#was welcome but somewhat jarring

[1000fingers]

fun fact the worst social studies teacher ive ever had was named ms faust

[werecreature-addicted]

Do you remember your writings about a minotaur and a farmer girl? Well, how about this, one night there is a party in the small town, you know, and that day both humans and monsters attend, it is a day when everyone can have fun and relax, humans, werewolves, half-snake creatures, orcs, minotaurs, etc, anyway, in the town the minotaur realizes that the girl he lives with is somewhat "popular" among some humans and monsters, since it shows that some have an interest in her, you know, they are in love with her, and well this is something that makes our minotaur jealous 🤭

part one, two, three. and for those who didn't see the Minotaur's name is Sam now.

Sam looks up at the dazzling lights that flit through the night sky. Fireflies glow in the dark like stars. Children run around with glass jars trying to catch the small insects. There's so much noise, it's a little overwhelming, children shrieking in delight, groups of people talking loudly, and a little further down a band was playing.

You reach out and squeeze his hand, reminding him that he isn't alone.

"It's pretty, isn't it? I'm so glad you decided to come to the solstice festival with me," you say smiling. It is a beautiful summer night, and having you with him makes it all the better. he can't help but think that you're pretty tonight too.

"You've been begging me for weeks to come with you, I couldn't say no," he murmurs. it wasn't quite true, you'd just been hinting over and over again that he should come out with you tonight. You laugh and squeeze his hand again before letting go completely, and he fights the urge to pull your hand back in his and cling to you a little longer. Sam craves your touch more than he should, your hands are warm, and small in his, and they make him feel at ease in a place like this, surrounded by noisy strangers. Even though he's out of his element, he is glad he came, he feels better knowing he can keep an eye on you, and keep you safe, should the need arise.

You'd promised him other nonhumans would be there tonight, and you'd spoken the truth. everywhere you looked there were werewolves, nagas, and some paler humans he could only assume were vampires, Still, he felt like he stood out, he was a good foot taller than anyone else here, and he did notice the nervous glances he was getting. He gets it. he's big and scary, covered in scars, and has a broken horn.

The people of the town surprise him. many people came up to him and started a conversation, even though they were clearly nervous. He hated it. And he hated that he hated it. He still wasn't good at talking to anyone who wasn't you, just because you're nice and treat him with respect doesn't mean All humans are like that, he knows all too well just how cruel most of your kind can be.

That being said, most people coming up to him weren't actually there for him but for you. He knew you were lovely, kind, charming, and attractive, but he's a little surprised that so many others thought the same. It seemed like half the town wanted to catch up, buy you a drink, take you for a dance. humans and monsters alike.

He feels the jealousy spike, he wants to hoard your attention, and selfishly keep you all to himself. The two of you were basically alone on the farm, he'd almost forgotten what it was like to have to share your attention. and it's not a welcome change. Luckily for him, you don't seem eager to leave his side. You politely turn down the handsome werewolf who asked you for a dance. You seem perfectly committed to staying by his side this whole night, just like you promised you would. there are no words for how grateful he is that that's true.

"I don't know how to dance," he admits softly as the werewolf walks away.

"What?" you ask, not following his train of thought.

"I mean. if you want to dance tonight, that's not something you can do with me," he explains, his mood darkening as he thinks about the things you couldn't do with him that you could with a more normal man. He thinks about all the people who've talked to you tonight, any one of them would make a better more stable partner than him. He feels guilty for wanting you, especially when he considers how much he doesn't deserve you.

"No one was born knowing how to dance, Sam, it's a skill, you practice and you learn. If you want I can teach you," you offer. Sam felt the blood drain from his face, He'd fought countless bloody fights and none of that was as terrifying as the idea of trying to learn to dance in front of such a large crowd. You laugh lightly seeing the look on his face,

"At home, I'll teach you when we're alone, besides this-" you gesture to the band playing "-isn't really my style, I'll figure something better for us to dance to," you assure him, and he relaxes. Dancing, alone with you, at home. your shared home. it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Love is not a word that he never uses ever, and he rarely even allows himself to think it, but he's not sure how much longer he can keep the words inside. He's sure that if you really do teach him to dance that will be his breaking point, or maybe he wouldn't say "I love you" but he might just kiss you deeply instead. Then again, maybe he should, if you were officially his it might keep some of the other men in town away from you. He wouldn't mind that at all.

[torawro]

I’D DIE FOR YOU (AND I HAVE). ( s.a. )

sousuke aizen & black!fem!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, blank and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is portrayed as a black woman but you do not have to imagine her that way. using this map of the seireitei as a reference (i searched high and low for a consistent accurate one but it was hard). the first half is set pre-ryoka invasion / pre-soul society arc. the second half is aizen-centric (from his pov told from the 3rd person) and set post-tybw arc, years after he was sealed away in mugen, also including mention of events from vol. 1 of can't fear your own world (a light novel that's post-tybw & can be considered canonical); so all this being said: SPOILERS i guess???? of course you're welcome to read if you don't care about spoilers! somewhat based on 'die for you' by the weeknd & even more loosely based on 'dark red' by steve lacy. contains themes of heavy-ish angst, existential crises (?) & inner emotional turmoil within reader + aizen (separately). descriptions of character death, blood and violence. descriptions of manipulation/mind games. aizen is an unkind man. proofread (i did my best).

word count ━━ 11k

notes ━━ ! the way this fic was supposed to finished a month ago...but life once more gets in my way. and the way that it's this long....i anticipated the max being 10k but i greatly underestimated how long it would take to flesh out my idea. anywho i'm somewhat reentering my bleach era again. i’m not sure what it is but character analyses in the form of fanfiction is my jam rn like i really enjoyed writing this (i got tired of the length by like... 7k words lmao) but i like how this turned out. i've watched & read quite a bit of content that provide explanations as to why aizen is the way he is so i wanted to try my own portrayal of that in the context of canonical events. how i characterized him here is partially inspired by a fic i read about him last year so shout out to them for their support :D i hope i've depicted and humanized aizen well ♡. reblogs + commentary are heavily appreciated!!!!!

THE PAD OF YOUR THUMB SLOWLY glided against your bottom lip, the lingering aftertaste of jasmine tea still on its surface and on your breath. The absentminded motion of your thumb caressing your mouth, as if in deep contemplation, continued as you stared at the clock hanging on the wall above you.

It was past eleven, and the midnight hour only continued to draw near as time sustained its temporal march. And there you sat at your desk, floating in the limbo of your mind that was filled with hesitancy and admittedly, budding anticipation.

Your gaze lowered to the now empty porcelain cup, nothing remaining of its contents except the shriveled remnants of herbs and a few wayward drops of the brew.

Your senior comrade, captain Sōsuke Aizen, was correct in his prediction that you'd take a liking to its floral and delicate taste when he gifted you a jar full of the jasmine tea leaves as well as other ingredients.

The captain of Squad 5 seemed to be correct about a lot of things.

His intelligence and foresight, along with his kind and politely witty disposition, were qualities that you found somewhat charming, and gradually drew you closer to him.

Being the current third seat of the 9th company, your barracks and those of squad 5's were relatively close to each other's, so often you'd catch glimpses of and run into Captain Aizen on a pretty normal basis. Over the years, the conversations that bounced between the two of you expanded past the realm of formalities between a higher and lower ranking officer, and instead ranged in territories from literature, to art, to food & drink, and even to the politics of the government for which they were soldiers for.

Sometimes, you found it hard to believe that you managed to befriend a man like him. A man who seems to have mastered the balance between being a gentle soul, helpful to others, but also possessed enough refined power and skills to be named a captain within the Gotei 13.

Especially a man who wasn’t even of your own squad.

Despite the increasingly friendly relations and generally pleasant conversation, there were few moments where Aizen's words didn't feel quite. . . . real━ he didn't feel real. He spoke eloquently, often relying on figurative language to further illustrate his point and to breathe meaning into seemingly plain and meaningless words. But at times those words, his tone felt stained; stained with some substance or color you couldn't quite place. An enigmatic façade was painted over his speech, and it took too much mental capacity to try and find your own meaning in it.

So you'd often brush it off. Your over-reliance on your own reasoning that 'you weren’t able to come to a conclusion because there is no problem a conclusion could be generated from' successfully quieted your mind’s voice. You'd also frequently blame exhaustion, or your newfound hobby of watching human psychological crime shows during your off days for these subconscious ideas you had.

But you feared that the request Aizen made of you yesterday, the source of your current predicament, couldn't be blamed on any of those things. You looked at the clock again before returning to stare at your empty tea cup. For what reason could Sōsuke Aizen wish to meet you outside of the 1st division barracks? Specifically at this hour? You immediately thought of his question as uncharacteristic of him but prevented yourself from jumping to any further conclusions.

Aizen was a reasonable man, and you were sure there was a reasonable explanation.

With a final sigh of acquiescence, you stood up from your sitting position to retie your yukata before slipping a thicker, dark colored haori on top. You were unsure how cold it was this late at night or how long you'd be out, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

You paused for a moment, glancing longingly at your vanity mirror a few times, clearly torn between a decision, before giving in with a soft groan. Grabbing your favorite perfume, you quickly spritzed the spray onto both your inner wrists, either sides of your neck, and stray areas on your clothes. You’d proceed to make sure your hair was in order and your lips were as moisturized and glossy as a pair of tear-filled eyes before making your way to the door and slipping on your sandals.

Meeting with a captain— with Aizen of all people— in the dead of night resembled too closely to forbidden lovers rendezvousing under a fruit tree to fulfill their desires of embracing one another, with no one but the moon as their witness. The comparison alone caused the apples of your cheeks to burst aflame with embarrassment, and you lightly chastised yourself for even indulging in such an inappropriate train of thought. Such a scenario seemed far too deluded to even be considered ‘wishful thinking’.

But those delusions still seemed to make more sense than whatever other conclusion you have yet to reach.

Making your way out of your personal quarters, you activated your shunpo technique, stealthily hopping from one rooftop to the other in an effort to make it to Squad 1 barracks quicker.

After several minutes, your mind mostly engulfed with the 'what if's', the soles of your sandals finally touched ground, and you stood a few feet away from the massive walls and bridges that connected to and from the barracks. Even at night you were able to make out the bold-printed kanji for the number 1 that was painted on the building.

When you arrived, even from a nearby rooftop, you didn't see anyone around. Feelings of confusion and worry began to creep up and flicker to life in your mind.

But, as if your thoughts were as audible, you felt a light breeze of wind behind you, a familiar sound that indicated someone had made their presence known.

Startled, you reflexively reached for your zanpakuto, when you remembered that you hadn't even brought it with you. It still laid against the wall near your bed, just where you placed it earlier when you were relieved of your duties for the day.

You didn't think you needed it necessarily if you were just going to meet with Aizen, hence why taking it with you slipped your mind.

The flickers of concern were swiftly extinguished as your brain caught up with your body upon realizing who just appeared. A relieved sigh left your lips, a breath of air that seemed to release all the tension that had a grip on your heart and wound tight within your muscles. "Ah! Good evening Captain Aizen. You caught me off guard for a moment there."

"My apologies, that was not at all my intention." The Fifth Division Captain sported a dark colored scarf, his long captain's coat and the standard shihakushō all Gotei officers were supposed to wear. In the sash around his waist resided his own sheathed zanpakuto. His tawny hair maintained its usual part but looked slightly tousled, yet still remaining so in a meticulous fashion that made it look intentional.

The state of his hair alone, and his current facial expression made Aizen look more . . . approachable if that’s how you were to describe it. There was a glint in his eyes that you had seldom seen before.

"Thank you, for making your way down here to accommodate my rather. . . . atypical request. I again extend my apologies if I have inconvenienced you in any way."

You shook your head in reply, "It's alright, I wasn't doing anything too important anyway. Just having a cup of tea and delighting myself in a book before bed."

You glanced downwards at the foot or so of space that was wedged in between the two of you. You forced away the murmurs of your lingering thoughts that took note of how the moonlight and shadows danced across the surface of Aizen's face just right, and emphasized his decidedly handsome features.

"But having a complete and good night's rest is important to be fully functional in all areas of one's performance. Wouldn't you agree?"

You couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Yes, I do agree with that sentiment."

Aizen all but hummed in acknowledgement, letting a moment of silence fill the air before speaking again.

"Shall we be on our way?"

You nodded in agreement, following him as the both of you walked about the First Division grounds. From what you could tell based on your position, your aimless nightly stroll drew you closer to where Sokyoku Hill was located. The area became increasingly more grassy and contained less buildings.

Although Squad 1 grounds weren't terribly far from either of your barracks, you still weren't sure as to why Captain Aizen wished to meet out here. Initially you thought that perhaps he was just fond of this particular scenery, but really it could have been anything.

But still, you believed Aizen always had a purpose for everything he did.

After several moments, his warm voice replaced the evening silence, vocalizing your current thoughts. “I assume you are contemplating why it is I have asked you here, and I’m afraid the reason is quite benign. Truthfully, I just wished for your company. I often go on night walks to clear my head after a long day and thought I might invite you to join me this time, and have a conversation with each other."

Your brows shifted upwards, for that was not quite the answer you were expecting. It seemed too . . . simple. “Really? You just . . . wanted to talk with me? Plainly?”

The Squad 5 captain let out a short, soft laugh at the disbelief that was painted on your face. There was an expression of fondness present in his eyes and in the light smile he offered you. “Yes, exactly. I quite enjoy our discussions actually, they’re intellectually stimulating and relatively pleasant. You crossed my mind, and before yesterday, it has been quite some time since we’ve had the opportunity to unwind and talk.”

You hummed an mhmm in agreement, tearing your eyes away from Aizen’s side profile in favor of the hem of his captain’s haori, watching how it danced in the soft breeze. It seemed to be less distracting than the way Aizen peered down at you from time to time.

"I see. I am. . . . truly flattered by your words, Captain Aizen; you're too kind. Forgive me for asking but," you took longer strides so that you could fall into step next to him━ as if to speak to him more directly, "Why at this time? To talk with me, I mean. It couldn't wait until more . . . . . conventional hours?"

He chuckled again, and answered as smoothly as if he were awaiting you to ask him that. "Unfortunately, today's tasks ran a little long today, so I had to stay at my office later than usual." The spectacled man paused for a moment, before setting his soft gaze on you, "And besides, that completely defeats the purpose of inviting you on a night stroll, doesn't it?"

You ignored the heat flaring up in your cheeks again. Your mind refused to move past the fact that you had crossed Sōsuke Aizen's mind enough times━ or the times that he thought about you were significant enough━ and highly enough to invite you into his realm and indulge in these moments with him, when he very much could have done that alone.

A tender smile appeared on your lips, more towards yourself than the man next to you. "I. . . suppose it does."

The ashen-white moon only rose higher in the sky, providing an ambiance of tranquility as the both of you talked about whatever crossed the surface of your minds. Other times, the stillness of the night did the talking, and you'd listen to the leaves, and the wind, and the crickets sing together in harmony. Gradually as you walked and the beaten path grew more narrow, your figures drew closer together, until you could feel the long sleeves of his haori brush against your own.

You hadn't noticed that the two of you eventually stopped walking and paused under a tree until Aizen struck up conversation once more. When he called out your name in that gentle, velvety voice, you swore your heart was going to lurch out of your chest. The sound of your name rolled of his tongue so smoothly, the desire to hear it again grew within you.

"Uh━ yes, Captain Aizen?"

"Are you satisfied with way things are at the moment?"

You stood next to him, perplexed at his inquiry due to its vague nature. "Um, what. . . . things? I'm afraid I don't understand what you're asking."

The wind brushed Aizen's dark ochre tresses across his face as he took a step towards you, like the breeze itself was pushing him towards you. "Hm, perhaps I should be more clear then. Are you content with being a soul reaper? Are you satisfied with being a soldier for the Soul Society?"

With your brows slightly furrowed in thought, you remained silent for several seconds and overanalyzed his every word, trying to predict where he might be steering the conversation now. The longer you thought it over, the stronger that nagging feeling from within your soul became. The one that often told you what he was asking wasn't exactly . . . it didn't quite feel . . . . .

"This feels like a prelude to another insightful discussion on Shinigami━ and by extension━ Seiretei politics." Your words cut off your own thoughts, as if your mind was trying to sweep something under the proverbial rug.

Aizen huffed in amusement, before lightly shrugging, leaving your statement definitively unanswered.

You sighed as you seriously considered his question this time. "I mean sure, I guess. I'm somewhat satisfied with my job and all of . . . this," gesturing your hands in the air around you to emphasize your point. The 5th Division Captain made another humming noise, indicating that you still had his full attention. He inched a little closer into your personal space.

The mere action caused your next words to die in your throat and a quiet chuckle resounded from his, before your thoughts revived themselves again.

"Of course things could always be better but. . . . y'know. This is just how it is." You weren't quite sure if you should voice negative opinions about the Soul Society so plainly to a senior officer, even if he was the one who asked you in the first place, so you treaded lightly.

The same plainly relaxed smile from earlier remained painted across his lips, held in his chestnut irises was an emotion akin to affection. He seemed somewhat pleased that you were expressing your thoughts with him.

“And you? Are you satisfied, Captain Aizen?” You were unable to keep the teasing endearment out of your tone as you returned his gaze, casting aside the notions of Gotei officer seating and ranks for the moment. The air seemed like it shifted━ towards what, you weren't sure of━ but it kind of made you feel like you were adrift, floating in isolation from everything else around you.

It was still hard to process that you were alone with Captain Aizen right now. . . . at night.

A low hum reverberated within his chest, contemplative in nature as he replied, ��Perhaps.”

The wind whistled lowly again, erecting goosebumps on whatever part of your skin happened to catch the midnight breeze. You fought the instinctual urge to twitch towards the nearest source of heat, which happened to be Aizen. Now that would be even more wholly inappropriate than the 'lovers meeting at midnight' scenario.

The silence between the both of you was brief, but comfortable nonetheless. Once more his mellifluous voice cut through the quiet, leveled and calm, like still ocean waters.

“Come. I want to show you something,” Aizen reached his arm out towards you, your spine as straight as if someone stuck a metal rod dipped in ice water down your robes.

The captain's movements seemed steady and slow━ it had felt like time itself had hesitated for several moments. You thought he was going to . . . . well you weren't sure what he was going to do, and that's what you made you nervous.

Was he going to touch you? Cradle your cheek? Remove a stray leaf that happened to land on your head? You were left somewhat dangling in anticipation, not daring to flinch backwards because you felt it would be disrespectful or offensive. You hadn't even blinked, subconsciously fearing that this was only a very vivid daydream.

But alas, when his arm drew near it extended past your head, slightly above you, and held a small branch in his palm it like a delicate flower. You released a breath you didn't know you were holding, but that breath drew short again when your gaze was eye level with his lower neck and chin.

He seemed . . . . closer.

“I think that regarding the condition of the Soul Society," Aizen began in a quiet voice, referencing his own reply to his earlier question, "and therefore my thoughts about it, is akin to this set of leaves on this branch."

Snapping out of whatever stupor you seemed to have slipped in, you exhaled softly before stepping back a bit to look at what he was talking about. In his palm he cradled a wayward branch that grew from one of the other sturdier branches of the tree. The green foliage of its arms had started to weaken and dull in color. The cold air due to the seasonal transition to autumn caused the leaves become brittle, nearing closer to the edge of death.

The sound of just how brittle they were resounded in the air when Aizen thumbed the leaves in between his fingertips, observing their texture with pity laced in his small movements.

"These leaves will fall off as it gets colder. And soon, the rest of this tree will be bare as well. When the time comes, when the right circumstances fall into place, the old die to make way and usher in the new; it's simply the way things are. I think of the Soul Society government is structured in a similar manner."

You hung onto his every word, like he were imparting crucial wisdom to you. Even though you were a bit confused on the last part, and on the connection between dying leaves and Soul Society, you still listened intently, waiting for him bridge the gap between the two.

"The Soul Society as it is now can be thought of as a season. And this particular season, this climate has remained so for several centuries. How can nature continue━ how can we continue to progress when the old have yet to be washed away by the currents of time? It defies that of nature, yes?" He directed this question at you specifically, in search of your agreement.

You nodded your head, tearing your gaze away from the branch and directed it at the grass beneath your feet. Your brows furrowed a little as you mused over Aizen's words. He gave a rather ambiguous answer before but now, his words sounded like vague displeasure and muted criticism. Everyone was entitled to their opinion, and on some fronts, you'd sometimes agreed with the 5th Division Captain. The Soul Society was far from perfect, too much emphasis on nobility and status, the government resembled too closely to an oligarchy . . . But you didn't━ wouldn't voice these thoughts, though.

Instead you hummed quietly under your breath. There was that tugging sensation again. This time it told you that there was something deeper to this conversation than meets the eye. But what could there be? Was there anything at all or were you just overthinking it?

The voice-like sensation in your soul was calling out to you, but you couldn't hear it that well or quite make out what it was saying. It's as if someone was calling out to you in a crowded room that had music playing on the speakers: you felt like if you listened hard enough you could make it out but ultimately, the result would fruitless.

"And when that happens," Aizen continued, "sometimes nature has to be gently nudged back on track to keep things moving smoothly. That may require . . . shaking the tree. Pulling a few harmful weeds from one's garden, so to speak."

"Weeds?" You echoed. You felt like you understood this analogy and therefore what he was trying to say, but at the same time you didn't. Or was it . . . . you didn't want to understand what he was implying?

Because if you were interpreting his words correctly, if he were inconspicuously comparing the higher-ups and the government itself to dying leaves and harmful plants that needed to be removed, then . . . .

"You, dear child, are a mere weed in this scenario."

Wait, what did he just━

Your thoughts were cut short when a gush of air that smelt strongly of Aizen━ warm oak, vanilla, and a kind of musk that you weren't sure how to describe but was still pleasant all the same━ brushed against your face and took you by surprise.

But there was another aroma that arose, steadily becoming more apparent alongside the increasingly painful throbbing feeling you felt in your abdomen.

It smelt metallic. And it was something that you've smelt all too many times before.

It was blood.

Your gaze that was initially narrowed in confusion lowered as it followed the source of this pain. Your eyes slowly widened in as you struggled to comprehend the blade that was currently ran through your torso.

Aizen's blade.

"Actually, instead of weeds, a more accurate and befitting analogy perhaps would be blades of grass. You unfortunately have to step on them in order to reach the weeds you want to remove."

You couldn't really focus on what the captain was saying, because your brain was still struggling to process what the hell just happened. Your hands slowly rose from their sides and shakily grazed the zanpakuto, wanting to believe that if you touched it, it would pass right through your fingers like mist. But no, the sensation of cold steel was as real as the robes you wore on your back. You only just now are processing the muffled squelching sound of his sword impaling your flesh.

You wanted to scream, to cry in pain, to vomit, to push him off━ something. But all you could do was stand there, stunned, words completely failing you. "Wh. . . . what? Why did . . . . you . . . . "

A cough replaced your attempt at a comprehensive sentence, and you tasted iron in your mouth.

Fuck....was this really happening?

"Please don't push yourself trying to talk," His voice was like an index finger to one's lips, similar to a parent's gentle caress to quiet and sooth their child, "You'll only hasten your death. And I'm sure you wish to know the reason for my killing you, yes? You'd have to be alive for that."

'Killing me?' 'My death?' The certainty that rang in his words chilled the blood in your veins, and they confirmed the one conclusion you hoped wouldn’t come true: that you were going to die.

The frigid embrace of fear and dread engulfed you from behind and you shivered, causing the blade snugly lodged in your organs to shift. The pain of that foreign object moving even a little bit shot through your entire body, causing a groan to emerge from your throat.

Desperate to conserve your energy and the oxygen that was becoming a little harder to take in, your breathing became uneven and a little wheezed. Even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet the gaze of Captain Aizen to confirm if this was really happening or just an extremely realistic and vivid nightmare. The sight you might be greeted with could be more frightening than the actual impaling of his sword.

As if his betrayal couldn’t actually or figuratively cut you any deeper, just then there was a noise that grew louder and louder within a matter of seconds until it was almost deafening. You’ve distinguished it to be the sound of glass crackling.

