#when Jackson is done with all the games (because he forces himself to do all of them)

[headfullof-ideas]

I’ve been slowly making my way through some mild artist and writers block, and behold, I give you this mini-comic of two of the next gen Nekton kids I came up with. This features Jackson and Kai, the only two boys in the group, both the same age. And Kai is questioning some of Jackson’s choices right about now…

A fun fact about Jackson is that he has thalassophobia, which isn’t great when your whole families thing is being drawn to the water, and you come from generation after generation of underwater explorers. It’s even worse when you yourself are fascinated with the ocean, love to learn all about it, yet whenever you take family trips on you and your cousins parents old submarine, you spend half the trip hidden away in your room and stubbornly avoiding the windows because if you see the endless blue ocean surrounding you, one of your parents is gonna find you having a mild panic attack on the floor sometime later. But you’re NOT going to just skip those trips and stay home like a sensible person with that super specific fear would do, cause it’s one of the only times you get to see your cousins and grandparents for long stretches of time and in person, AND there’s still a fair number of stuff to do on a submarine that doesn’t trigger your phobia of the ocean your freaking family is drawn to. He’s also way too stubborn to not go anyways, and it’s entirely genetic and gives his parents migraines.

Yet Jackson is still scared after fifteen years of being fascinated with the ocean like any other Nekton regardless. Fifteen years of slowly beginning to feel self-conscious of his phobia, fifteen years filled with many conversations with his parents and extended family about how he’s still loved and they don’t care that he’s scared of the very thing their family has spent generations loving. Fifteen years of slowly feeling left out and slowly feeling like an outsider in his own family. And those family trips are starting to make Jackson feel a little miserable, and even more self-conscious.

So he decides to try taking matters into his own hands, saves up some money, and buys the most thalassophobia inducing game of all time, and tries to bully the thalassophobia out of himself by scaring himself senseless with Subnautica. And he’s not going into it TOTALLY blind, he did some research! And he’s super into world-building and creature design, so he’s been eyeing the game for a while anyways. He just, uh, didn’t anticipate how much it would get on his nerves in the first place, and his cousin doesn’t shut up about it for a long time

Bonus, Ant and Fontaine wondering what the heck the boys are doing upstairs, and why they’re screaming so much

(not shown later that night, Jackson and Kai both sitting at the dinner table with thousand yard stares and refusing to elaborate what happened earlier that day when questioned)

[timmydraker]

Bruce had never been to The Eclipse before.

The club was similar to that of a gentleman’s club from the starting years of America, filled with dozens of tables all curved and ready for a game or feast. The three floors of the place each had a game room, a bar and a section for private rooms for the more seedy type of talks to be had.

It was one of the few non-criminal funded place in Gotham that was still rich. Deals definitely went down, but it was more fitting for gossip that anything else.

Often people went there for catch ups in a refined setting.

Bruce was there for a catch up, or more accurately, a reuniting with his son.

Tim had sent Bruce a time, date and location and said he was only going to meet with him and no one else. Considering Bruce hadn’t seen his beloved son in nearly four years, including his time in the time stream, he accepted without argument.

Tim said he would look different but that if Bruce was as good of a detective as he says, it wouldn’t be a problem.

Bruce had no idea what his son meant until a woman let him inside and told him that ‘Drake had asked you to find him yourself’ with a confused bend in her eyebrows.

It took him a little longer than he’d be happy to admit, although still less than forty seconds, to find his son.

Or maybe that was the wrong word now, if the regal young woman staring at her drink was anything to go by.

Like something out of a vintage movie, the woman had curled black hair and dark red lipsticks. Her dark eyeshadow matched her sweetheart collar dress, black with thick straps and tight enough that each breath was visible.

The gloves on her hand were long and black, one putting a stark contrast to the pink coloured cigarette lit in her hand.

Everything about her screamed old money.

Bruce only knew it was Tim because of the sweet blue eyes and shape of his jaw, though there was also some kind of… paternal instinct in play.

Tim only looked up when he put a hand on the rounded couch, Jim’s tearing nervously down at his distinguished looking child.

It was when she smiled, a real thing that was just highlighted by her dark red lips, that Bruce knew he wasn’t mistaken.

“Hi Bruce.”

A lighter voice, not soft so much as smooth, and nothing like the more monotone sound he was used to.

“Ti-… hi.”

She smiles and gestures for him to sit before taking a final drag of her smoke and putting it out.

Bruce stares at for just a second before looking at his child. Despite the shock of the obvious changes, he notices something far more important, “You look healthy.”

Well fed, clean, nourished.

Like she’s gotten sleep.

“I am. I’ve done a lot of work on myself and it’s paid off.”

Bruce smiles, genuine and almost a little painful, “I can see that. What… what do I call you?”

“Charlotte. Charlotte Jackson Drake.”

“A beautiful name.”

Charlotte smiles before a serious look comes over her face, “Bruce. I haven’t just changed my lifestyle and body, I’ve changed how I look at the world and I’ve come to understand a lot more in my life now.”

Never has Bruce been so attentive, ears feeling on fire as he does his best to focus on every word spoken to him.

“The main thing I’ve come to understand is you.”

Bruce doesn’t move, scared to make his daughter stop talking to him and so he just does his best to show he’s listening.

Charlotte continues, “I get why you brought all of us in. It wasn’t just to protect us from the world, but from ourselves. I can see now that you are only crazy because you’ve been given the impossible challenge of being a necessity in Gotham and the worlds survival and sanity. It doesn’t change that you’ve made mistakes and fucked up, but I get why now. You didn’t want us to apart of Batman, but we forced you, me most of all.”

Bruce is more than stunned by the honesty and understanding in Charlotte’s words, but the fact that he himself only figured that out after loosing Jason.

She smiles at him like she could read his mind, “It took me a long time and I still have anger towards you, yet I want you in my life all the same.”

A gloved hand comes to hold onto his own, delicate and gentle in a way that reminds him of his mother all those years ago.

Charlottes smiles is far too sad to be hers though, “I’m not the boy you once knew, not just because of the woman I want to be now. I don’t want to help you, to save you and parent you, I want to know you. As my father. If-if you’ll allow it?”

Bruce has cried in public before, several times in fact, but normally it’s to play up his over emotional persona.

This time it’s pure relief.

“Of course. Anything you want, at any pace you want, I- what ever you need.”

Charlotte smiles and squeezes his hand, “Thank you.”

Bruce eventually huffs a laugh and wipes his eyes, “god, you really are good at catching me off guard.”

She laughs, a honey like noise that makes him realises he’s never heard Tim smile and that maybe his daughter could only do that once she be same ‘her’.

The two order drinks and Bruce is given the tale of how Charlotte came to be, of how sometimes she misses being Tim but never wants to go back. He learns that she chose her name based on what she would ah e been if she was born a girl so she wouldn’t feel like she was betraying her parents.

Bruce learns that she is still a hero, operating as Red Robin, but that she focuses on prolonged crimes like trafficking rings and makes sure to take them down in on go instead of busting a few and giving the rest a chance to escape.

He’s not so happy to hear that she isn’t ready to talk to the others and that she only really talks to Cass and Duke as both of them have always been on her side and are truely her siblings.

Yet he respects it, if only to keep her close and show her the love he failed to give.

Respecting his daughter’s privacy, he doesn’t tell his other kids anything about what happened and acts ignorant when there’s a few articles about the mysterious Charlotte Drake and her distant relation to the private Tim Drake.

He meets with his little girl, his Lottie, once a week at The Eclipse and talks with her about their businesses both in the literal sense and more broadly.

He meets Bernard and can’t quite see what it is about the strange boy that makes his daughter so happy, but all he needs is to see her big smile and know it doesn’t matter.

That and the several background checks he did.

[koshkamartell]

Chapter 1

chapter warnings: pervy!Joel, pervy!Tommy, slut shaming, alcohol consumption, mention of drug use, masturbation.

Joel Miller was frustrated.

Sure, he was almost always grumpy. He usually wore a scowl on his face and he was never short of a biting remark for anyone who dared annoy him. People knew not to bother him or engage with him unless absolutely necessary because of his quick temper.

But the frustration he had been feeling lately was more than just a facet of his surly temperament. There was an obvious reason as to why Joel was meaner than usual - although he wasn't completely cognisant of it himself - and it was because he was sexually frustrated. Completely and infuriatingly sexually frustrated. His mind and body had been forced into survival mode for so long that anything done for the sake of pleasure or joy was frivolous, almost incomprehensible. Even after settling in Jackson Joel could never quite let his guard down. He hadn't made friends or even entertained the thought of dating, and so Joel continued to remain repressed, tightly wound, and irritable.

His younger brother, Tommy Miller, was adept at navigating the storms of his older brother's character and had been Joel's main source of support in the town. Tommy understood the depth of pain Joel had endured and survived throughout the apocalypse and therefore forgave Joel's attitude to a certain degree. Until one day it had all been too much to tolerate.

Joel and Tommy had been working on a carpenting job repairing a set of porch steps for one of the houses. Joel had accidentally hit his thumb with the hammer he was using, causing him to throw the tool across the porch and snarl like an angry dog. Once Joel stopped swearing and blaming Tommy for distracting him and making him strike his own hand, the two brothers walked over to the Tipsy Bison for a drink.

"Ya know, you're actin' like a real asshole lately," Tommy grumbled inbetween sips of beer. "Even more than usual."

Joel just scoffed and took a shot of his whiskey, but purposely avoided meeting Tommy's eyes. He hated when his brother was right.

"Maybe you wouldn't be so cranky if you were gettin' some action," Tommy mused with a teasing little smirk.

Joel frowned at him, his cheeks tinging pink with embarrassment. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, man. You're moody as hell. Wound up tighter than a damn rattlesnake, tryin'a pick fights over nothin', always complainin'." Tommy shakes his head. "Got too much pent up energy. Nothin' a good fuck wouldn't fix."

"Well, maybe I wouldn't be if people around here weren't so goddamn incompetent," Joel snaps back, but there's no malice in his voice. He feels embarrassed and exposed by Tommy's observation. "Got nothin' to do with....that."

Tommy chuckles and tilts his head slightly to the side, his brown eyes shining with a hint of mischievous. "When's the last time you had a woman?"

"None of your business," Joel mutters, turning away from Tommy.

Truthfully Joel cannot remember the last time he laid with a woman - he knows it would have been with Tess, years ago back in the QZ, but he had very little memory of those unremarkable instances of physical closeness. Those times with Tess were not ones of intimacy but rather opportunities for both of them to fuck away their stress and pain. There had never been any desire for more emotion or connection, atleast not on Joel's part.

"Well, maybe it's about time you get yourself back in the game, big brother. Whole new world of datin' and different kinds of people now." Tommy's voice is softer, more earnest now as he eyes Joel.  "Whatever you're lookin' for, it's out there. Romance or just some company."

"Ain't lookin' for anythin', Tom," Joel mumbles before downing another shot of whiskey.

"Okay," Tommy concedes with an offhanded shrug. "Well, if you're ever interested in blowin' off some steam, I know someone who could help."

Joel shoots him a confused look. Tommy's lips quirk into a smug smirk and he leans over the table to quietly answer Joel's unspoken curiosity. Joel instinctively copies his action, turning his head slightly so he can hear better through his good ear.

"There's a woman in town, lives by herself. A widow. Real easy to get into. A few of the guys I know pay her visits, get what they need without any bullshit."

The realisation of what Tommy is insinuating hits Joel with full force. His face contorts with disdain.

"A whore?" Joel hisses lowly, his eyes narrowing on Tommy's.

"Not exactly," Tommy admits. "Don't have to pay her or anythin'. Just take her on a date or some shit. Hell, I think after a while the guys stopped even botherin' with dates. They just go there to fuck her. I hear she gets real horny, like a bitch in heat or somethin'."

Joel's hand tightens around the shot glass on the table. He's disgusted by what Tommy has said, appalled to think of a bunch of men using a woman so carelessly, that a woman would even be so desperate as to allow herself to be used. He's repulsed by the whole thing. Yet there is a tugging sensation in his lower belly that he cannot ignore.

A whore in Jackson.

Joel may be disgusted, but he's also undeniably aroused and intrigued.

I hear she gets horny, like a bitch in heat.

Joel's cock twitches in his jeans. He clears his throat and leans back into the booth, shaking his head. It is disgusting. Filthy. There's no way he would ever meet a woman like that.

Tommy grins and nods his head, the idea already set into motion. "I can set it up for ya."

"Don't," Joel growls. "Told ya, I ain't interested. Especially not in some whore."

That's the end of the conversation and nothing more is mentioned about you. Until two weeks later, when an unexpected meeting happens.

It's been a rough day on patrol for Joel. First, he was paired up with a rookie ranger who was too anxious to steer his own goddamn horse confidently. The rookie almost ended up getting caught in one of the traps set to catch raiders, then they accidentally took the safety off their rifle and fired it into the air. Joel was furious and it took all his restraint not to kill the guy. When they returned to Jackson Joel stalked straight over to Tommy's and Maria's house and demanded the man never work a patrol shift again.

The effects of stress consistently manifested itself in the same ways for Joel; the muscles in his neck and shoulders would tense up and his back would ache, his jaw would clench and his hands would fidget. Today all the chaos from the day weighed heavily on Joel and had taken a toll on his body. Tommy could see the suffering in Joel's eyes and felt bad; after all, it was his responsibility to organise work duties regarding patrolling and thus he felt partly to blame. Although he hadn't predicted any potential issues when he had assigned Joel and the rookie together, Tommy still wanted to make it up to Joel. He tried his best to assuage Joel's ire by dragging him over to the Tipsy Bison for some drinks.

Joel had initially resisted entertaining Tommy's idea but after an hour of playing several rounds of darts and pool, he was actually beginning to loosen up and relax. The alcohol mellowed his mood and eased the agony in his lower back, granting him enough relief to enjoy himself. He even made a bit of small talk with a couple of Tommy's friends that had ended up joining them.

At some stage during the evening Joel was standing in the corner of the bar casually watching one of the pool games. Tommy sidled up next to him with two glasses of whiskey and passed one to Joel.

"Judgin' by your face, I'd say this wasn't such a bad idea after all," Tommy grinned.

"Guess I was overdue for a night out," Joel admitted as he accepted the drink. "But kickin' your ass at darts always makes me feel better."

Tommy barked a laugh and clapped his hand on Joel's shoulder. "Fuck you, man. Ya only won the last round outta sheer luck."

"Bullshit," Joel smirked. "You lost because you got distracted flirtin' with Priscilla."

At the mention of her name, the brothers both looked over past the bar to try and get a glimpse of the kitchen area where Priscilla, the waitress at the Tipsy Bison that night, had disappeared to earlier. There was no sign of the red head woman who had been batting her eyelashes and giggling at Tommy, but only Clyde, the older heavyset bartender who knew all the regular patrons by name.

"Can't help when a woman wants a piece of me," Tommy chuckled playfully.

Joel rolled his eyes. It was typical of Tommy to be a little arrogant when it came to women. Joel remembered the days pre outbreak when Tommy would be reeling in one night stands on a regular basis (when he wasn't getting into drunken fist fights). He had known just what to say to charm a woman, how to apply an effective balance of flirtation and detachment in order to pique her interest. It seemed Tommy's skills were still alive and well even after the outbreak. His older brother, however, had always been the opposite - less wild and carefree, more responsible and mature, not at all interested in something as hollow as a one time sexual encounter.

How and why Maria managed to pin Tommy down and marry him was a mystery to Joel. Although he didn't particularly like the woman, it made Joel uncomfortable to witness Tommy flirt with another women when he was married to Maria.

"Well ya better quit it before Maria finds out and gives you a piece of her mind." Joel warned. "Sure she'd deck you one before you could even come up with some lame excuse as to why your hand was on that girl's ass just now."

Tommy snorted scornfully and downed a mouthful of whiskey. "What she don't know won't hurt her. Besides, a man's got needs."

Joel just shook his head. It wasn't his business, anyway. He was about to challenge Tommy to another game of pool when Tommy suddenly nudged his side with his elbow.

"Hey, hey, look," Tommy whispered hurriedly to Joel. "That's the woman I was tellin' you about."

Tommy titled his head toward a figure that had just strolled in. Joel followed Tommy's line of vision and when his eyes landed on you for the very first time, his heart skipped a beat.

You took a seat on a stool at the bar, shifting to smooth your dress under your ass. You were wearing a simple linen dress with a jacket that gave no indication of what was hiding underneath, and you had worn black boots on your feet. The outfit was mundane, nothing special. Modest is the term his old fashioned southern mother would've used, bless her heart.

Although Joel hadn't concocted much of an idea of how you might have looked inside his head, he was surprised by your appearance. Perhaps he expected you to be more provocatively dressed, with your physical assets on display, enticing whoever might choose to go home with you that night.

Idiot, he chided himself.

When you turned your head at a certain angle Joel was able to get a glimpse of your face. He was struck by how pretty your features were. Even from the distance of where he sat at the booth, he could see you were beautiful. No wonder you had men trying to pursue you - getting into bed with you would be a fucking dream.

Throughout the next half an hour Joel surreptitiously watched you as you sat alone at the bar while you nursed a glass of beer and occasionally chatted with the bartender. You seemed comfortable and confident, a sweet little smile etched on your mouth. But Joel noticed the way your shoulders sagged a little, how your fingers toyed with a bracelet on your delicate wrist. These minute details signalled that you weren't as carefree as you wanted to appear, that maybe you were somewhat nervous in this surrounding.

Why was he so interested to understand more when he doesnt even know you? Get a fucking life, Joel internally reprimands himself. You don't even know this woman.

It isn't like he would ever meet you, either. There's no way in hell he would let Tommy introduce the two of you. He had no intention of approaching you, either. He was not going to walk up and introduce himself and try make conversation with you. What the hell would he say, anyway?

"Hi, my name is Joel Miller. I heard you're an easy lay and love to fuck."

No. Joel was resigned to just watching you instead, like a strange voyeur who didn't even know your name. He justified his little secret surveillance stunt as a means of distraction from the obnoxious conversation around him, from the annoyance of Tommy and his crew laughing loudly and talking shit. He was content just to observe.

Until another man swaggered across the bar room floor and made his way over to you.

And who the hell is this guy?

Joel's hawkish gaze burned into the man as he watched him approach you, leaning against the bar with an arrogant grin on his face.

Is this one of your regulars? Have you been waiting for him to show?

The man came close to your face and said something to you, but Joel couldn't read his lips from so far away. You jerked back and turned your body slightly to the left, away from him, a clear rejection. The man didn't seem detered by your change in posture, though; he stroked his fingers over your shoulder and continued talking, even though you flinched from his touch.

Everything about him exuded a sleazy energy that incited a simmering anger in Joel's stomach. You weren't interested in his guy at all but he just wasn't giving up. Even though you pulled away and shook your head, he leaned closer and whispered something in your ear. Whatever he said had its intended affect; Joel saw your face crumple before you hurriedly slipped off of the bar stool and scampered out of the bar. The man remained, unmoving but chuckling to himself with what looked like cruel satisfaction.

What the hell just happened?

Joel didn't even think before he stood up from his seat and strode toward the saloon style doors, like an invisible magnet being pulled to follow you. He did not stop to question just why he felt an overwhelming need to chase after you and check that you are alright, for he was impelled in such a way that he himself cannot fathom.

Joel exited the bar and followed your silhouette into the darkness of the evening, forgetting all about Tommy and the others.

You are not even half way down the main street before Joel quickly catches up to you with long strides of his legs. He thinks to reach out and touch your arm to get your attention but he doesn't want to scare you. Instead, he approaches your side but stays a respectful distance from you.

"Excuse me ma'am, are you alright?" He asks gently.

You stop walking and turn to face him, your eyes wide and brimmed with unshed tears. Now he is up close and can see your face in more detail, Joel feels an immediate pang of attraction to you. He is momentarily startled by how your eyes shine under the light of the streetlamp.

Pretty.

You instinctively take a step back and eye him warily, your brow furrowing slightly.

"I'm sorry," you reply, voice a little croaky with restrained emotion. "Have we met?"

Oh, that voice. You sound like a damn angel.

Joel swallows thickly and gives a shake of his head. "No, we haven't. My name's Joel. Joel Miller. I'm Tommy's brother."

You blink and sniff, a pathetic little sound, then give him your name in return. "Hi Joel. Yes, I'm okay."

It's a lie, Joel knows. You aren't crying but it is obvious that you aren't quite okay. Joel clears his throat and stands with his hands on his hips, suddenly feeling awkward. He doesn't know what to say, but he's also curious about the interaction with the man at the bar.

"I, uhm, I saw that guy in there, looked like he was botherin' ya."

You purse your lips and glance down at your shoes. He studies your body language intently as you wrap an arm around your middle and scuff at the ground with the tip of your boot. "Yeah, he's not a very nice person." You respond, low and soft. "But it's okay. I mean, I'm okay."

Joel nods. For some reason he feels compelled to ask for more details, to know just what was said to you to illicit your reaction and make you run away like that, but he holds his tongue. You are strangers, after all.

"Um, okay then," you nod back curtly, feeling just as awkward as Joel. "Thank you. Goodnight."

"Wait, please." Joel inwardly cringes at the sound of his own voice, how his request sounds more like a plea than anything else. He hasn't spoken this many words to a woman for a long time and he feels incredibly self conscious, but the chivalrous part of him doesn't feel right that you are walking home alone when you're hurting. "You want me to walk you back home?"

His offer seems to immediately sour the interaction between you two. Something flashes in your eyes and a sound escapes your lips, something between a sigh and a scoff. There's an invisible wall suddenly put up, a palpable boundary that radiates from the change in your energy and the furrow of your brow. You are angry, annoyed. Insulted.

"No, I'm good thanks, Joel." Your clipped reply comes as you whip around and resume your journey home. You mutter something to yourself that Joel cannot catch. He stays frozen to the spot for a few seconds, slightly bewildered by what has just happened. He soon springs into action, that possessive pull urging him toward you once more, and he swiftly follows you again. But this time he does dare to reach out to touch you, gently placing his hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, whoa. What's goin' on? Did I say somethin' wrong?"

You fling around to meet his gaze and glare up at him. "You can cut the chivalrous act," you snap. "Because it isn't happening, not tonight. Got it?"

Joel isn't discouraged by your defensive attitude. In fact he finds your assertiveness makes you even more alluring. Maybe you have a little more bite than what your appearance suggests. 

"What are you talkin' about?" Joel asks softly, his hooded eyes staring into yours.

"Yeah, right," you snort. "Like you're really not pretending to be concerned about me just so you can get in my pants."

The accusation hits him like an arrow to the chest and his mouth hangs open in shock. The insinuation that his kindness is a only pretence to acquire something sexual from you offends him immensely; it is his turn to feel indignant now.

"Excuse me?" Joel growls out. "I was just makin' sure that creep didn't step outta line!"

His reaction visibly takes you by surprise; the look of resentment quickly disappears from your eyes and your features soften, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth as you listen to his words. You almost look sheepish.

