#which i imagine means they would be spread out throughout an entire system

[tranakin-skywalker]

Screaming crying tearing my hair out trying to figure out how the fuck the GAR is structured

[novantinuum]

jen's "Hard-Light Hybrid Steven" headcanon dump

Okay so I'm just making this its own post, because frankly at this point... the original post is so hard to get all the pulp out of due to the headcanons being spread over multiple reblogs and half of it being in the tags.

So here we go. Self indulgent headcanon time. This is how I'm now personally interpreting things within the realm of my own fic work and the post-canon storylines that live in my mind. This is NOT, however, a work of meta- I am by no means suggesting this to be what I see as "canon," only having some fun playing around with ideas I think are cool on a speculative fantasy anatomy level. Take it as you will basically, lol. This is ultimately just for me.

With that stated:

"jen what the fuck do you mean when you say hard-light hybrid Steven, what are you even suggesting"

Essentially I am proposing that Steven becomes progressively more hard-light based in form as he ages. When he was born he was two almost entirely separate halves mashed together- organic and gem- and those two halves slowly but surely merge over the years (hard light replacing organic matter) until one day they are literally inseparable, and Steven is one permanently cohesive being... entirely hewn from hard-light, but with a level of anatomical complexity that still makes him a complete anomaly amongst Gems and humans alike. Instead of the innards of his body being solid light, he is still formed of cells- only now, those cells are entirely hard-light.

His gem is somehow mimicking the form of organic matter with a level of detail that's absolutely unobtainable by shapeshifting or tailored reformation alone. Steven has become the single most complex hard-light system to have ever existed.

Some more specifics on how I imagine this merge working:

Much of the "merging" is natural over time, basically his gem branching out new bits of hard-light circuitry within his body as it integrates within his system.

However, this process is sped up significantly by all the spills and injuries Steven deals with throughout his childhood... because his body's instinctive response to injury is simply to replace damaged cells with hard-light analogues. An almost instantaneous patch job.

Steven's component halves being so distinct early on is a large reason why he takes so long to harness many of his powers.

This is also why Steven's (mostly) organic half is so weakened during the split in Change Your Mind- at that point there's a lot about his anatomy that's been converted to hard-light, so it's basically as if White Diamond yanked the power source out.

(Same idea for why he's so weakened during the movie when his gem's on the fritz... his gem's connection with the rest of his body got partially severed for a time, which. Is not Good for someone who at this point is more hard-light than not hard light.)

At a certain point post-canon, it becomes impossible for Steven's organic and gem halves to be separated. They are so tightly integrated that attempting to remove the gem would only poof him.

Now, here's the thing though...

Steven does not realize that Any of this is taking place until the blunt reality of his strange new anatomical nature is put on display for all to see... when he actually DOES poof.

Here is how (in my own post-canon musings, which I have simplified here because y'all don't live inside all the intensive lore that jangles about my brain) I envision that taking place:

So, Steven would be in his mid to late twenties at this point. He's married to Connie, and they have an infant son.

Recently, there was a fairly severe Gem incident that left Beach City and Little Homeworld pretty damaged. Things are still being mopped up from that.

Steven, Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl head out on a quick mission one day to intercept one of the last few supporters of the Gem who attacked the Crystal Gem's hub of operation, and at first it seems like it's gonna be a straightforward trip.

Then, Steven sees the Gem in question pull a destabilizer wand on Garnet, and- unwilling to watch her to get ripped apart like that again- throws himself in between. He can take it, he thinks. These things never hurt him one bit as a kid

He cannot take it.

He poofs.

His gem unceremoniously falls to the ground, along with the clothes he was wearing and whatever he had in his pockets.

Cue the others going "what the actual FUCK" because based on everything they've ever witnessed and known about him no one had "Steven poofs" on their bingo card.

The insurgent Gem is captured and dealt with, but now... oh, boy. There's literally no playbook for this. Nobody knows what to expect.

Steven's gem is quiet for WEEKS. During that time, the Gems end up consulting the Diamonds on Homeworld to ask for intel on diamond reformation, but none of them are much help- Rose and Steven are the only ones who have actually poofed. Beyond them, this is completely unprecedented.

In a very vague sense, Steven is aware of what must have happened during this time... (even if a part of him wants to deny it, because How???)

He can pick up vague snippets of what's happening just beyond his reach... catching voices and what must be faint sensations of familiar people handling his gem, but beyond that he has no awareness of the passage of time, and he has no means by which to reach out to them mentally.

It takes almost two months for him to finally reform. When he does, his gem quickly shifts through its previous three forms and then just... outright h a n g s for a while on the new one... as if what's trying to "load" up is so complex it's goddamn buffering.

(my brain can only think of This image uyhjfsdbyuhjfg)

No one really knows what to expect but when he finally reforms, he... looks mostly the same? Still rather human in appearance, externally? The only notable difference is that his irises are pink now. (But with no diamond pupil- not unless he's going Full Power Mode.)

Steven also reforms WITH an outfit much like a Gem would.

The second he's back, he runs to embrace Connie (who is sobbing in relief) and asks how long he was out.

And he did NOT anticipate that answer to be two months.

As it turns out, he missed quite a few baby milestones while he was gone, and he feels horrible about it- it's not his fault of course, but he feels so bad that Connie had to go that long without his support, and that there's all those special "firsts" with his son he'll never get to experience.

This whole incident marks Steven's final "retirement" from participating in real combat- he outright tells the Gems to not involve him in any other combat situations unless the whole ass planet is under threat, basically. The potential risks are just not worth it now that he knows how long he'd be out of commission, should he poof once more. He can't put his family through that again.

Now, with all that outlined...

Ways that Steven is Weird now:

He looks rather human- his hair looks like hair and his skin looks like skin- but after he reforms, literally every "cell" of his body is fashioned out of hard-light.

However, if one were to theoretically slice him in half (which I PROMISE I am not going to do, this is only a thought experiment ahahah-), his internal anatomy would glow much like the Gems' do. (See below image for what I mean.) The "human-like" appearance of his skin and hair and other externally visible features does not extend very deep.

He "bleeds" pink now- but it's only surface, and is all just excess hard-light. No real blood.

His body would no longer show up on a radiograph- just the gem.

Many of his anatomical features (not all of them, though) are now vestigial in certain ways-? Like, various functions have overtly been taken over by his gem... he doesn't need to breathe or have any lifeblood beyond light pumping through his system, so his heart and lungs serve no necessary purpose anymore... but all of these organs still "exist" as like an echo of what once was, perfect mimics of their organic form but hewn from hard-light.

That being said, Connie enjoys the reassurance of his heartbeat, so he retains that function while conscious.

(Not to mention, "breathing" is literally just a habit for him by this point.)

HOWEVER, when he sleeps (another thing he technically doesn't Need to do but does anyways) his breathing and heartbeat stops entirely and it kinda spooks Connie out. The literal only evidence she has that he's still kicking during these times is the soft hum of his gemstone.

He does not have a biological NEED for food or water anymore and can fully operate on exposure to light alone, but he still really enjoys eating and drinking anyways. In fact, he's still able to absorb energy from food... so it's basically like he's over-charging his battery or whatever. He also still experiences taste (so still posesses some form of taste receptors) and instinctively feels "hungry" at meal times, so like... the running theory is that he must have hard-light analogues for all these receptors and neurotransmitters and hormones that communicate sensations like hunger in his system even though their function is entirely redundant with his gem powering everything.

Furthermore, his memories and sense of self and everything one might refer to as "the soul" is stored exclusively in his gem now. Which means, if one could manage to analyze his brain like one could with a human brain, there would be entire sections that simply... don't light up the way that others (such as the parts of the brain that govern motor control, as an example) do. This is because all the "data" once stored there has migrated.

He can fully shapeshift now, if he wanted to.

He can also still visually "age"- it's all based on his mental state, same as before.

But despite being hard-light in nature now, he can still interface with organics in fusion because his form is still so organic in shape and function. He's still the bridge between humanity and gemkind. I like to think that... theoretically... a Gem might be able to fuse with an organic too, but the sheer burden of trying to shapeshift and maintain such cellular complexity is what stops this from happening.

Steven, though? His very existence as a hybrid acted as a template by which hard-light could learn to understand organic life. He is still an intensely unique being, even IF he no longer consists of any actual organic matter.

_

I am sure I will probably add something to this later, but for now, those are all my musings.

Anyways, thank you for taking a brief visit to the deepest recesses of my brain, where I am chewing at the drywall and bouncing around the room like a cat who has just devoured the goddamn motherlode of catnip. Good night! !! :DDD

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

Pretty As Picture - Chapter 11

Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Theme: Soulmates - Feeling the connection as soon as you see each other.

Summary: When Bucky fell from the train, their soulmate was told he was gone. When Steve Rogers disappeared into the ice, their soulmate was again told one of her soulmates were gone. But she didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. Committed to a mental health institute, she dies of a broken heart. That's at least what the hidden S.H.I.E.LD files say, but if that's the case than why is there a photo of her. A photo that shows her side by side two redhaired Avengers.

Warnings will be per chapter.

For this fic reader will be British, but let your imagination replace if needed.

Chapter Summary: Nothing makes sense.

“I just don’t get it Clint.”

“We’ll figure it out Y/N, same as we always do. The same as you always do.”

You sniffed and nodded as Natasha and Bruce gave up with their loitering and entered the room.

“Hey” Natasha said softly. Bruce squeezed your arm and smiled warmly as he started to check the monitors you were attached to as he glanced at the Stark Pad in his hand. Nat slotted herself beside Clint and pushed the hair from your face, mopping your tears with her sleeve.

“Here.” Steve interrupted passing her a handkerchief.

“How 1940s of you Rogers.” She said sarcastically as she used it to dab at your tears. ���You gave us quite the scare sweetie.”

You mumbled sorry as you fought back tears and tried to push down the lump in your throat.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

“Like I’ve taken on fifty hostiles, been shot at, stabbed and blown up and walked hundreds of miles.”

“Well” Clint started “it’s no wonder you slept for three days.”

You glanced at Bruce as a memory popped into your head.

“Did I ask you to knock me out?”

“You did. Only Doctor Cho and I worked on you. Any samples were destroyed. You don’t need to worry.”

You side-eyed Steve and Bucky and glanced back at Natasha and Clint. They both shook their heads.

“They’re not stupid though Y/N. Even if they do look it right now, with the whole lost puppy look.”

You looked up at them both and they smiled in return, Bucky brushing the stray tears from his face. You felt a pull as you looked between them both. A fluttering in your chest that spread through your body. You felt your cheeks flush as they returned your gaze and you looked away quickly and back at Nathaniel in your arms.

“When did you get here?” You asked Clint.

“An hour or two after you did. We were on a call to the others when word came in you were MIA.”

“Word from who?”

“Maria.”

“Oh fuck, I tried to hit her didn’t I?”

“You did.”

You huffed. You were going to have to apologise which you hated doing, but you respected Maria, and this wasn’t entirely her fault.

“And before you say it” Nat said interrupting your thoughts “you don’t need to apologise to her. She knows she had it coming. I know your cute British manners will struggle with that but let it go. For now at least.”

You huffed again.

“Nat, can you book me out on the system for a few days.”

“I’ve already done it and you’re taking a month off and don’t argue.”

You scowled. Before you had a chance to start a debate with her Bruce appeared at your side.

“You suffered catastrophic injuries Y/N. I’m not letting you out of my sight for a week. We had to rebreak some of your bones, you were in the cradle for a day and a half. Your suit was keeping you together. Even with your accelerated healing, it’s gonna take a while. Any normal person would be dead.”

“Good job you’re not normal hey kid.” Clint joked, trying to lighten the mood. You rolled your eyes in response and shook your head in amusement.

“But she’s gonna recover right?” Steve asked, having been silent throughout your exchange with the others.

“As long as she gives her body chance to heal, she’ll be fine.” Bruce replied.

“Which means you have to let us take care of you.” Nat added.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Hey” Steve said, pulling your attention to him as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed “even I have to take a break sometimes, whilst things stitch themselves back together.”

“Yeah, well my serums probably a knock off version of yours so?” you shrugged.

“Then you and I have that in common.” Bucky added, joining the conversation.

“This still doesn't make any sense”

“Sweetheart, when I came out the ice I had no-one and then I got these guys.” Steve replied. You pulled a face.

“I know, I know and we’ve had some ups and downs. Aliens came out the sky, Shield fell, I found out Bucky was alive, Ultron and that’s just the tip of the iceberg, and if I’ve learnt anything since I came off the ice it’s that plenty of things don’t make sense, not logically anyway and yet somehow they do.” He said glancing around the room at his soul family.

“I’m not sure I’m who you think I am though.”

“You are doll, I know it and I know you feel it too.” Bucky replied. You went to look away but Bucky stopped you cupping your face with his metal hand gently tilted your head to look at him. “Look me in the eyes and say you don’t feel this.”

Your eyes welled up. You couldn’t. The pull, the tether that connected you was clear and firm and there was no denying it.

“I can’t.”

Bucky leant forward and kissed you on the forehead. You let out a shuddered breath. He released you as Steve moved to cup your face and kiss you on the cheek.

“Hang on Romeo, aren't you Peggy Carter’s……..” you stopped midsentence as you zoned out, a memory jumping into your brain.

You’d met Peggy Carter, albeit briefly. She’d retired, rumours of her health were rife but she still consulted here and there. A shock reappearance of some Nazi war criminals in London had led her to MI5. She passed by your desk and you’d immediately felt her eyes on you. Thirty minutes later you were in the meeting she was co-chairing, with you being told your presence was requested as the Analyst that had found them. When you’d entered the room Peggy looked like she’d seen a ghost. You gasped in realisation.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Steve asked. His eyes widened as the monitors you were attached to started to beep furiously.

“Sweetie what is it?” Natasha asked, stroking your arm.

“I met her. I met Peggy and she, she looked at me, she thought she knew me. Do I look like I did then? Like your soulmate did then? Did I know Peggy?” you asked, your voice panicked and full of emotion. Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance and nodded.

“How? How old am I? Bruce! How old am I?” You asked clearly agitated.

“As far as we know you’re the age you think you are. If you weren’t your routine testing would have flagged it.”

“Run it again.”

“Y/N.”

“Run it again, and ask Cho and Stark to look at it too.”

“Kid, I know that analytic brain of yours is trying to process right now but you need to slowdown and take a minute. We’ll figure it out.” Clint said, trying to reassure you.

“You say we'll figure out, and yet stars and stripes over here says it doesn't have to make sense, so which is it? I need to get out of this bed.” You went to move and there was a rush to stop you, as panicked voices filled your ears.

“You’ll stay put and hold your godson. That’s the first time he’s been settled in days. Keep your ass in that bed.”

You huffed and scowled in frustration but stayed put. Steve exchanged a knowing glance at Clint. You were as stubborn as you’d been before but you clearly adored Nathanial and had no intention of waking a sleeping baby.

“It still doesn’t make sense. Are you sure?” You turned your frown towards Bucky and Steve, narrowing your eyes at them. Steve watched as Clint shook his head in frustration, and Nat rolled her eyes. Bruce stayed quiet but his glance over his glasses at you said it all. You weren’t going to just accept this, you were stubborn but you also needed facts.

“You said you felt it. That you feel this.” Bucky said, gesturing between you both.

“I, I don’t know what to say. It doesn’t make sense. You were born then, you're from back then and I'm now. I'm from now.” you rambled.

Steve stood and reached into his pocket and pulled out his compass. You followed his movements and watched as he removed the picture of Peggy Carter. There behind it was a clear, although old, photo. Steve held the compass out to you and you took it with your free hand. Instead of Peggy Carter, you found yourself looking back at you. You let out a shuddered breath and in a grief stricken voice spoke one word.

“How?”

Enjoy this fic? Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGS IN COMMENTS

[copperpipes]

PLEASE? TELL ME WHAT YOU DO IN SPECULATIVE BIOLOGY? THAT SOUNDS REALLY COOL???

WHERE DO I EVEN START???

Okay I know. Some general information about the subject first:

Its a genre.

Before speculative biology comes speculative evolution, a more known subject that is basically a whole genre of books, projects, and is more spread then speculative biology because it is less specific. You would find plenty of speculative evolution projects.

They are very similar in a lot of ways and I think the difference is that speculative evolution 'documents' the journey (the evolution) of a creature or a multitude of creatures throughout a time-line of events that may or my not effect its form, while speculative biology is more focused on a single time period or just one creature or maybe a made up culture or an entire planet at a certain point in said journey, and digs deep.

A good example would be birgworld by @iguanodont and alien whale documentary which I definitely recommend checking out if you like the subject and a couple I forgot the name of currently ':]

Whe i say digs deep, I mean it could be as vast as from the building bloks of DNA (like carbon and nitrogen for us) to the politics and cultural plays. Tradition, religion, culture, history, language, psychology, and of course, biology. From general physiology to the way they reproduce and raise their young if at all.

This genre is usually categorized as sci-fi (not in all cases, but then it would be seen less as speculative biology and more just world building, an example would be monstergarden on YouTube) even though its word building because most of the creatures 'documented' are made up aliens and the projects themselves are closely tied to science.

Everything has an explanation in speculative biology and it goes into detail.

Actually a couple of my personal projects are categorized as speculative biology since in them I put my imagination to use and explore alien creatures and their identity.

Being my autistic self everything is thought out to the miniscule detail of how my aliens farm their equivalent of potatoes to what is their social structure and the different things I listed prior. Consider it my special interest.

To this date, I have at least drawn a picture of 10 different intelligent alien species (not including animals or other life forms from same planets, not even different life stages that may be in one species) all seen in a single time period on their respective planets.

Speculative biology also often features in it the planet itself and the solar system it belongs to since one is heavily effected by the other.

I am planning on posting about my project soon enough since I'd like to document it digitally but for now its nearly 3 am so yeah

Thank you so much for the ask I've been wanting to blubber about my favorite subject for some time just didn't have the opportunity :]

This is merely a summary of what little knowledge I hold, I encourage you to look into it and maybe start one of your own.

Also if I didn't get the question right correct me please

[hdra77]

Hello, I just browsed your whole disarray AU tag and I think it's really cool. It's a little hard to tell what is it about but from what I can tell everyone is evil and corrupted for some reason (except for NSH?) There was an old ask talking about Pebbles and NSH's friendship, and I wanted to ask if you could tell more about that their friendship in this AU is like if you feel like it

Hello anon!! Thank you so much for taking your time to look into my au that means a lot to me!! 💗💗 sorry if some parts may be a bit confusing lol ive had pmvs planned to explain the plot better but thats been on the back burner for a while

To explain it simply, the triple affirmative occurred except that its something that could possibly make their kind turn on against each other.