Your surroundings formed cracks everywhere on its surface, like it was just an oversized window. Even on the grass you stood on, or what you thought was grass, began to crumble away.

A dumbfounded but panicked look was plastered on your face when your world literally shattered around you, the only remnants of it being you and the Captain.

What was underneath the mirage━ or you should say, the fact that it was a mirage at all━ only disturbed you and increased your perplexity.

Slightly hunched over and breathing heavily, it took a minute to process where you were, but you noticed that now the two of you stood in a formal room that looked like it was used for important meetings. The lights in the room slowly started to brighten, most likely due to motion sensors. Even with Aizen's scent lingering in your nose, you could still pick out a rather stale aroma that hung in the air like dead fruit that hadn't fallen off the tree.

"Is . . . this Cen . . . tral━ "

"You are correct. Where we currently stand is the assembly hall for Central 46, the judicial power of the Soul Society. All judiciary as well as legislative trials and proceedings are held here."

All around the room were seats with partitions, the kanji for 1 through 46 printed on them. In the seat for the 19th member, your gaze caught onto something on the translucent barrier. It was a little farther up so you had to squint your already blurring vision to see it properly.

You saw, and your heart promptly sank as a result, eyes widening once more.

There were splatters of a dark colored substance on the partition━ undeniably blood. And the lithe, bony fingers of an older man laid lifeless, peeking out from the side of the screen like the appendages themselves were trying to escape from the body they were attached to.

That man . . . was dead. That stale aroma you smelt was the stench of death.

It was only after that unsettling epiphany did your eyes dart frantically around the room and realize that every member of Central 46 was dead.

The disturbed expression on your face only intensified as your stare was pulled back down to where Aizen's blade still resided in your body.

" Cap.....Aizen," you uttered, swift to correct yourself. All the moisture in your throat dried up like water underneath the unrelenting rays of the sun. You kept gulping your saliva in an attempt to assuage the sensation, but relief only last for a fleeting few seconds. "Did you ━ you killed them . . . didn't you?" Your question was laced with shaky hesitance and swelled with apprehension, fearing that you already knew his reply even before he answered.

There was a moment of silence and a hum before he replied. "Smart girl."

The muted mirthful tone in his voice sounded like sarcasm, and it was enough to finally draw your attention away from everything else and directly look at him. Almost instantly, you regretted it.

His umber tinted gaze was colder than you remembered. You couldn't find anything in his eyes that hinted that all of this was just a big misunderstanding, or a dream, or that Aizen had a secret sense dark and complex humor.

This was your first, and apparently your last time, that you have ever felt a fear such as this. Your mind was struggling to comprehend this was the same Aizen that spoke with you so gently, full of encouragement and wisdom. The same man that recommended you books to read and gifted you tea to drink and gazed upon you like . . .

Well, none of that mattered now. In this moment, Sōsuke Aizen wasn't the same man anymore. This Sōsuke Aizen was someone else, and it frightened you.

"When?" you croaked, your voice no longer sounding like your own. Nothing felt real anymore. "W-When did you . . . . . how? Why?"

Another noncommittal hum resounded from the spectacled man as he closed his eyes, feigning the action of thinking of an answer. When he reopened them, his narrow gaze returned to you.

"Everyone in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads was previously aware that the ability of my zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu, allowed me to confuse the enemy using bodies of water, mist and even moisture in the air in order to attack. However, that is not my zanpakuto's actual power; there is more to it than just simple confusion. Kyoka Suigetsu's true power is Complete Hypnosis. Essentially, when someone looks at my blade, I am then able to take control of that person’s five senses, causing them to believe that something is real ━ or that something isn't real. In a way, once glancing at my unsheathed zanpakuto, that person forfeits their sense of existence to me. Kyoka Suigetsu is quite flawless in its deceptive abilities."

A heavy silence, aside from your uneven breaths, endured in the space between both of you. You didn't need him to spell out what he was trying to say.

It was all . . . . an illusion. A convoluted, premeditated illusion. And you walked right into it without even knowing or considering, that it was all fake.

The Fifth Division Captain inwardly smiled at the despair clearly written on your face as he watched you mentally put the pieces together. He took your lack of reply as a sign to continue. "The members of Central 46 have unfortunately been dead for quite some time now. And as for your question of why......"

The taller man stepped towards you which inadvertently (or purposely, you began to fear), drove his sword deeper into your abdomen without warning and slight force. You bit down on your bottom lip hard to stifle your exclamation of pain. In an attempt to somehow resist him, with the little strength you had left, your hands automatically took purchase in his oversized sleeves, but it did nothing. You found it ironic that you could feel how warm Aizen was underneath his robes, but his soul was anything but.

" . . . . I believe I already mentioned it earlier, yes? All flowers die eventually and the weeds......must be removed."

At that moment you remembered that tugging sensation that told you something felt off in some instances whenever you talked with Aizen. This must have been what it was. Damn it all. You still didn't understand exactly what bad things Central 46 and the Soul Society have done to cause his actions, but based on what you've been told and your current position, it must have been heinous. Again, you actively swallowed the urge to vomit.

"You . . . you lied. I can't believe━ how could it have all b-been a lie?" Another nasty cough rattled your body, followed by a shiver and a groan.

The brown-haired man slightly tilted his head, like he was truly confused. "Lied? Hmm, well. I suppose you could put it that way based on your limited knowledge of the circumstances, but I wouldn't put it that way. Besides, this isn't really about truth or lies. It is, and always has been, only about the reality of what is. And what is, is that you were unable to anticipate my deception. No one could, because it was outside the domain of your thoughts. What is, is that the current way the Soul Society operates is tainted, and I shall be the one to remedy it."

You drew another shuddering breath and looked down at the ground with a grim expression as your blood continued to pool at your feet. Briefly, you even considered unsheathing yourself from his blade and take the chance to make a run for it, but the chances of you making it to the outside world, let alone coming across someone before you bled out and died were slim. Besides, it was clear that you couldn't even trust your own senses anymore after Aizen demonstrated that he had complete control of your reality.

Which reminded you of something else.

" . . . when?" you asked the same question again, but much quieter than before, despair palpable in your voice. 'When and how did you subject me to your zanpakuto's Complete Hypnosis?', is what you were really asking. And being as intelligent as he was, the spectacled man understood.

Abruptly, with a large palm on the small of your back, Aizen used his gentle hold grip to pull you towards him in order to close the remaining distance, causing him to drive the remaining length of his zanpakuto all the way through until the tsuba of his blade rested against your stomach. You looked like a skewered piece of meat.

You didn't have the willpower to hold back the piercing shriek of agony and physical anguish as tears sprung forth from your eyes. You could no longer tell if your blurry vision was due to your tears obstructing your sight or if it was from being a step away from death's door.

"Do you remember . . . the first time we met?"

The hand that rested on your lower back slowly glided upwards until his fingers found your jaw. With a tenderness that reminded you of a time before his betrayal, he lifted your chin and guided your gaze to look at him directly. His thumb moved to graze your bottom lip just as you've done mere hours ago━ as if he knew that, as if he watched you do it. His thumb was dangerously close to slipping inside your mouth and that both excited and scared you. Your breasts against his, your breaths synchronized with his, your body and his were fully pressed against each other and it made focusing on his question more difficult.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The first time . . . we met? Sure, with a little bit of effort you could easily recall the first time you formally met Aizen. It was sometime in the spring, and you remembered him running through combat formations with his lieutenant and the rest of his squad. But why d━

A silent gasp left you. Another epiphany, another figurative blade piercing your heart.

Battle formations, and he . . . offered you to join them . . . his zanpakuto . . . . .

Confusion crumbled away, and was replaced with vacant horror and sadness. It seems you've already been defeated, for many, many years now.

Aizen seemed to murmur something under his breath, a pleased sound you couldn't quite decipher. His mouth brushed over yours, rendering you literally speechless, before he closed the distance and brought your lips together. You could barely process what was happening.

It was ironically tragic how soft and skillfully gentle his lips were against yours. The kiss felt longing, like a departure between two sweethearts and their last meeting together. It also felt heavy and final, making you want to cry.

And you did. Silent tears streamed from your eyes and rolled onto the fingers that still held your face so affectionately. The captain reacted by guiding your chin up a little further, dipping his head a little lower, so he could deepen the kiss. You weakly scorned yourself for thinking about how the two of you must really look like lovers now, sans the sword sticking out from your back.

Oh, how cruel this was; how cruel he was. It was cruel for him to kiss you like this, hand still splayed on your back like he needed to touch you stay sane. And how cruel it was that still managed to enjoy it, even as you stood there dying. Your lips moved together in tandem, slow and almost passionate, all while tears stained the apples of your cheeks, drying up the plush youth that once resided in them.

Aizen's tongue had slithered its way into your mouth, and you suddenly felt like crying harder. There was a tart, sweet flavor lingering on his tastebuds, and you absently wondered what is was. Perhaps hibiscus from tea, you surmised. And he too tasted the sweet jasmine and citrus that clung your tongue and lips. At this, he chuckled quietly into your mouth, humming before retracting from you by a few inches so he could speak.

"I knew you would like the tea. It's sweet and flavorful, isn't it?" You hated how low his voice was, how its timbre pleasurably vibrated and rumbled against your lips, and you hated that lidded stare he gave you. You again thought it unfair that you couldn't even revel in the rare sight of Aizen's lips slightly wet because your lips were intertwined with his.

"I have to thank you for humoring me and my recommendations. I really appreciated it. And I also," you winced loudly and cried out in affliction as Aizen finally began to withdraw the sword from your body, "must to bid you farewell now. It seems you don't have any more time left, and this has dragged on for longer than it needed. I'm not surprised you've held out for this long, as I already knew you possessed commendable strength. But alas it wasn't enough. I am sorry that you have to die; it's rather regrettable that you happened to be that blade of grass that ended up underneath my foot."

Another wail was yanked from your chest as he steadily removed his sword from your abdomen. The pain was becoming excruciating, you would have collapsed by now if the taller man weren't holding you.

You saw two things before the light in your eyes had all but faded away. The first were the colors of faux pity and apathy that swirled in Sōsuke Aizen's irises, spiraling like a storm that was certain to wreak havoc in its wake. His gaze was devoid of any regret or remorse; the final metaphorical nail on the coffin. The second was a small smile.

But this wasn't one of his smiles you were familiar with. No wait . . . . the one you knew was simply a veneer of what is.

This smile was slanted, the corners of his lips tilted upwards and was sharp. Sharp enough to cut open your already gaping wound further and completely tear you apart, spelling out your demise. It looked insidious as if it were hiding razor-edged fangs. This was what is; Aizen's real smile.

"I. . . I see. Aize. . . ." were the last words you were able to manage. You didn't have the strength to be upset or hurt any longer, so you gave in to the exhaustion.

Your body permanently relaxed, long lashes veiling your now empty eyes as your arms lifelessly dropped to your sides. The captain found a disturbing amount of pleasure in his name being the final word you attempted to speak before succumbing to the sleep of death.

And even after the fact, the facade of doomed, star-crossed lovers persisted as your body slumped backwards. Aizen's strong forearm wrapped tightly around your waist being the only reason you didn't fall to the ground in a puddle of your own blood.

That day was the last anyone saw of you, your zanpakuto still laid idly in your room, its spirit destined to forever wander in the afterlife between worlds alone, eventually fading from existence without ever feeling the presence of its master again.

They had declared you missing by the end of the next day. Lieutenant Hisagi was probably the most perturbed about your sudden disappearance. Days, weeks passed, and they never located you. The Gotei 13 was left unsettled by the lack of progress, but ultimately had to rule your case inconclusive. Some believed that you were simply killed by a stray hollow, or even ran away from your duties because of the stress.

The news of what happened spread like wildfire across all the squads, that a high-ranked officer just up and vanished without a trace. The spirits and morale of the thirteen companies dampened, sorrow and worry swelling like a festering boil.

And that boil burst when Ryoka infiltrated the Soul Society, and when it was revealed that all of it was carefully orchestrated by Sōsuke Aizen.

Like a blade of grass that somehow snuck into one's sandals or in between their toes, during his time in Hueco Mundo, images of you flashed in his head at unexpected times when his mind was quiet. He'd remove the grass, tossed you aside, and moved on with his day. There was no room for you in the grand scheme of things. Such reminisces were beneath someone like him.

And yet.

He'd always find another piece of grass from the greenery he stepped on whenever he advanced a step in his plans. There you were again.

It was common knowledge that if you kept repeating the same action over and over, it will eventually wear you down.

━━━━━━ 鏡  ━━━━━━━

It was dark, and there was nothing.

There had been nothing for quite a long time now. Utter darkness and the abyssal shade of black engulfed every inch of Aizen's body and surroundings.

He saw nothing, the seals over his eyes too opaque to let anything through. And even if they weren't obscuring his vision, he would barely be able to see three feet in front of him; there was seldom a few lanterns in his cell to begin with. He felt nothing but the bindings that kept him imprisoned in one of the deepest pits of the Seireitei. At times it felt like even his internal organs had stilled in their functions. He heard nothing but the unrelenting quiet of his cell within Mugen's maw. The only thing that served as proof that he hasn't spontaneously grown deaf yet was the occasional muffled noise that originated from outside of the entrance. And even then, he could hardly hear much of anything.

Such is an ironic fate for someone who, with a stray thought and a glint of his blade, could control someone's senses and take away their free will to experience those senses in their reality. And now, he was stripped away of all of his in nearly every capacity.

Sōsuke Aizen was rendered stationary and stagnant, qualities he detested and were the antithesis of his ambitions and plans, perhaps even his existence.

Aizen had always believed in being in control of your own destiny and making your own choices; if you had the opportunity and the power to change something━ especially if it was something that was wrong, unfair or immoral━ then one should be able to move towards that goal by making change, even if by force. The former captain had always been intentional about his actions and his desires right from the start.

And yet, here he ended up.

Spending years strapped to a chair in this dark, cloistered hole, Aizen had nothing but time to reflect the reason for his arrest: that orange haired Ryoka boy, Ichigo Kurosaki. He had nothing but time to admit to himself and settle on the conclusion that his last battle with the substitute Shinigami . . . did something to him.

Fighting the Ryoka boy ignited something inside him that he previously believed would forever lay dormant.

The thrill of a challenge.

Adrenaline was injected into his veins with each clash of their swords, spreading far and wide across every inch of his body. It no longer reacted in the measured, calculative manner he had programmed it to, but with unadulterated, pure instinct and raw power━ all in an effort to not only withstand such potent spirit energy from his opponent, but to come out on top and win.

It made him feel alive.

Aizen's desire to be the victor in battle and in his philosophy━ to prove himself right━ both fueled him and consumed him so thoroughly it led to his own downfall. That was a rather difficult fact to acknowledge; so much so his head started to pulsate intensely whenever it crossed his mind one time too often.

All of it unfolded right in front of his eyes and yet . . . he didn't really see it happen.

As time passed during his perpetual incarceration, with hooded eyes, the former captain spent an unfathomable amount of time tossing and turning every single event that led him to this underground prison, even pondering his temporary release by the Head Captain Kyōraku to fight in the war. Scenarios both minor and significant displayed itself in front of his mind's eye as if he were watching a film.

Every so often, a blurred visage of your image would make a brief appearance, like the flickering sparks of a match before they were able to come to light, fading away into the void and were overshadowed by his other thoughts. It was as if his own consciousness and intentionally muted any manifestations of your existence in his memories. As if he wasn't able to or allowed to see them━ to remember you for too long.

Mentally reliving moments from the last several months, years, decades, centuries━ trying to analyze each moment and decipher where it could have went wrong━ turned out to be quite an exhausting task. His mind and body would grow heavier with inertia, and eventually he would succumb to the alluring pull of slumber. After some time he would rouse from his sleep, and continued from where he left off.

These were his daily activities day in and day out (even though he had trouble distinguishing day and night in his chambers) for years. He saw a positive side to it though. He'd instead think of it has him getting stronger because he had spent so long . . . thinking. Ruminating. Contemplating every possibility in the past, present, and future. His mind would become as sharp as his zanpakuto.

Aizen had always been intentional about what he did, what he said, and how he conducted himself. He was sure in his abilities to orchestrate an image━ a belief for others to have faith in, and act on it in order to further his goals. He was always sure in that image, knowing who he was and what he stood for.

Or at least, that's what he thought.

Aizen wasn't consciously aware that his certainty in this crafted image had already begun to waver. He could not and was unable to anticipate how severe these small fractures had become until after a certain lieutenant paid him a visit outside his cell of confinement, right before he was scheduled to be thrown back into that dark hole of the Mugen.

Lieutenant Shuhei Hisagi was quite emotive when he burst through the doors. His expressions were contorted in volatile mixture of frustration, anger and sadness. His emotions were every which way, directed at everything that has happened so far, including himself. He was especially emotive at Aizen specifically for what he did to former captain Kaname Tosen and 'corrupting him with his twisted ideals.'

Aizen found amusement in that.

Before he was rolled away by the punishment force and therefore out of earshot, a particular set of Hisagi's words caused the small, content smile on his lips to uncurl ever so slightly. "Everything . . . and everyone that has ever gotten themselves involved with you has been trampled on by you and your ideals one way or another, and they all end up dead. If you think what you did to Captain Tosen was justified━ to call it mercy . . . . . then there is truly no justice in this world. You will . . . forever be the enemy in my eyes."

There was a trembling anger in his voice. Pain that wanted to cry out and be set free but, the thin lid of reason prevented it from doing so. And after a moment of silence, the corners of Aizen's lips curved upwards once more. A little bemused, a little more wolfish this time. He maliciously imagined Hisagi's reaction if he ever discovered the true reason for your disappearance.

But instead, all he said was. "What an interesting thing to say, Shuhei Hisagi. Your conviction is admirable." Any evidence of emotion that might have been reflected in his sepia irises was swallowed up and obscured by the darkness of the Mugen's jaw.

The cracks in Aizen's sense of self, in his beliefs, in the image he invented started to cave under the weight of Hisagi's words before he himself realized it was happening. They were like stains in the fabric of his mind that refused to come out.

What puzzled him more, was that with each attempt to figure out just why Hisagi's words echoed in his mind, they all lead back to you, the third seat of the 9th squad. Annoyingly so.

The tattooed lieutenant hadn’t said anything particularly profound ━ at least, Aizen didn't think so. Your name didn’t even fall from his lips. So why were memories of you and your likeness the only clear thoughts he could make of Hisagi's speech? Was it because he was aware of how close the two of you were? He doubted the reason were that trivial and insignificant.

His thoughts grew more discordant by the day, his soul a little more weighted than usual. Perhaps these new seals that Urahara had fashioned actually had an effect on him, Aizen thought. It made sense. His intellect, other than his own, were the only ones capable of creating such effective restraints.

After a while, he had a revelation. This was a different kind of weight.

This heaviness, the closest word he knew to describe it as . . . . was loneliness.

Time taunted him as it seemed to drag on━ Aizen grew even less sure of how much━ when he came to this realization. Hisagi's words were a clear mirror to the loneliness that echoed within him after what happened to you and to Tosen. It was so . . . potent, that it seemed to strike some chord in Aizen he had never heard before.

Such a chord, this sound of loneliness, it was strange and uncomfortable; he wasn't very fond of this sensation. He'd try to scrub it away, but it was all for naught.

His eyes had slid shut at some point, his ruminations leading to dead ends and wearing him down. And, almost as expected, there you were again, in all your translucent glory. The hem, the sleeves, and even the smell of your yukata slowly dragged across his dreams, haunting his thoughts like a lonely wraith.

And Aizen hardly dreamt of anything.

When he regained consciousness he was plagued with yet another epiphany. An additional reason behind this newfound depth.

Aizen's own loneliness. Guilt. Much to his own quiet horror.

How foreign and unusual a thing like guilt is. It was like looking into a mirror and not recognizing something you had never noticed before, but wondered if it had always been there.

But the thing Aizen did recognize, how lonely he actually felt, was something he had hoped would never resurface again. It was a notion he hadn't had the time or regard to consider━ 'loneliness'. Its only purpose, if any, was solely to serve as a motivator. At times though, it was more like a hindrance.

Something akin to nausea slowly started to bubble up in the pit of his stomach, but he suppressed the sensation before it became any more intense.

What of his previous actions did he need to feel guilty for? He hadn't felt it then, so why would he feel it now? Again he ruminated such a question endlessly into oblivion.

The former captain had no doubts that his plan to remove the Soul King, and therefore the Soul Society's sins, were necessary.

Nor did any hesitancy about removing the opposition or dead weight━ whether shinigami or arrancar━ existed.

He certainly had no reservations against killing Kaname Tosen, for he knew the man well enough to know that Tosen would have been so thoroughly appalled with what he had become, it would have drove him mad.

So what was it, then? Why were such useless emotions as guilt and loneliness being amplified n━

"Y....know, S....."

Even covered by the seals, Aizen's eyes widened and his brows were slightly furrowed in distress. Had his mind finally tipped the scales of sanity and madness, to the point where he was hearing things?

It was quiet for several moments longer, before his senses caught onto the sound of water dripping onto a hard surface.

One drop at a time.

Its cadence a little too rhythmic to be natural. And for a second time, he heard that soft, ominous sounding whisper. Its voice a little clearer this time.

"You...know.....Sōsuke."

In the second it took for his eyes to flutter shut behind its seals to blink, when he reopened them, he was no longer sealed to the walls and floors of the Mugen, nor was he surrounded by every shade of darkness imaginable. His limbs and senses were finally freed to breathe for the first time in what felt like ages.

That relief was short-lived when his senses absorbed the unending landscape of water underneath his feet, water lilies lifelessly floating on its surface, and the dim sky illuminated by a full pale moon.

Aizen was in his inner world, and now he was aware of how he got here, or rather who brought him here.

"You . . . already know the answer to that question, Sōsuke." The voice was even more clear, its sentences more comprehensible. And it sounded it eerily like you.

Why the voice was impersonating your likeness had caught him off guard for half a second, but he realized it was only the work of his zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu.

An illusion it may be, there was an untouchable quality about your voice and how you spoke that even Kyoka Suigetsu couldn't replicate.

A few feet away from him, the water was disturbed by a being emerging from the depths. Ripples formed around a manifested version of his zanpakuto, who took the form of you, smiling ever so gently. The smile felt airy, and it didn't seem like the same one that haunted his dreams and every waking thought as of late. It felt....knowing.

Still, the former captain couldn't be bothered to maintain eye contact with his sword spirit, so he turned around and opted to keep his unreadable stare trained on the vast expanse of water and white lilies.

"It's been quite a while since I have stepped foot into this realm. There must be something you want . . . Kyoka."

The zanpakuto chuckled, it sounded like the way you would softly laugh at one of his clever quips. But this wasn't you.

He didn’t want to admit that something about that fact didn’t sit right with him.

"Judging from your tone, would I be correct in assuming you don't want to be here?"

Silence rang out within the soul scape, before Aizen interrupted it, his gentle voice colored a shade darker, and a little rigid. "And I fail to see the reason why you must take that form when you revealed yourself to me. Is your aim to get a reaction out of me? Or something along those lines?"

Your eyes━ the eyes of Kyoka Suigetsu━ narrowed at its master's back, as if they were trying to create concavities in his skull. But the expression was washed away the moment it appeared, the serene smile from before was back in place.

"You know . . . it's considered quite rude to not look at someone when you're addressing them. That, and when you deliberately ignore things they say. Your manners have been deteriorating, Sōsuke. Tsk, tsk."

Kyoka-dressed-as-you suddenly appeared before him, as if they had teleported. Even when they were in his peripheral vision, Aizen still maintained his stare off into the distant nothingness.

"Unless, you can't find it in yourself to look at me. . . that's correct, isn't it? It's because I look exactly like her, right?" The zanpakuto continued to provoke him, taking a step closer into his personal space.

With an exasperated sigh, his eyelids fell shut for a second, using that time to gather the strength he didn't know he needed, and directed his gaze to meet his spirit's. Aizen's face gave nothing away, but his heart lurched about his chest when his bronze eyes met with yours, or what was made to look like yours. The undesired affect it had on him was all the same.

