads back towards the precinct. You smile to yourself as Aaron's deep voice croons along to Dear Prudence, his fingers tapping along to the beat against the steering wheel while you look out the window at the twilight Texas sky.

*------------*

"So, the girl, Rachel - total know-it-all, not unlike someone else we know…"

Reid glares at Emily as she trails off with a smirk. Her and Derek had gone to do another set of the interviews at the local university and had talked to classmates and professors to learn more about the first victim.

"We all have our suspicions about Father Patrick, but nothing conclusive there. The Councilwoman was taking bribes to block the legislation around the city's free internet policy per Garcia's research. That leaves Mrs. Abad and Ryan Cohen, the designer. We can't tell what their secret might've been, besides some high balances on a credit card for Mrs. Abad."

The team nods at Hotch, confirming his summary of the case so far.

"JJ and I have narrowed down the field to three epicenters across the city." You're surprised that Spencer gave JJ any credit at all for the work they'd done together. JJ had confided in you upon your return, that she'd told Spencer she was going to the bathroom and had instead taken a twenty minute power nap in a supply closet. Her maternity leave could not start soon enough, and you're glad that she's handling this pregnancy in a much more relaxed manner than the first, allowing herself the time off properly.

"Based on the current cadence, we could have another victim in the next couple of days." Rossi looks around the room grimly. You're all well aware that the window to catch the Unsub before another victim materializes is closing quickly. It also usually tends to speed up once the team arrives on the scene. Makes Unsubs nervous. Eager to finish the job faster.

"Would you say Councilwoman Crane was guilty of the sin of greed?" Derek's brow is furrowed, the beginnings of a concrete thought evident in his question.

You nod, encouraging him to continue.

"Pride for the first victim, Rachel."

You agree again, but this time the rest of them are also following along.

"Seven Deadly Sins," Spencer surmises from Derek's trail of crumbs.

"What are all of them?" Emily asks, looking between Derek and Spencer.

Derek shifts from one foot to the other. "Pride, Greed," he lists off, counting with his thumb and index finger.

"Lust, Envy," Aaron supplies, tacking on to the end of Derek's sentence and prompting him to continue the count.

"Gluttony, Wrath, and Sloth," Spencer finishes, turning to write them all down in order on the whiteboard.

The team was finally making some headway.

You stand towards the back of the room looking at the victim board, arms crossed across your chest, leaning against the back wall. "So, let's assume its Lust for Father Patrick. The excessive shopping could be indicative of Envy from Mrs. Abad. You guys did say she lived in a posh neighborhood. Keeping Up With the Joneses lifestyle."

"That leaves Gluttony for Cohen. Kid was pudgy." Rossi had been the one to visit the Medical Examiner, so you all trusted his assessment there.

"They're all in order. Could it be that simple?" Aaron questions, leaned forward in his chair, looking at the board with each of the victims' names listed next to one of the sins.

You contemplate his question as does everyone else. Could it be that simple? An Unsub working down the list of deadly sins, picking out victims that aligned with each one. It would stand to reason, given the working profile - you'd all decided that the Unsub must have an Orthodox religious upbringing, in a militant household.

"Occam's Razor," you answer finally, meeting his eyes, a grim set to your face. This meant there were at least two more victims planned. "The simplest explanation is usually the right one."

*------------*

In the past couple of days, the team had narrowed down the scope of the case, having realized that the Unsub had met all of the victims through various volunteer activities. The working theory was that the Unsub had deemed the victims to all be hypocrites - claiming to be doing charitable works while sinning on the side.

Garcia had cross-referenced volunteer activities between the various places of worship and had come up with charities that all of them supported throughout the city. From there she'd catalogued registered volunteers across all of them, against activities each of the victims attended, however hadn't been able to narrow it down enough.

So, here you were manning the precinct late at night with Aaron, Derek, and Emily. The team was taking it in shifts to see if any missing persons calls came in, with victims fitting into either of the final two remaining sins - Wrath and Sloth. Unfortunately, there were simply far too many options for you to be able to determine who might become the unwitting victim in this Unsub's crusade.

It was calm and quiet, only the whirring of the fan and ambient sounds of the printer filling the silence. The four of you had already eaten and were all nursing hot cups of coffee in order to stay awake in the otherwise empty station. Public statements had been made and hotlines set up in case anyone could provide even a hint as to who the Unsub might be.

Emily was slouched over at the table, her arms cradling her head as another yawn escaped her. Bleary eyed, she looks at you and you weren't much better off, only barely keeping your eyes open, tilting back in your own chair in order to simulate the feeling of tipping over; effectively scaring yourself into staying awake. Derek was seated in front of the laptop, with Garcia on video. The two of them had been playing some game, however it appeared that she'd tired of it, being nearly two hours of a time difference ahead of the rest of you. So now, Derek was just watching her snooze, head bent down to her desk.

You look at Aaron, reading the notes Reid had left behind in order to try and make some sense of everything - uncover something that had slipped through the cracks. His brow is furrowed, head bent in concentration. He'd shed the jacket a while ago and despite the time of year, the Texan climate had forced him to roll up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing delicious swathes of forearm for your perusal. His hands - so large compared to your own, the veins prominent as he flips a page, muscle tensing and flexing as he does. You have to bite your lip to suppress a moan. It was the sleep deprivation. It was getting to you. Yeah, that's it. Not your big, strong boyfriend looking all serious and focused and handsome as he tries to hunt down a serial killer. Nope. Not at all…

You stand up suddenly as your chair tips forward, all four legs finally hitting the ground with a soft crash, cushioned by the carpeted flooring. Loud enough, however, to get Aaron's attention, as he turns to look up at you, the Are you alright? plain to read in his eyes.

"Need fresh air. Gonna go take a walk around the block or something," you explain, shaking your head of the cobwebs that had formed over the course of the past two hours, as the night had slipped into what could better be classified as early morning.

Aaron sets the papers down and turns to Morgan, indicating that he was going to join you. If you thought he was letting you go out alone, at this hour, with a killer on the loose, you were certifiable.

He watches as you slip on your blazer but he doesn't bother with his own. It would be quick and it wasn't too cold anymore. He follows you through the precinct and out the front doors, down the steps, matching your shorter pace easily - he's used to it by now.

"You sure you're alright?" he asks, once the two of you have reached the street. You merely hum tiredly and nod, so he grabs your hand in his, and walks in step with you, turning the corner past the precinct.

It is a little colder outside than it was inside, but his larger hand encompasses yours entirely, making you feel like a child swathed in his warm embrace. The cool air filters through your nostrils, reinvigorating your mind, giving it the jumpstart needed to function once more.

The two of you don't talk as you walk hand in hand down the sidewalk, him walking on the outside as he always does. Only the streetlamps are on, little pockets of light between stretches of darkness. Your mind is at peace. You aren't thinking about this case or your other one. You aren't thinking about any responsibilities and obligations. No worries. Just silent. It's so rare for your mind to be quiet that you relish in it. Allow yourself to bathe in the soundless symphony occupying the chasm in your brain.

As you approach the final turn that will lead you back to the entrance of the station, you find yourself watching Aaron again. He'd been so patient with the entire case with Interpol, despite it taking a toll on him. He'd been pulling double duty - doing all the things he does while also subbing in for everything you're unable to do at home. Him and Jack had sent you a cooking video of the two of them last time you'd been away, as Jack bossed Aaron around in the kitchen and helped him make your chocolate chip cookies for the bake sale at school. You'd sent Aaron detailed instructions, as he'd have to be the one to help Jack brown the butter and ensure he didn't burn himself. You knew he must have been frustrated with the extremely particular list of ingredients you'd sent him, down to the brand of salt flakes (the pièce de résistance of the entire experience)  that got sprinkled on top. Yet, he'd tackled it all with aplomb, not complaining to you even once. Jack had confided in you afterwards that Aaron had had to go to three different stores because the salt flakes were a rare item and not every branch of the nicer grocery store carried them. He'd done it though, and Jack had told you they'd turned out exactly like yours. Even Emily had texted you to validate this, asking if you'd come back without telling her when Aaron had brought a batch in for the team the following day.

Aaron feels a tug on his hand right before the turn. You'd stopped and his hand was still holding yours, forcing him to stop as well. You're stood in the shadows, right between two patches of light, your face immersed in darkness, and before he can say anything, he's lightly pushed against the brick wall exterior of the police station building. He lands with a soft oomph. You lean up against him, pressing yourself along the length of him and going up on your toes - utilizing the entirety of your ballet training - your lips meeting his in a heated kiss. He groans into your mouth, hands wrapping around your hips on instinct alone, tongue tracing your bottom lip before gently nipping at it, taking advantage of your resulting gasp to make his way into your mouth, licking every part of you available to him. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around him and turns to hold you against the wall instead, pressing into the inviting warm juncture of your thighs.

"What brought this on?" he hums, moving from your lips to your jaw, down the column of your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone.

You shiver at his efforts, a flip in your stomach as you feel the edge of his teeth, followed by the soft bite at the bend of your neck. Unable to answer him, lost in the feeling of his lips and teeth against your skin, your hands mussing through his hair, softly pulling and drawing vibrated groans from him.

At the absence of an answer, he pauses, looking up until he has your full attention, meeting your darkened eyes contrasting against your bashful expression. Your breath hitches when his eyes meet yours. "I love you," you muster with some concentration, soft and blissful, pulling his face back down to meet your sweetly puckered lips once more, drawing him into the cacophonous sea of feeling along with you.

By the time the two of you make it back to the conference room that Derek and Emily were sat in, Emily has stood up, leaning flat against the back wall. Derek has moved as well, taking residence in your old chair, leaning backwards much the same way you had.

"What about you guys?" he asks as you and Aaron enter.

You avoid Emily's knowing look. "What about us?"

"This whole thing - case - heaven and hell. You believe in it?"

"I went the agnostic route," Emily adds, stretching and arching her back like a cat. "If it exists, great. If not, no skin off my back."

Derek looks at the two of you expectantly.

Aaron nods quickly, returning to his old seat, feeling a lot lighter than before. He'd grown up Catholic - heaven and hell were ever-present concepts in his home.

You shrug, grabbing your lukewarm cup of coffee and dropping onto the couch. Your family had been more religious for the sake of appearances and connections rather than any true faith-inspired feelings.

Derek chuckles lightly. "Okay, so if they do exist," he says, turning back to Emily who had sunk down to the floor, seated with her legs stretched out in front of her. "Where you think you're headed?"

"Let me guess, you think you're going to heaven," Emily taunts, a mocking grin on her face.

"I do good, I am good," Derek replies assuredly. "Everything else is up to God. Right, Hotch?"

Aaron breathes out half a laugh along with a raise of his brows, which was about as much agreement Derek could hope for there.

"What about you Princess?"

You look at him, slight roll of your eyes to the ceiling. "Pretty sure patricide rules me out for a ticket to heaven," you respond, your words coated with sardonic dismissal.

Heaven. Hell. What did it even matter when you're dead?

It was a good thing that you hadn't looked at Aaron at that, because if you had, you would've noticed an entirely odd expression on his face at your words - he decides to pin his thoughts for a conversation at a later time. Once the case was wrapped up.

*------------*

"Anything you know could help us identify your husband's killer. Were you able to get a good look at him?"

JJ and Derek are running the interrogation on the latest victim's wife while the rest of the team watches from the other room. The body had been found at the edges of yet another church's grounds, marking it as the sixth victim. However, this time, a witness had emerged. The Unsub had taken Dylan Rogers from his front yard at gunpoint and Ashley Rogers, his wife, had seen it all happen from the living room before calling it in to the precinct.

"She seems tense - her shoulders have been hunched this entire time. Her facial expressions have varied from somber to haunted almost." Reid shifts closer as he profiles Mrs. Rogers, studying her body language.

"Morgan said it seemed like he might have hit her. He saw some bruising when she went to the house to pick her up," Prentiss adds, her voice grave.

Aaron acknowledges both Reid and Prentiss with a nod, his eyes fixed on the interaction taking place in the other room.

"Would fit into the umbrella of Wrath." Rossi mused from beside Aaron. All of you continue to watch while JJ brings in a sketch artist to help Mrs. Rogers construct a likeness of the Unsub.

"It must be killing her - if it's true. Having to help find his killer. Imagine the number of times she must've dreamt of hurting him in the same way he hurt her." All of you turn from Emily back to Mrs. Rogers, thinking on her statement.

"She could've left," Reid reasoned distractedly, his expression casually appraising Mrs. Rogers still for any signs that she might be concealing anything.

You find yourself bristling at that, and you've spoken out before you could stop yourself. "You know, it's funny how whenever we see cases like this. Cases where a man continuously beat up his partner, that's the question on everyone's lips. Why didn't she leave? Why did she stay?"

Reid turns to you, his mouth open and ready to contradict you or apologize, you're unsure, but you continue. "We never ask, why didn't he stop?"

Emily snorts from beside you, her lips pressed tightly together as you both watch Mrs. Rogers working with the sketch artist. She turns to Spencer after a look at you. "Because we accept men as monsters. That is their natural state. Those of them that didn't give in to it - we exalt them. We call them good men. Better men. Because they didn't beat us and hurt us and watch us bleed."

There's a tense silence but this is a sentiment that none of them are unfamiliar with. Reid should've known better.

You see Spencer shift uncomfortably, obviously apologetic for his earlier statement. You shake your head slightly and offer him a small smile, reassuring him that he's alright. This kind of stuff, just hits closer to home for some of you.

Your eyes meet Aaron's and he's looking at you with the question in his eyes that you'd expected as soon as you'd opened your mouth. You shake your head at him too, before turning your gaze back to the front.

Aaron watches you for a beat more, his eyes trained to the side of your face, your unwavering eyes set upon Ashley Rogers and your words swimming in his mind. His eyes had asked the question that he already knew the answer to unfortunately. Yet another reason for him to despise Matthew van Doren's entire existence.

"You know, there was a time I thought he was the love of my life." You all can hear Mrs. Rogers talking to JJ as the sketch artist wraps up. "We had that love - that wake up Sunday morning with pancakes and lose yourself in each other under white sheets kind of love. I don't know when it all went wrong."

*------------*

With the aid of Mrs. Rogers' description, Garcia was able to run a digitally enhanced version of the sketch against all known volunteers who had been at most of the events attended by each of the victims in the weeks prior to their deaths. After that, apprehending the Unsub was just a matter of tying together the identified man to each of the victims directly.

The team was able to prevent the final murder, and while that was of little solace to everyone, there was a tiny part of you that felt happy for Ashley Rogers in all of it. Sometimes the exit route we need arrives in the most unexpected of manners, and it is on us to recognize it and seize it for ourselves. You really hoped that Ashley would claim a new and better destiny for herself.

Since it was late, Aaron was unable to get the jet to fly back the same night, so the team was huddled into a corner of the hotel lounge with drinks in hand. While you're thrilled that you were able to prevent the final victim from being taken, this wasn't the best case the team had worked. You can see it in everyone's eyes, the way they hold their drinks, the hushed whispers contemplating if there was something that would've pointed to him sooner.

You feel bad that you aren't even really thinking about this case anymore. Your mind is preoccupied by the contents of the file you've left upstairs in the hotel room. You nod along to Emily and Derek's conversation, glass of wine held languidly in hand while you mentally collate the work you'd done so far. You know you're contributing nothing to the current conversation, and mercifully both of them have left you to your thoughts. Knowing there's not much chance of you being able to distract yourself tonight, you stand and bid good night to them before walking over to Aaron and Rossi, seated over a chessboard with Reid. They were playing two against one and Reid was still the favored choice to win.

"I'm going to head upstairs." You lean in and whisper softly to Aaron so as to not disrupt the game.

He turns his head to look up, brow furrowed ever so much. It wasn't like you to turn in early when there was a chance to socialize with the team. "I can come with." He grabs his drink as though to finish it, but you stop him with a hand to his shoulder.

"It's alright. Stay." You brush a kiss against his temple before nodding good night to the rest of them, intent on making some progress once you reached the room.

By the time Aaron gets upstairs, it is much later. Reid had won but Rossi had insisted on a rematch. Rossi just wanted to see Reid beat just once, however Aaron was wise to not bring attention to the fact that you've never played him. He knows that Reid has asked you, but you've made up excuses to not play. He'd always wondered about that, and having seen the chessboard in the New York apartment had made him realize that there was actually a good chance that you could beat Reid if you wanted to. Reid was a genius. That fact couldn't be denied. He knew everything about everything. You were different from that. Reid was driven by his pure drive for knowledge - that desire to understand the world around him better. You learned with more purpose, intention - with the need to add knowledge and skills to your toolkit, ready to whip out and be unleashed upon your opponents.