"I got no such intentions," Joel states with a shake of his head. "'M sorry to bother you, g'night."

He's about to turn away when you suddenly reach out and grasp onto his wrist, giving it a small squeeze before quickly letting it go. He freezes in place at the contact, momentarily dazed by your touch. He can't remember the last time a woman touched him and the whole situation feels surreal. He clears his throat and waits for you to speak, too embarrassed to meet your eye now, opting instead to stare down at his boots.

"Joel, no, I'm sorry," you sigh heavily. "I didn't mean to offend you. It's just...well, I don't really have many friends here. And sometimes people get the wrong idea about me."

The wrong idea. What could that mean?

Despite not knowing, Joel feels a twinge of empathy for you. He is no stranger to judgement or being on the receiving end of someone's preconceived prejudice. He's reminded of Maria's hesitancy to accept him in the community when he first showed up, how some of the residents refused to even look his way, the whispers around town that he was a cold blooded murderer who would reek havoc on Jackson. Deep down it still hurts him to think about.

"It's alright." Joel murmers. "I'm sorry, too. Probably scared ya a bit, just comin' up outta no where."

You hum softly in agreement. "It's alright, really. It's nice that someone cares enough to ask."

A surge of relief rushes through Joel to see you are no longer upset. There is something about your smile, the tiny upturn of the corners of your mouth, that gives Joel a strange thrill of gratification. No one has ever had such an effect on him before; no one has ever made Joel want to prove his quality of character, to show his genunity to.

"Still wanna walk me, or have you changed your mind?" You inquire a little teasingly, raising an eyebrow.

Joel can't help but let the hint of a smile ghost his lips. "Still happy to. If that's what you want."

"I'll lead the way."

Under your guidance, Joel chaperones you through several streets across town to the area where you live. The journey takes less than ten minutes and neither of you talk much. Your energy is refreshingly relaxed and calm, and you seem satisfied to just gently hum and occasionally stare up to admire the twinkling stars in the sky. Joel, however, is silent, his jaw clenching with tension; his mind is preoccupied with the echo of Tommy's voice.

They just go there to fuck her.

That is certainly not what Joel's goal is tonight, yet he cannot shake that low, sly intonation of Tommy's word from rattling around inside his head. Just how many guys have walked to your home using this very same path that Joel walks on now?

But something just isn't clicking for Joel. If you were such a slut, why were you so affronted by the mere possibility of him expecting more from you? From what Tommy told him, you should be more than willing to have a man ask to take you home.

Maybe Tommy was one of the people who had the wrong idea about you.

"It's just over there," your voice broke through his thoughts, directing him to the turn down the next lane.

Your neighbourhood was one of the more secluded residential parts of the commune, primarily comprised of cottages and small houses. Joel follows you halfway down the street to where your own cottage is located, nestled between an empty plot on one side and a modest looking house on the other side. The whole quarter looks vastly different to his own large two storey home and the others that surround it. Joel's neighbourhood is without a doubt more aesthetically pleasing and closer to the town centre, making it alot easier to access whatever supplies or services he needs to.

Maybe it was just a shit luck of the draw, Joel thinks. Families always take priority in regards to housing, after all.

The first thing he notices about your cottage is the bed of flowers in the meagre garden of your front yard. It is charming, a scant feature of beauty in an otherwise unremarkable habitat. He vaguely wonders what your garden looks like in the light of day, if the flowers are even more vibrant than they are under the lone street lamp on the sidewalk.

"Well, this is me," you say softly, trailing up to the porch. Joel grunts in response, lingering a little behind you.

The exterior of your cottage appears weathered and in need of a coat of paint. Joel doubts the foundation is durable enough to withstand the cold Wyoming weather. He makes a mental note to talk to the committee about it at the next meeting.

You turn to face Joel and notice him eyeing the broken swing that hangs pathetically on your porch. "It's always been like that." You grimace. "I've been meaning to get it fixed, but it always slips my mind."

"I can do it." Joel blurts out without thinking. "I can fix it."

"What? Really?" You raise your brows, surprised.

Joel nods resolutely. He approaches the swing and bends down to examine the splintered planks, running a hand along the frame to check for more cracks. "Won't take long to do. Just need some new wood, maybe a coat of paint."

"You know how to do that kinda stuff?" You question curiously.

"Mm-hm. Was a contractor back in the day," Joel murmers. "Can do it whenever you want."

"How's this Sunday?" You offer almost immediately.

Joel's head snaps up to look at you, eyes wide, briefly stupefied by your eagerness. You give him a grin and a little shrug, and Joel feels a tinge of pink bloom over the apples of his cheeks.

"Uhm, yeah, okay," Joel clears his throat. "Sunday mornin' alright with you?"

"Perfect." You gift him a sweet smile of appreciation. "Well, you know where I live. Thanks for walking me home."

Joel just nods as he straightens back upright, his eyes shifting to avert his gaze  back to the street. "G'night."

"Goodnight, Joel," you all but purr before opening your door and slipping inside.

Joel meanders back to his own house, feeling dazed. He recounts his interaction with you over and over in his mind, recreating the nuances of your body language, the silky lilt of your voice, the way that firey sparkle danced in your eyes when you challenged him. Your words replay over and over, the sound of his name floating from your mouth, your barely audible humming.

When Joel gets home he fucks his fist until he climaxes with a startling intensity and his warm cum spills over his pillowy stomach.

[coleskingdom]

Man in the Mirror

Matt Jackson x female reader

Genre Smut Minors DNI NSFW

GIF @ bloodycowboyclub

@madhatterbri @midwestmade29

“He’s playing fucking head games, with us.” Matt said pacing in the hotel room, “He couldn’t just take the nice retirement package and leave no, he had to bring a goth boy and a geriatric with him. “ his voice agitated, “ I now have to end one of the icons of this business and his friends as well.”

I had been lying in bed watching this soliloquy, slightly amused and slightly annoyed by this sudden crisis of conscience. “ Really? One of the icons of the sport, you’re doing what has to be done. The sport is ready for new icons, new greats. The geriatric in question should’ve been ended long ago.” I said an impatient tone in my voice.

“ I don’t recognize myself some days, when I look in the mirror.” his eyes showing a sadness that broke my heart. “ How have I become the villain ? No one understands why I have to do the things I have to do.” his hand reaching for the glass of wine on the table.

“Matt, listen they forced your hand, they forced you to have to make the hard decisions. Changing the world was never going to be easy. You’re doing this for everyone, the ones who don’t have spots because of this old guard who refuses to move on. Besides you either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain.. You’ve just always had someone else to get their hands dirty for you, or you did it because someone told you to. You’ve stabbed everyone you’ve ever loved in the back at one point or another, you’ll forgive yourself in time, as they have forgiven you. I don’t know why this upsets you when you played into Kenny’s psychotic vendetta against Cole and Page.” I sipped my own wine . “Is it because Kenny isn’t calling the shots this time? Is it because you’re having to lead? Is it because …” my words cut off as Matt straddled me on the bed, his hands tracing lines of my throat. “ I wouldn’t finish that thought” ,he kissed me, his mouth fighting for dominance, as I relented. Our hands grabbing at each other’s clothes in a frenzy, pulling and removing them as they were thrown on the floor.

His hands moved down my body, only lightly teasing the places , he knew I loved. “Are you going to be a good girl or am I going to have to fuck that attitude out of you?” his voice cool and controlled, his touch soft,as his calloused hands dipped lower. “ I’ll be whatever you want me to be, just please touch me Matt” the pathetic desperation in my tone made him smile. “ There’s my good girl, not so mouthy now” his mouth claiming mine as his hand teased my folds. He swallowed my groan as his practiced fingers went to work, his mouth moved down my body to my breasts. “Is this what you needed?”before he took my nipple in his mouth. “ Yes”, I said my mind barely coherent “Yes what?” he said stopping all movement “Yes sir” I was immediately rewarded as his thumb moved over my clit and his teeth grazed my nipple. A moan fell from my lips, I felt my body giving itself over to him. “ princess it’d be so easy to let you cum right now, and nothing would make me happier than to take care of you right now.” His fingers moving inside me, teasing strokes inching deeper. “However, you said some hurtful truths earlier, now you’re gonna have to wait till I say to cum.” his hands spreading my thighs , as he aligned himself with my aching core. “So desperate for me, for someone you thought was afraid to lead I’m leading you pretty well aren’t I ?” his tone slightly menacing, “I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry sir” I said . His mouth back on mine as he entered me, his body worked mine, the angle he chose was meant to drive both of us quickly to our own release. My fingers scratched his back as he hit that spot deep inside, he hissed . He picked up his speed his controlled thrusts becoming erratic , “ Princess come for me, milk my cock , show me how much you need me.” I clenched pulling him in and holding him there, as I shattered around him, his thrusts and little groans and whimpers as he released inside of me in my ear. My hands running through his hair as his face laid in the crook of my neck. “ Matt, I do understand. “ my words soft and soothing allowing him to stay there as long as he needed. “I know you’re doing this for us.” My hands running softly up his back. When he finally moved, he was Matt again, the softness in his features returned. He laid his head on my chest,he was quiet for a longtime, the war inside him quieted for the first time.

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

“A baby.”

AO3

Part 2

Summary: Annabeth maybe doesn’t choose the best day to tell Percy they’re having a baby

If younger Annabeth could be here now, she’d be freaking out and cursing the gods. She wouldn’t know what to make of what 25-year-old Annabeth was facing right now. Her left hand with a shiny new diamond engagement ring and holding a positive pregnancy test. A decade ago, Annabeth never would’ve thought she’d be planning a wedding and starting a family with Percy Jackson.

Sure in her wildest dreams, she thought about it but despite her mentality of being six steps ahead of everyone else she never clocked in on his feelings for her. Too absorbed in hiding, and at times suppressing, her own. At least until they were fifteen. Ever since they were inseparable. Of course, their friends would disagree because Annabeth and Percy had always come as a pair.

The bathroom door was locked and she was meant to be applying her makeup. Percy was probably playing games on his phone in their living room. But Annabeth couldn’t force herself to put the test down. She kept staring at it like the test would say “April Fools, no baby!” but it never changed.

They were meant to be going on a date but Annabeth knew if she stepped out of this bathroom and told Percy, they’d never make it to the restaurant. He’d probably pick her up and spin them around the living room. They’d cry happy tears together.

Damnit, she wanted to go on this date. She was already dressed up and in heels. So, she wrapped the test in some toilet paper and put it in a drawer. Annabeth grabbed her favorite eyeshadow palette and got to work.

Percy knocked softly, “Beth, you almost ready?”

“Mascara and lipstick then I’m done.” She unlocked the door and opened it. “We won’t be late, I swear.”

Percy was wearing a navy button down and a gray tie. He looked good. Almost good enough that Annabeth wanted to say “screw it, let’s just stay home.” It’s not like she could get more pregnant.

Then her stomach growled.

“Someone’s hungry,” Percy said, walking away laughing to himself.

Under her breath, Annabeth murmured, “yeah your kid.”

They made it to their reservation on time.

“Since someone,” he looked pointedly at Annabeth, “hogged our only bathroom, I’m going to use theirs. Order me whatever to drink.”

Their waiter came while Percy was gone.

“Two waters, a coke, and can you make me some sort of fruity mocktail?”

Anytime they went out to dinner, Annabeth usually got some sort of speciality cocktail. She didn’t want Percy to get suspicious though knowing him as she did, he likely wouldn’t notice. On the off chance he did Annabeth didn’t want to risk it.

When Percy returned, their drinks were already there.

“What looks good?” He asked, “besides you of course.”

“You will not get inappropriate with me right now.” She blushed.

“What? Stop being lewd. All I meant was you look beautiful tonight.” He leaned closer, “though you do look good enough to eat…out.”

Annabeth could feel how warm her cheeks were.

Thankfully, they both turned their attention to the food, quietly looking over the menu and ordering. Their food came out quickly.

“I’ve been craving this potato leek soup all week,” Annabeth told their waiter when he asked how things had come out.

Briefly she wondered if it was too early on to be having cravings. Thankfully Percy couldn’t see her hands, she pressed her palm against her still toned stomach.

She was going to tell him when they got home.

Of course, Percy had other plans when they got home. Annabeth immediately found herself pressed against the front door, wrapping her legs around his waist, and Percy kissing her like it was his last breath. He carried them upstairs. Somewhere in the hall she kicked off her red heels and threw his tie to the floor.

Annabeth was in the midst of unbuttoning his shirt when Percy dropped her onto their bed causing several buttons to snap off. She barely heard them fall because Percy was kissing his way down her neck.

“Now can we be lewd?” Annabeth asked.

From between her thighs, his fingers tucked under her panties, Percy grinned.

It was nearing ten pm when Annabeth finally found the right moment. They were sitting on the couch, she had a mug of green tea in her hands.

“Good news and bad news,” she said.

“Bad news first,” Percy answered.

“Well, you know how we were looking to book that Montauk venue for the wedding next August?”

“They filled up!” Percy exclaimed, “the guy I talked to swore they didn’t book up until the end of November. I’ll call tomorrow and…”

“No Percy, they’re not booked up, it’s just we’re going to have to postpone a year.”

“Wait, why?” He asked, “I thought we decided we didn’t want to wait too long.”

He grabbed her left hand and straightened her ring. Honestly, Annabeth wasn’t really used to it yet. It was only a few months old but it didn’t feel odd being engaged to Percy. She had known for years now that someday they’d be right here, together.

“I know but there’s been a change of circumstances,” she replied, “good news is I’m pregnant.”

“Haha,” Percy said, dropping her hands, “very funny Annabeth it’s April first you got me good.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Sorry I figured it out too quickly. Look being with you has made me smarter I think.”

“No? Percy, I’m pregnant.”

He shook his head, “c’mon, give it up.”

Annabeth stood up and ran upstairs to the bathroom. She quickly pulled out the drawer and unwrapped the test. Percy was standing at the bottom of the stairs. So, she held up the test.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, quietly.

Percy froze and just stared up at her. “You’re pregnant.”

She nodded, smiling as she watched his face change. From shock to delight. He tripped up the stairs, Annabeth caught him on the last step.

“A baby?”

Percy pressed her face into his chest and squeezed her. They were rocking back and forth hugging for a long time before he pulled back to kiss her sweetly.

“I love you,” he said, pressing their foreheads together.

“I love you too.” She was tearing up.

“When did you find out?”

“Right before dinner.”

“You had a drink at dinner!”

She shrugged, “Mocktail.”

“A baby,” he kept saying.

Like repeating it would make it feel more real.

In the kitchen, washing their mugs. “A baby.”

Brushing his teeth, through the toothpaste foam, “a baby.”

Curling up beside Annabeth, lightly tickling her neck, “a baby.”

She thought Percy finally fell asleep because he had gone silent. Until she felt his fingers tapping her belly.

“You know, I thought Hera hated us.”

Annabeth chuckled, “I guess she got over it.”

[fixfoxnox]

D&D Is Sexy (Gaz/Jackson)

Description: All that Gaz's boyfriend wants to do for his birthday is DM a short one-shot for the 141. Gaz doesn't expect to be turned on while playing a game he was sure he wouldn't like.

Warnings: Trans! Gaz, Unprotected Sex, Fluff and Smut, Clothed Sex (One clothed, one unclothed), Couch Sex, Fingering

Notes: For my darling @wmdamadeof

It was Roach who had finally convinced the 141 to sit down and play D&D with Jackson. Jackson had been begging for months, practically on his knees whenever the subject was brought up. According to Roach, Jackson hadn’t gotten to play D&D since he’d elected to leave the military because of his leg. If Gaz did the math for that, he’d say it had been at least four years since his boyfriend had played the game. 

He didn’t particularly understand why his boyfriend liked the game so much. He always spotted him watching or listening to one of those online D&D podcasts, and he just couldn’t get it. Sitting around a table, pretending to be someone else, being forced to do math (simple as it was, it was still math). It didn’t sound like an ideal evening or, based on how Jackson had described it, an ideal day. 

Still, it was clearly something that Jackson loved, something that he practically adored. Roach seemed to like it too, which was why he’d suggested that as a gift for Jackson on his birthday, they should all allow him to DM a short one-shot for them. It had taken some convincing, particularly for Price, but in the end, he’d given in just like the rest of them had. 

When they’d told Jackson, you’d have thought they had given him a billion pounds and told him that Gaz was lying on top of it all naked and covered in whipped cream. He’d looked like he was going to collapse on the spot and Gaz had noticed that he was shaking when he’d hugged him. It was only then that Gaz had finally realized just how important D&D was to his boyfriend.

It made the long process of designing his character and filling out the sheet feel a little less pointless. 

“You guys are going to love this,” Jackson swore for what had to be the fifth time since they’d all sat down at the table. It seemed more like he was trying to convince himself than he was them. They’d all agreed to, at the very least, pretend to enjoy themselves today. Gaz was reminded of that specifically when Roach shot them all a harsh look, silently telling them all to behave and put on their best faces. 

Jackson gave the group a general overview of game rules and encouraged them to ask any questions that they needed to as they went along. With that, he checked in to make sure that everyone was good to go before beginning with slow words, building an environment around them, and slowly introducing their characters into the mix. 

Gaz didn’t know that his boyfriend had such a way with words. Listening to him speak was like watching a spider spinning their web, an expert and intricate weaving of lines and descriptions that had even Price on the edge of his seat, waiting for what he would say next. What exactly would he do to their little characters next? It was as surprising as it was intriguing. 

They were at a banquet now. Their entire party had been captured and now they were chained to their chairs in some big fancy mansion. So far, Jackson had done nothing but set the scene for them. He painted a vivid picture of a large banquet table overflowing with their favorite foods. Their glasses were each filled to the brim with a dark red liquid. 

“Across the banquet hall, you hear the large double doors begin to creak open slowly. The wood scrapes the floor, adding to the noise of the room. It's a cacophony, echoing around in the silence. When the doors open fully, your eyes find a tall figure with short black hair. He looks like a charming young man and you each notice his beauty. He wears clothing similar to something that you would find from royalty.”

Jackson stood up taller then and his entire demeanor changed. It was rather impressive and Gaz watched him with curious eyes as he began to march around the table, watching them all closely.

“What a group,” he spoke after a moment. His voice carried a thick accent and was much deeper than Gaz had been expecting. “Such powerful warriors. All come to my banquet. I am quite honored.” 

“Who are you?” Roach hissed, completely in character. Despite knowing it was only his boyfriend, Gaz felt suddenly intimidated by Jackson. The look that he fixed Roach with was downright disgusted.

“Has it really been so long Talor? So long that you no longer recognize my face? My eyes?” Just as suddenly as he’d gotten into character and Jackson was out of it, he went back to describing the moment for them. “The air around you all seems to spark with energy as this man steps closer to Talor.” Jackson rounded the table and leaned close to Roach, getting right in his face, “Take a look.”

The two paused for a moment as Jackson wrote something out on a notecard, folded it, and handed it to Roach. The message was clear. “For your eyes only.”

Everyone at the table watched as Roach unfolded the paper, his eyes widening as he read what was written. A moment passed before he folded the note and glared up at Jackson. “It takes Talor a moment, but eventually realization goes across his face. Everyone can see as he tenses before he just goes,” Roach leaned forward against the table and bared his teeth at Jackson, “You!”

Jackson gave a short wicked laugh before leaning over the table again, “So you do recognize me, Talor. Good.” He pushed himself up and started to circle the table again. “New friends you have made.”

“Free us, now,” Roach demanded, “This will only cause trouble for you.” 

“The only thing that consistently causes me trouble, is you,” Jackson wheeled on Roach with a snarl. “You never learn, you never stop.” He slammed his hands down on the table and met Roach’s glare with a harsh one of his own. It was an impressive act by the two men and one that only served to draw Gaz further into the story that Jackson was crafting for them. “That is why we are here. So I can finally be free of you.”

Jackson pushed himself to stand just as Soap replied, “Free of him? You’d do best not to touch him or any of us and do as he says. Better for you if we all make it out alive.” 

Soap had been the member of the group who’d taken to the game the best, so it was no surprise that he joined in on the two’s conversation, his character voice near identical to his actual voice, only slightly deeper of course.

Jackson turned to him with a snap, a gleeful grin on his face. Gaz wondered how much of it was the character and how much of it was his delight at having a member of the 141 actively participate in the story he was telling. “Ah,” he stood up straight and made his way over to Soap, “The half-orc speaks. A monster made only for rage and yet…” He trailed off and came to rest behind Soap. He let his hands fall on Soap’s shoulder, giving a slow shake, “I sense…care. Do you fear for your friend Boyman?” 

Gaz was nearly taken out of the moment by the reminder of Soap’s character name, but he was soon brought back to it by Soap’s low growl, “I fear what I’ll do to you if you touch him.”

“I can sense it, I can practically smell the fear radiating off of you,” he leaned down, letting himself get right next to Soap’s ear before he responded, “Just as I can taste the love that you feel for him. Affection. Adoration. A beast in love with a beauty. Tell me, Boyman McFury, do you think that an elf, that Talor could ever truly love you?”

There was a pause and Gaz could see as Soap’s mouth fell open, his face going a tinge pink as though he’d been caught. It wasn’t a secret, everyone at the table had been able to tell that he was fighting hard for his and Roach’s characters to end up together. Gaz had even peeked over and seen him drawing little doodles of their characters together in his notebook. 

Jackson was an expert at crafting his story, so he gave Soap no chance to catch up and respond before moving over to Ghost. “And you, Ravencroft. Do you believe that your gods will protect you from me? Protect your friends? Everything you have built for yourself. You believe you know loss? I will show you loss.”

“You will die before you touch anyone in this group,” Ghost only responded in a monotone voice, but it was clear that Jackson was pleased with even that response.

“Won’t I?” He reached over then, placing a hand on Price’s shoulder, “I already have. And you sit here powerless. Useless.” He turned his head then, looking at Price with a raised eyebrow, “How does it feel to be powerless Captain? Once the commander of a great army and now,” Jackson fixed him with a look of disgust and removed his hand from his shoulder, “Now look at you. Pathetic. Captain Jonathan Pearce is a folk hero. A god. Look now how a god falls.”

He pushed himself away from the table and started to pace around again, only stopping for a moment when Roach asked, “What are your intentions here, Adzeiros? You think you will kill us with ease?”

“Yes,” Jackson answered simply. He continued moving around the table and after a moment came to a rest behind Gaz, his hands landing softly on Gaz’s shoulders. “I intend to kill you all. All to finally rid myself of your stain Talor.”

“My friends have done nothing!”

“They have aligned themselves with you,” Jackson’s hands tightened on Gaz’s shoulders and, for a moment, Gaz could feel a chill go down his spine, “That is enough. I will rid myself of all of you. Tear you limb from limb until I can feed your worthless meat to my dogs. I will be the death of each of you.” He paused for a moment before, “Well, perhaps most of you.” Gaz felt one of his fingers begin to trace up his neck gently and he felt himself go warm. “Perhaps I will keep one,” Jackson leaned down and Gaz could feel his breath against his ear and the warmth of his lips only inches from his skin. He felt overwhelmingly hot for a moment and goosebumps seemed to raise along his skin. “I have other, more pleasurable, uses for you.” 