"If you wish to chastise me about manners, I suggest you take your own advice. You didn't answer my first question, either: what is it you want? Why am I here?" Again the former captain chose to not address the other parts of Kyoka's statement. For the sake of his sanity and his thinning patience━ or was it to preserve his resolve?

Its smile widened a bit, moving another step closer to their master. God, Kyoka even smelled like you, mimicking your signature honeyed scent that Aizen didn't realize he found so intoxicating until this very moment.

"I called you here to save you from yourself."

Aizen remained silent, only narrowing his eyes in speculation. "Meaning?"

"Didn't I already say it earlier? I think you already know what I'm talking about, Sōsuke. You've always known."

Fate's pairing of Kyoka Suigetsu with Aizen was a match crafted from the spindles of heaven, but also a maddening curse pulled from the depths of hell, for they complimented each other a little too well. The zanpakuto was too perfect a reflection of Aizen and his soul, looking at it started to hurt his eyes.

His sword spirit insisted that he already knew the reason for his coming here, and perhaps he did have an inkling the moment the light of epiphany was shone on his profound loneliness and guilt. But that couldn't have been what it was referring to . . . . could it?

"You cannot feign ignorance here, my dear Sōsuke, however I do find it rather humorous you bother trying. If you'd like, I don't mind humoring you by spelling it out for you. I'd be glad to unearth the truth that you have buried in the most neglected corner of your heart."

"When you were . . . . subjecting yourself to such mental torment, it had an affect on this world as well. The ripples, the waves in this scape become quite . . . tumultuous." The nuances in your voice were perfected by his zanpakuto, but the way it talked sounded like a fog that was gradually closing in from over the horizon. The uneasy feeling that resided in his chest traveled down to his stomach, but Aizen's face remained steely, even when Kyoka Suigetsu took that final step to close the gap in between them. "And the reason for that, the reason why Hisagi's words rattled you so is because you regret killing that woman."

The creased line in Aizen's brow grew more prominent as he stared down his sentient sword spirit. With its breast pressed against his, they placed a hand on his clothed chest in a tantalizing manner, but he felt nothing. There was no warmth from its palm, much unlike when your hand touched him. There wasn't even a cool sensation either. Even minutes before your death, your touch brought a soothing heat that permeated through his shihakusho and penetrated his skin.

Kyoka's face grew nearer, their smile━ although still tender looking━ grew cold at its edges, nearly resembling that of a predator eager to see despair reflected in the eyes of its prey. It didn't fit the graceful allure of your face at all, and seeing this expression deeply unsettled the former captain more than he would like to admit.

"You regret . . . killing me."

A chill tore through Aizen's body, the weight of Kyoka's words adding onto the heaviness that still hasn't been alleviated from his heart; he was hardly able to suppress the involuntary shiver.

Without warning, Kyoka's mouth suddenly became dangerously close to their master's, its lips brushing against his in a provocative manner. Aizen's expression darkened when he realized that it was reenacting his last encounter with you when you were alive. His mouth started to grow uncomfortably dry, despite his soul scape being full of moisture, and there was a taste on the back of his tongue that's been lingering there since he arrived.

The lilt in Kyoka's tone continued to taunt him. "That is the reason for your guilt: regret. You have been in denial. And in the spirit of unearthing truths, I suppose I can admit that perhaps . . . . I've been . . . . encouraging said delusions, adding drops of fuel into the flames of your emotions and ambitions. But after all that's happened, when it comes down to it there's no point in continuing this hallucination any longer. I've grown tired of this game, so it's time to for you wake up now, Sōsuke. I've brought you here to release you from your own illusion, to completely shatter it."

Aizen's back was as stiff as a board, not moving a millimeter when Kyoka's lips grazed his again. They were breathing softly onto his mouth, but he hardly felt any puffs of air.

The former captain was having a rather difficult time processing the fact that his zanpakuto had its own agenda and had been manipulating his emotions without him noticing. Specifically the emotions he felt towards you.

He never truly believed that such a thing was possible, one's own blade having such a deep-rooted influence━ no, control over their master. Or would it be more accurate to say that he never expected himself to be controlled to such a degree? He that prided himself on being freed from the marionette strings of fate that were tied to his limbs and mind, he that relished being able to do what he wanted, think what he wanted, feel what he wanted━ or what he didn't want━ it was hard to believe that none of that mattered in the end.

Kyoka Suigetsu's deceptive abilities were indeed undeniably perfect. No one, not even Aizen himself could have anticipated that Kyoka's most absolute and complete hypnosis would be enacted on himself.

"Do you know now, Sōsuke? Do you understand?" Kyoka's voice was as soft as a whisper, but it couldn't hide the edges of its tone that were still sharpened from finding amusement of seeing the truth flash across its master's face. "You had destroyed the solution to your existential question of loneliness, before you could fully understand the question itself."

Yes . . . . . Aizen understood now.

He didn't bother acknowledging what Kyoka had said. His grim facial expression━ still, tinged with dolor, and paired with an indescribable, distant look his eyes━ said all that it needed to. His silence was as much as an admission as any.

Kyoka-dressed-as-you leaned forward again to fully close the gap between their lips and Aizen's. Tenderly, like the intentions of a lover, it spoke against his nearly closed mouth. "Have you figured it out yet?"

Nothing but quiet could be heard between them, as Kyoka's mouth moved about their master's face and placed something like kisses upon its surface, but not quite.

Aizen's cocoa-shaded eyes slide down to stare at his sword spirit pressed up against him. His gaze was hard, and yet something swam underneath its surface that his zanpakuto had never seen before. Melancholy, it guessed? They weren't quite sure.

Kyoka pressed on when Aizen remained quiet. "The taste in the back of your mouth. Have you figured out what it was? You know it quite well....."

Aizen's tongue grazed the roof of his mouth, sensing the rather unpleasant taste that has coated the inside of it. And within a moment, because he was faced with the current circumstances, Aizen had finally placed a name associated this particular taste. How unfortunate this was.

Upon his realization, Aizen's head lowered, and his brown tresses hung freely over his lashes. Perhaps it was so Kyoka couldn't properly see whatever remorseful expression painted their master's face, but it mattered not. Even from here, the sword spirit could already sense exactly what it was he was feeling.

And they loved it.

"It's a sweet and flavorful taste, isn't it? Quite lovely." Kyoka Suigetsu mimicked the exact words he uttered against your lips all those years ago when he tasted jasmine tea on your tongue, and sealed your death with a kiss. "It's too bad you don't seem to enjoy it anymore."

Aizen's chest continued to rise and fall calmly, and the hands of his sword spirit that rested there glided upwards to cup his strong jaw, caressing his skin with its thumb. Its phantasmic touch did nothing to stir their master.

"Sōsuke, do you know what the jasmine flower from that tea symbolizes?"

Aizen's lips were slightly parted, but again he didn't say anything. Instead, its corners twitched and lifted upwards by an inch, and he huffed softly.

Kyoka Suigetsu grinned in reply. "Good."

The next time Aizen blinked, he was plunged in darkness yet again. The restrictive feeling that swallowed his being whole had returned, and was an indicator that his zanpakuto had released him from his inner world. He was consciously back in the Mugen, back in this abyss they called a prison cell.

Kyoka was indeed as much as a formidable force in its own right, as much as, if not greater than Aizen himself.

The conversation he had with his sword spirit would be cemented in his head for all eternity. When he grew senile and began to physically wither away, the one thing that would remain vital like a young heart, was this epiphany that he had. This realization that he actually . . . .

As the chains of despair bound him tighter to the bottom of the metaphorical pit, regret and his loneliness corroding his flesh and spirit like metal exposed to moisture, a stray memory of his time in Hueco Mundo flashed in his mind. He recalled having tea prepared for meetings with his Espadas and he could not pinpoint when, but at some point, Aizen developed an aversion for jasmine flavored tea. For one reason or another, he no longer found its taste appealing; whenever he drank it, it always tasted bitter.

Now that reason had become painstakingly clear.

The binding on his mouth muffled a rueful chuckle at the though, and it trapped the flavor of jasmine on his lips.

(#) @soaringmirror @stygianoir @ryukenzz @blkjupiters @chrissie2003 @nymphoheretic @dejwrld @triangularz @souyaszn @kuujo @honeybleed @valentineluvu . let me know if you’d like to be apart of my tag list ♡♡.

[beabnormal24]

Your dog ~ carcar, angst

Piñon still bites him when he sees him. He's a distrustful dog, Oscar has learned.

He doesn't like it when Oscar sits on the left side of the couch, pushes his nose against his calf until he's shuffling to the right. He doesn't sit on that side either, though, and curls up under his feet.

He doesn't like it when Oscar looks at the coats hanging nearby the entrance, he doesn't like it when Oscar puts his hand in the biscuits jar, he doesn't like it when Oscar uses the body-wash in the shower and smells of musky pinecones.

He doesn't like a whole lot of things that Oscar does, truthfully, and even though he does try not to show it, sometimes it really hits close to home, where it already hurts the most.

And yet, he still gets up at eight sharp in the morning to take him out for a walk.

They stroll on the sidewalk for ten minutes, already with the easiness of a routine that doesn't feel like it belongs to him fully yet, and Oscar can almost say with certainty that it doesn't feel that gross to grab his poop from the ground.

Every morning they walk past a local bakery, just on the right side of the parallel road, and every single morning Piñon starts barking, perhaps out of familiarity, perhaps just out of curiosity, his vision zeroing on the bright yellow of the signs.

Oscar... he would rather not walk in, honestly. It's not even about avoiding falling into temptation, the smell of fresh baked goods always seeming to make his empty stomach grumble like a full engine.

It's more about the way the people around him seem to advert their gaze for a short second before actually meeting his eyes, it's about the way the woman behind the counter sharpens her grimace into a somewhat welcoming smile, as if all of a sudden she's not angry anymore at Oscar for only knowing how to utter a bunch of words in broken Spanish.

Even worse, though, it's the way they always sit on their calves and pat Piñon's head with a familiarity that Oscar is almost jealous of.

He may not understand a lot of the language, but still it's easy to make out the grand scheme of it all, how they sneak treats under the dog's mouth, how they whisper close to his ear.

"Has he been treating you good? How are you doing? How is him?"

Piñon never answers, and maybe that's exactly the reason why Oscar decided to take care of him.

When it came to deciding what should go to whom, he had almost fought tooth and nails to insist he would be the one getting the dog, in ways that he would probably be immensely embarrassed of if he thought about it now, lucid and the wound of it all less open and fresh.

But when Piñon tilts his head there's always the memory of something that tickles the back of Oscar's head, something that he's not exactly ready to let go of completely.

And when Oscar just needs to talk without the feeling of judgment and guilt clouding over him, Piñon just nudges his nose against his calf and sits at his feet and leaves him the benefit of self criticism that sometimes Oscar forgets he still has.

And other times, even, he looks up at Oscar with big brown eyes that hold a distant sentiment that Oscar can't face just yet.

He has read, somewhere in the middle of a late night binge search on how to get rid of it all as fast possible, that dogs are able to talk to spirits.

Oscar doesn't exactly believe it. Though it is true that Oscar doesn't believe in a lot of things that don't lie in the same Venn's diagram of a throttle and a brake.

He still doesn't know if he should believe in God or if it's God who should believe more in them, give them a bit more credit for all the things some people have to go through without even asking for them.

And Oscar also sincerely hopes Carlos has not gone and become a spirit, because that would imply that even the last shred of hope has to quietly die like a burnt candle.

Because that would mean Oscar would have to live the rest of his life looking for a metaphysical appearance that he knows will never come, that he would have to feel haunted, even.

And it's ridiculous to even think about believing in something like that, and yet at two in the morning on a Thursday night Oscar thinks that there can't be any damage to do if he just lets himself be ridiculous for a little while.

The corridor is bathed in moonlight when he walks through it, but Oscar still finds some difficulty in making his way through the rooms, leaning against the wall with a hand as he feels the quiet thrum of an empty house surrounding him.

He is careful with his steps as he reaches Piñon, sleeping soundly at the entrance where he had dragged his own bed a few days ago.

He thinks about it for a second, then two, watches little puff of air heaving Pinon's chest, his head resting on crossed paws, turned towards the door as if it could open from a second to another. Waiting.

He doesn't think about it more than three seconds, because Oscar has never had the privilege to make decisions in longer than that, so he kneels on the ground, passing a gentle hand through the longer fur on Piñon's back before ducking his head and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Piñon doesn't wake up, just scrunches his nose for a second before his breaths even out again, same rhythm as before, as if trying to fall back into a routine that doesn't quite fit right.

The sofa is soft under his legs when he sits on it, careful to not disrupt the untold equilibrium as he presses his feet to the left armrest and leans his chin over his bent knees. He is not going to sleep anytime soon, either way.

"I gave a kiss to your dog." Oscar chuckles, lets himself feel ridiculous for just a second before relaxing against the back of the couch. "I did it when he was asleep. He would've killed me if I had tried to do it when he was awake."

The only answer he gets is the eerily quiet and the muffled sounds of Piñon's breathing.

For the first time since he can remember, Oscar wishes there could be another voice coming from the right side of the couch.

"I think he doesn't like me a lot, you know? Sometimes it's like he wants to blame me and I- I get it, I want to blame myself, too." A knot rises in the middle of his throat, tight and uncomfortable. Oscar still talks past it. "But he is the closest thing to you that I could get, the closest thing that is alive and well. And when he glares at me he- he almost reminds me of you which is ridiculous because I can't even remember the last time you were actually angry at me but I think it's better for me to remember you that way than..."

He rubs a hand under his eyes, pretends like he can't feel the sudden wetness on the sleeves of his hoodie. He doesn't even think it's his own.

He doesn't even remember when the division line started to blur.

"I think that's what you would want me to do, if you could say it."

Lando hadn't been of the same opinion, looking at Oscar warily when he had suggested he would be the one taking Piñon for the first time. Now, he just looks at Oscar with his downturned eyes and tells him he wishes he could do more to help him.

Oscar doesn't think there's more to do, anyway.

"I read somewhere that dogs talk to spirits. I think it's the kind of shit you would yell at Lando for believing in it. You always d- do that." He caresses his own knees, seeking the comfort of a warm touch in his own coldness. "And trust me, I hope you are not a fucking spirit and that you won’t become one anytime soon. But if there is even a small- small possibility, I-" he closes his eyes for a second, lets the knot in his throat dissolve like salt in water, stinging on an open wound, where pulsing blood is still rushing to trail on his skin.

"If there is even a single possibility of it being true I- I gave him a kiss and I hope he can bring it to you. And then he can come back home if- I hope he thinks this is still home, even without-“

The light blue colour of the sleeves has tuned into a darker patch under his eyes, blurry from a lucidity that he can't make himself feel ashamed of.

As if on cue, the silence is broken by the ticking sound of Piñon's paws on the hardened wood floor. When Oscar manages to open his eyes again without wishing to disappear into the dark blue void outside the window, Piñon is looking up at him, curled under his feet with his head close to Oscar's shin.

The dog sighs, a shaky thing that sounds almost like a rumble and Oscar can only answer with a choked sob of his own that doesn't feel like it belongs to him at all, to his vocal cords that always found no use in crying.

Many things can change in the span of a few weeks: Oscar's beliefs and a dog's routine.

"But I- I think," he swallows around nothing, bending down to press a hand to the top of Piñon's head, caressing lightly. "We are not so different, me and Piñon."

The dog sighs again, almost sad. Oscar wonders if he is listening to what he is saying, if he can actually understand it all. Will he bring a kiss from him, then?

"We both miss you the most when the night comes."

—

This little story is heavily inspired by the song “your dog” by Pinguini Tattici Nucleari

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Found Pt. 2 | 141 & Reader

Summary: Your second day at the new foster home is eventful, to say the least. Kyle shows you the chickens, and teaches you some harpy biology.

Word Count: ~ 5.9k

Warnings: old religious trauma (homophobia), reader having a lil girl crush, implied gazsoap, past trauma, baths, stealing, little panic attack, non sexual shirtless kyle, trauma, mentions of old parents and counselors

A/N: well, here’s part two, a very gaz-centric one. i think the next part will have more of the other boys, but pretty boy kyle is too temptinggg, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You didn’t sleep well in new places.

It was a common thing you’d come to accept by now, the fact that you never slept well in new homes. Whether it be the little grandma who’d welcomed you into her warm and stuffy house full of cats, and the thick blankets she’d ushered you under, or the lawyer-man who’d been looking for a child to replace his late wife. It didn’t matter who it was.

The walls still felt like they were closing on, hot breaths still felt like they were behind you, whispers and creaks in the night that you weren’t sure if you were imagining or not. Houses all seemed to have a life of their own in the night.

The animals, wandering around, the windows breathing while the floor groaned and rubbed its aching bones and joints. The doors muttered to themselves as the fans spun round and round, singing their own clunky melody. ACs or heaters hummed to themselves.

Every house had its own chorus of sounds in the night when things that were too shy to come out in the morning dared to venture out. It was just a matter of how long it took you to get used to it without being frightened. Without thinking someone was in the walls or floors.

You had curled up in the corner of the bed, blankets thrown haphazardly around, an old hoodie that still dwarfed you even now on your figure as you’d glanced around until your eyes closed on their own. You hadn’t slept well. You blamed it on the house.

People you’d seen a long time ago drifted through dreams, with strange things accompanying them. A flying fish. A man-sized axolotl with a talking triangle. A strangely round man in a jumper. A ghoulish mask that had been worn before in completely different parts of the world, but the two had never met.

Your dreams were always vivid. Maybe that was why you kept a dream journal still, if not inspired by the strange movie you’d seen in the cat-queen grandma’s house with a girl dressed in red and a boy with sharp, spiky hair. Your old school’s counselor had also suggested it.

“For processing old traumatic memories,”

She’d tried to explain, but you’d been more focused on the framed pictures on the wall. Faces. Bodies. Her family, probably.

They weren’t pretty.

But you’d remembered that one sentence, and so, opening the little book while the sun began peeking through the window’s curtains, you’d pulled a black crayola marker from your backpack and began scribbling down in the worn, tattered book. It was small, smaller than your average little diary, but not small enough to where you needed to get a new one because of filling it up. You could squeeze words in somewhere.

As you put down all you could recall, you wondered what school you’d be going to next. The switch was always somewhat jarring, and most of the time you ended up going to the closest public school.

The lawyer-man had tried to send you to a private school. It hadn’t ended well.

Since you were in a completely new county, it would be another new school, you assumed. You might make a few new friends before you switched again. Maybe not. Friends were usually made with you when an extrovert saw you hiding in a corner and decided to pick you up and drag you along into their friend groups. Not that you were complaining.

Today was a Sunday.

They might send you tomorrow for the first day. The school year was already a month in, late enough for a few friend groups to have formed, but not too late for you to join in.

You decided to focus on today.

John and Johnny had been praying at the table, Kyle had muttered something, making you wonder if they went to Church or not. You’d gone to a Church once. It had been old and tall with lots of delicate carvings and colorful windows with the woman in blue and the man in white.

There had been a lot of kneeling and standing and sitting while they repeated phrases and things you hadn’t understood at the time. They’d given you a thin piece of bread and a small glass of grape juice that you’d eaten and drank. It tasted old.

And that had been the first and only Mass you ever went to.

Then there had been the second time you’d gone to a Church. It had been on a Wednesday, in a rectangle-shaped building that was old and hummed like a refrigerator. There had been a lot of older kids there, a girl your age named Carol, but with a K.

Karol had been nice. Her hair had been flat and short and brown, like a mouse, you thought. Her eyes had been a chocolate brown like Simon’s, but she hadn’t had the same blond lashes he had.

All the kids had gathered in a circle, holding hands. Your palms had been sweaty, but Karol hadn’t minded, giving you a reassuring smile as they began reciting verses from their Bibles, verses you didn’t know. You didn’t bother to look at the Bible Karol had borrowed to you. You were more focused on the fact that her hand was in yours, and you couldn’t stop looking at her, and you’d felt warm and fuzzy.

And that was when you understood something was wrong with you.

There was a reason you’d never seen two women holding hands in a Church, whether it was shaped like a rectangle, or tall, old, and sharp. Your then-mom had stopped taking you to Church on Wednesday after you’d told her about it.

The sun had gotten tired of peeking over the ledge of the window and fully emerged when you were done sitting and thinking. You held the journal pages up to study, to see your handiwork.

Your handwriting was messy but recognizable. The one thing that remained constant in your life. There was a doodle of the fish-man, a messy skull pattern, a triangle with a bowtie, a big axolotl head, and the fat man in the rainbow jumper. You decided you liked this page.

But the sun was up, so the journal was closed, marker cap out back on, and both were shoved deep into your backpack, covered with clothes and headphones you hadn’t taken out yet. You’d do it tomorrow, you thought, despite knowing you wouldn’t do it tomorrow. Maybe the day after, then.

The floor was a bit cold when your feet pressed against it. It didn’t creak under your weight as it had under Johnny’s, which made sense since you were considerably lighter. You took light steps, feet rolling to be quieter. You wouldn’t want to wake any of them up.

The smell of something hit your nose as you opened the door, it quietly creaking. Eggs. Bacon, maybe? Some kind of meat. With how large they were, they probably ate a huge amount of food. No wonder the fridge was so large.

You heard voices from the kitchen as you slowly padded down the hallway, sticking close to one wall, hoping they didn’t see your shadow or notice you.

“I wanna do it—“

“You’ll scare her, Soap.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you wanna wake the lass up!”

“No, I’m just concerned for her best interests.”

A low growl that made you stiffen. You couldn’t tell whether it was friendly or aggressive.

“Ye sayin’ I ain’t in her best interests?”

He was mad. You heard Kyle’s exasperated sigh, you could’ve heard it from a mile away.

“You know that’s not what I meant. You’re just…”

A beat of silence.

“Just what?”

Another beat of silence.

“Loud. Really loud. I’m just scared you’ll scare her off, okay? I’ve gotten her to warm up a little bit—“

“—I’ve helped too—“

“—right, like your claws are so heartwarming—“

“You’re burnin’ the bacon and scarin’ the kid.”

The newspaper rustled after Simon interrupted their argument, and you felt blood rush to your cheeks as Kyle peeked out of the kitchen from the stove where he’d been standing, seeing you standing in the hallway, just around the corner from the kitchen.

Johnny peeked over next, seeing the slightly guilty look on your voice, and exchanging a reluctant glance with Kyle. How Simon had noticed you wasn’t clear.

“Nosy,”

Kyle said in amusement, a glimmer of worry in his eyes as he took in your tired look.

You walked into the kitchen, seeing Simon and John sitting at the table, the wraith giving a little grunt in acknowledgment as he read the newspaper next to John, the bear-hybrid working on a crossword puzzle with an old pen.

John raised his brows, patting the seat next to him in an invitation, and after glancing at Kyle, who gave a little nod, you padded over and crawled into the wooden seat, settling, eyes going to the crossword.

“How’d you sleep?”

He rumbled.

You made a little sideways thumbs up. Or a sideways thumbs down. Same difference, really.

The crossword had lots of names of celebrities you didn’t know and didn’t care to know. Random things, too. There were a few in Morse code that John had filled in.

“Figured. No one sleeps too well in a brand new place.”

He answered, chuckling at something he found funny that you didn’t. Johnny and Kyle were now speaking in hushed whispers over at the stove, seemingly having gotten over their earlier disagreement, Kyle standing behind Johnny, his arms wrapped around the werewolf’s hips, chin resting on his shoulder.

They looked like a couple.

You must’ve been staring too long, because John glanced over, letting out a hum at the sight. Johnny flipped the pieces of bacon, the plate of cooked pieces lying to the right. Simon glanced over as well, and you couldn’t tell whether he was jealous at the sight, or happy. Maybe both.

“We gonna show ‘er around the farm today, Cap?”

Another pet name. They seemed to have a lot of them around here. Simon was occasionally called ‘Lt.’, an abbreviation you hadn’t figured out yet. Kyle was ‘Gaz’. John was ‘Cap’ or ‘Price’. Johnny was ‘Soap’. You assumed they were just inside jokes.

John seemed to consider Simon’s question before nodding.

“Don’t see why not. Kyle can show her the chickens.”

You perked up at that. Simon noticed.

“You like chickens?”