He enters the room just to see you exiting the bathroom, a robe wrapped around your body. He can't help but sigh internally at the sight. His soft, fluffy, perfect little personal teddy bear. He couldn't wait to just crawl into bed, already fearing that you'd be on another flight out the following day.

You acknowledge his presence with a smile, while toweling your hair dry.

"Who won?" There's a crooked smile on your face as you watch him take off his jacket and tie. As if you didn't already know who would win.

"Reid. Rossi wants another rematch on the plane." He shakes his head, walking further into the room. Closer to you.

You laugh softly as Aaron reaches you, looking exhausted from the long week and yet, he seems alright. All in all, this case hadn't been absolutely terrible. "Hasn't he learned his lesson by now?"

"He's a glutton for punishment." He steps forward, grabbing the towel from you and prompting you to turn around as he takes over drying your hair with soft tussles, allowing the cloth to absorb water all the way from root to end.

You hum at his actions, letting yourself to be lulled into the peaceful, floaty state that you always enter whenever he plays with your hair. It just felt too good.

"You should just give in and play him sometime." He knows he's pulling at that little thread there, curious as to how you'll react at him having deduced something you hadn't told him upfront.

You merely chuckle softly, seemingly unsurprised that he'd worked that out for himself. His profiling skills no longer surprise you much, especially when it comes to yourself. He could read you like none other. "We wouldn't want Spencer to cry, now would we?"

Aaron bites his lip, preventing a smile threatening to sneak out at that. It was nice knowing he'd been right about that. He'd have to make you play him at least. He needed to see how good you were for himself.

You turn around, halting his actions. You'd gotten a call from Clyde when you'd gotten upstairs and you were already set to fly out tomorrow on a red eye. You'd booked the ticket, making the necessary upgrades on your own dime.

"Tomorrow?" he guessed, noting the expression on your face when you looked up at him, drawing yourself up on your toes and wrapping your arms  around his neck, the towel slipping from his hands and onto the floor between your feet.

You nod with a sigh, before coaxing him down, and he's quick to meet your lips with his own, knowing the two of now only have tonight. Tomorrow would be spent on the plane and then you'd have to fly out before he'd get even another hour alone with you. His hands instinctively find your waist, drawing you in flush against him. He deepens the kiss when one of your hands moves from his neck to cup his cheeks, thumb brushing over the peaking stubble around his jaw. You hate leaving like this. You can't wait for it to be over. For there to be no more goodbyes layering his touch and yours.

Aaron hugs you closer, wrapping his arms around you fully, the plush robe giving him far more to grab on to. Your lips against his, moving softly, insistently. You break away, struggling to be on your toes for much longer, so he moves, pushing you up onto the desk and coming to stand between your legs as your lips find their place once more against his, this time hands working at the buttons to his shirt as well.

"Wanted to talk to you about something." He breaks away, allowing you to pepper kisses down his jaw and the column of his neck. If the two of you only had today, he didn't want to risk forgetting and having the issue go stale before bringing it up again. He can feel your mouth, sucking, teeth lightly grazing the skin at his collarbone, undoubtedly leaving marks for him to admire afterwards when you were gone. At your hum, he continues relying on your ability to multitask. "Did you mean it, when you said you aren't going to heaven?"

You pause, looking up at him curiously and being reminded of the question Derek had asked. You hadn't realized it had affected Aaron, and yet thinking back on it, of course it had. Your answer had been entirely flippant. He was so serious when it came to things like this. "Yes. I did." Your voice is measured as you answer him, eyeing him carefully to watch his reaction. Even still, his hands have managed past the tie on your robe and his hands are caressing the bare skin of your sides, drawing a soft sigh from your mouth at the sensation. "By any definition of heaven and God and the Bible, murder isn't exactly condoned."

Had this been a few months ago, Aaron knew that this would have been an entirely different conversation. He could appreciate how entirely blunt you're able to be about how you've framed this for yourself. He might not agree with it, but he can appreciate the honesty. "Bible also says an eye for an eye." He raises an eyebrow at you, indicating that he wasn't about to let this go. Not when it came to the matter of your immortal soul. This mattered to him.

A gasp escapes you as his hands travel up your sides more deliberately, causing shivers against your sensitive skin at the feel of his roughly calloused fingers skimming, exploring, claiming. That's what his touch always felt like. A claim.

You try to focus as you think of a response, hands resuming unbuttoning his shirt and undoing the buckle to his belt. You can see he's already hard and as your fingers ghost over the bulge, he exhales sharply, eyes focused on your hands.

Realizing he wasn't getting an answer from you immediately, he helps you out by undoing the button and lowering the zipper on his pants, taking them off as you watch. You're a little confused by the conversation taking place, but you also knew this going into a relationship with Aaron. Like it or not, he was religious. Your family simply hadn't been much. It wasn't the same religious orthodoxy that Aaron had grown up with, at the very least. He wasn't by any means stringent about it, but some beliefs were innate. Good people go to heaven. Bad people go to hell. As far as he was concerned, you were a good person.

"Heaven and hell - I didn't grow up with that. But that whole eye for an eye thing, I don't think that really applies when it comes to taking a life." You help him slip the shirt off of his shoulders as you speak, the material slipping and falling to the ground as well. Aaron actually undoes the tie to your robe this time, pushing the material off of you almost roughly, eager to expose skin that he couldn't wait to taste. His hands move up to cup your breasts, kneading the flesh - the air in the room and his attentions causing your nipples to pucker, teasing him. He's unable to resist bending down and taking one into his mouth, gently sucking as his fingers tweak the other into submission as well, drawing a keening sound from deep within you, distracting you from your train of thought as you're drenched in the warmth of his touch.

You're entirely bare before him as his mouth moves to the other nipple, hands traveling down, grazing over your stomach and down your thighs, causing them to tremble. He pushes your legs apart, letting go of the nipple, his mouth returning to yours with a renewed fervor. His fingers pick up the evidence of your arousal around them, and he caresses your folds, before entering you with two fingers, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing over it as his fingers scissor inside you, locating the spot that has you arching your back, moans escaping you into his mouth.

Aaron releases your mouth so that he can watch you. Your hands scramble for purchase, bunching into the robe beneath you that soaks up your juices as he continues to work you up. Higher and higher. Your breath panting, breasts thrust up as you can feel the orgasm threatening to overtake your body. It only takes another circular motion of his thumb and the ask to Let go by him, for you to go crashing under the waves, your walls pulsing around his fingers. He watches you fall apart, your arms going up to hug against your breasts as you arch and shake and moan for him, his name falling from your lips repeatedly as he continues his machinations against your sensitive bud, intent on drawing it out. He loves to just watch you like this. Begging him to keep going, your breathy voice urging him on, your gorgeous face, mouth falling open - all for him. His beautiful little princess, entirely at his mercy.

He kisses you again as you come down, your earlier conversation entirely wiped from your mind. But not his. Never his. Aaron could focus and keep track of things in amazing order. He hated that you thought you weren't destined for heaven. It shouldn't matter - such an abstract concept and who even knew, really. But in the off chance it did, he didn't want you to think you'd be excluded. You couldn't be.

Your jelly arms and legs wrap around him and he's already worked down his boxers, revealing his thick, hard cock, eager to be buried inside you. He gathers you up in his arms, pulling you to the edge of the desk, before lifting you up and moving the two of you to the bed, managing to drop you onto it sideways, before quickly climbing on top.

You move your hands to card through his hair, watching him, his lovely brown eyes looking down at you, causing a flurry of emotion in your stomach. He leans down and slots his lips against yours once more, allowing you to get lost in the feel of him. You release him with a gasp, finding it difficult to take in air, and he allows you to breathe as he moves and presses a kiss to your shoulder, entering you in one quick thrust. "Genesis 9:5 says, for your lifeblood, I will surely demand an accounting."

What? You couldn't believe him. He was quoting the fucking Bible while buried in you to the hilt.

"Aaron - "

You're cut off as he moves out, the tip of his cock rubbing against your clit, distractingly. Perfectly. Fuck.

He enters you again, harshly, his cock finding that spot inside you as he does. His voice deep and guttural, a groan falling from his mouth as he invades you fully once more. "From each man, I will demand an accounting for the life of his fellow man."

He was still doing it. How could he even remember to quote the Bible right then?! You couldn't even remember your own name.

You don't have the words as Aaron continues, pumping into you, his hand finding your clit to help you reach your peak faster. Neither one of you would last long. You're already a trembling, shuddering mess beneath him, back arched up, feet planted against the mattress for support, your hands traveling and touching any skin of his they could reach.

You can feel his breath hot against your ear, the weight of him on top of you as he ruts his hips against yours, and you can tell he's close. So very close. His hips stutter as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling softly, just enough. "Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed." He was intent on fucking the verse into you. You release a broken cry at the feel of him. At his words. The passionate, gravely quality of his voice. He finishes with a loud groan, spilling into you, his ministrations against your clit paying off, propelling you towards the precipice as well. Your walls squeeze his cock, pulsing, clenching at the feel of his release inside you. He groans again, dropping on top of you, his hand going down and wrapping your thigh around him, pushing himself further into you still.

He lays on you for a moment longer, the only sound in the room being your breath and thudding hearts, beating in sync.

You're entirely drowned in ecstasy, even as you try to grasp onto the threads of the conversation the two of you had been having. You run your fingers through his soft hair, brushing back the sweat from his forehead, not minding the weight of him on you. He was crushing you entirely and you wouldn't exchange that for anything. No death could be better. Sweeter.

He rolls off of you after a few more moments, dropping next to you on his back, his legs dangling off the side of the bed.

You breathe deeply, before flipping over to lay on your back. You can feel the evidence of both of your releases inside you, but you can't be too bothered to care right then. Your hazy mind has managed to remember the conversation, and you turn your head, tucking your arms underneath to support it as you watch Aaron. He's laid on his back, one arm under his head, eyes closed and chest rising and falling, slowly settling into a steady state.

"If I wasn't going to hell for the patricide already, I'm definitely going to hell now for finding that far too hot." Your voice comes out low and whiny, a near whisper being all you could manage.

Aaron releases a breath of a laugh before he turns to settle on his side, drawing his legs up, moving closer so he's right beside you. So you can feel his skin against yours.

You reach out, your hand cupping his face and he leans in all too willingly, kissing you softly, completely. As he pulls back, you can feel his eyes examining you - searching. Trying to figure out what exactly it is that had you so thoroughly convinced that you didn't belong in heaven. Because he knows you and while at the time killing your father had been awful, he knew that you believed it had been right. Otherwise you wouldn't have done it.

"Can we accept the premise that killing your father isn't a dealbreaker?" he asks cautiously, his hand reaches out, settling into the curve of your waist, fingers curling into the skin. "What is it really?"

You blink, moving into his embrace, hands fidgeting slightly. You're nervous and you're sure he can tell. However, you know you need to tell him. Tell someone. If anyone should know, it's him. You lick your lips and sigh, looking up into his darkened eyes. "You've met my father. If you had to profile him, how would you do it?" Your voice is quiet, timid, unsure.

Your question is met by some apprehension. Aaron isn't certain, however he hesitantly answers you. "Control freak. Narcissist with a God complex."

You nod at his blunt assessment. "Did you ever wonder why my father - why he let me get away with so much?"

He hadn't.

"I broke off an exceptionally advantageous engagement. He did nothing. I cashed out my trust fund and ran away - slutting it up - " He flinches. " - on the cover of every trashy editorial. Crickets. I joined the FBI and he tried to take me out for dinner. Does he seem like the kind of man that tolerates that kind of insubordination?"

Aaron realizes that he should've thought about these questions. He should've thought to protect you from this back then. It was a miss. Especially after finding out what he had about Julian's death. And yet, there had never been anything in your father's interactions with you to suggest that he would do anything to truly harm you. Despite your fear of him.

"Do you remember what you wrote - in my recommendation letter to McKinney?" you murmured, your face right against his. If he moved a millimeter closer you'd be able to feel your nose against his.

Aaron watches you, his brow furrowing, wondering where exactly this was headed. He nods. He remembers. Your skin under his hands is starting to develop goosebumps. Without a word, he grabs you, shifting and maneuvering so that the two of you are laid together, heads at the headboard finally. He pulls at the blankets, draping them over you both and draws you back against him.

You place a quick kiss to his chest in thanks, fingers brushing over the scars that have persisted. Over time, he's become a lot more comfortable having his shirt off around you. It's still not something he will do in public, but around you, he feels comfortable enough. After all, you'd seen them back when they had been much worse.

He nods at you to continue. He has a need to know now. He has to know.

"The night that Matthew proposed to me, Julian and I got into a huge fight," you confess, legs tangling with his as your fingers trace the mapping of lines down his chest and stomach. "He revealed to me that my father - that the proposal was orchestrated. That it was part of some deal between our fathers. That - ." Your voice breaks and Aaron is quick to run his hands soothingly down your back, whispering soft encouragement in your ears, his lips following your hairline. You sniffle and continue on. "He told me that our father gave me away. Without asking. Without talking to me about it. He sold me."

It's Aaron who is lost for words this time. Out of all things, this - this he could not possibly have prepared for. All things considered, you're holding up remarkably, while his mind reels, putting everything he knows about Matthew into context with this new piece of information. He's struck by a tornado of anger towards your father. How dare that man - that awful, cruel man, treat you like property? To be traded and sold at his whims as if you weren't a fully fledged human being of your own.

You find yourself rubbing your hands up and down Aaron's arms, knowing that he must be processing everything all at once. You've had nearly a decade to deal with it and it still feels overwhelming at times.

"I didn't want to believe it, but it made sense."

Aaron opens his mouth to speak - to say something helpful but no words come. You shake your head, reassuring him that it was alright. He needn't say anything.

"So, I woke him up. We talked. I told him I wasn't about to waste my life - being the perfect daughter and the perfect wife. I couldn't."

He nods. He expected nothing less. You weren't some trophy wife.

"Matthew didn't want me to work after we got married. But I wanted something to work towards. Something that would be mine.  It wasn't fair that just because Dominic was the eldest son - that he would get it all. Everything. The entire empire. It was the one thing Matthew could never deny me. He wouldn't have dared."

Aaron's eyes widen as the realization begins to sink in. He takes in your gaze - blazing with renewed fire and fury at the situation you'd been in. The fervor within to escape, be your own person within the confines of the life you were in.

"My father - he fought me on it. Because the thing is, sons inherit the earth. Sons and not daughters." You take a deep breath, watching Aaron who appears to have followed along marvelously, because you can tell that he knows exactly what you're trying to say now.

"I showed him, however -- " You nod your head shakily "-- how I had built connections with all the right people. How I was smarter, would work harder, be better than anyone else he could possibly hope for to fill his shoes."

"You'd take over." His voice is low and the words feel reluctant on his tongue. Resigned despite the truth of them.

You nod. There it was - it was finally out there. Your worst secret that no one else had ever known. This secret had gone to the grave with your father. You hadn't even told John, knowing how disappointed he would've been in you - especially so soon after Julian's passing.

Aaron looks at you, taking in the guilt behind your eyes, the fear at revealing this to him. He knows too, that you're right. That if you had applied yourself to that, even half as well as you did to your job, you would've done it brutally well.

"That's why you think you aren't going to heaven," he concludes, his hands still rubbing up and down your back. He can feel your heart beating rapidly against his chest. It wasn't killing your father. It was this. "Sweetheart, you didn't do it, though. You didn't."

"I would've," you argue. "If Uncle Robert hadn't told me, even with Julian dead, I would've. I signed up for all of it Aaron. He trained me. He groomed me. Those things that you wrote in your letter to McKinney - all about how I'm adept at reading people. Because I can manipulate anyone into doing anything I want. He taught me how to do that. That I have an aptitude for navigating politically nuanced situations - because he showed me how to get close to the people that really matter. That I am exceptional at tactical planning - because from that day onwards, he planned out my entire life. And I let him. I helped him. Everything I did, anyone I spoke to, was all part of it. Part of his plans. So when I left, he wasn't ready to let go. He wasn't ready to waste his investment in me." The words leave you like a storm - evidence in the case you'd been building against yourself, carved from marble and sitting heavy against your heart for the past decade. You hated how much of him you saw in yourself.

You're breathing really hard and there are tears clinging to your lashes as Aaron continues to hold you, pulling you in even closer, if that were possible. He couldn't even imagine how long you'd carried this with you. Nearly a decade of guilt and for what? For something you hadn't even carried through with.

"You didn't actually do it," he repeats himself, brushing his lips against your forehead, knowing that right then that's what you need. All the reassurance that he doesn't see you any differently. That he never could. Especially not for this.