As soon as Jackson had touched him and he’d gone, lifted back up to move on with the story, detailing to the group as the tall elf exited, leaving them alone to try and find a way out of their binds. With it, Gaz felt as though he’d been left on an edge, left high and dry with a boiling desire flooding through his bloodstream all to pool between his legs. 

He hadn’t known that his boyfriend could play a part like that. He hadn’t known that D&D could be so…sexy.

The so-called “short” one-shot had lasted the entire day. From ten in the morning to almost eight at night before they’d finally finished, killing Azdeiros and earning each of their characters a happy ending. Gaz had been sure that Soap was going to cry when Jackson had detailed the small homestead that his character and Roach’s character had built together to live in when they wanted a break from adventuring. 

Everyone had seemed quite pleased with the game and, by the end, even Ghost had gotten more involved, getting more into his character and the gameplay than anyone else. Jackson had even allowed Ghost to paint a vivid picture of his character using magic to crush a wyvern they’d been made to fight between two boulders. It had been rather graphic, but both Jackson and Ghost had been more than excited as they played off of each other to build the death for the creature. Jackson had excitedly told Ghost that he should try to dm sometime, that he had a natural talent for it. Ghost had shrugged it off, but they’d all seen the small smile that tugged at his lips from the words. 

And now, as Gaz waved goodbye to Roach, Soap, and Ghost from the door of his and Jackson’s shared apartment, the day was over. Gaz was left alone with his darling boyfriend who was still buzzing with energy from the day's activity.

Normally, Gaz would have questioned where his boyfriend found all of the energy, normally he would have been surprised to still see Jackson so chipper at the end of the night as he worked on removing his prosthetic to switch into his wheelchair. Normally, Gaz wouldn’t have felt such a strong buzzing of energy under his own skin, calling for the man he was watching from the doorway of the living room. 

“Well,” Jackson called to him, shooting him a quick grin as he set his prosthetic to the side, “what do you think? How was your first D&D experience?” 

Gaz gave him a small smile and crossed the room, picking up his prosthetic and moving it to the usual place for him. “I didn’t know you were such an actor, it was…impressive.”

“That?” Jackson gave a chuckle, “All roleplaying love. ‘Fraid I wouldn’t be able to do any of that in any other situation. Something about D&D, you know?”

“Not in any other situation?” Gaz questioned, turning around with a carefully raised eyebrow. “Nothing other than D&D?” He could feel his face warming up again, but he did his best to squash any of the nerves he felt back down into his chest.

Jackson watched him for a moment, tilting his head curiously. “What are you thinking?”

Gaz gave a quick shrug, trying to appear nonchalant as he spoke, “I just thought your…performance was good. I, um, I enjoyed it.”

A moment of silence passed between the two before a look of knowing seemed to cross Jackson’s face, followed by an easy grin. Gaz shuffled a bit as he watched his boyfriend lean back casually against the couch, spreading his legs wide in a position that was all too enticing. His hips lifted for just a moment, allowing him to get more comfortable in his seat. Gaz’s eyes were drawn to the movement, his mouth going a bit dry.

“Kyle, baby,” Jackson’s voice had dropped just a bit, going a touch deeper. It was something much closer to the voice he’d used for the villain of their campaign and Gaz found himself resisting the urge to squirm. Jackson watched him for a moment, a twinkle of delight in his eyes, “You must have really enjoyed my performance, huh?” His eyes raked down Gaz’s form and Gaz knew that he knew. 

“Shut up,” he grumbled out, feeling all too embarrassed at himself. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“What part of it got you?” Jackson gave him a teasing grin and tilted his head curiously, “The character? Or was it just me talking about using you for my pleasure?” Gaz could feel heat burning at his face and he glanced away quickly, refusing to meet Jackson’s eyes. “Maybe a bit of both?” 

“Alright now,” Gaz brushed him off and went to move toward the kitchen, “It’s late, we should get ready for bed.”

“Kyle.”

Gaz stopped in his place, turning slowly to face the other man, something warm settling into his bones as he met the low look that the other man gave to him. There was a short moment of silence before Jackson lifted a hand and quirked two of his fingers, motioning for Gaz to come to him. 

Gaz could feel his breathing stutter for a moment before he caught himself, taking in a deep breath to calm his nerves. His hands were still shaking as he obediently stepped closer to Jackson, moving until he was standing between the other’s parted legs. 

Jackson leaned forward and looked up at Gaz with low pleading eyes. One of his hands found Gaz’s hip, taking hold and rubbing soft circles with his thumb. For a brief moment, his fingers slipped below the material of Gaz’s shirt. He seemed to think for a moment before he spoke, “I have such pleasurable uses for you, my love.” 

Gaz could feel himself shake as Jackson’s voice matched that of the character he’d done earlier. It was so similar to his own, yet there was this tone to it, some sort of warm sultry touch that tainted every word and wormed itself into Gaz’s brain. “You,” Jackson began to tug Gaz toward him, “mean more to me alive. You are more than the others, worth more. Perfect. Beautiful. Enchanting.” He paused, “Made for my pleasure.”

Slowly, he guided Gaz onto his lap, forcing his knees to each side of his thighs and their hips to press just lightly against one another. Just that slight movement was enough to cause a hitch in Gaz’s breath, warmth curling in his gut as the words that Jackson spoke rushed right between his legs. 

“Fuck,” he breathed out, looking down at the look of pure confidence and smug amusement that his boyfriend wore. It was clear that Jackson was channeling some of the character that he’d teased Gaz with during the entire game and it was still working, still making Gaz warm and bothered and all too willing to do whatever Jackson asked of him. “What, um,” he let his hands rest on Jackson’s shoulders for a moment before beginning to trail them down over his chest slowly, “what do you want me to do.”

Jackson’s hands tightened for a split second before they guided his hips forward, encouraging him to grind their clothed bodies together. Gaz gave a small sigh of delight at the bit of friction against his aching cunt. He could tell that he was already growing slicker, the simple movement and words from Jackson were enough to have his body reacting without hardly any stimulation. 

“Just this,” Jackson continued guiding Gaz’s hips against his for several moments before he finally pulled back, spreading his arms over the back of the couch to relax back and watch Gaz with a smirk on his face. “Show me how much you want me, how you’ll do anything to please me. Then I’ll touch you.”

Gaz let his head fall back, a groan pulling from his throat at those words. He continued moving his hips, grinding down harder against Jackson and enjoying the feeling of his boyfriend growing harder against him. “Yes,” he breathed, his hips jumping a bit as the seam of his pants rubbed deliciously against his clit. “Fuck, yes. Yes.”

Jackson watched him with careful eyes, twinged with a bit of darkened desire that Gaz had never quite seen there before. It pulled a shiver down his spine and had his cunt pulsing with the desire to be filled. He was sure his boxers were going to be soaked by the time Jackson finally stopped torturing him and touched him. 

As Gaz rolled his hips again Jackson shifted, lifting his own hips up to meet Gaz’s movement. Twin groans fell from their lips, desire painting Jackson’s face as he let his mask slip just a bit. It wasn’t for long, only just enough to allow Gaz to see just how much his boyfriend was also affected by the little game that they were playing. 

“So perfect,” Jackson breathed. His hands caressed Gaz’s face before trailing down his neck and over his chest. They kept moving lower, only stopping as they reached the edge of Gaz’s shirt. “Take this off,” he growled after a moment, “I want to see all of what is mine.” 

Gaz didn’t think he’d ever stripped himself of his shirt quicker than he did at that moment. The useless piece of clothing was discarded with a toss, lost to the void until he went looking for it. As soon as his skin was exposed, Jackson’s hands were on him. 

Despite the possessive mask that Jackson had put on, his touch didn’t change. It was the same as it always was when he touched Gaz: sweet and reverent. Filled with so much adoration that it made Gaz feel dizzy. He adored it, leaning further into Jackson’s hands with a small groan, his hips stuttering for a moment. 

“Look at you,” Jackson muttered, his fingers tracing teasingly along the underside of Gaz’s pectorals, skating oh so close to his nipples but never touching. It was near torturous for Gaz, who was desperate for some sort of stimulation from his boyfriend’s hands. “So fucking perfect.”

“Paul,” Gaz panted the other's name, prepared to beg for what he wanted, “Touch me, please. I need it. I need you.”

“Ah,” Jackson pulled his hands away completely. Gaz gave a pathetic whine and sent his boyfriend a pleading look. When Jackson didn’t respond, he took one of his boyfriend’s hands in his own, trying to tug him forward to force him to touch. Within a second, Gaz found his hands restrained behind his back and his body flipped around. 

Jackson pulled him back, manhandling him until he was back on his lap, only now his back was pressed flush to Jackson’s chest and he could feel his boyfriend’s beard rubbing against his neck. It was enticing and more than enough to have him squirming in desperation. Now Jackson had taken all of the stimulation away from his aching cunt and he was near the point of getting to his knees and begging. 

“Remember love,” Jackson pressed a careful kiss to Gaz’s neck, “You’re here for my pleasure. Not the other way around.”

“But-”

“No.” Jackson's voice was harsh and Gaz found that he enjoyed his boyfriend being so firm with him. He never thought it would be something he would be into, never even considered it a possibility. But he assumed that the day was just a good one for discovering new things about himself. Like the fact that he quite enjoyed it when his boyfriend took such tight control. 

Jackson held Gaz in place for a quiet moment before he let one of his hands slip down to the waistband of his pants. He toyed for a moment with the top button before swiftly undoing it and allowing his hand to slip below Gaz’s pants and boxers. 

Gaz squirmed a bit in Jackson’s hold again, though Jackson still hadn’t even touched him, Gaz could feel his warmth. He was so close, his hand so close to where he desperately needed to be touched. Where his body was practically aching just for the man behind him. “Paul,” he pleaded again with the man behind him, adding a small whimper to the end of his words, “please.”

“You beg so sweetly for me.” Gaz gasped as he finally felt Jackson’s fingers touch his aching cunt. It was only a small caress, just a simple touch along his dripping slit, but it was enough to have his hips bucking up and his head tossed back against Jackson’s shoulder. His mouth fell open as Jackson dipped one of his fingers just inside of him before tracing them up to begin rubbing slow circles against his clit. 

He was panting, sweat slicking at his skin as Jackson made a point of touching him slowly, dragging out every bit of pleasure that he could from Gaz’s body. It was already overwhelming enough, but Jackson wasn’t satisfied. He let his free hands trace along Gaz’s naked chest for several moments before his hand found Gaz’s nipples and began to slowly play with them.

He teased them with careful flicks and pinches, all while his other hand continued to finger and tease at Gaz’s cunt, nearly making him cum just from finally having his pent-up fantasies from the day fulfilled. “So wet, love. Let me guess, you’ve been dripping like this all day for me.” Gaz could feel himself go impossibly hotter at the low words whispered into his ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. My pleasure is your pleasure.”

“Paul, I,” Gaz cut himself off with a desperate gasp as Jackson slipped a finger fully inside of his cunt. Jackson’s thumb was still toying with his clit, but his finger was working slowly at stretching out his sopping wet hole, working to prepare Gaz to take his cock. “Fuck, fuck,” he whined a bit, “please, baby, I want to take care of you. Let me make you feel good.”

“I will,” Jackson assured him, a soothing kiss pressed to his neck. “First I have to get you ready baby. Let me enjoy myself. Let yourself enjoy this.” He started carefully working a second finger into Gaz’s cunt, scissoring him open slowly as he did so. Gaz’s eyes nearly rolled back at the pleasure that struck him from Jackson’s hands teasing his body. The hand playing with his nipples was just as good as the hand playing with his cunt and all of it was swirling together to create a tightly wound tension just above his cunt that threatened to snap more with every growing moment. 

Gaz had no choice but to try and fight his shaking legs and desire to buck his hips into Jackson's hand and force the harsh pace that his body was desperate for. He could only toss his head back and hope that Jackson would take pity on his needy body soon. 

Jackson was hard himself and Gaz was sure that he could feel the other’s cock aching through his jeans. He could also feel the subtle thrusts of Jackson’s hips, a simple attempt to give himself some sort of stimulation to his cock as he stole pleasure from Gaz’s body. 

Jackson curled his fingers inside of Gaz for a moment, the whine pulled from Gaz’s lips was nearly sinful and it was enough to pull a matching groan from Jackson’s lips before he pulled his fingers from Gaz’s body and away from his cunt. He gave a quick slap to Gaz’s thigh before ordering, “Get rid of the rest of those clothes, unless you want them shredded.” 

Gaz wasted no time in following Jackson’s orders. He was too desperate to argue, much less feel annoyed at the implication that Jackson would destroy any of his clothes. They both knew it wouldn’t come to that, not when his thighs were damp and he was forced to peel his boxers from his body rather than simply kick them off like he normally would. 

When he turned back to Jackson, he expected to find his boyfriend working on taking his own clothes off. Instead, he found Jackson still reclined on the couch, his legs spread wide with his hand around his hard cock. He hadn’t bothered to take anything off, only unbuttoned his pants and pulled down his underwear enough that he could free his cock. Something about that made Gaz shudder, a low gasp pulling from his throat as his breathing went heavy. 

Jackson watched Gaz for a moment, his eyes raking over him in a way that forced Gaz to resist the urge to squirm. Those eyes were filled with so much heat, so much lust. And, Gaz noted an enticingly sharp prick of possessiveness. He wanted that possessiveness carved into his bones, he wanted his body marked down to the molecules as belonging to Jackson. And Jackson knew it. 

Jackson stroked his cock for a long moment, his eyes never leaving Gaz’s body, even as precum leaked from his slit, he just made a point to spread it down his shaft while staring Gaz down. It seemed like his gaze was just glued to Gaz’s body. Gaz couldn’t make any comments about it, his own heated gaze stuck on the sight of Jackson working his hard cock. Gaz could feel his cunt clenching at the thought of finally having his boyfriend inside of him. 

Finally, Jackson raised a hand and motioned Gaz forward with two fingers, the same way he’d done it only ten or so minutes earlier. Gaz stumbled toward him, as though drawn with an invisible string connected to Jackson’s fingers. 

With Jackson’s guidance, Gaz settled back on his lap, neither of them able to tear their gaze away from the other. “That’s a good boy,” Jackson rumbled, helping to slowly guide Gaz down, rubbing the tip of his cock along Gaz’s entrance for a short moment. With a simple roll of his hips, he let the head of his cock slip inside Gaz’s body. 

Gaz struggled to breathe for a short moment at the feeling, but soon he was lowering himself down slowly, his breathing still heavy as he slowly sank down onto Jackson’s hard cock. Jackson did his best to guide him, gripping tight to Gaz’s plush thighs as they shook under his hands. “Fuck,” his head fell back just slightly, but his eyes stayed on Gaz’s face. “So good for me baby, such a good fuck toy for me.” 

Gaz could only whimper at the words, feeling his cunt clench around Jackson’s cock in response to the heat that they caused. Jackson gave a choked-out laugh at the feeling, that smug look returning to his face with something wild in his eyes. “Liked that, did you?”

Gaz didn’t answer, he just let his eyes fall shut as he finally managed to sink all the way down on Jackson’s cock. He was completely out of it, the feeling of being so full and his clit just slightly rubbing against the hair at the base of Jackson’s cock, was so fucking good. He was just reveling in the feeling when a harsh smack landed on his ass, causing his eyes to fly open as he met Jackson’s gaze with a shocked look. 

“I asked you a question.” Jackson punctuated his words with another quick roll of his hips, pulling a gasp from Gaz’s throat. “Answer me.” Jackson started to lift Gaz off of his cock, quickly setting a deep slow pace. His cock seemed to split Gaz open, near impaling him with a slow and steady pleasure. 

“Yes!” Gaz’s mouth seemed to work despite the white static flooding his brain. Pleasure rushed through his body. A consistent slow-building pleasure that buzzed through his veins and made his legs shake and his toes curl. “Yes, yes, Paul, please! Need, need- fuck, need you to use me, take your pleasure from me!” 

“I intend to, baby.” Jackson gripped Gaz’s bare hips tighter, fucking into him with gritted teeth and something akin to a growl ripped from his throat. His fingers dug into the fat of Gaz’s hips, hard enough that Gaz was sure there would be bruises decorating his skin in the morning. Beautiful blues and yellows and purples that would show Jackson’s claim on him. Painting him with his touch.

Jackson made good on his promise, guiding Gaz’s hips as he fucked into his tight cunt, groaning at the feeling of the other clenching and fluttering around his cock. Gaz did nothing but grip tight to Jackson’s shoulders and let himself be used. His mouth had dropped open and the only things he managed to get out were desperate pants and moans of Jackson’s name, dripping from his tongue like a sweet nectar. It only served to encourage Jackson to move quicker, fucking Gaz with greater desperation. 

Gaz was pushed closer and closer to his end, the feeling of his cunt being filled over and over and his clit being abused with every thrust of Jackson’s cock and every brush of the hair at the base of his cock against him. It was too fucking good. Too fucking good and Gaz wasn’t going to last. He was too pent up from Jackson playing with his cunt and now finally having the other’s cock bullying its way inside of him…it was too fucking good. 

Luckily for him, Jackson seemed to be stuck in the same boat because, before he could react, he found himself flipped to his back on the couch, Jackson’s body hovering over his as he began pounding into Gaz’s cunt, chasing his own release and driving Gaz closer to his own as he did. 

“So perfect for me baby.” Words spilled from Jackson’s lips like a fountain, praises for Gaz, compliments piled on compliments, desperate thanks for doing something as simple as playing D&D with him on his birthday. It was less of the game they’d been playing and more of the Jackson that Gaz was used to having pressed between his thighs. He adored it. He adored his boyfriend. 

Jackson made it much easier to adore him when one of his hands dropped between their bodies, frantically rubbing circles into Gaz’s clit. Gaz’s head knocked back at the feeling, his brain fizzing out as everything seemed to go higher and higher before finally coming down in a heavy crash, waves of pleasure flooding through his body as he shook and nearly screamed at the feeling. 

He was so far gone that he hardly noticed as Jackson cursed, his hips stuttered for several moments before he finally buried himself deep into Gaz’s cunt, filling him with warm sticky cum.

There was a long moment of silence, the only sounds echoing in their silent apartment being the sounds of their labored breathing. Neither of them spoke, but Jackson was soon to practically collapse against Gaz’s chest, letting his mouth and tongue explore the sweat-slicked skin beneath his touch. Sweet kisses and swipes of his tongue, speaking volumes of his affection for Gaz with the reverence that he touched him with. 

Gaz wrapped his arms around Jackson’s shoulders, a tired smile tugging at his lips as he pulled the other man up higher, bringing their mouths to just hover over one another’s. “Happy birthday, Paul.” 

Jackson responded with a simple, “I love you,” before pressing their mouths together in a slow sweet kiss. 

[gorgon-goddess-of-chaos]

Strings

It's always interesting whenever I write things like mannequins/dolls/puppets in a horror context, because they skeeve me out. Call me Markiplier with the way I despise mannequins.

This is also partially inspired by the horror game Prototype if you remember that one from like a year and a half ago.

Puppet!Jameson Jackson x GN!Reader, TW: automatonophobia, kidnapping, forced possession, emetophobia Words: 955

The shop is quiet, unblinking eyes of puppets and dolls staring at you as you walk between the rows. They twitch and creak, swaying as they hang from hooks on the ceiling. It’s unsettling, feeling watched by vessels devoid of a soul. Waiting for you to let your guard down so they can consume yours. 

The elderly man continues leading you further in, wanting to show you his greatest creation. Everything inside you is screaming to turn back, but you’re far too afraid that they will grab you if you try to run now. You try everything to rationalize this situation, he’s just a short little eccentric man, what harm could he really do? He just happens to have a really unsettling hobby of collecting and creating thousands of puppets that look almost human. Totally normal for a man of retirement age to be doing with the rest of his life.

You reach a door, and the first thing that jumps out to you is how secured it is. Multiple rusted locks connect chains together, with several boards barring it from opening outwards. It doesn’t seem as if he’s trying to keep others out, more like he’s trying to keep something else in. You fiddle with your hands in your pockets, trying not to seem visibly freaked out about all of this as he takes his time with the locks and boards, cautiously setting them aside. Once the door has been cleared, another key is inserted into the knob, turning it and pulling it open. You hold the door for him, pretending to be nice but when you just witnessed all he did to keep this door shut, you do not trust him to be behind you. 

The old man walks over to a workbench, putting on a pair of spectacles as you look around. Tools are nailed haphazardly to the walls, ranging from abnormally large pliers to hand drills. Your attention is brought over to the other side of the room, with a large curtain spanning the length of it. He’s picked up a cane that looks to have been made of a mannequin leg, hobbling over and grabbing at the frayed braided cord off to the side and tugging downwards. The curtains draw to reveal a large, human sized puppet, limp and staring at the floor. Its eyes are closed, with black streaks down its cheeks as if they’re haunted tears. 

He shows off the puppet, lifting its head and showing its features off. The eyes open and they stare deeply into your soul, petrified with fear. More of the same black ooze drips from his visible joints, spilling out of his mouth. So much of this is wrong, but you can’t help but want to help this puppet escape. Although you’re not quite sure if it is a puppet. He is explaining it all to you, but it is all muffled through the terror filled screeching in your mind. 

You start thinking of anything possible to get out of this situation, hopefully with the puppet in tow, and your eyes fall upon the weird, creepy cane the old man is using. While you’re not usually one to physically assault the elderly, if you’re going to use a mannequin leg for a cane, you might deserve it a little bit. You snatch it out from under him, watching him tumble onto his face as you grab a hacksaw off the wall, slicing through the strings keeping him aloft. When the final one staps, the puppet crumples onto its knees, spitting up more of the black ooze. 

“No no no no, what have you done!?”

The old man tries to right himself onto his feet again, which you promptly throw his cane at him and help the puppet up, moving through the store as quickly as possible. As you move through the rows, the puppets start shaking far worse, breaking apart and some even screaming at you. The rattling is so loud, and the only track in your mind is getting out. You get to the front door, pushing it open and pulling the puppet out with you, falling onto the pavement. He’s on top of you, quickly rolling off to hack up more of the void sludge onto the ground. He’s shaking terribly, proper tears finally falling down his cheeks.

“Thank you, oh my gods.”

“What the fuck was his deal? Why were you back there?”

“I- used to be an apprentice- oh gods- please- get me away-”

You help him onto his feet, pulling him off and away to your car. The rattling hasn’t ceased inside, and you hear distant screams as you notice many of the puppets moving away from the front of the store. You hate to think of what was going on back there in that workshop. His joints grind and creak as you get him settled into the passenger seat, wondering if calling the police is a good idea. For right now, you are focusing on the man in front of you, sobbing his eyes out.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re away. What can I get you? Food? Water? Warmth?”