He asked, his gruff tone holding a mild amount of curiosity. You gave a little nod. They might be a little bit stupid, but you liked all their feathers and their beaks. You’d had a few friends that were chicken hybrids, they’d been very social and been followers and not leaders, but you’d liked them.

Pack animals were usually the friendlier hybrids.

Johnny carried two plates in his thick hands, one full of sausage, the other full of eggs. Half of the eggs were fried, and the other half were scrambled.

Kyle came next with the bacon and toast plates. Some of the toast was buttered, some bare.

The plates were set out on the table, as well as fresh ones for everyone, silverware, and cups. They had their usual tea, Johnny preferring his morning coffee, you having a glass of water.

Everyone grabbed their food, Johnny and John getting a large serving of fried eggs, buttered toast, and sausage. Kyle got himself scrambled eggs, a helping of bacon, and buttered toast.

You and Simon were the last to get food, waiting for everyone else to get their food. Willing to take the scraps that were left. It was just something you did without thinking now, not wanting to look rude or selfish.

He made eye contact with you across the table, glancing down at the plates of food to gesture for you to get something. He was bigger. He’d need more food. You were human and hardly even up to his ribs, you could survive with the leftovers. You glanced down at the plates to gesture for him to go first.

Both of you recognized the strategy. Maybe you and him weren’t so different.

John shared a glance with Kyle, before Kyle elbowed Johnny, giving the werewolf a look. Johnny quickly began filling Simon’s plate up at the same time as Kyle, who started filling your plate up.

The next glance you and Simon shared was one of bewilderment as the food was piled on high.

“Never thought I’d meet a lass as stubborn as you, Lt.”

Johnny said with a loud chuckle, while Simon didn’t look amused, giving him the look only an angry wet cat could muster.

You looked at the bacon piled on your plate, picking up a piece and maintaining eye contact with Simon while nibbling on it, the wraith picked up a sausage, took a bite, and slowly chewed, staring dead at you, slowly blinking as you did it back.

“Like two kittens, they are.”

John muttered while Gaz let out a hum of agreement, chewing on some sausage.

They eventually moved on, laughing about a joke you didn’t understand, something about missions, and a lot of code words you didn’t even bother to decode. Maybe you’d figure it out the longer you stayed here. If you stay here long.

Everyone devoured their food, plates being deposited in the sink with silverware, Simon wiping the table off with his superior wingspan.

You lingered, not sure whether to help with dishes or not. John was on them.

Kyle took one look at you, before waving a hand for you to follow him out the door. You followed.

The air outside was crisp but also a bit cold. Winter was coming in. You wondered if they got snow around here, you hoped so.

His wings tucked in as he led you out of the crunchy grass and into the chicken coop, where his feathered friends were clucking and chirping away. There were a few little ones, but most were large and fluffy, different colors from white to black, some a brown like Kyle’s feathers, some had speckles of color and some had gradients.

He watched your eyes light up before you crouched down and picked up some seed from the ground, holding it out in your hand until a few of them approached. They were friendly; and well domesticated after years of providing eggs. You winced as their sharp beaks reached your skin, picking up the seeds through the process, but didn’t move to take your hand away.

Kyle smiled warmly in a way that almost made you sick, before moving into the actual coop area. He shifted the chickens that were warming their eggs up gently, picking up the eggs as quickly as he could to place them in the little basket he held. He managed to gather a total of 9 eggs, a good amount for the day.

When he emerged, you’d managed to get a chicken on your lap, now fully sitting on the ground despite the sawdust and droppings there. It was one of the older chickens, more docile than the rest, who’d decided to plop down on your lap. Her beady eyes blinked while you let gentle fingers smooth through her white speckles feathers.

“You like her?”

Kyle asked, glancing down at you.

You nodded.

“Fluffy.”

You stated, tone too matter-of-factly for him to keep a straight face as he laughed a bit, head tilting back.

“We’ve got some cows and goats if you want to see them?”

He offered, watching as you thought the offer over, gears turning in your mind. You gave a nod, giving the chicken one final pat until you gently picked her up, placing her back on the ground and getting up.

The sawdust and strands of hay clung to the backs of your thighs and shorts, but you didn’t seem to care. It we then that Kyle realized you hadn’t changed out of the clothes you’d been wearing yesterday. As he took a look at your matted hair, hay, and feathers also in it, he realized that they hadn’t done the greatest job of ensuring your hygiene.

But that was something to worry about after the cows and goats.

You followed eagerly as he walked to the barn. It was a good fifty feet from the coop, not too long, nothing you seemed to mind despite the chill in the air.

The chill.

You were tiny. Of course, he hadn’t noticed it, his feathers keeping him warm. But you were in shorts and that thin shirt and raggedy jacket couldn’t be doing much.

He didn’t want to push boundaries, but he didn’t feel like he had much of a choice.

You didn’t notice when he slowed down the pace of his walking, long strides shortening to keep up with your tiny ones. But you did notice when his wing slowly began to extend, feathers puffing out a bit and flattening, stretching out until the first feather brushed your shoulder.

It didn’t make you uncomfortable like most touches did. It might’ve been because instead of the skin-to-skin or fur-to-skin contact you usually had bad memories with, it was just fluffy, silky feathers.

The wing curled slowly around you, Kyle watching as you tensed at first, before relaxing into it.

You both reached the barn, hearing the goats bellowing as the smell of wet, soiled hay and animals reached you. Familiar. Too familiar.

You stopped.

Kyle’s wing immediately retracted, thinking it was him. He thought he’d overstepped boundaries and pushed too far too soon, but when he looked into your eyes he saw the look. One he’d seen before in one or two of their past fosters, some of the more “damaged” ones.

Something was reminding you of something unpleasant. He’d been there before. Whether it was the barn, the animal sounds, the smell, or anything else, he didn’t care, he would let you process it, and get away from it if you wanted.

A beat of silence.

When you took a hesitant step back, he went into action, trying to redirect your thoughts. His wing flexed to cover the sight of the barn from your eyes, your vision being that of golden brown feathers speckled with blond parts instead.

“How about we go inside and get cleaned up?”

He asked, voice smooth as butter, purposefully a bit deeper than normal, just barely, an instinctual thing that only worked to soothe other hybrids. But it seemed to work well enough on you, as you dazedly nodded, stumbling to follow him when he turned.

His wing slowly spread again, curling once again around your shoulder to guide you, steps slowly growing more certain as you two reached the house. Johnny was out digging in his garden, Simon was tending to the cows in the fields (cuddling with them), and John was taking stock of everything for the next grocery trip.

Kyle opened the door, letting you step in, watching as you almost tripped over the step, catching yourself, and continuing to walk.

“Careful,”

He murmured, walking up and carefully closing the door to not let it slam. The hinge had broken a few days ago. He really should remind Price to fix it.

His wing continued guiding you until you both reached a bathroom that was next to Price’s room. The one that the older man usually used. His talons clicked against the floor as he walked into the room, hands reaching for the tub’s knob to turn on the water before realizing he didn’t know what you wanted.

“Shower or bath?”

He asked. You pointed to the shower head. Fair enough.

“Alright,”

He replied.

“This is for the hot, this is for the cold, but the cold can be a bit finicky during the colder seasons, so you might have to turn a bit harder.”

He explained, watching as your eyes slowly took everything in. All of John’s beard care products were in the shower in one little shower rack that was in the corner. The second layer of the shower rack held shampoo and conditioner. The third held all the body wash components with a rag and sponge hanging from it.

“Here’s shampoo, conditioner, and the body wash. You got it?”

John was usually the one to give all the bathroom tours, considering he was the more fatherly figure in the household. But Kyle didn’t mind, it was just new, was all.

“You want me to wait outside?”

It was a basic assumption that you wouldn’t want him in the bathroom with you showering, but he didn’t want to leave you completely alone. What if you fell, or had some sort of accident? He could wait behind the door.

You nodded, watching as he stepped outside, closing the door. You turned the handles of the faucet, the colder one being a bit stiff like he’d mentioned. But after putting a good bit of muscle into it, the thing obeyed and turned, and you turned the hot water knob as well. They mixed into a good warm temperature that rained down from the shower head.

You quickly stripped out of your old clothes, covering your underwear and little bra with the other clothes. It wasn’t like someone would be digging through your things, but still.

Stepping into the shower, the hay and sawdust and everything that had been clinging to your skin and hair began melting away and falling off, meeting the drain and washing down if not just getting stuck there. You’d pull it out later.

You pulled the shower curtain out and used it to cover yourself, feeling just a bit too exposed without it, and you didn’t want to get water outside the tub, anyway.

You reached for the shampoo first, wanting to get the nightmare of a hair cleaning over with. Your hair was matted and knitted and hadn’t been brushed thoroughly in at least a week, but you’d at least try to wash it.

Clicking open the bottle, you squirted the thick product out, rubbing it together in your hands before moving the lathered-up product in your hands to your hair, rubbing it in, before letting it dissolve away under the water. The conditioner was next, being put in the rest of your hair, and you let it sit there as you used the liquid soap from the bottle and scrubbed it into your skin, washing it away.

The shower hadn’t felt long.

You washed the conditioner out, turned the water off, and grabbed a towel that Kyle must’ve put on the bathroom counter right before stepping out. You unfolded the towel, wrapping it around yourself, before opening the door.

Kyle was there, holding some clothes that had been in your bag.

“Here, I just grabbed the first ones I saw, I didn’t go through it.”

He reassured, probably having seen the way your face had soured slightly, before relaxing again. It still wasn’t the greatest knowing this man had been touching all your personal belongings, but you could get over it.

Stepping into the bathroom, you changed into the much warmer clothes he picked out. A pair of grey sweatpants, and a shirt that had thicker material. Hell, even the bra was one of your thicker ones.

When you were done, you opened the door again, and he made a little happy bird noise, almost like a chirping purr, at seeing you all bundled up and cozy. Johnny, whose hands were covered in dirt, claws out, had been walking past and heard the noise. He’d poked his head around the corner, grinning when he saw the scene.

“Mother hen!”

He called as he continued down the hall, hopefully, to wash himself off. Kyle rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it, particularly because he knew it was true.

He was a mother hen, but they had bigger issues to be handled.

Such as your hair.

“Do you want me to help with your hair? I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

You figured that nothing could make your mess of hair worse at this point, and nodded. Kyle preened at the confirmation, almost literally. Something warm and gooey, like the center of a freshly baked brownie, filled his eyes as he led you to his room, practically beaming.

You figured it must be the bird in him talking. Maybe helping with hair was considered grooming and preening to him? It made sense, now that you thought about it. It could be why he acted so weird when you pulled that pin feather out after just meeting him, he’d been surprised because he hadn’t considered you family yet, and it was a family activity.

When you both arrived at the door you assumed was into his room, he opened it, leading you inside, leaving the door just a little bit cracked open. His room was warm and smelt like lavender and jasmine.

He had a lot of pictures on the walls, some being obviously family photos, others being him in a military uniform with other men in uniform.

He led you over to a little chair in the middle of the room with a low back, having you sit in it, and he pulled out a detangling brush from a bag on the floor full of jars and brushes and razors that he used often. He pulled out a jar next, taking a scoop of the thick white cream and spreading it across his hands, before applying it on the outside of your hair, trying the best he could to get it all in there.

“My mom used to do my hair like this when I was little.”

He said, talking to you, but also somewhat to himself. You weren’t much of a talker, anyway. He knew that.

He began using the detangling brush, starting at the ends of your hair, immediately meeting resistance and melting right through it as he worked his magic with the brush and cream.

“I could never sit still, though, so she’d always have to talk to me or tell me a story while I sat down to keep me there long enough.”

Oh. So that was what he was doing.

His hands worked through your hair, applying more cream, rubbing it in, and brushing through the matted and tangled areas of the damp hair. Soon enough, he was in the middle of it. Then, he had reached your scalp. Then he was brushing out all of it.

He’d been rambling on about something the entire time. You hadn’t minded. You might not need the entertainment or distraction, but he was just doing what he’d seen his mother doing before.

“It was worse when she had to help me clean my wings, it was too ticklish at the time. Of course, I’ve gotten used to it now, and well—I guess I should clean them today, huh?”

That caught your attention.

You’d heard your hybrid friends mentioning preening and grooming their wings before, but never actually seen it. You swallowed, hoping to not be rejected, as you spoke.

“Can I help?”

His heart nearly melted in his chest at your tiny little voice, or it was at least tiny compared to what he was used to. He wouldn’t mind an extra hand in cleaning his wings, he usually had Price or Soap help, but the way they touched his wings was certainly not a way he wanted you touching them.

There was a joint bathroom connected to his room for this exact reason.

He closed the lid on the cream, placing it and the brush back into what you now thought was probably a makeup bag. You followed him into the bathroom, letting out an undignified squeak when he pulled his shirt off. Your hands covered your eyes, and he giggled for a moment.

“I’m just taking my shirt off, honey, you can open your eyes.”

You peeked out, still trying not to let your eyes wander to his now-exposed chest and torso. Hell, he had a bigger chest than you. His honey-brown skin was muscled despite how lean he was. You’d seen boy’s bare skin before, like when they would pull their shirts up to wipe the sweat off of their foreheads in gym class, but you’d never exactly enjoyed it.

His wing bases looked exactly how you thought they would under the shirt. Feathers spread over the base, fanning out slowly as it melded into his normal skin.

He got in the tub, turning around to have his wings face you as they untucked from his back and slowly relaxed. He pulled the shower head down, turning on the water but to a very low pressure so it wasn’t spraying everywhere, and offered it to you.

“Just spray down my wings, from the base, then the top, then the very bottom.”

He instructed. You took the shower head and tried as he said, starting at the base, where the feathers were reluctant to get wet, but eventually obeyed, then slowly moving to the top, watching as he shuddered slightly when the warm water trickled down to the bottom of his wings. The feathers looked almost black when they were wet, and his wings looked much skinnier now. Still pretty, just a lot less dramatic now.

After a few minutes of soaking the feathers, he nodded, hand reaching for the shower head to turn it off and put it back up.

“Good, now we can dry it off, then apply the oils.”

You didn’t really know what he was on about. You were just happy to know you’d done a good job.

“Grab the hairdryer out of the cabinet. It’s bright pink, and has a few doodles on it.”

You moved over to the cabinets under the sink, opening it, and shuffling around before finding a bright pink hairdryer just like promised. It had a few stains from past hair dye, which made you imagine the men in bright pink hair (an image you quickly tried to forget). There was a doodle of a little skull face and a rectangle with a few bubbles next to it.

You plugged it into the outlet next to the toilet, and turned it on low heat, not wanting to accidentally burn or hurt Kyle. You started with the top of his wings, figuring that it would be most efficient. Next, you made sweeping motions over the base of his wings, gradually moving to the bottom of the wings, the feathers puffing back up fluffier than ever before.

You watched as he gave a few test flaps, deciding that it was good enough, as he nodded once again. He was smiling again.

“Good, now I’ll help you with the oil part. You can put the hairdryer on the counter.”

You unplugged the hairdryer, setting it down on the pearly white counter, watching as Kyle got up and opened the secret cabinet that was behind the bathroom mirror. There were jars and medicines inside, and the harpy grabbed a jar saying something in a cursive font you couldn’t read.

“See,”

He began.

“Normally, a harpy has a gland that produces the oils for them, it keeps their feathers waterproof, clean, and healthy.”

You understood the basic concept he was explaining. He sat down on the edge of the tub, and you sat down on the carpet, ignoring the wet fuzz soaking into your knees.

“But mine is damaged, and doesn’t produce those oils, so I have to manually do it, which is very….annoying.”

You cocked your head to the side, wondering what had damaged his special gland so badly, but he didn’t answer your silent question. Instead, he opened the container, which had a sticky, thin brown fluid in it. It almost looked like a thinner, stickier version of Vegemite.

He dipped two fingers in, rubbing it over both hands.

“I’ll show you how to do it first.”

He said, as his hands began fluffing up and rubbing the feathers nearest to the base of his wings first, rubbing the thin substance in, patting it to ensure it wasn’t still sticky, before moving on to the next round of feathers. You thought you understood the basics of it.

Dipping a finger into the strange thing, you also rubbed it on your hands, tentatively rubbing and fluffing it into the bottom feathers of his wings like you’d seen him doing. He let out a hum of approval, and you continued, slowly getting more confident.

A few minutes of silence passed, all of his feathers being oiled appropriately until your hand moved to his inner wing, and this time he was the one to let out a squeak.

You pulled your hand away almost immediately, and he turned a shade of bright red in the cheeks.

“Don’t touch there, that’s really sensitive.”

He said, trying to wave it off with a grin and a little awkward laugh. You raised a single brow.

“Johnny touched you there.”

A single statement, but one that was correct. Johnny had his hands all up in Kyle’s inner wings this morning when they’d been making breakfast together. You had noticed.

Kyle turned a brighter shade of red. He didn’t seem to know what to say.

“It’s…different, for different pack members—“

“Dinner!”

“Yup. Yeah. Dinner time, let’s go, kiddo.”

He led you out of the room, newly washed and oiled feathers puffed up in what you assumed was mild embarrassment. You didn’t know why he wasn’t explaining it to you, considering you were just going to look it up later.

John raised an eyebrow at Kyle’s behavior, watching as he sat down while fidgeting, staring into his plate. Simon and Johnny both took one look at Kyle’s fresh wings, then at you and guessed what happened. A smirk pulled at Simon’s lips. Johnny snorted. Kyle had forgotten to put his shirt back on.

Dinner passed quickly. It was the leftovers of the pot roast. They were tired from whatever work they’d done today but still lively. You watched.

When it was over, you slid your plate into the sink, not sure what activity was coming next.

“Bedtime for you, cub.”

John rumbled, leading you back to your room, listening to Kyle accuse Johnny or Simon of stealing his shirt, not able to find it after taking it off in the bathroom while they both insisted he’d lost it.

You crawled into your bed, with clean hair, a clean body, and mildly clean clothes. John took the blanket and tucked you in, even as you lay down in a strange position.

“Sleep good, and sneak me that shirt in the mornin’, I’ll tell Kyle I found it in the bin.”

He said, smiling with a wink, giving you an Eskimo kiss while his beard tickles your face. You found that strangely, you didn’t mind the closeness. You smiled back at him, returning the wink, pulling out Kyle’s missing shirt that was bundled under your shirt, and bunching it up.

You held it against your chest, curling up around it and the familiar scent of honey and apple pie that it held. The scent of Kyle.

No, you didn’t usually sleep well in new places, but as the light turned off and John closed the door behind him, you found that you couldn’t help but drift into a surprisingly peaceful sleep.

Tags:

@theartgremlin

@thriving-n-jiving

@simonrileysown

[lunarforager]

Beginner Witch's Guide: The Basics

Hello friends and all my beginner witches! Welcome to my Beginner Witch's Guide where I will be sharing my wisdom in regards to the craft! This series of posts will be a set of guides to all sorts of aspects in the witchy world from crystals to tarot to baneful magic.

---

Beginner Materials:

(Keep in mind that none of these are necessary materials to practice witchcraft! These are just some ideas for what you can start practicing with!)

Crystals

Not only are crystals insanely beautiful, but they are also super useful for your practice. Some great beginner crystals include rose quartz, amethyst, citrine, and obsidian! Crystals can be somewhat expensive, but these tend to be ones you can find for fairly cheap!

Herbs

So many herbs can be used for the practice, and the best thing is that so many herbs can be easily purchased for relatively little from the local grocery store. Yes! The herbs in those little jars on the shelf can be used in magic no problem!

Salt

Salt has been used in many different cultures in many different forms of witchcraft as protection from negative energies and curses. Salt is a priceless thing in the witchy world!

Candles

Candles aren't necessary (technically nothing on this list is) but many spells will call for candles of various colors but the good thing is, candles can be found for super cheap in places like dollar stores or thift stores! And colors don't matter as much as people might tell you. White candles can used in place of others for pretty much any spell that calls for colored candles.

Tarot Deck (or deck of cards)

Tarot is a great way to start getting into divination and so getting a tarot deck can start you on that path of learning. They can be somewhat expensive, so a normal deck of cards can also be used! There are so many guides online of how to use a normal deck of cards for tarot readings and there are also great guides on how to start getting into tarot.

---

Thank you for taking time to read over this post! I absolutely love sharing my knowledge about the craft with people and would love to share more with anyone reading!

Feel free to send me messages or asks about the practice and I'll try my best to answer them, but I also just love talking to people in general haha!

Valete my friends!

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

sᴡᴇᴀᴛʏ

screencaps and gifs: @din-jarring They're truly amazing, the best! Their inspiring presence sparked the creation of this story, bringing characters to life in a remarkable way. I highly recommend checking them out—they're a beacon of talent and inspiration! 💕✨️💕

Pairing: Jaiver Peña x fem!reader

Summary: In hot weather, Javier and you get cozy on his couch. The broken AC doesn't stop the heat between you two in any way, shape or form.

Warnings/tags: MDNI 18+, degradation, praise, male moaning, breeding kink, kissing, oral M and F receiving, face sitting, alcohol consumption, power dynamics, explicit language,Unprotected sex wrap it before you tap it, kids. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME

WC: 2.7K

The midday sun bore down relentlessly upon Javier's apartment, defying any hopes of cool respite. Despite his efforts, the small space offered little relief from the Colombian heat. Javier reclined on the worn tan couch, a cold beer in hand, his brow glistening with sweat. You surrendered to the stifling atmosphere, abandoning any notion of productivity to join Javier on the couch.

With a sigh of relief, Javier popped the top off a cold beer, the droplets of condensation offering a tantalizing promise of refreshment amidst the stifling heat. As you fanned yourself with a magazine, attempting to alleviate the oppressive warmth, a complaint about the temperature slipped from your lips. "It's so hot I can barely breathe," you remarked, turning to face Javier.

Despite the discomfort, Javier remained effortlessly attractive, even with sweat causing his hair to cling to his forehead. You met his gaze before setting the magazine aside and peeling off your sweater, revealing the tank top underneath. The relief of shedding layers was immediate, the cool fabric offering a welcome change from the heat of the sweater.

You sighed deeply, closing your eyes as you leaned back, resting your head against the soft cushion of Javier's couch. Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead, tracing a path down to your chest and seeping into the fabric of your tank top. You were almost certain that your nipples were poking through the fabric of your tank top. Bras felt like torture chambers for your breasts, so you rarely wore them, and today was no exception.

You heard some movement beside you and opened your eyes to find Javi had taken his shirt off. He was fit, but not fit enough to deny cake, that was for sure. A blush crept onto your cheeks at the sight, and Javi, catching your reaction, quipped, "What? Can I not take my shirt off as well?”

Your cheeks flamed even hotter, and you stuttered, "N-no, I mean, yeah, of course you can..." Your words trailed off as you struggled to regain your composure, feeling the heat rise to your face. Javi chuckled at your flustered state, his easy grin melting any lingering tension. "Relax, it's just too damn hot," he said, gesturing towards the sweltering room.

Feeling somewhat relieved by his casual response, you managed to compose yourself enough to ask, "Um, is the AC on?"

Javi nodded, understanding your concern, and got up to check the air conditioning unit. After a moment, he returned, frustration etched on his face.

"It's broken," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Guess we'll have to tough it out until I can get someone to fix it."

You groaned inwardly, feeling a fresh wave of heat wash over you at the news. "Great," you muttered, resigning yourself to the sweltering heat that seemed determined to cling to every corner of the apartment.

Javi began by slipping off his shoes, followed by the removal of his pants. "Well, I'm getting comfortable," he stated casually, his voice echoing in the room. Your cheeks flushed as Javi continued to undress before you, each movement captivating your attention. As he started to take off his pants, you couldn't resist stealing a glance at the prominent outline in his boxers.

Looking up at him from your seated position, you found yourself mesmerized by his presence. Standing before you, Javi exuded an aura of confidence that was almost intoxicating. His demeanor sent a shiver down your spine, stirring a heat within you that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

Standing before you in just his boxers, Javi's half-hard dick was unmistakably visible, his smirk betraying his bold intentions. Without a hint of shame, he openly admired your breasts, his gaze filled with desire. "You have no idea how much I want you right now," he confessed, his voice husky with longing.