Triple affirmative is a type of virus that spreads throughout the iterator's system and they would slowly rot on the inside as time passes. And the process is very very painful imagine your insides getting fried and there is nothing you can do about it but to lash out at others and infecting your kind in a desperate attempt to dull down the excruciating pain.

Basically this virus would just straight up kill them in the end it would keep on infecting their system until they shut down and collapse. Because of this others finds a way to search for the cure and some others accepts this fate.

Soo not everyone in the au are evil! Atleast for the first half of the plot.

All of the cast would have atleast one or two major flaws in them and it depends if you see their actions justified or just plain right evil.

Focusing on the early timeline where pebbles wasnt infected yet. If you noticed some of the pebbles asks recently the sign that this takes place before his corruption is his white eyes and sometimes seen with his golden irises!

Not exactly sure where im going with this lol but explaining more about pebbles and nsh's friendship:

Pebbles met sig through suns and he only grew to tolerate NSH because in his own perspective, taking in the false belief to see the image of his administrator infront of him instead of his friend is his way of coping from the abandonment of his creators. Which isnt..a good way to start a friendship if he only treated sig as a manifestation of someone else honestly

Slowly,but eventually sig managed to get pebbles to let him show him around outside his can and encouraging him to explore the places together and this was enough for pebbles to snap out of his delusion and see the iterator in front of him. NSH, the real him. not just a tool for him to cope with.

They became close, having a supportive friend that always pulls him out of his hole and encouraging him to have a more positive take in life despite the dying surroundings around them that makes it harder for pebbles to even believe that theres something beautiful in a world who wants to die. This is basically just a opportunistic friend and the pessimistic friend. NSH isnt always that opportunistic type of guy though, even after the ancients left the entire ecosystem in destruction he still finds beauty in things and he shows pebbles signs of life seeping through the cracks still finding its way back to reclaim the dying world.

Their friendship became more strained right after pebbles got in contact of his sister once again. Pebbles had become a lot more defensive and pushing others aside until his disappearance and the last time he had been in contact was with suns. This reason tear their friendship apart especially how sig suspects that suns had been keeping secrets from him and that they could even be involved in his disappearance.

So in an attempt to search for pebbles, sig sent hunter to investigate pebbles' superstructure. And it all goes from there

I may have gotten carried away like most of the time! But thats a simple explanation of how their friendship came to be! Friendship lore !! Hope this clears things up 💕 if you got any questions just ask me!

[filmfunction16]

La Haine- A French Masterpiece

Police brutality, has been an issues in society ever since it's been established. Imagine if one of you're closes friends was shot by an officer during a riot. And you have to wait un till the end of the day to know wether or not he will survive. How angry would you be, and just how far will that anger take you? La Haine, is a french film that tells the story of Vinz ,Said and Hubert who wander around aimlessly around town for the entire day until they find out if their friend will die. What makes this movie unique is not only it's cinematography which is uniquely black and white. But it's view on revenge, society and hate.

In La Haine, of one the biggest themes is hatred and how hate spread throughout a society. Hubert mentioned a story of a man who is falling down from a tall building. As he goes down he keeps telling himself. " So far so good, so far so good. But the importance is not how you fall it's how you land".

This quote is a metaphor for their society condition. As the society decenend more and more to poverty, crime and madness. " They" keep on telling each other so far so good so far so good. And it's not until it's too late that they realize their eventual downfall. La Haine is more than just a french term used to describe hatred, it is a cinematic masterpiece that influence the cinema for decades and has been rated as the 344th Greatest Film. And is and have always been one of my favourite movies, for it's relevance in our society. I also love it for the fact that it one of those movies that even though dialogue is a bit absurd, but it's still feels very natural and funny. I think what makes this movie so interesting is how it shows real life events. Most of the time in media when they show police brutality and death the do it very light heartedly. And show that ever side is a good side, but in this movie it shows how far corruption goes. And how societal violence ends up endangering the youth. This movie was a constant reminder to me as a black person, that my hatred takes me nowhere. But instead to fight against a system by my actions. I really like the character Hubert, he reminds me of my dad who grew up with that type of violence in Ghana. He always told me that hate gets you nowhere in life. Instead you need to rebel against the system by sticking together not letting those societal wedge issues tear your community apart. Which I feel like that is Hubert message. He always mentions hate attracts hate, instead fighting against each other fight against the system. Another character I want to mention is Vinz. He is the complete opposite of Hubert, he thinks that violence is the answer and glorified killing since he felt that is the only way to get your point across. And while it might be true for certain situations, in this case it just ends you up as another stereotype. Vinz is an important character mainly for his symbolism, he is mean to represent communism and anarchism as a whole. Which is show by his vision of a cow and his beliefs on murder.

He thinks that killing cops is the way to get change, and the only way to free themselves of poverty is to kill the opposing class. But as we see this is not a realistic solution. While, theoretically killing opposing powers work, however in real life it just breads generations of hate, and more class division! Saïd is completely different from the both. He believes in battling this form oppression, by an optimistic point of view. He uses humour to cope and decided to live more in the moment than in the past/future. I think the reason why I like Saïd so much is how I would like to have that optimistic point of view. It would be nice to not think about these world class issues and to think about how the positive side. But when the world around is going bad it’s hard to think about the positive aspect of it.

[ladyirisreviews]

Pizza Tower-Review

To say Pizza Tower was a hit would be an understatement, it's so well-received in fact, that I feel like there's not much point in me reviewing it, but I want to talk about it even if everything I say has already been said.

At least I'll get to flex my P-ranks.

(I try to use the cover art of each game I review, I gotta be thankful Steam has some sort of cover art for games that weren't released physically.)

The plot is extremely simple, our dear Peppino Spaghetti is having a hard time with his restaurant, then Pizzahead goes to him threatening to blow up his place for no real reason, and that's how our mess of an Italian gets into the pizza tower, trying to stop Pizzahead, and that's about it.

The focus of the game lies entirely in its gameplay, and lemme tell you, it is something to admire, it's the most fluid game I played in a while, Peppino has a varied moveset that makes traversing any type of terrain feel like sliding butt-naked covered in oil on a ramp made of butter, yes it felt that fluid for me.

Run-Grab, Mach-Running, Uppercut, Ground-Slam, Twirl, Dive, Wall-Climbing, Roll/Slide, Piledriver, every single move Peppino has I was able to find multiple ways of using, and they link with each other so well that I was able to pull off pretty much everything I could imagine, the only thing that stopped me was how tight the inputs could get in some places, only because I was going for ambitious routes.

(Every frame is a painting)

The levels also flow pretty well, every level has some sort of gimmick, be is a transformation of Peppino that completely changes how he controls, special enemies, types of platforms, or all 3, each stage feels completely unique and are so well made.

The levels might not look that linear at first glance but they are quite linear, which is better for the gameplay, there's a number of secrets on every level and collectibles, they are spread throughout the level very cleverly, if you aim to collect all of them, they end up feeling like an extension of the level instead of going out of the way, and that is because of how the rating and combo systems work.

(What's that eye doing there?)

After defeating an enemy, your combo starts, congratulations, you did it, you are doing a combo, but there's a meter that depletes after a couple of seconds, after which the combo ends, getting hurt also depletes the meter faster, but you can defeat other enemies or get any type of item to make the meter deplete.

So if you want to maintain your combo need to utilize everything that is on your way, enemies and collectibles, sometimes when I was playing I felt like in a frantic daze trying to keep the combo going, which made me realize why the portrayal of Peppino as a nervous wreck is so genius.

And there's one last mechanic I need to talk about, which is the escape sections.

(Just look how much he is freaking out.)

When you reach the end of the level, you get into contact with dear old John, who you sadly have to destroy to keep going, prompting the imminent collapse of the level you are currently playing and a change of music, and your objective is to get out of the level from where you entered, NOW.

Some aspects of the level change and the feeling of anxiety is palpable, getting to the point where the time is almost over and hear the music communicating that exact feeling to you is awesome, but if you manage to escape you are safe and you get a rating.

But what if there was more?

(Does the P mean perfect or pizza?)

You survived the level, but you could conquer it by collecting everything and doing a second lap to the level, which changes the song again and feels more frantic, getting to the point where you start a second lap with everything is such a cathartic feeling, I cannot describe it, the music itself is an award already.

But if you manage to do it all without dropping your combo you get a P-rank, which signifies you absolutely conquered a level, and you can get them for both normal levels and boss fights.

They don't unlock any content and you are not required to even get a good rank to finish the game, I would say that if you didn't even try to keep your combo going the game would be a pretty easy experience, just getting enough collectibles and beating the bosses until you get to the final boss.

(The main purpose of this image is to flex I got all achievements.)

And that's the brilliance of how levels and ranks are designed, the game is as hard as you want it to be, and I simply love that, the game can be a very chill game to go through or an anxiety-inducing race against the clock, it's just so cleverly designed in every way I cannot praise it enough.

SO now that I'm done gushing out about the gameplay, I quickly want to mention that the graphics are top-notch, I almost feel sorry for the devs while looking at how fluid every single animation is, no wonder it took so long to release, you know? love pours out of every orifice of the game.

(I just love this level card.)

And not to mention the music, which gives like half of the personality to every level and boss-fight, it's just incredible, really, how every single aspect of the game I look at is amazingly done, I haven't had this much fun with a platformer since a long time ago, so it goes without saying but I recommend this game to anyone.

If I gave ratings it would be an easy 10, and it's also obviously the game of the year for me so far, and I am gonna be honest, it's gonna be pretty darn hard to surpass, not only because it's so good but because I am kinda broke at the moment to play other current indie hits, but even so, if I wasn't broke it would be pretty darn hard to surpass.

[shammah8]

"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."

1 Corinthians 13:3

DISPENSING GRACE

How can Christians dispense grace in a society that is or seems to be veering away from God? As we noted in earlier devotionals, Elijah hid out in caves. On the other hand, his contemporary Obadiah worked within the system running Ahab’s palace while sheltering God’s prophets on the side. Esther and Daniel were employed by heathen empires. Jesus submitted to the judgment of a Roman governor. Paul appealed his case all the way to Caesar. In his book, What’s So Amazing About Grace?, Philip Yancey shares:

 

a. Dispensing God’s grace is the Christian’s main contribution

The one big thing the Church has over the world is showing grace. Jesus did not let any institution interfere with His love for individuals. Here is where the fruit of the Spirit are so important in our lives. Jesus said we are to have one distinguishing mark, neither political correctness nor moral superiority, but love.

 

b. Commitment to grace does not mean Christians will always live in perfect harmony with the government

Kenneth Kaunda, the former President of Zambia has written, “…what a nation needs more than anything else is not a Christian ruler in the palace but a Christian prophet within earshot.” Jesus warned that the world who hated Him would hate us also. As the early Church spread throughout the Roman Empire, the slogan “Jesus is Lord” was a direct affront to the Romans. When conflict came, brave Christians stood up against the state, appealing to a higher authority. Through the years, this same energy continued. In all of this, we are to be wise as serpents and harmless as doves. All our actions, and even counteractions, are to be seasoned with grace. When we show just the opposite, then we must consider the wisdom of our choices.

 

c. Cosiness between Church and state is good for the state and bad for the Church

Herein lies the chief danger to grace. The state, which runs by rules of ungrace — the entire “world” does — gradually drowns out the church’s sublime message of grace.

 

The Church works best as a force of resistance, a counterbalance to the consuming power of the state. The cosier it gets with government, the more watered-down its message becomes. Can you imagine any government enacting a set of laws based on Jesus’ “Sermon on the Mount?” A state government can shut down stores and theatres on Sunday, but it cannot compel worship. It can arrest and punish murderers, but cannot cure their hatred much less teach them love…It can give subsidies to the poor, but cannot force the rich to show them compassion and justice. It can ban adultery but not lust, theft but not covetousness, cheating but not pride. It can encourage virtue but not holiness. [33]

Response

Today I will operate in the world I encounter and in my church dispensing grace.

Prayer

Help me, Lord, to be a person who is known for my ability to live like Jesus, with grace.

33 Philip Yancey, What’s So Amazing About Grace? (Grand Rapids: Zondervan Publishing, 1997), pp. 219-227.

© 2013 Open Doors International. Used by permission.

[therewasatale]

his scars

On Ao3.

Summary:  Each Lord had their own rules, and you have broken Lord Heisenberg's.

Note: I saw a bunch of fanarts with Heisenberg having a lot of scars, so I played with the idea.

Each Lord had their own rules. Which if their servants did not follow, they had to pay a heavy price.

Rules like that; you must not go to the lower levels of the factory alone. If Lord Heisenberg said something, you had to do it without question, especially for your own safety. And if you visited his private room, you always had to knock before entering.

You’ve always followed two of them. However, your attention slipped over the last one as you hurried out of the elevator to Heisenberg's room. At each step, you could feel the slow, rhythmic thumping of the factory from behind and below you as the various machines and tools worked non-stop. Every click, tap, or squeak has become as familiar to you as your very being.

Pulling closer the book you got from him a month ago, you tried to gather your thoughts about what you wanted to say. You'd have never thought a darker fantasy would appeal to you so much. It had a mystery, a bunch of different, but still interesting characters, and an oppressive background that the story slowly began to bring to light by the end of the first book. The ending was open for a promising sequel.

And you entered his room. Without knocking.

Inside, the smell of thick tobacco and oil rushed your senses.

"Heisenberg, I brought back the book! And imagine it's already-"

"WHAT IN THE LIVING HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" He yelled.

You froze in place in the doorway. The sudden shout shook you up completely and you gripped the book tighter in your hand so you wouldn’t drop it.

Your gaze was immediately drawn to the man, as he was standing by the bed.

Heisenberg's shirtless upper body was covered in a myriad of thin scars, like cobwebs across his entire body. Starting at his neck, they ran down his chest all the way to his waist, and probably continued under the pants. The scars on his arms were gnarly, from long healed injuries, which were most likely the results of fights. However, some of those on his chest were too straight and clean to come from an accident.

"Get. Out." He didn't look into your eyes. Objects trembled around him. A knife rose into the air from his desk. "NOW!"

You didn’t look back when the door slammed close behind you. Not when the elevator was already climbed up a few levels. And not even when you got to your own room and threw your back at the door. You felt like a hand was wrapped around your throat and it began tightening its fingers, ever so slowly.

Long minutes passed and yet you still felt as if your heart was trying to break out of your chest. The only thing you could clearly hear besides the beating of your heart, was your own panicked breathing.

"Shit..." you slid down with trembling legs. You had to wrap your hands around your body to try stop the trembling.

It was over.

You broke his rule. And now he's going to kill you, if you're lucky, he will make it quick.

Each Lord had their own rules, and now you have broken Lord Heisenberg's. Like a stupid fucking kid.

"Shit!"

You were aware of the fact that the people in the Dimitrescu castle disappears and got replaced very often, and you were really surprised how different Heisenberg was from what you imagined. He shouted a lot and swore even more, but he never tried to hurt you, even on his worst days, he just grumbled impatiently and vented his frustration on his machines.

He was loud, but understanding in his harsh way. Impatient, but still a good listener on his good days. He was rough, but you knew he cared about you, in his own grumpy way.

You were happy. You enjoyed living here.

But now...

Now you had to get out of here.

The sudden thought helped to clear your head with such force that you have managed to get on your feet. You didn't want to die. You didn't deserve death for a complete nonsense.

You had to get away.

Heisenberg waited while as the elevator started upwards.

He didn't even have to move his hand. The knife spun around its axis then it slammed into the wall with tremendous force, then again and again and again. It didn't stop until the blade bent from the force. His fingers trembled, bolts and gears threw themselves around him in all directions. The legs of his bed buckled as the springs in his mattress straightened, pierced trough the material and then snapped and shot themselves into the ceiling.

"Fuck!" He grabbed his dirty-gray hair and pulled it hard enough so the pain would clear his head a bit. He needed to calm down before he smashed everything around him. The bed creaked behind him, as two of its legs finally gave up and fell to the ground with a thud. Then there was silence again. This snapped him out from his blind anger.

He shut his eyes tightly. Letting his shoulder sunk, he took a step back and threw his back against the cold wall. He needed to take a few deep breaths to slow down his pounding heart.

When he opened his eyes the first thing that caught his eye, was a scar running through his forearm. He clearly remembered getting it in a fight against a bunch of lycans. Years ago, when he started constructing his factory the territory of the lycans stretched all the way to the area where the main building would be. At the time, they didn’t even know who they were facing and sometimes they ventured through the fence. That evening, Heisenberg did not expect them in such numbers, let alone that they will attach wooden spears on their arm to counteract his powers.

With a sharp exhale he lowered his arm.

Those creatures became what they were thanks to Cadou. Technically, they were all related. He took a deep breath, knowing it well that these thoughts didn’t help and were not important right now.

He gave himself a disgusted look before he got dressed. When he buttoned the last button on his shirt, only then he let his thoughts wander again. An unpleasant feeling settled into his chest.

You saw him. And now you will run away.

It was over.

He knew that the body he had to live in was utterly repugnant. The body which was experimented on by Mother Miranda, conducting studies and surgeries until she was satisfied with it. The body she put the parasite in and which cursed him with this fate. He hated her for making him this way, and he hated himself for being her child.

He still woke up time to time drenched in sweat from nightmares where he has been implanted with the parasite over and over again.

It spread throughout his body and turned his existence into pure hell. His thoughts burned away by the eruption of the unbearable pain, he felt as if his chest would open up and his heart would tear itself out of its place. However, the worst part of it all, was the realization that something was trying to subsume his consciousness. Claws tore into his brain and tried to suppress part of his being. It was almost successful, but Heisenberg held on.

And when he woke up after the procedure, he found himself in a whole new hell.

You were the only thing, along with the constant building, that kept him happy day by day, and helped suppress his raging hatred. On the worst days he still could felt the Cadou trying to making its way into his head. But you always were there to help him, or at least, you tried and he was grateful, even when he didn't say anything.

He knew full well that this would not last forever. Because why would it last? In this godforsaken horrible place everything fell to pieces and rotted apart eventually.

He took out a cigar from the depths of his coat.

He didn't want anything; he didn't ask to being like this. And yet you stayed with him. He had you. But now, you saw him.