"Aaron, I would've been someone the Bureau goes after. Someone you'd have gone after. But the difference is, I would've never been caught."

Again, he knows you're right. Aaron isn't even surprised really at your entire confession - it stood to reason that you'd want the keys to the kingdom. From what he knew of you and your siblings, you really would be the person who was most capable, despite the dubious nature of the job. He's not naïve enough to think you couldn't have done it if you wanted to. You would've been exceptional at it. But you didn't. Given the chance today, you wouldn't. For him, that's what mattered.

He brushes the hair out of your face tenderly, sweeping away all the wisps and baby hairs, holding your face in his hands. "You need to forgive yourself, Y/N. You need to realize that there is a difference between signing up for something and actually doing it. What you actually did, that's what matters. Regardless of the circumstances. That's what truly happened."

You're quiet, so he holds you. He can feel the tears trickling down your face, onto his chest as you bury your head into him once more.

It was an upheaval, telling him all of this. It's Aaron - and despite everything awful that you've revealed just then, he's being kind, compassionate, and understanding. You just told him that you'd essentially signed up to do every evil job known to mankind and he was comforting you. Making sure that you wouldn't beat yourself up. That you forgave yourself. He didn't even - it was as if it didn't even matter to him. How could it not, though? How could it not claw at him, being tangled up with someone he knows to be entrenched in evil?

"You are a good person, Y/N. A wonderful person. This - this one thing doesn't define you. Being good is a series of decisions and choices in that direction. One thing doesn't derail it entirely. That's what amends are for. What forgiveness is for. To show us that no matter what, we always have a chance." Aaron could only hope that you saw yourself the way he saw you. As someone who tried to be good. As someone who was good, through trying alone.

You want to believe him. You do. It sounds peaceful. But how do you know if you've made enough amends? How do you know if you've done enough?

He knows you're struggling to believe him. He wants to convince you, paint it into your skin, emblazon it onto your soul in a manner so unmistakable that you'd never question it again. You're a good person. He needs you to believe it. Desperately.

Aaron tilts your face up by your chin, his lips meeting yours intensely. "You are a wonderfully good person, Y/N" His whisper falls against your lips, forcing you to swallow in his words. Breathe them in. Taste them. Let them settle into your stomach.

He places another kiss to the turn of your neck, tongue peaking out to lick at mark he'd left earlier, soothing over it. "You're a hero. You save people." He will make you believe it.

You watch in awe as he shifts, placing another kiss to the swell of your breasts. "You take such good care of me and Jack." He will make you believe that you're the good he sees in life. Through all the horrors he sees day in and day out, he looks to you and he sees goodness and purity, laughter and joy.

You can feel the tears welling up again in your eyes, for an entirely different reason as you watch him. Watch this man, make his way down the length of your body, reminding you that you conquer monsters for a living. Remind you that you took down your father and in turn prevented him from doing more evil. Impress upon you the importance of everything you've accomplished since then - all the people you've saved, all the happiness you've brought, all the people you've loved.

You can't help but press yourself to him. Closer to him. Because his touch is the forgiveness you can never seem to give yourself. His touch is pure. His touch is good. It is divinity itself. Maybe if he touched you enough, it could make up for it all. Letting his essence cover up everything that came before.

Aaron draws up on his haunches, having just kissed your clit, causing your eyes to roll back into your head. You taste like what he imagines sunshine might taste like. He moves you up with him, into his lap and waits until you've met his mouth of your own volition, before pulling you down onto his cock, seating you fully against him.

You can taste yourself on his lips. You can feel him inside you so entirely, consumingly, fully. He clutches onto you, the drag of him inside you so powerful and potent, the bubbling euphoria encasing you. Your arms curl around his shoulders, fingers in his hair, as his wrap around your hips, helping you ride his cock exquisitely. Vastly, painstakingly slow.

Aaron watches you in his lap, taking him in - his. Mine. Mine. Mine. A chant on repeat in his brain as your wet, velvety walls grip him like a vice. Your beautiful pink lips parted ever so slightly, eyes half lidded. In his lap, against his body, taking his cock. This - this was goodness. You were the source of all pleasure, delight, and happiness that he feels. If that is not goodness, then what is? If the God he calls God didn't recognize you as such, then what kind of God was he? Because he would gladly worship at your altar instead, if need be.

His hands grip you excruciatingly tight against him, unwilling to leave even the semblance of room between the two of you. It was as though he began where you ended and you ended where he began. "I don't care if you believe you're going to heaven or not," he declares, watching you take him. "I'm going to believe it enough for the both of us."

Before you can say anything in response, he draws your attention downwards, forcing you to watch. Watch as he exits you, wet and shiny, drenched in your arousal. Watch as he brings you back down, entering you immeasurably slowly and causing you to clench and flutter around him. His.

You look back up, meeting his warm brown eyes, shining with love and compassion and the utmost respect. Everything that made you fall in love with this man. You watch as he pushes into you, moves you just so - so as to perfectly hit that spot inside you. You tilt your head back on a moan, your body shuddering and your back arching once more, pushing you closer and closer against him. When you return to face him, he looks at you. His eyes fixed on you. That look on his face, was nothing short of reverent.  

You come achingly fast, teeth sinking into his shoulder as you shudder around him, taking in his release. He continues through it, pushing his cum back into you in the process, keeping it there, mingling with both of your earlier release.

You're entirely weak as you sit in the cradle of his arms, balancing on his thighs. Your mind is far away and present at once. Present only in him - his touch, his feel, his lips, his words - surrounding you thoroughly.

You are both unhurried in your movements as you clean up together, no need or desire to speak further, content in the silence of one another.

Aaron cleans up the bed, making sure there are fresh sheets, as he watches your tired body put on the small slip you'd left out earlier. Your hair was wet again and he grabs a fresh towel, drying it once more as you lean against him, unable to stand on your own for much longer, your body still sore. He can see the marks he'd left behind blooming and he takes extra care as he urges you towards the freshly made bed. You slip in to your side as he lifts the duvet, quickly climbing in beside you and tucking the two of you into the covers - swaddling your body against his own. He places a gentle kiss to your lips, murmuring his love against them, the echo of his words reverberating against them. You fall asleep first, entirely spent, physically and emotionally. With any luck you'll enter a deep, dreamless sleep. He can hear your steady and even breaths paralleled with the slow rise and fall of your chest, persuading him to join you in slumber.

Even if you didn't go to heaven - if for some God forsaken reason you were denied entrance - he'd willingly, gladly, go to hell with you.

With that final thought, he gives in to the call of your warmth and the sound of your breaths, allowing himself to be drawn into sleep beside you.

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Mostly gen, this chapter is pretty tame. Reader gets pretty horny towards the end but nothing below the belt actually occurs

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter.

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 5/16 (all chapters)

You didn’t get any sleep that night.

As a result of your visits to the police station, hospital and briefing at UA, you didn’t get around to checking your phone until 8PM, only to find it had exploded with missed calls, text messages and voicemails. You had missed well over 200 messages in the group chat you shared with your friends and 32 çalls from your mother.

They all knew you worked at UA and by now the attack was all over the news.

You gave up on catching up on everything you had missed after the first five minutes, choosing instead to send a copy pasted message to everyone in your notifications.

Hello, there was an incident at UA today. I’m fine. We’re all fine. Thank you for your concern.

Responding was a mistake, for even more messages flooded through the moment you hit send.

Everyone wanted to know the gory details. Cousins you hadn’t talked to in years suddenly had more than a passing interest in your affairs.

And then there was the message that made you drop your phone; a single sentence buried between notifications.

It was from your ex.

You had parted on relatively good terms, considering, though hadn’t talked since he picked up his things from your house. You had told yourself it was for the best, even if it shattered your heart to pieces.

It was strange to hear from him now and he seemed to know it, for his words were no more intimate or friendly than those of your distant cousins. It was as if you’d never been lovers, yet memories flooded back.

You remembered eating lunch together at your kitchen table; remembered wearing his sweater on nights he wasn’t home and burying your nose in the collar. You remembered picking out dresses for date nights and taking his hand on the train ride home.

It had been a long, emotional day and you didn’t trust yourself to reply. Instead you got up to make a late dinner, stealing glances at your phone out of the corner of your eye. You couldn’t help but wonder how today might have gone if you were still together. Would he have picked you up from the police station? Maybe he would have taken you for gelato.

You picked up your phone as you waited for your food to cook, opening and closing his message. You gave up in the end, copy and pasting the same response you had given everyone else, but with one minor change.

Hello, there was an incident at UA today. I’m fine. We’re all fine. Thank you for your concern.

How are you?

He replied within the next five minutes, detailing the brand new business partnership he had achieved with one of the major hero agencies in Roppongi. He’d been chasing such a partnership for many of the years you had known him and it was difficult to stop yourself swelling with pride. He wasn’t your boyfriend now, after all.

He was just as curious about your new job at UA, though mostly seemed confused. You had been in your previous job for years with no desire to move, after all. You kept quiet about the fact that if he hadn’t broken your heart you would probably still be there.

After an hour or so of back and forth, he finally sent the message you had been dreading.

We should go for dinner some time.

You cast aside your phone and poured yourself a much needed glass of wine. You didn’t trust yourself to see him in person. It took everything you had not to call him there and then so you could hear his voice.

Your reply was as polite as it was cagey, apologising for your busy schedule under the current circumstances. It was at least partly true, and he seemed understanding enough. Everyone in the country knew about UA’s upcoming sports festival, after all.

Little did you know you’d be seeing him far sooner than expected.

━

UA was closed the next day for repairs and staff meetings. All UA staff were present, with one notable exception. Shouta was still in the hospital and expected to rest up for the rest of the week.

The attack on the USJ might have been foiled, but the implications of it were massive, especially with the sports festival on the horizon. You expected the games to be postponed for the immediate future, but you couldn’t be further from the truth. If anything, the attack made Nezu even more determined to make this year’s games the biggest yet.

You understood his decision, even if you didn’t completely agree with it. The sports festival was critical to the future prospects of all UA students, many of whom (such as the third year pupils) would not get another opportunity to show off their skills in such a public manner. You only hoped that it wasn’t a mistake.

Your own contributions to the meetings were small in the grand scheme of things and you were finished up for the day by 1:30 in the afternoon. You considered picking up groceries on the way home, only to get off the train at the nearest platform to the hospital.

By now Shouta must have come around from his anaesthesia and you decided to call in and visit to find out if he needed anything, like spare clothes or someone to help out with his household chores during his recovery. You had heard Hizashi and Nemuri make comments about his love for cats and seen cat hair on his clothes on certain occasions. If he had pets, you were only too happy to babysit them while he was away.

Unfortunately, your plans were quashed almost immediately.

“What do you mean he discharged himself?”

━

You thought about Shouta as you took the train, as you packed up your groceries and slipped through your front door. He had been terribly beaten up the last time you’d seen him, so much so that even his doctors had recommended he rest for the week. Why would he leave after less than 24 hours? Why would he overstrain himself in such a way?

You thought about him as you made lunch and the final adjustments to your schedule. He was a grown man, you told yourself. He was perfectly capable of making his own choices and taking care of himself.

Even so, you couldn’t stop thinking about his two injured arms. How was he going to cook? How was he going to clean? Surely he didn’t mean to continue underground work with damage to his skull?

You lasted until 5PM before giving up and texting Hizashi.

Can you call me when you’re free?

He called you only seconds later.

“How can I help you, sweet listener?”

“It’s Shouta,” you said. “I called by at the hospital and...well...he’s discharged himself.”

“He what ?!”

“I know,” you said. “I’m really worried.”

“That’s so typical of him,” Hizashi sighed, “what is he thinking?”

“I was thinking I might stop by his place to check on him,” you said. “Do you know where he lives?”

He went quiet for a couple of seconds, clearly thinking about it.

“You know, (Name), it’s not the kind of neighbourhood for a lady…”

“I’ll text you when I get there?”

“Hmmm…”

You could practically see him leaning back in his chair and scratching his chin.

“Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll text you the details.”

“Thank you!”

“You’ve gotta text me though.”

“I will!”

“And, by the way…”

“Mhmmm?”

“How long have you been calling him Shouta?”

You flushed a bright red, feeling as if you’d been caught with your pants down.

Of all of the teachers, Shouta was the only one who hadn’t openly given you permission to call him by his first name in informal situations. You referred to him as Aizawa while around other people and even on the rare occasions you were alone. You had reset, even if he would always be Shouta in your mind.

“I…I...I’ll speak to you later, haha, bye!”

You couldn’t hang up fast enough. You were convinced the intonation of your voice would betray the truth.

You buried your head in your hands, as if to hide your face from your phone.

Well, shit.

━

Hizashi hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Shouta lived in a shady area. Many of the buildings had boarded over their windows and just about every exposed area of brick had several layers of graffiti, most of which were obscene.

You felt eyes on the back of your neck as you pressed the buzzer for Shouta’s apartment, though soon identified the source as a grey cat sprawled across the wall, watching you with steady amber eyes.

“Hello,” you said, leaning over, “are you the gatekeeper?”

The cat yawned and stretched out a paw.

“Oh, I see, I see,” you said, tapping a fingertip against its paw by way of a handshake. “Well you’re doing a very good job.”

“What are you doing here?”

That voice sounded incredibly familiar and you glanced up towards the balcony above you. Shouta was peering over it, still bandaged up and both of his arms in casts. You couldn’t see his face but you knew he was scowling.

“I came to check in on you,” you called up. “The hospital said you’d discharged yourself, and-“

He turned on the spot.

“As you can see, I’m okay. You can go home now.”

“But…”

You had packed an insulated bag full of food before leaving home and glanced from that to the gate. Were you going to have to carry it back on the train? You’d already packed a big lunch for the next day, ahead of seeing 1-A through counselling. Just what were you going to do with all of this extra food?

Shouta peered back over the balcony and sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “But make sure you hold the door open for Sushi.”

“Sushi?” you wondered aloud as the buzzer sounded and you let yourself through the gate. “Who’s Sushi?”

As if in response, the cat hopped down from its position on the wall and wandered up the path as if it had done so a thousand times. It stopped at the front door to the building and turned back to you expectantly, waiting for you to open the door.

You followed the cat into the building and up the stairs. The cat, Sushi you supposed, would rush off ahead of you and then wait for you to catch up. It barreled up the stairwell and then sat at the top before climbing the next. You knew which apartment belonged to Shouta even without checking over Mic’s message, for the cat sat down outside of it and looked back at you.

“Thank you, gatekeeper,” you said, tapping at the door.

“It’s open,” Shouta called out from within and you reached for the handle, Sushi the cat squeezing through the gap the moment you opened it even slightly.

You didn’t know what you expected from Shouta’s home. You knew he spent very little time there and that much was clear the moment you got inside. He had minimal furniture: a couch in one corner, along with a small table and even smaller television. There were no photographs on the walls; no blankets or decorations. Everything in his home had a clear function, as if designed to be left in a hurry. It was the opposite of your home in every possible sense.

“Make yourself comfy, I guess,” he said.

“I don’t know when exactly you checked out of the hospital,” you said, “but I thought you might be hungry. I made a few things…”

You walked over to the table and unzipped your bag.

“I wasn’t sure what kinds of food you liked, so I brought a bit of everything,” you said, pulling out each container. “There’s some soup, some rice, meatballs, an omelette…”

Retrospectively, you had rather overdone it.

“Some of these can be frozen or reheated,” you said. “You don’t have to eat all of them at once.”

He glanced from you to your food containers, which by then had taken up almost all of his table.

“You didn’t have to do all of this.”

“Oh, it’s no bother. We’re colleagues, remember!”

“Yeah,” he said. “I-”

He didn’t get to say anymore, though, for his stomach rumbled noisily.

“Shouta,” you said. “When did you last eat?”

“I...hmm...I had a small meal at the hospital before I-”

“You... wh-?! That was hours ago! You need proteins and vitamins to heal.”

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

It wasn’t fine. Not by any means.

You simmered as you plated up a few of the containers and refrigerated the rest. You couldn’t believe how little one person could care for their own body and pretended you didn’t see the bottles of antiseptic, antibiotics and bandages on his shelf. How many wounds had he gotten without seeing a doctor? How many of his scars came from cuts he had tended himself?

“I don’t want to hear you complain about Midoriya breaking his bones ever again,” you muttered as Sushi rubbed against your legs, seeming not to notice the bowl of cat food only a short distance away.

Of course he’d remembered to feed the cat.

Of course.

“Yes, yes,” said Shouta, leaning back on the couch and pulling down some of his bandages to expose his mouth and chin.