In response, you met Javi's gaze with a coy expression, your hands gently resting on your thigh. "Javi?" you murmured, seeking clarity or perhaps a moment of hesitation in his eyes.

Meeting your gaze with unbridled lust, Javi's response was unapologetically direct. "Do you know how much I would pay to fuck right now?" he whispered, the intensity of his desire palpable in the air between you.

You brought one of your hands up to his thigh, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. "How much?" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. With a daring move, your hand traced the line of his boxers, pushing the fabric lower exposing more of his curly little happy trail. Your gaze met his with an intensity that mirrored your desire, those same sweet eyes inviting him closer.

In response, Javi's hand moved to caress the back of your head, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. The air between you crackled with anticipation, each touch igniting a fiery longing that begged to be quenched.

As his soft touch swiftly changed, Javi's demeanor shifted, his grip on your hair becoming firmer, almost commanding. With a forceful tug, he compelled your head to tilt back, exposing the vulnerable curve of your throat. Leaning in closer, his face mere inches from yours, he exuded an intensity that left you breathless.

In the charged silence that followed, Javi's voice was a low, husky whisper against your ear. "How much? Enough to make you forget your own name, baby," he declared, his words a potent blend of desire and possession. And with that declaration hanging in the air, your lips finally crashed with his, igniting a fiery passion that consumed you both.

Lost in the heat of the moment, you melted into each other on the couch, the world outside fading into obscurity as you surrendered to the intoxicating rhythm of desire. Every touch, every kiss was an affirmation of the intense connection between you, each moment building upon the next until you were both consumed by an insatiable hunger for one another.

He lowered you onto your back, his weight pressing deliciously against you as he moved over the top of you, his lips trailing soft kisses along your neck. But as his advances intensified, you pushed him off gently, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes as you rose to your feet, leaving Javi looking confused.

"If you're paying..." you began, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips as you dropped to your knees before him, your hands caressing his thighs and stomach teasingly. "I should be extra caring towards you," you continued, your voice dripping with playful seduction. "You know, Javi, you're just..."

Before you could finish your sentence, Javi cut you off abruptly, his grip on your hair tight as he pulled you closer. "Suck my dick or I'm not paying you anything," he commanded, his tone firm and demanding. With a silent nod, you complied, reaching to pull Javi's dick out of his boxers.

Javi may have been a cocky asshole, but he had good reason to be. His dick was at least the size of a coke can, a fact that was impossible to ignore. With a small spit into your hand, you began to stroke his impressive length softly, feeling the weight of it in your palm. Drawing closer to him, you licked his shaft a few times before softly sucking on the pinkish tip, humming as you did so.

Javi, eager for more, used his hand to guide your mouth further down his dick. Taking the hint, you accepted the challenge, taking as much of him into your mouth as you could manage, even if it felt like your mouth might split in half. With one hand still working his shaft, you moved the other to his balls, gently fondling them as you continued to please him. A sweet sound escaped Javi's lips in response, spurring you on to suck a little more of him into your mouth.

As your lips enveloped him, Javi's hips instinctively lifted, driving himself deeper into your mouth. The sudden intrusion made you gag slightly, but you fought to maintain your composure, meeting his gaze with glossy eyes filled with a mixture of desire and determination. Sensing your reaction, Javi's movements became more deliberate, his thrusts growing softer and more controlled as he found a rhythm that suited both of you.

With each movement, you adjusted, finding your own pace to match his, the sensation of him filling your mouth and sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. As he continued to thrust, you shifted your focus, using one hand to gently massage and fondle his balls, adding an extra layer of stimulation that drove him wild with desire.

As Javi's hips stilled, he let out a low, guttural moan, the sound sending a thrill coursing through you. "God damn," he muttered, his voice thick with desire. "Get on my dick. If I'm paying, I'm cumming inside of you."

You continued to softly suck on his dick, your lips trailing teasingly along his length as you listened to his words. His moans were like music to your ears, each sound fueling the fire burning between you. With a deliberate pop, you released his dick from your mouth, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes as you shed your pants and underwear, revealing the extent of your arousal. You were soaked, the evidence of your desire glistening on your skin.

Noticing the hunger in Javi's gaze, you felt a surge of excitement rush through you. He leaned forward, his lips pressing against your stomach in a hungry kiss before his hands gripped your upper thighs, guiding you to straddle his face. Your pussy hovered tantalizingly over his mouth, the anticipation sending shivers down your spine as you felt the tickle of his mustache against your inner thighs.

"Ready to forget your name?" Javi said smugly, his words sending a thrill of anticipation through you. Without waiting for a response, he placed a direct kiss on your clit, his tongue expertly finding the sensitive area with ease.

Javi's tongue worked its magic on your clit, setting off an explosion of pleasure that made you arch your back in ecstasy. Waves of sensation rippled through your entire body, leaving you gasping for air as Javi's precise movements brought you closer to the edge.

With each passing second, you felt yourself unraveling under the intensity of Javi's touch. The world around you faded away as you surrendered to the pleasure he bestowed upon you. His lips and tongue moved with a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart, pushing you toward the brink of desire-fueled madness.

As the heat between you intensified, a primal need for release consumed your every thought. Your fingers gripped the fabric of the couch as you rode the wave of pleasure, feeling it threaten to overwhelm you completely.

In a final, desperate cry of ecstasy, you shattered into a million pieces, consumed by the overwhelming bliss of climax. Javi's name escaped your lips in a breathless whisper as you succumbed to the ecstasy that washed over you, your body trembling with the force of your release.

With a smirk playing on his now arousal-covered face, Javi gently lowered your legs before positioning you to straddle him. There was a fleeting moment of pure bliss in his gaze as he looked at you, his eyes filled with desire. Your lips met in a passionate kiss as he began to insert his sizable cock into you, eliciting a moan from your lips at the delicious stretch.

You weren't a stranger to intimacy, but the sheer girth of him made you gasp in pleasure. Javi's reputation was well-deserved, and as he filled you, you couldn't help but marvel at the intensity of sensation coursing through your body. Once you were fully seated on his dick, a deep, guttural moan escaped your lips, the sound muffled as Javi pulled you close to his chest.

The scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, the room's humidity rising with each passionate movement shared between you and Javi. It was as if the very atmosphere around you was charged with the heat of your desire, amplifying the intensity of your connection.

You started to move your hips a little faster, grinding against him as your breasts pressed tantalizingly against his chest. Each movement sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, aching to find that perfect spot inside of you that promised pure ecstasy. Javi held you close, his grip firm yet gentle as he guided your movements, his desire evident in the way he met your rhythm.

With a low groan, Javi shifted his legs to rest on the coffee table in front of him, angling himself to better thrust into you. The change in position sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine as you felt him plunge deeper inside you, the sensation overwhelming yet utterly intoxicating. Javi's groan mingled with your moans of pleasure.

Javi released his hold on you, his hands moving to your hips, ensuring you were perfectly settled upright on his dick. A gasp escaped your lips at the sudden change, the sensation of him hitting that sweet spot sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your entire being. Javi could feel your grip tightening around him, a sure sign that he had found the spot that drove you wild.

With a primal intensity, Javi began to pound up into you, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body. His hands held you firmly in place as you braced yourself against his chest, your nails digging into his skin as you clung to him for dear life. Your moans grew louder with each passing moment, a symphony of desire that filled the room.

As the coil of pleasure tightened in your stomach, you felt yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy. With a loud cry, you felt the wave of orgasm crashing over you, your body trembling with the force of it. You buried your face in Javi's shoulder, overcome with the intensity of sensation coursing through you.

Javi, sensing your release, slowed his thrusts, not wanting to overstimulate you. "Awe, giving up so soon?" he teased, his voice husky with desire. "What am I paying you for?" But even as he spoke, the desire in his eyes burned brightly.

As Javi's hips drove upwards with a relentless urgency, the sheer force of his movements sent you spiraling further into ecstasy. Your head fell back, exposing your neck to the heated air as waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you trembling in their wake. With each thrust, your senses were overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the pleasure coursing through your veins.

His voice, thick with desire, reached your ears like a primal growl, stirring something deep within you. "You like that, huh?" Javi's words were more of a statement than a question, his tone dripping with satisfaction as he watched your reactions with hungry eyes. The way he took you, possessing you with every thrust, ignited a fire within you that burned hotter with each passing moment.

Unable to form coherent words, you could only manage a breathless nod in response, your body responding to his touch with a fervor that bordered on desperation. With each thrust, the coil of pleasure tightened in your stomach, the anticipation of release driving you to the brink of oblivion.

As the intensity of your connection reached its peak, Javi's movements became more frenzied, driving you both toward the edge of ecstasy. With a final, desperate cry, you felt the wave of orgasm crashing over you, your body convulsing with the force of it as you surrender yourself fully to the pleasure.

And then, in that moment of pure bliss, you felt him release inside you, his hot seed spilling deep within your core. The sensation of him pulsing within you sent shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body, amplifying the intensity of your climax until you were both consumed by the sheer ecstasy of it all.

He slid out of you, his movements slow and deliberate, before pulling you into his arms on the couch. You couldn't help but giggle at the playful exchange as he reached for his wallet. "So, how much?" he asked, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"100 dollars," you replied with a mischievous grin, teasing him with the modest amount.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he regarded you fondly. "You're worth more than that," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine affection. With a playful flick of his wrist, he tossed his wallet in your direction before leaning back against the cushions, a smirk playing on his lips.

[onskepa]

HELLO HALO HELLO! I SAW THE UPDATE THINGY AND NOW I HAVE ARRIVED WITH A REQUEST! Whew!

Okay so here me Out! I've been thinking about neteyam alot but I have yet to request maybe some neteyam and Aonung together falling for reader

My request is based of a made up Tribe I Made,

/backround information/

the tribe is called the Tawsyuram (Aurora Mountain) tribe who live on a mountain high above a sea of clouds.

The original Tawsyuram clan had almost gone extinct due to a destructive Na'vi clan, but was saved and had grown anew due to the help of a large close knit group of humans from the slums on earth. Due to they're now Tsahik, Mai a human woman who was a doctor trained in surgery and herbal medicine was able to regrow and heal the spirit tree using an earth seed (when I do my full info thing on my tumblr you'll learn more, but that's later!)

Due to the healing of the spirit that houses Mother earth's (daughter 'Rrta) spirit herself a plant had blossomed allowing the humans to breath great mother Eywa's air the humans along side they're now Na'vi spirit family live in harmony over many years.

(They live within the mountain caverns)

/the request/

The Sully's were originally traveling to hide away from the RDA and Quaritch, were going to seek uturu from the Metakiyan, that was until they cam across this young avatar driver? Na'vi teen? Saying her clan would be able to hide them from the RDA gladly.

Neteyam who was intranced by this strange bubbly and wild girl who (as his father called it) talked like an excitable hippie, was absolutely gorgeous... and it would seem his soon to be mate Aonung would agree, also just a little question but, how the HELL IS SHE FLYING AN IKRAN WITHOUT TSAHEYLU!?!?

\Basically I would like to request the Sully's and Tonowari's family having to go into hiding and stuff meet this Ki (a character from Mars needs Moms) like teen girl who finds the Sully's mid travel and offers to shelter them within her tribe since they'll be much more accepted there. They arrived at the floating Mountain, though quite dizzy since they aren't used to being this high above, and are welcomed by the Tsahik who is a bit ditzzy though very calming and understanding, high difficult to anger see's there strife and welcomes them wholeheartedly all the while kinda jokingly yet a tad bit seriously scolding her daughter (the reader) about how she wasn't supposed to leave the Mountain until she was 18 to pass her Iknimaya (since those in the tribe bond with they're ikran's just before they hatch at a young age, giving them time to learn how to fly and practice the bonding dance when they are 18.) Along the way Neteyam and Aonung fall pretty hard for the happy go lucky tsakarem.

Basically the Sully's coming to learn a different side to humanity than they're used to./

\a bit more info to help with the story/

That Tawsyuram's healing hut is sheltered between three gigantic curly trees with book shelves holding many medical records, medicine information and tactics. With a huge curly tree in the middle with glass jars holding glowing bug fireflies to light of the room, tables and comfy sleeping mats and big pillows on the floor in the open spaces of the room for the patients.

Little ones at the age of 6 to 9 will go up to the Ikran nest that house the expecting ikran parents to be with either a food gift or a nesting gift, That is only given when the the egg wiggles in the direction towards its chosen, sensing its soon to be rider. After the gifts are given the children will carry the egg in a type of bundle strapped to they're chest making it easier to carry to a large crystal that gives off heat, watching as the ikran hatches from its egg on a soft nesting near the crystal. The baby will then nip its chosen on they're skin too show they have chosen they're future rider.

Once a year has passed, the child and its somewhat grown ikran who know are coming into they're colors will learn to fly together as a part of their training. The child with a sky diving wingsuit and the youngling ikran, with jump off a not so high ledge gliding of floating above a somewhat deep lake.

The Iknimaya is quite dangerous, so the Na'vi and humans alike agreed that it will only be carried out when the child has become 18 years of age. To do the Iknimaya they must fly on the back of they're ikrans back and then are left to climb up the flat faced mountain, which is even high than they're home's mountain. They meet their ikran onto of it and then jump sky dive off the mountain with a special wingsuit material made to look like they're ikran, which is made by the parents as a sign of sending them off into adult hood. They will then fly with they're and must land on their back and bond mid flight, strengthening the already growing bond they had when they were little.

The humans planters who run the fields found ways to plant human food, while the doctors and a few scientists found ways to detoxify the pandora meat so they may eat it. Their cook fire has a huge round island like table where the cooks cook the food inside the circle. The cook fire room if big to hold many of the tribe with two stories with pillows on the floor to sit on. Even sweets like cakes and such are on the menu!

The Na'vi and humans also wear clothing like the Omaticaya and Metakiyan but also wear winter clothing using wool from a pandora like sheep that are taller than humans but only come up to a Na'vi's waist.

The Tawsyuram clothing

All the images were made from using Bing AI prompts I made.

(I hope this is an okay request? And not like too much, if the whole neteyam and Aonung thing isn't cool, then I'm fine with you just doing Lo'ak. Thank you for taking the time to read this!

I hope you are having a wonderful morning/evening/afternoon/night! Hun!

Helloooooooooooo darling! Honestly you have such a big imagination and vast ideas here. It took me a good while for this story to be as good as you visioned it to be. Unfortunatly some stuff was cut out but I hope that what stayed is good for you and everyone to read! So sit back and relax! Enjoy!

--------------

Tawsyuram clan

It wasn't easy. Leaving all that you know for somewhere that beyond what you are literally built for. And to look for a clan that is willing to welcome a family that seeks refuge from a way is even harder. There is a lot to gamble on. Child born living only the life of war, and to live a life of peace is very desirable but would be getting used to. 

So that is what Jake and Neytiri sully do. Leaving their home for the sake of their children. The question is, where? Where can they go? Who is willing to accept them? While Jake sully had an idea of heading to the islands of the reef na’vi where they are more isolated. He needs a plan B in case the reef clans reject them. 

If only by Eywa’s miracle can a open chance appear before him.

“Why not join us?” 

A human. With an ikran. A Human riding an Ikran was standing before the sully family. A Human, without a MASK. And very short too. Everyone was staring at the human in unbelievable shock. None uttered a word. 

“Hello…..? Is something on my face?” The human asks her ikran who only grunts in response. 

“Who are you?” Neytiri was quick to react, her blade ready to strike. The human raised her hands to show she meant no harm and didn't take another step.  “Easy, I am not here to bring you harm. My name is Danu”. 

“What do you want?” Jake asks/demands. 

“It's not what I want, it's more like what you need,” Danu replied. 

“And what would that be?” Kiri asks, feeling a slight irk prickling behind her head. 

“Protection from the RDA. My clan can help you with that and more” Danu adds. 

“What clan would have humans in it?” Neytiri hisses, not liking the young human by the second. 

“The Tawsyuram clan” .

The travel towards wherever the girl was leading them to didn't take that long. Only about a day. The family would have gone longer if they still headed towards the reef islands. Instead of going north, the girl led them south. Where neytiri can remember, is just pure open mountains and large bodies of water. No clan inhabits those areas. At least clans neytiri is familiar with. 

“We are here!” the girl shouts behind her. The family looks around, but all they see is thick clouds surrounding them. Cant see anything further than 15 feet of range vision. “Where is here?” *Jake asks. The girl didn't answer. The view did. 

High above, in the middle of vast floating mountains stood one massive floating island. Large and vast. As they get closer, more details are easy to see. The island has its own mountains, its own clouds! Everyone was in awe. 

“Welcome everyone! To Aurora mountain!” 

Words cannot even begin to describe the beautiful mountain. Wild ikran flying freely, clouds forming above the mountain peak. Plants grow in so many shades and colors. It was vibrant. And it felt so familiar yet new to the sully family. And as they landed on the ground of the mountain, the gentle breeze welcomed them. Everyone got off of their ikrans and looked all over at the new location. 

Danu happily jumped off of her ikran and skipped along. “Come on, there is so much to show you. My mother would love to meet you all” gesturing to follow her. 

The family all stuck together, still wary of this place. Unsure of what to think of it. “Ma’jake, what if it's a trap?” Neytiri suspects, holding tuk close to her as the child wanted to follow Danu. Jake reassured her by holding her close, “our ikrans are ready to take flight again, we are armed and ready to fight. We should be fine” he replies. 

Kiri and lo’ak on the other hand were admiring the new view and happily followed Danu as they entered the save. The entrance was hidden by massive leaves that can move by a single touch. Inside was a path full of colorful paintings and murals. So many details and no doubt so many stories it holds.

“Come on, don't slow down on me! Everyone is excited to meet you!” Danu’s voice echoed in the cave. Picking up speed, everyone followed Danu, where she stood in an open area, her smile big and bright and arms wide in a welcoming gesture. “Welcome to our home!” she announces proudly. 

“Oh my Eywa….”

The inside literally looked like a whole new world. Ikrans flying high above the massive cave, hanging flowers from the cave sides or from smaller floating rocks. Waterfalls everywhere, little creatures flying or running about. And most of all, na’vi and humans were together. Many playing games, farming, chatting, anything they did together. What Jake noticed was that the humans were not wearing masks. And neytiri noticed that there was a mix of pure na’vi and what looks like hybrid na’vi’s like her children. It was a perfect utopia. Perhaps suspiciously too perfect. 

As they continue deeper into the village, the locals all stop to look at them, curiosity evident in their eyes. Some children even follow them closely. 

“This is so weird…” Lo’ak whispers, kiri was quick to shush him. 

“Come, my mom will be super excited to meet all of you!” Danu says, learning them through the village, and through another patch of forest. “I know the village must have overwhelmed you but it was to give you the view of your possible life here. Of course if you choose to stay” Dany informs, moving some plants out of the way without the need to cut them. 

“Who is your mother…?” Neytiri asks. 

She wasn't given much of an answer as Danu climbed a set of stone stairs leading up to an uphill. The family quickly followed and coming in view was a tree. But not just any tree, a tree so different yet so familiar. With a hue of glowing teal color and Atokirina floating about, this was the people’s spirit tree. However, something else floats alongside the Atokirina. Something neytiri has never seen before. 

“MAMAAAAAAAAA~!!” Danu calls out in a happy cheery voice. 

At the base of the tree stood a human woman. Long braided hair, the ends with what seem like white stone and beads spreaded around her braids. Her outfit seeming to tell she is of higher status. 

The woman looks over at danu and smiles, welcoming the girl in a tight embrace. “Mom! I have brought some new guests! Meet the Sully family!” Danu happily introduces and she points to the family. 

The woman looks at the family, and greets them in the na’vi way, with grace and elegance sewn in every movement. “Welcome to our home, it seems like you have traveled a lot. Perhaps some rest is needed before you can ask your question"

They were given a home. Looked like a mix of a marui and a hut if Jake could describe it as best as he could. It was spacious, the kids got to have a private spot each and the pit for a cook fire was in the middle. They got to settle down and gather their thoughts, until jake called in for a family meeting. 

“Look, I get this is all new. For you, for us. But it seems they are willing to take us in without even asking. So try to be on your best behavior, all of you. Especially you lo’ak” jake says, looking at his second son. Lo’ak wasnt making eye contact so neteyam grabbed him by the neck making him face his dad. 

“Will we really stay here…?” Tuk asks nervously. While it seemed very exciting exploring a new place and meet new people, it was also scary. Jake took a moment and answered, “if they let us baby”. Tuk made a whining noise, frowning “I want to go home!” she whimpers. Close to crying. Neytiri looks at her baby with sadness, “oh tuk…”. Jake holds tuk’s hand to comfort her. “This is most likely to be our home now…and we will make most of it” 

“What does your father always say?” Neytiri asks her children…

“I hope you have all settled well. Come, you must all be famished” the woman says with an unusual softness to her voice. The sully family were invited to her home, where danu happily helped in serving the food for the newcomers. 

“I'm sorry, but what was your name again…?” Jake asks, wondering of the lady. And the woman lightly taps her head, “oh where are my manners. My name is Mai, the tsahik of the Tawsyuram clan” mai introduces herself. 

Neytiri’s tail sways curiously, “tsahik? You? But you are a human” she says. 

“Indeed, but soon you will learn neytiri, that this clan, this mountain, is not like what you know” Mai says, giving a playful wink. 

Mai gestures to everyone to take a seat as Danu serves everyone their portion. The food looked and smelled delicious, and from long travel, all of a suddenly everyone was starving. Tuk was all too happy to dig in, lo’ak doing the same. Both humming at the welcoming taste on their tongues. 

“Hungry I take it?” Mai teases as she takes a bite from her food. Neytiri cautiously takes a bite, her ears perking up liking the taste. It taste familiar yet different at the same time. Kind of tricky to describe the taste. But it had meat and other nutritional pieces of food. 

Danu sat next to neteyam, the boy looked over at her, really taking in her appearance. 

“You can stare at me all you like, pretty boy, but later, it's meal time” Danu winks at him. Neteyam nervously smiles but looks away, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He didn't say anything further and just ate in silence. 

After their hearty meal, questions flowed out like an endless river. But everyone asked so many questions at the same time, it was a mumbling mess. So, with a simple gesture of a hand, mai lowers the volume collectively. “One by one, all of your questions will be answered” was all she said. 

“Exactly, what is this place…?” Jake asks. A lot has happened in the few hours they have been exposed to something this strange. Even for pandora standards. 

“A floating mountain. Well, to be more specific, it is a mountain cut from the northern mountains. It is so big, it created its own ecosystem. I found it many years ago and settled in” mai explained. 

“Found it…? How?” 

“I was a scientist when the RDA arrived, much like many, I fell in love with this planet. It's precious and pure. I remember crying for seeing something so beautiful, so natural and colorful. To say, it didn't take a whole lot to change my mind. So secretly I planted my own ideas. Quiet literally” 

Mai turns to point at the spirit tree.

“That tree? It grew from a single seed that I brought with me from earth. Originally, the seed was of a red oak tree. However, when infused with the pandora soil it grew to something different. Something more beautiful. I see it as something from Eywa, her way of blessing the tree, blessing this mountain. And through this miracle tree, we humans can breathe the same air as the na’vi”

Once the na’vi were mentioned, it was neytiri’s turn to ask, “Why would na’vi come here?” 

Mai offered tuk a sweet treat as she continued, “why wouldn't they? After many raids from the RDA, many lands destroyed and their homes gone, where else could they have gone? Yes to another clan, but who is to say that clan won't be targeted next? They are tired of constant loss, so here is their answer”

Jake knew there will be many more questions to ask, so he thought of telling his kids to go out and explore, but mai beat him to it. 

“Danu my love, why dont you give the sully kids a proper tour of our home? Make sure they know and learn everything of their new home” mai tells danu. Her daughter nods in glee and leads the kids outside of her home. 

“Now, with them being entertained, lets talk about…”

“C’mon, this way!” Danu tells the four kids as they follow her closely. Neteyam being very close, might as well be at equal sides, lo’ak not too far and kiri carrying tuk as to not fall behind. Through the many plants, trees, and small bridges, they return back to the village where everyone was doing something. 