The bitter smoke slowly rose from his lips.

Everything was over.

 Hours have passed. Night arrived, or just the tiredness told you that.

You thought about running away again and again trying to figure out how, and when you should do it. The first thing you thought was that you had to find a way to do it as soon as possible. The elevator was an option, but you would have risked running into Heisenberg, or, more dangerously, into his servants. He could send them after you at any time.

It was risky.

Or there was a ventilation system that weaved through the factory. You could use that, though you were afraid of getting lost inside of it forever rather than getting out. Escaping trough, the dumpster promised only similar chances.

You even started to think that maybe first, you should talk to the man. Or at least try to talk to him. Though your reasonable-self protested profusely against this emotional suggestion.

However, your pride also spoke up and somehow, it made you stay. You're not going to run. Not anymore. Not from him.

So, you waited.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you hoped you would have a chance to talk to him. You just couldn’t decide when to go to him. Every part of your body shivered as Heisenberg's angry voice echoed in your head. You had to go to talk to him, but you were simply unable to leave your room, at least for now.

Fortune was on your side for once.

Your door opened slowly. You felt your shoulders tense up and you swallowed dryly. You couldn’t look up at him.

"I thought you would have left already." His voice didn't sound as harsh, as you would have expected.

You glanced up at the man who was leaning against the doorframe. He folded his arms in front of his chest, his eyes were hidden behind his black sunglasses.

"Why should I leave?"

"Well," despite his words his voice sounded surprised "I yelled at you."

"You've yelled before."

Heisenberg snorted a little and rubbed his hair under his hat. This didn’t go as he thought it would. "Well yeah, but..." his words let him down.

"What happened to you? I mean your body…?" You got up from your bed. He was just a few steps away from you.

The man drummed with his fingers a couple of times on his arms. "I fell."

"Heisenberg..." you took a careful step towards him.

"Lord Heisenberg." He corrected you. "If my bitch mother is forcing this prestigious bullshit then we should keep to it." He sounded more annoyed than angry. He continued to drum slowly with his fingers, but you could also feel his eyes watching you from behind his glasses.

"I'm sorry that I didn't knock."

For long minutes, the only thing could be heard was the rhythmic thumping background sounds of the factory.

"Well...Yeah..." He scratched his graying hair slowly as he pushed himself away from the doorway. "Listen, if you want to go, then go. I'm not going to stop you, just don't ever comeback. All right? Have a nice life, or whatever. That giant trash is actually looking for new maidens," He turned around.

You managed to stand up and hurried after him stopping him in front of the elevator.

"What?" Heisenberg glanced down at your arms as you hugged him. "(Y/N)?"

"I'm sorry." You snuggled closer to his back, hiding your face in the fabric of his coat.

"For what?" His hands shook, he had to stop himself from touching your arms. The thought made him tremble a bit, but he realized that you were trembling too. You were so close to him, he could felt your body against his, your finger griped into his clothes.

"For not knocking. And not saying sorry. And for not trying to talk to you." His coat smelt like tobacco and oil, just like everything around him did in this place. For you, it felt like home.

When he didn't answer, you spoke again.

"I don't want to leave. I'm sorry."

There was another quiet minute. You were about to let him go when he finally found his voice.

"Are you sure? But you saw me." He carefully caressed your hand with his fingers. "You saw what that bitch did to me."

So, you were right, those wounds were too straight to be from some kind of accident.

With your eyes closed you enjoyed the gentle touches, as he run his fingers along the top of your hands, and then slowly moved up on your arms as well. He slowly relaxed between your arms and leaned closer to your body. Even his breathing became more even.

When he sighed, you let him out from your hug and stepped beside him, looking up at him "Come with me, Lord Heisenberg." You gently took his hand and pulled him after you. heading back to your room.

"Hm?"

"I need some rest, and you too. And I'm sure you've destroyed half of your room."

Heisenberg pulled down his hat into his eyes. Damn.

"Why would I have done that?" Oh, for the love of god, shut up you, idiot! He snorted to himself.

"Because you care about me, just as much I care about you. Come." You pulled him all the way to your bed. Turning towards him you took off his hat and glasses.

"Mh, what?" His tired eyes looked straight into yours.

"Your eyes are really beautiful."

"Oh shut up." Stepping next to you, he threw himself on the bed.

You never dared to ask why you got a bed which was big enough for two people. Whether someone owned this room in the past, or the man had some kind of plan for you. But right now, as he leaned back to the bed, you haven’t really found a reason to worry about that. Climbing next to him, you hid under his arm. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you sighed deeply.

"Well, I hope you're happy."

"Very much, thank you."

He snorted and listened quietly to your steady and calm breathing as he tried to ignore his own pounding heart. He fervently hoped you wouldn't notice this. This hope was unfortunately false considering that you were only a couple of centimeters away from his heart.

The redness spread through his face even more so than before.

He didn't imagine this could happen. You shouldn't have been here anymore. You should have gone to the village a long time ago and not looked back. You should have left everything...and everyone behind.

Instead, you were here. And you laid next to him so damn close. His skepticism struggled against the notion.

Like anything would just become magically fine after this.

"You know, you can't fix me with cuddling, right? I'm messed up in the head and even more fucked up in my body." He swallowed dryly.

"What are you talking about?" Raising your head, you looked straight into his eyes.

"I just told you." He let out an impatient huff. "You can't fix me, I'm this fucked up. And it won't go away after some warm cuddling and snuggling. Sorry to ruin your hopes."

"I don't want to fix you, Heisenberg."

"What?" Every answer of yours caught him off guard.

"Why would I want to fix you when I like you this way?" You leaned closer, slowly kissing him. His body tensed, you could feel his grip tighten on your shirt, then his lips gently kissed you back. The kiss tasted bitter, like his cigar. He pulled you closer and didn't let go until you yourself pulled back.

Looking into his eyes you smiled gently. "Besides, I've been here a long time, so I'm pretty sure I'm just as messed up in the head."

"Damn." His grey eyes almost sparkled. "God damn."

You let him pull you closer, snuggling up to his shoulder.

"So, we're messed up together."

"Pretty much, yeah. But somehow it doesn't bother me."

Heisenberg was sure by then that you could feel the pounding of his heart, but he didn't mind it now. He gently caressed your face with his fingertips from your forehead through the line of your nose all the way to your chin. He spent a lot of time under your eyes.

"Listen, I know she did something to you." You placed your palm carefully on his chest. "But your body isn’t scaring or disgust me." You gently caressed around his heart trough his shirt. "It's your body, it belongs to you and I like it. I mean it's yours and it's fine."

"Mh," he replied tellingly.

His heart finally started to quiet down. Good. He needed to think with his god damn head and not with his heart. Everything happened differently. For hours he believed, no, he knew, that you have already ran away. He wanted to give you time, that was one of the reasons he didn’t come after you for so long. And yet, deep within him he felt he can't just let you go. Who knew what he would have done if you would have told him to his face that you are leaving him? He felt as if his whole world started to tremble.

It was as if you could feel what he was thinking you snuggled closer and rubbed your head against his shoulder.

The man sighed softly.

But you stayed. You were here, and you were honest. Maybe he could be a bit honest too.

"Sometimes, I dream that I'm just a machine myself." He gently played with your hair. It was a long time ago when he touched something this soft. "That I'm lying on one of Mother Miranda's experimental tables, and when I look down at myself I see nothing but gears and bolts that work together inside me. It's not my body anymore, I lost my real one. Then I start to lose my mind as well. And she just watches me, every damn time. Calling me his son. " He rubbed his face into his hands.

Raising your head a little you laid it back on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"What are you-"

"Sh."

The man snorted, in confusion and embarrassment.

"Hm, all I can hear is your flesh heart beating in your chest. The rhythm is pretty fast but maybe because of the many cigars."

"Oh, shut up." He hid his face in his hands and tried to rub the crimson of his face away.

"All right, all right." You snuggled back to his shoulder. "Still, I'm not going anywhere."

"You can be a stubborn bastard sometimes."

You chuckled, clearly proudly and as you embraced him a smile remained on your face.

The room around you was filled with the sounds of the thumping factory. It felt comforting. Your heart started to quiet down as you let your consciousness relax from the rhythmic noises around you two. His hand drew gently circles on your shoulder.

"Can we stay like this for a while?" You asked, what he didn’t dare to ask.

"Sure." He pulled you even closer and buried his face into your hair. He seemed to relax even more. He raised a finger, and his sunglasses slipped off, levitated under his coat, and raising it up gently laid it on the two of you, before it landed itself on your nightstand with a small clink.

"Thank you." You muttered as you gently drifted towards sleep.

"Yeah-yeah." He kept his face hidden in your hair.

You won't leave him, at least not now. Maybe you will actually stay with him, maybe you were stubborn enough to do it. He ignored his worries about the future, instead, to his own surprise, he let himself be happy for once. He slowly fallen asleep with you on his side, listening to your breathing.

[chasingpj]

𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐦𝐞?

"My soulmate is so mean. He’s done nothing good with these stupid drawings. You know, all I want is something cute, like a picture of, maybe, flowers?"

pairing: leo valdez x gn reader

words: 2,994

warnings: cursing, mentions of genitalia

category: one-shot, soulmate!au

You don’t know who your soulmate is, but when you find out, you know the first thing you’ll do is punch him in his face. You don’t understand why he does this. Why can’t he be romantic like everyone else? You have a few friends who have the same connection you share with your soulmate, through your skin. Your friends rise from their slumbers with beautiful sketches on their arms; Or throughout the day, lines will appear as they’re being drawn, creating the most beautiful artwork you’ve ever seen. However, of course, you don’t get that; instead, you get this.

You stare at yourself in the mirror with pure disbelief, and you can’t decide whether to cry or scream. You’re used to these kinds of drawings in places like your arms, stomach, and legs, so they were easy to hide. But this has never happened before; it's never been in a place so… so visible.

You fill with rage as you observe the sloppily drawn dick on your forehead and your fist clenches as it lays on top of your bathroom sink. You fucking ass. How the hell am I going to hide this? You have to be at work in fifteen minutes, and you have this vulgar drawing on your forehead. You’re sure if you tell your boss your situation, he’d probably dismiss you because this is obviously not appropriate for the workplace. Still, you can’t even imagine trying to explain this to him. It was way too embarrassing.

"What am I going to do?” You whine as you rub your hands on your face. The drawing won’t be removed from your skin unless your soulmate removes it on his, so you had to think of a solution right away.

“Where could he possibly be where this is acceptable?” You try to refrain from sobbing hopelessly as your frantic mind searches for a solution. You think maybe a hat will work, but you discard the idea knowing your boss will tell you to take it off once you’re indoors. Suddenly, like a sign from the heavens, your solution hits you right in the face when you catch sight of your makeup bag lying on the toilet seat. You reach over, grabbing the pouch and unzipping it. Your quivering hands move too fast, causing the products to fall out and scatter into the sink. Your eyes skim over them in search of your thickest foundation and concealer. When you find them, along with your primer, you sigh, saying a silent prayer before getting to work.

***

Leo gasps sharply as the sight of his face in the mirror shocks him out of his fatigue. He touches his forehead, trying to recall the memory of last night while ignoring the pounding headache surging through his skull. He remembers getting to the club with a group of friends and how they took one shot after another until their vision was blurry. He has a faint memory of dancing with some girl, and the chaos of his 4 am Macdonald’s run with his friends. However, he doesn't recall the moment when this picture was drawn on his face. When did this happen? More importantly, who did this? He pauses, gawking at his reflection. His jaw clenches as the culprit comes to mind. He felt foolish for questioning who did this because he lives with, and he went home with one person last night, and that's Percy.

“Percy!” He yells angrily, and in the next room, he hears Percy’s manic laughter getting louder as he runs down the hall and into the bathroom with him. Percy can’t help but laugh even harder at the sight of a distressed Leo, and he silently congratulates himself for pulling such a successful prank. Leo’s expression hardens, and his gaze snaps over to him, “It's not funny!”

Percy snorts and nudges his shoulder, "Come on, loosen up!" Leo laughs sarcastically,

"Come on, loosen up!" He mocks with clear annoyance, making Percy’s laughter ceases. Leo usually takes things like this so well; he's never been angry at him because of a childish prank. The two of them have been pulling pranks on each other since they moved in together, and they would always laugh it out while deviously planning their revenge. Percy tilts his head, now growing annoyed that Leo’s annoyed.

"Why are you so uptight today?" He almost snaps, not understanding his fury. Leo's eyes narrow at him,

"My soulmate is linked to my skin." He speaks slowly and carefully, accentuating his words to make sure Percy understands how bad this is. Percy's mouth drops open, and he stares at the vulgar art on his forehead.

"Oh… shit," is the only thing he can think of saying. “Fuck, I forgot. I’m sorry,” Percy apologizes even though he knows it doesn’t help anything. He didn’t share the same connection with his soulmate, so he had forgotten entirely about Leo’s bond with his. He’s now left with regret knowing that there's someone out there going along their day trying to hide this lewd image.

Leo groans as he throws his head back. "I-It'll wash off? Right?"

Leo flips up the sink’s nozzle, dipping his head in the cold tap water to wet his face. He scrubs with his fingers, blindly grasping the soap next to him. He runs it over, spreading the suds and lightly scratching his forehead. He rinses everything off and returns to his original position to check his face now. He yells in panic when he sees the drawing didn't budge at all; it didn't even fade. Percy audibly gasps,

"I used permanent marker."

"BRO!"

"I'm sorry!"

Percy shifts on his feet as the memory of last night comes back to him. Leo fell asleep in the cab ride home, and Percy, somehow without much balance, carried him over his shoulder into their apartment complex. He squints his eyes, and with a vague remembrance, he recalls plopping him down on the couch. Leo was unconscious, and Percy’s drunk mind saw this as a perfect opportunity to prank him. He picked the first marker he saw, and in the middle of a giggling fit, he sloppily drew the phallic item and took a picture.

Leo frantically puts his head back in the sink to scrub again, and Percy stands by the door, watching panic wash over him. Leo continues scrubbing his skin, and though his skin becomes red under the friction of his nails, he persists. Percy shakes his head, walking over to him quickly, and he pats his shoulder.

"Come on, man. It's not working; you’re gonna hurt yourself." If Percy let him, Leo would scrub his skin raw. He disregards his advice and continues to scrub, bringing the soap over the drawing once again before scratching harshly. Percy, not wanting his friend to hurt himself, turns off the tap, and Leo groans, standing straight. He stares at himself in the mirror, his face dripping wet, and his skin is red with irritation. I'm so sorry.

***

Your day hasn't gotten any better since this morning. First, you wake with a dick on your forehead; second, you miss your bus because you took so much time layering makeup on your face. Then, you get to work about 15 minutes late because your commute, which usually took about 5 minutes, was delayed due to traffic. You assumed that your day couldn’t get any worse, but you discovered you spoke too soon when the system your job uses to put in orders crashed, making your job even harder than it had to be. Also, you spilled hot coffee on yourself during the morning rush, and that almost sent you straight into tears, but somehow, you prevailed.

By the afternoon, you wanted to rip your hair out when you realized you forgot your wallet, leaving you unfed and cranky. Your boss was no help to your mood either. He picked at everything you did today and held a grudge about you being late this morning. You've never had such a shitty day at work, and there is a sense of relief when you witnessed the clock turn to 4:30 pm. You immediately stood up from your chair, collecting your things before walking straight to the computer to clock out.

The last challenge you're facing is to get home in the slippery aftermath of the pouring rain earlier today. It was colder than usual; the sun’s hidden behind stormy gray clouds, and the smell of wet soil is in the air. You shiver, your arms wrapped around your frame in a poor attempt to keep you warm. You don't have an umbrella, and you hope it doesn’t start raining again. You were sure that if your makeup washes away in the rain for everyone to see the mystery under it, you will lose your mind.

You stand in the corner of the waiting shed, resting your head on the side. You take a deep breath, noticing your hands are anxiously chipping away the week-old nail polish. From the corner of your eye, you see someone join you under the shed, and out of usual curiosity, you look over. A tall, slender guy stands in the opposite corner; he wears distressed blue jeans, a black hoodie with a print you can’t see from your view, and a black winter hat. In his hands, he fiddles with a piece of scrap metal. His skin was tan, and his brown curly hair peeks from under his hat. Oblivious to your staring, he looks away from his fiddling and happens to glance over at you. There's a moment of awkward eye contact before you snap your vision away and out to the street.

You cringe at yourself for staring too long, shifting on your feet. You casually lean over the side of the curve, and you swear the light of the heavens was shining on your bus as it drove toward you. You couldn’t help but smile, a sense of relief washing over you. It’s here; you were one step closer to getting home and relaxing.

The excitement was taken away as quickly as it arrived, your bus passing your stop making a mini tsunami in the process. A wave of water splashes directly on you, and it takes you a moment to process what just happened. You stand there, cold and wet staring blankly at the curve. You felt overwhelmed, not being able to hold back the cries that you’ve been suppressing all day.

"are you-" a sob releases from your lips, stunning the unknown guy next to you. You miserably walk over to the bench, plopping down and resting your elbows on your thighs to lay your head in your hands. You sob freely, not caring about the boy's presence, and he stands in his spot, not sure what to do. He had an innate urge to make you feel better, and he doesn't know why but it pains him to see you like this. He clears his throat and decides to settle in the seat next to you. "Bad day?"

You sniffle, trying to find your breath, "The worst."

You don't look up, your hands doing their part to cover your face and your forehead. "I don't understand why everything is going so wrong.” You didn’t even care that you were pitying yourself, but you felt like you had the right considering how shit your day has been.

"I woke up with an awful drawing from my soulmate. I was late for my bus, which made me late to work; I haven't had lunch either. I'm hungry, cold, and now, soaking wet in street water." You sniffle once more. "My soulmate is so mean. He’s done nothing good with these stupid drawings. You know, all I want is something cute, like a picture of, maybe, flowers? I'd even take a tacky picture of two stick figures falling in love... shit; I’d be satisfied with a grocery list. But of course, with my luck, that doesn't happen. I get stupid drawings of... genitalia."

Leo’s body tenses next to you, and his teeth bite the inside of his lip. Drawings of genitalia? Sounds like him. Now he needed to see this drawing you were talking about, and he feels himself getting anxious at the possibility that you could be his soulmate. You continue to cry, refusing to move from your position.

"Well... it can't be that bad?"