You brought the food over to his table and proceeded to pack away your empty food containers, watching out of the corner of your eye as he leaned over to pick up the cutlery, only to flinch and drop it.

“Do you need some help?”

“Nope, I got it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Ye-fuck.”

The cutlery clattered to the table with a dull thud and you took a seat next to him, reaching for the cutlery and holding it out to him.

“Thank you,” he said, albeit reluctantly, balancing it in his fingers before dropping it again.

“Let me help you,” you said, grabbing the fork and scooping up some of the omelette. “Open wide.”

“Wh-no way,” he said, eyes darting from you to the fork. “I ain’t a toddler.”

“It’s not like I’m going to make aeroplane sounds. Let me help you.”

Shouta grumbled under his breath, but ate from the fork you raised to his lips.

“..cious,” he murmured as you gathered a second forkful.

“Hmm?”

“I said...if you tell anyone about this I’ll shave off your eyebrows.”

“Neglect yourself this much again and I’ll shave your entire head.”

A smile crept across your face; you couldn’t help it. This whole situation was more than a little absurd. Here was the underground hero, Eraserhead, known for his smooth takedowns of villains in Musutafu’s underbelly, struggling to hold onto a fork. You were little more than a girl he’d hooked up, yet there you were, nagging him as if you were married.

Shouta fell into contemplative silence as well.

“At the attack,” he said at last. “Did they hurt you?”

“What do you mean?”

You hadn’t been involved in the fighting, but perhaps he didn’t know that?

“At the hospital,” he said, “you had blood on your shirt.”

Your heart skipped a beat, remembering how you had kissed his forehead before you could stop yourself. You’d thought he was asleep. Had he been awake the whole time?

“No,” you said. “Nezu had me go to the police station. I used my quirk too much on the suspects too much, that’s all.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Were you… worried about me?”

“Of course not! It’s just that you’re useless in battle.”

“Oh my god, you were worried about me.”

“No I wasn’t,” he said, stubbornly. “Now give me some of the chicken.”

You scooped up some of it and lifted it to his lips but he didn’t move, even though he’d asked for it.

“Shou…” you began, only to fall silent as he leaned in.

You told yourself you should pull away, even as you met him in the middle and ran your tongue over his bottom lip. He leaned over towards you and crushed his lips against yours, kissing you so deeply that it sent a shiver through your core. You wanted his hands on you; wanted to ride him until both your throat and cunt were raw.

Oh no...

Before this, you had never known that kisses could feel like stormy seas. For the first time in your life, you wanted to drown.

You reached to cup the uninjured side of his face.

Two seconds more and you would break the reset. Three and you wouldn’t even regret it.

Sushi took the initiative, though, making use of the distraction to hop onto your lap and steal the chicken from your fork. You broke the kiss, both pulling away as if burned.

“I…” you said, “I’m sorry.”

What were you thinking? Shouta was injured and likely still had remnants of anesthesia in his body. Even if he didn’t, the attack on USJ would leave anyone shaken. You had gone there to help him out with chores, not take advantage of him while he was in a potentially vulnerable state.

“I should go,” you said, clearing your throat and rushing away to zip up your insulated bag.

“(Name),” he said. “I-”

“It’s okay,” you said. “It was my fault. I…”

You gave him the biggest, most artificial smile in your arsenal; the one you used at job interviews and dinner with your parents.

“I’ll see you at work!”

━

You thought about the kiss on the train ride home, as you washed your dirty food containers and took a bath. You sank down into the water, wishing you could wash away the fluttering in your core.

It was just arousal, you told yourself. Sex released chemicals, namely oxytocin, and it was natural for you to feel attached to him. Hell, you’d seen each other completely naked, which in itself was something profoundly intimate.

It would fade in time, as all things did.

You repeated it over and over as you dried yourself off and got into bed. Soon, very soon, you would forget how it felt when he’d touched you. Bodies replaced their cells every decade or so; one day your bodies would have never touched at all.

The exhaustion from the past few days caught up with you the moment your head touched the pillow and before long you were dreaming.

You dreamed of waking in the arms of your lover, who ran his fingers through your hair and kissed you on the forehead. The bed was comfortably warm and bathed in soft morning light; your lover’s arm heavy across your waist.

“(Name),” he whispered in your ear and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

“(Name),” he whispered again and you looked up into his face, taking in his black hair and dark eyes. “Why are you crying?”

Your eyes snapped open then, dragging you back to your empty room.

There was no one else in your bed, you realised. It was the middle of the night, with no trace of the early morning glow you had so happily basked in.

The tears, though, they were real.

━

A/N

yes, it's that Sushi

[littlesailorinthesun]

is love nikki osha compliant?

Inspired by Brian David Gilbert's legendary Unraveled video "Smash Bros. owes millions of dollars in OSHA violations", I became curious how this would apply to Love Nikki suits. I looked through a few suits of choice to determine how OSHA-compliant they are.

First of all, I would like to say that while I have previously worked in a Health and Safety department, I apologize for any mistakes I make. This is not work (even if real Nikkis' lives are at stake here!)

For the Smash Bros. video, BDG looked primarily at the safety of various fighting arenas. Given that Love Nikki is a dress up game, I will of course be primarily looking at PPE (personal protective equipment) which falls under 1910 Subpart I; however, there are some instances where it is clear the environment is also unsafe.

The issue with determining what is proper PPE is mostly that it varies depends based on the environment you find yourself in. Given that *most* suits don't come with huge background props or backgrounds, I will just be extrapolating based on the item descriptions and the little context we have.

Heavy Machinery

One of my favorite suits, yet one of the worst offenders, Heavy Machinery actually calls out its own violation in the suit itself. If Miraland had OSHA, Heavy Machinery would unfortunately be breaking the rules.

According to OSHA's Nail Gun Safety Guide, people using nail guns should have the following PPE (in addition to the safety goggles): safety shoes (steel toed boots), hard hats, and hearing protection. Unfortunately, while maybe the shoes might have steel toes (though they don't look like they do), Heavy Machinery does not have a hard hat nor any hearing protection that I can see. This puts her in general violation of 1910.132(a).

One of the more frustrating parts is that she has eye protection, but she isn't actually using it! The item description for the goggles even says, "A mechanic can easily hurt his eyes, so it's good to wear goggles. Don't act cool and put them on your head!" Yet, she is doing just that, which causes her to violate 1910.133(a)(1). Please, don't follow her example and make sure to wear your goggles.

I will give her kudos for having the knee pad(?) but the rest of her clothing could probably do a better job. Unfortunately, Heavy Machinery is not OSHA-compliant.

The final comment I'd like to make on her is that if she is really wearing a battery on her back, I will have to give her kudos because those motherfuckers are heavy.

Adventurous Journey

A new environment! Actually, Adventurous Journey is adventuring throughout all of Miraland, and her item descriptions make mention of her visiting many several different places: an abandoned base, an old ruin, even a cave? 

Adventurous Journey is wearing some pretty practical clothing, and her hand and foot protection look more than adequate. Her hammer looks like it's in great shape and, like Heavy Machinery, she even has her hair tied back. Her headlight is also a great choice.

While entering unknown spaces like caves can be dangerous, they typically aren't considered confined spaces. Besides that, it sounds like Adventurous Journey only went inside the cave to take shelter from the sandstorm instead of to explore.

Overall, I believe Adventurous Journey is OSHA-compliant. Have fun on your adventures!

Glacier Treader

Ada just wanted to learn something about penguins, but unfortunately she may end up learning something about ice water if she keeps up these unsafe practices.

According to 1910.28(b)(3)(i), employees should be protected from falling in holes by guardrails, covers, or something similar. Unfortunately, there is a giant hole in front of Ada and she has nothing keeping her from falling inside. The straps on her coat aren't attached to anything and that thing looks like it's about to fly off anyways. There may be a penguin in the hole, but such matters do not excuse Ada's research group's lack of fall protection. 

On the bright side, the band-aids on Ada's face means that she has access to first aid and medical care!

Horn of Surprise

As fun as it would be to ride a giant candy train, it is unfortunately not OSHA-compliant.

As per 1910.21(b), a walking-working surface is any surface where an employee walks, works, or gains access to another work area. As the train conductor, Shebel is working on the top of the train, and thus it is subject to OSHA guidelines.

Unfortunately, the train is quite high off the ground - definitely more than 4 feet. Because of this, under 1910.28(b)(15), Shebel should have some sort of protection from falling to the ground below her, whether it be a guardrail, safety net, or another personal fall protection system.

She should probably also be wearing better PPE, too.

Ocean Lullaby

According to this suit's lore, Relly swims all the way to the deepest part of the ocean with only a narwhal. From the depiction of her and the fact that she apparently lost consciousness while at the bottom of the ocean, it seems pretty clear that Relly wasn't using proper PPE while swimming.

The most frustrating part about this suit is probably the fact that even the fish have PPE while Relly has nothing (though the efficacy of the snorkels is questionable). She should definitely have some air, and following the proper SCUBA diving procedures (1910.424) would be a great start.

Toy Carnival

What looks like an innocent, fun carnival game is actually an example of a potentially dangerous situation which requires a lot of work and planning. The crane machine is an example of a confined space, which is defined as a space that is large enough to do work, but has limited means for entry and exit, and isn't designed for continuous occupancy. Toy Carnival's crane machine appears to be a small space which doesn't have any immediately apparent way to get out.

There are no hazardous chemicals which would be present inside a claw machine. However, there is a physical hazard, which is the claw crane. Because of this, it is a permit-required confined space.

Toy Carnival is doing a lot of things right. She has an attendant outside (Momo), meaning she is compliant with 1910.146(d)(6). As long as Toy Carnival has a permit and followed all of the necessary procedures, she would be OSHA compliant if not for one thing: There is no visible sign designating the claw machine as a confined space. (1910.146(c)(2))

I will hold out hope that there is a sign on the back, because she was so close.

Explosion

We're going to ignore for the time being that Explosion takes place entirely inside a video game because well, it's all inside a video game one way or another, right? Anyways, you can tell a lot about Explosion just from the name.

Patrice is evidently in some kind of war-like environment. Not only are there guns and cannons going off everywhere, the "explosion" her suit is named for is the explosions of smoke grenades. She uses these to take cover and disguise herself.

While the gas mask is an excellent choice, unfortunately it's not enough. Due to the flying hazards (and probably the smoke too), Patrice needs to be wearing eye protection in order to be in compliance with 1910.133(a)(1), and head protection in order to be in compliance with 1910.135(a)(1).

Now onto another concern, no less pressing than the last: She's also apparently killing people. 1926.900 deals with explosives, and many of the standards mention avoiding the harm of other employees, which gives the impression that it generally isn't allowed. Not warning the others using warning signs, flags, or barricades before killing them with explosives is in direct violation of 1926.900(i).

I will commend Patrice on one thing, which is proper use of the buddy system as defined in 1910.120(a)(3) in the presence of unknown hazards. It sounds like she and Kuma work well together.

Honorable Mentions

Apocalyptic Angel, for her clothes and hair literally being on fire. I don’t know which OSHA violation that is, but it’s definitely something.

Crime Buster, for firing guns any which way without even looking. I don’t even want to touch that can of worms.

Space Fantasy, for not wearing gloves. In outer space.

Ingenious Trend, for allowing bats to carry needles. Again, not sure how that’s illegal, but it must be one way or another.

Appendix

1910.28(b)(3)(i) Each employee is protected from falling through any hole (including skylights) that is 4 feet (1.2 m) or more above a lower level by one or more of the following: 1910.28(b)(3)(i)(A) Covers; 1910.28(b)(3)(i)(B) Guardrail systems; 1910.28(b)(3)(i)(C) Travel restraint systems; or 1910.28(b)(3)(i)(D) Personal fall arrest systems.

(Glacier Treader)

1910.28(b)(15) Walking-working surfaces not otherwise addressed. Except as provided elsewhere in this section or by other subparts of this part, the employer must ensure each employee on a walkingworking surface 4 feet (1.2 m) or more above a lower level is protected from falling by: 1910.28(b)(15)(i) Guardrail systems; 1910.28(b)(15)(ii) Safety net systems; or 1910.28(b)(15)(iii) Personal fall protection systems, such as personal fall arrest, travel restraint, or positioning systems.

(Horn of Surprise)

1910.132(a) Protective equipment, including personal protective equipment for eyes, face, head, and extremities, protective clothing, respiratory devices, and protective shields and barriers, shall be provided, used, and maintained in a sanitary and reliable condition wherever it is necessary by reason of hazards of processes or environment, chemical hazards, radiological hazards, or mechanical irritants encountered in a manner capable of causing injury or impairment in the function of any part of the body through absorption, inhalation or physical contact.

(Heavy Machinery)

1910.133(a)(1) The employer shall ensure that each affected employee uses appropriate eye or face protection when exposed to eye or face hazards from flying particles, molten metal, liquid chemicals, acids or caustic liquids, chemical gases or vapors, or potentially injurious light radiation.

(Heavy Machinery, Explosion)

1910.135(a)(1) The employer shall ensure that each affected employee wears a protective helmet when working in areas where there is a potential for injury to the head from falling objects.

(Explosion)

1910.146(c)(2) If the workplace contains permit spaces, the employer shall inform exposed employees, by posting danger signs or by any other equally effective means, of the existence and location of and the danger posed by the permit spaces. NOTE: A sign reading DANGER -- PERMIT-REQUIRED CONFINED SPACE, DO NOT ENTER or using other similar language would satisfy the requirement for a sign.

(Toy Carnival)

1910.146(d)(6) Provide at least one attendant outside the permit space into which entry is authorized for the duration of entry operations;

(Toy Carnival - compliant)

1926.900(i) Employees authorized to prepare explosive charges or conduct blasting operations shall use every reasonable precaution including, but not limited to, visual and audible warning signals, flags, or barricades, to ensure employee safety.

(Explosion)

[asphyxiateher]

Only Monsters Come Out At Night

Chapter Four: The Ties that Bind

Summary: Desdemona receives a warning from Lady Dimitrescu before she sets off to spend time with Cassandra. Veronica is alive but just barely. 

A/N: This chapter is longer than anticipated, I tried to be descriptive without being too wordy but alas, I hope you enjoy anyway. 

Desdemona Hawthorne wishes she could convince herself that she does not believe in luck because it’s a flimsy excuse that most people fall back on to justify the unfavorable circumstances they may find themselves in. Growing up in the suburbs, she had heard all kinds of non-sense about how putting enough positive thoughts and energy out in the universe would grant you the gift of receiving everything you have ever wanted in return. Desdemona isn’t quite sure how to describe her current predicament, but she is certain that even vomiting rainbows and shitting out sunshine would not be enough to get her out of Castle Dimitrescu. No, this is the rotten luck she’s grown accustomed to having follow her around and it had tainted this vacation from the beginning. She just wanted to see the castle that inspired Dracula and learn about its history so she could say she went out there to pursue a seemingly impossible dream and made it come true.

Desdemona did not come out here to be imprisoned by three monstrous vampires who either wanted to kill her or fuck her, she couldn’t tell which they wanted to do more of at this point, so this whole unnerving, unpleasant experience warranted a refund. She had been expecting a tour guide and a group of fellow tourists when her group made it up here but instead, here she was stuck in a foul-smelling, subterranean cellar that was currently occupied by her and the three vampiric sisters she mentioned earlier. The eldest sister, Bela, stood in front of Desdemona protectively as she attempted to swat away at her sisters that were now slowly approaching them with raised sickles. “She’s mine, you delusional twit! She gave me something that was clearly important to her, that means she has declared herself to me!” Bela hollered, hissing when Daniela swung her sickle at her. “Bela, you selfish brat, you’re always sucking up to Mother and trying to be better than us at everything, but she told you to share! I am sick and tired of being given the leftovers; sometimes I want the first bite, you know!” Cassandra whines, transforming into a massive ball of insects only to instantly appear by Desdemona’s side.   “Cassandra, you know how it is with Bela; we do all the work, and she takes all the credit! Let us humble our dear sister and take what is rightfully ours.” Daniela snarls, a dangerous glint in her eyes as she flicks her gaze over to Desdemona. She licks her lips and moans when she takes in her prey’s scent, her fear sweetening her blood.

Desdemona was at a loss for words the moment Daniela expressed her clear distaste for her sister’s arrogance. It was not only what came out of her mouth that perplexed the human, but it was in the manner of how she complained to Cassandra about Bela. The whole unsettling conversation between the siblings made Desdemona feel like they were ready to tear her apart so they could divide her evenly between the three of them. In hindsight, she probably should not have given any of the sisters a gift if this was going to be the reaction, but had they all been here the other day, maybe she could have given them all a little something to remember her by at the same time. However, this little opportunity could prove to be beneficial should the women begin tearing and clawing at each other rather than her. Maybe this is where they shred each other apart and Desdemona might have a fighting chance at making it out of here after all. She needed to find out where this was going fast and if she was going to need to take cover.