Tuk smiles as she gets to see the village life in a longer range. Everyone looked so busy, chatting, moving cattle from one place to another, people in stalls trading some items for others, others cooking and feeding those who are hungry. There is something going on in every corner. 

“It looks so……busy” lo’ak says as he observes the people. 

Danu lets out a short cackle, “of course! It is always busy here, wither hunting, weaving, trading, there is something going on and there is always something new! Come on, let me show you!” 

Once again Danu leads the siblings. Weaving a path through the busy crowd, neteyam follows easily, not losing sight of her noticeable hair. He and his siblings silently say “excuse me” and “I'm sorry” as they catch up to danu. They caught up to her as she stood in front of an older na’vi. Sitting on his seat as he fans the smoke of something he is cooking. 

“Welcome danu, are those the newcomers I see?” the kind elder na’vi asks, danu nods eagerly. “Yes, I am showing them around the village and soon the whole mountain!” she answers happily. The sullys introduce themselves one by one. While they chatted, tuk couldn't help but drool as the tasty looking food. The elder na’vi noticed and asks, “Would you like one young tuk?” 

Tuk hides her face behind kiri’s arm but shyly nods, the elder na’vi chuckles and hands her the most delicious looking treat. “Here, all yours, it is a fish kabab, but be careful. It is really hot” he says, tuk accepts and gently blows on it before taking a bite. Her big eyes sparkle with delight. 

“MMNNNNN~!! Its so yummy!!” she happily praises. The elder na’vi smiled with joy, then he handed a fish kabab to each sully. “Enjoy your treat” he says, everyone happily thanked him and soon they made their way again through the paths. 

“Damn, this is good” lo’ak comments as he enjoys the fish kabab. Danu turned to him, “trust me, that kabab is just the start. Our cooks are so talented and know just how to use everything and make a delicious meal!”. As she goes on to explain what each clan member does, of all the siblings, neteyam seems to hear but not 100% listen. 

He focuses more on danu’s voice and her personality. Something about her seems to draw him in. Is it her enthusiasm? Her boldness? Her extroverted ways? Neteyam doesn't know himself, but if they really are going to stay, he has time to figure it out.

“Oooooooohhh~!! They look so fluffy!!” Tuk says as she points at cute, sheep looking creatures that are being hurdled by a human farmer. Danu took her time to introduce the kids to many aspects of the mountain, To show them that here, it is safe. 

“What are they exactly? I have never seen or heard of them before?” kiri asked curiously. 

Danu snickered a bit, her shoulders shaking from trying not to laugh “they are called…..floofers. I am not joking, that is what they called”. Tuk looks back at the cute creatures, three yellow beady eyes on each side, 2 sets of horns curled backwards with six hooved feet and remarkably pure white floof as their fur. However small, they look tough. 

“I like it, floofers is an interesting choice of a name” lo’ak comments as he twirls a hanging vine nearby. 

“But why that name?” it was neteyam’s turn to ask, danu shrugged. “I'm not sure, my mom named them that. I guess because they are floofy? I really don't know but I like it either way” . 

They all admired the different herd animals in the massive farm land, until danu led them somewhere else. But as they keep on exploring, kiri notices that a few here and there are interesting glowing insect like creatures. They remind her of Atokirinas, they fly gracefully in a delicate manner. Close to a butterfly shape, they seem to be a bit see-through, almost as if they are either made of thin glass or thin fabric. The light they produce is beautiful, a gentle white glow. And for some reason they are getting closer to her, and kiri in return getting closer to them. 

“So pretty!” tuk notices the pretty looking insects, letting one land on her hand. 

“Awe, they like you” Danu coos as the glowing beauties land on kiri, taking interest. “What are they…?” Kiri whispers as to not scare them. 

“Tswatuhì” Danu replies slowly, admiring the little display in front of her. “They are like atokirina, little blessings of our great mother. And it seems they have taken you quite well kiri” 

The little butterflies then left kiri and landed on tuk, lo’ak and neteyam, giving each of them their own glow. “Oh ma’eywa, truly a lovely blessing” Danu says in awe. Humming a bit, Danu enjoys the scenery. 

“Truly, truly you guys are like disney princesses” she comments. 

“What's a disney princess?” Tuk asks 

“It's a Earth thing” 

“Ma’jake…are you certain?” Neytiri asks nervously. They have returned back to their new temporary home after talking with mai. They had a lot to think over. So Jake, rubbing his chin as he sits with his mate by his side. 

“You heard what mai said. This place is hidden in the clouds and aware from any RDA areas. It is just…too good. Too good of everything. The mountain, the environment, the people…” he goes on. 

Neytiri lingers on the people part. Yes, the people. Human and na’vi and the inbetween. As they made their way back, she noticed many romantic couples that were na’vi and human. If they are going to stay, this is something she has no choice but to tolerate. Yet the irony is there, to run away from humans they now have to live with the humans. 

“And our children…?” she asks more. But before Jake could respond, as if on cue, their children returned with baskets full of things and big smiles on their happy faces. 

“Mom! Dad! You won't believe what we saw!” Lo'ak said eagerly, tuk light slapped his arm because he beat her to it. 

“Look look, this fruit is called a watermelon! And it is so good! Very sweet and we can make all sorts of treats with it!” tuk showed the big green melon to her parents. Jake saw it and couldn't believe his eyes. 

“Watermelon…huh, this was long gone back in my time…” he whispers. 

“We had fish kebabs and we gotta try to make some! Oh! And some of the locals were kind enough to give us these….” 

The kids happily spoke of their little journey through the mountain, the people they met, the foods they tried and the overall culture thanks to their new friend Danu. But as they chatted away, Neytiri and Jake shared a look. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to stay.

As the sun sets below the horizon and darkness covers all sky and land, the mountain and the life inside comes to life. Bioluminescent colors glow in beautiful colors, and like any part of Pandora, the mountain was its own other word once darkness falls. 

Nocturnal creatures come out, and the daytime creatures lay in their nests to sleep. 

And the Tawsyuram mountain? They thrive. 

Like any tribe, the Tawsyuram clan was no different when it came to communal meals. Everyone went to the main center of the village, light hearted laughter, people dancing, singing, enjoying the moot. It was different yet it felt so familiar to the Sully family. The 5 gather together in a huddle like grip, many other locals surrounding them, giving their greetings and offerings to make them feel welcome. 

They appreciate it, Jake is neytiri still feel nervous but the kids have gotten more used to the welcoming treatment and more comfortable talking with the other villagers. Even tuk managed to chat with other kids around her age! 

“So…I take it you kids like it?” Jake asks his children, they all nodded eagerly. “Do you feel safe here? Welcomed?” Neytiri asks after him. 

“As welcoming as they can get mom” lo’ak grins as he presents her a basket full of unfamiliar fruits and flowers. Kiri snatches a mango from the basket and happily munches on it. “What about you neteyam?” neytiri turns to ask her eldest child. 

But neteyam didnt respond, not immediately. 

In the center of the moot, there was a ring of young teens, many around his and his siblings' age, dancing and enjoying the moment. Among the youth was danu, who was dancing in a very grateful way. The rhythm of the music flowed around her, keeping up with the pace and matching every beat and note. She looked so lovely with the lighting of the fire. Really hypnotizing really. 

Until danu’s eyes met his. Her smile widened more and she makes her way over to neteyam, grabbing his arm tugging him forward. “Come on, dance with me” danu invites. Feeling hesitant, neteyam respectfully tries to deny, “oh no, I dont know how” he says. Earning a little giggle from danu, she tugs him harder making him stand, “it is the way” danu said. 

She successfully brings him to the center of the moot where he begins to follow her moves and quickly gets the hang of the dance. 

Neytiri and Jake look in awe as they are reminded of their night. 

“I believe that answers your question” jake whispers as they take in the full warmth and welcome of the Tawsyuram clan. 

Okie this one seriously took me a looooooooooong time! There was so much re-writing and adjusting, I feel like despite how much I did, its not enough to truly cover what I envisioned but I did my best to fit everything in. So I hope you all enjoyed this one! Until next time! See ya!

[ken-dom]

Prioritise Pleasure

Lars Lindstrom x gn!reader

1.6k words

Summary: You help an embarrassed Lars learn to enjoy pleasure and embrace his desires (or, you want to make him cum but he’s nervous about it)

Author’s notes: this little fic was inspired by an idea from @ken-f-cker, encouraged by @hollandstrophyhusband, supported by @heresthestorymorningglory and exists because I just can’t leave this poor man alone. On that note, if anyone wants a part 2 of this with afab!reader, let me know! The title is taken from the album name of one of my Lars songs 🫶

Warnings/content: nsfw, hand job, subby Lars, dubious consent (relating to his orgasm), crying, praise

Lars felt so soft and warm beneath you, your leg hooked comfortably over his knee and your head resting on his slowly rising and falling chest where you listened to the steady rhythm of his contented heart. Your fingers toyed with the hem of his sweater and now and again you heard his heart jump when your skin met his under all those layers he wore.

His arm was wrapped firmly around your shoulders, strong and secure. Lars was stronger than even he knew, and butterflies soared in your stomach every time he displayed it, even in a subtle way like this. He made you feel safe.

You could have stayed like that forever, but everything must come to an end eventually, and the ending here was unexpected but actually very welcome.

Lars kissed the top of your head after you’d made him laugh with a silly joke. The warmth of his lips pressed to your hair was momentary, and he hadn’t even really realised he’d done it, but something in the air immediately shifted at that small affection and before you had a chance to really even process it, you found yourself sliding up his chest to meet his soft lips with your own.

He gasped when you pulled back for breath, diving forward, his head hovering above the pillow to smash his lips back onto yours with a fervour you’d only ever seen in him when he’d taken his temper out on the unsuspecting logs outside.

Lips sealed to yours, he hungrily sucked your tongue into his mouth, fingertips driving into your arms to keep you still above him while he eagerly explored your mouth.

Even with him laid beneath you, the force of his kiss was dizzying. You braced yourself with a steady palm against his chest, hiking your knee up further to steady yourself.

You felt Lars shudder, and with a whine so quiet you almost missed it, the kiss came to a jarring (and disappointing) halt.

You pushed yourself up further to see what was the matter, and as you manoeuvred, your thigh slipped down a little, and you felt it. The unavoidable, solid length between Lars’s thighs, pressed against your leg.

You stared down at him in awe, his eyes squeezed shut, kiss-swollen lips parted to let out shaky, uneven breaths, cheeks glowing red… and you wanted nothing more than to kiss him again. And to make him moan this time.

You pushed your thigh higher between his legs, pressing perfectly against his clothed cock, and, writhing against you, he whimpered with each trembling breath, the sound a simultaneous beg for more while chastising himself for wanting it.

‘Lars?’ you cooed softly, gently placing your palm to his burning cheek, which seemed to calm him somewhat.

He stopped bucking up against you and his face scrunched up with frustration and embarrassment, but he nodded and let out another nervous little whine of acknowledgement.

‘Hey, it’s ok… see?’

You slid the hand caressing his face down over his sweater, feeling his breath catch, and lower until you were cupping the bulge in his trousers.

Lars let out a stream of quick breaths, rendered unable to move. Had he ruined everything with his untimely bout of arousal? And why did it feel so good?

‘Lars, I’m ok with this… are you?’

He only blinked rapidly in response, so lost in a haze of pleasure and panic that he barely heard your words while he tried to process all the new feelings swirling around inside him.

With one swift stroke of your palm to bring him back to you, you tried again; ‘Lars, do you want this?’

He nodded sharply. ‘Mmhmm-’

He couldn’t manage to formulate words right now, not with your hand on his twitching, leaking cock. But you understood.

You rolled your wrist again, rubbing a steady, continuous rhythm over his length through the thick fabric of his trousers, your movements slow and careful, and his back arched off the bed with a low groan.

‘Easy, baby,’ you soothed, slowing a little to get him used to the feeling before your skin met his. He looked like he might cum any second and as hot as that might be, you wanted to give him something to remember.

‘I’m gonna get these trousers unfastened, alright?’

Another quick nod from Lars, and another hum.

You made mindful work of freeing his straining cock from the confines of his trousers, opening them up just enough to slip your hand inside his underwear, not wanting to overwhelm him with nudity on top of everything else. There would be plenty of time for that later.

He smiled when you settled beside him, but as your warm fingers slipped past the elastic of his underwear and wrapped loosely around his cock, he cried out a high pitched, ‘Ahh!’ and began rutting his hips up to meet the gentle massaging of your fist.

‘Does that feel good?’ you whispered, watching his face contort in bliss.

‘Y-yes,’ he managed, ‘f-feels… so… ohhh- mmmh-’

‘You’re doing so well for me,’ you praised, swiping your thumb over his already oozing tip to collect a satisfyingly thick pearl of precum and smear it down his length.

‘N-never- I’ve never- oh!-’

His head flew back into the pillow, fists grabbing desperately at the duvet beneath him.

He’s trying not to cum, you thought with a smirk.

‘I- I’ve never- ohhh-’ he tried again, struggling against the crashing waves of pleasure overpowering his ability to think clearly enough to finish a sentence.

‘It’s alright,’ you soothed, ‘I know. I’ve got you.’

You watched Lars closely as you worked your hand carefully, memorising every flicker of pleasure over his soft features, every needy little sound that escaped his parted lips, every desperate little thrust of his hips. His hair had fallen over his forehead in loose, messy strands, and his eyes had turned delightfully dark in the shadow of it.

You could feel him tensing, each muscle in his body rapidly switching from relaxed to taut to relaxed again; his release was close. You pumped faster, almost frantically, to get him there, and his hand flew to your wrist.

‘Mmh… I’m- ohh! Oh, no, please, I’m gonna… s-stop… stop, please, before I-’

‘Cum for me, Lars,’ you encouraged, making him shudder as you slowed again to the gentle pace that seemed to drive him crazy.

He was so deliciously sensitive, responding just how you’d hoped to the sensual rhythm of long, slow strokes.

A strangled cry tore from his throat as he rolled his hips in time with your ministrations. ‘No, n-no, I can’t, I-’

‘It’s alright, you’re safe, I’ve got you,’ you reminded him. ‘Cum.’

‘N-no- I- I shouldn’t, I- stop! Oh!- ah!- ohh-ughhhh-nnmmmh!’

The strong fingers wrapped around your wrist squeezed tighter, burning your skin in their searing grip, but you managed to keep up the rhythm of your fist until he couldn’t fight his climax any longer and you finally brought him off, pumping just a little harder as his orgasm ripped through his body.

Lars’s hands flew to his face, covering his pleasure-pained expression as he thrashed against the bed, spilling and spilling his release up out of his underwear, staining the hem of his sweater and coating your hand.

His chest heaved with loud, ragged breaths as he came down from his high, trembling as his cock softened and twitched with aftershocks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whined under his breath the moment you pulled your hand out of his underwear, ‘I’m so sorry!’

You gently guided his hands down from his tear-stained face and wiped his eyes with tender fingertips.

You saw his lip tremble, so you leant in to press your own lips to his again.

‘Lars,’ you breathed as you pulled away, ‘you did so good for me, baby.’

His eyes, big and round and wet, stared into yours semi-hopefully. ‘I… I did?’

‘You did. And I think you needed that, didn’t you?’

His cheeks flushed somehow redder, and he averted his gaze, nodding. ‘I’ve never… never been… touched like that before. I was worried you wouldn’t want me to… y’know, so I felt kind of nervous letting go. I'm sorry about the mess.’

‘Are you kidding? I wanted to make you cum the moment I laid eyes on you.’

Lars squeezed his eyes shut, unable to believe what you were saying and mildly embarrassed by your bluntness. You really thought of him that way the whole time?

‘Listen to me. You never, ever, need to apologise for enjoying pleasure, alright?’

His eyebrows raised as he gazed across at you, awe-filled eyes still glossy. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’

He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth before he spoke again. ‘So, uhm…’ he cleared his throat, ‘if I wanted to make you feel like that…?’

‘You can. And you will. When you’re ready.’

Lars nodded, brow furrowing as he fell into deep thought.

‘It’s alright. When the time comes, I’ll guide you, ok?’

Lars’s concern softened into a smile. The Lars you were used to.

‘Ok,’ he agreed.

You propped yourself up on an elbow to assess the gorgeous mess he’d made, core clenching at the dishevelled state of him, laid out with his legs spread, trousers unfastened, underwear damp with his seed, sweater stained, hair mussed, face hot. You needed to remember him in this moment. He was beautiful.

‘Now, how about a bath?’

‘W-will you join me?’ Lars muttered, feeling bold but still unsure, fighting the sleepiness that had begun to pull at his eyes with all the strength he had.

The grin that spread across your face was answer enough, but you nodded anyway, and he briefly buried his face into your chest, giggling sweetly, unable to believe his luck.

[biblicallyaccuratecrow]

in stars and time "speak no evil" au braindump

welcome back! we have a fun one this time! welcome to the speak no evil au! in which I got a little too deep into the crane wives album and project it onto loop! as one does.

this is a postcanon au, though, so I can't talk about it without spoilers!

[notes below the cut!]

[woe, spoilers be upon ye!]

in essence, this is a postcanon au that takes place about a year after the loops end. the party is traveling still, now accompanied by nille. without warning, loop reappears- they've regained a more humanoid form, but there are some remnants of their star form. there is one striking and notable difference.

they don't speak.

it's so jarring, for them to be completely silent. not to say they can't communicate- they've retained their expressive body language from the loops, and will write things out if absolutely necessary, but beyond that... they're mute.

nobody knows what to make of it.

they won't tell them how or why they returned. they won't tell them why they won't talk. they simply return, and, in spite of everything, siffrin welcomes them with open arms. they don't question it initially. it's enough that their here.

still, they know more than anybody that trapping everything inside will eventually lead to a disaster.

they can only hope that they'll get through to them somehow.

the story...

like i said, loop returns a year after the loops end, with a humanoid form and now mute. the only thing they say, before shutting up completely, is when they see siffrin. "stardust". that's all they get.

at first, it's not an issue. siffrin is just glad to have loop back in the first place. they essentially cling onto them for the first few days, and don't push their silence. what's even more odd is that loop lets them. the party is confused- despite loop being shy around them on the final day of the loops, they were at least somewhat communicative. they know what happened between loop and siffrin during twohats, though not loop's story. It's easy to say that they're hesitant to give loop their trust. loop makes it evident that they know this. still, they make no effort to explain themself or their story. they just seem to solemnly accept it, and stick by siffrin.

Siffrin grows more and more concerned as time goes on, because it's obvious that loop is hiding something. there is no reason why they'd do such a complete 180 from their normal chattiness. but in spite of their attempts to gently coax it from them, loop doesn't give an inch. scared that they'll leave again, siffrin decides to let it go- for now.

the party slowly grows more comfortable with loop. they each build their own kind of dynamic with them, finding their own ways to communicate with them. siffrin can read loop easily- they're him, after all- and a lot of their interactions involve siffrin acting as a sort of verbal translator for their emotions and siffrin talking with them about the loops. It's nice, they find, to have someone who will just listen. loop knows, of course, but unlike the other members of the party, siffrin doesn't feel nearly as much guilt or self-loathing surrounding their interactions during the loops. so they talk. or, siffirn talks. they talk about the loops, their guilt with the party, the things that were good, their struggles with regaining a sense of self. loop listens, and, sometimes, offers comfort, in their own way. usually, when they begin to spiral, they'll poke his hand, like they did in the loops. it helps. whenever they talk to the party about their issues, loop is there, and serves as an anchor.

bonnie and loop get on suprisingly well from the start. despite being curious as to why loop won't talk, bonnie just decides that since siffrin trusts them, they will as well. they make them food- they can eat now, which is a novelty they seem to enjoy immensely- and loop lets them chatter on all they want. still, they are distinctly uncomfortable when the questions get turned on them- usually, that's when they start to close off and find an excuse to leave.

mirabelle and loop bond over storytime! loop expresses interest in mirabelle's reading, initially in a attempt to ease the tension between them and the party in the beginning, but eventually it turns into a book club. similarly with bonnie, loop likes to listen to mirabelle talk about her favorite novels, and will take the time to read her recommendations. they'll nod along, and when mirabelle asks what they think, they'll do their best to give their opinion.

odile and loop take a bit to get along- odile is suspicious of loop, for obvious reasons. however, they get taken on one of her and siffrin's secret missions, perusing an antique shop for a few hours. loop finds a headache book- a simple cookbook. odile is curious, asking if they can read it- they just nod, with a conflicted look on their face. odile hesitates before taking the book and buying it- or rather, having the book given to her in relief, handing it back to loop. they're confused, but odile asks if they would be willing to translate it for her. loop seems hesitant, but then nods. odile buys them a crafted notebook to write their translations down in. this notebook starts out as just a means of translation, but over time, it gets used for other things, like communicating with the party every now and again, or journaling. they still don't give a lot of information, even though they can put their thoughts to words now, but it makes things easier.

it also reveals that loop feels guilty. very. guilty. with a means of more easily communicating, siffrin pushes again to find out what happened. loop initially refuses to write anything about their thoughts, but after a few weeks, they begin to give small tidbits, only really to siffrin. excuses, though weak ones. small, mildly concerning comments of self depreciation or deflection. apologies, for the few moments they seem to misstep, even if only slightly, even if by accident, in ways that would be easily forgiven or forgotten about.

isabeau has the hardest time getting through to loop, for obvious reasons. hes does his best, but they make efforts to avoid him if they can. when they can't, they give minimal reaction. still, isabeau tries, even if just for siffrin. he jokes, makes puns, offers words of encouragement, but nothing really seems to get through. not until one day. Isa's walking along, and siffrin very casually flirts with him. he's so dumbfounded that he trips into a puddle. siffrin is spouting out apologies, isa is assuring him that it's fine, but... then they hear laughter. quiet, and breathy. barely there. they look over, and sure enough, loop is doubled over, laughing their ass off. it's the most noise they've made in weeks. both Isa and Siffrin can't help but laugh along.

I don't really have. a neat conclusion to this au yet? But I will talk about why Loop doesn't talk, because there is a reason and it eventually does get revealed. Essentially, they just kind of... floated, for a bit. As a part of the Universe, they got to rest for a while. Until they got lonely. Or, lonelier. They couldn't go back to their family, for obvious reasons- they destroyed them, it was their fault. But they are lonely, and if they don't find someone, some reason to stick around... they'd be breaking their promise to Siffrin, something that, despite themselves, they don't want to break. They can't find it in themselves to be mad at Siffrin, not when they showed them genuine kindness, the first major change in their life, the only reason they didn't succumb to their hatred and self-loathing, even when they quite literally had their hands wrapped around their neck, ready to kill them. Now they're just lost, drifitng, and, like the Favor Tree, even though it's restful, they still want, they still yearn for more than they have been given. They need something to change. After everything... Siffrin is the only one they can think to go to. So, they come back.

As soon as Loop returns, they are confronted with the mortifying realization that Siffrin may have told them what happened when they last spoke, and they may hate them. Siffrin wouldn't hate them, they promised they wouldn't hate them, but the thought of the party looking down upon them, like they're a threat, an intruder... it makes them sick. But they're here now. And they won't, they can't, go back to being nothing. At their core they might be harsh, bitter, sarcastic, angry, disgusting, but they can still be better, they can still make it up to them. They just have to not mess this up. So many of their awful moments were the result of their brutal words and scathing remarks- it was all they could really do to feel better about themselves, since they were bound to help Siffrin by the Universe. All those things they said, all the times they insulted them, teased them, made them feel worse instead of helping them like they were supposed to be, all the times they lied through their teeth... they couldn't do that again. Not if they wanted this to work. They wouldn't get another chance. What is that saying? "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all." "Silence is golden." "Speak no evil."

So... yeah! this was all inspired by bitter medicine.... crane wives my beloved... but if you have any other questions, send it in asks! i'd love to hear your thoughts!

A few songs my brain associates with this au:

[sky-kiss]

Shadowheart/F!Tav: Ephemeral

A/N: Named Tav. And this is highly indulgent and just for me lol. But y'all can look if you want. Post Haarlep encounter. Because we stan a kinky queen.

Shadowheart/F!Tav: Laughing, Thriving, Gloating, at your Expense (Affectionate)

"Far be it from me to gloat," Shadowheart says, gloating. "But I recall speaking to something like this—what was it again?" 