"Oh, it's bad,” you managed to respond in your ragged breathing. Leo hesitantly reaches over, affectionately rubbing his hand across your upper back. Your breath hitches softly at the back of your throat, and there is a surge of warmth that radiates from his hand. You feel your tense shoulders begin to relax, and you furrow your eyebrows as your breath miraculously finds its regular pace. You even have this strange desire to cuddle into his frame to acquire more of his touch.

"Come on, show me. It's probably not as bad as you think." He speaks from his experience this morning. If you aren't his soulmate, he's sure that whatever you have isn't as traumatic as what he and his soulmate have.

"No! You'll laugh," you whine, your head laying firmly on your hands.

"I won't! I promise." You can tell from his voice that he was genuine, and for some reason, you can trust him. You slowly remove your hands from your face, but your head is still in an embarrassed bow. His heart pounds in his chest at the anticipation and leans forward to get a look at your face. You close your eyes, not wanting to see his initial reaction.

There it was. Right under your concealer, there is the familiar drawing faintly present. Leo's mouth drops, and his eyes widen; how is he going to tell you that he has the same picture on his forehead? You sigh shakily,

"It's bad, isn't it?" Your face burns in pure humiliation, and you now regret showing him. Leo is silent for a bit, trying to find words to explain himself.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out. Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes flutter open to look at his guilty expression.

"Why are you sorry?" He doesn't even attempt to explain himself in words. He simply slides off his winter hat, showing you the original drawing on his skin. You inhale sharply, your mind trying to process what is happening in front of you.

He's your soulmate, the person that you ideally would spend your life with. You didn't think you'd find him anytime soon or even at all. Your stomach flutters at the sight of him, and your cheeks get warm. You both gaze into each other’s eyes, and there was an immediate connection. You take in the tousled curls on his head, a bit frizzy from his hat and his big brown eyes. Your heart pumps hard in your chest, just as fast as the boy’s heart in front of you.

A few people told you that you’d feel like the world will slow down when you meet your soulmate. You’ll feel complete, and all at once, you’ll fall in love. You thought it was a load of over-romanticized bull, but you found that it was true even with your strange circumstance.

You finally found him…

But he's done this.

Your anger somehow counteracts this "in love" feeling, and you momentarily hate him for starting your day off on a sour note.

"You!" Your arms lift to strike him in the chest, but before you could attack, he grasps your tight fists.

"I'm sorry! I can explain!" He says quickly. Your arms loosen up, and you narrow your eyes at him,

"Explain yourself then." Sheepishly Leo cowers and his hands remain around your fist, just in case.

"Well," he sighs, "I partied a little too hard last night, and um, my roommate, Percy, thought it would be funny to draw this on my forehead."

"Your roommate is an ass."

"Well, yeah. Sometimes. But he was just as drunk as I was, and he didn't realize that the marker was permanent. When I saw it, I immediately thought of you, and how you’d have to walk around with this." He chews on the inside of his cheek, "I tried getting it off, but it won’t go away." You sigh, willing to forgive him since it wasn't his fault.

"So, we're gonna have this for a while?"

"Probably a couple of days or so." You groan and don’t say anything in return. You look down at your lap, still hiding your face from anyone around. "Oh, here, take my sweatshirt. The hoodie can keep it hidden.” He puts his hat back on and pulls his sweatshirt over his body, passing it to you. You smile softly as you take it from him. You pull it over your still soaked and cold frame, slipping your arms in and bringing the hood up. You mutter a small thank you, shoving your hands in the front pocket. He replies with a hum, allowing the sounds of the passing cars to fill your comfortable silence.

"Again, I'm sorry,” he apologizes sincerely, and you turn your head. You smile reassuringly,

"It's okay. I'll forgive you this time,” you say teasingly, and he chuckles. "I'm y/n, by the way."

"Leo." You reach over, taking his hand, and you guys share a handshake.

"Nice to meet you, soulmate.”

masterlists

[merakiui]

hii could we get an angsty scenario/hcs of xiao and scaramouche/any characters you prefer! who are basically head over heels for someone but that person keeps getting with the wrong people and constantly getting their heart broken? Preferably with a good/fluffy ending but it’s up to you!

cw: angst + heartbreak  note - decided to go for scenarios! (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

[Xiao] 

One Call Away—

The sudden shout of his name had brought him out into the open, where he finds you sitting in a field of wildflowers, your head hung and quiet sobs racking your hunched form.

“You called?” The gruffness in his voice startles you and your head snaps up. He notices your pained expression and the tears that refuse to cease, and it gives birth to a strange feeling within his chest. “What happened? Surely I am not too late.” And then he shakes his head. “No, I’m never late.”

“Ah... I’m sorry.” You sniffle, pitifully rubbing at your eyes. “I guess your name slipped out. I didn’t mean to bother you. I just didn’t mean to call for you either.”

Xiao raises a brow and then surveys the surrounding area. “Well, it doesn’t look like you’re in any mortal peril. In that case, I’ll leave you to—”

“No!”

Your sudden shout startles the both of you, with you drawing back and Xiao’s eyes widening ever so slightly. He wonders why you’re crying when beautiful scenery surrounds you. Are you truly that pathetic? Are mortals usually this weak-hearted? Xiao can’t wrap his head around the idea of grief; he’s an immortal who has seen plenty of hazardous scenarios worth grieving over. Yet with the passage of time he has learned to let such emotions drift away on a wind current. Emotions are useless to an adeptus.

But now he’s stuck with them.

“No?”

“D-Don’t go...” Your voice wobbles and you wipe at your reddened eyes. “I don’t want to bother you, but could you stay here with me? For a little while, at least. It’s all I’ll ask...”

He feels like he should decline your desperate plea before it spreads its perplexing roots throughout his system. The words are practically on the tip of his tongue and he struggles to verbalize them. If he could, he’d shake his head and vanish from your sight. There’s something about your expression that forces him to stay, and he truly detests the way his emotions run wild at the prospect of something he can’t quite comprehend.

“Fine.”

And so Xiao listens to you. It’s something he does best; his eyes and ears are open as he gives you his full, undivided attention. Half of him observes your reactions as you explain what happened and the other half zeros in on the way your subtle hand motions. While he might not be anywhere near a cupid—and he would never be caught giving out relationship advice to mortals, which is something he couldn’t do even if he tried—he is still a being of immense power. From what he’s able to understand from your explanation, your loved one decided to part from you because they believed it just wasn’t working. And you, having been struck with an immense sadness, failed to call out to them to clear up any misunderstandings.

Eventually, after internally wrestling with his own thoughts and feelings, he asks, “Do you want me to teach them a lesson? Should you need them to feel the same amount of despair you’re feeling—”

“Oh, no! No. No. They don’t deserve to be punished for that. I understand now that our feelings weren’t the same. We really weren’t working and that’s okay. It just...hurts.”

Xiao tilts his head, an innocently childish show of confusion. “Where?”

“It’s not a physical pain, Xiao. I mean, it could be. But...this is more emotional.” Your hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around his wrist. He stares down at your hand and he almost pulls away. Before he can even consider what’s happening, you’re guiding his hand to where your heart is. “In here. It hurts now, but I’ll overcome it eventually. I’m used to it anyways...”

The straight-faced adeptus remains still as he feels the fast-paced beat of your heart. Mortals have always been weak in his eyes: feeble beings who break at the slightest inconvenience. Although you don’t seem close to shattering and that confuses him more than he’d like to admit. Perhaps you are one of the more resilient humans he’s come across in recent years. It’s strange when he feels your heartbeat, so very certain and alive with the sour feelings a heartbreak brings. He’s never understood that either. Heartbreaks and relationships. The differences between friendship and romance. Both can be seen through to the very end, if fostered healthily.

So then why are you so sad?

Truthfully, you’ve always seemed sad to Xiao. As an adeptus, he’s never been able to fully grasp the meaning behind human emotions. They’re insignificant in his eyes, mere flashes of feeling that can hurt and blind. They’re troublesome and useless—certainly not something he would ever want to experience. But those emotions can heal and bring cheer. They’re not all entirely bad, nor are they as evil as he seems to think they are.

Xiao realizes his hand has been on your chest for a while now and he’s been staring at you so much that you’ve begun to shrink away, partially embarrassed to have him analyze you with so much scrutiny.

“Is...something wrong?”

He shakes his head slowly at first before retracting his arm. And then he notices you’ve stopped crying. He’s not sure when this happened, but he’s oddly relieved to see your neutral expression. Somehow your crying face is painful and it wounds him in a way he never would have imagined.

“Thank you for listening to my rant. I know this is probably meaningless to you, since you’re an adeptus and all, but it really means a lot. So I’m glad I was able to get these things off my chest. I feel a lot lighter now.”

“You’re not sad?”

“Ah. Well...” Your gaze flickers, eyes darting to and fro while you struggle to look at him. “I’m still sad, but I’ll get over it! Don’t worry! I’m resilient!”

Xiao’s brow furrows in confusion. As he has thought plenty of times before, mortals are far too complex. Eventually he sighs and says, “It’s okay to cry. Don’t keep that inside, okay? You’ll just hurt yourself even more.” Now he’s avoiding your gaze and there’s a barely noticeable tinge of pink dusting his pale cheeks. He’s really not good at consoling humans.

“Oh, Xiao.” You pull him in for a hug and he stiffens, trying to squeeze out of your arms like a cat near water. But then he feels your fingers digging into his arm and he realizes that you might actually need this hug. Despite the fact that he’s not used to freely giving out hugs—or even cheering up mortals, for that matter—he is definitely out of his element. “Really, thank you. I promise to make you an Almond Tofu as thanks.”

“There’s no need for that.” Hesitantly, as if he’s worried he’ll break you, he wraps his arms around your form. “I’m just helping you because you called my name. That’s all.”

But that’s not the full truth. Hidden in those words is the real reason why he even bothered to stay despite the false alarm. And it worries Xiao when he thinks about the implications. He really does like you and this admiration has surpassed platonic love. As long as you’re okay, though, he’ll swallow his feelings in favor of making sure you’re always happy. It’s one of his duties as your friend.

Friend. A word Xiao never thought he’d ever use, but it feels nice. He likes it.

Yet The Distance Remains Harrowing.

[Scaramouche] 

To Mend a Broken Heart—

You’re spilling your emotional guts in front of the Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers, tears freely running down your cheeks like two faulty water faucets. It’s a pathetic sight, really. Scaramouche witnessed this exact show just a few weeks ago when you were so certain that that fisher was the one. Now, after meeting and getting together with someone else for a short time, you’ve come out of yet another relationship, unhappy and unsatisfied.

He’s jealous. There’s no denying the envy he feels when you talk so highly of these people and then wail about them a few days later. It’s a vicious cycle of mending a fragile heart and then breaking it into pieces all over again. With no end in sight, you fall victim to your own demise in the pursuit of love. He wonders if you’ll ever learn to choose your next partner carefully rather than settling for anything with a pulse.

“This is exactly what I said would happen, was it not?” he says with a sigh. “Oh, woe is you. If you were smarter, this last relationship might have lasted longer.”

“That’s rich coming from you. I’ve never seen you in a relationship before,” you mutter, wiping angrily at your eyes. His eyelid twitches at the not-so-subtle jab. “Ugh!I hate being so unlucky! This is the worst.”

“Rather than your foul luck, I think the problem lies within you and your taste in partners.”

Sniffling, you lower your head onto the table, hoping to just melt into the crafted wood before you end up making even more of a fool out of yourself. It’s rare to be in the company of Scaramouche, considering how often he’s assigned missions that require swift travel and a covert profile. But whenever you do find yourself sitting across from him, indulging in light snacks and tea, it’s always because you’ve lost your latest lover; and your own sadness requires the nullifying effects of Scaramouche’s cynicism.

“They’re good people! I just don’t know why it never works out. We’re happy and we both like each other—it doesn’t make any sense. Am I missing something? Is it my fault? They probably got tired of me because I’m not a good person.“

“Perhaps.” He takes a moment to sip his tea and you muster a weak glare. Only Scaramouche can delight in his beverage while you’re holding back another onslaught of tears. “Your crocodile tears are hardly flattering and your apparent need for consistent affection might come off as clingy. And you have a tendency to find flaws within yourself whenever something doesn’t go your way. Adding onto that, you doubt yourself a lot and you’re always quick to take the blame for things that are out of your control. In a way you are partially—”

“I get it. I’m not a good person.”

“I never said anything of that sort. Now you’re just asking for pity.”

Oh, how close you are to punching that smirk off of his face.

“Then since you seem to know everything, my oh so helpful friend, why don’t you tell me what I’m missing?”

“With pleasure.” His cup finds the surface of the table as he ponders your demand for a moment. “You’re missing someone who meshes well with your personality.”

“That’s not true. Everyone I’ve been with so far—“ His skeptical look makes you stop short. “Okay. Maybe we forced it because we thought it was love. But that’s besides the point! There was still an attraction! I think...” You huff and bury your face in your arms, nearly almost sprawling on the table. You’re too depressed to even consider how impolite your actions look, and Scaramouche scoffs at your poor display of manners. “Where am I even going to find someone who ‘meshes well with my personality,’ hm?”

“I’m sure you’ve already found them.” He clears his throat, tracing a finger along a sanded knot in the wooden table. “You’re sitting across from him.”

Whether he intended for you to hear that whispered part, you can’t say for sure. But your head perks up and you fix him with a lopsided grin. “You’re kidding.”

“Hm?”

“Me and you, a couple?” A small giggle escapes your lips and you swipe the remaining tears out of your eyes. “Don’t joke about that. I’m trying to be sad here!”

It wasn’t a joke, he almost says and he catches himself, suddenly self-conscious.

“I don’t think we’d work out,” you continue, motioning between you and him. “We’d hardly see each other and you don’t seem like the type for romance. Besides, I’m not attracted to you in that way. You feel the same, right?”

Scaramouche stares into his cup before he meets your gaze, a tight smile gracing his expression. “Of course. Your inability to settle isn’t all that attractive.”

Your eyes roll and you finally pick up your own cup to take a large gulp of lukewarm tea. The bitter Harbinger observes your actions with narrowed eyes. There’s a distinct pain that taps at his hardened soul, splitting it apart as your words echo within his spinning head. I don’t think we’d work out. I’m not attracted to you in that way. Why is he suddenly feeling...upset? He’s not one for pitiful emotions; he’s a Harbinger, not a lovesick fool! He ought to glare at you and storm off, demanding the two of you never speak again. But he won’t say that because he doesn’t want to hurt you. Because he cares for you. Because he loves you.

You feel the same, right?

No, that’s not right. This is the love he’s been wallowing in since he first got acquainted with you. It’s strange when he remembers every event that has led up to the blossoming feelings that reside deep in the epicenter of his heart, but it’s even more strange that he can’t find the courage to voice his own opinion.

“We wouldn’t mix,” he reaffirms your statement with a cold tone. There is no warmth in his eyes. “After all, your taste in tea is as bad as your taste in partners.”

And even though he wishes you could see through his walls—just this once he’ll allow you to tear them down for the sake of a half-baked confession—you just sit there and grin, no longer teary-eyed and forlorn. How odd. His heart feels far heavier than it’s ever been before. And you’re already scanning your surroundings, hungry for a love that will never keep you sated. Perhaps you weren’t even sad in the first place.

Upon realizing this, Scaramouche wants nothing more than to disappear into the wood like a feeble worm and never come back out.

You Must Break Another.

[not-ur-normie]

Cristal witches, aka Sasha making headcanons for the world of Eldarya

I have this idea since forever at this point, so I figured it wouldn't hurt a fly to talk about it a little. It comes from years before when I wanted my OC to not be human but some kind of magic creature, so here we go.

English is not my first languange, so I am apologizing in advance.

Note: Throughout the post, the timespan is after the Blue Sacrifice, but I will talk about that too later on.

Who are cristal witches?

Cristal witches are witches who hold power connected to maana.

The bigger maana surronds them, the bigger their powers get

The reason they are called cristal witches is because they can form a connection with the Crystal

They are creatures with big potencial to play big roles in Eldarya, but that is exactly the point where things go wrong

More about witches

Most cristal witches are women, it's really rare when a male is born and inherits magical power, but there are cases when it happens

There were never any worry about them dying out, since the genes are VERY strong

When a male and female cristal witch have a child who is also one, they turn out way stronger then the others who only have one parent being one

Don't get me wrong, one parent makes the kid already strong as it is, but two parents are just a whole new level

Cristal witches all have tattoos, all in different colors. Most of the time the colors don't have anything to do with the powers they can hold, but lighter colors indicate lighter powers, meaning: lighter colors can't use magic that requires bigger maana usage, like black magic, or healing magic

(If you play the game, you sure know the voodoo outfit, I based the tattoos on those tattoos, so you can see the colors if you google it)

Since cristal witches are a heavily mixed community thanks to the overload of women, there are times where kids inherit both of their parents specific genetics

It's rare tho, because of the witch genes mixing up with other races' is not that common

But when it happens, it always gains attention

Cristal witches are not just cristal witches because they are connected to the Crystal, but because they literally have crystals all over their body

These crystals are mostly small ones and has the color of the tattoos

They are really human-like, so if they can hide their tattos and crystals they can perfectly blend in, which did come handy at some point

Their lifespan is about 150-200 years

They are able to open the portal to the human world

(here you can see the children of my OC [Chrystal] and Ezarel, who were lucky enough to inherit both of their parents genes, so they are witches with elf ears.)

How did they live?