“Daughters, what is the meaning of this? I have bestowed each of you a gift that the three of you were supposed to share and take responsibility for only to have you throw back the kindness I’ve shown you back in my face!” Alcina’s booming voice in dungeon startled everyone in the room. The chamber door clicked open, exposing the rather imposing figure that belonged to Lady Dimitrescu. She scanned the room and glared at her three cowering daughters, carelessly throwing in another body into the room that she had been hauling behind her. Desdemona’s eyes widened in surprise when she recognized Veronica’s limp body curled on the ground.

“You know you’re supposed to take care of your pets and not let them rot in the cellar! Have I not taught you girls any manners or did I overestimate your ability to take care of this human you are all so fond of? Ugh, no matter, I have another task for you girls. You are to assist Karl with a project; he found an abandoned van not too far from the village and was able to tow it back to the castle. We found some of Desdemona’s belongings that I’m sure you all would be interested in.” Alcina said sweetly, smirking when her daughters expressed their delight at embarking on such a quest. Desdemona carefully approached Veronica’s resting form and knelt on the ground beside her, gently lifting her head and placing it on her lap. She gasped aloud when she saw how bruised and broken Veronica appeared, her hair disheveled as her skin was marred with darkened bruises and scars that indicated severe physical trauma. Veronica shifted in place and lifted a shaky hand in the air, her breathing slow and calm when she feels Desdemona’s fingers clasp together with hers.

 “What…what happened to you, V? You look like shit.” Desdemona teases, hoping to brighten her best friend’s mood somehow. Veronica smiles at Dezzy’s playful tone and lightly squeezes her hand. Veronica suddenly grimaces and turns her head to her side, her tongue rolling around against her cheek before she spits something out.

‘Wait, did she just spit out a tooth? What did Lady Dimitrescu do to you, Veronica?’ Desdemona sadly thinks to herself as she pulls Veronica closer until she’s settled comfortably on her lap.

“You know me, Dezzy, I don’t know when to shut the fuck up. She wants to break me and I want to irritate her until my very last breath; this relationship is in absolutely no way toxic.” Veronica says, coughing out blood when she tries to laugh through the pain.

“Mother, that loud-mouth with the gross blood is touching our plaything. May we slit her throat and hang her upside down until she bleeds out?” Cassandra asks with a sneer. Daniela is scowling at Veronica and she looks ready to pounce but she somehow manages to refrain from doing so after looking to her mother for any signs of approval. Thankfully, Alcina manages to look annoyed with the request more than anything.

“No, no, you girls will not touch what belongs to me. She was starting to bore me so throwing her in here for a day will allow me to recharge. I will, however, remind you that your new task needs to be done immediately so I suggest you find your dear Uncle Karl and help him with whatever he needs. I will tend to your pet and give her a bath. She and I need to have an important talk regarding your needs.” Alcina states as she glances over to Desdemona cradling her best friend in her arms.

“Mother, if Desdemona needs a bath, I would be more than happy to assist you in all matters that concern my beloved.” Bela offers, beaming when she gazes into Desdemona’s eyes.

The crestfallen expression on Bela’s face after Alcina politely rejects her offer has the other two sisters snickering in the back. Disheartened at the idea of Desdemona being handled in the bath by her mother, Bela disintegrates into a million insects and leaves the space. Her two sisters soon follow when their mother shoots them a knowing look.

Alcina’s attention now falls on Desdemona and the surviving Hawthorne twin feels her heart begin to race. She doesn’t quite know how to act around Lady Dimitrescu and judging by how broken Veronica looked, Desdemona figures she must continue to act submissive and demonstrate manners when she’s spoken to. Until she can come up with a formidable plan to escape the castle with her best friend in tow, Desdemona must continue to get to know Lady Dimitrescu and her three daughters better. She’ll eventually figure out what their weaknesses are by playing the long game.

“I guess I better get going, V. Please feel better soon and you know, try not to die.” Desdemona says as she places a gentle kiss on her friend’s forehead.

 Veronica scoffs and bats away at her in response.

“I can’t make any promises I can’t keep. You just do you until you know, find something worth finding out about and tell me all about it. Oh, and Dezzy,” Veronica says quietly as she watches her best friend cautiously approach Lady Dimitrescu, who had been observing their interaction with curiosity. “let it be known that you have the worst fucking luck in the world with women. Take care of yourself, yeah?”

Desdemona sighs at that and offers her friend a knowing smile. She’d spent most of her life being attracted to heterosexual women or women who were emotionally unavailable to her; she didn’t think she’d ever cross the line of the usual types she’s typically drawn to but here she was fighting for survival as a trio of dangerous vampires decided to lay their claim on her.

Des dares to look up at Alcina, who unfortunately had already been staring at her, and she gulps, picking up the pace to keep up with Lady Dimitrescu’s rather large strides. For the most part, Alcina does not engage in much conversation unless she felt the need to point something out about the mansion.

When they enter one of the guest bathrooms, Desdemona can’t help but be a little impressed at Lady Dimitrescu’s design choices. The exquisitely polished gold marble flooring stood out the most as two sinks lined up on both sides of the room, the cherry wood cabinets complimenting both the granite countertops and the glossy tile backsplash. Desdemona had to begrudgingly admit that Lady Dimitrescu had impeccable taste, her jaw dropping at the sight of a large bathtub sitting upon a platform in the center of the room.

Alcina wasted no time in stripping Desdemona of her ratty clothes after she had run enough hot water for her in the tub. The steam and warmth of the water was nearly enough to send Desdemona into a state of relaxation but then she remembered Alcina wanted to have an important discussion with her in private.

  “You know as well as I do that I do not care for humans. Your life has no meaning to me and should I wish to, I could cut you open at any given moment and offer any remaining part of you to the pigs after my daughters and I are through feasting on your corpse. The only reason you are being kept alive is because my daughters are growing fond of you. They’ve ever only known the company of family and the maidens they occasionally feed on so to see a blossoming…relationship between one of my daughters and her plaything is quite remarkable.”

Desdemona doesn’t dare say a thing as Alcina gently lifts her arms to scrub them. The word “relationship” is being tossed around so casually that it makes her wonder if any of these women knew what love was or if any of them were capable of forming attachments to other people.

When the smaller woman doesn’t reply, Alcina grips the back of Desdemona’s head and yanks it back so she could growl in her ear.

“You shall treat all my daughters as equals, pet. You will not favor one over the other two and you will do whatever it takes to keep them happy if you know what’s good for you. I care about my daughters and their happiness and if that means keeping you alive, you better damn well appreciate the gift I’m giving you by allowing you serve them. You shall spoil them, love them and show them affection because if word gets out that you’ve been a naughty little human that’s broken any of their hearts, I will gut you alive.”  

Desdemona feels her fists clench and unclench underneath the bath water at the mention of being gutted alive. A tear runs down her cheek at the disturbing memory of her twin brother’s bowels piling on the floor as Veronica’s screams echoed in the back of her mind. It was horrifying having to relive that particular memory over and over again.

‘You should tell her how much you hate her for killing Desmond. Stop being a pussy and stand up for yourself! Who cares if she beats you!? She murdered Desmond, you should be fighting tooth and nail for your freedom the way Veronica has been doing.’

With a shaky voice, Desdemona swallows her pride and nods in acquiescence to Lady Dimitrescu’s requests.

“I understand, my Lady. I will do whatever it takes to ensure that their needs are fulfilled and that they remain happy under my care.” Desdemona says after a tense moment.

Alcina smiles and releases the grip she had on the smaller girl’s head.

“Good, I’m glad we were able to clear that up like reasonable adults. After I’m done tidying you up, you will spend the night with Cassandra in her room. She has been upset ever since Bela told my other girls how you’d given her a phone full of pictures of you. For your sake, I sure do hope you plan on making it up to both Cassandra and Daniela; they’re starting to feel neglected.” Alcina tells her with a wicked smile on her face and Desdemona has to stop herself from groaning out loud.

She doesn’t necessarily have a plan to appease both Cassandra and Daniela but spending the night with Cassandra was a great starting point. It didn’t help matters that she was absolutely terrified of the sadistic vampire but perhaps it wouldn’t take much to charm her.

After the somewhat relaxing bath, Desdemona was left to her own devices to explore the mansion under the watchful eyes of Alcina. Cassandra’s bedroom wasn’t too far off from the hallway she was currently wandering through but the silence that followed her throughout the castle was still quite eerie. Desdemona’s hand reached for the golden doorknob in front of her when her ears are filled with uncontrollable giggling. She squeezes the knob and slightly turns it only to swat away at a few insects buzzing around her. Desdemona looks to her left and then to her right; there’s nothing on either side of her and so she takes a deep breath, wondering if she was slowly losing her mind the longer she stayed in the castle.

Opening the door, the next thing she sees is a black shadow with glistening white teeth lunging at her. “Rawr!”

Desdemona shouts and jumps back until she hits the wall behind her, her hand clutching at her chest as she tries to steady her heavy breathing. She’s not sure if she should be relieved to see that it was just Cassandra laughing at her reaction to the stupid jump scare but at least she wasn’t in immediate danger…maybe.

“Oh, you should see the look on your face – it’s priceless! Mmm, and just listening to the sound of your heart rapidly beating in your chest is lovely music to my ears. Fear thickens your blood and the thicker the blood, the sweeter it is.” Cassandra tells her, laughter now subsiding as she stands awkwardly in the doorway.

 “Is there a reason you came to visit little ol’ me or did you get lost on your way to find Bela?” Cassandra spits out Bela’s name with disdain and Desdemona knew she had to convince Alcina’s daughters that they all meant something to her, but she had to treat them all as equals as well.

 “I came to see you, actually. I wanted to spend some time with you and get to know you better since we got off the wrong foot at the beginning of all this.” Desdemona says uncertainly, peering over Cassandra’s shoulders to see if there was something she could work with if she managed to convince her to let her in.

Cassandra gives her a once over, her eyes lingering on certain parts of Desdemona longer than most and relents.

 “I do have a few questions about some of your belongings my dear Uncle Karl found in that hideous vehicle of yours. Now, I do occasionally dabble in the arts myself but these palettes you brought with you are utterly useless and too shiny for my liking! Explain this to me!” Cassandra exclaims as she leads a befuddled Desdemona into her room which was surprisingly ordinary considering the woman’s personality.

Desdemona was about to ask what she meant by shiny when her mouth suddenly hangs open at the sight of several expensive makeup palettes thrown and scattered about. Cassandra picks up a broken Pat McGrath eyeshadow palette and attempts to dip one of her makeup brushes in one of the colors and draws a sloppy line against the canvas she had set up on an easel in front of her.

‘Jesus fucking Christ, she’s trying to paint using your one hundred-and twenty-five-dollar eyeshadow palette.’ Desdemona thinks, desperately trying hard not to cry at the loss of something so precious to her.

Desdemona rolls her lips as she recognizes one of her favorite Morphe makeup brushes lying broken in half across the other side of the room. Cassandra had gone through her makeup bag and successfully destroyed at least a few hundred dollars worth of product. If survival wasn’t a big priority right now, Desdemona would have a mental breakdown over this. For now, she’ll be happy to take a rain check.

“So, I love your enthusiasm, Cassandra, and your idea to paint on a canvas using my makeup is really…creative. How about I show you how to do your makeup with what’s left?” Desdemona asks as she picks up a relatively intact kit that Cassandra paid no mind to.

Cassandra tilts her head in confusion.

“Why would I need makeup? You’re disgusted by the sight of me, aren’t you? I know I’m not as pretty or as smart as Bela, but you don’t need to go around telling me what I don’t already know!” Cassandra screeches, her hands wrapping around Desdemona’s neck and slamming her to the nearest wall. When Cassandra begins to apply a deadly amount of pressure, Desdemona had to act quickly.

“I-I just wanted to spend time with you, Cassandra! You’re beautiful without makeup, but seeing how much you like art, I thought you’d appreciate it a different way!” Desdemona manages to say, nearly coughing up a lung when Cassandra releases her.

The dark-haired woman eyes Desdemona suspiciously but she motions for the smaller girl to continue.

“I just thought maybe you’d want to partake in an activity we both would enjoy. It’s intimate and it would just be our thing, something that no one would take away from us. You’re already gorgeous, Cassandra, but this is a thing we could do for fun. Just you and me doing each other’s makeup...and maybe after we’ve gotten to know each other better, maybe we can just do each other.” Desdemona continues as she tries to double down on her flirtatiousness. She bats her eyelashes at Cassandra and her fingers begin to twirl the ends of her long, wavy dark brown hair.

Cassandra inhales Desdemona’s scent and rolls her eyes to the back of her head as if her blood were truly intoxicating in that moment. “Okay, I’ll let you do my makeup, Little One. Just…hurry up and let’s get to the part where we get to know each other better. I can’t wait to eat you all up once you let me, my pretty little plaything.” Cassandra whispers into Desdemona’s ear, her tongue leaving a wet trail from the nape of her neck to her collarbone. She enjoys the way the smaller girl shudders against her.

“R-right, let’s sit on your bed for a minute. I have some ideas and I’ll need your input. Your opinion is extremely important to me.” Des tells Cassandra, emphasizing how much she valued Cassandra’s contributions to their playdate activity, and it seemed to boost Cassandra’s ego.

Twenty minutes later after Desdemona had helped Cassandra clean her face, Desdemona straddled Cassandra and set herself to work on Lady Dimitrescu’s most insecure daughter. The smaller brunette was leaning closely over Cassandra and it was nearly too much for Cassandra’s senses. She was steadily growing impatient but there was something fascinating in the way Desdemona looked as she began doing her makeup. She looked focused, determined and when she fixed her brilliant gray eyes into Cassandra’s, there was a playfulness in the way she smiled at her. Cassandra felt her heart squeeze at the beautiful sight of her human sitting so peacefully atop of her. She did not want to ruin this moment but Cassandra hates holding back, whether its her feelings on something or when she’s out in the wilderness hunting, she needed to voice her thoughts.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met and I’m glad you got lost in our village. I’ve met all sorts of pretty maidens but they were all so boring and rude, always screaming at the sight of us and running away from us when we wanted to play hide and seek. Your blood is so tempting, I want to bite into your neck and rip out your throat but…this, spending time like this with anyone outside of my family is nice. You’re so sweet it makes me want to taste you, but you also make me want to be around you more in a way that doesn’t involve killing, maiming, or torture, if that makes sense.” Cassandra blurts out in a rush, her cheeks glowing pink underneath the dim light of the torches in her room.

 Desdemona pauses and takes a moment to let all that sink in. Cassandra is adorably awkward, or that’s how she would describe her if she weren’t also an intimidating immortal vampire that could snap her neck at the drop of a hat. Cassandra didn’t like the long awkward pause that formed between them, so she begins digging her sharp nails into Desdemona’s thighs and the smaller girl reacts.

‘Des, you need to stab her in the eye while she’s vulnerable or if she’s really a vampire, try stabbing her in the heart! Kill her, kill her the way they so ruthlessly killed your brother and be done with it. Fight your way out of here, goddamn it!’ Desdemona’s thoughts were overwhelming her and as much as she wanted to fight the creatures that were responsible for her brother’s death and Veronica’s misery, she knew she had to discourage such thoughts from frequently forming in her mind. This game couldn’t be won if she gave in to her baser desires.

“Is your tongue coated in honey, Cassandra? I’m a little embarrassed to admit this but no one has said such lovely things to me before. It makes me want to kiss you.” Desdemona flirts as she brings her hips down against Cassandra, causing the other woman to moan aloud at the intense contact she felt between them. “So…what’s holding you back? Kiss me!” Cassandra demanded, her hands snaking underneath Desdemona’s blouse as her hands explored every inch of skin that she had access to. Desdemona accidentally lets out a moan of her own and freezes, her hands finding Cassandra’s and pinning them above her head. Cassandra liked this darker side of Desdemona, it meant that they could play rough in the bedroom and her plaything would like it. This would be the last and only time Desdemona would top her though.

“I told you, you need to let me finish your makeup and then we’ll get to the fun stuff. Patience is a virtue.” Desdemona says, laughing when Cassandra huffs and crosses her arms in displeasure. The smaller girl bites her lip when she thinks to herself how cute Cassandra seemed but the thought quickly vanishes when images of Desmond’s bloodied corpse enters her mind again.

This was going to be a long game indeed.