He just frantically nods, curling up into a ball. Something gets the best of you and you just pull him into a hug, not knowing the last time he felt the caring touch of another person. He hesitates for a moment, before wrapping you tightly in his arms as well. You don’t care about the stains on your skin and clothes, you don’t care about how weird you may usually think this situation is. You’re just trying to help any way you can. And you’ll stay here with him until the police arrive, and probably quite a bit after.

[skoulsons]

I agree 10000%. Idc for Abby/lev at all. I understand the symbolism they were going for but it was such a huge disappointment for me. I played TLOU when it first came out, fell in love with Joel and Ellie’s father/daughter dynamic, and then waited years for part 2 just for Joel to die and then the pov to switch.

If they wanted to kill him so bad I wish they would have done it in a better way. Beating him to death?? Then having Ellie being forced to watch it??? Sickening

But also yeah idk how much of season 2 I will watch. I’m a little happy it’s been delayed. I know once it’s out Joel’s death scene is going to be everywhere and I won’t be able to escape it. I just hope they add as many flashbacks as possible.

Sorry this turned into a random rant in your inbox

Oh yeah, loving the first game so early on and getting attached only to then experience tlou2 after many years of waiting must’ve sucked

tlou2 discussion of Joel’s death under the cut, so scroll if you don’t want to read

I’ve grown a bit neutral of his death. Not neutral in how it makes me feel because I cry blood every time I watch it, but in understanding. Yeah, of course we love Joel and he deserved to live forever especially since he finally got a life with Ellie, but also… he had what was coming to him. As much as anyone else in the apocalypse, he did some really bad stuff. As my friend Z likes to talk about (and what I tend to agree with) is some guy from Joel’s past as a hunter/raider coming back for some sort of revenge. To me, that sounds more interesting and compelling. But whether we like that route or the canon route of the doctors daughter, Joel’s choice still caught up to him

Now I DO wish he died differently. Sure, in context of the game sure it makes sense and the abby / ellie parallels with their dead fathers and then the road to revenge and yada yada, whatever. But I do wish it was done differently. Saving Ellie, particularly. Sacrificial love. Something like that. Have him risk his life or something, I don’t know. Sacrificing himself just fits me view of him and the kind of man he is. To put himself out there, to protect Ellie to make sure she gets out and is safe. To kill himself for her, basically. But we didn’t that, so

That’s one thing about season 2 (and 3 if they are truly splitting the game up into separate seasons) for me. His death is really violent in game, I don’t know how they’re going to put into the show or how much worse (or better) they’ll make it. The game in general is overall very violent and I don’t know how they’re going to bring all of that into a show that really didn’t include a ton in the first season

Holding out hope for flashbacks and domestic Joel and Ellie time in their life in Jackson as a happy little father and daughter 🤞🏻 I will be hurt in a major way and will need a way to combat the emotional hell I will be put through

I don’t know, it’s a whole big discussion to have and could go on for a while, so I’ll shut up 💀 hope this was coherent cause it sure doesn’t feel like it

Don’t apologize!! I like when y’all come in here 🤍

[icaruspendragon]

Please stop making spn posts just let it die please

here’s the thing- i will not be doing that.

you see, there’s so much shit in this world. the horrors. the terrors. all of it. they’re out there. and something that makes the horrors and the terrors and all the other shit a little easier for me to deal with is talking about a silly little fifteen year long collective fever dream. it’s one of the last vestiges of adolescence i have.

when i was being tossed about in the sea of my grief, it was spn that kept me from drowning. it was misha collins dubbing himself my nemesis and participating in the mishapocalypse 2.0 that gave me a distraction i needed so terribly in the early days of me trying to learn how to be an only child. he didn’t have to. he could have ignored the whole thing. but he didn’t. and that’s something so special to me i don’t think i’ll ever have the words to articulate the depths of my gratitude. because the first time i felt joy after my brother dying was at a supernatural convention. it was when i asked misha about the silly comment and he had a screenshot of it on his phone ready to show me to prove he had done it, that was the first time i realized that one day i wouldn’t feel so full of nothing i didn’t have room for anything else. it was the community i made there that showed up for me time and time and time again that made me realize i may be lonely, but i wasn’t alone. and that wasn’t the first time the community around that show had made me feel that. and I’m certain it won’t be the last.

the first time i ever encountered fandom in full force was in 2013. that’s a decade of my life. and it’s because i decided to watch supernatural. and it was in this fandom space that for the first time ever, i felt seen and heard and valued. for the first time in my life, i felt like i mattered. and my thoughts mattered. it wasn’t until i found fandom by way of spn that i realized i had value and worth. it was that show that gave me some of the best friends i could have ever asked for. it is because of the spn fandom that i have been given so many opportunities. that i have a way to make an actual difference.

and it has continued to do that for me. even ten years later. there are people who i didn’t know existed less than a year ago who i couldn’t imagine my life without now. people who have been to my home. people who have become my home. people i have flown across the country to see and people who have flown across the country to see me. people who are my family. and i met them because we share the same level of brain rot for a cw show that caused a great deal of damage to our psyches.

we get to curate our internet experience. we get to look at and talk about and post about what we want. and if someone posts something we don’t care for, we don’t have to look at it or engage with it or interact with it. we can scroll. we can block. we can ignore. we each get to carve out our own little space online. we get to build a little home. and my home is full of my love for a lot of things. for avatar: the last airbender and the hunger games and percy jackson and fandom and fanfic in general. my love for poetry and art and words. and yes, my love for a show that ended over two years ago that has haunted corners of the internet since 2005. i have a lot of love for a lot of things. so i talk about and post about the things that i love because i don’t ever want to look back and say, “my god, i should have loved more.” and i’m allowed to do that. because this is my space. i built it just for me.

this silly little show with it’s silly little characters is the one thing i have from Before that has remained unchanged. and even if that weren’t the case. even if i didn’t have all this sentimentality attached to it. even if it was never a lighthouse, a buoy for me. even if it was just something i casually enjoyed. i would still post about it. because it makes me happy. because i’m not hurting anyone by enjoying it. because it’s given me a little blip of light in a dark world. and you don’t have to consume it if you don’t want to. that’s the beauty of all of us living in different houses. we can visit who we want, when we want. and we don’t have to visit the houses we don’t to. how wonderful it is, that we are the gods of this small thing. we get to create and dismantle and create again. as many times as we want. because this is our space to do with what we want.

and i want to post about my love for all things, including hit cw show supernatural. and i can. so i will. because i’m the one living in this house. and no one is making you come visit.

[sundaysundaes]

Craving

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Vampire AU, Roommates AU | Smut, Fluff, Humor, Romance

Summary: Dating a brat is exhausting. Dating a bratty vampire is even more exhausting so you wonder, why did I even agree to this?

It’s a continuation of Love Bites��but can be read separately because it’s really just 12k long of vampire porn with no real plot.

Warnings: Vampire sex, bondage, oral sex (69), overstimulation, unprotected sex, fingering, implied public sex, a little bit of dom!hyuck and a little bit of exhibitionist!hyuck, blood sucking (plenty of that) 

Not once in your life did you ever imagine yourself dating a vampire. And certainly, never thought about living together with that so-called vampire boyfriend of yours. You never know what to expect from a situation like this but maybe it’s better not to think too much about it anyway since Lee Donghyuck always manages to exceed your expectation.

Before you became his personal midnight snack, Donghyuck had to search for his own food which either meant he had to buy blood bags from the cheapest hospital around or pick up girls with low self-esteems downtown to have kinky and messy—like really messy, blood everywhere, you don’t want to imagine—one night stands with them to fulfill both his needs for blood and sex. He often complained about it, grumbling with his lips turning into this adorable pout as he told you how he wasn’t fond of his way of life or the effort he had to make just to survive.

So now that he has you as his personal walking blood bag, Donghyuck is having the time of his life and he’s enjoying every minute of it. He’s one hundred percent happy all the time that it annoys the heck out of you. It’s not that you don’t want him to be happy—of course, you want your boyfriend to be happy—but happy Donghyuck means he’s gonna get all clingy and playful, and him being clingy and playful means hell.

“Hyuck.”

“Yes, baby?”

“I’m trying to do my laundry.”

“I’m aware.”

“So, can you get off of me for a second, please?”

“For a second? Sure.” He untangles himself away from you but only for a second, literally. “Second’s up!” The way he giggles is almost like a child, circling his arms along your waist and buries his face in the crook of your neck again, nuzzling up to you while chanting, “Cute, cute, cute, you’re so cute. The cutest girl in the whole universe!” 

Donghyuck is clingy as fuck. He can’t go through the whole ten minutes without, at least, ruffling your hair, poking your cheek, or pinching the bridge of your nose. You’ve known for a while that he’s fond of skinship more than anyone you’ve ever met and it was bearable before since he only did it when he was flirting with you. But ever since you’ve become official, he just literally couldn’t get his hands off you.

So, how on earth would you get any of your work done?

The second the sun sinks below the horizon, Donghyuck will come out of his room with the biggest smile on his face and his arms spread wide, “Baby, I’m awake! Come here and get your daily dose of Hyuck’s loving!” And if you don’t respond to him in the way he wants to—which is by embracing him and kissing him for a good half an hour or so—he will make sure you won’t be able to pay attention to anything else but him for the rest of the evening.

He follows you around like a puppy, humming the same Michael Jackson’s song over and over again as he waits for you to finish washing the dishes, his feet tapping against the floor to match the beats in his head.

“Don’t you have something else to do besides waiting for me?” You ask, scrubbing the rest of the barbecue sauce off your plate. 

“I do have something to do.” And he suddenly pops up behind you, blowing air to your ear. “You.”

And you raise your silver spoon in the air, forcing him to run to the other side of the room, whining, “Baby, that’s not fair!”

Whenever you’re busy reading a book, Donghyuck will snuggle close and insist for you to sit on his lap. You’re not complaining in the slightest because it does feel nice and he rarely does anything weird since he also enjoys spending his time watching tv with his chin placed on the top of your head and his arms circled idly around your waist. It’s you who tends to get distracted with the way his chest is pressing against your spine, his laugh reverberating straight to your skin whenever something funny is playing on the screen. And when you get distracted, your heart races, and when he hears your heartbeat increasing, he chuckles lowly, leaning in to nibble at your earlobe while whispering, “If you’re horny, you can just tell me, baby.”

And you smack him in the head with your book.

Today is a bit different. Today, you have dedicated yourself to switch your role and be the one who teases the hell out of him instead. But since he’s too sly, always a step ahead of you whenever you make a plan to humiliate him, there’s only one way you can win this game: ignoring him.

So that’s what you intend to do. When the night takes over and Donghyuck comes out from his room with a bird’s nest on his head and a cheeky grin on his face, saying, “Baby, I’m awake and I’m ready to hear how much you’ve missed me during the day,” you just sit there on the couch, flipping another page of your novel. “Hey, Hyuck,” you simply greet him.

“Hey, Hyuck?” He repeats, appalled and disgusted with the way you said it. “What kind of treatment is that? Is it that time of the month already?” He takes a whiff of the air. “No, it’s not. I can smell it.”

“For the sake of our relationship, please refrain yourself from smelling my scent to know my menstruation cycle in the future, thank you.”

“How? You want me to stop breathing?” He laughs to himself. “Just kidding. You know I don’t breathe.”

You want to roll your eyes and bury your face in your hands—ashamed of the things he said—but you realize that you have to play it cool and give him the cold shoulder.

Placing hands on his hips, he questions with a huff, “So I’m not getting any hug around here?” 

“I’ll be with you in a moment.” 

You move away from the living room, doing literally anything else but giving him what he asks for. Donghyuck sighs and follows you too, as expected, leaning his back against the kitchen counter as he waits for you to finish making yourself a cup of coffee.

“Did I do something that upset you?” He asks, scratching his cheek.

“No, of course not.” You smile, giving him a squeeze on his arm. But then you walk away, leaving him confused and bitter.

Ignoring him is both fun and hilarious because you can see him stealing glances at you even when he tries to act cool about it. He tries to distract himself by playing video games but he keeps on losing so he presses his fingers a little too hard to the controller, nearly breaking it in half.

“Careful,” you warn. “I borrowed that thing.”

“Whatever.” He throws the controller away, scoffing. “It’s stupid anyway.”

To know that his happy self can be reduced to this grumbling mess just because you’re ignoring him makes you feel elated and you wonder, am I a sadist for enjoying this so much?

Hours have passed and you still won’t give in to him, which is really something because he’s doing things that almost make you crawl back to his lap. Donghyuck knows how hot he is, knows how his eyebrow raise and half-lidded eyes do wonders to your heart and mind. So it’s not a surprise when he walks out of the bathroom with his wet hair pushed back, showcasing his temple and his perfect eyebrows. Droplets of water are sliding down from his bare chest to his v-lines, with his white towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. He doesn’t head back to his room right away, and instead, takes a seat on the coffee table, right in front of you.

“Babe.”

You promise yourself inwardly that you will not take a fucking glance at him when he’s like this. “Hmm?”

“I know you’re trying your best to ignore me but your heart is beating like crazy.” He’s raising his eyebrow. You know it. You’re not seeing it but you know it. “Isn’t it time for you to give up your stupid little prank and make-out with me already?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” This time, you open your MacBook, busying yourself with typing words on your keyboards.

Donghyuck walks over—still in his fucking towel and nothing more, for God’s sake—and leans closer from behind the couch. He looks over your shoulder as you browse the internet to find something to distract your thoughts. He snorts loudly when he sees the article you’re reading.

“Chalamet?” He jeers. “Who’s Timothee Chalamet? What kind of name is Timothee Chalamet?”

“He’s an Oscar nominee and he’s barely twenty-five. He’s cute.”

“So? I’m cuter than Timothee Chalamet. Way more beautiful too. Just FYI, they invented the term ‘beautiful’ to describe me actually. Happened a long time ago. It’s a fact.”

“That’s great,” you blankly respond, typing another name of a celebrity on the search bar. “I know there’s another term they invented for you.”

“What, ethereal?”

“Cocky-Ass Bitch.”

He gasps and he’s not even breathing.

And when you keep denying his protest, he pushes your MacBook away from your lap and tackles you down to the couch.

“I can’t believe you’re looking at some other dude when you have me paying you full attention,” he says, wetting his lower lip as he peers into your eyes, his body hovering dangerously close above yours. His eyes are gleaming with both desire and affection which still makes the knot in your stomach tighten to this day but you’re a tad better at controlling your expression this time. A droplet of water drops from the tip of his hair to your cheek.

Wiping it off with a slide of your thumb, you comment, “You’re wet.”

“So are you, ever since you’ve met me.” He winces at his words when a few seconds pass by in silence. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

You tap his cheek. “As long as you’ve learned your lesson.”

He pouts as he heads back to the main topic. “Your prank is going too far, Sweetheart.”

“What prank? I don’t do pranks, Hyuck. I’m not you.”

“So, why have you been ignoring me then?”

“Is it really that weird for me to just have some time for myself?”

“Well—I—” It’s the first time he ever seems lost for words. “I just—”

“What, are you thirsty?” You flatly ask, telling yourself to not let your eyes wander to the muscles in his arms and stomach. “Don’t tell me you want to drink again. It’s only been a day, Hyuck.”

“It’s not that!” He whines, pouting with his eyebrows knitting in a frown. “Can’t I snuggle with my girlfriend?”

“That’s literally what you’ve been doing all this time.”

“Yes, but you haven’t been focusing on me properly!” He sighs loudly, letting you go, and throws himself down on the other end of the couch with a loud huff. “You know what, I think we really should talk about this.”

“Talk about what?”

“About how you’re not really cute these days!” He blurts out, hands moving animatedly as he speaks. “You used to be all fidgety and shy, blushing all the time whenever you see me—”

“In your head, maybe. I don’t recall ever doing that.”

“See, this!” He throws his hands in the air, exasperated. “This is what I’m talking about. You’re mean to me now! Not cute at all!”

“Is this our first fight?” You ask, yawning a little which makes your boyfriend gapes in disbelief. “Are we really fighting over the fact I’m not cute anymore? Seriously?” But when he becomes more upset, you break out in a grin. “I’m just messing with you.” Still laying down on the couch, you tug at his hand. “Come here.”

He crosses his arms on his chest. “No.”

“You don’t want your daily dose of my sweet, sweet loving?”

He shakes his head, his lower lip protruding. “Why should I be the one who needs to crawl over to you? This is your fault. You come here.”

You exhale loudly but on the inside, you can’t help but squeal he’s so fucking cute.

You’re not usually aggressive during make-out sessions—well, at least not with Donghyuck anyway. With Mark, you had to take a lead or else you’d just end up watching TV until you both pass out on the couch. But you decide to step up your game today because just as much as he likes to tease you, you also like to tease him.

“Fine,” you say, crawling over to the other side of the couch and settle yourself on his lap. You lay your hand on his shoulders, massaging the tense muscles. “Better?”

Donghyuck is still glowering at you in response so you decide to take a step further. “You look so hot without your clothes on,” you praise him, thanking God that your voice doesn’t stutter. Your fingertips draw a line from his Adam’s apple down to his chest. “But I guess you already know that seeing how many times you’re doing this on purpose.”

He scoffs, swatting your hand away before he crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Don’t touch me. I’m still pissed at you.”

You chuckle. “Ah, so no Hyuck’s loving for me tonight?”

“No Hyuck’s loving for the whole week.”

“You sure about that?” Toying with the buttons of your shirt, you wiggle your eyebrows seductively at him.

He hears the sound of your button being popped open but gives his best effort to keep his eyes away. “What are you doing?”

“Undressing myself.”

“Why?”

“Because my cute vampire boyfriend is upset,” you pause to stand on your knees, tugging the rest of your shirt out from your skirt before you discard it to the floor. “And I know this would please him.”

He instinctively turns to you, his nose almost grazing your bare stomach before he quickly looks away again, albeit tempted to suck bruises on the supple skin. Donghyuck’s eyes move to stare at the ceiling, gulping at the sound of you pulling down the zipper on your skirt to loosen the fabric before you push it up to your hips, giving him the chance to stare at your thighs when he wants.

“Hyuck,” you move your hips slightly, giving him enough friction to entice his mind. “Baby.”

Donghyuck tries his very best to avert his gaze to anything else besides the part that connects you to him. “No,” he repeats, clenching his jaw.

“But Hyuck…” You realize you’re practically moaning his name now and it’s both embarrassing and exciting that you can play the role of a seductress and having that kind of effect on him. Hooking a finger around your bra strap, you pull it down, exposing the joints between your neck and your shoulder. “Don’t you want me?”

He suddenly whines loudly, throwing his head back with his teeth gritting against one another as he murmurs “You’re unbelievable,” bitterly into the air but you can hear his confidence wavering. It only takes another grind of your hips against him before he snaps. 

You’re suddenly thrown back to his bed before you know it. He was moving too fast for your eyes to process that you could only felt being carried for a split second before you have your back pressed against the sheets.

He’s hovering on top of you, your hips trapped between his knees. “You do realize,” he begins, “That I never just look at you as an object of sexual desire, right? You’re more than that to me.” He bends down, one hand curling against the front of your neck, his thumb tracing your beating vein. “Way, way more than that.”

His sincerity and serious demeanor catch you off guard. “Yeah, also as someone to fill your midnight cravings.”

“Of course not—”

“I’m kidding, I know.” Your playful gaze is replaced with a tender one. “But you always react like this whenever I tempt you that way so I couldn’t help but tease.”

He scrunches up his nose. “You’re not cute.” But the way he slots his mouth against yours speak nothing but praise and adoration. “You’re not cute at all.”

Surprisingly, Donghyuck is gentler after your first sexual encounter with him. Maybe it’s because he feels sorry for sucking too much blood and went a little rough when it was your first time on everything. You always try to convince him that it’s fine and it doesn’t hurt at all during the time you have sex with him—because the chemicals in his saliva triggered an endorphin rush, pumping pleasure all over your body—but seeing how you could barely walk on the next morning, Donghyuck decides to restrain himself.

You still remember the second time he decided to take a step further, about two weeks after your first intimate session with him. Donghyuck was at his very best behavior that night—making you dinner, listening to you complaining about your work, and swaying his body with you to the soft music he played in the background. Being in such close proximity, you couldn’t help but wonder why he never laid a hand on you again. He did drink from you, once every two days, but he always acted so rigid, so jittery when he held you to his chest, drinking from the side of your neck. You were awkward too, not sure how to place your hands or say something to break the tension. You could hear him swallowing, once, twice, taking a big gulp each time and you could feel yourself drowning in refined pleasure, losing track of the world from his bite.

Speaking of that, you notice one thing. This endorphin rush you feel every time he sinks his teeth into your skin also affects your sexual desire. You didn’t realize that before because you were having sex the first time he bit you. You finally understand why those slutty girls he brought home loved having their blood sucked by vampires. Sex with a vampire itself is transcendent, so having your blood sucked during sex? A dangerous, erotic, and lovely bliss.

But Donghyuck never touched you that way, that was the problem. Every time he finished drinking, he’d retract his fangs back, making you whimper at the loss of his effects on you and leaving you dizzy with blood loss. He’d wipe his mouth clean, tilt your face to check on your condition—which you always responded with a goofy smile as you reeled on the lingering sensation of his bite—and say, “I’m sorry that you had to do this for me. I’ll carry you back to your room. Hold on to me.” And you’d allow him to do just that, secretly hoping that he would join you in bed but he never did. 

Was the sex not good? Were you too loud? Too whiny? Too docile? Were you too shy? Does he prefer his partner to take control in bed? Be more aggressive? These questions ran back-and-forth in your mind to the point that you began to have trouble sleeping.

So when two weeks had passed after that bathroom incident and nothing happened, you decided to bring the matter down to the table. You were craving for his touch, even more so when he looked so fucking good with his hair slightly pushed back, his shirt doing nothing at hiding the muscles in his arms, his face hovering just a few inches away from yours as he led you close in a slow dance. You just needed to ask before you went crazy.

“Why won’t you touch me?”

Donghyuck blinked. “What?”

“Why won’t you touch me?” You repeated, heat rising to your cheeks. “After that night in the bathroom, you never… made a move on me.”

That question should’ve triggered something sinful coming from his mouth, probably like, “Oh, so you want me to touch you? Enlighten me, Sweetheart, just how much do you want me? Where do you exactly want me to touch you?”

But Donghyuck actually just stood in silence with conflicted eyes. You had to call his name to force him to speak. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You won’t hurt me—”

“No, you don’t understand.” He cupped the side of your face, thumb rubbing soothingly against your cheekbone. “Drinking your blood already makes me want to do crazy things to you. You’re so alluring, so…” He wetted his lip, his eyes going down to take in the shape of your mouth. “Intoxicating.” He moved his thumb to trace the smoothness of your lips. “I’m just afraid that I won’t be able to control myself when we take a step further than this. I don’t want to hurt you again like I did the first time.”