Back then cristal witches lived in small communities, mostly small villages, but there where some communities living a full nomad life

Since they live so long, there were not many of them to begin with

These smaller communities lived close to each other way back then, but the nomad communities started to move around after a while

These are highly spiritual communities, especially that they are fully able to communicate with the Oracle if they wish so

They had special type of education, where witches were learning to use basic magic, while non-witches who lived with them learned alchemy

They had strict rules, that everybody needed to follow, they weren't allowed to use their power randomly

They needed to get an approval to use magic that requires more manna than your basic magic, and also to use dangerous or risky magic

If somebody went against this rule more than 5 times, they got their magic taken away

They choose new leader every year, although if a leader was good, they sticked with them and kept on picking them

The leader was not leading alone, although they made the final decisions

There were many smaller position available next to the leader, which are also chosen by the other witches

Overally they are really pieceful, so the conflicts are not that common

Cristal witches are able to do many things with magic, but it takes a lifetime to gain a really controlled power, so older, well-educated witches are highly respected and the leader was chosen from them most of the times

Some really strong witches are even able to bring back people from the death, but only if they're right there when the death happens

The Blue Sacrifice

The reason that Cristal witches were never part of the council that planned out the Sacrifice was that the races forming the council agreed that Eldarya could need them in the future (and they were damned right)

Before the Sacrifice taken place, witches were not that strong than after it happend

I imagine it the way, that once the sacrifice was made, Eldarya alone had more maana than when the two worlds were one and since witches' powers are mostly maana based, it made their powers grow way stronger than before

(I hope this makes sense lol)

Where things went wrong

As I mentioned before, they are creatures with big potential

When the Blue Sacrifice went wrong, the races in Eldarya needed the witches help the most

Almost every community, town, villige, whatever had at least one witch living with them to help out whenever there were high need

The problem is, that there was always high need; as we know Eldarya was in trouble

With the help of the witches it was easier to go for supplies to the human world, although only those communities could do this who had stronger, more experienced witches

There were even witches who were able to cast spells and make the field able to grow some edible plants

And this is exactly where things went terribly wrong

Since cristal witches have a high value, there were many who hunted them or tortured them for their powers

Why? Well, I know all the above reasons would be enough, but there are more to it

Cristal witches' blood is able to make the lifespan of whoever drinks it longer

And not just that, but it can completely function as food, it stops hunger for longer periods of time (weeks, sometimes months, depending on power) and makes the immune system 100% healthy

It was also used for really expensive medication

You know what else is really valuable? The tears of witches.

It can fasten healing and was used for many medication as well as their blood

But only tears that hold heavy emotions count, since the tear drops turn into little crystals

These informations spread real fast after a while and witch hunts became so serious that at one point several communities started to think that it would be better to sacrifice them as well so maybe Eldarya could gain its full balance [the Guard of El also wanted this, just in case you were curious]

Witches would've 100% sacrificed themselfs if they got asked by the time the Blue Sacrfice happend

But after all the terror they went through, their trust was completely broken

They did not want to die for all these selfish folks wanting to murder them, not thinking about their race for a single second

So one day they completely vanished

Nobody knows how exactly, the common guess was that they opened the portal and moved to the human world, giving up on their magic

I mean everything was better than dying for your murderers

After the vanish

Of course, not all of the witches vanished, but the witch communities that lived together

Those who lived in certain places helping out stayed there

Back then the Guard of El had a witch with them too

Sadly, they got scared of her possibly gaining control over the guard, since she was very much loved... So they decided to kill her [yes, they wanted to sacrifice her, and then killed her, way to go]

The last known cristal witch was a male, living with the Fenghuangs, but he died just before The Origins' story starts

But... Are they really all gone?

Okaaaay soooo I bet there are stuff in this which doesn't exactly fit the story and/or I remember incorrectly, but it is what it is.

On the very first art you can see my OC named Chrystal. Well, she arrives to Eldarya the same way Erika did in the original story, the main difference is that she turnes out to be a cristal witch and this fact leaves the guard in a numb shock. Suddenly the only living cristal witch is with them and that is changing their situation entirely.

I am sure I will write down Chrystals story with illustratons and whatnot, but currently I am working on my Moonligh Lovers' OC's illus, so that will take some time.

Anyway, this will have another part, I wanna at least introduce Chrystal so you can see a cristal witch in action, hurray.

Ah, yeah, if there are facts from the game messed up, feel free to tell me, I am not biting. You can also use this idea for your ocs, I don't mind. Hugs<3

[qqueenofhades]

Hey, I loved your post about queerness in historical fiction. I was wondering if you could help me find a better way to explain (or know of someone who could) to the white (usually male) fans of Tolkien who are currently losing their minds because in the series for Amazon they have cast Sir Lenny Henry (a black man) as a hobbit. It feels like the exact same argument that was dealt with when Anya Chalotra was cast as Yennefer for The Witcher. It just seems like only white people are screaming that the entire cast must be white in both the case of the Witcher and Middle Earth in order to be "historically accurate to the Dark Ages" when it's all fantasy. I'm a white person and I don't get it. It's really frustrating that the only way to convince them that people of color should be allowed to play characters who aren't evil-doers is to bring up the existence of the potato in both Middle Earth and The Witcher. In this most recent fight, I've been called all kinds of names (one dude keeps saying I'm racist when I haven't brought up race or anything like that) and it's ridiculous because Henry was cast as a Harfoot who were hobbits with dark skin that they claim means Mediterranean not Black.

Ooof. I admire your initiative, I really do, but also: there comes a point where all good-faith efforts are totally futile, because these people don't actually WANT their beliefs challenged, and there won't be anything you can do about it except to exhaust yourself. You can throw all the material or documentary evidence at them that you want, but it won't work, because racism, white superiority, and the assumption of a monolithically white medieval history are a helluva drug. They are eager to split ridiculous hairs like "dark skin means Mediterranean instead of black" because, well, racism, whether or not they want to acknowledge that. Because Mediterranean is at least European, whereas for them, Black is Bad, Inferior, or otherwise Unacceptable. This doesn't even get into the types who want to claim that Ancient Rome (which was rather notably, y'know, Mediterranean and North African) was actually lily-white, because even dark-skinned Southern and Eastern Europeans can't ultimately make the racist cut.

Tolkien himself obviously had problems with his depiction of race and racialized people (witness the Haradrim, "men from the South," being the only people of colour in the story and generalized as an indiscriminate evil force fighting for Sauron against the white/Northern European heroes). That's not to say Tolkien was actively racist (see: the letter he wrote to the Nazi German would-be publishers of The Hobbit, inviting them cordially to get fucked), but it does mean that he was steeped in the usual assumptions and expectations of a white upper-class British man in the 1920s and 1930s, and not least the mindset that the (white) rulers of the (nonwhite) British Empire were superior, morally correct, and the privileged resisters of "evil" political systems. (This isn't even getting into how Germany was admired throughout the long 19th century for its perceived cultural and social superiority, the American eugenics movement directly influenced the Nazis, a lot of people thought that Hitler's only mistake was being too obviously crazy, and America and Britain only actively entered World War II when their territory/perceived global power was infringed upon.)

White people tend to assume that if they personally don't hold discriminatory attitudes (and they usually do, just because that's what society has taught them for almost all of modern history), they can't be racist, and it's a personal insult to call them that. They know that Racism Is Bad, but likewise, it's always someone else's fault, not theirs. See the huge brouhaha over the supposed plan to teach "critical race theory" in American public schools, which is really just acknowledging that centuries of racism and discrimination have created a system that disadvantages people of color at every level. This is absolute heresy for today's right wing (which has become ever more extreme, reactionary, and historically amnesiac) to admit. They can admit historical racism, sometimes, maybe, only in demonstrably "bad" people, but as far as they're concerned, there was no lingering effect whatsoever, and it's "un-American" (read: anti-white supremacist) to insist otherwise. Land of the free! Everyone treated the same! Etc. etc. The continued inferior or disadvantaged life outcomes of people of color is, according to these types, simply a result of them not being motivated/ambitious/smart enough to fix their own broken circumstances. Those centuries of genocide, cultural destruction, use as literal chattel slaves, etc, has nothing to do with it.

If this sounds ridiculous: well, obviously, it is. But as reactionary mindsets have become troublingly normalized and social media has allowed people to spread both passively and actively racist content to unprecedented degrees, it has also leaked into media. The type of white-man-fan you're arguing with won't accept any "historically accurate" argument for the inclusion of non-white people, even as they're staking their own (bad) arguments on that hill. This is because they want to claim the sole privilege to create a nostalgic/imagined/fantasy space that looks just like them. Their underlying belief is that people of color never had any power or consequential role in history, and shouldn't have, so they don't want to see a space, even an explicitly fantastic/non-historical setting (like LOTR, The Witcher, GOT, etc.), where this is the case. Whether or not they want to say it, or even if they're aware of it, they feel that even if they've been unhappily forced to accept a small lessening of their cultural power just because we no longer automatically accept that white men get to run everything, they at least can take comfort in a (white) past. And now, or so they think, the "politically correct" types also want to ruin their racist fantasy comfort zone. They can't even escape from multiculturalism in media, as it too has become steadily more diverse.

Basically: it's racism, Jan. It's many levels of racism, you can't argue those people out of it, and you have to identify and understand that, especially since their favorite diversionary tactic will be the schoolyard maneuver of going, "no, YOU'RE the racist!!!"

(Also: "historically accurate to the Dark Ages" should tell you everything you need to know. These people know absolutely nothing about history, but that won't prevent them from weaponising it in defense of the perceived threat to their cultural and racial domination. Besides, yet again, fantasy universes have no claim to historical accuracy, and if you say that, I assume you just want to feel justified in creating a fictional universe where the only powerful/consequential people are white heterosexual western European-coded men, because you not-so-secretly wish it was still that way in reality.)

[no-droids]

Chapter 5: Of Metal and Men

Part five of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.1K OUR LONGEST SIN YET FOUNDLINGS

Warnings: SMUT, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, mild mild degredation whoops

A/N:  Uhh this is so fluffy?  wtf how come??/?

“Mando?”

“Hm.”

“I have to pee.”

He grunts.  “So go pee.”

“I can’t see.”

“Turn on a light.”

“But…”  You don’t even want to say the words aloud.  You’ve so far convinced yourself that if you just never mention the fact that he’s got his helmet off right now, he’ll somehow forget to put it back on again.  

It’s not that you necessarily want him to deviate from the ways of the Mandalore, obviously; you have more respect for his culture than that.  No, it's just that.  This is so nice.  Hearing him speak without a modulator warping the natural frequency of his voice, being able to feel his skin directly under your lips with your face buried in the crook of his neck like this.  Practically everything on this fucking ship is metal—the floor beneath you, the mechanics, the hull, the cockpit, the blasters, the armor.  When he puts it on, he becomes nearly invincible; an unreadable, impenetrable fortress that abides by a strict code he rarely deviates from.

But without all that, he’s so… human.  Not a Mandalorian, just a man.  Everything that gives him prestige and recognition stripped away.  Every weapon he straps to his body removed.  The code he’s honored his entire life suspended in a paradisiacal loophole that you never want to end, even if it means having to walk around in the dark for the rest of your life.

He has to put the helmet back on at some point, you’re eventually forced to remind yourself.  What starts out as an impossible task slowly becomes easier as the pressure in your bladder increasingly makes itself known, a reminder that you too are only human and sometimes humans have to pee soon after they wake up.

Which, y’know, a lot of times is okay.  But sometimes, like right now, it really fucking isn’t okay.  Because right now, his hand is so big and warm resting against your upper-back, shoved up underneath the fabric of your shirt and spread out across your shoulder blade.  Right now you can feel his heartbeat through his chest, feel his lungs expand and contract slowly against you.  The last thing you want is to move, and the darkness makes a perfect scapegoat.

You’re quiet for too long, apparently, because he eventually turns his chin to brush his lips against your temple.  “Turn on a light.  Just don’t look.”

You honestly don’t blame him.  He hasn’t had as much time to contemplate the staggering predicament you’re in.  “Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive, shiny.”

“Go.  I trust you.”

Your lashes brush against his neck when your eyes pop open, and the giant pang you feel in your chest shouldn’t be nearly as debilitating as it is.  You know he trusts you, it goes without saying.  But it’s one thing to travel around the galaxy with him, cultivate that inherent trust that comes naturally with odd partnerships that work surprisingly well.  He trusts you to look after the kid, trusts you to pilot and maintain his ship, trusts you to cauterize his wounds when he’s incapable of doing so.  He even trusts you enough to fall asleep next to you, leaving himself unarmored and vulnerable in ways you know you’ll never truly be able to understand.

But this—this is entirely different.  This is the Way.  And he’s half-asleep right now, putting a proverbial blaster in your hand and painting a target on his livelihood, telling you he trusts you enough to uphold one of the strictest, most foundational pillars of his belief system for him.

Okay.  Okay.  If this is what he wants.  You’re not sure you’d put nearly as much blind faith in your own abilities (pun totally intended), but okay.  You trust him and apparently he trusts you, so by some weirdly paradoxical extension inwards, you’re just going to have to trust yourself, too.  He’s always been a man of relatively few words, so it shouldn’t really come as a surprise to you that somehow only three of them work to provide you with more motivation than you’ve experienced in your entire life.  If this is what he wants, then you’ll fight logic with gloves on and downright force yourself to see without seeing.  Somehow.

You slowly start to wiggle out of his arms, but then pause for a second to tilt your chin up and press a soft kiss to his lips, trying not to get distracted from your task when he mmphs low in his throat and his hand comes up to cradle your jaw, holding you there for just a bit longer than you originally planned.

“Go,” he eventually breathes into your mouth.

“You’re not making this any easier.”

“Go.”

“Fuck—fine.”  You carefully remove yourself and do your best to stand up on the blanket with unsteady legs, but then you stop for an entirely different reason, patting the skin on your bare hips in the pitch blackness to check.  “Wait, hang on, did—did you not put any pants back on me last night?”

“…Was I supposed to?”  Eventually comes from somewhere by your feet.

No.  No, he most certainly was not.  You’re honestly just surprised it took you this long to notice, especially since you’ve been subtly clenching your thighs and delaying the inevitable in the darkness for so long.  

You don’t end up answering him, determined instead to find your way to the fresher without the use of sight so you can come back to him quicker.  That’s easier said than done, though.  It’s slow going from the start, trying to step over him without actually knowing exactly where he is, carefully tapping your toes to the ground three times before putting any weight on them and hoping you don’t accidentally step on anything important.

He takes the possibility away when you hear him sigh and strong fingers wrap themselves around your ankles in the dark, pulling and guiding your legs up over his body while muttering inaudibly under his breath.  Something tells you he’s still getting used to having companions that are so blatantly helpless without him, but he does good in rising to the challenge regardless.

The second he releases you and you take a step forward off the blanket though, you immediately trip over something bulky and painfully hard on the floor, catching yourself just in time but managing to stub your toe in the process.

“Careful,” his voice says from behind you, over the loud clang echoing throughout the hull.  “Beskar’s there.”

“Thanks, I almost tripped.”  Once you get closer to the machinery standing upright against the far wall of the hull though, it’s a bit easier to see.  The red and green lights act as your navigation beacons, stationary air traffic control wands guiding your turbulent body through the darkness.

The fresher light is fucking blinding when you finally make contact with the switch, and with the illumination comes an incredibly stern reminder to yourself not to look behind you.  It… it’d be so easy, wouldn’t it?  Turning your head just a fraction right now would be the equivalent of pulling a blaster’s trigger a mere inch—devastating, life-altering, and permanent, yet somehow so fundamentally easy.

You don’t, of course.  It’s just the fleeting thought of it that jars you for a moment.  You quickly shut the door behind you, use the toilet (annoyingly slanted thing you need to have a talk with him about soon, more of a weird space urinal than anything else and not really designed to be used by people with vaginas at all), and then wash your hands.

Your slightly damp fingers press tight to bridge over your eyes before you carefully open the door again, knowing you’re now facing him and the fluorescent light over the sink behind you is probably shining directly on him.  

“Is it… safe?”  You ask after a second.

“I’m not a rancor.”  The sound of his voice makes you sigh in relief and your heart drop in disappointment simultaneously.

Modulated.  Filtered, and familiar.

Sure enough, you peek through your fingers to see him laying back with an arm casually folded behind his head, his helmet back on.  Even though the only skin you see is his bare hand resting on his stomach, he still looks fucking gorgeous like this—waiting silently for you in the make-shift bed you shared, blanket twisted around his lower half.

You pause there in the doorway so you can just admire him for a second.  Relaxing, looking so trim and flexible in his long sleeved under-armor without all that beskar weighing him down.  He looks back at you through the chrome visor, letting it tilt to the side and rest lazily in the cradle of his arm, and you suddenly remember with a jolt just how incredibly pantsless you are right now.

“Come here.”

Maker, he still makes you nervous.  Stars, he had his mouth buried between your legs for longer than you can even imagine last night, why are you still so nervous?  Is it the proximity?  Just the literal act of seeing him in front of you?  Not being able to feel like yourself around him unless he’s a disembodied voice in the darkness?  Not being able to remember he’s an actual fucking person under there if you’re not actively touching his body in some way?

You feel… kind of shy now.  Why?  It’s like a flip inside you he can switch at will, just ever so subtly change his posture or tone of voice and bam—he’s dangerous, remember?  He’s an underground bounty hunter, remember?  He’s a mystery, he’s unpredictable—he’s an invincible, unreadable, impenetrable fortress, and you know absolutely nothing about him.  Remember?

You trip over his armor again for an entirely different reason on your way back to him this time, despite how much better you can see now.  You catch yourself once more, looking down at the offending pile of beskar like it did that on purpose, but then stop to consider it for just a second.

It’s just metal.  And he’s just a man.  You know he’s probably killed more people than you can count and he’s intimidating as all fuck, but you also know he stutters when he gets really worked up and decided to fall asleep next to you without his helmet on.  Because he’s just a man, and men aren’t born with shields on their backs and visors covering their eyes and grenades in their hands.  Not even Mandalorians.

So you slowly bend down and grab his hefty gloves, taking a moment to study them before fitting your comparatively small hands into each of them one at a time, flexing your fingers inside the fabric and feeling how much space the tips of them have to move before reaching leather.

He says your name shortly as you’re carefully stepping your right foot into his oversized boot.  You ignore him, balancing precariously on one leg while your left foot slides in the other one.  “Hey, guess who I am.”

“No.”

You reach down and lift the unexpectedly heavy ammo belt over your head, letting the thick leather drape between your breasts and come to rest just below the curve of your bare hip.  “I’ll give you a hint,” you say, gathering the mass of dark fabric at your feet and making sure your butt doesn’t get caught on the thick bandolier when you rise back up again.  You wrap the cape around your shoulders and lift your chin to tie it in a sloppy, makeshift little knot around your throat, fingers noticeably less nimble when confined in loose leather.  “Handy with a blaster, not real big on droids.  I also wear a helmet, probably because my face is too pretty to match my menacing vibe but those rumors are unconfirmed.”

“Come here,” he gruffs impatiently, but you just turn around and waddle back a few steps in the baggy getup, much too tiny feet clomping around awkwardly in his roomy boots and the floor-length cape dragging on the ground behind you.

And then you stop, before grabbing the hem of it and whipping around dramatically to face him, giving him your best bounty hunter pose.