The rush of blood in Joi's ears makes it difficult to think, let alone reflect. She tries to speak and ends up swallowing the words, chin dropping to her chest. It's a frankly surreal sensation—there are hands on her body, cupping, caressing, someone is mouthing at her throat…but it's nothing. The phantom pleasure is equal parts too much and too little, nerve strokes without pressure. 

Shadowheart hums. The heat of her makes it…better or worse, it's difficult to tell. She is blessedly solid, real, when she presses close, fingers stroking through Joi's hair. "Ah, I recall.  Unlikely to dispense carnal pleasures out of the goodness of their heart…does that sound correct? Feel free to nod your agreement. You seem quite…preoccupied." 

Joi nods. 

Some rational part of her brain realizes the half-elf is within her rights to feel this superiority—she had warned her about Haarlep's intentions. It's just that there's another part, the one not currently buzzing with abstract pleasure, that wants to protest. She'd had no choice—a lie, there'd been no reason to break into the House to start aside from her own wounded ego—but to play with Haarlep. 

"I thought," the tiefling starts, only to stop, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning. "You'd be at least somewhat bothered." 

Shadowheart's lips curl up, bemused, a touch patronizing. "Not at all—I quite like you like this. And I rarely get the chance to just…observe." The phantom hands shift down her body, and she suffers the jarring impression of her legs being spread, even as she stands perfectly still. Something must show on her face because Shadow laughs again, walking her further into the alley. The cleric has the presence of mind to tuck them in a little alcove. "Go on—don't stop for my sake." She drags her lips across Joi's cheek. "If you can summon the presence of mind, I'd welcome any particularly sordid details."

Joi shivers, screwing her eyes shut against the sensation of something pushing inside her. Her mind struggles to adjust, trying to justify the texture, the duality of feeling achingly full and empty all at once. 

"My, that must have been good." Shadowheart's smiling, too damnably satisfied. She eases Joi's legs apart, slotting herself between her spread thighs. 

"Just…" she chokes. Shadowheart saves her with another kiss, swallowing her moan. It's a little like being at sea, the sensation of being rocked, something thrusting lazily into her. For the briefest moment, she feels the link to Haarlep solidify. They're more present, sticking inside her head, dragging their teeth across her mind. Their hand, her hand, ghosts down her stomach. Shadowheart marks its path, smirking, tangling their fingers together. 

"If your only intent is to stand here slack-jawed, I'll be tempted to put your mouth to better work." The cleric murmurs, and something in her tone, dark and authoritative, makes Joi clutch around nothing. 

And she feels something like Haarlep's approval, violently hungry, driving themself down on their partner in response to Shadowheart’s words. It steals the air from Joi's lungs. 

"You try holding a civil conversation when you're being…" She hisses, hugging her lover tighter. A shock of electric pleasure kisses along her spine, the sensation of being stretched to her breaking point, the phantom pleasure pressing and pressing for just a little more. Haarlep coos in her head, and she feels the point where her body gives. There should be nothing left, but Haarlep ensures she takes it. Joi fights to swallow, voice hoarse. "No elegant way to say you’re feeling...very full." 

"Mmm. Any guesses what you're full of?" Shadowheart laughs at her incredulous expression. "Not so strange a question, is it? I'd like to know if I'll be competing with an Orthon to satisfy you in the future."  

"You'd rise to the occasion." 

"But of course. But it would necessitate a touch more effort." She hums against Joi's lips, rocking against her thigh. Shadow chews her lower lip, mischief twinkling in her eyes. "Do we think it's Raphael fucking you, sweet one? Should I be jealous?" Joi gasps, trying to push the image out of her head. "Of course, if you can't explain what they're doing to you…well, there's always the option of showing me later?" 

"Yes." 

"No need to convince you at all. Shame." Shadowheart pats her cheek. "You’re so eager. It’s sweet." 

It's openly patronizing. It still manages to twist something low in the tiefling's belly, naked want flooding through her. On principle, Joi grumbles, "You're upsetting Haarlep."

Shadowheart laughs. "Liar.  But I shan't keep you so…mentally occupied. Allow me." 

Her lover's hand steals under her robes and between her legs, adding a blessed solidity to the otherwise ephemeral pleasure. 

[boatcats]

The Hospitality Industry

The package arrived on a rainy day as Ed and Stede were hanging the curtains. Jose, a kid from the town a mile down the road, dropped it off and Ed rewarded him with some of the silver coins they'd brought with them from the Revenge. It paid to be neighborly - and it was still such a delightful novelty to have consistent, land-based neighbors.

"I lost a toof!" Jose told Ed happily, smiling wide so Ed could see the gap.

"I see that. What happened?"

Jose shrugged. "They just fall out sometimes. 'Cause I'm a kid."

It had been a while since Ed had been around kids. Long enough that he'd half forgotten about baby teeth. Of course he knew that was a thing but still - wild.

"I'm gonna catch the toof fairy!" Jose said as Stede came to stand next to Ed at the door.

"Well, if you catch it be sure to bring it by to show us!" Stede said.

Jose cackled as he walked back down the steps. "I will."

"Great," Ed sighed, curling an arm around Stede’s back and resting his head on his chest. "Now he's gonna bring some animal by again." The snapping turtle incident was somewhat fresh in his mind.

"I'm sure it will be fine," Stede soothed. "What did you get, darling?"

"Not sure. Some sort of package. No return address."

"Well." Stede led Ed over to the couch and stretched out with his feet in Ed's lap. "Let's open it."

The package contained a note. Underneath the note was an empty glass jar.

"Welcome to the hospitality industry," the note said. "Thought I'd send you this in case you wanted to start your own collection. Love, Jackie."

[sideprince]

A movie question I wanted to throw your way: what do you think about the decision to use a decent amount of physical acting on Rickman’s part for comic effect? I’m thinking his snatch of thin air in Philosopher's Stone, his creeping along the table towards Ron and Harry in Chamber, his dramatic point in that same scene, his walk up to the stage for Dueling Club, his whacking students in Goblet and Order, etc.

On one hand, I feel like this does match the tone of the books; he canonically lurks and prowls and points and snatches at the air, and his menace is often undercut by a physical description that’s meant to be some level of comedic. On the other hand, we don't see Snape nearly as much in the movies as we do in the books, so this aspect of his character seems somewhat overinflated by the movies?

TLDR I don’t think these decisions in the movie were completely out of left field, but it also feels off for some reason. Idk I don’t know how exactly to verbalize my feelings on the matter and wanted to hear your thoughts!

It will probably come as no surprise that I feel like any answer to this question is inseparable from the absolute hatchet jobs that are Steve Kloves' screenplays for the HP franchise. This reply is going to end up inevitably long (you ask me about my favorite subject, you suffer the consequences), but all of it is ultimately framed by the problem of having to make the best of a badly written script. (**edit: This post is way too long. Run away. Don't look back.)

The writing doesn't support the story

The first thing that jumps out to me is that there's a separation between where and how these comedic moments are used, up until the end of GoF and after. They're more a part of the story only until Harry's story arc reaches the point of Cedric's death, when he first witnesses death in the way that allows him to see thestrals after. GoF is when the story takes its first dark turn, and up until then the tone and story is much more in line with children's literature, so it makes more sense that Snape is portrayed in a bit of a playful way. After GoF - even though the films reveal it as an aside and much later than the original story does - Snape resumes his role as spy and becomes more integral to the story as a key character and is thus no longer just a foil in a children's story. I think what doesn't work about it is the inconsistency. The books have comedic moments with Snape too, which are cartoonish, up until the end of DH - I feel those are also out of place, but at least their existence gives a basis to what's done in the films.

Nevertheless, one of the biggest problems with the films is that they're badly edited. I'll leave that analysis for another post (you're welcome), but essentially these comedic moments feel inconsistent in part because there's often a disconnect between the performance a director has asked of his actors and the tone that's established in the editing room once pacing and a soundtrack are added. Any vision a director had for these films was muddled by the involvement of big studio producers and limitations. This is made more jarring by the way that Kloves has interjected light, funny moments in awkward ways throughout the scripts. He struggles overall to convey the world that Rowling has created, and if it weren't for the brilliant production design of Stuart Craig, Kloves' failures would be much more obvious (again, worthy of its own roast post).

Take the scene where Snape whacks Harry and Ron on the head in Gof: why are the students all studying in the Great Hall? Why are various years sitting together? Why is Snape overseeing them? It's a scene almost verbatim out of the book (Fred asks Angelina to the ball casually, he and George tell Ron and Harry to get dates "before all the good ones are gone," we find out Hermione already has a date), but like pretty much every scene that originally takes place in the Gryffindor common room, this one is moved to another location for no discernible reason. The main difference in the change is how restrictive it is: in the common room the children are free to be themselves, but in the Great Hall, under a strict teacher's nose, they have to be quiet and restrained. Another subject that would need its own post is the myriad of ways Kloves goes out of his way to rewrite settings and characters to avoid allowing them to express themselves or grow as characters, and how hard he works to stifle and limit them in ways that are convoluted and work against the story, as if he himself couldn't deal with any kind of emotional vulnerability (in a way, his scripts are a desperate cry for help). This directly contributes to why so many of Snape's comedic moments feel off.

The changes in the scene in GoF don't even make sense from a production perspective, as they required more actors, more lighting, and more setups. Instead of using the cozy setting of the common room to establish camaraderie between the students, Kloves replaced that energy and lightheartedness with Snape in a way that's uncharacteristic. The scene, as he wrote it, is already light and has humor, but Kloves doesn't trust it - he feels the need to exaggerate it and the casualties, as always, are the characters and their portrayal. It's as though he's following a formula and saying, "this page number/scene number must provide relief from the tension of the story" and then doesn't consider how following that directive fits into the rhythm of the narrative. It's closer to being an isolated scene akin to a comedy sketch than to a scene that's part of an act that's part of a film. It's worth noting that, in GoF, Kloves interjects this scene as if he's forcing this moment of comic relief into a story that didn't require it and then relies on playing off of Snape's usual seriousness as its crux. In OOtP, when there's a callback to it as Snape smacks Ron with a book again, it's no longer the point of the scene, but an aside in a comical montage focused on Umbridge (OOtP was also the only film not written by Kloves, so this moment is more likely the result of Michael Goldenberg trying to maintain a consistency with Kloves' work). Overall, I think that feeling of something being off is, again, more rooted in the writing than the performance.

Rickman as an actor playing Snape

There's a lot of criticism in the Snapedom of how Alan Rickman portrays Snape, but not enough acknowledgment that none of the characters are portrayed well, and most of it comes down to Kloves' writing of them. Book!McGonagall insists that all students under 17 are evacuated before the Battle of Hogwarts, where Movie!McGonagall only cares that the Slytherin students are locked in the dungeon, everyone else can stay, what does she care if first years die? Book!Hermione is intelligent and empathetic while Movie!Hermione is a two dimensional maternalistic harpy whose main job is to be a mouthpiece for plot exposition. Book!Ron is funny and brave and fiercely loyal, while Movie!Ron throws Hermione under the bus, is cowardly, and is reduced to a flatly written sidekick. Book!Harry is complex and while I could list a million examples, I'll stick to this one: in PoA when he finds out Sirius betrayed his parents, he's enraged but has no reply when asked if he'd want to kill Sirius. Movie!Harry says with conviction, and without prompting, that he wants to find Sirius with the explicit purpose of killing him. Every single character takes a hit because of how Steve Kloves writes them, and Snape is, sadly, no exception.

While some film shoots allow for improvisation, a big budget production on a tight schedule with scenes that require a lot of prep work can't afford to make many changes. So, for example, while Ralph Fiennes was asked to improvise his scene as Voldemort at the end of DH2 when he re-enters Hogwarts victorious (and that's why the dialogue is redundant and that weird hug with Draco continues to plague us), it could be done because the wardrobe and set and cast were already in place and the time required had already been scheduled in. It wouldn't be possible, though, to add an additional scene - like Snape going feral in the hospital wing at the end of PoA - unless it was written into the script. Additional actors would be required, which would mean coordinating with their schedules and adding them to the budget, not to mention scheduling in additional days with the crew who may already have other work lined up. It would require either pushing every other shooting day back - which is near impossible - in order to use the hospital wing set while it's still up, or tacking on production days to the end of the shooting schedule and rebuilding the set on those days. This can be done for necessary pickups that round out existing scenes, but you can't really say, "hey I decided we need a scene here that didn't exist before" without causing huge problems. Because of how contracts work, any significant scene changes would have to be sent back to Kloves who would have to write alternate scenes and/or dialogue, and even then if you wanted to fix a specific character's arc - like Snape's - you would have to add in so much that it just wouldn't be feasible. Screenplay lengths have to fall within a certain number of pages, because each page is approximately a minute of screen time, so adding a few more to a finished script mid-production is very difficult. The actors have to make the best of what's on the page. Which brings us to Alan Rickman, his choices as an actor, and what informed both him and the character of Snape.

Alan Rickman was a RADA trained actor, so his approach to a character involved a lot of physical work as well as character analysis. As far as I know, he was the only actor to contact JK Rowling directly to ask about his character, because he wanted to make an informed decision about how to play him since Snape was so nuanced and gray. Unlike some of the other actors (like Michael "DIDYAPUTYANAMEINDAGOBLETOFFIYAH" Gambon) Rickman read the books - those that were available when he took on the role, and each as they came out afterwards - and used them to inform his understanding of his character beyond what Kloves wrote (presumably in crayon with all the e's backwards). In interviews and Q&A's it's clear Rickman was fond of the HP books and story, and had a thoughtful process taking on Snape's character. He did not see him as a villain, because, as he's said, he didn't approach characters with that kind of judgment. And while I'm sure the egregious amounts of cash Warner Brothers threw at the actors was inevitably a factor for all of them, several of the ones playing teachers or other adults have said that they took on their role because a child in their life insisted on it, despite them being unfamiliar with the books, whereas Rickman's process was to read Rowling's books in order to decide whether to take the role. Again, he was a RADA trained actor, and thus had a meticulous approach to his work that followed a thoughtful, considered process and a decision based on whether he felt he could embody a character in a way that did them justice/if they were interesting enough to him. By the time he started shooting PS, he also had experience directing a film and was working as a director in theatre as well as still acting, so he understood the process from the perspective of not just an actor, but also as someone behind the camera, someone working with actors both as a peer and director, and someone sitting in an editing room.

We know from his diaries that he became increasingly frustrated with how his own process and expectations clashed with that of the producers on Harry Potter. He wasn't interested in renewing his contract after the first few films (goodness knows how much money they offered him in the end - his wife has said that he never let anyone else pick up a tab in a restaurant and if they argued, he would just say "Harry Potter."). He writes about seeing the films at premieres and being frustrated with how little story and development there is (especially for Snape), which makes me think there are deleted scenes somewhere that haven't been released. At one point he writes about a premiere party where he had internally lost patience with the three Davids (Yates, Heyman, and Barron). It's obvious that there's a discord between the work he wanted to do with Snape's character and what choices the production made:

He describes how, during the filming of the Yule Ball scene in GoF, there was an attempt to get him to dance but he refused because he didn't think Snape would dance:

It was a rare moment of potential for improvisation because, again, the set and cast and timing were already accounted for, and in this case there wasn't even dialogue. The scene where he smacks the boys with the notebook - as far as I know - was scripted. So there's a difference there in how much freedom he had, as an actor, to say no to what he was asked to do. Even in the above diary entry it's clear that, given his way, he felt the character wouldn't even be present in that scene, but he had no choice. This tells me that when he had more freedom to make choices, he did so based on his understanding of Snape as a character and, given that he was an actor who was both very respected (and got away with more than most) and also someone who could get argumentative about his character choices, I think this is the most apt lens to examine his physical work with Snape through.

Knowing that he wasn't interested in continuing the role of Snape after the first couple of films and that he was often frustrated with the lack of characterization and story arc, his physicality in his first scene in CoS (when he reprimands Harry and Ron for flying the car) says a lot. (Caveat that one of the reasons he didn't want to renew his contract was that the shooting schedule restricted his schedule and he wanted work on other projects, but I can't help but wonder if that had been the case had HP provided a more satisfying process.) It's almost certain that he had read all the available books by the time the scene in CoS was filmed, including PoA where Snape becomes apoplectic with rage in a way that, to a child reader, is comical (and intended to be) and to someone analyzing Snape is clearly rooted in triggered trauma.

Alan Rickman knew from the outset that Snape's motivation was his love for Lily, so he would have understood the dynamic between his character and Sirius re: who Snape thought sold Lily out to Voldemort. He would also have understood that Snape's reaction in PoA was more about distress and anxiety, and that this was connected to the promise Snape had made to protect Harry for Lily's sake. This would have therefore informed his portrayal of Snape's anger at Harry in CoS, and it's reasonable to assume that Rickman was trying to walk the line between the way Rowling portrayed Snape in full unhinged rage in PoA, what this tells him about this character when angered, and the connection between the moments in PoA and CoS when it comes to Snape's anxiety over Harry's safety. Unlike the author of a book however, who has full control of how they tell a story, Rickman was an actor in a film - an inevitably collaborative medium which therefore made his portrayal reliant on the decisions of others as well.

Chris Columbus, the HP movies, and feral Snape

PS and CoS were directed by Chris Columbus, the guy who directed both Home Alone and Home Alone II and Mrs. Doubtfire. He was a successful director from the 90s tradition of children's movies whose sensibility was informed by the era's attitude towards children's media: kids wanting to see themselves in narratives, in ways that felt empowering and allowed them to process the confusion of a world run by adults in playful, quasi-cartoonish ways within a 3 act structure where the villains - mean adults - get their comeuppance because it feels fair. One thing that set Harry Potter apart was that the villain was not the mean adult; Snape, the mean adult, is a character kids can hate and project their own experiences onto, but Voldemort is a true villain who represents evil and is vanquished by the hero. Chris Columbus established a tone for the first two films that was no longer apt by PoA, not only because it didn't work for the story, but because that 90s era of children's movies had ended and the culture moved on to more complex narratives (and Columbus has focused more on producing than directing since, because his style doesn't work for audiences anymore).

What's ironic about the way Snape's scene at the start of CoS comes off is that, in the book, there's a great comedic moment that's left out:

This is cut from the film, and instead it's Filch waiting at the top of the marble stairs who catches Ron and Harry being late and delivers them to Snape (I don't know why, the scene in the book is much more dynamic and would have taken up about as much time on screen). Rickman, meanwhile, is using the information he's gotten on who Snape is from the books, and imbuing some of that feral Snape energy into his portrayal of a Snape who is genuinely angry:

(Thank you for making these gifs @smilingformoney , they are truly the gift that keeps on giving.)

The thing is, no matter how much of feral Snape Rickman brought to this, no matter how menacing his performance is, this moment still lives within the dynamics of a Chris Columbus children's film. It gets cut off by Dumbledore's entrance - meant to be a comeuppance for Snape, since Dumbledore (being the voice of wisdom and fairness in this world) prevents him from punishing Harry and Ron (you know what, at least in the books they got detention, but ok). Despite Rickman's performance, Columbus as a director has framed this scene in the same context as the one Kloves cut. The tension is brief, and the focus is on Snape being foiled, because it's what children want to see - a mean adult experiencing consequences. It's down to the editing and soundtrack, choices Columbus made in the editing room. In addition, we don't know how many different ways an actor tries a scene, only what ends up in the final cut of a film. The process of the work done on a set is often much richer and more diverse than what an audience sees in the finished film.

Tbh I think this is also why Snape's feral moments were cut from PoA: it's a darker film, but had to straddle the line between being for both children and tweens and not getting too playful, nor too intense. As much as I want to see feral Snape on screen, it's extremely difficult to make work in a narrative that is about Harry and his friends. It either skews too intense, making the audience uncomfortable because seeing an adult becoming unhinged and in pain is difficult and frightening for most young people, even adults, and would therefore take away from Harry's goals and narrative as well as his changing relationship to Sirius (all of which is already barely supported by Kloves' writing). Alternately, it could also skew too comical and over the top, which takes the audience out of the tension of the film's climactic moments.

If Snape's story had gotten more focus and screen time, an unhinged moment would be better justified because the audience would have been more invested in the character and their arc. PoA sidesteps pretty much all of the most compelling parts of the book, which is the realization that Harry is not only connected to Sirius personally, but that his dad, Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew created the Marauders Map, that they were animagi, that Harry's patronus takes the form of his father's stag, and that Snape was initimately connected to all of them as well. For me, reading the end of PoA was what cemented Snape as someone who would be crucial to the narrative and whose role would increase as the series went on. As a result of Kloves skimming over these essential plot twists, Snape is a minor character in the film, showing up mostly as a foil who tries to expose Lupin and then catches him and Black in the Shrieking Shack (this also sets his character up to be minimized in every film down the line, which has a worsening impact as Snape becomes increasingly integral to the plot).

One thing I find interesting is that Snape's comical physicality changes over the films. In PS and CoS he's menacing, a looming, larger than life figure the children fear and easily assume to be a full-fledged villain. By GoF there's a relationship embedded in how he interacts with Harry and his friends. He's no longer terrifying, just intimidating, more of an adult Harry challenges than someone he must defeat. The comedic effect now comes from a rapport within an established dynamic between characters. By HBP, the only comical moment is at Slughorn's party, and it's no longer Rickman who uses physicality - the action happens around him, and the comedic effect is in his lack of reaction to any of it. In other words, he's no longer the comic one, he's become the straight man in a (badly written) comedy sketch (with abysmal timing, what even).

Ultimately, as with most of the characters in the HP films, Snape is undermined by the writing. Rickman was stuck working within the confines he was given. No matter how well he may have understood the character, the limited screen time and character development were always going to stifle how Snape was portrayed on screen. I'm very much pro Let Snape Be Feral but I also don't fault Rickman in how little we saw of that.

How Feral is Snape?

If I'm honest, I feel like the Snapedom has taken the Let Snape Be Feral thing and has started forgetting that he wasn't all-feral-all-the-time. The point of Feral Snape is that it's a heightened state of tension in a character whose trauma is being triggered. Apoplectic Snape wouldn't have an impact at the end of PoA if that was his usual way of being. And, as you so brilliantly showed @said-snape-softly Snape's speech patterns are primarily quiet and controlled, his speech gets softer the more dangerous his mood, and it's only after he reassumes his role as a spy that the description of his speech becomes increasingly volatile (but is still controlled). Feral Snape's definitive aspect is the lack of control shown by a character who usually is so exceptionally capable of self restraint and compartmentalization. So again, while I would have loved to see Feral Snape on screen, I think it's also important to acknowledge that this is not the defining feature of his character and is more about what those moments mean to his arc. Their absence is primarily due to poor writing that didn't create space for them (including what leads up to them), and the direction that didn't carve out any kind of niche for them, not Rickman's choices as an actor.

In fact, Snape as a character is defined by descriptors of his voice more than any other character by far. I have my own theory about why this is, and it has to do with Alan Rickman being inextricably connected with how Snape is written. Chris Columbus said that Alan Rickman was always Snape as far as he was concerned, because when JK Rowling showed him a sketch of Snape she had made, it looked exactly like Rickman. I don't think this is accidental.

Alan Rickman was always intended to be Snape

First, what's important to remember is that before Harry Potter, Alan Rickman was best known in the 90s for playing both villains and sad romantic leads. His signature defining feature was his voice. I think it was Ang Lee who described the casting choice of Greg Wise and Alan Rickman in Sense and Sensibility as wanting Willoughby (Wise) to be dashing and Brandon (Rickman) to be sexy (if this was Emma Thompson and not Ang Lee, my apologies, I can't remember where I read this and can't find the source). This is how Rickman was perceived by audiences up until Harry Potter. And I know a lot of the Snapedom considers him to be sexy as Snape too, but the general audiences of the films don't, so please don't @ me, I'm just setting up a point here.