It’s funny how he mentioned the word intoxicating because that was how exactly you perceived him. His whole being was intoxicating, turning every sound in the room into a whisper, every bit of your surroundings into a blur. The world did not matter when you were with him, as it solely revolved around him.

So you yanked him down by the collar of his shirt, slotted your mouth against his, lips parting to taste a hint of the coppery flavor of your blood on his tongue. Donghyuck instinctively reacted by enclosing his arms along your waist, pulling you close until you breathed heavily against his mouth. He was a man of passion, burning like the sun, lips scorching as he met yours in a searing kiss.

He tried to break away, holding your wrist in the air. “Wait, stop—”

“I have an idea,” you immediately said, kissing him once again just because you couldn’t hold yourself away from the temptation. “I have an idea we can try, so—” Another kiss, but he was the one who initiated it this time. He pushed you against the wall, gentle but dominating, his knee slipping between your legs, pushing up the fabric of your dress. You moaned against his mouth, fingers fisting against his shirt, desperate for support. He slid both hands down your thighs, silky smooth against your skin, and lifted your legs in the air, forcing you to tangle them around his waist to maintain stability.

“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath, reeling in the way he peppered kisses from your jawline down to your neck, tongue lapping at a speck of dry blood on your marked skin. “Let’s go—ah—let’s go to your room—Hyuck—”

He was busy having his hand under your shirt, splaying his fingers on your stomach before they found their way up to your breast, but he heard your order. He carried you back to his room, lips never leaving yours and you found yourself pressed against the sheet the next time you blinked your eyes. 

“Those handcuffs,” you gasped out between his smothering kisses. “Those handcuffs of yours that you keep in your closet. Use them.”

Donghyuck abruptly stopped, tugged himself away. “What?”

You were breathless and lightheaded, chest heaving up and down. “It upsets me to say this,” you confessed, “But I remember that time when we haven’t started dating, I found a pair of handcuffs in your closet and—”

“You went into my closet?”

“To clean your stuff. You had your clothes scattered all over the place so I had to fold them up and when I was about to put them back in, I saw them. I thought it was probably one of your kinks so I just shrugged it off. You honestly didn’t realize how clean and organized your closet was that day?”

“Well, I was never messy to begin with.”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it.”

He pouted, sighing. “Right, so you knew about my bondage kink. You’re telling me you want us to use it?” He gave you a look. “You had sex one time and you’ve already found yourself a kink? Seems like I underestimated your sexual curiosity, woman.”

“It’s not that.” You rolled your eyes. All of this rambling did not fuel your arousal, at all. “I want you to wear it.”

Donghyuck actually looked disgusted. “I like to tie my women, not being tied up, thank you very much.”

“You said you were scared of losing control, right? If you’re tied up, you won’t be able to hurt me.”

He snorted. “A cheap handcuff like that won’t be able to hold me down, Sweetheart.”

“But at least it serves as a reminder.” You laid your hand on his chest, drawing lines on the cold skin. “I mean, I’m fine whether you wear it or not. I just want to be with you.” You pulled him down into an innocent hug, but the way you were grinding your hips against him was anything but that. “But if you feel this,” you palmed his length through his jeans, forcing him to emit a groan from the back of his throat, “can make you lose control then maybe we should try my idea. I don’t want us to stop, Hyuck, and I don’t care if you break me.” You leaned in to bury your face in the juncture of his neck, whispering, “I just want to feel you inside me again.”

“Fuck.” He groaned loudly against your shoulder, fingers twisting against the sheet. “Okay, where’s that fucking handcuff—” The way he tumbled down the bed—a century-old vampire tumbling down the bed—makes you giggle, even more so when he frantically rummages his closet, throwing clothes here and there, muttering, “where is it, where is it, come on, come on, come on, where’s that fucking thing,” to himself, until he finally hooked his fingers around a pair of handcuffs, shouting, “YES, I FOUND THEM,” to the air. 

He hurriedly went back to the bed, looking breathless when he wasn’t even breathing, and crawled on top of you again. He chased after your lips and your laughter soon reduced back into gasps and moans before he finally broke away, asking, “Okay, tie me up. Hurry.” You’d think that being alive for more than a century would’ve taught him some self-control, but Donghyuck was eager and desperate, way more than you were.

He flipped your body before you could prepare yourself so you yelped in surprise, landing on his chest as he laid himself down on the bed, his head nearly knocking against the headboard. He offered you his wrists, saying, “I’m all yours, Sweetheart.” And you gulped hard, heartbeat blasting through the roof, heat rising to your cheeks. 

The handcuffs were made of steel, cold to the touch and you secretly thanked the Lord that they weren���t one of those furry ones you saw in porn movies. You were secretly drooling at the sight of your usually dominating boyfriend lying helplessly on the bed, waiting for you to take the lead; his broad chest displayed under your hands, with you straddling him by the hips. His shirt was slightly pushed up, showcasing his v-lines and his navel that usually stayed hidden underneath. You followed his happy trail, disappointed when it disappeared behind the hem of his jeans.

“Stop being so blatant about it.” His voice was velvety, thick with seduction. “You’re gonna make me blush.”

“I—I wasn’t staring.”

“Never said you were.”

It was annoying how easily he could make you feel all hot and flustered. “S-shouldn’t you take off your shirt first?”

He held back a smile. “I can fuck you just fine with my shirt on but sure, I’ll take it off.” There was something in the way he grabbed the back of his shirt before he pulled it over his head that made you blush, averting your gaze but managed to sneak a peek at the way the muscles on his abs were contracting under the movement.

“Baby?” He snatched you back to reality when a few seconds had passed in silence. “If you don’t tie me up now, I’m gonna tie you up and have my way with you.”

You blushed. That… actually doesn’t sound so bad. You shook your head. That can wait. With shaky fingers, you place one of the handcuffs around his wrist and tied the other one to his headboard. He tried to yank his hand free, testing the strength of it. “I can break this in a split second,” he commented, “But I guess it does work as a reminder.”

“Do you have another pair that I can use to tie your other hand?”

“Leave my other hand free,” he demanded, eyes gleaming as he gazed at you. “I want to touch you.”

You breathed heavily. “O-okay.”

“So,” he smiled, awkward and amused. “We’re doing this?”

You bit your lip, slowly nodding. “W-we’re doing this.”

“Aaw, nervous?” His laughter sounded light in your ears. “How cute.”

“Shut up.”

“Then, come here,” he invited, gesturing you to come close with one hand. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t waste a second longer. 

His kiss was slower this time, almost shy as if it was the first kiss you shared with him and it somehow made your heart beat even faster. You could hear him chuckling against your mouth, probably noticing your heart rate and you slapped his chest playfully to stop him from hearing things he wasn’t supposed to.

“Ah, you’re cute, so cute,” he kept saying, tracing his tongue along your lower lip, begging for entrance. His kisses gradually became deeper, harder, and his muffled laughter was replaced with soft groans. His praise was reduced to your name and you sighed in pleasure when you felt his lips moving down your neck, grazing your beating vein.

The position felt a bit awkward but possibly because you had never done it with him before. You were lying on top of him, your body pressed hotly against his chest and although he was already half-naked, you were still fully clothed. You weren’t sure whether you should undress yourself or let him do the work, but could he do it with one hand?

You remembered the time when he ripped your camisole and bra at the same time with only his fingers.

Yes. Yes, he could.

But Donghyuck seemed to be aware of what you were thinking because he ordered you to, “Take your clothes off.”

“I’m—” Flabbergasted, you pulled away, sitting straight on his stomach. “C-can’t you just take them off for me?”

You could tell he was trying to hold back another smirk from breaking upon his face. “But baby,” he cooed, raising his free hand in the air. “I only have one hand.”

“You practically ripped my undergarments with one finger before.”

“Did I?” His smirk grew prominent. “I forgot.”

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“What, being straddled by my girlfriend as she tries to undress herself while I’m being tied up to the bed?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Meh, it’s not bad.”

“Why you little—”

Donghyuck’s laughter was contagious when you tickled him on the sides of his stomach that you ended up smiling at him too but it soon faltered when he curled his fingers around your locks, bringing your head down to smash his lips against yours until they were red and bruised. You became nervous once again when he tugged on your shirt, silently ordering you to take it off.

“Okay,” you said, sitting on his stomach, fingers trembling slightly as they were fiddling around the top of your dress. “Can you… look away, please?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re making me nervous.”

“Baby,” he tittered, “Just in case you weren’t aware of this. Being your boyfriend means that I’m allowed to enjoy the sight of my girlfriend taking her clothes off.”

“M-maybe later in the future. Can you just look away now?” When he was still adamant about it, you added, “Please?”

He sighed. “Fine, but in the future don’t blame me if I ask you to strip-tease to make up for this.” He closed his eyes, lips pouting. “Also, this is the only time I’ll allow this to happen.”

“Two weeks in our relationship and you’re already ordering me around.”

“It’s not—” He groaned loudly, opening his eyes again to make sure you knew that he was glaring. “It’s not that. I just really want to look. There’s something sexy about girls taking their clothes off.”

“Girls?”

“I mean, you, baby. Only you.”

You gave him a flat look. “Whatever. Close your eyes.”

He jutted out his bottom lip but followed your command, while quietly repeating your line, “Two weeks in our relationship and you’re already ordering me around.”

“I heard that.”

“I heard that,” he mocked and you flicked him on his Adam’s apple until he whined.

Dating a brat was exhausting. Dating a bratty vampire was even more exhausting, but Donghyuck could also be charming and mature when he needed to be so you forgave him for that.

Seeing how he kept his eyes closed, you reached the end of your dress and pulled it off your head in one try. Strands of your hair were caught in the zipper, tugging at your scalp when you tried to unravel them in a hurry. Clicking your tongue in annoyance, you gave better effort to disentangled them with more patience.

“Need a hand, Sweetheart?”

You jolted, a squeak fell off your mouth. When you turned around to see him, your boyfriend was staring at you with a bratty grin on his face.

“Hey!” Flushed, you slapped him on the chest. “I didn’t tell you to look.”

“You told me not to look when you took your clothes off. You didn’t say anything about me staring at my cute girlfriend having the biggest crisis of her life.” His little laughter was just as annoying as it was charming. “Come here, I’ll help you.”

Your pride wouldn’t let you but you had spent minutes trying to break free from your stupid dress with no satisfying result so, with a heavy heart and a prominent scowl on your face, you bent down, leaning close to him until he could let his hand roam along your locks.

“This is so stupid,” you grumbled.

“I think it’s cute,” he chuckled, carefully unwinding the strands from your zipper. “This is the cutest you’ve ever been to me.”

You blushed slightly. Trying to avert your attention away, you began to focus on the sight in front of you. Pressed against his chest, your face was almost buried in the crook of his neck. You took the chance to press soft kisses on the cold skin, running your fingertips down from his collarbone to his navel. 

“There, done,” he said, tossing the dress away without a care. He sounded a bit breathily when your teeth grazed against his neck. “Let’s not waste any more time. Come here, I need you.” The way he tugged you toward him by your elbow was firm but not forceful. And no matter how much you had kissed him already, he still loved the way you moved your lips against his and never wanted it to stop.

Being on top of him didn’t necessarily mean you were in control. Even with one hand tied, Donghyuck knew how to lead, whispering guidance here and there, sometimes in the way that made you blush from how specific his orders were. Before you knew it, you were both fully naked, with you sitting on his thighs, stroking at his length as directed.

Donghyuck shivered under your touch, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure. “You—” He had to nip on his bottom lip to contain his groan when you swiped your thumb along his slit. “You don’t happen to have any lube with you, do you?”

You were so captivated by the way he looked, all needy under your fingers, that he had to call you by your name to gather your focus back to his question. “Oh, n-no. Why?” You stroked him faster, curling your fingers a little bit tighter around his length.

Donghyuck threw his head back, eyebrows adjoined in the middle. “Fuck,” he hissed, eyes glazed and when they peered back into yours, they were glowing brightly in topaz—almost golden, and brighter from the dim lighting of his room. “Well then,” he heaved, wetting his lip. “I guess, we’ll do it the old school way. Turn your body around for me.”

“What?”

“I want to be romantic and use pretty words, but desperate times need desperate measures so get your ass over here,” he gestured with his hand for you to come over to his face, “and your face over there.”

Steam practically came out of your ears from how ashamed you were. “What?!”

“I need to make you wet and you need to coat my dick with saliva so it won’t hurt when I get inside you.”

He wasn’t joking when he said he wasn’t going to be romantic about it. How the fuck can he say something like that so easily?! “I—I can’t,” you were practically wheezing, “It’s too embarrassing—I—”

“If you don’t want to suck my dick, you can just spit on your hand and—”

“I’m more worried about sitting on your face—”

“Oh, no need to worry about that.” He gave you a reassuring smile which somehow upsets you even more. “It’s actually something I’ve been imagining to happen—”

“Oh my God—”

“Would you stop freaking-out and listen to me, please?” He was laughing and you were having a seizure. “Babe, relax. Trust me, it will feel good.”

You had no doubts about that but still, it didn’t suddenly make it easy for you to just naturally sit on his face. But to be honest, the thought of it was as exciting as it was embarrassing and with Donghyuck being relaxed about it—not making this into such a big deal, unlike how Mark reacted when anything sexual occurred—you couldn’t help but succumb to your own curiosity.

“Okay,” you pressed a hand against your chest. “Just let me calm myself down a little.”

He suppressed a smile. “You’re having a crisis again?”

“Shut up.”

No matter how much you tried to compose yourself, you couldn’t. You became even more nervous, and you thought that wasn’t possible. The naughty twinkle in Donghyuck’s eyes gradually turned tender and he reached out a hand. “Here, let me help you relax.” 

You let him take hold of your wrist, bringing it to his face. He kissed your inner palm before he dragged his lips down to your wrist, his eyes peering into yours as he did it. You could feel his lips turning into a faint smile as they grazed your skin but on the next second, he bared his teeth, extended his fangs, and punctured your skin with them.

“Hyuck—” You yelped from the pain but soon began to lose yourself to the ecstasy of his bite. You could feel all the knots in your body started to loosen one-by-one, your mind becoming hazy with bliss. 

Donghyuck didn’t sink his teeth too deep and didn’t drink too much, only a gulp and nothing more even when his eyes were glowing bright, gravely needing another taste of your blood. He lapped at the wound, kissing the bite mark he made on your skin. “How do you feel?”

“I’m…” Your eyes began to droop, blinking slowly. “Great…. I feel great…”

He chuckled at your words. “That’s good to hear,” he said, “Now turn around and lower yourself on my face.”

You could barely hear him but you got the picture. As if hypnotized, you felt your body moved even before you could finish your thought. Donghyuck’s free hand was placed on the inner part of your thigh as you hovered above his head, spreading your legs apart. “Come down here, Sweetheart, I don’t bite.” You couldn’t see his face but you could tell he was smirking, and if you weren’t this intoxicated, you would’ve smacked him with the nearest pillow over his poor choice of words. But the effects of his bite and the rush of endorphin that were still coursing through your veins made you follow his commands without further question.

You were balancing yourself with your hands on his stomach as he ran his tongue along your folds, tasting you just a little bit but you already shivered at the sensation. “Hyuck…”

He hummed in response, sounding like he was having the time of his life, pushing your thigh further apart so you could lower yourself more, his tongue dipping into your heat this time.

You were going insane, you could feel it. Breathing heavily, you decided to focus on a task at hand. You curled your fingers around his length, thumb brushing against the slit again because you knew how much he liked it before, and you could feel him moan before you could hear him.

You gave a tentative lick on the head, kissing his tip before running your tongue along the vein. Your fingers were stroking the area your tongue didn’t cover and you could hear him purring in content. After a brief second of self-preparation, you parted your lips and tried to go down on him in one try. Donghyuck threw his head back against the sheet, groaning loudly between a train of expletives, so sexy and obscene. 

Hearing his moans encouraged you to do better so you tried to swallow him whole again. You could feel his tip hitting the back of your throat, making you tear up a little bit from the discomfort but you hollowed your cheeks and swallowed around him.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Donghyuck swore, his grip around your thigh grew tighter that it made you flinch but you continued with your ministration, bringing your hand into the game this time. It was so exciting, the sensation of having him dissolve into a groaning mess under your touch so you stroked him faster, sucked him harder, and continued even when he was practically whimpering in ecstasy.

As an act of revenge, Donghyuck licked his way deep into you with his free hand pumping a finger inside you and adding another one soon after. When you moaned around him, it urged him to go faster, his digits were now scissoring inside of you.

You were practically crying by the time he told you to stop, urging you to turn around to face him because “I want to see your face when you come.” You positioned yourself on top of his length, cheeks bright red from all the passion and lust you have swirling inside your chest, and slowly sank yourself down.

Donghyuck’s handcuff was rattling against the headboard as he reeled in the sensation. His fangs were extended once again, his eyes glowing almost dangerously as he gazed at you from behind his bangs. “Fuck, you’re so—“ he hissed, his eyes going down to the part where you were connected to him. “How can you be so sexy without trying—”

The way he twitched inside of you made you quiver, and you tumbled down to his chest, your face closing in on him. He met you halfway when you sent him a signal to kiss you, smothering you with his lips, wet with tongues and painted with both desperation and urgency.

“Move,” he ordered, his voice suddenly turning low and perilous. “Baby, move for me, please.”

You granted his wish, wincing at the feeling of him growing larger inside you. The friction still burned so you tried to muffle your cry with his kisses, but after a few shallow thrusts, you could finally feel yourself relaxing, adjusting to his length.

“Faster,” he urged, unconsciously tried to hold your hips with both hands and groaned loudly when his handcuff pulled his hand back to the headboard. “Dammit. Baby, please, move faster.”

“Be patient,” you said between small gasps. Your nails were almost sinking to his chest. “It’s only my second time, Hyuck. Let me do it at my own pace.”

He initially groaned in protest, eyes tightly shut with his eyebrows furrowed but when he managed to collect himself, he apologized, "You're right, I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm so hasty, you just make me feel so—" His jaw hung low when he felt you move, and by the time you began to clench your walls around him, he took his bottom lip between his teeth, leaning his head back against the headboard, relishing the moment.

As you steadied yourself with your hands on his chest, grinding your hips against him, you admired the details of his profile—his sultry half-lidded eyes, his plump lips, his cute front teeth that peeked out when he parted his lips in a silent moan, the tiny moles on his jaw and neck. He was both handsome and cute, and you were lucky—so damn lucky—to be able to witness these details with your own eyes.

“Fuck, I can’t—“ His voice startled you, snapping you out from your reverie. “I can’t do it like this. I’m gonna go crazy. Can you get off for a second?”

You were frowning but his urgency made you follow with a nod. You let him slid off of you, wincing slightly at both the pain and the loss of him. Donghyuck shifted his body until he was sitting on the bed, his spine pressed against the headboard. “Okay, come here,” he said, patting his thigh twice. You crawled over to his lap as requested, sitting on your knees as he held his length in one hand, positioning it over your entrance. You lowered yourself down, adjusting to his size once again and wrapping your arms around his neck for support.

“I can never get used to the feeling of you taking me in like that,” he murmured against your ear. “You’re so fucking tight.”

The new position allowed you to embrace him properly and you took advantage of it, meshing your lips with him as you bounced up and down, your breasts pressing against his chest. His free hand was urging you to move faster, nails sinking into the skin and you complied, trying to move as fast you can. “Yes,” he moaned, mouthing against your shoulder. “Just like that. You’re so good.”

The sounds he was making were so erotic that they made you weak. When he felt your movements gradually became slower, he began to buck his hips forward, thrusting into you hard while holding you firmly with one hand. 

He nearly broke his handcuff from how desperate he was in wanting to hold you tightly with both hands, fucking you senselessly like how did with you before in the bathroom. But the way the steel was nearly sinking into his skin reminded him of the sole purpose of having it around his wrist. Feeling restrained only made his thrusts grow even more frantic, pushing your hips down to meet his at such a quick pace.

“Wait—” Taken by surprise, you clutched your arms tightly around him. “Hyuck—”

He suddenly sank his teeth on the skin under your jaw, between the earlobe and the collarbone and you nearly jumped out of your skin. For half an instant, it was agonizing. Painful and horrible. And then, just like that, the pain disappeared. He swallowed twice, moaning against your skin, his thrusts going out of rhythm. 

The rush of endorphin helped to push you to the brink, clouding your thoughts and you couldn't tell where your body ended and his began but it didn't matter. That was how you always wanted it to be anyway. Donghyuck's lascivious grunts tugged on your heartstrings and with a couple of his hard thrusts, you began to shake. "H-Hyuck, I think I'm gonna—"

His mouth was still on your neck, now sucking bruises with his cuspids threatening to puncture. "Come, baby."

You came undone, body trembling with the biggest orgasm you’d ever felt. Donghyuck moaned your name against your ear when he felt you clenching and shaking around him. “God, that felt so good,” he said, still moving his hips, not caring if you were still sensitive after your orgasm. “You feel so good around me. Fuck, I want to do this again and again—I want to feel you more—I want to break you—”

And when his hips began to stutter, you knew he was close. He pulled you into a messy kiss where you could taste copper on his tongue but you didn’t mind and bounced faster on his lap, driving him to the edge.

You were startled by the sound of him breaking free from his handcuff with a hard yank of his wrist, but before you could react, he was pushing you off his lap, forcing you to stand with your knees on the bed, facing the headboard. Still reveling in the aftershock of your orgasm, your legs almost gave out on you so you placed both hands on the wall for support. "Hyuck—"

He was almost growling when he placed both hands on your hips and pushed himself back in a way that was so forceful, you ended up having your upper body pressed against the wall. He brought your hips closer to his, his tongue trailed against the dip of your spine, and you begged him to, "S-slow down, I just came—" but all that he did was the opposite. He snapped his hips forward, knocking the breath out of your lungs with each pound while murmuring, "Just a little bit more, baby," with so much lust and avidity. You gritted your teeth, curling your fingers against the railing of your headboard as if you were hanging on for dear life. Everything felt so good, so fucking good that you began to part your mouth in a silent scream. 

With his head dangling forward, glowing eyes covered with his fringe, and your name tumbling down his lips in a soft, throaty moan, he came.

***

“How are you feeling?”

Dazed and completely fucked-out, you thought, but only answered with, “Tired.”

“Are you hurt somewhere?”

You shook your head.

“Thank God,” Donghyuck pulled you closer by the waist, both of your naked bodies were buried under the blanket. “I kind of lost control at the end.” He sheepishly chuckled at himself. “You were so hot when you came.”

“Shut up.” But that only made him laugh a bit louder. He pried your hands away before you could bury your face in them and cupped your cheek so you could do nothing but stare back at him.

“Is it too fast to say I love you?” He asked and his eyes were sincere but you were too embarrassed to respond properly so you pushed your palm to his face, pushing him away.

“Of course, it’s too fast. We’ve only started dating for like what, two weeks?” But the way your heart almost leaped in joy betrayed you. You turned away from him, focusing your gaze on the bed lamp on his nightstand instead of his face. “If you tell me in like a year or something, maybe I’ll believe you.”