[babycracker]

Fire Meet Gasoline: Chapter 6

chapter rating: teen & up story rating: explicit pairing: morgan/m!oc (tanner drake) & farah/f!oc (sadie kennedy) word count: ~2.7k chapter warnings: none story warnings: eventual smut, canon-typical violence, au - canon divergent a/n: as you can see, pairings have changed and i've added some warnings for the future bc this entire story has taken an unexpected turn and it's going to be much bigger than manner now. please don't hesitate to let me know if you wanna be taken off of the tags!

read it on ao3 here

--

Sadie was sure that she'd have more time than this. Six months isn't long, after all. Well, technically four months. She's been basically on the run for the last two.

She'd had four months to enjoy being twenty-one before the Agency had contacted her about signing the treaty, and for the two months since not so politely telling them to shove it she'd been dodging the bounty hunter that she'd evidently been assigned to.

He was an idiot. A troll, she was sure of it. Big and imposing and clumsy and menacing… but stupid. She hasn't seen him in a few weeks though, and she's starting to relax, fairly sure that she's lost him.

So, for the first time in the week and a half that she's been in this city she's daring to leave her room at the hostel and check out some of what could well be her new home. She pulls her hoodie on, reluctantly pulling the hood over her head and eyeing the bland grey of the fabric with disdain for a moment. Dreadfully boring, and dreadfully cliché - a banshee roaming around donning a grey hood - but she still needs to keep a low profile. Just for a little bit longer.

Everyone's heard about the supernatural bar in the city, such things are not exactly common, though no one seems to know where it is. It would seem the only way to find out is by word of mouth, and unfortunately she doesn't know anyone here, and she can't exactly go up to random people and ask them where the local supernaturals hang.

It would really be preferable; at just over 4'3 she doesn't exactly fit in with humans, but she supposes she'll just have to make do as she heads down the street. She sticks cautiously close to the buildings, avoiding the laughing groups of people and curiously looking around at the bright and colourful nightlife.

She could get used to this.

But for now, she resigns herself to something less flashy, a not quite as cheerful and slightly shabby bar with a bright green neon sign shining from its façade reading Shakers.

Looks good enough for now, so she steps inside, a grin spreading across her face as she takes in the atmosphere. God she's missed being around humans, and this place is packed with some of the rowdiest ones she's ever seen. Her favourite kind.

There's no dancing space as far as she can see (disappointing) but the bar is huge and there are booths lining every wall, the space in the middle filled with several pool tables.

She weaves her way through the crowd, thankfully remaining largely unnoticed, and slips up onto a stool at the bar, breathing out a sigh of relief now that her height is less obvious. She spins around on her seat, leaning one elbow on the bar and watching a group of guys at the closest pool table, trying (unsuccessfully) to gather some kind of hint at how to play the game, when a voice from behind distracts her.

"What are you drinking, pretty?"

She turns, expecting to find a bartender but instead there's a man on her side of the bar and uncomfortably close, a charming and yet slightly unsettling smile on his face. She forces one to her own to keep her frown away, the eerie sense of this guy being bad news creeping through her mind and making her thoughts slightly foggy.

“I’m really not much of a drinker, thanks anyway.”

He’s good looking enough, blonde hair, bright blue eyes and dimples in both cheeks on proud display as he grins at her. But her advanced senses are ringing every bell inside of her, warning her not to trust him.

“C’mon darl, no one comes to a bar unless they want a drink,” he presses, reaching out and letting his fingertips brush against the sliver of bare wrist peeking out from the sleeve of her hoodie.

She gasps and recoils too fast to be able to reign it in, her face twisting into a frown as she pulls her sleeves down and clutches them in her fists to cover her hands entirely. She really should've worn her gloves.

Demon.

He lifts both hands in front of him, a kind of peace offering, and takes a slight step back. “Woah, take it easy. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“It’s fine,” she clears her throat, hoping it’ll take the obvious rasp out of her voice as she struggles to get any words out at all. He grins and slides onto the stool next to her.

“If I promise not to touch you again, will you come and join us?”

She eyes him carefully for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh and giving a small nod. He seems nice enough, respectful enough. And she’s never been given any kind of guarantee that her perception is always one hundred percent accurate. Maybe she gets it wrong sometimes. Maybe she’s been disregarding people her entire life based on what she sees of them on the inside, and some of them didn’t deserve disregarding.

She’s been on her own since she ran away from home after her parents’ relentless persistence that she signed the Agency’s treaty became too much, she could do with some friends. Maybe now she can’t afford to turn down every single person that gives her a slight dishonest vibe. Who is completely honest these days anyway?

He grins again and gets to his feet, nodding towards one of the pool tables as a gesture for her to follow him. “I’m Axle.”

“Sadie,” she replies, reluctantly slipping off her seat and noticing the way he immediately arches an eyebrow at her height. He’s a demon, a supernatural, he’s probably already worked out that she’s not human and she just about winces as she waits for the inevitable questions.

They don’t come, however. He’s either much more polite than she’d expected, naïve and just thinks that she’s short, or he’s already worked out what she is and is choosing to stay quiet about it in this public space.

She follows him over to the pool table where a group of five other men are standing around playing a game, and a brief wave of panic surges through her when she realises that they’re probably all demons. They usually hang out with their own kind, and it would mean that she’s heavily outnumbered by a group of supernaturals far more dangerous and powerful than she is.

They barely spare her a glance though as she comes to stand at Axle’s side, and he barely offers an introduction in turn, instead waving his arm around the group and simply referring to them as “the guys”.

It’s probably for the best. She can handle one demon, should the need arise, she can slink away from him unnoticed, but once she has the attention of an entire group of them she’s not exactly sure how she’d get away if she needed to.

--

For someone that doesn’t talk a whole lot, Morgan sure spends a lot of time on the phone. Tanner hadn’t expected her to be so… clingy. She seems to really miss the rest of Unit Bravo now that she’s stuck away from them, which seems strange to him given that he’d assumed she wasn’t so different from him and would enjoy the break and getting to do her own thing (apart from having to work with him, of course) for a while.

But she’s on the phone again. Granted, she’s talking to Adam about their mission, but still. The number of questions she’d had about what they were supposed to do had been alarming to Tanner until he’d realised that she was most likely just coming up with the need for so much clarification as an excuse to speak to someone from her team.

Whatever her reasons though, he’s bored. He gets bored quite often with her, he realises, and he finds himself watching her on the other side of the room from where he’s kicked back on the couch, obviously and shamelessly checking her out as she paces and speaks in a hushed voice into the phone. Maybe it’d be different if he worked with her a little more; in regard to both her flirtation and their current job. At first, it’d been fun to irk her and get on her nerves but it’s already starting to get old - even for him - and he decides that maybe he should make more of an effort to be agreeable if they’re going to be stuck together for now. Or he could at least sleep with her. That might relieve some of her tension and get her to stop being such a hardass, at least.

She runs a hand through her hair and turns to face him, scowling when she notices his attention and lifting her middle finger at him before turning away.

He grins and sits up straight when she finally ends the call and turns to face him again.

“They want us to go to that bar tonight,” she tells him before he has a chance to say anything, and he groans dramatically and slides down to a slouching position, throwing his head back against the back of the couch and closing his eyes.

“It’s all work with you,” he complains, opening his eyes again when he hears her moving and watching her cross the room and start to pull her jacket on.

“We are on a job at the moment, so yeah, it’s all work.”

“You know this place isn’t gonna be like Mickey’s, right?”

She pulls a face, only small and only for the briefest second but he catches it anyway and for the first time sees how uncertain she is about having to be in that kind of environment.

“You gonna be good?” he adds, trying to sound at least a little sympathetic.

It actually surprises him how much he cares about how much this is going to affect her, and not just for the job. It’s going to be a pain in the ass, definitely. Having to keep an eye on her and make sure she’s not overwhelmed while trying to do his job at the same time, but more than that, whenever he thinks about how painful this is going to be for Morgan his stomach twists slightly, churning uncomfortably and making him feel… he doesn’t even know. Worried? Is this what worry for somebody else is?

Probably not. He’s probably just dreading having to babysit her.

--

He can already practically hear her teeth grinding by the time they get to the door of Shakers, let alone inside. They can hear (to be fair, godawful) rock music as well as the noise of what sounds like a pretty big crowd through the door, and he casts a glance in her direction. Her jaw’s clenched, brow furrowed, and eyes narrowed as she stares at the door before turning to the side and meeting his gaze.

“What? We going in or not?” she snaps, and he shrugs and waves a hand at her, gesturing to her general demeanour.

“I dunno, are we?”

She rolls her eyes and steps away from him, but he sees her shoulders rise and fall as she takes a deep breath before pushing the door open.

It’s loud. Really loud. Not too bright at least, but even he immediately catches the faint scent of alcohol, cigarettes and weed in the air. He can only imagine how strong it is to her.

His concerns for her are quickly overshadowed though when it takes less than a minute for his eyes to land on a group of men playing pool near the back of the room. He recognises them straight away, which means that they’re going to recognise him straight away and they’ll be gone before he and Morgan have gotten anywhere near them.

“Shit,” he mutters, ducking his head and turning to face Morgan more so as to turn himself away from them.

“What?” she snaps, glaring at him and not seeming to realise that something’s gone wrong, too caught up in trying to distract herself from the sensations bombarding her.

“I know them,” he answers distractedly, looking her up and down for a moment before casting a quick glance around the room in search of somewhere quieter. Something that doesn’t seem to exist in this bar.

He grabs her hand and pulls her over to the bar, nudging her to sit up on one of the stools and standing beside her, draping an arm over her shoulders and leaning in close to her. The close contact seemed to work the previous day when she was starting to become overwhelmed on the street outside, there’s no reason to think that it won’t work again in here.

“What do you mean you know them?” she asks, her voice a little less impatient as she leans back against him slightly, and he doesn’t miss the soft sigh of relief she lets out as he feels her body start to relax a little.

He doesn’t know why physical contact with him, of all people, seems to help her out but he’s going to count it as a bonus when it means that he’s able to set her at ease enough for her to function in these situations.

He glances back towards the pool table, but looks away again just as quickly, leaning down closer to Morgan to hide his face when he sees that the group are starting towards the door.

“They know you?” Morgan finally seems to click on, looking quickly towards the group and then back at him, and he only just realises how close he’s gotten to her when her nose just about brushes against his when she does it.

“Mhm,” he distractedly hums in reply, and she studies him for a moment before a small smirk crosses her face.

“I’ve been trying to get this close to you since we met, and now you’re telling me all it would’ve taken was a few demons to scare you?”

This bitch. He frowns at her, his arm dropping away from her shoulders as he straightens up again and moves away from her, temporarily forgetting that he’s trying to hide himself.

“I am not scared.” He spits indignantly.

Of all the things for her to say. Scared.

“You sure, sweetheart?”

Condescension drips from every word and his frown deepens into a glare. “Fuck you.”

“They’re going to see you,” she ignores his insult and nods behind him, and his eyes dart towards the group that have thankfully already moved past him when he remembers that whatever she thinks about him, them seeing him would be a disaster and if they knew that he was after them they’d be looking for them for weeks.

He subtly watches them go, waiting until the last two people are through the door, a blonde guy and a freakishly short girl, and then grabs Morgan’s hand and pulls her off of the stool. “Come on.”

He practically drags her out onto the street, making sure to keep a fair distance away from the group without losing sight of them through the crowd until he realises where they’re going.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Morgan mutters from beside him, obviously realising the same thing at the same time, and he stops and watches them step through the doors of the same motel that they’re staying in.

He grins and looks over at her, letting go of her hand. “Our job just got a whole lot easier.”

“You think?”

He doesn’t bother answering, just heads towards the motel once he’s sure that they’ve had a chance to get to their room and he’s not about to run into them in the lobby.

He’s stayed here countless times, he knows pretty much the entire reception staff, it shouldn’t be too hard for him to find out what room they’re staying in and pay them a visit when they’re not expecting it. Then all he needs to do is convince Morgan that he doesn’t need her help with his next job, they can go their separate ways, and everyone will be happy.

--

tags (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @admdmrtn @masonsfangs @homeformyheart @mmerengue @agentsunshine @bravomckenzie @freckles-spangledvampire @mistyeyedbi @kelseaaa @fhauvilles @amlovelies @forestcreatures @maraudern05 @kat-tia801 @alyssalauren @agentnolastname @utterlyinevitable @masonscig

[sweetsmellosuccess]

The Best Films of 2020

The 15 Best Films of 2020

Normally, when I assess a full year of cinematic offerings, I consider both sides of that coin  —  the outstanding entities, and the least successful —  but the year of our lord two thousand and twenty provided more than enough misery for all of us, I do believe. Ergo, in my own small way to bring better vibes into the universe, for this year’s round-up, I’m staying solely on the positive tip, highlighting those films whose unfortunate release date during the Year of the Hex shouldn’t preclude them for being fully appreciated. Let’s take a year off from negativity and schadenfreude, shall we, and just stroll amongst the poppies and bright sunshine of some of the best releases of the year.  

15. The Invisible Man

“Leigh Whannell’s film is thoroughly modern in approach and sophistication, but the film it most reminded me of was made back in 1944. George Cukor’s Gaslight starred Charles Boyer as a loathsome husband who attempts to convince his already anxious wife (Ingrid Bergman) that she’s going insane by secretly rearranging things in their house and taking things from her so she thinks she’s always misplacing them. He preys on her emotional vulnerability in order to mask his own pathology and emotional detachment. The effect is absolutely enraging: Onscreen, he’s one of the more hateful villains ever committed to celluloid.”

Full Review

14. The Killing of Two Lovers

“From the opening sequence, with a distraught, estranged husband standing over the bed of his wife and her new boyfriend with malice in his heart, and a gun in hand, the film spirals out into incredibly well structured compositions, taking us inside and outside of David’s recurring psychosis, utilizing a bevy of techniques: The framing shrinks down around him, the sound gets muffled, as if underwater, save for the incredibly unnerving metallic sound of cables being stretched taut, and the sickening kathunk of a heavy car door slamming shut.”

Capsule Review

13. Another Round

“Typically, Vinterberg avoids simple conclusions  —  and God help us all if this film gets picked up by a U.S. studio and remade with, say, Vince Vaughn, Kevin James, Steve Buscemi, and Chris Rock  —  providing more or less equal examples of the delirious fun drinking with your friends can be (the film opens with a group of high schoolers gleefully doing “lake races” whereby teams compete to drink a case of beer while running around the nearby body of water; and closes with the same teen crew, and some of their teachers, whooping it up in celebrating their graduation); and the horrorshow it can become (one teacher ends up peeing the bed, and on his wife in the process, another wakes up bloodied and out of it in front of his neighbor’s house), leading to very real and horrible consequences.”

Capsule Review

12. Soul

“Co-director Pete Docter is the creative force behind many of Pixar's best titles, having a hand in the Toy Story franchise, WALL-E, Up, and also directing Inside Out, a brilliantly moving treatise on the subject of emotional upheaval. This film, which he co-wrote and made along with fellow co-director Kemp Powers, is his first film back at the helm since that high-water mark, and he has again dug into the fertile earth of our mortality and come back with a particularly vibrant crop.”

Full Review

11. The Burnt Orange Heresy

“Based on the novel by Charles Willeford, the film briskly moves through its paces, clouding the waters with the schemes of duplicitous men, who have sold out any love of art for their greater obsession of cash and prestige. A literary thriller in the vein of The Talented Mr. Ripley, it’s become a genre all too rare in the era of blockbuster bravado. This film will remind you what a mistake that is.”

Full Review

10. Lovers Rock

“In the course of the party, the fuses blow while the house DJ is spinning Janet Kay's "Silly Games," a fan favorite at the time. Undaunted, the guests continue dancing away, singing the lyrics a capella in delirious unison, as McQueen's camera swirls around the living room as if nothing happened. Such a heartfelt moment of unbridled togetherness, putting into distinct bas relief the sense of community we've been denied as a species in 2020, feels like a benediction, an epitaph for the year, and a salve for what we've all been so desperately missing.”

Capsule Review

9. Time

“Ostensibly, it’s about the strain of incarceration on even the most grounded of families (an experience naturally disproportionate for POCs); but, on a deeper level, it’s also about the manner of our use of the limited number of revolutions we get to enjoy situated on this earth. It is a profound knock-out.”

Full Review

8. New Order

“Meet the new boss, only in Michel Franco’s damning portrait of a society locked forever in cycles of oppression, revolution, and new oppression, it makes no difference who you are, what your belief system is, or whether or not you subscribe to a moral set of ethics.”