This is relevant because, as we find out in the end of the books, Rowling wrote Snape's motivations to be rooted in romantic love (I'm very nobly putting aside, for the sake of focusing on Rowling's intentions, my personal interpretation that Snape's feelings for Lily were platonic, please acknowledge how brave I am for this). She pulls a lot from gothic tropes into how he's written, and as much as she's talked about the character having been inspired by a chemistry teacher she disliked, and as much as she's talked about Snape being both morally grey and someone she personally dislikes, she also romanticized him. Between this and what Chris Columbus said about her sketch of him, it's hard for me to ignore that this character, conceived of in the 90s, wasn't written with Alan Rickman in mind from the beginning, especially since Rowling herself has said that she envisioned him in the role. Whether or not he lived up to Rowling's imagination is, frankly, his choice and Rowling's problem.

The story of how Harry Potter was written according to JK Rowling is that it started with the idea coming to her on a train ride in 1990. She completed the PS manuscript in 1995. While everything I'm about to say is absolute conjecture, I can't help but wonder at the connection between these films and the way Snape was written (spoilers ahead, no regrets, these films have been out for over a quarter of a century - forgive my reviews, I can't help myself):

1988: Die Hard comes out. Alan Rickman plays Hans Gruber, a villain who is a genius, composed, controlled, and soft-spoken. (Great film, a classic, the only valid Christmas movie.)

1990: Truly, Madly, Deeply. Rickman plays a man whose wife can't get over his tragic death, nor can his own ghost, who comes back to spend more time with her. No one else can see him, and they can't really share a life anymore. She eventually lets him go as she realizes that his spirit doesn't belong in the mortal world and her own life can't move on as long as she clings to it. (Beautiful film, will break your heart and put it through a shredder.)

1991: Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves. Rickman is the Sheriff of Nottingham, an unhinged, feral villain who wears all black complete with billowing cape. (Terrible film, disaster of a period piece, Rickman's performance is the only redeeming thing about it. Halfway through its press tour talk shows started booking Rickman instead of the lead, Kevin Costner, because Rickman stole every scene.)

1995: An Awfully Big Adventure. Rickman is an actor who comes back to his hometown to revive his role as Captain Hook in a local theatre production of Peter Pan. In the process he has an affair with a young ginger stagehand who reminds him of his lost love, a vivacious woman named Stella with bright red hair who, as far as he knows, birthed his child - a son - before she died. It turns out the girl he has an affair with is his daughter, which he realizes when he visits her home where she lives in the care of her aunt and uncle - whose name is Vernon - and connects the dots of who this girl's mother was. (He then rides his motorcycle out to the pier, screams "Stella" at the heavens like he's in a revival production of Streetcar Named Desire, trips and hits his head on the edge of the pier and falls into the water, drowning. I can't make this up. Mike Newell directed this. The same guy who directed GoF. As if following in the vein of the 90s movie obsession with incest as the controversial-trope-du-jour wasn't enough. I don't even need to review this, just sum it up.)

1995: Sense and Sensibility. Rickman plays Colonel Brandon, a forlorn, grieving man who lost his first love at a young age and spends most of the film pining for the only other woman he's ever had a romantic interest in. Wears all black, rides a black horse.

Given what a well-known actor Rickman was in the 90s - especially in England - and how connected his characters all seem to be to various aspects of Snape, it's hard not to see a connection. The entire premise of Truly, Madly, Deeply sounds like the inspiration for the Resurrection Stone in Deathly Hallows. The redheaded lost love whose child is left in the care of an Uncle Vernon in An Awfully Big Adventure is difficult to look past. All of these characters either exude menacingly soft-spoken Snape energy, feral Snape energy, or forlorn because of his lost love Snape energy. As a result, I feel like it's almost inevitable that Rickman inspired Snape, especially when you consider how known he was for his voice and how frequently Snape's voice is used to describe him. When Rowling said that she envisioned him in the role, it makes me wonder if she meant during the casting process for the first film, or well before it. I think his previous roles were a contributing factor in how the character was written in the books. After Tim Roth - who was originally cast in the role - had to back out due to scheduling conflicts, she got her way. Authors don't often get to choose who plays their characters, but in this case it worked out as the production thought Rickman was a good fit as well.

I'm done, I promise

So where does this leave things at the end of this horrendously long post? Rickman's choices of how he physicalized Snape - comedic or not - are only part of a larger whole. He was playing a character who was written based on his other roles, and limited by the shortcomings of how Steve Kloves translated that character from Rowling's books into his own screenplays. Whatever Rickman did on set was limited by that writing, by the directors he worked with, and by the choices made in the editing room.

I'm fascinated by the idea that Rickman was playing a character written with him in mind - but not really him, the him who embodied other characters whose echoes show up in Snape. It's difficult enough to contend with an actor playing a character in a screenplay you wrote with them in mind when you're directing your own script, because they'll never be what you imagined in your head. But for that process to get filtered through several directors, a team of producers, another writer who changes your work, and an editor, let alone throughout a decade of films - that's downright wild. The original intention gets lost and reinterpreted like a game of telephone, and I think that a lot of the consistencies between Movie!Snape and Book!Snape are down to Alan Rickman's nuanced and generous nature as an actor. If I'm honest, I'm not convinced that every Snape moment that comes off comical was meant to be so by Rickman. But again, film is such a collaborative medium that his intentions aren't the only ones that matter, ultimately, at least they aren't the only thing that ends up in the final cut.

My take, personally, is that I'm more interested in critical analysis than personal criticism. I respect that everyone has their own vision of a character and fandom is absolutely here for, among other things, having a place to share those thoughts and feelings. But a character is rarely going to appear on screen the same way you see them in your head, and that's not always going to be a fault, even if it's a disappointment to you. It's interesting to hear different people's perceptions, but there isn't that much to discuss there - you can't refute how someone feels, and you can't argue that their truth is what it is, to them. Whereas with critical analysis there's a lot more to talk about and examine, so it's where my own interest is much more invested.

[haifoct]

lwj and chili sauce thoughts?

Ah yes, chengzhan and chili sauce thoughts you mean? I yelled at your question, then took it way too seriously than I first anticipated.

The wide, extravagant halls of Carp Tower resounded with Lan Zhan’s loud footsteps. Uncharacteristically hurried and heavy with a persistent attempt to escape—perhaps to hide somewhere or drown himself in the nearest fountain.

Lanling had never been a place Lan Zhan was eager to visit. Unlike his brother, who was aching to stay a little longer, impatient to fly down the mountains a little sooner, and determined to drag Lan Zhan with him, to his sure doom.

"It would be advisable to get accustomed to the current state of jianghu. It’s been three years, Wangji," Lan Xichen’s smile had wavered, the corners of his lips tugged down by Lan Zhan’s failures and incompetence. "Please. You’re always alone, night-hunting. Demons and ghosts are your only company.”

His brother would have regretted his words had he known Lan Zhan would embarrass him again.

Red stained Lan Zhan’s white robes, spreading from his chest and dripping down to his waist. Even his cheeks and hands burnet with embarrassment, more than the spice of chili peppers.

"Have you been in good health, Hanguang-jun?" Pleasantries. "Second Brother is always worried about you. Lanling is delighted to welcome you again." Jin Guangyao’s smile was dappled with a politeness more cruel than slander. He raised his cup with a gentle flutter of his sleeve, hiding behind it as he downed the wine in one gulp.

Lan Zhan had no right to be angry at his brother for divulging the details of his punishment. It was only natural for friends to share their burdens and concerns, offer a shoulder to howl into, ease bated breaths. Not that Lan Zhan would know. 

During the Sunshot Campaign, only Jiang Wanyin had found his presence somewhat passable enough to entrust him with his worries. He had thought they would regroup in Lanling.

How ironic.

Pleasantries, more pleasantries, fake concerns, and loud gossip—all of it exploded all of it had exploded with a jar of chili sauce that Lan Zhan grabbed to ground himself. Eyes stabbed at him, whispers thundered like cicadas on a hot summer day.

Lan Zhan froze, stilled. His brother rushed to his table, and Lan Zhan stormed out.

Embarrassed, humiliated by none other than himself. Foolish and useless, offering another story for Carp Tower to gossip about for another week or two if Lan Zhan was unfortunate enough.

Lan Zhan ran, his stride too shameful for a Lan—as was everything about him.

Finding his way to his quarters in this profligate and gaudy maze should not have been a problem. He had brought spare robes; he could draw a bath and wash the red off his skin along with the memories of this dinner.

He could. He could do that if he weren’t stopped by footsteps drowning out his own. Confident, resolute, and unhurried yet fast, Lan Zhan could recognise that gait by sound alone, by the ground shaking under his feet. He had shared the same path with that man once. He always walked as if every pebble and every blade of grass crushed under his boot belonged to him, as if he owned them, had every right and reason to aimlessly destroy the harmony.

His brother had warned him that Clan Leader Jiang would be joining them in their discussions later rather than sooner.

He hadn’t seen Jiang Wanyin in three years.

He hadn’t planned on crossing paths with that menace of a man today.

"Hanguang-jun," a sharp drawl found him before Jiang Wanyin’s cutting, dark eyes did. His imposingly deep voice echoed through Lan Zhan’s body, deafening his thoughts and violently beating heart. Perhaps Jiang Wanyin, too, was wretched to remember small, unimportant things about Lan Zhan that he would rather forget, scrape out of his mind. "You are as staid as ever. What a great surprise to see you here.”

Jiang Wanyin couldn’t even see him. He made sure to trap Lan Zhan in the spot where he was anchored to the floor. Made it clear he knew, even if Lan Zhan escaped before laying eyes on that savage, attention-hungry man.

Lan Zhan sped up, unwilling to waste his breath. Jiang Wanyin sped up along with him, turning at the intersection of the hallways, his eyes—his angry eyes—immediately capturing Lan Zhan, peering into him in the dim light.

Lan Zhan didn’t want to look, didn’t want to note how much Jiang Wanyin had changed over the years. He wanted to leave as soon as possible, his gaze glued to the floor.

"Hanguang-jun," that voice, that man approached him, each breath drawing closer and closer. Soon he would make a snide remark about Lan Zhan’s appearance, mock him, and tell everyone in Yunmeng about Lan Zhan’s inappropriate mien. "You greet your superiors when they greet you.”

Lan Zhan’s head flew up, his eyebrows forming a frown that only Jiang Wanyin could irk out of him.

Nothing had changed about that resentful man. Jiang Wanyin’s cheeks were a bit hollower, for all Lan Zhan knew. His acerbic smile and scalding eyes, burning with the force of a thousand lightning strikes, remained the same as ever, irritating as usual, crawling under Lan Zhan’s skin. As usual.

His robes—that was new. Dark purples hugged him tightly around his wide shoulders. The fabric was so light, the opening revealed his legs with the flutter of his skirts.

If he could see thin silver patterns on the hems, it only meant… Lan Zhan braced himself, poised for the bile to erupt between the sinister smile.

That smile suddenly dropped.

"Hanguang-jun!" The sudden urgency in Jiang Wanyin’s tone addled Lan Zhan’s brain. He rushed forward, and within three wide steps, he was so close, Lan Zhan swore worry swam behind those dark irises. "Are you injured?”

What?

Jiang Wanyin grabbed him by the shoulders, Zidian hand pressed on Lan Zhan’s chest where chili sauce had stained his robes especially dark red. The strong grip on his skin hurt more than whatever injury Jiang Wanyin imagined him to have.

"Were you attacked?" Jiang Wanyin pulled him closer, tried supporting Lan Zhan’s entire weight.

"Clan Leader Jiang.”

"Ambushed? Isn’t your fucking brother here?" He snarled, and Zidian came to life, excited to slash through a nonexistent threat.

"Jiang Wanyin, unhand me," Lan Zhan insisted, pushing that ridiculous man away. It only compelled Jiang Wanyin to haul him closer into his constricting grasp.

"What the fuck are you saying? My disciples can tend to your wounds, keep you safe for the time being.”

Lan Zhan blinked and blinked and blinked. His head was a flurry of thoughts refusing to align into something that would make sense of Jiang Wanyin. Jiang Wanyin pulled and dragged, Zidian’s light never fizzled out.

"Fucking move or rest on me if you can’t." His scream violently threw Lan Zhan back in time, back to those three months of blood.

That had happened before, hadn’t it?

Lan Zhan resisted, stubbornly refused to move, refused to speak. The truth would embarrass them both.

"Jiang Wanyin, leave.”

"I’m not leaving you." Just like that. Were the deposits of ice they both grew in their hearts so fragile? Could chili sauce exhaust them?

Lan Zhan closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Nothing had changed about this seething man. Always fond of making Lan Zhan’s life difficult.

"Chili sauce," Lan Zhan choked out, ears burning.

"What?" Jiang Wanyin finally stopped, froze. However, his hand only gripped tighter.

"I spilled chili sauce.”

Jiang Wanyin let go of him, looked at his stained hands, looked at Lan Zhan, and blushed, suddenly looking so young, boyish in his confused embarrassment. Almost shy, all that confidence, built up even more in the span of three years, gone, dissipated under Lan Zhan’s curious gaze.

"You what?”

"Don’t make me repeat myself.”

"Fuck." Jiang Wanyin stepped away, his hand moving to rub his eyes but stopping midway before he could burn himself with the spice. He glowered at Lan Zhan as if every misfortune in his life was Lan Zhan’s fault. Something they agreed on at last. Familiar and forever constant, that rancour.

Lan Zhan pulled a handkerchief out of his sleeve, extending it to Jiang Wanyin. A hint of mischief and pettiness wasn’t beyond Lan Zhan. It easy to succumb to in Jiang Wanyin’s presence.

“Keep it,” Jiang Wanyin roared, walking past him, his eyes looking anywhere but at Lan Zhan. “Disappear on me again, and I’ll fucking drown you in chili sauce,” he threatened, melding with the darkness of the halls.

Not the strangest thing Lan Zhan had been told today.

Nothing had changed about Jiang Wanyin. That thought scorched him, distracting from chili sauce drying on his skin.

[stonesparrow]

Dr. Pebble pt. 2

I'm probably gonna leave this as a two-shot for now, though this au is a ton of fun so I'd totally welcome people sending me asks about it!

Part 1

Time passes by in a daze. Senku fades in and out of consciousness erratically, the sharp pain in his leg making sleep all the more comforting. When he’s awake, he can just barely hear muffled sounds around him that somehow seem both close and far away.

A few times he feels his head being gently tilted up and something cloth-like brushing against his face. He opens his lips, and water drips into his parched mouth, cool and refreshing.

When he finally wakes up with a clear mind and manages to sit up, he realizes he’s lying on an incredibly soft gray pelt that’s much larger than his whole body, and he’s been covered by another, thinner piece of material that seems like it could be deerskin.

When Senku pulls away the blanket, he sees that his leg has been delicately wrapped up in a ribbon of the same material, and there’s something herbal smelling that’s been smeared on underneath. 

He’s also naked from the waist down, which would be rather mortifying if he wasn’t already resigned to his situation. It makes sense, the wound would be hard to get at otherwise. At least his savior was decent enough to cover him up, and left Senku’s mouse fur top as it was. 

Speaking of which. Senku takes a moment to look around. He’s in some sort of large room, surrounded by tall ceramic jars at least twice his height. There’s a huge round door on the far side of the room, and Senku spots a pile of enormous pelts nearby that’s roughly ten times his body length. 

This is someone’s home. And not just any someone, a normal-human-sized someone. 

This raises a lot of questions. Was the boy who saved Senku unpetrified and then grew back to normal size over time? Was he descended from someone who was unpetrified and over the generations humans gained their size back slowly? Or were his ancestors never petrified at all? 

Either way, Senku can’t move very far without a ton of pain, so he’s stuck waiting for the boy to return before he can get any more answers.

There’s a bowl of clean water with a rag next to it near Senku’s bedding. He slowly crawls over to it and drinks some of the water. The mouse pelt he was using as a loincloth has been neatly folded and set to the side, and with some pain and effort he manages to get it back around his waist. 

Eventually, the big round door opens, and the house’s owner quietly steps in. His eyes meet Senku’s, and he freezes. 

Senku glances over him. He’s got brown hair with a rope headband and is wearing animal-skin clothes that have been dyed blue, indicating a somewhat sophisticated crafting culture. Interestingly, he doesn’t look very Japanese—maybe he’s part immigrant. 

“Oh!” The boy gasps, rushing over to Senku. “You’re awake!!”

Senku winces at the booming sounds, and the boy blinks, then lowers his voice. “Oops, sorry. How are you feeling?” He frowns. “Wait, wait. Can you understand me?”

“I sure can,” Senku says after a moment. “And I’m doing surprisingly well, thanks to you.”

The boy’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “Wow, so you can talk! Just like a human!”

“I am a human,” Senku says, “just like you.”

The boy gasps. “Whaaaat?! But you’re so small!” 

“I wasn’t always this small,” Senku scoffs. “I was born normal sized like everyone else! This is a recent development, one that has its ups and downs for certain.”

“Really?” The boy kneels in front of Senku, clearly fascinated. “How did this happen to you, then?”

 As Senku tells his tale, the boy looks more and more amazed. He doesn’t have an explanation for why he isn’t tiny himself—as far as he knows his people have always been normal sized.

Suddenly, Senku’s stomach growls audibly, and Chrome blinks. “Oh! Hold on—“

He goes out the door and then returns a minute later with a roasted fish on a stick. It smells really good, and Senku finds himself leaning forward as Chrome sits cross-legged in front of him and carefully picks off a chunk to hand to Senku.

With no thoughts to propriety, Senku devours the fish hungrily—it’s a much more familiar taste than the mouse meat, and he’s been craving salt. Chrome meanwhile eats his share of the fish casually, observing Senku with a curious eye. 

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,” he says. “That leg will take some time to heal, and this hut is elevated so you won’t have to worry about predators.”  

Senku wipes his mouth and stares up at Chrome. “You’re awfully nice to strangers,” he says. “Not that I’m not grateful, but I’m not sure that I have anything I can offer in return, unless you’ve been looking for a good source of walnuts.”

Chrome shrugs. “You were hurt,” he says. “And you’re the most interesting thing I’ve seen in the forest since I started exploring on my own. I’m sure we can work something out between us. Besides, it’s not like you take up a lot of space.”

“Well, I guess I have no choice at this point,” Senku says. “Mind giving me the grand tour then? I’m really curious about what you have stored in all these jars.”

He lets Chrome gently pick him up so he can see the room better. As soon as Chrome brings him near one of the jars, Senku’s heart leaps.

“Wait a second! Malachite, chalcanthite, corundum, and is that…holy shit that’s galena! Chrome, this is amazing!”

“Oh, you like it?” Chrome grins. “I’ve spent years collecting all these things, grinding them up, mixing them together, heating them over the fire. Sometimes some really baaad stuff happens when I hit on the right combination, it’s totally magical!”

“Not magic,” Senku corrects him. “This is science. Chrome, you’re a scientist like me!”

Chrome tilts his head. “A what?”

When Senku explains, Chrome seems intrigued.

“So you’re saying that in your time, scientists were people who discovered what different rocks can do?”

“Not just rocks,” Senku says. “Building, exploring, cooking, medicine, anything and everything uses science and was studied by scientists.”

Chrome blinks. “Medicine?”

Senku nods. “Scientists studied sickness and developed all sorts of medicines for all sorts of things,” he says. “From what it seems, you’ve picked up a bit too, using this herbal poultice on my leg.”

Chrome is staring at Senku strangely. “I think I know how you can pay me back for helping you,” he says.

Apparently, one of Chrome’s friends is very sick, and has been for a long time. That’s why he lives out here alone, experimenting with plants and minerals to find something that might finally ease her pain. 

“Let’s make a deal then,” Senku says. “I’ll teach you everything I know about science and how to make antibiotics, and you’ll help me find and wake up my friends.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Chrome nods. He holds out his pinky finger, and Senku shakes it.

“Kukuku, it’s time to get excited!”

[starssaroundmyscarssblog]

𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐄, chapter one WEASLEY VS SLUGHORN

pairing: percy weasley x fem!oc (olympia slughorn)

word count: 1.04k

warnings: none

series masterlist

percy weasley strived for validation of the academic kind, wanted to set himself apart from his ragtag group composed of five brothers and one sister that was designated to him at birth. he had no choice, each one of his siblings had something about them that set them apart from the rest.

ginny's was obvious since she was the only girl and the youngest, ron was somewhat friendly towards the muggle children who wandered into the fields surrounding the burrow every so often, which put him into his father's good books for learning about the 'fascinating' way that they live. fred and george had each other, like they were two peas unable to be prised out of their pod. charlie was sporty and had offers to go professional with his quidditch playing but turned it down for an even more rugged job handling dragons in eastern europe, bill was devil-may-care and living it large in an entirely different continent and was breaking curses in the last year of you-know-who's power.

everything that he, percy, was not.

where they were cool he was awkward, where they were popular he sunk into the shadows, and where they were doted upon he was given a book and a drink to keep quiet.

merlin, even ron seemed to be more favoured than him, and he was starting his first ever year of hogwarts with twin brothers who took the mickey out of him ( fred and george ), an even older brother who tried do disassociate himself from lower year riff-raff ( percy ), a legacy left behind by brothers who'd graduated to become great things, and no possessions that were originally his own.

the only things he had in his trunk that hadn't been passed down from brother to brother was his collection of homemade knitted jumpers, the pile of corned beef sandwiches he gagged simply at the sight of and the writing set he'd been given on his eleventh birthday by their great aunt tessie.

but, where percy lacked a brain of street smart tips and popular wizard culture, he made up for in ingenuity and drive to over achieve even if he fizzled out before his newt exams in three years time. and yet, percy still wasn't doing anything original or generically 'him' he realised when his prefects badge had landed in his bowl of porridge at the breakfast table one morning - bill had already been a prefect and then gone on to be head boy, charlie had smashed it out the park with his outstanding newt results too.

so he worked day and night, stalked the garden for muggle fireflies he could keep in a jar on his desk to observe for his summer task from the muggle studies teacher, poured himself over text book upon text book, any reading material he could get his hands on to put him in good standing for his owl year starting in september. percy snatched coloured pencils from ginny's desk draw when she was helping ron fling disorientated gnomes over the garden hedge to draw himself up a revision timetable, scheduled to start the first day back after the welcome feast.

he was going to pass his exams with flying colours, attend every single optional class and wrangle help out of his teachers if it was the last thing he did. even getting over himself to ask one of the students in the year above who was taking newt level potions to boost his grade up from an 'e' to a 'o'.

anything to see the look on olympia slughorn's face when the name 'percy weasley' was printed above hers in the top slot when the student rankings in each class was posted anonymously at the end of each month, like they had been since before his parents could remember.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

olympia slughorn was in a deeply committed one sided relationship with percy weasley - she hated him more than anything in the world and she wouldn't trust him as a confidante as far as she could launch him with a beaters bat. it wouldn't be too great of a distance compared to those who were on the slytherin quidditch team could hit, but she still had a good shot and that was enough for her.

he poked his nose into business it didn't belong, tried too hard to cosy up to his teachers by snitching on members of his class if a piece of homework was overdue, and constantly tried to ask her overly complex questions about origins of ingredients for her potions in effort to throw her off. it never worked, though. olympia had prevailed at the top of only one class in her entire four years at hogwarts thus far, and that was potions.

it ran though her blood, it was the one thing the slughorn's had in their legacy apart from her great uncle horace's self titled 'slug club' from his teaching days at hogwarts. he'd retired the year olympia was due to start attending the magical boarding school but still sent her various potion ingredients and recipes to create during the term time.

potions was the only subject she was predicted an 'o' in.

potions was the only thing she wanted to continue doing for the rest of her life.

there was no other option. percy weasley had to learn his place in the pecking order, and olympia knew just the way to ensure it.

she holed herself up in the small library room of the slughorn estate, significantly smaller in size compared to the lestrange manor that was dissed and had fallen into disrepair and the malfoy manor guarded with towering iron gates and white peacocks. there was seven floor to ceiling book cases in the library dedicated to potions, ingredients, poignant moments in wizarding history that advanced the world of potions, magical creatures host to rare ingredients that cost an arm and a leg to purchase.

olympia prized her validation just above thwarting anyone that was standing in her way, deliberate or not. she would snap her vintage muggle 'the beatles' records over the stone gargoyles over the front door of the house if the student rankings were posted and the name 'olympia slughorn' was printed below 'percy weasley'.

next part here

🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🪶