His laughter was warm, a stark contrast to how his skin felt under your touch. He leaned close, lips brushing against your hair as he embraced you close to his chest. “Then I’ll say it every day until you say it back to me next year,” he said, voice gentle and sincere. “I love you, baby.”

“Ugh, you’re gross.”

“There you go, playing hard to get again.” He whispered the next words with his lips brushing your earlobe. “Your ears are going red, though.”

“I’m going to kick you.”

“Well, I’m going to love you.”

But you kicked him anyway. The playful punches and kicks under the blanket managed to ease the tension, and before long, you were back to exchanging nonsensical banters with him again. The sunrise was still three hours away and even though your eyes were a bit heavy with sleep, your body exhausted beyond belief, you tried to keep yourself awake to spend a moment longer with him. You didn’t have any schedule the next morning anyway, so you could sleep to make up for the time you spent.

“Hyuck?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s… something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while but I couldn’t since I felt so embarrassed about it.”

“Oh? It’s not often you’re honest like this.” He smirked, pushing the bangs out of your eyes. “What is it?”

“Did you…” You cleared your throat, trying not to be awkward. “Did you get to come when we had sex the first time?”

He blinked twice, startled. “Oh… I didn’t, actually.” He timidly smiled. “You kind of passed out during that time and I didn’t have the heart to continue so I just carried you back to your room.”

With cheeks turning scarlet, you squeezing his hand. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He pecked you on the nose. “It was my fault anyway. I shouldn’t have taken so much of your blood.” He gradually grew more serious. “I guess I’ve never thanked you for that, huh?” He tucked some strands of your hair behind your ear. “Thank you for giving me your blood. You’re literally the reason why I’m still alive to this day.”

“You’re welcome.” You mirrored his smile. “I have two other questions if you don’t mind.”

“Shoot.”

“Can vampires actually come?” You had to look away, noticing how stupid your questions was and added, “I mean, like, properly? Like humans do?”

“What, you didn’t feel it when I came inside you just now?”

You blushed madly. “I was too dizzy from the bite to notice.”

“Right, you passed out too. Again.” And before you could shout out your protest, he muffled your lips with his. “Of course, we can, Sweetheart. What, are you interested in making me come again?”

You gulped. “M-maybe later.” When you noticed him raising an eyebrow, you mentally slap yourself in the face.” I-I mean, not that I’m suggesting we should have sex again after this—”

“Oh? I was willing, though.” His godforsaken smirk should be banned from this world. Earning another punch to his stomach, he asked with a wince, “What’s the other question?”

You were still pouting from before but you asked, “Can vampires impregnate humans?”

“So eager to have my baby already? Two weeks in our relationship? Really?”

“Do you want to be punched again?”

“By your lips? Yes, plea—Aaw, hey, that hurts!” As he tried to soothe the pain away from the punch you landed on his chest, he added, “To answer your question, no. We don’t breed that way. Vampires are turned, not born.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He laughed. “Trust me, if vampires could get humans pregnant, then I would father hundreds of Hyuck babies by now.”

The thought of him having sexual relationships with other women in a way that was probably much hotter than yours made your heart drop to your stomach. There was an unfamiliar pain in your chest, pumping jealousy and resentment to your veins, clouding your thoughts with images of him lying in bed with naked women.

You turned away to face the ceiling, not saying a word. Donghyuck seemed to notice the way you got all tense and rigid so he laced your fingers with his, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “There’s only you now, you know that, right? For me, there’s only you.”

 You nodded but only so slightly, still felt uneasy. You knew that it wouldn’t be fair to be mad at him about this—it’s not like he was cheating behind your back. And he’d lived for more than a century, of course, he had plenty of both romantic and sexual relationships. You were just upset because he was your first and that meant the whole world to you, but you weren’t even included in the top 10—or 100, even.

Donghyuck eyed you in concern and carefully wrapped an arm around your stomach, fingertips trailing around your navel. “Did you realize that,” he began, voice soft and tender, “a few months before we started dating, I stopped bringing girls to our apartment? I switched entirely to blood bags to the point I had to spend all my money. Do you know why I did that?”

You turned to him, snuggling close but still wasn’t brave enough to make eye contact. “Why?”

He had his lips brushed against your temple as he spoke. “Because it felt wrong. Every time I got together with someone, I thought about you. When I drank their blood, I thought about how your blood would taste like in my mouth. When I held them, I thought about what kind of face would you make as you writhed underneath me. When they moaned out my name, I thought about how hot would it be if it tumbled out from your lips instead. You, with that cute voice of yours.”

You blushed from ear-to-ear. “I-Is that so…”

He smiled a little, probably noticing how loudly your heart was thumping inside your chest. “I had to stop entirely when I accidentally moaned your name during sex. Man, she was so pissed.”

You nearly fainted from the sheer embarrassment. “How can you say these things so nonchalantly?”

“I’m actually pretty shy about it.” And this time he did sound sheepish. He lowered his head down, lips lingering close, nearly grazing the vein that beats faintly under your neck. “So don’t think about my past too much, because I’ve been thinking about you—only you—for a while now.”

You shivered, his lips ghosting over your skin. “Cool.”

Donghyuck pulled away, scrunched up his nose. “Cool?”

“Yeah.”

“I literally just poured all my feelings out to you, embarrassingly so, and your response is cool?”

You gave him your signature ignorant shrug. “Well, I’ve known for a while that you had a crush on me. I’m flattered. Thanks.”

“You’re so—” He attacked you with playful pokes and tickles, hands fumbling all over the place until you both ended up falling from the bed, laughing against each other’s mouth.

***

“Babe, you ready?”

You push your door open at the sound of his call, still struggling with tidying your bangs so they can frame your face perfectly. You’re about to go on a date with your boyfriend and this is the first time he actually asks you out properly. You’ve gone out many times with him before but it was always either to shop for groceries or have dinner in the cheap Chinese restaurant nearby.

So you kind of dressed up all the way, curling your hair and tying it up in a perfect ponytail—because you know just how much he likes seeing your neck exposed—wearing minimal make-up but with bright red lipstick, and a matching red off-shoulder dress that highlights your collarbones. 

“Do you think this is too much?” You ask from the bathroom, still busy trying to put on your earring. When you’re done, you walk back to the living room, approaching his spot. “You haven’t told me where we’re going so I’m not sure what to wear—” You catch the way he’s looking at you, wide-eyed with lips parted in awe. “W-what is it? Are you thirsty again?”

He blinks himself awake. “For blood? Nope. For you?” He’s not subtle at all with his staring, eyes going up and down your body, committing every feature to his memory. “Parched.”

“If you’re gonna be this embarrassing the whole date, I’d choose to stay home, thank you very much.”

“What, can’t a man appreciate his girlfriend’s beauty?”

“Sometimes just a simple, you look nice, is enough.”

He chuckles softly, closing the space between you and running his thumb along your cheekbone as he cups your face. “I want to kiss you and ruin your lipstick so badly,” he murmurs, eyes almost glowing. The way he brings his lower lip between his teeth as he stares at you in a daze makes your stomach flip in delight. “But you look very beautiful right now and it would be a waste. I’ll wait until the end of our date. Then, I’ll savor every bit of you.” He leans in to whisper close in your ear, his smirk grazing against your earlobe. “In any way possible.”

You yank him by the hand, pulling him towards the door. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”

You can’t wait until your date is over.

***

Donghyuck reeks with charms and allures. You notice that, certainly, but unfortunately for you, so do other people because he is gathering attention from every woman he passes by on the street—even some men. He’s just walking along the pavements in his black ripped jeans and denim jacket, but he makes it look like a fashion show. He’s deep in concentration, thumb sliding on his phone’s screen as he searches for the location of the place he’s planning to take you. His brooding look makes you swoon but you try to be subtle about it, unlike those females who pass by, practically undressing him with their eyes.

You’re uncomfortable and jealous but you try to keep yourself composed. “Is it far from here?”

“Just a couple of blocks,” he answers, smiling as he tucks his phone back. “Are you hungry? Do you want to stop by and grab some dinner before we go?”

You’ve lost your appetite. “I’ll eat on our way back.”

“You sure?”

You respond with a nod but he seems worried. You notice some people whispering behind your back, questioning with a mocking tone about your status with this God-like male in front of you and you couldn’t help but to sigh. “Can we go now?” Your tone sounds a bit cold even to your own ears, and you feel sorry because this is not how you planned your date night to go.

Donghyuck must have noticed the silent chatters, or at least, the hurting look on your face. Taking a hold of your wrist, he pulls you forward until you stumble to his chest and kisses your lips. You swear you could hear people gasping at that, but you don’t care. You don’t care that he’s kissing you in public, on the side of the street, with his hand secured tightly around your waist. You don’t care if your lipstick is ruined, though he kisses you softly to make sure it stays intact. And you don’t care if people are questioning his sanity for dating a girl like you because Donghyuck belongs to you and he’s proud of showing that to the world.

When he lets you go, your lips are curving up into a grin, cheeks reddening both from the cold and his touch. “You have lipstick on you,” you say, tiptoeing on your feet to brush the stain off his lips with your thumb, and Donghyuck, with that sexy, mischievous twinkle in his eyes, parts his lips, playfully placing your thumb between his teeth just a second before he lets it slide away. Your head is about to explode from how sexy he just looked and he chuckles at the sight, pecking you on the forehead once. “Let’s go, baby.” He strokes your hair before he lets his hand slide down to your waist again, walking next to you with your body pressed close to his side.

It turns out your boyfriend is taking you to a photo studio which is quite huge for a normal photo shoot. As you see so many staff, models, and photographers around you, walking back-and-forth in the studio to make sure everything is in order, you begin to realize. “Are you—”

“Yep,” he beams at you, proudly. “I’ve got a modeling gig.” 

Your eyes grow wide because by the brand logo that you see plastered all over the place—on the back of the chairs, the doors, embossed in articles of clothing—it’s one of the top designer brands in the country. “What—how—” You’re flabbergasted. “How did you get this job?”

“I got cast on the street.” He simply shrugs. “It’s a one-time gig though, so nothing serious. But it is my first time so I’m pretty nervous about it, which is why I brought you along.” He swats the bangs out of your eyes, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry. This is probably not how you imagined our date night was going to be.”

“No, but this is better.” Your eyes are scanning the place. “Look at all these models! They’re so beautiful—Oh my God, I know him!” You almost jump on your feet at the sight of a famous model getting his hair fixed by his stylist. “Isn’t he the one who was on the cover of W Magazine last month? Oh my God.”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” Donghyuck pulls you back by the fabric of your dress. “I didn’t invite you to ogle at another man’s body.”

“It’s not his body, Hyuck. It’s his face, look at him!” You gesture toward the man with a sigh. “Look at those cheekbones, sweet Lord. His jawline has me feeling like sliced bread.”

Donghyuck snorts loudly. “Are you an idiot?”

“Might as well be. Can you get me his autograph?”

“I’m leaving.” And he really walks away, just like that, with his hands tucked inside the pocket of his jeans, and a scowl on his face.

“Wait, I’m sorry,” you hurriedly say, taking a hold of his arm. “Good luck with the photo shoot. I know you’d be amazing.”

He’s still not happy when he looks at you but he sighs, patting your head. “Thanks. You can wait for me in the hall. I think they have snacks and stuff.”

“Can’t I just linger around here?”

“To see me or to see him?”

“To see you, of course.” There’s no hesitation in your voice. “Seeing him is just a bonus. You’re my number one, Hyuck.”

He leers at you with suspicious eyes, still not one hundred percent pleased or convinced. “Well, I have to go. I need to change and get my make-up done.”

“Wait.” you hold him back again. “Do these people here know you’re, you know, not human?”

“No, and I intend to keep it that way. So, if you could just not mention it again, that’d help.”

You nod but when he’s about to part ways again, you reach out to him once more. 

“What?” He whines, groaning. “I really have to—”

You stand on your toes and interrupt him with a kiss, hands winding around his neck. It’s just your lips meeting his for a few seconds and nothing more, but it’s still painted thickly with passion and desire.

“Good luck,” you whisper with a shy smile. He’s left a bit dazed but eventually nods his head. When he walks away, he rubs his nape, a gesture he tends to make whenever he’s flustered. You grin proudly to yourself. He’s wrapped around your fingers just as much as you are around his.

After half an hour has passed, you see Donghyuck walking back into the studio in a new outfit that makes him look so goddamn attractive that it literally steals your breath away.  He’s wearing all black, from his turtle neck shirt, his khaki pants, his suit, even his hair looks somehow darker. He’s absolutely gorgeous, even the male photographer has to stop and stare for a good few seconds before he remembers to adjust his lenses.

Donghyuck poses naturally in front of the camera and it startles you how a simple pose could look so beautiful when it’s done by him. He unbuttons his suit, lets it falls off his shoulder, his eyes half-lidded as he stares into the camera—everything that he does reeks masculinity and femininity at the same time and you don’t know if that’s even possible. You’ve known that his body proportions are insane but this outfit just highlights every inch of his body that needs to be appreciated. 

A staff hands him a rose and he brings it close to his face, his lips grazing against the petal—making him look like a painting. His usual cheeky grin has vanished without a trace and the way he stares back at the camera—both enchanting and challenging—sends shivers down your spine.

Fuck, how is he so hot?

Two hours long photoshoot feels like a minute to you and you’re feeling a bit dazed when it’s over. Donghyuck walks over to your spot, pushing up his long sleeves to his elbows. “Hey,” he says, smiling a little. “Sorry, did I make you wait long?”

“Oh… Umm…” You’re blushing and you don’t know why. You’re just suddenly overwhelmed with his presence. “Y-you were…” Fantastic. Breathtaking. Absolutely gorgeous. Please take me home and have me as dessert. “You were good.”

“Good?” He raises an eyebrow, making you gulp. “That’s it?”

“I…” Your fingers are curling against the fabric of your dress. “You were great.”

Donghyuck seems a bit amused until he realizes something. He leans close, making you flinch when he takes a sniff near your neck. “Why do you smell like you’re…” A smirk creeps up his face. “Aroused?”

Yes, okay, just kill me. Kill me now. “I’m not—”

“Seems like someone is enjoying this photoshoot too much.”

You’re about to combust into flames. “Are you done? Can we go home now?”

“You want to go home? And do what?” He bites the corner of his lip as he tries to contain his grin. “Enlighten me, Baby.”

He’s seducing you, torturing you, and he’s enjoying every second of it. “Fine, then. I’ll walk home by myself.”

But as you turn around on your heels, Donghyuck grabs you by the wrist and pulls you forward to match his step, going in the opposite direction of where you were planning to go. “Wha—where are you taking me?!”

He shushes you quickly and makes a turn, barging into one of the changing rooms that models often use to get prepared for the photoshoot. The room is bright with fluorescent lights, though not as spacious as you’d thought it would be, but the only thing that matters now is that it’s unoccupied. 

Donghyuck kicks the door closed with his feet before he pushes you against it, lips meeting you in a searing kiss as he locks the door behind you. “Your scent,” he breathlessly says against your mouth, running his tongue along your lower lip. “It’s so thick with lust.” If it’s as thick as the teasing tone in his voice, you’re so doomed. “Are you okay, baby?”

“Shut up.” You kiss him, fisting the fabric of his shirt before you pull it off his head. Your hands immediately go down to his chest, caressing his stomach before they circle his neck again. “If we’re gonna do this then hurry up and fuck me.”

A small laugh reverberates from his chest. “So aggressive. And to think you were so shy yesterday.”

“Shut up. Does sex usually involve this much talking?”

“With me, it does.” He purrs against your ear, tugging your earlobe between his teeth. “Because then I get to see more of your expressions.” His tongue feels hot and dangerous on your sensitive skin. “You’re so fucking cute when you blush, but you being aggressive like this isn’t too bad.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” You’re already dying from shame and his unnecessary comments only fuel it even more. “Are we really—” you gasp when he pushes you up the wall, and you quickly tangle your legs around his waist for balance, the back of your red heels pressing against his spine. “Are we really doing this? Here?”

“Of course, we’re doing this.” His hands are sliding dangerously along your thighs, pushing the fabric of your dress up your body until it pools around your waist. “I’ve been wanting to do this ever since you laid your eyes on him.”

“What—” You throw your head back, making a soft thud when it meets the door. Hopefully, no one catches that. “You mean that model? I was just kidding—”

“Kidding?” He slips two of his fingers inside his mouth, coating them with saliva and it’s so sensual, the sight of him, that only seeing him do that already makes you feel sinful. He slides his hand down between your legs, wet fingers immediately finding their way to your heat from the side of your lingerie. “I don’t think it was funny.” He inserts his first digit, making you sink your nails into his shoulders. “Do you, baby?”

You’re breathing hard, temple pressing against his. When he feels you stretched enough, he adds another one. “Baby, I asked you a question,” he chuckles, scissoring his fingers inside you. “Do you think it was funny?”

“No.” You shake your head, a sob nearly escapes your lips.  The mixed feelings of being dominated, teased and pleasured at the same time make you feel lightheaded, and he hasn’t even drunk from you yet. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Aaw, but I’m not mad,” he coos, kissing you softly on the corner of your lips. “I’m a bit pissed-off but certainly not angry.”

His words are doing very little in reassuring you but you’re too busy focusing on the way he’s pumping his fingers in and out, his thumb rubbing fervently against your clit. “Hyuck—”

“Sssh.” He perks up, his movements stop abruptly. “Someone’s here.”

You mouth What?! in horror, about to shove him away so you can land back on your feet and fix your clothes and hair but he keeps you still. He presses his body harder, one hand holding the back of your thigh while his other one still lingers near your lingerie. There’s absolutely no way you can fight his superhuman strength.

Within the next few seconds, you can hear the clicking of heels meeting the marbled floor and you hold your breath, fingers shaking but the rest of your body is still. Donghyuck keeps his gaze on you, his eyes unwavering as he tries to read the situation.

“Hey, it’s locked. Why is it locked?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t locked before.”

Two female voices can be heard from exactly behind you and you’re about to break out in a cold sweat. If you breathe just a little bit harder, they probably can hear you. Donghyuck notices the way your breathing tatters and with a gleam in his eyes, he smirks.

And moves his fingers again.

Your hand immediately shifts from his shoulder to his wrist, trying desperately to keep it from moving. Your eyes are throwing ice daggers as you mouth don’t you fucking dare to him but his sly grin only gets wider. He leans in to pepper sultry kisses on your jawline, up to your ear, whispering, “Keep your voice down.” And though he speaks reassurance, his fingers are not.

He slides one between your folds, tentatively pressing into your heat before he drags it back, heel continues to add pressure to your clit. It’s when he inserts the digit back into you that you begin to flinch. He helps muffle your voice down with his kisses first but when you truly need to be silenced, he pulls away, enjoying the view of your cheeks turning scarlet, bangs sticking to your temple with sweat, and adding another finger into your warmth.

“So cute,” he whispers, his eyes are starting to glow. You notice that their color changes depending on what he’s feeling.  They glow when he’s thirsty, that much is obvious, but there’s also one other condition. The more he’s aroused, the brighter they get, almost turning topaz entirely, and soon his cuspids will follow, extending to take a bite. He still has his fangs retracted, but his eyes are gradually gleaming brighter as he takes in your expressions. “So pretty…” The way he praises you is almost like he’s in a haze. “I love seeing you like this.”

“What to do? My purse is inside.”

“Shall we ask around for the key?”

You’re so scared, terrified beyond belief and Donghyuck is savoring every moment of you trying to contain your moans. “Aaw, they’re going to open the door,” he murmurs against your ear. “What do you think we should do, baby?”

Fuck if I know. Your eyes are closed shut, your fingers curling against his nape. He licks a stripe up your neck, moaning softly from the desire to fill his mouth with your blood. “I know one thing for sure,” he swallows, wetting his lip. “I need to make you come first.”

Donghyuck always lives up to his promise. He knows what he’s doing and it feels extremely pleasant having his fingers deep inside you but you can’t give yourself into the pleasure entirely from the fear of being caught. But as he goes faster, now focusing more on playing with your clit, you feel fire coursing through your veins, loosening the knot in your stomach, and out of panic, you bite him hard on the part where his neck meets his shoulder, muffling your moan as you come onto his hand.

You can feel him flinching, a low grunt erupting from the back of his throat but you’re too dazed to notice. When the aftertaste of your orgasm starts to decrease, Donghyuck lets you down to the floor. You have to keep your hold on him as your legs wobble under your weight and when you look up, you see him with his fangs fully extended, his eyes glowing as bright as the sun.

“Hyuck—“ He bites into your skin without permission, and he does it fiercely, sloppily, that your blood begins to taint your dress. You’re grateful that it’s at least in the same color as your blood so a few drops won’t be noticed. The rush of endorphin calms your nerves, almost leaving your senses dull and you slide down to the floor, your spine still pressed against the door.

When he pulls away, he lets his tongue runs along his lower lip, wiping it clean from your blood. His eyes are strictly golden.

“My turn now.”

***

[tanadrin]

Dev Patel and the Green Knight

I finally got around to seeing The Green Knight. Overall, I enjoyed it--David Lowery does a good job capturing the essential weirdness of the tale, which is very much about taking a mundane circumstance (a Christmas feast) and suddenly catapulting the reader into a mythic otherworld through the intrusion of the alien and monstrous, and the fantastical costumes, dramatic lighting, and dissonant score all contribute very well to a sense of otherness that permeates the original story.

But I find it interesting--and, I'll admit, a little frustrating--that no modern film adaptation of medieval literature is really capable of taking the story it's adapting on its own merits. This isn't an objection to modifying the source text, or taking it in new, non-literal direction. I can think of plenty of adaptations of work that play with the source material in interesting ways, and are better for it. Even very faithful adaptations like Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings are inevitably going to alter the source based on the need to adapt it for the screen and the whims of the director. But when it comes to medieval classics, texts like Beowulf or Gawain and the Green Knight are always held at arm's length. An ironic layer is always interpolated into the original story, and even in modified form the story is never allowed to stand on its own.

Contrast, for instance, modern retellings of Arthurian legend; or Wagner's Nibelungenleid; or something like Neil Gaiman's book of Norse mythology. These are all adaptations of much older stories, all medieval; and the authors typically happy to let the stories operate on their own terms. In fact, that is often a selling point: dipping into these tales is a way of sampling an alien culture, one that is remote from us in time rather than space, and part of the sense of heightened drama is the understanding that these stories do not necessarily depict the world in the same way that modern realist prose does. They are fairy-stories, in the Tolkienian sense, and something not quite even like "high fantasy," which, although it is a genre which owes much to the mythic tradition, is usually *told* in the same manner as other realist fiction. And you could take these stories and re-cast them in a realist mold--that's definitely been done with Arthurian legend, either via anachronism or trying to place them in an era-appropriate historical context, and even that yields something quite like the original in tenor, even if the language used to relate the story is often very different.