“I can bring you in warm,” your voice is a deep as you can get it, your eyebrows narrowed as you fingergun and shift with flair.  “Or—”

“Hey—careful—” he quickly sits up and points at your hand, “—don’t touch your thumb to the—”

“—I can bring you in—”  And then an actual, real life, giant ass blaze of fucking fire suddenly shoots from your wrist and scares the living shit out of you so much that you stumble backwards and trip over your cape, choking and flailing as you come down hard on your bare ass.

You blink up at him from the ground with wide, terrified eyes.  He looks back at you, arm outstretched and frozen in midair.

And then he laughs.

Mando actually fucking laughs at you.

You stare at him in utter shock as he abruptly drops his hand to his lap and his helmet to his chest, his shoulders shaking with it.  As lovely and uplifting the sound is, you’re not really sure how to feel about the fact that the first time you managed to get an outright laugh out of him was at the risk of your own mortality.

“Excuse me,” you say after a second, trying your best to sound appalled.  You carefully remove the death gauntlets with your hands extended as far away from your face as possible, fingers spread and thumb held completely rigid in position.  “Are you actually laughing at the fact that I almost just died horrifically in front of you?”

“Stars, just—” he lifts his head back up to look at you, “fucking—come here.  You’re worse than the kid is, I swear.”

You slowly stand up, and the boots are so big around your ankles that you don’t even have to kick them off, you can just leave them there in position on the floor as you lift your feet and begin walking over to him.  “I’ll have you know I am a fierce bounty hunter—”

“Terrifying,” he mutters, and you’re about halfway done untying his cape when you get close enough for him to reach out and snatch the bottom of it, swiftly yanking you down on top of him and removing the fabric from your throat at the same time.  He ignores your dramatic choking noise, catching your flailing body with barely a grunt.  “Craziest in the guild.  Your first kill was yourself.”

“Yeah, I—” you oof and giggle as he immediately flips you around, downright giddy at the ease with which he maneuvers you on the floor and gets on top of you, “—I bring them in warm, or I bring them in hot.”

“Stop,” you can hear his smile through the helmet as he catches each of your wrists and pins them to the ground by your head.  “Maker.”

“Wait—” you try to wiggle out from under him.  It’s futile, of course, not just because he’s all muscle while he holds you down and straddles your hips, but because all your body weight is now laying on top of his ammo belt as it slings around your chest.  “Wait, h-hang on—the fresher light’s still on.”

“So?”

“So I can see you right now, which means—”  you can’t take that stupid thing off your head and kiss me.

That’s what you want to say.  You catch yourself just in time, biting your lip and blinking up at your warped reflection in the chrome visor.  He releases your wrists and lifts his torso up tall.  “…W-which means—”

Mando’s too smart for that, though.  You’re not getting one by him anytime soon.  Before you can come up with an alternative, he hooks his fingers under the thick band of leather trailing down through the valley between your breasts and calls you out.

“Do you want me to take my helmet off?”  He asks, tilting his head down at you and letting his hand slide back and forth under the ammo belt idly.  For a second you think he’s going to remove it, try and find some way to wiggle it off you in this position, but then he just lets the heavy bandolier drop back down to your sternum again and continues moving his hands down your tummy.  “Hm?  Or do you want to see?”

And then one of his thumbs catches the hem of his trousers and ever so slowly starts to pull the fabric downwards.  Your breath stutters as tan skin and dark, coarse hair are gradually revealed right in front of your eyes, the hemline making a mouthwatering triangle shape that runs alongside the lines of his Adonis belt.

When he stops just at the very base of his cock, it takes you a second to realize he’s waiting for an answer.

“Uh—”  Stars, what the fuck kind of harrowing, existentially crippling question is this?  Kiss him or look at him?  Is he serious?  “Uhhhh…”  You legitimately feel torn, blinking up at the visor and noticing the struggle blatantly written all over your reflection.  Why in Maker’s name would he put this on you?  On the one hand, his mouth.  On the other hand, his—

“I want you to see,” he admits quietly, and you flick your eyes down to look at him slowly running his thumb along the slope of flesh peeking out of the dark curls.  “Can I show you?”

Oh fuck, what is happening?  And why are you so wet already?

“Uh… ye-yeah—” and then he’s immediately using his other hand to reach inside and shift up just a bit, before he eases his gorgeous cock out of his pants by cupping his balls and letting the fabric hooked in his thumb rest under them.  He’s already half-hard for you, already deliciously thick as he carefully lowers himself back down again.  Against all reason, his skin practically glows under the artificial lighting, somehow looking sunkissed in places that never see the sun.

Maker, you want it in your mouth.

You have no idea why that’s your first thought.  Okay, well no, that’s not true—you know exactly why that’s your first thought, especially when you can physically see him getting harder and harder right in front of you, watch him trace his fingers down his shaft and lazily brush them over the head.  You love the way he touches himself, how his hands look cradling the base, the beautiful contrast between the dark hair and his warm skin tone.

He slowly starts to move down your body, slide his legs back on either side of you until he’s straddling your lower thighs, and it’s not until his cock goes in the exact opposite direction you want it to (away from your mouth) that you find your voice.

“Hey, wait—I want—” his touch immediately stills along your hips and he lifts his helmet, letting you scramble to prop yourself up with your elbows, “—let me go down on you.  Please.”

“I told you I’d fuck you when you woke up,” he says, dropping his gaze back down between your legs.  His voice somehow sounds deeper through the filter.  Maybe not the pitch exactly, but the… color?  Fuller, darker, more depth.  “You want to make me into a liar?”

“Never.  Fuck my mouth instead.”

His hands tighten and his breathing subtly picks up through the modulator.  “I want your pussy.  First.  We’re almost to Corellia and I’m not risking my life on another hunt until I’ve fucked it like I want to.”

“You decide that timeline,” you remind him breathlessly, pushing your upper-body up off the floor and catching the fabric of his tunic near his neck.

“I have to earn credits somehow, I can’t just—” he abruptly cuts himself off when you yank his collar to the side and lick a slow, hot, wet line up his throat.  “—I… I-I can’t just stay on this ship with you f-forever and… and…”

His breath catches when you bite down on the thick cord of muscle connecting his neck to his shoulder.  And then he murmurs your name when you wrap your hand around his hard cock.

“You can do whatever you want to my pussy,” you whisper against his skin, feeling him shudder under your lips as you slowly pull your hand up and down the thick length of him.  “Whenever you want.  I made that clear last night.  All I’m asking is that right now, you lay back and let me suck your cock for a little bit.  Is that okay?”

He doesn’t answer with words, but he throbs under your hand and his body is surprisingly malleable as you urge him to move back slightly, just enough for you to collect your legs out from under him and rise up on your knees to face him.  You keep stroking him the entire time, sucking marks down his neck while you hold the hemline to the side.  Nobody will ever be able to see them, but somehow that makes it even better.  A secret only you and him know.  Next time he scares off a crowd of locals, he’ll be wearing your signet under his armor.

When you’ve sufficiently bitten and kissed marks along his neck and the fabric won’t stretch anymore, you reach down and pull it up from the bottom, lifting it up up up—up until it rests right above his sternum and you can see almost the entire length of his torso underneath, tan and dusted in dark hair.

You strongarm him back to sit on the floor with one hand and hike your own shirt up over your breasts with the other, letting the fabric bunch under your armpits while his ammo belt bisects your chest diagonally.  He curses when you immediately climb on top of him and start dragging your skin against his, rolling your exposed tits and pussy against the hard planes of his body and letting him feel how soft you really are.

“Is that okay?”  You ask him once more, rubbing yourself into him.  “Will you let me suck your cock, Mando?”

“Fuck—” he growls, grabbing your hips, “—why are you—h-how do you always make it feel so… so good—?”

“It’s supposed to feel good,” you tell him, beginning to slide down his body.

“Not like this,” he pants, tipping his head back when you slowly lick down his chest.  “Not—not everything, n-not all the time.”

The warmth that settles in the pit of your tummy is intensified by the clear drop of precum shining at the tip of his cock, now achingly swollen and a mouthwatering shade darker in color than the rest of him.  “Keep talking,” you whisper.  “It’s sexy.”

And then you slide his head into your mouth and let your tongue flutter gently along his frenulum.

Mando instantly goes rigid and grabs a fistful of your hair as you hum and taste his precum, slowly brushing your tongue over his tip to see if you can get any more out of him like this without going deeper.

“Fuck—” he grits while lifting his helmet to look, every muscle in his body tensing under you.  “Y-your mouth is—” he gasps when you gently swirl circles around the pulsing head, his open palm coming down hard on the blanket with a dull thud, “—fuck, your mouth is s-so—so fucking good—”

You open your jaw and take him down a few inches so he can feel your throat, satisfied when his helmet falls back and his grip tightens in your hair.  You slowly begin bobbing up and down, dragging the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft and getting him nice and wet.  His thighs almost feel like he’s wearing beskar over them, his entire body held so incredibly tight and stiff as you softly pleasure him.

You can only get around half of him in your mouth without straining for it, so you soon lift off him and start coating your palm and fingers in spit.  His head raises immediately, exposed chest heaving as he watches.

“You’re so tense,” you murmur, reaching down and starting to jerk him with your slick hand.  He doesn’t relax into it, instead he straightens his back even more, his hips starting to thrust into your grip.  “Do you want me to stop?”

“I want to fuck you,” he growls, the exact opposite of relaxed.  “You—you can’t w-walk around half-naked in—in my clothes and expect me t—”

He cuts himself off with a groan when you take him back down again, deeper this time.  And then he relents and starts slowly fucking into your mouth, gradually rolling his hips further and further with every thrust.  One hand fists itself into the blanket while the other holds your hair back as you open your throat and work the rest of his length with slippery fingers.

When you take him down as far as you can and you drop your palm down to cradle his balls, Mando just about loses his mind.

“Fuck—let me fuck you,” he starts rasping at the ceiling, “please, l-let me—let me pound you into this dirty f-fucking ground like you wanted, like—like the filthy little girl you are—”

You hold there and swallow around his thick cock, letting your other hand slither down between your own legs and start rubbing your clit.  He probably can’t see you do it from this angle but it feels so much better this way regardless, having him as far down as your throat as possible and listening to him babble while you touch yourself.

The sound you make pulling off him to breathe isn’t necessarily the most attractive thing in the galaxy, but with the way he groans and tugs your hair sharply in response, you’d think it was the sexiest thing he’s ever heard.  You keep jerking his throbbing cock and rubbing circles around your clit, before moving down to take one of his balls into your mouth.

His grip tightens, along with the gorgeously soft skin under your tongue.  “W-Wait—stop—”

You look up at him.  He’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat and everything about him is unbearably stiff, even with the way his body is sprawled out and his chest rocks up and down with exertion.

“Sorry, I just—I was—” he gasps, “—I d-didn’t want to—to c-cum—”

“I want you to cum,” you murmur, blinking up at him and dragging your tongue up the length of his swollen, throbbing cock.  “Please.  Want it down my throat.”

You don’t know how it’s possible for his body to go even more rigid, but it does.  “You—?”

He possibly could’ve stopped himself, you think.  Even with the way you start gently sucking on his tip and looking up at him innocently after telling him you want to swallow his load, maybe he could’ve stopped the way his balls suddenly pull up tight, the way his grip on your hair turns to steel and his helmet rolls to the side.

But then the subtle shift of his head means he can see your hand moving between your legs, you can tell.  You can tell, because he makes a choking sound through the modulator and his stomach flexes, and then he’s cumming down your throat exactly like you wanted him to.

There’s a second between the moment of detonation and the explosive result of it.  It’s just enough time for him to slowly tilt his chin up and let out the smallest, quietest moan you’ve ever heard from him before his cock starts throbbing on your tongue, his balls working to steadily pump cum up his shaft.

You pull up and start swirling circles around his head just as the first spurt hits your tongue, moaning at the taste of him and preening at his hoarse whisper of your name.  You swallow everything he gives you, drain him until he’s completely empty and spent, trembling in pieces on the floor.

Admittedly you do keep him there in your mouth just a little bit longer than you should, just taking a minute to savor how good he tastes and how fucking beautiful his cock is, how stunning his body is exposed and spread out for you on the ground like this.

“Keep—keep doing that and I’ll get hard again,” he eventually warns, though his voice comes out sounding like sandpaper in his throat.

You hum and finally pull off him.  “That’s got to be the least threatening thing you’ve ever said to someone, I think.”

“Not able t—” he jerks when you bite his hipbone, “—to scare you off, apparently.  Most people run from me.”

“Nope.  Told you I wouldn’t, remember?  Back on Cantonica.  I’m also the craziest bounty hunter in the guild, so.  Look.”  You lift up to show him.  “I even have an ammo belt, see?  It holds all of the bullets, for all of my guns that I have.”

His hand slowly comes up and you think he’s going to grab the band of leather across your chest to either take it off you or pull you forward with it, but then he just grabs one of your breasts and gently squeezes it instead.  “You’re beautiful.”

Your breath catches.  You blink twice at him, your heart suddenly thundering under his hand.

“Wearing my armor.  Not wearing it.  Not wearing anything.  Wearing your clothes.  In complete darkness.  You’re beautiful.”

You think—for one ludicrous, insane second, you think that the enormous swelling in your chest literally transfers itself up to your brain and causes you to have an aneurysm right there on the floor in front of him.

But nope—it’s just the entire hull starting to violently shift and shake, swerving sideways and jerking upwards with rapid, unpredictable shifts in gravity.

You thrown on top of him in the chaos and try to find some sort of stable ground without accidentally kneeing him in the crotch.  Mando grunts and gets rolled on top of you when the ship immediately veers the other way, the weight of him suddenly crushing your lungs and making it impossible to breathe with the brutal changes in g-force.  Did he—did he leave the baby in the fucking cockpit?

He left the baby in the fucking cockpit.

[arrowofcarnations]

I’m Gonna Thrill You Tonight

Written for the eleventh day of Fic-O-Ween 2020, the Halloween-themed Sweater Weather/Coast to Coast fest organized by the wonderful M @opaleyedragon. This was such an awesome idea—thank you for putting this together so well and so quickly!

Thank you a million times over to SW & C2C author Hazel @lumosinlove for letting us play in her universe with her incredible characters. And a huge thanks to the lovely people of the SW discord for their support, encouragement, and inspiration. Y’all are the best hype squad a girl could ask for!

Title yanked from one of the all-time greatest Halloween jams, Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” Enjoy, goblins and ghoulies~

(Note: This work is rated E, so avert your eyes if you are a minor, please!)

~

It was Halloween night, and Finn O’Hara was going to die.

“Knutty won’t let you die,” Logan replied with a grin. “He’ll literally figure out how to resurrect you just so he has help with the food.”

Finn watched Logan watching himself in the bedroom mirror, turning this way and that as his green eyes looked over his costume. “No, I mean like—” Finn flung a hand out in Logan’s direction, making an up and down motion. “Look at you. Look at you.”

Logan’s amused smile slid into something more devious as he turned around to face Finn. The Batman costume he’d bought for this year’s team Halloween party was far more family-friendly than the one he’d worn at Harvard all those years ago, but it was still tight, the black spandex of the jumpsuit stretching over his broad chest and thighs in ways that were making it impossible for Finn to think about putting cupcakes on platters and filling the candy bowl downstairs for the neighborhood trick-or-treaters.

He crossed the room to put his hands on Finn’s hips, holding him there as he leaned up and brushed his lips against Finn’s in a barely-there kiss. “Who knew you had such a thing for Batman, eh?” he teased.

Finn huffed out a laugh, catching Logan in a firmer kiss that lingered as he let his hands roam up Logan’s arms and down his back, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric. “I have a thing for you as Batman,” he said, which was true to a maybe-embarrassing degree. He could feel the heat of those green eyes, sharp and intense as they peered at him through the dark mask, going straight to a hallowed place just below the plastic yellow belt of his Robin costume.

Logan’s smile widened at the admission and he gave Finn a playful butt tap, the same way he’d do on the ice. After a moment, though, his mouth fell into a more serious line, brows knitting in thought.

“What?” Finn asked, sensing the shift in mood.

“No, just…” Logan bit the inside of his cheek as his eyes searched Finn’s. “This—me in this costume—it’s not making you sad, right?”

Finn’s heart pulled a little at that—seeing Logan in the cape and cowl again had, unsurprisingly, brought up a lot of old memories—but he meant it when he smiled at Logan and shook his head no. “It’s not,” he murmured, giving Logan’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “It might’ve a year ago, maybe, but now…” He pressed his hands to the expanse of Logan’s chest, palms warmed by the heat of Logan’s body. “I can touch you the way I want. And tell you I love you. And that you make a fucking hot Batman.”

Logan was smiling again, the worry smoothed out of his face. He leaned in to kiss the hollow of Finn’s throat, the press of it more tender than teasing. “D’accord. Bon.”

“Da-core. Bone.”

Logan groaned like Finn had just told an awful joke, but he was fighting a grin even as he shook his head. “Please don’t,” he said. “Your accent hurts me.”

“Hey, Batman and Robin, let’s hustle,” Leo called, his footsteps in the hall getting louder until he was joining them in the room. “Everybody’s on their way.”

Finn and Logan looked over at him, their mouths falling open simultaneously. Finn wasn’t sure what he’d imagined when Leo had told them he’d be dressing up as Poison Ivy, but any mental images he’d enjoyed over the past week or two paled in comparison to the real thing.

The real thing was standing in his bedroom, all six-feet-three-inches of him, his tight green jumpsuit adorned with leaves and twisting vines that were thicker in strategic places. His shoes were the same color, blending into the rest of the outfit and making his already-long legs look like they went on forever. Finn’s mouth watered as his eyes trailed down the low (low, low) V-cut of the suit down those mile-long legs and back up again to Leo’s face. He was looking at them expectantly, one eyebrow raised beneath a halo of blond, leaf-strewn curls.

Logan cleared his throat. “Holy…”

“Shit,” Finn finished for him, voice low and emphatic. “Look. At. You.”

Watching Leo’s expression morph from confused to surprised to flattered made Finn’s heart swell. He didn’t know how Leo could be at all surprised by their reaction, given what he was wearing, but the earnest flush rising on his cheeks told Finn he hadn’t quite been expecting to drop any jaws.

“No time,” Leo said with a head shake, but he was smiling brightly under the glow of their praise. “Dumo and Celeste are like, five minutes away. If we start this now…”

But Finn was already crossing the room to Leo, needing to be closer, needing to touch. “We’ll never go downstairs, because we’ll spend the rest of the night worshipping you,” he said, letting his fingertips trail down the bare stretch of skin from Leo’s throat to the end of his sternum.