Capsule Review

7. Dick Johnson is Dead

“Utilizing stunt people and special effects, Johnson kills her father off a number of different gruesome ways, as a means of softening the blow of actually losing him as his mind slowly slips away. This eventually culminates in a final gambit, both acutely painful and deeply moving, in which our sense of things gets seriously upended. As Johnson put it during the post-screening Q&A, the film serves as a “doomed experiment trying to keep my father alive forever.” This film won’t make him immortal, alas, but it does make him indelible.”

Capsule Review

6. Martin Eden

“Marcello packs the film with offbeat bits and pieces of other films, including strips of what appear to be vintage home movies, sometimes in juxtaposition to what Martin is feeling  —  a group of kids swinging wildly from the bar of a fence, to a full galley ship taking in water and suddenly sinking like an iron ingot – which adds a more winsome, timeless element to the narrative. It’s clearly set in the past, but avoids being too dependent on that particular sense of place and time. Martin is a young man, at first, just coming into himself, and the actions he takes, what he goes through, the film seems to suggest, would be similar in any age.”

Full Review

5. Minari

“The film is certainly charming, but that’s not to diminish its straightforward approach to its characters’ plight. It doesn’t shy away from their difficulties, and as a result, it doesn’t cheat towards smarmy emotional closure.”

Capsule Review

4. Collective

“The breath of hope in the film, when the inept Minister of Health resigns, leading to the placing of a new, emboldened director who works quickly to clean the quagmire left by his predecessors, is just as quickly expelled after the next round of elections, in which the Social Democrat party  —  the very ones in charge of this catastrophe in the first place  —  gets re-elected with an even greater majority than what they had before. A perfect reflection of what happens when a government is allowed to exist without any meaningful oversight, other than from a bedraggled press and a disenchanted electorate.”

Full Review

3. First Cow

“Reichardt, a naturalist at heart, is not known much as a humorist, but there is a lightness to her screenplay -- co-written by Jonathan Raymond, her frequent collaborator, who wrote the original novel upon which its based -- that keeps it as sweetly airy as one of Cookie's fried confections. The two friends are so out of step with their surroundings -- the party of men Cookie initially travels with are little more than brutish thugs, and the fort upon which they end up is no better -- they almost had to find each other. They are reunited in the local bar of the fort only because literally every other patron runs out to egg on a brawl between two loutish combatants.”

Full Review

2. Never Rarely Sometimes Always

“Hittman’s eye for detail and emotional complexity  —  her characters can rarely articulate anything they’re experiencing  —  is incredibly acute, and she pulls tremendously understated performances out of her two leads.”

Capsule Review

1. Nomadland

“Perhaps no American director since Terrance Malick has made more of the collapsing light of dusk and twilight than Chloe Zhao. Much of her new film, which stars Frances McDormand as a transigent woman (“not homeless, houseless”), who traverses back and forth across the west in her beat up live-in van, doing seasonal work, takes place in that particular kind of vibrant half-darkness that shrouds the desert and its mountains with a magic kind of mystery.”

Capsule Review

Other Worthy Mentions: 7500; Assassins; Bacurau; Beanpole; Beginning; Black Bear; Bloody Nose Empty Pockets; Boys State; Come Play; Emma; Gunda; His House; Horse Girl; I Am Greta; Jacinta; La Llorona; Let Him Go; Limbo; Mangrove; Mayor; MLK/FBI; One Night in Miami…; Palm Springs; Possessor Uncut; Red, White & Blue; Relic; She Dies Tomorrow; Shirley; Shithouse; Shiva Baby; Some Kind of Heaven; Spring Blossom; Swallow; Tenet; The Dissident; The Invisible Man; The Nest; Sound of Metal; The Vast of Night; The Viewing Booth; The Way I See It; Vitalina Varella; Welcome to Chechnya

Inexplicably Underrated: 7500; Shithouse

Biggest Welcome Surprise(s): The Vast of Night; His House; She Dies Tomorrow

The Best Two Films I Saw This Year, Period: Satantango (1994); Harlan County, USA (1976)

[infinite-xerath]

Runeterra Retcons 2: Aatrox and the Darkin

I did another one. There’s one more character I have in mind to do, but then I’ll probably take a small break from these))

Aatrox is an interesting case; while I don’t necessarily believe his current lore is BAD per se, I think he’s more-so a case of missed opportunity and wasted potential. Aatrox, to me, reeks of a case where Riot gave zero forethought to the future of this character when they created him. To fully understand why I feel this way, we’re going to have to take a step back and analyze some of the history of League itself, as well as some characters connected to Aatrox. So, with that all said, let’s look back at the history of this angry red swords and see if we can make sense of the changes given to him over the years.

Aatrox was released into the game back in 2013, under the title “The Darkin Blade.” Now, what’s a Darkin, you ask? Well, at the time, we didn’t really know, and it kind of became obvious that Riot didn’t either. Let’s have a read of his original lore, shall we?

I was always a fan of Aatrox’s original lore: an ancient, mysterious figure who shows up to help you turn the tides of a war, but only after you’d effectively surrendered your own humanity for the sake of victory. The fact that there was an entire race just like him became the center of fan speculation of years, and countless theories cropped up as to who and what the Darkin even were. Some assumed that they were related to the Seven Deadly Sins, while others thought they might be akin to the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Some thought they might just be a dying race, and that some might actually be benevolent, unlike Aatrox.

Unfortunately, Riot wouldn’t give us an answer for quite some time. All we knew was that Aatrox was a Darkin and that he looked a lot like typical modern depictions of demons. That does raise the question though: why didn’t they just make Aatrox a demon? He helps turn the tides of conflict with no apparent goal beyond just prolonging the chaos and suffering brought about by war. A lot of his voice lines even painted him as a psychotic “artist” of sorts, prior even to Jhin, that viewed conflict and bloodshed as elegant. Well, to better understand the full picture here, we need to take a step back and examine the broader picture here.

Now, admittedly, we’re delving in some speculation territory here, as it’s impossible to really say what Riot’s original plans for the Darkin were, if any. That being said, the inclusion of something like a demon would have had a lot of implications back in the day, as the Runeterra as we knew it then didn’t really have a “Heaven” or “Hell.” Sure, we had “angels” with Kayle and Morgana, but they were treated more like how Asgardians are treated in Marvel: more like a race of super powerful aliens than actual divine entities (keep that in mind for later.) If anything, what little we knew of an “afterlife” in League came from Yorick’s old lore, in which he acted like a psychopomp similar to Charon from Greek myth.

It wasn’t until Tahm Kench came out in 2015 that Riot properly introduced demons as a concept in the lore, retconning several other champions like Evelynn and Nocturne into being demons. For a bit of context: in Runeterra, demons are effectively malevolent spirits from the spirit realm that feed on negativity: fear, pain, hatred, and so-forth. When other characters started getting turned into demons, a lot of people, myself included, thought that Aatrox would meet the same fate. After-all, they hadn’t actually DONE anything with the “Darkin” outside of Aatrox’s bio, and he functioned in a manner similar to them. Some even theorized that the Darkin would be made to represent a specific breed of demon, and this theory gained even more traction when Tahm Kench was given special voice lines for taunting near Aatrox.

Then, on July 12, 2017, we got Kayn, and with him: Rhaast. Rhaast is the second Darkin character added to the lore: a talking scythe with an eye that possess its host. Kayn is able to hold back Rhaast’s influence, keeping it to a single arm through the use of shadow magic, but depending on your actions in-game, you can see what happens if Rhaast manages to win their struggle and take over Kayn’s body completely. With Rhaast’s introduction, it pretty-much cemented that the Darkin were living weapons that took over the hosts of their wielders, which made sense given that Aatrox’s sword was always hinted to be alive and have a mind of its own. In fact, the idea of the Darkin being living weapons, or at least being bound to their weapons in some way, was one of many fan theories raised since Aatrox’s release all the way back in 2013.

Unfortunately, the new champion’s bio didn’t give us a lot to work with. Rhaast was the weapon, but Kayn himself is the Champion, so a lot of his bio tells us more about Kayn’s backstory: how he joined the Order of Shadows, how he acquired Rhaast in the first place, etc. While this isn’t exactly a problem, it gave us no further information on the Darkin; what they really were, where they came from, and why there are only five left in existence all remained mysteries for the fans to speculate about. It still wasn’t even clear if the Darkin were connected to demons, or if they were something else entirely.

Now, it’s around this time that another theory began to start blowing up in popularity; technically, this was another old fan theory, but now that we had a general idea of what the Darkin actually were, there was another Champion wielding a living weapon that fans started to speculate might be connected to them: Varus. Varus is an old character, and though we won’t be deep-diving into him too much into this video, allow me to give you a tldr of his original story.

Varus was an Ionian archer set to guard the Pit of Pallas, a giant hole where his people had long ago sealed some unexplained corrupting purple entity that seemed like it maybe should have related to the Void somehow but didn’t. Varus resisted the entity’s influence for years until Noxians one day showed up and started slaughtering his people, wanting to get their hands on Pallas so that they could use it as a weapon because of course they did. Varus was faced with a choice: stay and guard the temple built around the pit or go back to his village and help his people fight. Varus chose the former and was apparently SUCH a badass archer that he single-handed kept the invaders at pay with his arrows, though this choice came at a cost: when Varus returned to his village, everyone he knew and loved was dead, including his wife and son.

Enraged, Varus returned to the pit and struck a deal with Pallas: he would allow the entity to inhabit his body in return for vengeance against the Noxians. Varus proceeded to wander the world with a bow made from the entity’s own solidified essence in the hopes of finding and killing… Basically every Noxian he could. Yeah, Varus wanted nothing short of full-on genocide, starting with the surviving soldiers that attacked his village. There’s a lot to go into there, but you’ve probably figured out the relevance of this by now: Pallas turned itself into a bow for Varus to take his vengeance in exchange for possession over his body. Not too dissimilar a living sword and scythe who also possessed people and had an insatiable hunger for death and destruction, right?

Riot seemed to agree, and in 2017 they released a music video along with a comic and an entirely new bio for Varus. Together, these updates served to not only retcon Varus’s backstory (a topic for another episode) but finally give us an update as to who and what the Darkin were. In a word: they were aliens.

In short, the Darkin were a race from another planet/dimension drawn to Runeterra for its abundant use of magic. They tried to conquer the planet, causing the Great Darkin War, which ended only when the races of Runeterra figured out how to seal the Darkin in their own otherworldly weapons. Varus, Aatrox, Rhaast, and two others were trapped in their weapons, which an unnamed warrior queen (possibly an Aspect) used to drive back the other Darkin and seal the portal to their world. The five that were imprisoned in their weapons were then scattered and hidden across Runeterra.

This, at last, brings us back to Aatrox’s new bio:

“One of the ancient Darkin, Aatrox was once a peerless swordmaster who reveled in the bloody chaos of the battlefield. Trapped within his own blade by the magic of his foes, he waited out the millennia for a suitable host to wield him - this mortal warrior was corrupted and transformed by the living weapon, and Aatrox was reborn. Though tales of the darkin have now passed into legend, he remembers only too well the destruction of his race, and wreaks his vengeance one sword blow at a time.”

So Aatrox was made into a general for an alien race who sought to finish what his people started by having the Runeterrans fight and slaughter one another in a series of bloody conflicts… For a few months, at least. Literally the next year in 2018, Aatrox finally got his visual and gameplay update, turning him into the World Ender we know today. Along with this came entirely new lore for him, as well as the Darkin.

Insert lore here

So… The Darkin are no longer invading aliens, but Ascended who went nuts and were trapped inside their own weapons. In other words, the Darkin went from being a race to being more of a derogative term for fallen demigods. What’s more, Aatrox received a VERY substantial alteration his character and personality: he went from being a war-loving “artist” who causes conflict for the sake of it to being a tortured soul who wants to die so badly that he’ll end all of creation to do it.

Now, like I said before: I don’t think this backstory is bad. I don’t hate it. It does a lot to flesh out Shurima as a region, gives us more info on the Ascended, and it adds a bit more nuance to Aatrox as a character. Imagine being trapped inside a weapon, losing all access to your senses. Imagine that the only chance you get to move is when you take over someone else’s body, transforming it into a warped version of your own former glory, only to realize that you’re on a time limit and the only way you can continue to walk, talk, see, hear, or feel anything is by slaughter’s people and consuming their blood. Imagine spending CENTURIES trying to find a way out, only to repeatedly learn that any means to free or even kill yourself ends in failure. Imagine being SO desperate to rest that you’re willing to end all of existence just to find peace.

I like Aatrox’s new story. I do. Honestly, the only real complaint I have is that Aatrox doesn’t exactly have a PLAN for how he aims to end existence? Like, he calls himself a World Ender and a god-slayer, but we only know of one god he’s actually slain (Pantheon) and given that Runeterra is still around, it seems like his world-destroying count is still at zero. Honestly, if he wants to end all of existence, I feel like turning the Void, a reality-consuming threat that he has FOUGHT BEFORE would kind of be the obvious solution? Honestly, I imagine that just chucking the sword into the Void would be a good way for him to end his own existence, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

So, if I like Aatrox’s new lore, why am I rewriting it? Simple, really: even if I overall like his current lore state, I feel like the road we took to get here was… Kind of long and unnecessary. It seems kind of obvious looking back that Riot didn’t have a clear long-term plan for Aatrox or the Darkin, as years of unanswered questions followed by multiple retcons kind of entails. From being the last survivor of an ancient race, to MAYBE being a demon, to being an alien, to finally becoming a fallen demigod. Aatrox’s history is practically a whole story in-and-of-itself, and I’ve long wondered how things might have turned out if Riot had, you know, picked a direction and gone with it a bit sooner?

So, here’s the basis of my rewrite: I’m gonna try and incorporate elements from all of Aatrox’s various backstories into a single, coherent biography. Can I manage it? Well, I’ll leave that for you all to determine…

When the skies are blackened by the flames of war and the earth is dyed red with blood, Aatrox draws near. For as long as conflict has existed among the races of Runeterra, the Chaos Blade has manifested to those deemed worthy, turning the tides of battle in exchange for the flesh of whoever wields it.

The true origins of the Darkin have long been lost time. Some say that they are the first weapons ever forged, corrupted by the malice of those who have wielded them over ages. Others claim that the Darkin are a rare breed of demon, of whom only five remain. Only one thing is certain: the Darkin exist only to bring death and destruction, and none embrace this more than Aatrox himself.

Tales of a wicked blade manifesting amidst the heat of battle exists across all cultures, from the frigid north to the blistering south. The sword is said to appear before warriors on the cusp of defeat: those who would give anything, even their own lives, for the sake of victory. Those who wield the Chaos Blade are granted inhuman strength and endurance, often haled as heroes for turning the tides of battle. With every foe slain, however, the Chaos Blade grows stronger, consuming the mind of its wielder and warping their flesh. In time, the hero becomes a mindless vessel, slaughter all in its path until slain. When its host falls, the Chaos Blade returns from whence it came, waiting for the moment that another might heed the sword’s call.

For ages this cycle persisted, until the day the sword manifested before a warrior of Shurima’s Ascended Host. After the Fall of Icathia, the Sunborn were called to face the encroaching threat of the Void, wielding celestial might and magic great enough to crush a hundred mortal armies. Before the Void, however, even the mighty Ascended began to falter.

The horrors summoned by Icathia steadily pushed north, consuming everything in their path and twisting the earth into maddening shapes. As their numbers dwindled, many Sunborn called to retreat, hoping to regroup within the capital and think of a plan. As some fled, however, the Ascended general Aatrox stood his ground. Pushing his draconic form to its limits, Aatrox struck down one abomination after another. When his great blade, soaked in the Oasis of the Dawn itself, was wrenched from its grasp, Aatrox fought with tooth and claw. Even if he were to fall, Aatrox would do everything in his power to slay as many Voidspawn as possible, resigning himself to death so the other Sunborn might rally their forces.

It was then, amidst the sea of madness woven by the Void, that Aatrox saw a sword embedded into the twisted earth. The blade seemed to call out to him, and Aatrox took it without question. In an instant, the general was filled with unimaginable strength and fury, and his allies watched in amazement as Aatrox fought with strength of ten Ascended warriors. Inspired by his newfound fury, the Sunborn rallied, their fighting spirits renewed at last.

When the conflict against the Void drew to a close, Aatrox was haled as a hero among heroes, though many of his former allies became wary of him and the wicked sword he now carried. Some suggested that the blade should be destroyed, while others, such as Aatrox himself, argued that its power would be instrumental if the Void ever returned.

Resentment and suspicion began to grow amongst the Sunborn, and the cracks only grew larger as Aatrox aided the other Ascended in summoning weapons similar to his own. The warriors of the Ascended host began to distance themselves from one-another and the capital, taking up posts across Shurima’s vast empire. They remained united only in the shared goal of protecting their empire.