Watching this movie, I was *strongly* reminded of Robert Zemeckis's Beowulf, in that this did not feel like an attempt to adapt Gawain and the Green Knight for the screen. It felt like an attempt to tell a story *about* Gawain and the Green Knight (the text), a story which does not stand on its own. You don't have to have read the text to understand the movie (although I think some directorial decisions would be a bit mystifying if you hadn't), but the movie definitely situates itself *as a response* to the text. Which is an odd choice! Actually, another good point of comparison is Spike Jonze's Adaptation. It started life as an adaptation of Susan Orlean's The Orchid Thief, but Charlie Kaufman sort of gave up writing that halfway through and wrote a movie about the difficulty he was having writing *that* movie, and the result is something very weird (and very good) that is full of metafictional elements that depend on the existence of this other work, in a way that a straight retelling of The Orchid Thief for the screen obviously would not. And while The Green Knight isn't that extreme, it is definitely playing on the structure of the medieval poem, and replying to it.

The core of the movie (as I understood it) is a tension between young Gawain's aspiration to knightliness, his ambition which is born at least in part from his mother's encouragement, and his own failure to live up to the heroic ideal of greatness. Not chivalric--this is a movie in which the ethos of chivalry makes not even the briefest of appearance, which is weird given that it's nominally an Arthurian romance, and that the chivalric ethos is extremely important to the original text. Instead we have a generic greatness being described, one which is associated with renown, with taking part in mythic events, and with achieving high rank and honor. In the service of seeing her son obtain all this, Gawain's mother seems to cast some kind of spell, whereupon the titular Green Knight appears at Arthur's Christmas-feast; and as in the poem, a game of beheadings is proffered. Gawain accepts the challenge, beheads the knight, and the knight rides away, promising he'll meet Gawain a year and a day hence at the Green Chapel. So far so straightforward. When Gawain sets off a year later to meet the knight, his mother gives him an enchanted belt to keep him safe from harm. Gawain goes on to have a couple of side-of-the-road adventures and mishaps, the kind of thing that's par for the course when you're telling an Arthurian romance, until he arrives at the house of a mysterious benefactor, just about a day away from the Chapel, who grants him hospitality until the day of his challenge.

Now, in the original story, this is where Gawain gets the magic belt, and it's hugely important: Gawain and his host promise to exchange anything they might receive at the end of each day, when the host has been out hunting all day and Gawain has been in the house recuperating from his travels. During this time, the host's wife repeatedly tries to seduce Gawain; and Gawain is trapped between the imperative not to sleep with his host's wife (a major violation of the rules of good chivalric conduct!) and the imperative not to offend the woman (also a violation of those rules). He succeeds, for the most part; he is forced at one point to give his host a kiss at the end of the day, since the wife kissed him; this is shown as him holding nothing back and acting in good faith on the vow he made to his host. When Gawain finally rebuffs the wife for good, she insists that, even if he won't sleep with her, he should at least take a magic belt she has woven that will keep him from harm. He does; but he does *not* give this to his host. When he finally goes to the Green Chapel, the Knight returns the original blow as promised--but only nicks Gawain lightly. He reveals himself to be none other than the host who was sheltering him; the nick was his reprimand for withholding that final gift, but because of his good conduct he is otherwise left unharmed. The whole thing was a test of sorts, one which Gawain passed. Despite flinching at first from the blow, and keeping the belt secret, he shows himself ultimately to be a man of good (albeit not perfect) conduct, and *that* is why he wins honor from the whole affair.

The movie takes this basic narrative and alters it in key places, completely changing the valence of the whole thing. First, Gawain gets the belt at the beginning of his quest, as mentioned; he loses it on the way, but when he reaches the castle, the wife of his host (who succeeds in seducing him with a handjob) presents it to him as if she had woven it herself. He does not actually engage in the game of exchanged with his host, who is *also* not the Green Knight. And we're treated to a monologue about the color green from the wife that feels beat for beat like it's been ripped off from someone's undergraduate essay about Gawain and the Green Knight, which is a little weird even in the context of the rest of the movie. Finally when Gawain reaches the chapel, the knight goes to return the blow--and Gawain completely chickens out and flees. We are then treated to an extended sequence of Gawain returning home; being feted as a hero; earning his knighthood (presumably by lying about what happened); succeeding Arthur as king; him abandoning his low-class beau once she bears him a son, and marrying a princess; going to war; his son dying in a war; and finally, as an old man, being trapped in his throne room as a besieging army breaks its way inside. Just before they do, he removes the magic belt from around his waist, his head fall off, and bam--we're shown this has been an Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge thing this whole time, and the Green Knight has not yet landed his blow.

Gawain finally takes off the belt, throws it aside, and tells the knight to go ahead--and the knight bends down and congratulates him. In context, the reading seems to be this: the belt is a talisman of Gawain's mother's influence, of external expectations for what kind of man he is. The Knight is Arthur or perhaps an agent of his, and the test in *this* case is whether Gawain can be his own person. All the events leading up to this point are perhaps a part of the original magic Gawain's mother cast, an effort to Lilith Weatherwax her kid to greatness by putting him into an epic story. Implicitly, then, the Gawain and the Green Knight we all know is the false version of the tale, the tale as Gawain's mother would have it told.

This is all very clever. But I'm afraid it's so clever it falls apart in the end. Because the structure of the original story that this depends on is dependent in turn on taking the whole notion of chivalric virtue seriously, which this movie plainly does not. Gawain is shown as irreverent and lustful and a bit of a party animal--lovable and good hearted fundamentally, but definitely not an Arthurian hero. That's fine, but that's a very modern sort of character, one that feels out of place in a movie that is trying very hard also to be tonally unmodern, firmly embedded in a mythic otherwhen of Arthurian legend. Moments of slice-of-life mundaneness, while charming, strain mightily against the epic tone the movie tries to take in other places, and strange events like a ghost seeking her lost head or immense giants striding the landscape. We are jostled: are we in the land of myth? Or are we in historical Britain? We cannot be in both!

And this is a movie that was definitely made by people who had read the original text; not just the original text, but also a great deal of criticism *about* the original text. The movie namechecks the theme of fivefold symmetry that's incredibly important to the structure of the poem; there's the aforementioned undergrad essay about colors about 3/4th of the way through; and there's the fact that the structure of the original plot (down to Morgan LeFay in disguise as an old woman in the host's castle) is present in altered form in every detail. But none of these details add up to much. There's a weird homoerotic kiss with the host that implies that in fact *he* wanted to sleep with Gawain, in addition to his wife; the ghost Gawain encounters early on tells him the Green Knight is in fact someone he knows (and therefore *can't* be the host; I think it's implied to be Arthur, like I said, but this is never quite confirmed), and while all these things *about* the original poem are shown, none of them ever get integrated thematically into the plot.

I think as a result, whatever Lowery was going for, the whole movie kind of falls apart in the end. And that's a pity, because somewhere in there is just a really weird, visually striking, really gripping, embellished-and-polished-for-modern-sensibilities-but-also-thematically-true-to-the-source retelling of Gawain and the Green Knight. And that would have been a much better movie! What are we to make of this, a movie that purports to be telling a story-behind-the-story, but one that leaves no room or context for the original? After all, Gawain in the end does *not* flee, does not return home a coward and a liar; presumably, he earns his honor, and can be honest about what happened. But if he is honest, none of the rest of what we have been shown makes a lick of sense, or has any point.

One feels a bit as if modern directors, when confronted with medieval texts being a bit weird, a bit alien in their worldview, instead of realizing that's actually something people like some of from time to time, feel like they have to construct an artificial bridge between the Middle Ages and the present day. But because it is invariably metafictional and self-referential, as if to say "don't worry, we know nobody REALLY wants to watch a bunch of boring medieval shit played straight," it comes off as cringing and ashamed of its source material. This isn't a plea for historicity! Gawain and the Green Knight is not history. But one does occasionally want to see an adaptation of one's favorite works without directors being ashamed of the text they are adapting! And since most people will not have read the original, I am rather confused about what the director intends for the audience to get out of all these references that are dependent on it, but don't stand on their own merits within the narrative of the movie itself.

The acting was good, the set design and costumes were terrific, I loved the slow and measured pacing and the weird score, and the design of the Knight himself, and the landscapes and almost everything else about the movie. So I don't think it's a waste of time, especially if you have read and enjoyed Gawain and the Green Knight, in the original or in translation. But it's definitely a pity to see a movie that was, well, *almost* great, but ended up merely OK.

[jellofish4000]

The Male Genius

02/01/2023

The male genius. 

I am a woman, yet somehow I have become entirely enthralled with the male genius. 

The male genius is a myth, of course. And it is not miraculously that I have come to center so much of my media consumption around this myth. Putting on a new movie, picking up a new book, listening to a new album. These male geniuses are everywhere. Why is it that Elliot Smith seems to capture the essence of our existence so perfectly? How do Shakespeare or DFW or Poe manage to write in a way that seems so innovative and incomparable? The Beatles, The Beach Boys, Pink Floyd, Michael Jackson, Prince, Tupac, Elvis, Fitzgerald, DeLillo, Scorsese, Hitchcock, Spielberg, Nolan, Mozart, Liszt, Chopin, Beethoven. It continues. It continues on and on, forever and ever. Men are the universal constant. Jesus himself. God always referred to as a “he”. A force so much larger than humanity is a man, consciously or subconsciously. We all know “history was written by men” but let’s not forget about everything else. 

I will never forget the time a friend (a man) marveled at my music listening habits once, telling me so sincerely: “You only listen to them (some kpop group I can’t bring myself to remember) because you think they’re attractive.” The shock on his face when I told him I had no clue what this particular group of men looked like was laughable. Sure there can be elements of attraction whenever you consume something. Watching a good movie and finding out the dude behind the camera is just your type. It’s a pleasant surprise. But you don’t go on to scour streaming sites for his films just because you think the guy’s attractive… You scour and scale because you have never seen a person use a camera like that. Write a song like that. Describe a feeling like that. He may even be the exact, feature for feature, opposite of your type. He may remind you of that man you wish more than anything to forget. But wow have you ever heard someone speak so eloquently? Have you ever seen anyone with such unique little ticks and habits? Have you ever heard a voice like that? And that attitude is simply… 

They are everywhere all the time. “The first to do this”, “The first to land here”, “The first to think of this”. 

I sit. I write things. I delete. I wonder why there aren’t more women in the things I consume. 

The terrible reality is, the male genius may not be a myth. It may very well be the truth. Maybe they are just that good. And it’s not that us women are utter shit. It’s not that we can’t write in awe-striking ways or convey our existence along the same vein as an Elliot Smith song. It’s more like we’re not allowed to. There are very certain things a woman should be. People flamed on Jennifer Lawrence recently after she admitted how proud she was for her role as a major female protagonist in popular culture following The Hunger Games movies. A studio exec had told her something along the lines of “men can’t relate to female stories.” She was determined to prove them wrong through the spirit of Katniss Everdeen. The internet-o-sphere lit flames under her bed after that interview. They pulled up all sorts of previous examples of “strong” and “independent” female characters that did it before her. The flames consumed her, the blame fell squarely on her shoulders because God forbid she give herself a little credit where credit is due. Everyone chose to ignore what the studio exec had said. 

Men are the geniuses always because they are allowed to be. They are allowed to sit in a studio for 3 days in a row, screaming demands in all directions until they make the perfect track, only to beat their wife and small child when they finally make an appearance back home. They are free to be raging alcoholics and avid drug users, writing down their life-shattering experiences for pages on end, and when they pass they will forever be memorialized as the tragedy we should’ve done more to protect. We will trust the Elvis biopic of a male genius into the hands of another male genius and milk 8 Oscar nominations from the results. We will similarly trust these men with the Marylin Monroe biopic fated to die a silent death and fade into the obscure of unfortunately shitty movies. Some man will confess on a forum for musicians that Alanis Morisette is his guilty pleasure because, naturally, she is something to be ashamed of, nevermind the quality of her music. I will continue to add song after song to my playlist, watch film after film, read book after book, learn fact after fact because those feelings are what I want from life. I want to be able to live it the way I desire. I dream of breaking free from expectations. “Woman” is a label held above my head at all times, that I wear proudly, but one that brings me great pain. Nothing I can do will subdue this feeling. I experience my freedom vicariously through all the men who are allowed to express their pain and suffering without fear of revolt or mockery, but I will always continue to dig through the pile for the female genius. The Ella Fitzgeralds, Donna Tarts, Cate Blanchetts, Mary Shellys, and The Wachowskis of the world. Our collective suffering knows little bounds. We are bonded together by it across the world. And we can also make those unimaginable, irreplicable, inherently important things. One day, the act of being a woman won’t be anything to be ashamed of.

[whoacanada]

‘Wishful Thinking‘

Summary: Every NHL champion gets a single brush with ice magic. When Jack takes his first cup with the Falconers, he accidentally undoes the wish that brought him back from the brink of death in 2009, and Bitty becomes hell-bent on lifting the cup himself for a chance to set things right.

A/N: Finally posting some concepts I’ve played around with that aren’t 100% complete massive fics, but still pretty solid, just little things that might be enjoyed. Yet another cup-wish-gone-wrong-au with monkey-paw components. Also inspired by discord convos about canon!Jack meeting an older, veteran NHL!Bitty and having a lot of feelings. Also mentor/father-in-law!Bob trying to help Bitty navigate the NHL. There’s more to this floating around but this is the meat of it

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Bob can sense when it happens. A shift of something monumental that he’s only felt on a handful of occasions his entire life. A quick glance across the ice finds a number of the celebrating Falconers looking around curiously, unsure of the sensation; for so many, it’s their first brush with ice magic. A pleasant novelty. The vets, though, they look to each other.

Bob turns and doesn’t have to look far to find his son, one hand clasped around the cup, the other around Eric Bittle’s waist, smiling from ear to ear. Something about the moment is wrong, but Bob can’t quite determine why as he’s overcome with a wave of nausea. The stadium lights are too bright and he blinks hard, face scrunching, trying to force whatever wrongness he’s feeling out of himself.

Someone’s made a wish.

The moment passes. Bob’s vision clears. There, veiled in a shower of blue and gold confetti, is Eric; alone at center ice, face twisted in confusion as he looks around for the man who only moments earlier had been in his arms.

“You take the cup, you get one real wish,” the decades old, bourbon-lacquered voice of his first coach reminds him. “But only the one. Can be something small, like an empty cab in the rain, or it can be something big. World changing, even. The one thing, the most important thing — ”

“No,” Bob breathes. “Please, no.”

“— You never use your wish on another player.”

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____________

____________

They don’t know exactly what Jack wished for, but the next time Bitty’s blades touch the ice, it’s as if he’s stepped into the body of a new man. No more slurs. No more targeted chirps. He’s just one of the boys.

He plays. He wins. Then, the offers start to come.

NHL teams looking for fast wingers, team players, leadership material; not one of them mentions diversity, or Eric’s status as the first out NCAA hockey captain. No one cares. No one remembers Jack, and no one cares about Eric.

The best and worst case scenarios rolled into one. If this is the reality Jack unknowingly traded his existence for, Bitty has no choice but to walk through the door his partner opened.

Bitty swallows, trying to force the words out on one of his now nightly calls with the man who would have been his father-in-law in another world, if the shared connection between them hadn’t been interred in a Montréal cemetery almost a decade prior.

“I think . . . I think he wished for acceptance.”

___________

___________

___________

“No one remembers anymore.”

Eric scuffs his skate against this ice, building up a small pile of shavings before scattering them again, focusing on the soft white as if somehow he’ll be able to transport himself bodily to somewhere cool and quiet. Jackson Hole. Banff. Tremblant. Anywhere but here. Anywhen but now.

“Saw Tater last week at a press junket. Blank stares all around. Some days, most days, I wake up and I don’t know how I got here. I can go without thinking of him.”

Weeks. Eric doesn’t say aloud. Months. Those hideous mornings when he wakes up beside a warm body and forgets they aren’t him. They aren’t supposed to be him. Was there ever even a him.

Jack. Eric mouths silently, just to remind himself. His name is Jack.

The details always slip. The universe constantly trying to correct the fallacy of Eric Bittle remembering a man who died before they technically ever met. Faded photographs and corrupted memory cards. Selfies that used to have two people in frame. Vlog posts with cosmic ADR, swapping Jack’s name for someone else’s like a hastily rewritten script. Eventually, even Eric’s memories turn traitor. First times lost to reshoots and post-production magic. Blue eyes are brown. Black hair is blonde. Jack becomes Phillip. Eric’s first love recast. In desperation, he pulls a page from Memento, finds a tattoo parlor and has ‘Jack Laurent Zimmermann’ inked in dark, unmistakable letters on his inner thigh. Adds a cup, the Falconers’ crest, and the date they lost everything. It works well enough until the name fades; there are still days where a hook up will ask why Eric has a championship tattoo for a team he never played with.

Now, all he has is Bob.

“That’s why I’m here.” Bob reminds. “That’s why we talk.”

“But what happens if we don’t.”

Bob’s familiar assurances rumble through the phone. Constant. Refusing to acknowledge the harsh realities of the passing of time. The ever-present doomsday clock moving them both toward disaster — Bob aging, Eric aging out. He’s good, but he isn’t great, and the only offers coming his way are single-season contracts with teams that haven’t sniffed a championship in years. One day very soon, there will be no more chances for Eric to undo what’s been done. No more favors to ask of teammates that have long since forgotten a world where Jack Zimmermann was a college graduate and a rookie MVP. Not just an addict. Not just dead at nineteen.

Eric listens to Bob ramble, asks him to tell him a story, to tell him about the Jack that Eric never really got to know. The Jack he can barely remember. A man that Eric has dedicated his entire life to honoring, to bringing back — from where he cannot fathom — and Bob obliges in a soft tone Eric imagines is not dissimilar from how he must have spoken to his son as a child.

Eric ignores his teammates rushing around him — tossing chirps and gentle insults about his ‘Sugar Daddy’ — and focuses on the accented voice in his ear; grasping desperately at the memory of a man who doesn’t exist. Pretending. Hoping.

__________

__________

Across the ice, Eric sees Kent Parson watching him. When they lock eyes, the aging star glides toward him, under a guise of one amicable captain greeting another. He’s pushing 37, and while the years of competitive play are starting to show, he’s just as viciously handsome as the day they first met. At least, Eric thinks he is. He can’t imagine a life where Kent Parson strolled onto a college campus and played beer pong at a frat party, but there’s a folder of old photos on Eric’s computer. Jack is in none of them, but there’s one of himself and Kent. Smiling.

Eric can’t recall why the image bothers him so much.

Parson used his wish years ago on something that he’s never bothered to share — and Eric’s far too much a gentleman to ask a man who was once a rival what he wasted his golden ticket on — but now, he’s slowing down, and this is supposed to be his farewell season. Going out with a bang, riding the high of his fifth cup win. He’s worked hard, and he deserves to shove the Penguins back down into obscurity for another season. Deserves it far more than Eric, with his selfish, single-mindedness that’s ruined god knows how many careers in the last decade between his own ruthlessness and Bob’s meddling.

Except. . . this is also likely Eric’s last season. His last chance to undo the great tragedy of his life, and Parson knows it.

“How you feeling, Peaches? You ready?”

Eric hates the nickname in the same way he hates when his father calls him ‘Champ’.

Eric fights his own shame because he wants to be honest, say, ‘No, I’m not ready, I’ll never be ready,’ but Eric can’t ask for what he wants, anymore. He wants the Aces to balk on a power play. He wants Parson to flub a pass and throw the game —  he even knows the man would probably do it, too — but Eric needs to come by a win honestly. They learned the hard way in 2022 when Eric hands were wrapped around the cup, wishing, praying, crying, pleading . . .

Clear eyes, full hearts, or some such bullshit.

Cheaters don’t get wishes.

“I can’t remember, anymore,” Eric admits as they square up across the face-off circle, the resigned terror of an inescapable end creeping upon him like the burn of an old injury ignored for far too long. “Kent. Please.” Parson leans down, rests his stick against the ice, and holds Eric’s gaze as if to say, I’m here. Trust me. Just play.

The puck drops.

________

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________

There’s someone watching him, young, handsome with dark hair and the kind of bright blue eyes that scream ‘notice me’ with all of the biological bluntness of neon plumage and a mating dance. The man weaves through the crowd, unnoticed by Eric’s teammates, and comes close enough that Eric can’t help but assume familiarity. He must be a fan, the way he’s flushed and excitable.

Eric’s drunk enough on the moment that he’s happy to indulge his baser instincts. He also literally can’t remember the last time he brought company home and if there’s ever been a night to get laid, it’s this one.

“Crisse, look at you, Bits.”

The man is caught between being awestruck and simply struck, reaching out to touch Eric’s arm but not quite making contact, like his depth perception is the tiniest bit off. He drops Eric’s old nickname so easily, so earnestly, that for a moment Eric thinks they might already know each other — but that’s impossible. Eric would remember someone so handsome, so very much his type.

“Only my friends call me ‘Bitty’.” Eric cautions, raising his half-empty champagne bottle in a mock toast and flashing his best ‘you’re coming home with me tonight’ smile. “But I’m more than happy to to get acquainted with you, Sugar.”

Eric isn’t usually this forward, this unrestrained. Tonight, it doesn’t matter, he’s celebrating: another championship, the end of a career, a life well lived. It’s to be expected. What isn’t expected is how the man’s relieved smile falters; as if Eric’s unbridled joy is somehow misplaced.

“Bitty? It’s me.”

“And ‘me’ is called . . . ?”

On very few occasions in Eric’s life has he been able to witness true devastation first-hand; and those instances were related to deaths, hockey losses, or blackout morning afters.

“Jack.” The man says softly, face slack with surprise. “It’s. . . Jack. Bitty, you know me.”

“If we’ve met before, I’m sorry,” Eric apologizes, hating to see the kid look so defeated. “I meet so many people — ”

Over Jack’s shoulder, Eric catches sight of Bob Zimmermann and waves, delighting in the way Bob’s face lights up when he catches sight of Eric, practically going supernova when he notices Jack as well, crossing the ice like a man possessed; Bob moves to pull them both into a hug but Eric’s new friend holds up a defensive hand and Bob stops mid-gesture.

It’s extremely apparent something is off, and between the reporters, the confetti, the champagne, and the fans, Eric is missing all of the context clues.

“Just won my last cup,” Eric singsongs, gesturing with the bottle between his mentor and the man Eric would very much like to fuck — who look very similar now that Eric can see them side by side. “Everyone’s super excited, right? Yeah? So, what’s going on. Did someone die?”

“No.” Bob says quickly, eyes flicking between Jack and Eric warily. “No. Not . . . that.”

“Severely injured?”

“. . . Non.”