“Ouais,” Logan hummed in agreement, coming up to stand on Leo’s opposite side and nip playfully at his earlobe, chasing it with a kiss. “Très sexy, Nut.”

“Oh god.” Leo was laughing and taking a step back, hands on each of their shoulders to keep them at bay, but the flush on his cheeks that was now working its way down his neck gave him away. Finn smiled; he loved a flustered Leo, loved being the one to fluster him. “No time.”

“You said five minutes,” Logan said, undeterred.

“Yeah,” Finn added. “I can work with five minutes. We all know Lo can work with five minutes.”

Finn laughed as Logan gave his shoulder a shove. Leo just shook his head again. Then his smile slanted a bit, looking more like a smirk, as his eyes traveled from Logan to Finn and back again. “Later,” he said, voice low and full of promise. “When we have hours, not minutes.” He kissed them, one after the other, and said, “Come on, I’m not letting these cupcakes burn!”

Leo was already out the door as Finn and Logan looked at each other with raised brows.

“We’re making him wear that every fucking year,” Logan said.

Finn kissed him through a smile. “Oh, yeah. And not just on Halloween. Birthdays, anniversaries, days that end in Y…”

~

Leo was glad they’d volunteered to host this year. Since he and Finn had been roommates before getting together, and they’d already been living together when Logan moved in, they’d never thrown the kind of housewarming party that other newly shacked-up people in relationships often did. It was always fun when the whole team could get together like this with their families, and the fact that it was here, in this space Leo now shared with both his loves, made it that much sweeter.

That was the last coherent thought Leo had before the chaos of the night began. Not two seconds after he got the last of the food set out, the entryway filled with the sound of “Happy Halloween!” being shouted in unison by the entire Dumais clan. By the time Leo reached them, the kids were already all over Logan, chattering a mile a minute and showing him the candy haul they’d collected so far. Finn hugged Celeste and fist bumped Pascal before he was jogging down the front steps to help James and Lily, who’d just pulled up with baby Harry and some party supplies in tow.

“This is exciting,” Celeste said, kissing Leo’s cheek as she took off her coat to reveal her classic Wonder Woman costume underneath. “We’re finally the ones visiting you three.”

“Oui, we’ll see if Logan’s gotten any neater since his time under our roof,” Pascal, who was decked out as Superman, added.

“A little,” Leo said, smiling as he thought about how Logan had started making his bed and throwing clothes into drawers whenever he knew the three of them would be sleeping in his room. “Not in hotels, though—it still looks like a hurricane blew through when we’re on roadies.”

“Hey Knutty, Tremz,” James said, pulling the mask on his Spider-Man costume over his head to give them the full effect and spreading his arms. “Awesome, right? We should theme these things every year. Whose idea was heroes and villains?”

“Finn’s,” Leo said before Lily came up behind them, Finn trailing a bit behind her with the bags. She looked spot-on in her Mary Jane costume, and had Harry—dressed as the only spider Leo could ever call cute—balanced on her hip.

“Oh, hello,” Lily said, raising her eyebrows before going in for a one-armed hug. “You’re putting us all to shame, Poison Ivy.”

“Right?!” Finn yelled from the top of the steps. Logan said it at the same time, shooting Leo a wink as he put Katie up on his shoulders. It warmed Leo’s chest like it did every time, and he suspected that would never change.

Over the next hour, more and more people showed up until the entire team was packed into Leo, Logan, and Finn’s place. By the time Leo was pouring himself a second cup of punch, the party was well and truly underway. The players and their families were eating, drinking, and chatting, complimenting and chirping each other’s costume choices in equal measure; tiny fingers grabbed fistfuls of candy from the bowls scattered throughout the living room, hallway, and kitchen; and orange and purple string lights cast a festive glow through the decorated house.

Thriller was playing through the sound system Finn had recently set up downstairs, and Leo watched on as James—Peter Parker’s Spider-Man—and Thomas—Miles Morales’s Spider-Man—tried to have a dance-off to decide whose costume was superior. (Tried being the operative word, as James’s list of talents did not include dancing.) Lily had her palm over her face, and Noelle, looking cute as Gwen Stacy, was laughing beside her.

It made Leo want to play the observer for another minute or two, to commit this night to memory. He made his way around the living room, sipping his drink as he went. He smiled as he caught sight of Kasey, appropriately dressed up as Mr. Freeze, and chatted with him for a couple of minutes before leaving him at the mercy of Natalie, grinning and tipsy and objectively stunning in her Catwoman suit. The only couple getting more handsy than them was Sirius and Remus. Sirius, ever the captain, had shown up as Captain America, and Remus had his arms wrapped around his back underneath the shield resting there as they kissed in the far corner of the room. Sirius pulled back to nose at Remus’s jaw and Remus laughed when he saw his face, swiping a hand across Sirius’s cheek. Leo realized Sirius was covered in smudges of black where Remus’s Winter Soldier eye makeup had rubbed off on his skin.

Heat trickled in Leo’s gut as he thought about what Logan and Finn would look like wearing that makeup—what they’d look like if Leo wore that makeup and made out with them in a dark corner, gray-black marks smeared over their cheeks, their mouths. He blinked and took a long drink from the plastic cup in his hand, shelving that distracting mental image even as he vowed to find a costume that required eyeliner for next year.

“Gross, isn’t it?” a voice beside him said. Leo turned to see Regulus, who just rolled his eyes and shook his head a bit at the lovebirds across the way. “Like, I’m happy for them and everything, but do they have to do this all the time? Don’t their lips ever go numb?”

Leo laughed and, noticing Regulus’s cup was empty, passed him his own half-full one with a look that said, here, you’ll need this. He didn’t have siblings, but he guessed just about everyone would feel how Regulus did when it came to their brother’s PDA. He’d noticed that Regulus seemed genuinely baffled by kissing and sex in general, though, and wondered not for the first time if Regulus experienced that kind of attraction. Now wasn’t the time to get into it, so Leo chirped him for his Loki costume instead, flicking one of the wings on his helmet. “Nice antennae.”

“Nice chest hair,” Regulus quipped back. “Did the zipper fall off that thing, or?”

Leo laughed loudly, which made Regulus laugh, and they passed the cup of punch back and forth for a few minutes, talking about hockey, travel schedules, the upcoming holidays. Eventually the Dumais kids found Regulus and started asking him to go, tugging on his cape and hoisting their pillowcases over their shoulders.

“Trick-or-treating duty,” Regulus said by way of explanation before herding (or being herded by) his charges out the front door. As Leo watched them leave, he caught sight of someone he didn’t recognize; a woman who looked maybe a few years older than him with dark skin and criss-crossing goddess braids that rested over the plates of her Valkyrie armor.

She walked over to another woman dressed as Captain Marvel, putting a hand on the small of her back as she talked to—Finn, Leo realized. Captain Marvel gave Finn a brief hug, and Finn said something that made both women laugh before heading into the kitchen. When they turned around, Leo recognized her as June. He’d known she was coming; Finn had suggested inviting her once they knew they were hosting, and Leo and Logan had agreed—Leo perhaps a little more readily than Logan. Leo understood that. He hadn’t had much time to feel anything other than confusion about June, but Logan had been wildly jealous—had been set up by her and Finn to be jealous—and it was clear the thought of her still rankled him slightly.

June and her—friend?—found Logan in the crowd, and Leo raised his eyebrows, taking a few steps toward that side of the room to head off any potential awkwardness, but decided to see how it played out first.

“Hey, Nutter Butter,” Finn said as he came up behind him, tilting his head to press a kiss to the side of Leo’s neck. He pressed a fresh drink into Leo’s hand before following Leo’s gaze across the room. “Uh oh. You think he’s okay over there?”

Leo hummed an affirmative, kissing Finn’s mouth briefly. “I think so,” he said. “I can jump in if things get tense. I think he’s fine, though, Harz.”

And it did seem that way; Logan definitely looked awkward, his smile somewhat forced, but then June said something to him that loosened him up and pulled a small, real grin out of him. Finn let out a breath Leo guessed he’d been holding, and he rested his head against Leo’s for a moment, temple to temple.

“I’m glad,” he said, stepping back to look at Leo. “I wouldn’t bring her around if you guys weren’t completely, 100-percent good with it, but I’m glad you are.” He paused, looking at Leo questioningly.

“I am,” Leo confirmed. “You should ask Logan again later, but I’m sure he’ll say the same thing.”

Finn nodded, taking an absentminded sip of his drink. A shadow of something flickered across his face, and Leo put a hand on the back of his neck, thumb rubbing small circles against the soft skin behind his ear. “He forgives you for all that,” Leo murmured. “You know he does. Don’t keep punishing yourself, sweetheart.”

Finn whined at the endearment, tilting his head back into the touch before shaking his head as if to clear it. “Why you gotta be so cute when you read my mind, Honeynut?” he said with a grin that compelled Leo to kiss him again. “Okay, so. June’s here, and she’s cool, and her girlfriend is cool, too, and I’m happy.”

Girlfriend, Leo thought. That answered that question. He let his free hand brush Finn’s hair back and kissed his forehead just above his Robin mask. “I’m happy, too,” he said. He was warm from the drinks, from his costume, from Finn’s body heat. Warm from Logan’s laugh traveling across the room. Warm from the happiness that filled his chest, so much fuller than Leo’d ever imagined it could be. “Love you, Fish.”

Warm from the brightness of Finn’s smile. “Love you, too.”

~

Logan was feeling good. He was a few rum and cokes in, maybe a little tipsy, and smiling as he caught up with Celeste and Pascal. He still saw them all the time, but it was different now that he wasn’t living with them, and he was glad to have a chance to spend that extra time with them—particularly Celeste, since there was always time during practice and travel to talk to Dumo.

He was grabbing a snack from a nearby table—he didn’t want to get too drunk, not before Leo could make good on his promise from earlier—when a “Hi, Logan” made him look up.

June. June and someone he didn’t know, both of them looking at him and smiling expectantly.

While he was fine with June coming—he knew she and Finn had stayed friends, and he trusted Finn completely—he’d sort of been hoping to avoid running into her after the impression he made at Christmas, at family skate. They hadn’t been his finest moments, and he still felt flickers of jealousy over her, though it was somewhat removed from him now, more like an echo.

“Hey, June,” Logan said with a nod and thin smile. “Nice costume. Yours, too, uh…”

“Amalia,” June said, gesturing to the woman in the Valkyrie costume as she extended her hand to Logan. “My girlfriend. ‘Malia, this is Finn’s boyfriend.”

“Ah, the famous Logan,” Amalia said with a warm smile and a firm handshake. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Part of Logan’s mind was stuck on girlfriend, but he gave a small, awkward laugh, looking nervously between them. “Famous? That doesn’t sound too good.”

“Oh, no,” Amalia said with a reassuring wave of her hand. “I just meant, I’m finally meeting the guy Finn talks to June about nonstop. Well, one of the guys.”

June hummed in agreement through a sip of her own drink. From this close, Logan could smell the boozy mix—mostly tequila, maybe some lime, too—and a hazy memory of him, Finn, and Leo doing body shots off each other after last season’s finals win swam briefly through his mind. “We’ll have to find Leo later and say hi,” June said to Amalia before looking back at Logan. “Thanks for inviting us. This is the most fun I’ve had on Halloween since...probably ever.”

“Same,” Logan said. “And yeah, no problem.”

June hesitated for a second, then seemed to make up her mind as she added, “And sorry for, you know. All the times we’ve met before now.”

That, combined with the sight of June’s free hand resting against the small of Amalia’s back in the almost-unconscious way Finn always did with him, pulled a real smile out of Logan, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Those were definitely less fun,” he said. “But it’s okay. It’s all good now.”

June’s smile was open and genuine as she said, “Yeah, seems that way, doesn’t it? It all worked out.” Her gaze was nothing short of adoring as she looked at Amalia, both of them grinning at each other as Amalia sipped her drink. “Still, I felt like I should apologize. The whole ‘going to family skate with Finn’ thing was mostly my idea. I thought, you know, this dude needs a fire lit under his ass! He needs to get a little jealous! But I’m pretty sure all it did was make you both miserable.”

“You were right, though,” Logan said before he could stop himself. He hadn’t planned on spilling his guts to his boyfriend’s ex tonight. Maybe the rum had loosened him up a little more than he’d thought, or maybe he was starting to like June despite himself, but he decided he could afford to let his guard down just a bit. “I did need a fire under me. It took a couple more matches, but eventually I woke up.”

June pursed her lips against a smile, giving Logan’s shoulder a brief squeeze. “I’m glad you did,” she said. “I can tell how happy Finn is. He’s crazy about you guys.”

Logan’s eyes searched the crowded room until they landed on Finn, beautiful and ridiculous in his Robin costume with his mouth trailing kisses up Leo’s neck and jaw, pulling a dimpled smile out of Leo. He wondered if he’d ever be able to look across a room at them and not be blown away by his love, by his own wild luck.

“I’m crazy about them,” he murmured half to himself, rubbing the heel of his hand absently over his full heart.

~

Later, Logan was sidestepping spiderwebs and skeletons to make his way to his bedroom. The house was quiet and still, the last few guests having poured themselves into taxis about twenty minutes ago, and he was dying to get out of his snug, overly warm costume and crawl under the covers with his boys. Just as he was unclipping the utility belt to slide it off his hips, he heard the bedroom door swing open a little further and the click of Finn’s black boots as he walked up behind him.

“Hey, don’t take that off yet,” Finn said lowly, arms snaking around Logan’s waist as he pressed his chest against Logan’s back. Logan sighed as Finn kissed the nape of his neck with a slow tenderness. He let his head fall forward to give Finn better access, closing his eyes and letting everything fall away that wasn’t Finn’s body solid against his, Finn’s mouth hot on his skin.

“I’m sweating in this thing,” Logan complained, but made no move to pull away from Finn or take off the costume. He changed tactics, turning in Finn’s arms to kiss him properly. “What, you don’t want me naked?”

“No, I do, I do,” Finn said, letting his hands trail up Logan’s abs and chest to rest on his shoulders. He did that a few more times, running his hands over Logan’s body as though to make sure he was really standing there. There was something in his expression Logan couldn’t quite read.

“Quoi?”

Finn stilled as he turned his brown eyes up to Logan’s, looking at him in a way that made Logan feel like he was naked already, all of him exposed for Finn to see. It used to be scary, being on the receiving end of that look from him, but Logan saw Finn now, too. Really saw him. “I’m just thinking,” Finn said like he was choosing his words carefully, “About all the things I wanted the last time I saw you in this costume. Everything I wanted to say to you, do to you.”

Logan’s heart ached at that. “Finn,” he started, frowning.

Finn held up a hand. “No,” he said gently, smiling. “It’s okay. I just meant...I loved you then, even when I’d barely known you three months. And I love you more now. So...leave it on? Just for a minute.” His hands found Logan’s hips, thumb circling precisely over the fleur-de-lis tattoo hiding under the material of the costume. That he could find it without even glancing down sent heat spiking through Logan’s body, and he splayed his own hands across Finn’s back underneath his red vest. Finn leaned in to kiss him, but before he closed the distance, he whispered, “Let me do all those things I thought about for so long.”

Unable to wait another second, Logan pitched forward, crashing their mouths together. They kissed until their lips were swollen and bitten-red, hands roaming and feet stumbling backwards until Finn’s back collided with the dresser drawers by the bed. Seeing an opportunity, Logan wrapped his arms around Finn more securely, lifted him off the ground and sat him on top of the dresser in one smooth motion.

When he pulled back, Finn just smiled at him bewilderedly, letting his head fall back against the wall. “Fuck,” Finn said, huffing out a breathless laugh as he blinked at the ceiling.

The cheap costume fabric was doing nothing to hide the outline of Finn’s hardening cock, and Logan his lip as he eyed it, palming his own dick briefly. The dynamic between them was always shifting depending on the mood, but Logan didn’t usually throw Finn onto pieces of furniture. Judging by Finn’s reaction, he was thinking he should do it more often. “Yeah? Tu aimes ça?” Logan asked, lips against Finn’s neck.

Finn had heard that phrase enough times to know its meaning. “Uh, yeah,” he said like it was obvious. “That was fucking hot, Lo. Didn’t know you could lift me that easy.”

“I bench more than you weigh,” Logan chirped back even as he kissed a trail over Finn’s collarbone.

Finn was still for a moment, and Logan thought maybe he was just having too good a time to respond, but then he sprung into action, hopping off the dresser and hauling Logan into his arms. A startled laugh burst out of Logan as Finn walked them over to the bed and threw him onto it, his back bouncing as he hit the mattress.

Their laughter slid into moans as they wrestled playfully for control, pressing each other down with their body weight and getting more and more distracted by their sloppy, heated kisses. Logan let himself be bracketed by Finn’s arms and legs, pinned by a pair of brown eyes that no longer had any trace of sadness in them. Logan reached behind Finn’s head to pull the tie of his mask free, tossing the fabric aside. Then he did the same with his own mask.

“Want to see all of you, mon rouge,” Logan said, stroking a thumb across Finn’s freckled cheek.

Finn leaned into it, smiling like there was nowhere else he’d rather be, and kissed him again.

~

They were tangled up in each other like that, touching and kissing and slowly rocking their hips against each other, when footsteps approached from down the hall, stopping beside the bed.

“I was gonna suggest we take a shower first, but…” Leo trailed off, eyes trailing over them both. “This is good. This is really good.”

“Hey, baby,” Finn smiled as Leo knelt on the bedspread, one hand going to tangle in Logan’s hair and the other pressed to the center of Finn’s back. He and Leo met each other in a kiss, and Leo hummed as he felt Logan’s hand creeping up his thigh to tease at his still-soft cock, obscured by the layers of his costume.

“Leo,” Logan said, sounding so genuinely delighted by his presence that Leo momentarily forgot about all the sex he wanted to have and just smiled at him, heart flipping in his chest. He bent over to kiss him soundly. “Logan,” he said back, smiling widely. “I promised you hours, didn’t I?”

“Oui,” Logan nodded, squeezing the swell of muscle above Leo’s knee. “Time for plenty of showers.”

Leo laughed, then turned his head as he felt Finn cradle his jaw. “Those fucking dimples,” Finn mumbled half to himself, “Kill me every time.”

Leo let Finn kiss him for a few heady moments, just feeling the two of them, feeling out the mood. He pulled back to look at their position, Finn on top of Logan and Leo knelt beside them both, and suddenly knew what he wanted.