And then the Sun Disc fell.

Following Xerath’s Ascension and the death of Emperor Azir, years of growing tensions erupted across the desert. Some Ascended raced for the chance to fill the now-vacant seat of power for themselves, while others insisted on finding a means to restore the royal dynasty. Debate soon turned to bloodshed, and Shurima was engulfed in a war that lasted centuries. It wasn’t until the Aspects of Targon intervened that the war was finally brought to an end.

Those wielding Darkin weapons were bound to their armaments with powerful magic, in-turn trapping the wicked weapons in the physical realm. The Darkin were scattered across Runeterra, and yet the souls of the Ascended persisted, stripped of bodies and senses.

For ages, Aatrox stewed within the sword that had become his prison, his soul slowly being corrupted further and further by the Chaos Blade until the two had become a single being. Ages passed and the sword was slowly forgotten, until a band of thieves broke into the Darkin’s prison in search of ancient treasure. When the thieves’ leader touched the sword, his mind was overwhelmed in an instant, his body transformed into a twisted likeness of Aatrox’s Ascended form. The Darkin slew the other thieves in an instant, drawing strength from their blood before breaking free of his long confinement.

Aatrox emerged into a frozen landscape with but a single goal: to bring about a war so violent, so destructive, that it would be the end of all things. He would be the World Ender, herald of a conflict to end all others. With every foe he slays, with every swing of his sword, Aatrox sews the seeds for violence and carnage, drawing one step closer to his magnus opus.

So, what did you think? As stated before: my primary goal this time around was to try and combine Aatrox’s various origin stories into a single narrative. Admittedly, I could only manage to do this by adding an air of mystery to the actual origin of the Darkin; maybe they’re demons, maybe they’re aliens, maybe they’re something else entirely. I know that might seem like a bit of a cop-out, but a large part of what made the Darkin so interesting to the community in the first place was the air of mystery surrounding them, and the room it offered for speculation and theorizing.

Another main concern, though, was that I wanted to find a way to blend old Aatrox’s personality with his new one. The thing I miss most about the OG Aatrox was that, despite being obsessed with war and bloodshed, he wasn’t just another rage monster. He was calm and composed, and a lot of his lines hinted at a deeper philosophy toward the inevitability of conflict rather than just “I wanna kill everything because I’m angry!” League has way too many of those, in my honest opinion. I thought that, by combining his mind with a semi-sentient sword that brings about carnage because that’s simply its PURPOSE, a little but of that old Aatrox might shine through.

But, as always, this is all just my opinion; how I, personally, would have gone about reworking the character. If you prefer Aatrox as he currently is, or think my version of the story is inferior, that’s fine! Feel free to share your thoughts and comments, but please, let’s try to keep it civil. After-all…

The last thing we want is to start a war over this…

[spoppersonality]

SPOP Character Typing: Adora

ESTJ, 9w1, 953, so/sp

I’ve seen Adora typed as ESFJ and ENFJ, and I get why people don’t think she seems “hard” enough to be an extroverted thinking dominant type. But I think this is exactly the kind of mistype that happens when people don’t know Enneagram. Adora is an interesting mix because she has a super soft Enneagram core type and a harder “take-charge” MBTI type.

So, let’s get into that.

MBTI: ESTJ

I think what people forget when they type Adora as an extroverted feeling dominant type, is how incredibly personal and tactful Fe-doms are. (On a good day, anyway.) Adora, however, tends to be more impersonal and straight-to-the-point. Te-doms can also come off as people-oriented, that is not exclusive to Fe-doms, but they go about it differently. There is an Fe-dom in the Best Friends Squad, but that is not Adora.

If you think about it, Adora is a very classic Te-Si type. She likes rules and has a natural inclination towards implementing those rules in a very practical, hands-on type of manner. She’s very action oriented. She sees what needs to be done, and does it. ESTJs are highly effective in the sense that they don’t often stop to ask as much questions as some other types. They go about things based on what gets them from point A to point B, and what has worked in the past, or how they are used to doing things. They can also get quite hooked in moving from one plateau to the next in a routinely manner. This can often be how ESTJs go through life, if they don’t stop to think about why they are doing what they are doing, and specifically what personal values drive their actions. No wonder ESTJs are generally the jockiest jocks to ever jock.

Being a Te-dom doesn’t mean you’re not empathetic. Adora definitely is. It just means that you primarily show it through action. If a friend cries, for an Fe-dom the most natural course of action may be to sit with them and listen, and for a Te-dom it might be eliminating the reason for the crying. This is overly simplified of course, and real people as well as good fictional characters are multifaceted, but you get the idea. This is how Adora most often works. It’s not: “Catra, I can see something is bothering you, do you want to talk about it?” It’s: “Let’s take a skiff for a ride to cheer you up.”

Adora can also be quite funny in a random seeming way, which is due to her tertiary extroverted intuition. ESTJs and ESFJs (tert Ne-types) are often one of the most hilarious people alive, because they like to use their extroverted intuition in tandem with their dominant function. The level of control they have over it isn’t often that great, so it comes off as child-like randomness. Their first two functions lead them towards order and predictability, but when Ne comes into play and they venture out of their usual habits, they may surprise you. The results might be unpredictable: Turns out licking sand didn’t work for Adora but with the help of her friends she managed to play Double Trouble’s game nicely.

In general ESTJs are not in their comfort zone with Ne-type of creativity or innovation but they are not hopeless with it. Adora struggles with the more unpredictable qualities of her sword, like turning it into different objects. She doesn’t use that quality too often and doesn’t have too much variety when she does. While Adora’s first instinct is to simply charge ahead, someone with high Ne would’ve been likely to utilize the flexible qualities of the sword to the max. But Adora can still manage it, her Ne isn’t low enough to be considered her Achille’s heel. She takes a bit of time with it but eventually comes up with solutions that work, such as carrying her sword as a bracelet.

Introverted feeling is what Adora desperately needs in her life and has trouble figuring out. If you think about Fi-doms, they are people who spend a lot of time thinking about who they are, what they want, what they value, and their life builds around that. It’s their most natural state, thinking about whether or not everything they face is something they like/dislike, if it’s good/bad, right/wrong, desirable or not, them or not them.

This is what makes the planets align for an ESTJ. They neglect this function, and when they finally start developing it, the whole world is new for them. This is very literal in Adora’s case, it’s like Etheria’s magic is waking up with her introverted feeling. (Because when all your four functions finally align it IS magic.) That function, introverted feeling, is essentially where she keeps her love for Catra, or rather, it’s the function she needs to be able to make one person, whether it’s Catra or herself, a priority. Te is a rather utilitarian function, and since Adora leads with that and has internalized the belief that her desires don’t matter, there’s nothing in her dominant extroverted thinking process that would justify her “selfish” desires. Te cares about numbers, masses and large scale consequences. She needs Fi, the function that is all about individuality, and essentially yourself. We know how much it takes for that function to surface for her, but when it does, oh boy.

Enneagram

Core type: 9

As a type 9, Adora comes off as unassuming, warm and friendly. 9’s are all about forgiveness, self-neglect and acceptance.

9 is the most “traditionally selfless” type, because unlike Enneagram 2s for example, 9s don’t expect anything in return for what they give to others. Adora’s upbringing has magnified that quality in her (which was obviously very intentional from Shadow Weaver). 9s also have a natural tendency to ignore negative feelings, so they can keep feeling “okay” and unaffected by the external world. This quality makes 9s susceptible to staying in bad situations and bad relationships for a very long time, because they so persistently see the good in others. This is why it took Adora so long, and why she needed evidence that was impossible to ignore to realize that the Horde didn’t have a good cause. 9s are conflict-avoidant because they fear loss and separation above all. That’s why Adora too is such a people pleaser. She would rather live in “fake” harmony, than be the one to create conflict that causes emotional pain. Unfortunately, that’s exactly why 9s sometimes upset others. Like how Adora is unwilling to do anything that would get her on Shadow Weaver’s bad side, which hurts Catra. Or how she pretends to be the She-Ra Plumerians expect her to be so she wouldn’t disappoint them, which only leads her to disappoint them more later. It’s very classic 9 of her to let things develop to a point where everything comes crashing down before addressing the conflict she really needs to address. 9s tend to go with the flow, and sometimes too far.

One of the big things with 9s is that they lack a solid sense of self. They are out of touch with their needs, desires, and identity. Another thing that Shadow Weaver magnified in Adora. Basically, if you break a 9’s sense of self-worth far enough, they’ll become a blank canvas for others to write on, because they already believe they are somehow inherently “less” than others. They always assume to be the least important person in the room. As a 9, what being She-Ra essentially meant to Adora was being everyone else’s servant. For other types it would have meant different things, like to a type 4 it would have been about having personal significance in the world, and to a 3 it would have essentially been about being a celebrity. As a 9 Adora was also one of the most likely people to just roll with it. Like, if you threw something like that at a type 6, they would have most likely just bolted, and half of the storyline would’ve been about “I can’t/don’t want to do this!”. (=a tip for anyone who wants to write certain role swap AUs. ;D)

As a 9, Adora integrates to 3, so at her best mental state, she becomes driven, ambitious, present, and sees her value as a person. She’s no longer someone things happen to, but she’s the driving force in changing her life and the things around her. She disintegrates to 6, so in times of prolonged stress she can get easily irritable, pessimistic, and feel helpless.

Wing: 1

This is where Adora gets her grit, and the moralizing side to her character. Having a strong 1-wing definitely helped her survive in the Horde but it also frequently adds fuel to her self-sacrificing: it’s so easy to back up that 9 quality by telling herself it’s “the right thing to do”. The Right Thing is all 1 cares about. It also plays directly into her dominant Te tendency to follow rules, and makes her the typical “Lawful Good” type of person. Catra’s accusation that Adora “thinks she’s better than everyone” doesn’t miss the mark too far. Even though Adora isn’t a core 1, and as such her whole identity isn’t wrapped up in being morally superior, she does care about having integrity to a certain extend. So, maybe she doesn’t literally think she’s better than everyone, but she still strives to be above certain things, and hates the idea of being “bad”.

Head fix: 5

This is largely where Adora’s nerdy side comes from. 5s want to be competent, and they hate not knowing what to do, so they want a lot of information. Not knowing and not understanding frightens them. The most blatant expression of this with Adora is probably the whole thing with the princess prom. This side of her comes to surface when she can’t just adapt (=9) or do the right thing (=1). 5 is also detached and uncomfortable with their feelings, so this only strengthens Adora’s 9-tendency to not address hers. 5s are also big on compartmentalizing, so this greatly helps Adora to entertain certain difficult realities inside herself as if it’s nothing, such as Catra is an enemy she routinely fights, but she would also die for her in a heartbeat.

Heart fix: 3

If none of the three other strategies work, Adora will try to solve things and get people on her side by showing off. 3s want to be viewed as valuable and useful by others, and in Adora’s case it’s probably best seen in the way she acts when she meets Huntara. 3 is where she gets her cocky side. It’s a funny contrast with her humble 9-core, and in most cases she only has enough confidence to act like this when she’s with Catra, or when she’s She-Ra. Having a 3-fix also plays into her need to be useful, because while 9s often want to be useful to excuse their existence, 3s also want to hear that they are useful, so whatever little vanity Adora has will always directly reinforce the idea that good things come from her overexerting herself.

Instinctual Variant: so/sp

Social instinct is Adora’s primary instinct. She has a natural inclination to play by the rules of the group and acknowledge hierarchy, because social variants get safety from belonging and having a place, a role, in something bigger than themselves. Even though she has her hero complex, she doesn’t tend to fly solo until the stakes are really high. She never questions the Princess Alliance, it’s simply natural for her to move from one group to another, and that She-Ra’s strength belongs for the rebellion. She doesn’t really seem to get why some other people don’t seek the strength in numbers. Losing She-Ra also primarily means losing her place in the group for her, and she very much struggles to accept this.

Self-preservation instinct is Adora’s secondary one. It may seem like it isn’t because she’s so ready to die for others, but self-preservation isn’t really about that. It’s more about being preoccupied with questions of resources. Like, after turning against the Horde, Adora isn’t just concerned about losing the support of the group, her mind also immediately goes to “I don’t have a roof over my head”. She’s not as particular about having her physical needs met as a primary self-pres would be, but it’s included in her priorities. She feels out of place in Bright Moon because she’s used to different kind of surroundings, and losing She-Ra’s power is a hard blow because of losing the physical strength she has as She-Ra: her means for providing physical safety for others. She also desires some amount of independence, and She-Ra gave her that as well.

Sexual instinct is what Adora needs more in her life. That’s so tied to the whole point of the show that I’m not even sure what would be worthwhile for me to say about it at this point. The whole conflict between her and Catra relates so closely to it. Adora will routinely make sacrifices in her personal relationships for the common good, because one-to-one relationships are not her first concern in life. People who neglect their sexual instinct are uncomfortable with their more “primal” and intense feelings, so even in her closest relationships Adora is more about being friendly and accommodating and showing warm feelings to the other. She doesn’t have the “let me stare you deep into the eyes for hours and drown myself in them” quality that is characteristic of the sexual instinct. However, this is exactly the part she needs to accept in herself to be fully satisfied and to take her relationships to another level.

SPOP is so juicy because it’s so much about personal growth. We see Adora face pretty much every weakness and blind spot that relates to her personality, and we get to see her change for the better. At least that makes it very satisfying for me to analyse, because I’m such a fan of growth. Can’t wait to get to analyse the other main characters, and the supporting cast too.

Also, if you wish I would do a particular character, just tell me and I’ll take that into consideration!

[darqx]

Somewhat eclectic collection of asks

In which there’s some slightly more BP and HH Rire based questions, but also just some general BP/HH/random stuff. I did not separate this answer dump as well as i probably should have |D

I don’t do commissions atm sorry! (´∇ﾉ｀*)ノ But ty for the interest! :D I’m always pleasantly surprised when people want to voluntarily purchase my art haha.

“Catching” not quite, hunting yes, ensnaring maybe...(｡◝‿◜｡)

Deliberately going after a Battle Priest would mostly be due to ‘the game’ which is an optional, somewhat dangerous past time where Royals try and corrupt priests in order to harvest their souls, mostly as a status symbol. So Rire “catching” a BP would generally be in this manner and would net him a soul!

Their first few years (until they hit like their 30s or so) they age similarly to humans, after which they start aging much slower and their perceived age milestones are a lot further apart. So i guess more similar to the first thing you described :)

eg:

some species age more gracefully than others :>

1) A one on one Battle Royale is the, shall we say, socially accepted method of transferring the power and title lol. Sure, a Royal could potentially be murdered outside of one, however the new Royal will find their authority (and the DRL) harder to assert in the beginning of their reign as their constituents will respect them less. If a Royal was set upon by multiple people, the final person to deal the killing blow (whatever immediately kills them) would get the power. Royals don’t die from natural causes at this point haha, the power is a hot commodity |D

2) The Royal prior to Rire was about the third or fourth (in his life, not in the whole history of his sector). He was pretty typical of a Royal (a vicious dictator basically), however he was politically inept and very self-serving and under his rule the sector suffered quite a lot.

3) There is no limit on Royal height lol. Some species are gonna be taller or shorter than others obvs!

Ffft that would be the last thing he would ever do, it’s not like he can get sick from these [Earth] viruses |D Nah i just get a lot more asks here about Rire in BTD context hence why he doesnt appear with the other BP guys much when i draw him.

It stands for Hedone High :d Since i keep reusing characs HH was technically the OG universe for a bunch of them.

This meme pic is such a blast from the past lol

Oh a lot of that stuff is on DA or in my HH tag here! :D It is basically a lot of slice of life-esque stuff with my characs (the OG versions of the BP guys) in a all-boys boarding school. There was some semblance of a plot that shone through every now and then but unfortunately i didn’t really manage to pull together enough of a full storyline to make it a proper webcomic.

Nope lol (•̀⌄•́)

omg anon

To be fair to myself, i ithink i only drew that version once XD

It’s fine i pronounce it similar, like “he den” with the “den” rhyming with “then” lol.

I don’t think they could’ve been friends, BUT they could have definitely been acquaintances. The kind where you are neutral friendly enough to each other whenever your paths cross but you wouldn’t go out of your way to hang out with them or anything.

There are still some on DA for sure! The HH group should have some in the gallery! ^^

Yes an incredible amount if he also responds to the name Rire.

Oh! Headmistress~

HH!Rire is the headmaster of an all boys boarding school and, though he looks and acts benign enough, yes he is still evil. Compared to Demon!Rire, HH!Rire is actually far more concerning if only for the sheer fact that people like him actually exist IRL.