“Okay, then, we should be celebrating!” Eric throws his arms wide and nearly clocks a passing teammate. “No more party pooping, Bobbert. Speaking, this is my new friend, Jack. Jack, Bob, Bob, Jack. Though, I’m getting the feeling you two might know each other. Or might be . . . related.” Eric gasps and smacks his free palm against his forehead. “Oh my god, the Tremblant retreat? Is that where I know you from? Listen, I was fucked up on pain meds that whole weekend, I am so sorry if we’ve already met.”

Despite Eric’s continued attempts at clarifying their shared mystery past, Jack keeps looking at Bob with that same wounded expression and it’s really killing Eric’s buzz.

“Bob.” Eric redirects. “Help me, here. Cutie’s nervous.”

“Eric, this is my, ah, well,” Bob’s smile is so forced, so tense, it looks more like a grimace. “Well, this is my son, Jack.”

There is only one ‘Jack’ Eric has ever known in relation to Bob Zimmermann, and he is not someone to be mentioned in polite conversation.

“Your son?” Eric echoes slowly. “Your son, Jack.”

Bob realizes what Eric’s tiptoeing around and casts a furtive glance toward the younger man, lifting two fingers to his cheek conspiratorially to imply ‘it’s a long story, not meant for public ears’. Eric knows how to play along.

“Wow, okay, did not expect that, but now that you’re saying it, I can one-hundred-percent tell. You have the same, well, everything.”

Eric takes Jack’s hand for an obligatory shake, not missing the way Jack’s features twist up into something caught between flattery and misery, before staring down his pseudo-mentor.

“My question is this, where have you’ve been hiding him — because how long have I know you, Bobby? Shame.”

“I’ve been . . . away.”

Jack’s tone is weighted with context Eric absolutely does not possess, but can definitely read into. Given the age difference and Alicia’s conspicuous lack of attendance this evening, Jack’s definitely a love child from some 90s Zimmergroupie. Or, original Jack didn’t actually OD and Bob spirited away his kid to keep away the prying eyes of the public; but that wouldn’t explain the age difference or the shared name.

Oh, Bobbert.

“Couldn’t wheel him out too soon,” Bob jokes, but Eric can tell the man’s heart isn’t in it, reinforcing Eric’s suspicion.

“Well, I’m happy you did,” Eric says graciously, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “He’s very handsome, when he isn’t doing this Eeyore impression.”

“Just like his father,” Bob says reflexively —  defensively —  as Jack goes pink. “Eric, will you excuse us for a moment? Back in five minutes, tops.”

Eric offers a gracious wave, gaze lingering on Jack’s retreating back — and backside, bless — watching Bob rest a firm hand on his son’s neck, gripping tightly to lean in and furiously whisper something. As Eric watches, Jack looks back over his shoulder; it’s not the fond glance of a potential paramour. Regret, maybe? Grief, definitely.

He must be as disappointed to be cock-blocked by his father as Eric is.

Across the ice, Kent Parson has rushed Jack, gathering him into a crushing embrace that the younger man returns easily —  burying his face against Parson’s pads; pulling back only when Parson grabs Jack’s shoulders to push him away, taking a long look at him, holding his face between his hands briefly before pulling Jack back into his arms.

They don’t just look like old friends, it’s a reunion of desperation, like the videos his mother sends of soldiers coming home from war, but before Eric can think better of it, a teammate fists a hand in the collar of Eric’s sweater and pulls — away from Bob’s forlorn love child and forgotten first meetings — and the night goes on.  

Bob doesn’t return. Neither does Jack.

Eric doesn’t even notice.

__________

__________

[all-hail-the-witcher]

rest well my songbird

its @softdarlingjaskier‘s birthday!!! and i have some soft eskier for him!!! a little birdie kings of the bog told me that you like jaskier getting his hands massaged so...without further ado...

__

ship: eskier :) (eskel x jaskier)

warnings: jaskier overworks his hands and eskel takes care of them. lamberts an ass for 1 second in true lambert fashion

words: 1.6k

editing: ye

genre: somfte

__

Jaskier flexed his hands and winced as he put down his lute. Winters offered him more down time than on the road, so he could spend the winter months composing to his heart's content, working on the longer ballads that he often neglected while tagging along on the Path.

The only problem with composing and songwriting non stop was that it made his hands ache terribly.

Between plucking at his lute and gripping his quill, his hands would usually start to protest a month or so into winter. But, as all good songwriters did, he pushed through the pain, willing to continue composing no matter what. He had a reputation to uphold and Witchers to help, after all. He couldn't afford to slack off.

Eskel did not share his views.

Well, neither did Vesemir, Geralt, Lambert and Aiden, but Eskel was the most vocal about it, often plucking the quill or lute from his hands after so many hours and demanding that he rest. Right when he was in the middle of a good line too! Jaskier had lost so many good ideas to Eskel’s forced breaks.

This was the first time though that he had chosen to take a break on his own that winter, and Eskel was on him in a second.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern flowing off of him in waves as he approached Jaskier, who had been sitting the farthest away from the fire. It wasn’t his fault that the fire would dry out his lute!

“Fine,” Jaskier muttered as he struggled to close his bottle of ink. He didn't want Eskel to worry, but he realized perhaps a second too late that Eskel could probably smell the pain coming off of him.

“That’s not true,” Eskel said, seeing through the lie immediately. “Usually I have to force you to take a break.”

He didn't say anything else and Jaskier sighed. Eskel was waiting for him to admit that he was in pain, despite the fact that he already knew.

“My hands,” he whispered, forgetting that he was in a room full of Witchers with enhanced hearing. “They’re stiff, and sore, and cramped. More than usual.” He looked up at a blurry Eskel and it took him a moment to realize that he had been almost crying.

“Yeah no shit they hurt!” Lambert shouted from the couch. “If you keep fucking playing with that damn lute of yours theyre gonna fuckin fall off!”

“Lambert,” Aiden said sternly. “Shut up.”

Jaskier laughed and tried to wipe away his tears with his hands, but winced when his fingers cramped up.

Eskel brushed his hands away and gently wiped away Jaskier’s tears with his thumbs, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“You need to not push yourself so hard, Jaskier,” he whispered, pulling Jaskier’s face against his chest. “You don’t need to spend every single waking second of the winter composing. Winters are supposed to be for relaxing, and you haven't been doing much of that.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier muttered into Eskel’s shirt. He longed to bring his hands up to hug Eskel and reassure him that this was fine, it just happened every so often, but his hands hurt too much. He didn't want them to cramp so hard that they ended up stuck in one position. That was never pleasant.

“No,” Eskel said firmly. “Don’t apologize.”

He tugged Jaskier closer to him, resting his chin on top of his head so that Jaskier was engulfed in the arms of his Witcher. Jaskier inhaled Eskel’s scent deeply. He smelled like he always did in the winters: of wood and musk, chamomile and fresh bread. It was Jaskier’s favorite smell in the world. It meant that his love was well rested and taken care of, healthy for once after a long year on the Path.

Eskel pulled away after a moment and tugged at Jaskier’s upper arm, encouraging him to stand.

“Come here,” he said, his eyes bright with what could only be an idea. And who was Jaskier to say no to him?

He followed Eskel over to the nest of furs that they kept in front of the fire, for puppy piles usually. Eskel directed him to sit down in the nest and then with a stern look not to move, he darted out of the room.  

“What the hell is that sneaky fucker- mmph” Lambert’s insult was cut off by Aiden kissing him on the mouth, likely to get him to shut up.

Geralt sighed and turned a page in his book, but Vesemir, who was sitting on the other side of the fire knitting, regarded them with a fond look before turning to Jaskier.

“I have a salve that you could put on your hands, it’ll help with the cramping,” he said.

“Oh! That’s very kind but-”

Jaskier was cut off by Eskel running back into the room.

“I already got it, Vesemir,” Eskel said, walking back to the nest.

Vesemir smiled knowingly and went back to his knitting.

“C’mere Jaskier,” Eskel said, sitting behind him and tugging one of the furs across Jaskier’s lap. He carefully rolled up the sleeves of Jaskier’s chemise before opening the little tub of salve. “Lean back, relax, you don't have to do any more composing today, or tomorrow, or this whole week. I’m going to take care of you.”

Jaskier was glad that his back was to Eskel because he could feel his cheeks flushing.

Eskel picked up Jaskier’s right hand delicately in his much larger, sword calloused ones. “Let me know if I’m hurting you at any point, okay?”

Jaskier nodded and watched, mesmerized, as Eskel began to rub out the cramps in his hand. He started with his fingers, beginning with his pinky finger, and rubbing out the tensions in each of the joints. It was almost painful at first, but Jaskier soon adjusted to it and found himself craving more.

Once Eskel had worked his way slowly through Jaskier’s fingers, he moved to his palm, taking it in both of his hands and massaging it slowly in small, but firm circles. Jaskier couldn't help the sigh of pleasure that escaped his lips.

“Yes, that’s it,” Eskel murmured. “Just relax, I’ve got you.”

Jaskier let his head drop back against Eskel’s shoulder as he looked out at the room. Lambert and Aiden were bickering over a game of Gwent, passing a bottle of White Gul back and forth between them. Geralt was pretending to read, but every so often his eyes would flick up to the game and he’d mutter sometimes useful hints to Lambert and Aiden.

Jaskier watched them fondly as Eskel moved to his wrist, giving the tendons there extra attention. From there he moved up Jaskier’s forearm to his elbow, massaging his skin carefully.

Jaskier flexed his hand experimentally and was surprised when he discovered that he had definitely more movement than before. But Eskel covered his hand scoldingly.

“No,” he said. “Don't go undoing all of my hard work.”

“Sorry,” Jaskier murmured. “It just felt so nice and-”

“I’m not done yet,” Eskel said, cutting Jaskier off as he dipped his fingers into the salve.

Eskel warmed the salve first in his hands before rubbing it against Jaskier’s skin. And Meliele’s sweet tits, if the massage had been heavenly, this was absolutely divine. Vesemir had been right, the salve was positively wonderful, seemingly wonderful, drawing out the pain from his hands almost instantly. Jaskier couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips.

Eskel laughed lightly, rubbing the salve all over Jaskier’s hands and wrists, even going up his arm a little, before reaching for a few small straight planks of wood and a roll of bandages that he must have grabbed while he was getting the salve.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Jaskier protested. “Just what are you doing with that?”

“You don't want the salve getting everywhere,” Eskel explained. “So it’s best to put the bandage on until it soaks into your skin. And the splint will help keep your hands from cramping and getting stuck in an uncomfortable position while they’re bandaged.”

“But what is a musician without his hands!”

“A resting, healing one,” Eskel said, pressing a light kiss to Jaskier’s nose. “I’ll help you with everything, my songbird. I’m here to take care of you.”

Jaskier pouted but held his hand out to Eskel to bandage. “You better mean that.”

“Of course I do,” Eskel said, wrapping Jaskier’s hand and wrist in bandages first before placing the wood underneath it and arranging his fingers over it before wrapping it in even more bandages. The end result was a bit clunky looking and Jaskier wasn’t crazy about the fact that he wasn't going to be able to use his hands at all, but Eskel had promised that he would take care of him and Jaksier knew that he would deliver.

“See?” Eskel said, placing a kiss to the back of Jaskier’s bandaged hand. “All better.”

Jaskier smiled at his lover's efforts before leaning back against Eskel’s soft chest as he got started on his other hand. He watched his careful ministrations through half lidded eyes before the heat from the fire and the warmth from the furs lulled him into a half asleep state. The only thing keeping him awake was Eskel’s gentle massaging of his hand.

But eventually, Eskel finished, tying off the bandage with another kiss before wrapping his arms around Jaskier.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” Jaskier muttered truthfully. He was tired, but at least his hands didn't ache so fiercely anymore.

Eskel pressed another kiss to his hair and laid back, tugging Jaskier until he was resting his head on his chest, and wrapped a fur around the two of them.

“I’ll wake you in a few hours to take the bandages off,” Eskel murmured into his ear. “But until then, rest well my songbird.”

And Jaskier did. He fell asleep to the gentle roar of the crackling fire, to Lambert and Aiden’s drunken bickering, and to Eskel’s steady heartbeat under his ear.

__

happyyyestttt of birthdayssss to peterrrrrr

tag list: hmu if you want on or off

@percy-jackson-is-sexy-

@barlowpng

@eminasan

@llamasdumpsterfire

@nonegenderleftpain

@geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde

@geekymagicalpotato

@jaskierswolf

@toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account

@toss-a-coin-to-your-lesbian

@littleredhotridinghood

@fontegagrilledcheese

@acemoppet

@lookatgeraltmyboi

@gods-oopsie-woopsie​

@julek

@funkylittlebard

@dani-dandelino

@officerjennie

@kuripon

@alllthequeenshorses

@mothmanismyuncle

@dapandapod

[antiloreolympus]

10 Anti LO Asks

1. Why does RS keep putting Aphrodite down? Like she keeps teasing us we’ll get more on Aphrodite and then uses her like a punching bag like she does with Minthe. Like Aphrodite got “redeemed” sorta 

2. Is there like no justice system for the Nymphs? Daphne turned into a tree, echo and Thanatos know, but nothing is getting down about that. Minthe is a plant for like Idk how long it’s been 3 days?? Maybe more??? Hades told Thanatos she’s a plant (just like his gf) and nothing is getting done about that??? BUT HES CALLED A NARc for actually turning Persphone in which is something that Zeus really wants (I know Poseidon said it but I don’t much on his character which way he leans on this whole thing) honestly feel like this trial arc was written by someone who doesn’t know basic court room stuff

3. Didn’t Rachel mention that she thinks Artemis and Apollo are black? Cause if that’s true, that’s just another example of a poor portrayal, and making those characters black is very…questionable? 

From OP: Artemis in her dream cast was black, Apollo wasn’t there but it’s pretty unlikely that they’d be completely different races (so, he’d be black as well).

4. Maybe Rachel should have played the multi-award winning games Hades™️ to get the basic idea that the three sections of the Underworld are as ancient as Time itself, and no one, not even Nyx, was there when it was created, and Hades and Persephone and co. are merely servants to the realm, not them controlling it and adding whatever they want to it as they please. JFC, how can Rachel claim to be so well researched and even a voice for accuracy when she makes stuff up so egregiously like this?

5. Hey! Not really, LO related (sort of) but I wanted to know if you’ve ever heard about this musical called Mythic? It’s another kind of modern adaption of the Hades/Persephone kidnapping, and although it’s not perfect, it’s probably one of the better ones I’ve seen. Again, there’s a few problems with it, but the fact that Demeter isn’t demonized and there’s actually a healthy mother & daughter relationship already makes it so much better than LO and a few other adaptations I’ve seen

6. yeah im also under the impression the "trial" seems more like rachel trying to "one up the haters" and frame any and all critique thrown at LO as "character assassination" and "slander" when its like, girl, you know she's only on trial for murdering a whole village because YOU wrote it that way, right? the people critiquing it didnt write it this way, YOU did. she seems to be act as if LO exists out of thin air and she can't be held accountable for it or its writing when its HER work!

7. Ah yes, the Goddess whose character consists of making baklava and scrapbooks, the epitome of beauty,  grace and wisdom even though she would be about an infants age in godly years. I also love that fields of Asphodel has been reduced to some purgatory places.

You know what hurts me the most, recently I’ve written a research paper of modern iterations damaging the authenticity of knowledge. For example, due to translation errorthe biblical use of Hades is hell, so most of the western people associate Hades with the Devil while Hades is both the god of the dead and the place where dead people go.

Lastly I find it relevant since how I started my Greek Mythology journey was through the Percy Jackson series and it shaped my initial thoughts, it might be possible that young people will actually associate god Apollo with r**e 

8. There's so many canon LGBT+ couples and characters in greek myth and yet the best Rachel could do was to make up a ship that makes no sense and has as much chemistry as two piece of stale white bread. i dont want her to force diversity, but seriously? it seems like she went out of her way to make it as heteronormative and 1% status quo as possible.

-----FP Spoilers/Mention-----

9. So Hades in all that time of being the absolute monarch, instead of making Elysium or the Asphodel Fields himself to prove he's a caring and thoughtful king, he decided instead the best option was to enslave them so he could make his vast fortune off of their labor? Like this plot point isn't just stupid in regards to how bad LO tries to make Persephone "powerful", this reinforces LO Hades is literally evil, and a random teenage intern has to try and "fix" his self-made issues instead of himself

10. FP// even if Persephone wants to "save the Underworld" (whatever that means) that doesn't negate the flaws in her writing? She even admits its not for the shades or out of the goodness of her heart, it's for herself to feel better, so it's not even a "Savior" moment. No one cared if she if could be dark and complex, we want that! The issue is Rachel going out of her to always excuse P's actions and this "Elysium" plot only proves she doesn't get why P's depiction is critiqued in the first place.

[lokiondisneyplus]

No character in the Marvel Cinematic Universe has the staying power of Loki. Portrayed with just the right amount of smarm and charm by Tom Hiddleston, the impish trickster with the ability to shapeshift and cast illusions is a favorite among fans despite the fact he's betrayed friends and family multiple times since debuting opposite Chris Hemsworth in 2011's "Thor." The most predictable thing about him might be his unpredictability. And yet no one thought the character would return to the MCU after being killed by the all-mighty Thanos (Josh Brolin) in the opening scene of 2018's "Avengers: Infinity War." However, we're now on the cusp of the character leading his very own show.

Debuting Wednesday, June 9 on Disney+, the six-episode "Loki" follows a past version of the character, though it's not a prequel. This Loki is the man who successfully stole the Tesseract, aka the Space Stone, when the Avengers traveled to the past in 2019's "Avengers: Endgame." His actions that day ultimately created a branched reality — the very thing the Ancient One (Tilda Swinton) warned the Avengers about when they attempted to gather the stones in the past. So when the show picks up, Loki will find himself being forced to work with the Time Variance Authority, an organization dedicated to protecting the proper flow of time, to help restore the main timeline he broke when he fled with the Tesseract in 2012.

It remains to be seen whether or not the series is one of the shows Marvel's Kevin Feige said was developed with additional seasons in mind. But with this particular setup — and assuming the show operates independently of the main overarching narrative of the MCU — this is the type of series that could easily run for multiple seasons should the people involved desire it. And given his comments over the years, Hiddleston definitely seems game to portray Loki until he's too old to do so.

But what is it about the character, a Frost Giant who was adopted by Odin (Anthony Hopkins) as a baby and raised as an Asgardian, that has allowed him to persevere – especially when Natasha Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson), Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr) and even Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) have not? What gives Loki, a character who has been both villain and antihero, such longevity in the MCU? Is it Hiddleston himself? Is he nurturing goodwill with his enchanting performance? Is it the character's unpredictability keeping things fresh? Or is it the potential of a flawed man still searching for an identity and purpose?

Over the last decade, Hiddleston — whose name was once bandied about as a possible James Bond candidate after a stellar turn in "The Night Manager" — has won favor with Marvel and its fans thanks to his continued dedication to the role of Loki and his support of the extended universe. Some actors have been happy to say goodbye after fulfilling their contracts, but you'd be hard-pressed to find an actor who loves his job with Marvel more than Hiddleston. (Never forget the time he dressed up in character and took over Hall H at San Diego Comic-Con in 2013.) But in addition to his acting chops and commitment to the role of Loki, Hiddleston is also just an effortlessly charming individual, and some of that natural charisma bleeds into his performance, making the character a richer and more complex character as a result. And it's a good thing too because a character like Loki — someone ruled by his emotions, whose only allegiance is to himself, and who wouldn't think twice before double-crossing his own brother — runs the risk of becoming either very annoying or quite tired rather quickly. Luckily, Loki is neither.

After learning the truth of his origins in the first Thor film, Loki's anger toward his family and the betrayal he felt put him on a path to finding his purpose, which resulted in him becoming the mouthy and manipulative, power-hungry antagonist of the first Avengers movie. At the time, no one outside of Feige and other decision-making executives likely knew what was in store for the future of the MCU.

But now we can look back and see Hiddleston's captivating turn in "The Avengers," in which he attempts to take control of Earth using an army of Chitauri forces, was more than just the catalyst for the various heroes recruited by Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) to finally team up. It was also the beginning of what might be the best character arc in the entire MCU. No one save perhaps Sebastian Stan's Bucky Barnes, aka the Winter Soldier, has had a more complicated or effective emotional personal journey throughout the entirety of the Infinity Saga (and beyond). Perhaps that is why when Loki was eventually killed several films later in the middle of his redemption arc during the opening scene of "Infinity War," the heartbreak seemed to extend beyond the edges of the frame and into the real world.

The exceptionally fun 2017 film "Thor: Ragnarok," which immediately preceded "Infinity War," saw Loki forced to confront his past and make a decision regarding his future. The death of his father and the return of Hela (Cate Blanchett), the Goddess of Death and the sister neither Loki nor Thor knew existed, ultimately meant the end of life as he knew it. But rather than fleeing at the first chance like everyone assumed he would, Loki accepted his place in his family and returned to his brother's side after the destruction of Asgard. Of course, he also pocketed the Tesseract before the planet was destroyed, a seemingly innocuous decision that would unfortunately lead Thanos right to him. But learning to care about something more than his own immediate wants was a redeeming moment for Loki, as was his attempt to save Thor from Thanos, so his death was both an effectively heartbreaking moment that resonated with fans while serving as a harbinger of what was to come.

It also felt like closure, so when a past version of Loki popped up in "Avengers: Endgame" when Tony, Cap, and Scott Lang (Paul Rudd) traveled to 2012, it was a pleasant surprise. That the new series "Loki" follows this branched-reality version of the character and won't erase the character's original narrative arc is what makes the show such an intriguing new chapter. When the show premieres, Loki hasn't gone through any sort of character evolution. He is still the angry man who tried to force all of humanity to kneel before him in a desperate attempt to find his place in the world. He has yet to go through the events of his mother's death or the destruction of Asgard. He's a man out of time, a man without a home. And it's the chaotic, still-in-progress nature of Loki and the inability to guess what he might do when an organization like the Time Variance Authority, which is dedicated to order, tries to force him to do what they say that makes this new chapter so exciting.

Each episode of the show, which also stars Owen Wilson as Mobius M. Mobius and Gugu Mbatha-Raw as Judge Ravonna Lexus Renslayer, will see the character travel through time and space on a mission to restore order to the timeline. But will this Loki follow the same path as the man we know and love? Or will this version make different choices without Thor by his side? More importantly, will he find what he's looking for?

Loki is a man driven by insecurity and an ongoing struggle with his identity, though he deftly covers up his deficiencies with a devious wit and charm. The constantly shifting logo in the show's trailer represents both the character's shapeshifting ability as much as the idea that he doesn't know where he belongs or who he is yet. And although the beats of such a character arc are hardly new territory for Hollywood — you could argue they've even been done to death at this point — the potential for greatness still exists as Loki remains pleasantly unpredictable. It means anything can happen, and with Hiddleston promising a show that is unlike anything Marvel has ever done, there's no reason to believe Loki the man and "Loki" the show won't continue to endure and evolve even beyond this first season. After all, he certainly has the staying power.

"Loki" premieres Wednesday, June 9 on Disney+.