“Take the rest of his costume off, Fish,” Leo murmured. He brushed a hand over Finn’s still-clothed cock and felt him twitch, heard his shaky inhale. “Then yours. Show him how hard he’s making you.”

It was a little bit of a gamble; though this side of Leo had come out more than a few times by now with Logan, he hadn’t yet tried giving orders to Finn in bed. He knew Finn liked to top, to be in control and throw himself into making his partners feel good—he knew that was what made Finn feel good—but he didn’t intend to boss Finn around quite the same way as he might with Logan.

“Would you like that, Tremz?” Leo added, brushing a thumb across Logan’s lips. Logan nodded, groaning. He kissed the pad of Leo’s thumb, green eyes darting between the two of them.

Seeing how much Logan was already into it made Finn’s eyes go wide and dark, and he hurried to get Logan naked as quickly as possible. Leo smiled to himself as he unzipped his own costume, happy his instincts seemed to have been right.

When the last scraps of fabric were on the floor, nothing but miles of bare skin between them, Leo stretched out on his side next to Logan, who was looking up at Finn walking himself forward on his knees. Finn straddled him again, closing a hand around Logan’s cock. Logan moaned and rolled his hips and fuck, Leo could watch Finn bring him off like that and be perfectly content, but he had other plans.

He wrapped a hand around his own dick, which was filling fast, and looked at Logan’s flushed face on the pillow beside him. Logan kissed him fiercely, like he hadn’t had the chance in weeks, and Leo moaned into his mouth, twitching in his own hand. He bit Logan’s bottom lip gently, then less gently, and Logan made a pleased sound, chasing Leo’s mouth as he pulled away.

Leo ran his knuckles down Logan’s cheek, overcome with fondness for this boy who’d had thicker walls than anyone Leo had ever met and was now so quick to show affection, to lay his heart bare in front of them. After a moment, he recovered himself enough to remember his plan and said in the steadiest voice he could manage, “Shhh, sweetheart. I know what you want. You want to suck Finn’s cock. You want to have him in your mouth. Right?”

“Oh, fuck. Oui, yes,” Logan said. Leo heard Finn swear under his breath, too, and he knew he had them. He looked at Finn. “Go on, Harzy. Give him what he wants.”

Finn shifted to plant his knees on either side of Logan’s head as Logan propped himself up on the pillows. He paused to catch Leo’s mouth in a bruising kiss before gripping himself at the base and slowly inching into Logan’s mouth, careful not to choke him. Logan couldn’t take Finn as deeply in this position, but that didn’t seem to matter; Logan groaned loudly, fingers digging into Finn’s thighs, and Leo’s heart stuttered in his chest as he saw Finn’s expression. He looked wrecked, his red hair a riot and a deep, rosy flush working its way down his face and neck.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing. Then Leo pushed himself up to kneel behind Finn, kissing and biting at his neck and shoulders. He steadied Finn’s hips with his hands, then pushed them forward slightly, causing his cock to slide further into Logan’s mouth.

“Knutty,” Finn gasped, reaching around to give Leo’s ass a squeeze. “Holy shit.”

“That’s it,” Leo said, starting to build up a rhythm until he was gently rocking Finn in and out of Logan. He kept one hand on Finn’s hip, guiding, while he reached the other behind himself to take Logan’s dripping cock in his hand. “Just like this. He loves it, Finn. He’s so hard, leaking all over himself. I can feel it.”

Logan was practically writhing beneath them, hands in a white-knuckled grip on Leo and Finn’s thighs as Finn fed him his cock and Leo jerked him off. The position was awkward, and Leo knew he wouldn’t be able to stay there long, but he kept it up until the muscles in his arm started to protest the angle. He shifted backwards until he could lower himself between Logan’s legs, licking a stripe up his length. Logan cried out around Finn, and Finn looked over his shoulder to see what Leo was doing, biting his lip around a groan.

“Wanna make him come like this?” Leo asked, raising an eyebrow as he smiled at Finn.

Finn, who had stilled as he turned his attention to Leo, nodded quickly. “Only if I can make you come next,” he said, flashing a grin that sent heat spiking through Leo. Logan pinched Finn’s ass, startling an “ow!” out of him.

“Allez,” Logan urged after pulling his mouth off Finn’s cock. His voice was already shot, and Leo had to give his own heavy cock a squeeze at the sound.

Finn smiled down at Logan, touching his leaking tip to Logan’s swollen, spit-slicked lips. Logan opened his mouth immediately, teasing the head the way he knew drove Finn wild every time, and they fell back into their rhythm, Logan taking Finn as far as he could manage. Leo’s focus turned to Logan’s cock, thick and tempting in his fist. He took him into his mouth and lost himself in it, rocking his hips absently against the mattress to take the edge off his own need.

Their onslaught of attention soon proved too much, and Logan’s legs started to tremble beneath Leo’s hands. Leo upped his pace, bobbing on Logan’s cock until Logan cried out around Finn, his whole body tensing as he started to spill down Leo’s throat.

“Fuck yes,” Finn said shakily as Leo worked him through it. He and Logan locked eyes as Logan rode out his orgasm, his rhythm on Finn’s cock faltering. “So good, Lo, baby. That’s it. Come for us.”

Logan eventually stilled, sinking back against the bed as his softening cock slipped out of Leo’s mouth. Leo pressed a gentle kiss to his tip before sitting up on his knees toward the foot of the bed. Finn pulled back, too, cock red and shining as he stretched out on top of Logan to kiss and nuzzle him. Leo knew Finn loved this part; sharing in the hazy bliss of his partners’ afterglow, regardless of whether he’d come yet himself. Leo loved Finn’s punch-drunk smile, loved how close Logan was holding him.

He was surprised when Finn suddenly turned around and leapt at him, catching him around the waist. They were kneeling chest to chest, Logan watching them with a lazy grin from where he’d curled up on his side. Finn brought his hands up to cradle Leo’s face, looking at him like he’d just invented sex, and Leo loved that, too.

“Your turn,” Finn said, his smile playful and warm.

“It’s not gonna take much,” Leo said, hissing as Finn pressed closer, bringing their cocks together. “Fuck, Finn.”

Finn wrapped a hand around both of them, giving a few experimental strokes. He quirked a brow at Leo, a question in his eyes. Leo, who in all honesty was halfway there already, nodded quickly, gripping Finn’s biceps. “Yeah, like this,” he breathed, urging him on with a rock of his hips.

It only took a few dozen strokes for Leo to get there, calling out his boyfriends’ names as Finn stayed with him through it, not letting up until Leo was twitching and sensitive.

Leo brought a hand up to Finn’s face, breathless and reverent as he held Finn’s gaze. “I love you,” he said softly before kissing him.

Finn kissed him back, smiling. “Love you so much, nutter butter.”

Leo shifted and Finn gasped, and he looked down to see Finn’s cock still achingly hard between them. “Sweetheart,” he said, reaching down to wrap a hand around him. “How do you want it?”

“Sur mon visage.” Logan murmured it, practically a purr, and Leo’s spent cock gave a valiant twitch at the image.

“Oh god,” Leo said with a groan.

“What?” Finn asked, looking back and forth between them. “What’s that mean?”

“He wants you to come on him,” Leo translated, eyes on Logan as he said it. “On his face.”

“Oh god,” Finn echoed. He kissed Leo once more before getting into a good position, his knees on either side of Logan’s chest. Logan rolled onto his back and looked up at him, licking his lips in a way that made Finn groan and grip himself tightly.

Leo stretched out on his side next to them as Finn started to bring himself off. It was mesmerizing to watch, and Leo had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before they were all ready to go again. Leo reached over to stroke the swell of Finn’s ass, feeling the tension coiled under his skin. Finn’s face was screwed up in pleasure, his fist a blur on his cock.

“Open your eyes, Finn,” Leo heard himself say. He was so lost in the moment that he hardly knew what he was saying anymore. “He wants you to see how good he looks when you come all over him.”

“Holy fuck,” Finn said tightly, blinking his eyes open to look at Leo, then Logan, whose own eyes flickered from Finn’s face to his cock. “Lo, I’m—I’m gonna—”

“Allez, Finn, allez,” Logan breathed. He curled his hands around the backs of Finn’s knees, urging him on. Then he opened his mouth, pushing his tongue over his bottom lip obscenely, and that was it; Finn came with a shout, painting thick stripes across Logan’s face.

Finn came for what felt like ages, and then the three of them collapsed in a sweaty heap, limbs tangled together as they caught their breaths and came down from their shared high. When Finn came back to himself and rolled off the bed to head toward the bathroom, Leo didn’t fight him on it. He let Finn clean the mess off Logan’s face with gentle strokes, and hummed as Logan shuffled closer to kiss him while Finn swiped the towel over their stomachs and between their legs.

“That was so good,” Logan sighed against Leo’s lips. “Love you, peanut.”

Leo kissed his nose. “Love you, Tremz.” Finn settled in on Logan’s other side, nuzzling into his thick brown hair, and the three of them stayed like that for a long few minutes, wound up in each other.

Leo was hovering on the edge of a doze when he heard Finn say, “Don’t think I forgot about earlier, Knutty. I fully plan to worship you all night as promised.”

With his eyes closed and his body warm and pleasantly weighed-down by the two of them, Leo smiled. “I’m in favor of that,” he said, letting the pull of sleep overtake him for the moment. It was Halloween night, and there was plenty of time left to send shivers up his boys’ spines.

[dalekofchaos]

Harbinger and The Illusive Man

Something I think would’ve fixed Mass Effect 3 while also keeping the plot and the dynamic of The Reapers and Cerberus as the main threat is making Harbinger the big bad and The Illusive Man as his puppet or as The Illusive Man could’ve put it his “partner”

My other ME3 metas

ME3 mistakes

ME3 ending fix

I cannot state how much I hate that Harbinger is almost nonexistent in this game. 

The thing that annoyed me most about ME3 is the fact that Harbinger is not the main threat. The Illusive Man is. Harbinger has been built up as the big bad since ME2. "YOU HAVE FAILED. WE WILL FIND ANOTHER WAY." He says as he discards the Collectors. Then his speech to Shepard as the base blows up. "Human, you've changed nothing. Your species has the attention of those infinitely your greater. That which you know as Reapers are your salvation through destruction. You will surrender your potential against the growing void. We return, and you will rise. We are the harbinger of your perfection. We will bring your species into harmony with our own. Your species will be raised to a new existence. We are the beginning, you will be the end. Prepare for our domination. Prepare for our coming." Then in Arrival, he came pretty damn close to unleashing quick subjugation and harvest upon an unprepared galaxy. Upon Shepard foiling his plans. "Shepard. You have become an annoyance. You fight against inevitability. Dust struggling against cosmic winds. This seems a victory to you. A star system sacrificed. But even now, your greatest civilizations are doomed to fall. Your leaders will beg to serve us. Know this as you die in vain: Your time will come. Your species will fall. Prepare yourselves for the Arrival." The perfect final villain right? Unfortunately, Cerberus was more focused on than The Reapers. My problem with Cerberus and no Harbinger is Too many Cerberus, too few Reaper forces in plot. We fight Cerberus more often than the reapers. Hardly any boss fight and the one with Reaper Destroyer on Rannoch was more an interactive movie than fight. During the Horizon mission in Mass Effect 2, Harbinger was solidified as the Big Bad. It was menacing and ominous, with just the right amount of annoying. It taunted us throughout the game, telling us how insignificant we were, and how our actions were pointless. It was willing to posses drones through the Collector General to fight us personally, and when we killed the host, it tossed them aside. Harbinger even gave the typical “You haven’t seen the last of me!” villain rant. It made any fire fight frustrating, and that made me want to kill it even more; I hated Harbinger. Many games fail to do that. Harbinger was an enemy which I looked forward to defeating. I had the desire to annihilate. In Mass Effect 3, I got a codex entry and a cameo. Harbinger just swoops in at the last second and blows my friends and I to hell(and lets the Normandy save them), then flies off. Personally, I would have loved to hear Harbinger’s menacing monologue, it drove me on. I would have felt a deeper motivation to take the fight back to Earth if it told me how much destruction the Reapers were causing, how many lives were lost. I felt cheated when I got to the final mission, only to suddenly realize it was largely absent from the game. Harbinger has been replaced. Replaced by the Illusive Man and Kai Leng. The former is an old acquaintance, albeit one now controlled by the Reapers. The latter is a space ninja from a terrible book.

I will admit. The Illusive Man is a worthy foe and someone worthy enough to be Harbinger’s Saren. Kai Leng however is a terrible counterpart for Shepard. 

Kai Leng. Sucks. Period. Here is a long in depth version on why he sucks. Even in the novels Leng is a terrible character. He’s a edgelord racist.  He couldn’t even kill Anderson, he almost got taken out by an aging Drell with stage 7 Drell cancer. Oh but he has snarky one liners and he sent that stupid fucking email after Thesia. KAI LENG SUCKS! He is not even interesting. I genuinely fucking sighed when he was introduced. When he killed Thane, all I could think of was “really?”. When he sent that little email I just rolled my eyes. When I saw him at the temple all I could think of was “not you again”. When he “beat” me on Thessia(I would have unloaded my N7 Typhoon and sent his whiny ass into oblivion, but game mechanics said I couldn’t) I just felt angry that such a stupid character ever made it past the writing board. Oh and BULLSHIT. Thane and Kirrahe would have killed Kai Leng. Even near his death bed, Thane could still kill Kai Leng. Kirrahe is a hardened veteran, he is AN STG MAJOR! Kirrahe would have killed Kai Leng in a blink of a fucking eye.  Here is my take on Kai Leng. He should have been killed on Priority:Citadel. If you do not save Kirrahe or don’t talk to Thane. Shepard should kill Kai Leng. If you saved Kirrahe but don’t talk to Thane. Kirrahe comes out of cloak and bombards Leng with Scorpion rounds and Leng blows up. If you talked to Thane, Thane would blow Kai Leng’s head off. The only reason why Leng is presented as a threat is cutscene logic and bad one liners. 

But back to The Illusive Man and Harbinger

To make Harbinger work as the big bad, we need to have Harbinger constantly “ASSUME DIRECT CONTROL” 

Near the end of the first mission, before Shepard contacts the Normandy, we would see Harbinger’s hologram appear like it did in Arrival. Harbinger taunting Shepard. that the harvest begins. 

Instead of suggesting Control, The Illusive Man is basically saying The Reapers can uplift Humanity and ascend them and dominate the other races. With Harbinger’s help, Humanity will be the ultimate force in the galaxy

Everytime we fight Reaper forces, Harbinger is there to “ASSUME DIRECT CONTROL”

Kai Leng dies on The failed coup on the Citadel. The Illusive Man does not care as he is close to finding The Catalyst 

On Rannoch, instead of a Destroyer Reaper talking to Shepard, Harbinger’s hologram will appear. Harbinger will continue to taunt Shepard, but Shepard shows that everyone is coming together to end the Reapers once and for all. Harbinger would not say that the Reapers are needed to keep synthetics from killing organics. He would say The Reapers are there to ascend and are your salvation through destruction. Harbinger’s end quotes from ME2 is basically the premise of The Reapers end goals. That's all it needed to be.

On Thesia, The Illusive Man will explain to Shepard that Harbinger chose him. After The First Contact War, TIM found a Reaper artifact. In that artifact, he was contacted by Harbinger. He lost his human vision, but awakened to the truth and because of Harbinger’s guidance, he founded Cerberus. Strength for Cerberus is strength for humanity. TIM believes he and Harbinger together they could uplift and empower humanity over the lesser races. The Illusive Man is to Harbinger, as what Saren was for Soverign. He will then tell Shepard, he plans on using the Crucible to finish what the Collectors started. Completing the Human Reaper. Then TIM sends a group of Phantoms, Nemesis and Cerberus Dragons to face Shepard in place of Leng. Thesia falls. 

Sanctuary is used to create Husks and harvest humans to help create the Human Reaper

At Cerberus Headquarters, TIM says Harbinger knew more about the Citadel than Soverign. There is more than one Conduit and he found it. Vendetta will reveal that the Citadel was moved by Harbinger and taken it to Earth to complete the harvest

The confrontation between Shepard, Anderson and TIM happens but we know how TIM is on the Citadel and if you read my ending fix, you will know that Anderson would’ve went to the beam with Shepard and they are transported to the same place

Shepard will ask “Why didn’t Harbinger kill me?” “Because, we need you to understand and we need you to believe”

Same confrontation ends with either Shepard shooting TIM dead or TIM killing himself after Shepard uses paragon or renegade to reveal that Harbinger used him all his life

After Anderson passes. Harbinger “Assumes Control” over TIM’s dead body. Harbinger will explain the purpose of the Harvests. The explanation is the original ending of Dark energy. The Reapers as a whole were ‘nations’ of people who had fused together in the most horrific way possible to help find a way to stop the spread of the Dark Energy. The real reason for the Human Reaper was supposed to be the Reapers saving throw because they had run out of time. Humanity in Mass Effect is supposedly unique because of its genetic diversity and represented the universe’s best chance at stopping Dark Energy’s spread. We have a choice either Sacrifice humanity, allowing them to be horrifically processed in hopes that the end result will justify the means or use The Crucible to destroy The Reapers and find a way to stop the dark energy from spreading and it shows it is hopeful with a united galaxy. However, if we choose destroy, Harbinger will attempt to stop Shepard. A Reaperfied TIM appears and Shepard fights him, while The Normandy fights Harbinger. If we choose sacrifice humanity, Shepard will be the final catalyst to completing the Human Reaper.  But obviously no one will choose that choice as the entire point of the trilogy is to destroy The Reapers. So we get a hopeful ending. The united galaxy will work together to stop the spread of dark energy, as Hackett said “If we can put aside our grievances long enough to stop The Reapers, imagine what we can do together” 

There, I came up with a way to have the best of both worlds. Harbinger and The Illusive Man as the big bads. 

I also made The Reapers motivation to actually work. They are there to control the chaos. The harvests end with a creation of The Reaper and The Reapers are the pinnacle of evolution Harbinger’s speech at the end of ME2 was enough for a motivation. The Reapers are our salvation from the coming void. They want to ascend humanity to perfection. That makes complete sense and makes more sense than destroying everyone to save everyone????? WHo fucking wrote this Starchild garbage???

The point is, The Reapers and The Illusive Man could’ve worked as the big bads collectively together.